Driving the Last Spike Ch. 02

Edited by Penn Lady

This is a copyrighted work of fiction. All rights reserved.

*

Owen Connolly was a big man. His back was broad and his chest barreled out. His arms were heavily muscled, his legs thick and stout. He towered over not only the Chinese workers, but his fellow Irish as well. With his perpetual scowl, foul humor, and propensity for violence, he also intimidated both in equal measure.

His dark, unkempt hair fell over his equally dark eyes, never quite enough to hide them or their seething depths. His face may have been handsome at one time, but his temperament had hardened the lines of his face and aged him past his thirty-odd years.

For all his ill-will, he seemed to spread it in equal portions across the workers. It was never specifically focused on either his countrymen or the foreigners brought in as reminders that they were expendable. Owen Connolly thrashed and cursed his away through both groups with equal disregard, focusing on whatever poor soul happened to have the misfortune of crossing him that most particular day.

Except for Qiang. For reasons he could not decipher, Qiang had unaccountably become a focus for Owen's frequent rages. He would go out of his way to antagonize Qiang and when Qiang failed to rise to the bait, he would vent his ire on him all the same.

"I don't know that I can manage much more of that barbarian," Qiang seethed to Fai after yet another dust up.

Fai nodded in sympathy. "He's a vexation, that's for certain. I would have thought he'd grow bored after a while and move on. But he seems fixated on you."

Qiang's scowl was as dark as any Owen wore. "Why do they even keep him around with all the trouble he causes?"

"He does half again the work of any of us and twice the work of any of the other Irish. I can understand why they wouldn't want to lose that kind of workhorse. It's not them that has to put up with his temper makes it even easier."

"If he's not careful, in time he'll wear thin on them as well."

"That will be a hard and sorry day for him. Sadly, I doubt anyone else will care."

The final straw came after a long day of driving spikes. In any labor Qiang and Fai shared, Qiang insisted Fai take the easier job. There weren't any truly easy jobs, but Qiang arranged what there was as best he could in Fai's favor. Any time Fai attempted to argue, he would somehow lose track of his thoughts.

Though Qiang was rarely as tired as the men around him, there were times the days labors took their toll on him as well. A long, hot day spent swinging a sledge hammer in the piercing sun was one of them. After work broke for the evening, Qiang went to gather water from a communal cistern. He saw Owen stomping over, tension etched into his muscles and flesh, no doubt to demand first access to the water.

Normally, Qiang would step aside. This day he was tired, thirsty, and in a bad mood of his own. He carefully braced himself while filling his container. When Owen slammed into him, Qiang didn't move, not so much as a step. Qiang heard Owen's breath escape with the force of the impact and smiled. A smile that quickly fled as Owen punched Qiang for all he was worth in the shoulder. Qiang dropped the water container and rounded on Owen, set to finally teach this man some much-needed manners. Qiang was momentarily surprised by the look on the man's face. He would have expected uncertainty, shock, even rage. The look he saw was glee, equal parts child-like and manic. Though surprising, it wasn't enough to quell his anger. Qiang curled his hands into fists and prepared himself for a right proper row as Owen did the same.

Then Owen was seized and pulled back as another man pushed himself between them. He was a bit shorter than Owen, though of a good height himself. His chestnut hair was sweat soaked and clung to his face. His blue eyes looked between Qiang and Owen before he turned and pushed Owen back.

"What are you thinking, you great big lummox?" he snapped. "Leave the poor China-man alone. He's never done nothing by you." When Owen continued to glare at Qiang the man pushed him for emphasis. "Go on, get you gone. Now." Reluctantly, Owen turned and walked away.

The strange man turned to Qiang. Qiang had seen him among the Irish workers, but couldn't immediately place who he was. Not one of the foremen, that much he knew. The man looked apologetic, then frustrated as he started to say something. He closed his mouth before any words came out. He exaggeratedly pointed to Qiang then pointed to the ground before turning to find a translator.

*******************************

"You didn't understand English by that point?" Chang asked.

"I did. I also understood the advantage of others not knowing that."

"Ah, I see." Chang smiled.

******************************

The young man returned, translator in tow. The translator was a Chinese man of Qiang's acquaintance. While he didn't know the man well, he was impressed with the professionalism of his translation services. He was usually quite accurate about what was being said and relayed it impassively, resisting the temptation to add his own coloring on what was being said or who was saying it.

"Look, I'm sorry for Owen there. I know he's blusterous and quarrelsome and been nothing but a horse's ass to you for months now. And I wish I could say I knew why. But Owen's always been a bit odd. Not that it's any kind of excuse, I know."

Qiang paid close attention to both what the man and translator had said. While the translator had said "odd", the man had said "queer." Though English wasn't tonal as Chinese was, nuance was still very important. The verbal shading the man had given "queer" seemed to imply some meaning past merely "odd" and that stood out to Qiang.

He turned to the translator. "Odd?" he repeated with a gesture to the other speaker.

Dutifully, the translator turned and repeated, "Queer?"

The man looked about, then moved in close. "You repeat this to him at your own expense. He doesn't cotton much to reminders of the past. But his mother was a fairy doctor back in Ireland..."

The translator paused at "fairy doctor" having never heard the term nor having a translation on hand. The man sighed and looked down a moment, thinking.

"His mother was something of a healer," he said when he looked back up. "I suppose some would have called her a witch, though she enjoyed a good reputation to my understanding. She gave out poultices and salves for healing, read cards, and gave advice based on what the fairies said. I'm told she was a good woman, caring more for people's need than what she could get from them. So, young Owen was said to maybe have inherited some of all that from his mother, that his queerness came from the fairies. I know he was somber as a child and down right queer his whole life."

"What became of his mother?" Qiang asked.

The man's blue eyes became very sad. "Died in the famine, like so many others."

Qiang cocked his head. "Famine?"

The man shook his head. "That's all history now. Water under the bridge, as they say." He paused a moment, lost in thought. Then he caught himself. "So's anyway, I'm sorry he's got such burr for you. I'll try to keep him in line. He listens to me, sometimes. At least more than the others." He turned to leave and Qiang caught his arm. He looked back, confused.

"What is it you're called?" he asked through the translator.

He smiled. "Fionn MacDermott."

***************************

"So, had Owen Connolly inherited his mother's talents?" Chang asked.

"That was my first thought, certainly."

"Buy why would he care that you were a dragon?" Sebastian asked.

Qiang shifted his position slightly, gathering his thoughts, and Mingzhu adjusted her position in response. "I thought it might have arisen from the politics of the time. You see, it was originally mostly the Irish who worked the railroad. But it was long, hard work filled with drudgery and many of them became soured on it. So the railroad bosses brought in Chinese workers to illustrate that the Irish were replaceable. The Irish didn't take well to this."

"But it's hardly the Chinese workers' fault," Dakota protested. "They were just looking for work like everybody else."

"That's not how the Irish saw it. Nor do I expect that that was how they were meant to."

Dakota shook her head in confusion. "I don't understand."

"When you have two factions of your workforce pitted against each other it's harder for either of them to notice just how deplorable the working conditions are. And I assure you, deplorable is an understatement." Qiang tried without success to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Mingzhu reached up and tenderly stroked his jaw. Briefly he leaned his head against her hand, then continued his story.

"However, my thoughts on Owen's particular dislike of me were that he viewed my presence as one more foreign intrusion, albeit of a spiritual nature."

"Um, wasn't all of that native lands?" Dakota interjected. "Wasn't everybody there foreign?"

Qiang dipped his head in acknowledgment. "Exactly right, we all were. I must confess to being somewhat willfully tunnel-visioned on that fact. I was there for a specific reason, mainly the protection of Fai, and more broadly the other workers. While I was aware of the irony, I did my best to ignore it. And we actually didn't have much interaction with the tribes where we were in the mountains. The Union Line had much more of an issue." Qiang paused again, perhaps in recrimination, perhaps just in reflection. It struck Chang as something of both.

"What of Owen Connolly?" Chang gently asked.

"Yes," Qiang said, back again in the present. "Well, the first thing that struck me was that if he had received his mother's gifts, and even if he hadn't, his mother died of starvation. She knew death was coming in advance. If she had sway with spiritual forces, it seemed to me she would arrange guardians for her son. My first course of action would be to see if these guardians were still in attendance, even if it that meant looking more closely at what the work had wrought in the spirit world of the area..."

******************************************

On work details, Qiang made a point of watching Owen Connolly. Not just the work he did, though the amount he put out was impressive. It did strike Qiang how Owen did his work. He threw his entire being into it. He worked in a daze, seemingly oblivious to anything around him, only doing the work he was assigned. Qiang had to marvel that he didn't drive himself to exhaustion. Qiang made a special point, however, of watching the spirit world around Owen. Eventually, he was rewarded for his efforts.

One day a small spirit shadowed Owen as he worked. At first, Qiang nearly missed the little creature. Staying focused on the work in the physical world while simultaneously watching the spirit world was difficult. Then he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. As he studied the disturbance he could discern what looked like a small man, though his facial features weren't quite human. They were exaggerated, the eyes were slightly too big and expressive. The nose was too perfect a cute button. His ears were extravagantly pointed, almost animal like, and his mouth dominated the last third of his face in an abundant grin. He was dressed in green garments and a red cap. Barely two feet high, he capered about Owen, waving about twig like limbs trying to get his attention. For a moment, Owen did look over and a smile briefly touched his lips. Then he was back to work and the little man settled himself to the side and watched. Qiang later came to know him as a grig.

************************************

"As in 'merry as a grig'?" Dakota asked.

Qiang nodded, smiling slightly. "Exactly that. And he was quite merry. Annoyingly so after awhile."

Sebastian raised is claw. "What's a grig?"

"I think it's a type of fairy," Dakota ventured.

Qiang nodded again. "That's essentially correct."

"A fairy?" Sebastian asked, skepticism in his voice.

"Asks the dragon," responded Qiang.

"Point taken. So fairies are real," Sebastian said, trying to assimilate this into his view of the world.

"Oh, yes," Qiang confirmed. "Very real. And potentially very dangerous. So be careful using the word, 'fairy'. Some don't mind it but some find it deeply offensive. Sidhe is fairly well accepted, even by the non-Irish, as is Fae. There are also dozens of euphemisms."

"Shee?" repeated Sebastian.

"Close enough," Qiang shrugged.

"OK, what doesn't exist?" Sebastian asked.

"Smurfs," Qiang answered.

"Well, that's good to know. But that leaves a whole lot of ground uncovered." Then after a pause Sebastian muttered, "And now that stupid song is stuck in my head."

Qiang ignored the last comment. "Yes it does. Life, if you haven't realized it, is one long on-going education. So I suggest you mind Chang well and learn what you can while still under the safety of your fledgling period."

Chang dipped his head in acknowledgment, a small smile playing on his snout.

"Why is 'fairy' not acceptable?" Dakota asked. "Is it a PC sort of thing?"

Unexpectedly, Qiang's laughter echoed through his lair. "I'm sorry," he said, still snickering. "I had never considered it that way. I would say that human politics don't matter to the Fae. But amongst themselves, and in the dealings they have with humans and others, they can be downright pernicious in the application oftheir politics. So, I suppose it could be viewed that way. The term 'fairy' has become so watered down and in some ways maligned that some don't care for its use. Without venturing too far into this now, use caution in any dealings you have with the Fae. Some are trustworthy, some aren't and the differences aren't always immediately discernible. Now the Fae I was dealing with here was not a creature of politics, one way or the other..."

******************************

Qiang attempted several times over the next few days to speak with the grig only to find the creature would run from him. Careful not to attract Owen's attention, his communication attempts only took place in the spirit world. Qiang was certain that if Owen realized what Qiang was up to, and scaring the little grig in the process no matter how unintentionally, he would not be reasonable about it. This limited how often he could try. Eventually, Qiang decided bribery might work best.

He considered the limited sweets available in the food stores of the Chinese, but thought they might be too exotic for the grig. He then made inquires through the translator of the Irish and American food stores, thinking this might be closer to the grig's normal diet. Taking a substantial amount of his pay, he set out amongst the other workers for something that might work. He settled on chocolate, bought at a dear price from one of the foremen. It was a delicacy the grig might be familiar with, and an extravagance that would hopefully pique his attention past what fears he had.

That night, after the work broke, dinner was eaten, and the worker's time came closest to being their own, Qiang quietly separated himself from the others and crossed over. He located the little spirit and got as close as he dared. The spirit still bolted up a tree. Instead of leaving, Qiang set himself against the tree and unwrapped the chocolate. He broke a small piece off and nibbled on it.

"My,"he said to no one in particular. "This is quite good." He took another small bite. "Actually, I don't think I've ever had anything this good before." The last part was exaggeration, though he was surprised by how much he did like the sweet.

Above his head he heard leaves rustle and smiled. Soon, he sensed the grig draw closer. He paused, still out of Qiang's arm reach but close enough to smell the chocolate. Qiang heard the small sniffs as the air was tested.

"That does smell good," a tinkling voice said above him. "What is it?"

"Chocolate," Qiang answered.

More rustling as he drew closer. "Really? I've heard tell of it but haven't had any." His tone spoke to longing.

"I assure you it's quite tasty." He broke a piece off and held it above his head without looking up. "If you'd like to try it..." Qiang didn't even finish his offer before it was snatched out of his hand with a burst of leaves rustling. Qiang's smile grew broader as the grig retreated with his treat. He heard the sounds of eating.

"Well?" he asked, looking straight ahead.

The grig again drew closer. "That was as good as you said. There wouldn't happen to be more, would there?"

Qiang regarded the blocks in his hand. "There is. But I find it odd sharing hospitality with those whose name I don't even know." He broke another small piece and held it up. Again it was snatched from his hand.

"Merryweather," the tinkling voice said between mouthfuls of chocolate.

Qiang nodded and turned toward the tree. "I am Qiang." He took bite of his piece and offered another up the tree. This time he saw the grig come down for it. He cocked his head and studied Qiang before taking the chocolate. He sat down on the branch he was crouching on rather than run back up the tree. As Merryweather the grig munched contentedly on his chocolate, Qiang heard a voice behind him.

"Found his weakness, have you?"

Immediately, Qiang dropped the chocolate he was holding, grabbed Merryweather and pulled him close to his chest. Qiang turned his body away from the voice, effectively shielding the grig as he turned his head.

As Qiang first saw him, the speaker was taking a surprised step back. The man was tall, elegant, and human seeming. But as like the grig, his features were slightly inhuman. The cast of his face was delicate, his feature impossibly beautiful. His eyes gracefully slanted and were an unearthly shade of green. His ears were also pointed, but not to the exaggerated extend Merryweather's were. His skin tone was pale, his hair platinum blonde and somehow both fine and luxuriant. His clothes were elegant, and appeared to be brocade and velvet, in colors of green and gold. Soft leather boots covered his feet. He regarded Qiang with uncertainty and suspicion, eying where Qiang held the grig away.

A few tense moments passed before Merryweather squirmed enough in Qiang's grip to get a view of the stranger.

"Oh, you don't have to worry abouthim," he said as he squirmed out of Qiang's grasp. "He's just another stuffed-shirt fancy-pants like you." He leaped into the tree. Looking down, he noticed the chocolate spread out on the ground. "Oh," he said sadly. "You dropped the chocolate."

Qiang looked from Merryweather to the new-comer, then gathered up the fallen treat. Dusting it off he observed, "None the worse for wear. Or should I assume you don't want any more?"

The grig fiercely shook his head, nearly dislodging his hat, and held out is hand. "No, no. More please, if you don't mind."

Qiang smiled and handed Merryweather an entire block of the treat instead of breaking a piece off. The grig smiled nearly broad enough to split his face. The block almost filled both his hands and he settled on his branch to set about work on the chocolate. Qiang turned to face the stranger.

"So, is stuffed-shirt fancy-pants an official title?" he asked.

"Is it for you?" he asked back, his voice lilting and amused.

Qiang cast a glance to the tree branch where Merryweather was making messy inroads into his piece of chocolate.

"I suppose it depends on whom you ask."

**************************************************

"Seriously?" Sebastian asked. "If I called you a stuffed-shirt fancy-pants you'd bite my head off."

Qiang nodded. "Not literally, of course. But, yes, I would not tolerate that from you. And in case you're curious, here's why." Qiang settled among the pillows, getting comfortable for his dissertation. "You are not a grig. You are a fledgling dragon. And while that does buy you certain leeway, I would argue that you don't get the entire leeway of a fledgling."