Scene 1. Delivery
The ether bottle dropped.
Onto Doctor Jang's bag. Tok. On the broken glass inside, the bottle rolled once and stopped. Something on the bottle's surface transferred to Doctor Jang's hand. Something sticky. Dark red. A mix of dried and wet.
Doctor Jang's hand stopped.
He looked up. Above the manhole, Lee Kang was looking down. Into the darkness of the drain. Lee Kang's face was backlit by the firelight beyond the manhole, so it was a shadow. Inside the shadow, only two points of amber burned.
Doctor Jang's gaze went to the corner of Lee Kang's mouth.
Something was smeared at the corner of his mouth. Something not yet dried. Dark red. Glistening on the lips. Wedged between the teeth. Protruding from between the teeth.
Doctor Jang's hand gripped the ether bottle. The gripping hand trembled. The blood on the bottle slipped between his fingers.
"What's left is the residence and the herbalist."
Lee Kang said. From above. Looking down. His voice was flat. Like someone back from the market reciting the rest of the shopping list.
"Guard this."
Doctor Jang did not answer.
Doctor Jang's eyes would not leave the corner of Lee Kang's mouth. The corner had lifted, faintly. Not a smile. The remains of a smile. The trace of satisfaction a beast leaves behind, returning from the hunt.
"I'll take Yeonhwa with me."
Lee Kang raised himself from the manhole's edge. Yeonhwa was bound to his back. Her fingers hung swaying before his chest.
His feet moved away from the manhole.
Doctor Jang looked up from below. The manhole opening lay above like a round patch of sky. Lee Kang's shadow crossed over the opening and vanished.
Doctor Jang's hand put the ether bottle into the bag.
As he did, the blood on his hand bled into the bag's lining. His mouth opened, then closed. Opened, then closed.
No sound came out.
Scene 2. The Heart
The drain widened.
Not the cramped sewer of the slum. The closer it ran to the center of Gyeongseong, the wider the drain grew. The ceiling rose. The brick changed. Not the slum's cracked cement but neatly laid red brick. The sewer system the Empire had built.
Lee Kang's bare feet walked, treading water. The water grew clean. The rancid smell thinned. In its place came the smell of lime. The smell of brick and concrete.
An iron ladder was set into the drain wall. A ladder leading up. At its top, a manhole cover.
Lee Kang took the ladder. Climbed. Pushed the cover. Heavy. Cast iron. His shoulder shoved it up. The burn scraped. He ignored it.
The cover opened.
Light came down from above. Not orange. White. Electric. His eyes narrowed. Eyes that had grown accustomed only to the slum's darkness and fire were stabbed by the white light.
A boiler room.
Pipes ran along the ceiling. A coal boiler hummed in a corner. Warm. Not the cold night wind of the slum. Heated air. When Lee Kang's skin met that air, the burns and the lacerations both smarted at once. The sensation of something warm touching wounds.
He ignored it.
He opened the boiler room door. A corridor.
Marble.
The floor was marble. Smooth stone veined in white and gray. His bare feet met the marble. Cold. Bloody footprints stamped from his soles. One step. Two. Red footprints printed across the white marble like a seal.
Doors stood on both sides of the corridor. Wooden doors. Polished wood. Framed pictures hung on the walls. A chandelier hung from the corridor ceiling. Glass pieces sparkled in the electric light.
Lee Kang's blood dripped onto the marble. Tok. Blood running from his side. Blood running from his left arm. Red drops spread into circles on the white floor.
Footsteps came from the end of the corridor.
Military boots. Two pairs. His eyes went to the end of the corridor. Two uniforms rounded the corner. Saw Lee Kang. Stopped. His bare body. The blood. Yeonhwa on his back. The bloodstains on the marble.
The uniform's mouth opened.
Before it could, Lee Kang's foot kicked off the marble.
Slippery. The blood-smeared bare foot slid half a beat on the smooth stone. He spent that half beat lowering his body. Sliding and lowered, he reached the uniform's feet. He kicked the first uniform's knee from the side.
The joint bent sideways. In a direction it must not bend. The uniform fell screaming. The scream rang through the corridor.
The second drew a pistol.
Lee Kang's hand snatched the pistol from the falling first uniform's belt. Snatched it and did not fire. He threw the pistol at the second's face. It flew and struck the second's forehead. A blunt sound. The second staggered. Lee Kang's foot stomped the second's chest. To the floor. The sound of a back hitting marble rang out.
His foot came off the second's chest.
The corridor went quiet. Two uniforms lay face-down on the floor.
Lee Kang's blood ran across the marble. The uniforms' blood ran across the marble. The two colors mixed, making a pattern on the white stone.
His nose moved.
A smell came from the left corridor. Pharmaceuticals. Alcohol. Something like ether. His feet turned left.
Scene 3. A Meal
There were three more guards before a door.
In front of a medicine storeroom. Japanese characters were written on the door. Lee Kang could not read them. There was no need. Because the smell was seeping through the gap in the door.
The three saw Lee Kang.
What stood at the end of the bloody footprints they followed. A man with no shirt. A body covered in burns and suture marks and lacerations. A person bound to his back. Dark red glistening at the corner of his mouth.
The first drew his weapon.
The second grabbed a radio.
The third took a defensive stance with his back to the door.
Lee Kang walked.
Did not run. Walked. Stamping bloodstains onto the marble. One step. Two. Three.
The first fired.
Bang.
The bullet grazed Lee Kang's left shoulder. Flesh peeled from the burn. Blood sprayed. His feet did not stop. Four steps. Five.
A second shot cracked.
Grazed his thigh. The trouser tore. Flesh split. A hot line drew itself. His feet did not stop. Six steps. Seven.
He reached them.
His hand took the first uniform's rifle. Gripped the barrel and wrenched it up. The uniform's finger came off the trigger. His forehead caught the uniform's nose. The sound of bone shattering rang inside his skull. The uniform fell backward.
The second was shouting into the radio. Japanese. Lee Kang's ear caught it and did not process it. His hand slapped the radio away. It struck the wall and shattered.
The third stabbed with a bayonet.
Toward Lee Kang's side. The same place. His body did not twist.
The bayonet met his side.
Burrowed in. Shallow. It split the surface of the flesh. The fifth time. A kkh leaked from Lee Kang's mouth. Only sound. The corner of his mouth was lifted.
His hand took the third's throat.
Pulled. The third's throat came before Lee Kang's face.
His mouth opened.
His teeth met the third's neck. He bit. Burrowed in. The sensation of flesh tearing rang up his jaw and into his skull. A vessel burst. Blood pushed into his mouth.
Hot.
He swallowed.
The instant he swallowed, the pain in his side receded. The smarting of his shoulder subsided. The heat in his thigh cooled. With each mouthful of blood passing his throat, the sensation of empty places inside him being filled. The sensation of muscle pulling taut. The sensation of what had been off coming on.
Force entered his jaw. Flesh tore away. He chewed. Swallowed.
The third's body went limp.
He set it on the floor. Not set—dropped.
Blood ran from the corner of his mouth down his jaw to his chest. Fibers of flesh were wedged between his teeth. His tongue groped between them. Did not push them out. Left them.
The second uniform was crawling across the floor. Toward where the radio had shattered. Lee Kang's foot stepped on the second's back. The movement stopped.
A word came from Lee Kang's mouth.
"Opium... tincture."
He murmured.
Through blood-smeared lips.
The medicine storeroom door was before his eyes.
Scene 4. The Mirror
He broke the door.
Kicked it. There was a lock. The lock held. He kicked twice more. On the third, the frame split and the door toppled inward.
Inside was narrow. Shelves wrapped three of the walls. Glass bottles lined in rows. Labels. English and Japanese. His eyes swept the labels.
The opium tincture was inside a safe.
At the bottom of the shelves stood an iron safe. Two locks. His hand gripped the safe's door. Pulled. It would not open. He gripped with both hands. The stitched wound in his left hand split and one thread snapped. He ignored it. Pulled. The metal screamed. The hinges tore free.
The safe door came away in his hands.
Inside were medicine bottles. Three. Brown glass. Labels affixed. O-p-i-u-m T-i-n-c-t-u-r-e. The corner of his mouth lifted.
Beside them, a smaller bottle. A white label. Japanese written on it. He could not read it. But the thing Doctor Jang had said. A catalyst in the form of a digestive aid. The size and shape matched. Shaped like a bottle of digestive medicine.
His hand took the bottles. Three opium tinctures. One catalyst.
He slipped them against his chest. Between his bare chest and Yeonhwa's body. Along with the ether. The glass bottles struck each other with a sound. Clink.
Lee Kang turned.
There was a mirror on the wall.
On the wall of the medicine storeroom. A mirror hung above a washbasin. Not large. Large enough to show the upper body. The mirror entered Lee Kang's field of vision.
Inside the mirror, a thing stood.
Not a person.
No shirt on the upper body. Blood covered the entire body. His own blood and others' blood, mixed and dried and wetted in turn, layered upon each other. Burn marks. Scars where the sutures had ruptured. Lacerations. Marks where bullets had grazed. And the mouth. The dark red running from the corner of the mouth to the jaw. What was wedged between the teeth. Fibers of flesh.
On the back of the thing in the mirror, a girl was bound. Her face was visible over the monster's shoulder. Eyes closed. White. White enough to be transparent.
Lee Kang looked at the mirror.
The mirror looked at Lee Kang.
The corner of his mouth lifted.
"Only the herbalist left now."
He whispered. To the Yeonhwa in the mirror. No—to the Yeonhwa on his back.
A smile.
A tender smile.
The monster in the mirror smiled the same.