Foul Lady Fortune

“Lock the doors! Now. Come on, get a move on!”

There was a bang from the front of the shop, then Oliver’s voice, yelling loudly enough to reverberate into the bedrooms at the back. Celia scrambled from her chair, twisting her hair out of her eyes and shoving it down with a pin. In the hallway, she passed Audrey and Millie hauling out a long set of chains, which Celia could only guess was for the front doors.

She hurried into the shop. Oliver was at the entrance, pulling the dead bolt into place. It was closing time, but why was he moving so frantically? He hadn’t even been on shift today; he was supposed to be in town making final perusals for their completed maps.

“Sweetheart, give me a hand.”

Celia strolled over. “What happened?”

“Nationalist soldiers nearby. They might be looking for us.”

“Might?” Celia echoed. She reached for a wad of tape by the front desk, supplying the roll to Oliver as soon as he pressed a sheet of newspaper up to the windows.

“I can’t be certain. I saw their trucks rolling into the area.”

Goose bumps prickled along her arms instantly. Once Oliver had a hold on the tape, Celia moved to help him with the newspapers, passing him each sheet. They had run over their evacuation plan many times, but this didn’t seem to qualify for a full evacuation, only the precautionary measures: cover their windows, lock their doors, make the shop seem temporarily abandoned. If the Nationalists were sniffing around without any suspicion in mind, they would pass the shop without much thought. If, somehow, the Nationalists had gotten wind of their presence here and actually moved their forces around the shop, then it was time to run.

“Are they driving into town?” Celia asked. A thought occurred to her. “Or are they going to the warehouse in the forest?”

Oliver shot her a quick look, pausing with one hand propped against the window. Then, remembering that time was of the essence, he held the roll of tape up and ripped a piece off with his teeth, taking the square out of his mouth and sticking down a newspaper corner.

“You’re still thinking about that?” Oliver asked. “There’s no reason for us to believe it’s a Nationalist base.”

“I know.” Celia passed over another sheet. “All the same—” She paused, her eyes latching on to the new sheet in her hand. A jolt of surprise sprang down her spine. The text was all written in Japanese… except for the larger title splashed on the frontmost page in both English and Japanese.

SEAGREEN PRESS

“Oliver,” Celia said suddenly. “Where did you get these newspapers?”

Oliver looked down briefly. He didn’t understand why she was asking. “Nearby, I’m sure. Around the dress shop?”

“Was someone selling them?” Celia pressed. When she made a quick scan, it seemed the other sheets already pasted onto the window were written in Chinese. Those were the usual large publications commonly found around these areas. So where had this one come from?

“No. They were tossed in those newspaper stands on the street corner.” He frowned, gesturing for her to pass over the next sheet. “What’s the matter?”

“Seagreen Press,” Celia said emphatically, pointing at the paper heading. Alisa’s covert workplace. And last she had heard from Rosalind, also the location of her newest assignment. “That’s a Japanese company writing for its citizens in Shanghai. Why would its papers reach all the way out here?”

Oliver paused, taking the issue in Celia’s hands. Recognition flickered in his eyes.

“What are you suspecting?” he asked.

There was certainly some sort of suspicion forming in her mind. Celia just hadn’t quite put everything into its right order, hadn’t tidied up the edges of a complete conclusion.

She turned around.

“Hey!” Oliver called after her. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take the back door. No one will see me.”

“What? That didn’t answer my question!”

Celia kept walking. She heard Oliver shout at Audrey and Millie to finish newspapering the windows before pattering after her, hovering over her left shoulder, then her right shoulder as he tried to force some answer out of her. They were both already dressed in dark clothing, so Celia only grabbed a pair of gloves from her room before she was wordlessly stepping out the back door, perking her ears for the sound of trucks in the distance. Their heavy wheels ground along the town gravel paths in an unmistakable manner. It could only be military vehicles rapidly heading their way.

“Are you going to brood, or are you going to come with me?” Celia asked, setting off into the night. Though Oliver caught up quickly, his stomps communicated that he was displeased with having to play follower.

“I’m not afraid to drag you back to the shop.”

Oliver pulled a branch aside. He had always possessed the talent of issuing threats with the most cordial delivery. Even now, while they picked through the forest, his words bore an undercurrent of danger, like he would need only the lightest trigger to act.

Celia cast a glance back so that Oliver could see her doubtful expression. As soon as their eyes met, she turned back to navigating their path, a smile twitching at her lips.

“Yes, you are.”

It was all a guise. The tall, scary Communist agent with the scarred knuckles and the jaw cut from marble—who once didn’t move for three hours because the neighboring shop’s cat had wandered in and taken a nap on his foot. The terrifying de facto leader among their group—who sometimes stayed up till odd hours fixing the buttons on Audrey’s blouses with a needle and thread because Audrey didn’t know how to sew.

Oliver made a noise of protest. “How dare—”

“Shhh,” Celia interrupted, both because she had heard something and because she took joy from telling Oliver Hong what to do. He could hide it from the others. He could boss them around and let them believe in a certain level of cruelty. But Celia knew better. And she supposed she only knew better because he let her in, because he let those real flashes slip through, aware that there was the possibility she might use it against him and risking it anyway.

She didn’t know how to feel about that. She had never been handed a responsibility so big before: protecting someone’s trust. Someone who wasn’t family, someone who had no existing obligation to her.

The moon disappeared behind a cloud. Celia slowed, head tilted to the wind.

“I was right,” she whispered, peering through the dense trees. “They’re going to the warehouse.”

Though it had been some time since their first nighttime excursion through the forest, it wasn’t hard to find that suspicious V-shaped road again. Now there were trucks rumbling down it, one after the other in neat file.

And there was only one destination at the end of that road.

“Celia, hold on.”

Just before Celia could creep forward again, Oliver reached for her arm, holding her in place. The moon emerged from behind the clouds and illuminated the grimace on Oliver’s face. She deciphered it immediately.

“You did report the warehouse,” she stated. There was nothing in her tone that asked for confirmation; she was as certain as the skies were dark, and she was only saying it aloud so Oliver knew she had caught on. “You reported it, and they told you to investigate alone in case it turns out to be a critical Nationalist secret.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Don’t sweetheart me,” Celia commanded, throwing her arm out of his grip. Maybe that was why she didn’t know how to feel about Oliver. She had his trust, but she didn’t have his secrets. He might put his very life into her open palm without hesitation, but he could not answer a question truthfully so long as the cause—and their superiors—dictated he keep quiet.

“There are some things that I need to figure out first before I go putting you in danger with the knowledge,” Oliver said calmly. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

She recalled that look of recognition on his face when they were at the warehouse. Her question about whether he had been there before and his quick switch of the topic.

What are you hiding from me, Oliver?

Celia marched forward. If he didn’t tell her, then she’d find out for herself.

“Celia. Come back here!”

She did not. She walked until she had the warehouse in sight, and only then did she duck behind one of the prickly bushes, watching the trucks park around the foreboding warehouse. It was uniformed Nationalists who piled out from the cars, carrying crates in their arms, moving in and out of the warehouse quickly. She didn’t see any leader among them. Only soldiers, mostly unspeaking. Their manner had a peculiar air. Not fear, nor unease as they passed each other by. The first thought that occurred to Celia was absence. The soldiers up ahead were moving in the same way that people sleepwalking did.

Celia turned around. At some point, Oliver had begrudgingly followed, coming up behind her to watch quietly. They couldn’t go any closer or they would risk being sighted, which was unfortunate. She wanted to see their faces.

“Doesn’t this scene look off to you?” she whispered.

Oliver remained standing, his arms crossed over his chest. “Hard to say,” he reluctantly replied. “It could be—”

A flash of metal caught the moonlight from behind him. Celia didn’t think; she dove up and threw Oliver out of the way, the two of them landing upon the prickly undergrowth just as a bullet rang through the night. Celia gasped, her hands clutching on to whatever fabric she could grasp of Oliver’s jacket. Oliver, meanwhile, snapped to alertness the moment they hit the ground, his arm coming around her waist to brace their movement.

The bullet struck the place where he had been standing, spraying bark everywhere upon impact. It would have been a headshot.

“Are you okay?” Oliver demanded.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Celia hurried to reassure him.

Oliver muttered a curse. “Stay down,” he instructed, angling his body to deposit Celia smoothly onto the forest floor and pulling a pistol from his pocket. He waited for the next flash of metal, then fired—on his third bullet, there was a human cry ringing into the night.

They had underestimated the Nationalists to think that they could slink around spying on an enemy faction’s activity. There must have been soldiers stationed around the perimeter too, watching for intruders.

“This way,” Celia said tightly, springing to her feet and grabbing ahold of Oliver’s arm. The gunshots would have echoed down to the warehouse, and they needed to get out of range before other soldiers started searching. They plunged deeper into the trees, twigs snapping beneath their feet and branches scratching at their faces. Celia kept listening, waiting for a shout, waiting for the sound of pursuit.

At a considerable distance away, Oliver slowed and gestured for her to do the same. They took in their surroundings carefully. The moon was at the apex of the sky now. The tree leaves bristled above them. The thicket murmured beneath them. It was quiet.

It seemed they had gotten away.

“Dammit, Oliver,” Celia cursed, catching her breath.

“Damn me?” Oliver returned, his eyes wide.

“Yes, damn you!” She adjusted her blouse collar, brushing off the bits of bark that had gotten stuck on her clothing. “If I knew you were investigating this, maybe I would have known what to expect! Maybe we would both be sitting happily in the shop right now.”

“Please, in what universe are you willing to sit around happily even if I had given you information?”

“It wouldn’t hurt to tell me what instructions you’re under. You don’t have to give details, just don’t lie to me.”

If the point of keeping secrets was to protect each other, then Celia couldn’t see the logic here. She could accept not knowing who Oliver was meeting with each time he went to Shanghai. She didn’t need to be given the ins and outs of his private missions. But she would not be kept in the dark about matters that she had asked to know—that she was already involved with when she was the one who discovered the discrepancy that led to the warehouse.

“I’ve never lied to you,” Oliver insisted. He pointed a threatening finger at her, stopping only a hairsbreadth away from her nose. “And that is the last time you go throwing yourself in my path, understand? What were you thinking? You could have been shot.”

Celia’s mouth dropped agape. “You would have been shot if I hadn’t done that! Are you serious right now?”

“That’s the risk I take on as an agent. That’s the risk I am willing to bear while fighting for the nation. If I get shot, I get shot. You don’t put yourself in my firing line like that.”

“Oh, sure,” Celia spat. “Nation over everything, right? Even your life.”

A howl moved through the forest. They both stiffened, trying to determine the source, whether it was mechanical or human. Neither—it sounded more animal, fading away after a few seconds. The wind blew softly. Celia and Oliver looked at each other again. Slowly, he withdrew his menacing pointing, though his arm didn’t return to his side.

“Yes, Celia,” he said, almost tiredly. “Nation over everything.”

She knew that he meant it. When someone like Oliver said those words, it was not a catchphrase for pretty pamphlets and performative battle cries. He put his very heart into its intent.

Then his hand curled around her face, the motion gentle while his thumb brushed a soft graze over her cheek. Celia froze, blinking rapidly to register what was happening. He had never done this so blatantly before. There had been the casual nudge on the shoulder, the brush of their fingers while passing a cup of tea. There had been playful taps on her chin. Or rough inspections if one of them was hurt, quick fix-ups with bandages and antiseptic. Never this—never contact that had no other explanation, none save for a certain want.

“Nation over everything,” Oliver repeated, his voice firm. “But not you, sweetheart. Never your life in exchange.”

Her mind rang with the screech of a broken radio. White noise: humming between her ears while she searched desperately for something—anything—to say. Then, like someone had changed the channel, it was not tenderness that formed her response but blistering anger.

“You’re so damn selfish,” Celia said, jerking away from his touch. “Have you ever stopped to consider that I value your life just as much? If you want to protect me, don’t you think that I want to protect you, too?”

Oliver visibly inhaled, taken aback for a flash of a second before he composed himself. It was enough to give an answer: the notion had never occurred to him. How little he thought of her. How little he thought of whatever it was that existed between the two of them.

Celia turned on her heel and walked off, nothing more to say.