The Shaman's Secret Read Online Free PDF

bed.
    â€œMiss Salter, Professor Salter, please listen to me. I am a changed man. Do you see those carts over there?” He pointed to the line of drays moving toward us.
    â€œGet on with it, man,” Aunt Hilda said impatiently.
    â€œThey are coming to take these Chinamen. These bonded laborers. I am setting them free. I have given them each fifty dollars.”
    Waldo whistled sarcastically. “Fifty dollars.”
    â€œYes, you are right. I will make it a hundred. They will be going to a hostel right here in San Francisco, Chinatown.”
    He seemed to be speaking at least some portion of the truth, for as he spoke the Chinese were herded out of the shed by the whip-toting overseer. A straggling lineof them moved toward the horses and carts. They’d had their chains removed. Mr. Baker called to the overseer and each man was given a leather pouch. I saw one open his, and saw the glint of silver inside. Most of them were silent. But the small boy was whooping and hanging on to his father’s hand.
    We watched silently as the coolies clambered aboard the carts. They seemed bewildered, mostly mute and resigned to this new twist in their fate. One boy, who’d had his leg irons removed, had a wild look in his eye. He was sixteen or seventeen, fit, less emaciated than most of the others. He clutched the pouch as if he would never be parted from it, and hung over the edge of the cart. I guessed he would take the first opportunity to run, and would melt into the city of San Francisco. Never to be seen again.
    â€œIs this a trick, Mr. Baker?” Waldo asked. “How do you expect us to believe you will free these men? You could be just sending them to another prison.”
    â€œTrust me.”
    â€œYou? Why should we? You’re the most slippery creature I’ve ever met. Aside from your brother, that is.”
    â€œTrue.” Cyril was sweating again; the handkerchief moved to dab at his lip. “Give me one chance. Just one chance. I’ve changed and I want to tell you my story.”
    â€œI think we should give him a chance,” I murmured. “He has set these people free.”
    My father spoke, his voice uncertain. “I agree with my daughter. After all, this man saved Kit’s life.”
    The drays and carts were driving off now in a flurry of dust. Dozens of those skinny arms hung over the sides of the carts. I turned away; there were so many unfair things in the world. I was so helpless. This man beside me, this Mr. Baker, had done so much to make the world a worse place. I don’t know if I will be able to do much, when I am older and able to take my place in society, but I do hope that
I
don’t increase the sum of human misery.
    Abruptly Cyril Baker’s mood changed. He wasn’t listening any more. His eyes darted around.
    â€œWhere is Mr. Chen?” he asked.
    â€œWho?”
    â€œMy overseer. The man with the whip.”
    â€œHe has gone,” Aunt Hilda said. “I saw him leave in that.” She pointed to a cart that was going in the opposite direction to the line of dray horses. It was moving off at a fine clip. As we watched, it curved round a bend in the road and disappeared.
    â€œDisaster!” Cyril exploded. “Quick. We have no time to lose.”
    â€œWhy?” Aunt Hilda asked. “What’s wrong?”
    â€œNo time. Hurry.” As we watched, Cyril called for his carriage and bundled in, urging us in after him. Waldo protested, but I got in and the others followed me. Bakerhad something auburn-haired in his hands, which he put on his head. It was a wig, a silky, long-haired wig.
    As the driver cracked his whip and the horses raced off, Cyril Baker transformed before our eyes. He peeled off the black mustache. Gone was the pale-skinned Spaniard. In his place was a ginger man, an Irishman perhaps.
    Cyril leaned out of the carriage and shouted at his driver. “Faster!” he yelled. “Not the normal