Chapter 27 Like a Suit of Clothes #2
Moments after entering the sea, the same soldier climbs out onto the sand. He moves woodenly, like a puppet. Feet stumble and he jerks to a stop, swaying and dripping.
By the fire, the prisoner—who has been wide-awake and watching this whole time—goes perfectly still. He saw you lure the soldier in, and has figured out what is happening.
The other men are awake, now. They heard the yelling and shot to awareness. As the soldier stumbles out of the water, his brothers in arms exclaim in Japanese.
He blinks at them, looking uncertain and embarrassed.
First their faces are incredulous; then, one by one, they each begin to crease in laughter. Toma, you drunk idiot, they chide. Did you fall in while taking a piss?
Toma doesn’t laugh. He points behind him. “Something … in the water,” he says, thickly, in Cantonese.
The other men pause and exchange glances, their laughter dying off. They’ve been stationed in South China long enough to pick up a smattering of the local dialect, but none of them choose to speak it among themselves, unless there is good reason to do so.
“S-s-something … water.” Toma gazes blank-eyed at the lapping ocean, then backs slowly away toward the land. Seeming to ignore them entirely.
The sergeant, who is most senior, hoists his gun and steps forward, scanning the waves warily. The other three men do the same, muttering in low voices that their companion is surely drunk or sick, yet still doing their due diligence in checking. Better safe than sorry.
While their backs are turned, Toma lifts his dripping Mauser and fires repeatedly.
He lacks experience with guns, but it doesn’t matter at this range. They’re not expecting it and two die immediately. A third falls into the surging waves, already bleeding out. The sergeant is the only one left standing; Toma’s shots missed him.
The sergeant returns fire with his own weapon.
Bullets strike Toma’s body. The sound is like flour bags being whacked. One of them pierces the left chest, straight into the heart. Blood jets out erratically. The soldier remains standing, gaze fixed flatly on the sergeant.
“Toma?” the sergeant stutters, rendered inane by fear.
“Sorry,” you say in Cantonese, looking out through Toma’s eyes. Your spirit moving Toma’s lips. “He’s dead.”
You leap at the sergeant, taking him into the water with you. His gun goes off again but the bullets are just annoyances, destroying flesh you don’t care about, and soon enough, you’ve caught a second victim for the night.
“Where is she?” you ask, hands around his throat, reveling in the air that fills and departs your lungs in a blessed cycle. “Where is the girl you pulled from the ocean?”
He yelps in bug-eyed terror, attempting to speak with broken Cantonese. “What girl? Who? Please—”
You dunk him repeatedly and reiterate the question. He only grows more confused and desperate, thrashing in your arms.
Eventually, tired of playing and bored of his ignorance, you drag him under one final time.
It’s only after you finally climb back to dry land for the second time … and wearing the sergeant’s skin … only then, do the realizations dawn.
First, you didn’t die from being shot. Even after you took a skin, the body being harmed meant nothing. Yes, it hurt, but so what. When weapons make the body unusable, you can simply slip free.
And second, possessing someone means you can breathe without pain, and walk on dry land like a human.
This gross act is like being alive again.
You don’t have to exist as a ghost, not if you don’t want to.
You’re conscious of my warning in the cave, about what happens to water ghosts who stay in a body too long, but that just means you’ll have to be careful.
Careful is good. You can do careful. With a little foresight and common sense, you can functionally be immortal, now. Because whatever it is that puts water ghosts to rest, it’s not having their stolen bodies destroyed.
And what does put a water ghost to rest? An interesting question. Perhaps if you take enough damage in the sun, or your spirit body is destroyed with weapons. Not that you want to test this theory anytime soon. There is a more pressing matter, at the moment.
Still dripping from the ocean, walk to the dying fire and look down at the captured prisoner. He tilts his head and meets your gaze boldly. He is alarmed, sure, and alert to what is happening, but not afraid.
How interesting.
Bend down, remove the gag.
“Hello,” you say calmly. “Who are you?”
“Chiu Wing Yun.” He looks to be in his late twenties, suntanned and square-shouldered. A shock of dark hair falls across his face. As a living girl, you’d have found him strikingly handsome. “I’m part of the East River Column.”
“The what?”
“Haven’t you heard of us, Lady Ghost?” He gives you a shrewd, thoughtful look. “The Sai Kung resistance network. We are Hakka people who fight against Japanese occupation. Those men you killed had captured me.”
“I see.” A pause. “My mother was Hakka. I speak a little, if that helps.”
“If you wish, but my Cantonese is good,” he says needlessly, because that is obvious. “Forgive me, but who the hell are you? Why did you help me?”
“I am what you called me: a lady ghost.” You begin slicing his bonds with the sergeant’s knife. “One who can wear skins. And who has no love for the Japanese invaders. It is partly their fault that I am this way.”
The questions are clearly hovering in his mouth, so you decide to preempt them.
“I fled with my mother to the outlying islands, just off this coast, to avoid the invasion,” you tell him. “The occupiers have caused so much pain and strife, and we feared them.”
Even as you speak, it occurs to you that you’re so much more lucid and chatty than Mei Chi was. Is this the influence of being in a physical body, or a result of dying as an adult? Hard to say.
“It is right to fear them,” Wing Yun says, interrupting your thoughts. “Occupation has been cruel in our city.”
“Fleeing didn’t help, did it? I’ve died a bitter death anyway.” Your teeth are grinding, you realize; look away from him and try to gather yourself.
“What were those questions you asked the soldiers?” he says.
“I’m looking for two people. A young woman, and an older one, traveling separately. They fled south and may have been picked up by boats.”
Wing Yun’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. “Forgive me, Lady Ghost, but there are tens of thousands of displaced people in Hong Kong right now. Millions across China. Refugees are everywhere. If your friend—”
“Not my friend,” you snap. And then, to avoid the questions in his eyes, you add reluctantly, “My mother and my aunt.”
“I’m sorry you’ve lost them,” he says, and bows his head briefly.
“But I don’t think you’ll find them easily.
Not with this war going on. Citizens cannot move freely.
Resistance fighters struggle to evade notice.
Until the invasion is done and the Japanese are gone, you might as well be looking for a leaf in a typhoon. ”
For a moment, searing rage grips you. Who is this mortal man, thwarting what you want? Doesn’t he know who you are? Your hands twitch, mouth twisting in a snarl.
No. No. You struggle for control, forcing down the unhelpful urge to lash out.
Wing Yun is right, and it is not his fault that he is right.
Take a steadying breath, and look at this cocky, handsome young soldier.
Your tormented reaction hasn’t escaped his notice, and he watches you with narrowed eyes.
“If I cannot find those I seek until after the invaders are gone, then I must do my part to remove the invaders,” you say, with a cool reserve you don’t feel. “Tell me, Mr. Chiu. How would your East River Column feel about welcoming a ghost into its ranks?”
Wing Yun sits back on his heels, and begins to laugh. “A ghost as a resistance fighter? Whoever heard of such a thing!” But he sounds amazed rather than contemptuous.
“Why not?” Move to crouch in front of him. “I can kill. You’ve seen that. I can wear skins, and infiltrate places with ease. I can lure unwary men, and survive terrible wounds. Your people need me, and I need this war finished. What do you say?”
“I think,” he says, after a long, thoughtful moment, “that it will be a tough sell, to convince my superiors.” He gives you a conspiratorial wink. “But you know what? I’m willing to argue the case. I believe we can talk them round.” His grin is dazzling. “Do you have a name, Lady Ghost?”
A moment’s hesitation. Then, “Sung Siu Yin. But please keep that to yourself, I don’t wish my name to be widely known.”
“No problem. I understand.” He sticks out a hand. “Welcome to the resistance, Miss Sung.”