Satisfied that the chair was clean, the Castillian swept up his tails and sat down. Neatly. "Juan Luis de la Vega, but I do not come here on my own behalf." He flashed a sparkling grin. "Nor would I voluntarily set foot in your filthy office. Let me make that clear. My client, however--"
    Jake spun his seat away from the man, grabbing the bottle of Canmore from his stubby filing cabinet and filling a glass as the chair returned to face him again. "Listen, Mr. Vega, I appreciate your coming here and all, but I've had my share of mysterious clients. So if you don't mind, sir, I'd rather not. It's always bad news, and I almost never get paid." Jake snatched a packet of cigarettes from the desk, tapped it on the edge, and rummaged around for a match among his papers. The Castillian waited patiently in his seat. Jake raised an eyebrow and brought a box of matches out from under a mound of ancient paperwork. "Still here?" He shook the box experimentally. No rattle. He tossed it aside and went back to the desk.
    Juan Luis de la Vega smoothed his moustache with one gloved hand. "I was reliably informed that you would be willing to take this commission." He continued, producing a slim black briefcase from the floor. It snapped open and Vega brought out a picture frame. Clipped firmly inside it was a worn letter. He extended his arm to Jake, his eyes fixed with interest on Jake's expression. "Perhaps this can persuade you to help?"
    Jake took the frame and looked over it, his disinterest unchanging. "An unsigned letter. You got the seal for it?"
Vega nodded and delicately took a small manila envelope from the case. Jake shook the envelope open and slid a small, chipped lead seal out onto his hand. He turned it over a few times. "Caligari family. Lead, so it's after the Caligara period, affixed with cords, so that narrows it down to three. Purple cords means it's personal communication from Vincenzo Caligari, after he made Prince." He tossed the seal back across the desk. Vega caught it fluidly without so much as blinking.
    Vega smiled. "You needed the seal to identify the sender?"
    Jake scratched his chin. "Not exactly. It's unsigned, as you'd expect, but it's in Vincenzo's own hand. In my line of work, you get familiar with things like that. I needed the seal to see if you knew what you were doing." Vega inclined his head in a bow. "And the letter?"
    "I'd date it late Tertius, 1668. Few months before Reinascienza sunk. Refers to his movement of contraband items from dig sites in the Crescent Empire through the Church blockade. That would make it after his deal with
Cardinal Museo. Not long after, though. Tone indicates it's to family, I'd say possibly Antonio on the mainland."
    Vega produced a monocle from his waistcoat pocket and breathed on it. "Hmm. Who was Antonio?"
    "Provincial governor, did a lot of work for Vincenzo moving items beyond the notice of the Church and Explorers. Turned against Uncle Vinny shortly before the island sunk, ran off with a few choice pieces. Wound up dead a few months later. Gives us a more definite frame of reference with regard to the letter."
    Vega nodded smugly. "Now, senor Kincaid, if you'll open the frame, you will find the true hook my clients believe will catch you."
    Jake slid the picture onto its front, sweeping his desk clear of clutter. Debris rained onto the floor, ashtrays landing heavily beside unpaid bills and empty glasses. Jake flipped the catches open and turned the back around. After a brief inspection, he spun a butterfly knife from his pocket and dug it into the backing. It came free and Jake looked at the weathered paper it revealed. He picked it up and turned it over. "Ship's log entry?"
    Vega returned to his monocle, attempting to rub a bothersome smudge from the edge of the lens. "The Benedicion, one of three Castillian Frigates to encounter Vincenzo Caligari's private yacht in 1672, during his final rampage." He paused to examine the eyepiece. "The only one to survive."
    Jake's voice betrayed no surprise, no hint of skepticism. "One yacht against three frigates, and the yacht comes out on top?"
    "Not only that, but as you will notice, the Benedicion had to limp back to dry dock at La Pasiega for several months. No-one sustains that sort of damage against a pleasure boat, senor Kincaid."
    Jake ran a finger along a line of closely-written text at the top of the page, squinting to make out the captain's cramped hand. "It says that the sea itself rose up against them. A storm?"
    "A storm that sinks two vessels, and yet leaves Caligari unharmed? No, senor Kincaid. I think you know as well as I what happened."
    A forgotten cigarette dangled from Jake's lip as he frowned across the table. "I don't have time for fairy tales, Vega."
    Vega shot up from his chair and leaned in close. "Everyone has time for fairy tales, Senor Kincaid." He smiled thinly. "There is a little truth in everything. My clients are willing to stake one hundred thousand pounds on the truth in this matter. The Leviathan's Eye is real, and it did not, as folklore and speculation has it, rest beneath the waves with the bulk of Caligari's treasures. If you retrieve it, I assure you that you shall become no less than a living legend."
    Jake reached casually into his drawer and produced a matchbook. Snapping one off and striking it on the cover, he spoke round his cigarette. "A hundred thousand pounds? That's an awful lot of money. Feel like telling me who's stumping up for you?"
    Vega shook his head and straightened his waistcoat. "Regrettably, no. The sum which has been offered is considered large enough to fend off any queries concerning its origin."

    Jake tutted. "And you came to me? Bad mistake. The more money I get offered, the more curious I get."
    Vega smiled thinly. "All I can offer you is the contents of this case as a sign of our good faith in you, senor Kincaid. Further, I remind you that my employers only instructed me not to reveal their identity to you. They do
not prohibit you from finding out for yourself." Vega spun the case round to face Jake. Jake was silent. "In fact, they reward industry. I warn you, however, senor, that this case will place you in harm's way. Take great care, and ensure that the Eye is brought back to Chengdu. I shall call back in one month from now, and again a month after that. Any later, and I am afraid my clients will grow impatient."
    "Further to that, the agreed hundred thousand upon delivery of the Leviathan's Eye. Your details are in the top pocket of the case, senor Kincaid. Good day." Vega turned on his heel and headed for the office door, the click of a slim cane accompanying his precise movements. He paused and spoke over his shoulder. "And good luck." Jake sank back into his chair and sipped the Canmore pensively.

    Sometime after noon, Jake grabbed his crumpled jacket and headed out. He closed the office door and edged out of the building. A sickly sweet smell worked its way through the door of Chao's House of Medicine. Chao eyed Jake shrewdly and muttered under his breath, dusting his cap as he turned back into his shop.

    The streets of Chengdu heaved with people, bicycles cutting their way deftly through the crowds. Jake strode confidently through the masses, weaving his way toward the Tea House. Vega was the sort of person Winston would know about, and it wouldn't hurt any to pay off Lo Shi Hong soon.
    As he darted across the Han road, Jake caught sight of a man in a grey suit cutting across further down, a little too abruptly to be natural. His hat was pristine, marking him as a new arrival in the damp, sticky streets of the Great Gate of Chengdu. Jake ducked into an alley and continued on to the Tea House in a roundabout way. As he turned sharply to the left, he saw the man's outline on a grubby window, entering the alley at speed and slowing to a nonchalant amble so suddenly that Jake thought his hat would fall off. He smiled. Amateurs. Jake took an unexpected turn into a narrow street crammed with refuse and ducked behind a mouldering crate. He nodded to himself as he heard the footsteps rushing to the mouth of the alley. His smile faded as he heard a metallic click from the opposite end of the alley, echoed by his incompetent shadow. An aristocratic accent sounded through the tumbledown street, cold Eisen tones in the voice.
    "Herr Kincaid? We know you are in here. Come out of hiding, please. We have come to warn you."
    Jake looked from left to right, pressing his back against the warm wall and keeping his shadow within the bounds of the heaped trash. He could see a man's shadow stretching from the end of the alley, and the voice came from the other end. He looked directly across from where he crouched, and stared straight into the face of a frowning Cathayan grandmother. The old woman glared out from her kitchen window, a half-plucked chicken clutched in one hand. Not taking her eyes from Jake, she put down the chicken and wrapped her hand around the handle of a large heavy pan.
    Jake cursed his stupidity. He wasn't being followed, he was being herded. Now he was caught, and there was nowhere to go. He stood up, his hands raised, a disarming and insincere smile plastered across his face. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. How can I help you? There's some fascinating rubbish around here."
    He got a good look at one of them. Under the new snap-brim hat was an impeccably groomed head and a finely tailored suit. That wasn't what caught Jake's attention, though. The spotlessly clean Kriegschloss Semi-Automatic Rifle he pointed at Jake would tend to take up all your notice. The man's steel-grey eyes flickered past Jake for a second, no doubt to his counterpart behind Jake, and Jake didn't wait. Twisting to one side, he sprung through the window, his hands in front of his face. There was a roaring chatter, and something clipped his shoe. He felt the glass bite into his fingers, rolled across the floor, and came up on his feet. Behind him, he could hear cursing in Eisen. He took his bearings quickly. A door was in front of him, and he made straight for it. An angry cry assaulted his ears, and his hand felt the ringing impact of a heated iron pan drive the glass in deeper. Jake gritted his teeth and ran, oblivious to the old woman's indignant howls and the agonized screams coming from the alley. Behind him, he heard the kitchen door burst open as he ran for the street.

    As Jake skidded out onto the street, he breathed a sigh of relief. The typical Chengdu bustle filled it from one side to the next. He could see three men in the uniforms of the Imperial Police blowing whistles and attempting to push the crowd aside as they waded towards the origin of the
gunfire. Jake dropped down and moved between the confused spectators as the front door of the house was kicked open. The man in the well-made suit stood wild-eyed in the doorway, and Jake could see him clearly. A bloody stain tore the suit and trickled down his left arm, and he hefted the Kriegschloss in one arm. He kicked the door and swore as he saw the Police. Couching himself against the door frame, his left arm hanging by his side, he fired a burst from the Kriegschloss into the air, and the crowd screamed and dropped to the ground. The man ran across them and away into the shadows. Jake watched him as he fled, then stood and dusted himself off.

    "Theus, Jake, what happened to your hand?" Winston Clark rubbed his glasses with a dirty cloth, put them back on and frowned.
    "Had a run-in with a couple of shooters. Shot the toe out of my shoe." Jake held up the shoe in question and poked a finger through the hole.
    "They do much damage?" Winston asked, gingerly removing the lid from his teapot and looking furtively around. He fumbled beneath the table and produced a hip flask.
    Jake shook his head. "No. They just got the shoe. I think one of them shot the other one, though. Some old woman got the hand." Jake winced as he picked the last splinter of glass from his hand and got a handkerchief from his pocket. "Gimme your flask."

    Winston hurriedly poured a shot of whatever was in his flask into the teapot and screwed the stopper back into place. "No. Absolutely not. They import this stuff from Inismore, you know." He slipped it back under the table and placed the lid silently back on the teapot, then sloshed the mixture around. "I'm not letting you dribble it all over your hand. Besides, if Hong smells it, there'll be trouble."
    Jake drew in a sharp breath. "Fine, then. Get me a cup for some of that tea to swab it in. Theus knows how you can waste The Legendary O'Bannon like that. Or the tea."

    Winston tutted and filled two cups. The smell of mint wafted across the table, entwined with whiskey. "So, Jake, why are people shooting at you today? Smiled at the wrong woman?" He pushed a cup across the table. Jake dabbed the handkerchief in it, then rubbed it gently on his swollen hand.
    "Not today, Winston. Took on a job today, and I don't know why it's connected yet, but if it's not, then people are shooting at me for no reason. Heard of Juan Luis de la Vega?"
    Winston paused. "Depends."
    Jake sighed and reached for his wallet with his good hand. Winston waved a finger. "No, not on who's asking. Depends on whether you're talking about the Castillian notary who flew into Cathay two days ago or the man who's impersonating him." Winston stared into his cup and smiled.

"The men who shot at you. Eisen, were they?"

    "How -- never mind. Yes, they were. Who's Vega?" Jake wound his handkerchief anxiously round his palm. Red seeped through the dark material.

    "Again, that depends."
    Jake flashed an impatient scowl at Winston. "You're going to have to stop saying that. I only cut you so much slack. Who's the real guy?"
    "Castillian notary, in Cathay picking up some debts for a client. Usual business. The impersonator, now that's a question."
    "And the answer? I don't have all day to waste with you, Winston."
    "Eisen Intelligence. Sticks out like a sore thumb. I Don't know who he's here for, but he brought about half a dozen goons off the seaplane with him. I don't think it's a social call."
    "Why the disguise?"
    "Don't know. Possibly to flush the real guy out, or to flush out his contacts."
    "Contacts?"