“You’re good with eyes,” he complimented, staring down at his sister’s kindness sparkling through a gaze that stared off the page.
“It isn’t easy,” Chiboon bragged. “And Yukying’s a tricky subject.”
“She is?” That surprised him.
“Oh, yes. It’s difficult to capture in a painting. Have you ever seen Fu Baoshi’s Goddess of the Xiang River?” Tinseng shook his head. “There’s this fan . . . well, it isn’t important. Yukying is an interesting subject, that’s all. She knew about Grodescu before the rest of us, right?” Chiboon asked, then ducked behind his journal. “Ah, I mean . . .”
“No, you’re right,” Tinseng admitted. “She didn’t put the whole thing together, but she knew he had something to do with Jinzhao. She thought Jinzhao was stepping out on me at first—can you believe that? So I had to tell her something. But I fucked up; I told her he was after me.”
“Ah, Tinseng.” Chiboon shook his head. “You’ve been a little brother for how long?”
“I know, I know,” Tinseng whined, “but I didn’t think she’d stick up for me so much! I’m not actually a kid.”
“Doesn’t matter, does it? When it’s our siblings, there’s really nothing we wouldn’t do.”
“You’re right as always,” Tinseng said easily, enjoying the cadence of their conversation too much to disturb it with his darker thoughts. “But you seem to have taken it all in stride. Aren’t you a little impressed with all my spy craft?” He waggled his eyebrows in search of the praise Chiboon had always lavished on him in their younger days. Now, Chiboon just laughed.
“Asking for compliments like that, you’re really shameless, Tinseng. But I am impressed you’re running into danger so brazenly. Aren’t you scared?”
“Should I be?” Tinseng lingered on a full-page sketch of the ocean viewed from the round window of their suite. On the opposite page, Chiboon had made notes for an article on how to make the most of downtime on a cruise. Tinseng could barely remember any of the activities Chiboon had written down. “I suppose it’s just a matter of perspective.”
“You’re like your namesake. Saving those in distress, playing clever tricks, overcoming whatever the world throws at you. You even have a pretty maiden pining for you.” Chiboon’s gaze sliced over to Jinzhao before sliding back.
“Yes, he is very pretty, isn’t he?”
“I hope he’ll pose for me when we’re home. Help me convince him, won’t you?”
“Oh, I’d love to help you in that goal, my friend.” Tinseng grinned with mischief. “He’ll hate it. It’ll be great.”
“I knew I could count on you.”
Chiboon took the journal back. “Oh, and of course you have the nefarious villain to face,” he said. “And a showdown to attend. Then, all the story needs is an ending.”
“Hmm, you’re right. What kind of end would you give me, Chiboon?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Chiboon poured Tinseng more wine. “Anything could still happen, couldn’t it?”
“Come on,” Tinseng wheedled, pouring for Chiboon in turn. “You’re a writer, you must have some idea.”
“Well . . . if you’re twisting my arm . . .” Chiboon brought the glass to his lips and smiled to himself. “I like when the villain gets what he deserves.”
“On that,” Tinseng said, raising his glass in a toast, “we agree.”
“Yukying and Yingtung are out renting the car,” Cheuk-Kwan said without preamble the next morning, waking Tinseng with a ruthlessness Tinseng remembered from their school days.
“Great,” Tinseng said. After consulting a map the previous night, they found that the address Marissa Grodescu provided led to a town about an hour and a half outside Paris. The plan was for Tinseng to scout the location with a touring car this morning to learn any peculiarities about the drive and find a place to hide the car. Then, later that night, he’d take a different car provided by Jules, one locals would drive and that wouldn’t be out of place if seen on the road late at night. If he’d had time, he would have gotten fake plates. As it was, he’d have to risk it by taking them off entirely and hoping they weren’t pulled over.
While Tinseng worked through his contingencies, Cheuk-Kwan said, “Sha—fuck. Mei Jinzhao, I’m checking your wounds again. Let’s go.” He led Jinzhao to the bathroom, then turned to point at the trailing Tinseng. “Not you.”
“Why!”
“You’ll distract the patient.”
“Are you sure I won’t distract you?”
“I’m very sure of exactly who you’ll distract, and how,” Cheuk-Kwan muttered darkly. Tinseng let them go. Jinzhao would be fine. Cheuk-Kwan was even a half-decent doctor. There was no reason to be nervous. He looked around the room for distractions. Chiboon was asleep in a lump of blankets on the couch but Tinseng decided to be generous and let his friend sleep. He paced around the room a few times, then gave it up for a bad job and went to listen beside the bathroom door.
“The ribs are the most concerning. You really need a hospital. And if you don’t rest your eye, there will be permanent damage. No straining it. That means no squinting at maps in the dark or reading files all day while Tinseng is gone. What, you don’t think I can see what you’re thinking? You’re as predictable as him. I’m telling you: a full day of rest. Do you want to go blind?”
“At least I would be spared certain sights,” Jinzhao replied. The way Cheuk-Kwan spluttered, Tinseng imagined Jinzhao was looking directly at Cheuk-Kwan’s face when he said it. Tinseng nearly burst trying to contain his laughter, but his mirth curdled to acid as Cheuk-Kwan hissed, “You’re really meant for him, you know. The both of you acting so superior. You think Tinseng isn’t out there pacing holes in the carpet over you? You should have seen him yesterday. You think he wants you straining your eye just so you can feel useful? You think that’d be fun for him, watching you be so selfish?”
This wasn’t funny anymore, Tinseng decided, and opened the door.
“How’s the patient?” he asked.
“A stubborn bastard,” Cheuk-Kwan said.
“Such a glowing review! Jinzhao, how are you feeling? How are your wrists? Are you going to have handsome scars?” He examined each one.
“They will heal well, thanks to your siblings,” Jinzhao said. Cheuk-Kwan huffed as he put away his tools.
“Good, good,” Tinseng said. “Up for our evening drive?”
“Mm.”
“What?” Cheuk-Kwan looked between them. “You’re not seriously bringing him?”
