Debt of Blood Story Arc – Part 2: Of Legends and Ghosts

Of Legends and Ghosts
By Owen Lean

June 1882

The closing act of Gui Fei Zui Jiu was reaching its crescendo. As the song reached its peak, The curtain at the back of the royal box in the Shan Fan theatre opened and a small man with a stack of steaming dim sum baskets stepped inside.

The aroma filled the air as the server carefully placed the bamboo wicker baskets on a table beside Warlord Kang. He nodded appreciatively, while his eyes remained transfixed on the actress playing Yang Yuhuan – who continued to mesmerise the audience with her enchanting voice. With a subtle gesture, Kang invited his guest to indulge in the delectable treats.

A hearty laugh escaped The Mad Monk’s lips as he picked up a dumpling with an adroit reach of his tapered jade chopsticks. “Generosity suits you well, my friend,” he remarked. His eyes twinkled with curiosity. “But I can’t help but wonder why a powerful rail baron like yourself is so keen on impressing a humble bandit like me.”

Kang’s smile widened as he savoured a mouthful of Cheong fan. “You underestimate yourself,” he said, his voice filled with admiration. “Hao-T’e Zui, The People’s Bandit: the Mad Monk who single-handedly banished the Blue-Haired King to the depths of hell—a bandit, perhaps, but also a folk hero in the eyes of the 108 Righteous Bandits.”

The Mad Monk raised an intrigued eyebrow, his gaze shifting from Kang to the stage where Yang Yuhuan commanded the spotlight. “You mean, just like this drunken princess?” he questioned.

Kang chuckled knowingly, his gaze fixed on his companion. “Indeed,” he replied. “While I don’t presume to understand the extent of your followers’ beliefs in demons and monsters, the power of a legend is enough to grant you influence. And that, wǒ de péngyǒu, my friend, is why my interest in you is piqued.”

“Well, if you had done your research, then you would know that the 108 are very much indeed righteous bandits, and thus our services are not, and never will be, for sale.”

“Oh trust me,” Kang laughed. “I have learned all about your tong. I have gleaned information from more sources than you have supposed, including the kind of sources only a select few of us know about.” Kang looked at his guest knowingly – who rolled his eyes.

“Enough of these riddles, Warlord, this is a private conversation – let us set aside this talk of legends and speak openly.”

“Perhaps we should because we both know legends are often untrue. And yet they are often more important than the truth. As the journalists say in the West: when a legend becomes fact – print the legend.”

The Mad Monk laughed “You mean to say only that the story of my defeat of an arch demon is mere fiction? Surely this is something we both know.”

“On the contrary, my friend, as Confucius said ‘Sincerity and truth are the basis of every virtue’, we both know that it is true that Hao-T’e Zui and the Blue Haired King fought that day – but the sincerity of this legend fails in the way it recounts how that battle ended.”

The Mad Monk’s demeanour changed in a half-blink, his bravado and gaiety dropping like Mahjong tiles. His eyes flashed steel blue and his mouth changed to a snarl. Kang responded with a smile and out of the air around him melted the four guards his sorcery had been hiding.

“Xiān sheng, you misunderstand me, there is no need for confrontation. The current status quo in hell is… unsatisfactory, I believe in this we are in agreement.”

The bandit leader sat back, a cooler and more refined demeanour taking hold. “You have my attention.”

“An assault of that magnitude is going to need an army – one that I may be able to provide you with.”

Hao-T’e Zui sat back, pressing together the fingerprints of his hands. “An interesting offer, Warlord Kang. How can the 108 be of service to you?”

Kang smiled. “Come with me, I’ve something to show you.” The warlord and his guest left the box. “Iron Dragon has many interests in Deadwood – and the people of Deadwood are in need of protection from my enemies. The 108 Righteous Bandits are the perfect heroes to become the people’s saviours, they need not know that in doing so they are also serving my interests.”

“I agree, that sounds like a most appealing endeavour.” The pair stepped outside into a yard filled with chickens. Kang nodded, and one of his entourage walked forward to a small shed, opened the door, and produced a small cage.

Inside the cage, railing against its imprisonment in an eldritch tongue, a small purple creature pressed in vain against the wooden slats, its eyes burning steel blue in demonic fury.

“The great demon general Lu Feng hasn’t fared well since his banishment, but I believe in your service he will regain his strength and flourish,” Kang said.

A month later, Hao-T’e Zui observed that Deadwood itself was not flourishing. He walked through the opium den hidden at the back of the Bai Long Tea Shop. The Mad Monk threaded his way through patrons lost in hazy dreams, eventually reaching a small room at the back.

Huang Li and Yuān Min welcomed him as he entered the private chamber. 

He addressed the pair “My sources have provided me with information that I believe puts us in a significantly stronger position than we had previously thought.”

Huang Li gestured for him to continue.

“The liberation of the good people of this town will be of no difficulty to us – I have defeated demons and many more besides – and what we face here are not vengeful spirits, but irate men.”

“This fits with what I’ve discovered.” Huang Li said. “E.B. Farnum has put together a consortium of some of the less scrupulous business owners in Deadwood. They are trying to shut down any new businesses that arrive in 

town – driving up the prices of needed goods and hampering their efforts in whatever way they can.”

“The liberation of the good people of this town will be of no difficulty to us – I have defeated demons and many more besides – and what we face here are not vengeful spirits, but irate men.”

“This fits with what I’ve discovered.” Huang Li said. “E.B. Farnum has put together a consortium of some of the less scrupulous business owners in Deadwood. They are trying to shut down any new businesses that arrive in town – driving up the prices of needed goods and hampering their efforts in whatever way they can.”

“Including the attacks blamed on ghosts?”

Huang Li shrugged. “If they are, then they are not admitting to it even amongst themselves at Farnum’s council. It is hardly a stretch of the imagination though to infer that the attacks are being organised by one of them.”
“They work against businesses both legal and clandestine alike,” Yuan added. “Al Swearengen is actively trying to corner the opium market in town.”

“It is open war then,” The Mad Monk said. “On a multitude of levels. The perfect battle for the 108 Righteous Bandits to champion, as I predicted.”

“And the miners are being harassed as well,” Yuan added. “Their equipment smashed, their claims ransacked, all under the guise of vengeful ghosts. Local legends weaponised to create fear and let this consortium retain its iron grip on the town.”

“Legends are indeed powerful things,” The Mad Monk smiled. “But some are more powerful than others, and we are already at work ensuring the creation of a new legend in Deadwood.”

“Your comrades have already arrived then?” Yuan asked. “I’ve had no further reports of rooftop heroics from the railroad staff…”

“Not entirely.” The Mad Monk gave a close-lipped smile. “But those that are, are already rallying others to our cause.”

Randall and Yasmin Tian sat opposite each other in the back of Nuttall & Mann’s Saloon. A lively game of Faro played out near them while patrons jostled at the bar trying to get their shot of the good stuff in before each other. 

Yasmin stole a glance towards the saloon door. “You’re looking nervous, Yasmin,” Randall said.

“Got one of those feelings… that things are about to get worse before they get better”

“You sure?” Randall asked.

“The Lakota aren’t the only ones in Deadwood who can draw power from their faith,” she said in a hushed tone. Almost on cue, the doors swung open as a gang of three entered the saloon. Their leader was a lithe Mexican man with a rattler skin duster and a scarf wrapped around his neck and shoulders. His hair was tied back in a ponytail. Seeing that his entrance alone hadn’t been enough to wrest people’s attention away from alcohol and gambling, he fired his Peacemaker in the air. That worked.

“Thank you for your respect,” he said. “I didn’t want to have to cause such a ruckus but sadly the fools who run this establishment have left me no choice.”

Two others stepped up behind him. To his left, an absolute mountain of a man, eastern in origin, who wore a suit and clutched a large sword at his side, gave a loud laugh in response to his leader’s words. On the leader’s other side stood a small figure, female, with her hair in pigtails and eyes hidden by a pair of brass goggles. The familiar scream of ghost rock emanated from a mechanism attached to her back.

“I swear the posses get weirder every day,” Yasmin whispered. “You know any of them?”

Yasmin looked over to Randall, who looked quite unhappy about the new arrivals.

“I’ve heard tales. Mateo Suarez is the leader. He’s a mercenary with a talent for being very noticeable when he wants to be, and completely unseen when he doesn’t. The wannabe shogun there is ‘Tsurugi’ – fancies himself a Samurai, but he’s just muscle for hire as well.”

“And the kid?”

“I have no clue…” Randall said, “But I get the feeling we’ll probably find out soon enough.”

“What in all nine circles of Hell do you want, Suarez?” Irate, the barkeep put down the bottle he’d been pouring.

Buzz’s face hardened, and he stepped out from behind the bar. “I’ve seen enough bloodshed in my time, and I won’t be part of no more. You can tell Farnum that I won’t bow down to his demands. This saloon stands for somethin’ more than his ambitions.” Then he turned to the smallest of the trio and said. “And we don’t serve minors.”

“Well, you can’t be running a good business then mister.” The girl in the goggles squeaked. “This town is full of miners.”

“I ain’t laughing kid.” The barkeep said.

The man with the enormous sword laughed heartily, “Mr Barman, to stand up to Mateo and myself is courageous, but believe me – you do not want to anger Blind Mary.”

Blind Mary stepped forward and from the machine on her back a loud buzzing began. “When I was eleven, I saw locusts devour my family’s farm in an hour.” From her back a single brass insect flew up and hovered over her head. “How long do you think it would take mine to destroy your little saloon, mister?”

Buzz Crover narrowed his gaze, willing the bead of sweat that was running down his face to stop. He brushed aside his jacket, flashing the gun on his belt. “Get. Out.” He spat through his teeth.

“No,” Mary replied. Her mechanical bug shot up like a bullet and shattered the chandelier. There were cries from all around the saloon as the patrons took shelter from the rain of glass and Buzz went for his gun. Just as he withdrew it there was a flash of steel and the gun flew from his hand – struck away by Tsurugi’s sword. Buzz spun around only to be met with the butt of Suarez’s gun and he crashed into the wooden floor.

“Pathetic,” Mateo said. “Let’s make sure they get the message.” He said and picked up a nearby stool and broke it against the bar.

Tsurugi brought his sword down on several of the tables, as Mary, smiling quietly to herself, watched as her single locust flew through the saloon, smashing one window after another. 

Mateo was about to shoot several bottles behind the bar when Tsurugi shouted “Mateo! STOP!”

Mateo turned. But Tsurugi jumped up on the bar and grabbed at two of the bottles. “My friend, this is the GOOD stuff.”

Mateo and Tsurugi walked to the saloon doors laughing to themselves and clinking their spoils against each other. Blind Mary’s locust flew back into her pack and for a brief moment, the room was filled with the annoyed buzz of the insects that didn’t get to join the fun. “Tell Messers Nuttall and Mann, there is SO much more to come.” She said and then followed the men outside. 

 “Follow them,” Randall said, turning to where he thought Yasmin still was, but she hadn’t needed his prompt. Silently she was disappearing through the crowd of onlookers, tailing the three mercenaries. Randall grinned and knelt next to Buzz. 

“It’s ok big fella. Up you get now.” He took Buzz’s weight on his shoulder and picked him up, sitting him against a stool. “Let’s get some ice for that head.”

“Much obliged.” The barman said. “This town’s turning into an open range, and ain’t nobody doing anything to stop it.”

“That’s about to change my large friend,” Randall smiled. “The People’s Bandit has arrived in town, with the 108 Righteous Bandits at his heels. And just so happens, they could use a fellow with guts like yourself to help stand up to this sort of injustice. If you want to help, that is.”

Buzz looked at Randall and nodded. “Perhaps I do, sir. Perhaps I do.”

“I don’t think you do, Baker.”

Daomei Wang heard the words stretching out the window at the back of Carson’s Cantina and snuck closer. On the other side, he recognised Kim Lloyd, Felix Cutter, and Baker Andrews of the Miner’s Alliance sitting at a table, a mess of stale whiskey and sodden cards splayed out between them. 

“We’re not just going to smash up the mine.” Felix continued. “We are going to make sure they are too scared to ever return.”