Chapter 43: A New Palace

I LIKED THE LAKE DISTRICT and thought about going up to see what had changed in 2,000 years, but I guess you’d say in today’s jargon, it was an ugly divorce. I wasn’t sure I wanted to risk a confrontation. Besides, Peninnah and I received a royal summons to have tea with the other Queen. I guess that wasn’t so terribly unusual. We were billionaires and were trotting around the world looking for places to put our money. We’d also made a substantial donation to a local medical foundation that provided services to the poor and underprivileged. I wondered what Her Majesty had in mind.

I found out immediately. We were ushered into a room lined with the Queen’s staff and a few notables we should have known. We were presented to the Queen and bowed appropriately. Then a herald of some sort stepped forward with a scroll and read off a list of my charitable contributions around the world as if he were reading the charges in a criminal case.

“Sir Bob, we recognize your contribution to the health and well-being of citizens of the world by investing you as an Honorary Knight Commander in the Order of the British Empire,” said the queen.

I bowed my head—low—and she put a nice necklace around my neck. I wondered how many demons had ever been knighted in the British Empire, and then decided it was probably best not to know.

After a brief reception, during which everyone who had been in the room stopped by to congratulate me and shake my hand, we were conducted into a small chamber where a table had been set with tea. We remained standing until the queen arrived and was seated, then joined her.

“You’ve been very busy, Bob,” she said. “A massive resort community in Japan. The redevelopment of entire neighborhoods in India. The support of medical and social institutions around the world. And, of course, your very secretive operations to help end child and sex trafficking.”

I was a little taken aback by that and glanced at Peninnah, whose eyes had also popped open. We had kept our work in that arena a secret, following reports of child trafficking, abductions, and missing teens, then moving in quietly to release the children to authorities—usually after there were no traffickers remaining alive in that cell to harm them. I suppose I shouldn’t have been too surprised to find the monarch of the British Empire knew about what we had done—or rather what my priestesses had done. I was not about to volunteer any information, though.

“What I am most interested in, though, is your ability to get things built quickly. And so, I am wondering if you would be interested in a commission here in Britain.”

“How may we serve your majesty?” I asked. I thought it was a bit unusual for the queen to get involved in a commercial development project, but I was a builder and architect. I was interested.

“I’d like you to build me a new temple ... I mean palace, of course. I’m tired of these musty old stones.”

“Surely you have many homes to choose from,” I said.

“Oh, yes. We are rich in British heritage. There isn’t a one of my homes that isn’t twice my age or more.”

“You do seem to be blessed with longevity.”

“Would you die and leave your kingdom to my heirs?” she laughed. “Nor would I. Perhaps when Will is fifty or so, he’ll be ready to usurp the throne from his father. But you can imagine that I am a bit eager to have my new home built so that I can enjoy it for a while.”

“Certainly, your majesty. Uh ... such a project could be costly,” I suggested.

“Not to worry. I started a Go Fund Me and have collected enough to cover the expenses,” she said. I nodded. Really? “I’ve had my surveyor locate a bit of crown property that could be developed. But I don’t want another stone edifice. If I never see another block of limestone in my life, it will be too soon.”

“So, you want a modern palace?”

“Yes. Lots of steel and glass, but it can’t look like an office high rise. It still needs to look like a queen’s palace.”

I nodded and began sketching things out on a napkin. Peninnah gave me a horrified look and I realized I was drawing on a linen napkin with the royal arms embroidered in one corner. Ah, well. I had too many ideas brimming forth to stop.

“Does your majesty prefer straight lines or futuristic curves?” I asked.

“I don’t mind round elements in regard to the floor plan, like the towers, but the vertical lines should be straight—even if not perfectly vertical. I can’t help but think Gaudí had a vision problem that caused everything he created to bulge like it had just overeaten. As much as I admire their genius, I would not like to live in a painting by Dali, either.”

I had to agree about the disturbing image. We left the queen with several sketches, including her own drawings on a royal napkin.

I hoped, frankly, that she lived as long as I did.

The following days were very busy as I brought in help and negotiated with various unions and contractors. The property just northwest of London was a lovely bit of real estate and we began by constructing a wall around the square mile, then moving inside to construct a second wall that would define the palace grounds. It was a slightly smaller scale of what I had built for the Khaan. I put into practice all I knew about feng shui and much of what was learned in building the palace at Xanadu. While it was a completely modern structure, it leaned more on the design of Asian palaces than European. In a way, it looked more like what I imagined a space station would look like.

The queen approved the designs and we were able to turn the construction over to our crews and continue our world tour, popping back to England nearly every month to oversee the project and have tea with the queen. I believe the project was keeping her young as she didn’t seem to age a day. She still looked only ninety.

People say ‘human traffickers,’ as if it is a respected vocation. Slavers, I say. I’ve never liked them and never will. When the slaves are women and children, I like them even less. I know that’s chauvinistic of me. Liz has told me so frequently. It shouldn’t take a woman or child in danger to make me against slavery. And it doesn’t, really. It just gets my goat when it is.

During the unCivil War, San Francisco was a hub of human trafficking. It was the port of entry for thousands of Chinese who came to work the mines and lay tracks for the railroad. Their situation was slavery in all but name. They came willingly, thinking they would earn money to bring their families to America. Most never saw their families again.

Other Chinese were imported to take advantage of the great opportunities in America and found themselves working on their backs in Chinese brothels. Most, but not all, of those were women. American men, I discovered, would fuck anything that was weaker than they were. That was the situation when I found Chin Li hiding in my wagon after a delivery to the Grand Hotel. Just for her to be this far away from Chinatown was a danger to her. My guards, however, had spotted her and hidden her under the seat of my wagon.

Ali, my bodyguard, had been a slave in an African empire when I found her and set her free. From that moment on, she refused to leave my side and joined the harem in the infinity room. She was devoted to the martial arts and founded a cadre of women who would act as my bodyguards when needed. That had been five hundred years ago, but her memories of being a slave were still fresh.

I drove out of San Francisco toward our pier south of the town. I’d lost control of Goat Island during the war, when the army thought they’d build a fort there. It hadn’t materialized ten years later, so I still made use of the dock as a waypoint when crossing the bay with my barge and wagon. As soon as we were on the water, I called the stowaway out to introduce myself.

Pardon my continued chauvinism. She was a living doll! No, I don’t mean that literally. I mean she was just adorable. Cute as a button. Cute as a bug’s ear. All those other exclamations of cuteness. I estimated she was barely fourteen, though my experience in judging the age of Chinese women was notably poor. This girl or woman triggered something in me that was far different than the horny goat was used to. I wanted to wrap her in a cocoon of silk and protect her from damage. I wanted to feed her and teach her. I wanted all the things that Nimia told me later a father would want for his little girl. Oh, my!

It turned out that she was not a little girl. She was twenty-two years old. Her life had been hell and she had run away from a brothel where she’d been kept since arriving in America. There were some questions regarding the legality of her arrival, as well. We found that despite all the regulations trying to bar the Chinese from immigrating to America, there were clandestine operations transporting people from China to San Francisco that were simply ignored by the authorities.

The advent of steam ships had cut the crossing time from the three to four months it had been when I sailed the routes, to a mere four to six weeks. These ships transported goods to and from China. The Chinese in San Francisco still subsisted on a diet that was mostly rice and most of the rice was imported from China. There were also passenger liners that crossed the Pacific and a number of Navy vessels that patrolled the shores. But through that traffic, there were still pirates and slavers who collected passengers—often offering legitimate passage for a large fee—and then stripped them of their wealth at sea and placed them in a network of mines, fields, and brothels to ‘work off their passage.’

Li had been one who took legitimate passage and discovered she had signed on to a brothel. While the whites in San Francisco rioted to get rid of the Chinese, they were also quick to patronize the brothels and gambling establishments—and laundries—run by the Chinese. The constant attacks on Chinese homes, businesses, and individuals in the street gave rise to protection gangs that patrolled with the dual purpose of protecting the businesses and keeping their property (slaves) at home.

This all sat poorly with me and I resolved to do something about it.

Maureen tried to prevent me from taking action. Coming from Ireland, she’d seen the same level of discrimination against the Irish, serving in a brothel herself. But she had no sympathy for the Chinese in the same situation. Racism knows no bounds of decency. She figured that she survived it, they could, too. Of course, Maureen was sapping the souls of her clients, too.

It seemed to me that the best course would be what I had always done: Hide at sea and capture the slavers. The problem was that I knew how to sail. I knew nothing about piloting a steamship, nor did I have one.