by Eric Flint
Captain Lyell sighed. “I will consult with the Americans; I am just the hired help. Excuse me.”
* * *
“To be honest,” said Jim Saluzzo, “I have never liked the USE flag. From a distance it looks like a Confederate battle flag.”
“We have an SoTF flag on board, don’t we?” asked Martina. The flag of the State of Thuringia-Franconia was essentially identical to the flag of the New United States which had preceded it, and very similar to the Stars and Stripes. The principal difference was that in the blue quarter, there were seven white stars in a circle, Betsy Ross style.
“Yes, but it has seven stars instead of eight. Is that going to be a problem?” asked Jim. “I heard somewhere that in China, even numbers were considered lucky and odd ones unlucky.”
“Not always. Seven is odd but lucky. Perhaps not as much as ‘eight,’ but well enough,” said Mike. “The word for seven sounds like the word that means the essence of life. And each lunar phase is seven days.”
“Not exactly…” Jim objected.
“To everyone except the astronomers,” said Mike. “And the stars are in a circle, and the circle is the symbol of heaven.”
“Which fits with the blue background for the sky, and the white stars,” Martina added.
“Okay,” said Eric. “We’ll use the SoTF flag. Perhaps we can sew on a patch in the center with the lesser coat of arms of Sweden on it? I think that’s the part of the flag that Gustav Adolf cares about most.”
“That’s feasible,” said Martina. “I can get scrap sailcloth from the sailmaker, dye it blue to match the blue on the flag, and embroider the yellow tre kronor on it. May take a while, depending on how big you want it.”
“There’s no rush on the patch,” said Eric. “It’s just a sop to the emperor’s ego, and he’s not around. We just need it before the next SEAC ship catches up with us. That probably won’t be until summer of 1636, at the earliest.”
Chapter 20
Year of the Pig, Fourth Month (May 16–June 14, 1635)
On the deck of the Eagle’s Claw
Off Tianwei Point
Zheng Zhilong stood on the deck of Liu Xiang’s flagship, the Eagle’s Claw, sword in hand. He could no longer hear the sounds of battle from the hold below; his Black Guard had plainly prevailed, or Liu Xiang and his men would be seeking even now to recover control of the deck.
Jelani emerged from the main hatch, and Zheng Zhilong hurried over to speak to him. “You have him, Jelani?” Zhilong demanded in a harsh whisper.
“Yes, Admiral,” Jelani responded in kind. “He is unconscious, however. Do you wish to kill him now, or wait until we can revive him?” Two months earlier, Liu Xiang had treacherously murdered one of Zhilong’s brothers, Hu the Tiger, and Hu’s officers, while they were feasting on board Liu’s ship.
Zhilong considered these options for a moment. “Neither. Liu Xiang should be put to the torture, and my brothers should have the opportunity to watch him suffer as we have suffered. Gag him, hood him, and take him back to my flagship. Better hood a few of his crew, too, so it doesn’t appear that we have singled him out.
“Take all of the hooded men below, then separate him out. By the time they are brought back on deck, no one will recall just how many hooded men there were. All prisoners save Liu Xiang may be turned over to the magistrate at Guangzhou for trial and execution as pirates. But I will have personal vengeance on him. Put it about that Liu Xiang, grievously wounded, jumped into the sea and was devoured by sharks.”
Guangzhou (Canton)
Zheng Zhilong and his fleet triumphantly sailed into the port of Guangzhou to report on the battle to the governor of Guangzhou and to deliver the captured pirates to his justice. All of the captives save for the secret one, Liu Xiang himself.
He stopped first at the Zheng family offices in that city, sending word to the governor that he needed to make himself presentable after the battle. In truth, he wanted to check with his brother Zheng Zhiyan, “the Swallow,” to make sure that there were no unpleasant surprises.
“Yan is not here,” he was told. “But he has left word for you.”
The message that Yan’s lieutenant handed him was written on silk in Chinese characters, but some of the characters were phonetic renderings of Dutch words and others were part of a Zheng family code.
Brother Dragon,
You left standing instructions that if any “Americans” came to Macao or Guangzhou, they were to be coaxed to go to Xiamen instead. They arrived off Tiger Island on the twelfth day of the third month, and I visited them shortly thereafter. They declined to join their two ships to your fleet action against Liu Xiang, and seemed very determined to stay here and meet with merchants and officials.
I was well aware that you didn’t want to risk the Americans’ precious gadgets and knowledge falling into the hands of our family’s trade rivals in Guangzhou. With the southwest monsoon making it impossible to send a message to you after you left in pursuit of Liu Xiang, it was clear that I had to act on my own and at once to protect our family’s interest, and hence I thought it justifiable to take extreme measures.
Extreme? Zheng Zhilong didn’t like the sound of that.
You had told the family that the Portuguese feared for their survival after the triple blows of the death of their great protector Xu Guangqi, the Japanese seizure of the Portuguese “Japan Fleet,” and the fall of Manila to the Dutch–Japanese alliance.
Hence, I made sure that the Portuguese knew that the USE ships were near Guangzhou, and, through one of our contacts, I offered them the men and boats for mounting a fireship attack, at a suitable price of course.
Fireships? Against the Americans that Zheng Zhilong had been trying so long to find? If Yan the Swallow had killed them, and was now making excuses for his failure, Zhilong the Dragon would make sure that Yan spent the rest of his miserable life trying to sell Chinese porcelain to the Taiwanese headhunters.
Zheng Zhilong curbed his temper and read on.
The Portuguese were pathetically grateful for the warning and the offer of assistance, not realizing that the assistance was provided to make sure that no actual harm would come to the USE mission.
Better…
Knowing exactly when the attack was coming, I warned the Americans, so they could lift anchor and hurry away unscathed. Moreover, I had agents among the attackers who would have made sure that the fireships went astray, if need be.
I have persuaded the Americans that they would receive a friendlier reception from you in Xiamen, and I am sailing with them, having made provisions to send you this message. For the sake of security, I encased it in a ball of wax, and instructed my messenger to swallow it, to be recovered at our office in the usual way.
For our further benefit, I have made sure that I have witnesses who can attest to the Portuguese instigation of the attack. Perhaps this could be used to blackmail the Portuguese at some point?
I assure you, Brother Dragon, of my assiduous loyalty to you, and I hope I can be of further service to you in the near future.
It appeared that Yan the Swallow had done well. Zheng Zhilong was not one to complain about the taking of risks, at least when those risks paid off.
The same southwest monsoon that had hindered communication earlier would speed Zheng Zhilong back to Xiamen, once he broke free of his social commitments here in Guangzhou. He would tell the governor that much as he would enjoy a long visit, he had to return to his own province to make sure that no splinter of Liu Xiang’s forces had found refuge there. And that no new pirate leader sought to take advantage of Zhilong’s absence.
Soon, he would get his wish and meet the mysterious visitors from Grantville.
En route to Liaoluo Bay
“Jim?”
Jim Saluzzo looked up from his reading. “Yes, dear?”
Martina pointed at her belly. “Feel here.”
Wearing a somewhat goofy expression, he followed orders, then kissed her. “I guess you better sta
rt knitting baby clothes.”
“I guess. Given when I first missed my period, I am figuring that I have until sometime in December.”
“We’ll be safely in some city in China way before then, I’m sure. And their physicians are probably as good or better than anyone in Europe who isn’t trained up-time or in Grantville.”
Martina nodded. “I took a history class in which the professor said that the early modern life expectancy was several years longer in China than in Europe. Fifty percent longer if you were comparing city folk.”
Jim waited to see if Martina had anything more to say, then returned to his reading. But after a few moments, he said, “Martina?”
“Yes?”
“If you’re pregnant already, there’s no need for abstinence, right?”
“Well, aren’t you hot to trot! Are you sure it won’t hurt the baby?”
“Absolutely. The baby is like one of those guys who dresses up in an inflatable sumo wrestler costume and can run into walls without getting injured.”
“That’s an image that will give me nightmares.…”
On the Rode Draak
Anchored in Xiamen Harbor
“Something’s up,” said Mike Song. Something was: An ornate barge was coming their way. It was being poled rather than rowed along, by men dressed in fashions several cuts above the usual harbor folk. And while many watercraft had some kind of hut on deck for shelter, this one had what looked like a small pavilion that would be perfectly in accord with a formal garden. It had a red roof with upturned “flying” eaves. There was a Chinese official of some kind seated beneath this roof, with attendants flanking him.
After their somewhat ignominious departure from Guangzhou, the Rode Draak and the Groen Feniks had hoisted ensigns that Yan the Swallow had brought with him. They indicated that they were sailing under the license of his elder brother, Admiral Zheng Zhilong, and would ensure that they could safely enter any harbor in Fujian Province.
That, however, would not be sufficient to assure that they could trade with the inhabitants of that harbor. First, they were told, they would have to go to Xiamen to be questioned by the admiral. So here they were. Upon their arrival, Yan the Swallow had gone ashore. Fresh water and food had been sent to them shortly thereafter, but they had been told to wait to be contacted. And now, it appeared, the waiting was over.
“We must be receiving a distinguished visitor,” said Captain Lyell. “The admiral, perhaps? You best go down to the waist to meet him.”
The four up-timers, along with Maarten Gerritszoon Vries, Peter Minuit, and Colonel von Siegroth, assembled at the appointed place and were joined there by the ship’s drummer and trumpeter. In due course, a black man, dressed in a military uniform of some kind, climbed up the rope ladder that had been lowered over the side, and came aboard.
Mike’s eyes widened. What was a black man doing in China? he wondered.
Maarten apparently noticed his reaction. “The Portuguese brought slaves from East Africa to Macao. Some of the slaves were freed when they helped the Macanese fight us off in 1622. I guess one of them ended up in Chinese employ. The uniform suggests that this one is an officer.”
The officer introduced himself as Jelani, of the Black Guard of Admiral Zheng Zhilong. Jelani was followed by the great man himself, who, as Lyell surmised, was the official they had spotted earlier. He looked over the greeters and immediately walked up to Peter Minuit. “And you must be the ambassador,” he said in Dutch.
It was an awkward moment.
“Actually, I am the chief merchant of the Swedish East Asia Company,” said Minuit, somewhat stiffly. “This gentleman”—he pointed at Eric—“is the ambassador.”
Eric bowed, “At your pleasure, Admiral. And congratulations on your victory against the pirates.” Eric, too, spoke Dutch. While most of the mission staff had labored to learn Chinese, he and Mike Song studied Dutch and Portuguese. “I am sorry that we were not at liberty to fight alongside you.”
“No matter. My brother Yan expressed his enjoyment of the tour you gave him, and the many wondrous contrivances from Grantville that he was shown. I understand that some of you are actually from that city?”
“I am, and so are these three.” Eric’s gesture encompassed Jim, Martina and Mike.
Zhilong studied Mike, his expression one of confusion. “But you are Chinese…”
“Oh, yes,” said Mike. “I was born and raised on Taiwan, which became Chinese thanks to the efforts of your son, Zheng Chenggong.”
“That’s not my son’s name,” said the admiral.
“I believe that a new personal name was given to him by the emperor.” Chenggong meant “success.”
“He was also given the title, Koxinga.” That meant “Lord of the Imperial Surname.”
“We studied you both in school; particularly him, of course.”
“We must talk about this further, but in private,” said the admiral. “But if you were in Taiwan—”
“Then how did I end up in Grantville?” Mike smiled. “My aunt and uncle moved to North Carolina, and then my family did the same. Then my aunt and uncle moved to Grantville. I was going to school in Pittsburgh, which is only an hour’s travel away, and I was visiting them when the Ring of Fire threw Grantville back in time and across the ocean.”
“Incredible,” said the admiral.
Mike wondered whether he meant this literally, that is, he didn’t believe in the Ring of Fire. Mike wouldn’t have believed it himself if he hadn’t lived through it.
“I understand that your weapons are also incredible,” the admiral added. “I wish I could have seen them in battle.”
“We can arrange a demonstration,” said Eric. “Fire them against a target, a sheet of canvas stretched on a floating frame, perhaps. But we have other things to show you first.”
After the usual VIP tour, Eric ushered Zheng Zhilong into the Great Cabin of the Rode Draak, and he, Mike Song and Colonel von Siegroth followed the admiral inside. “Now, if you come along to the wardroom, I thought you might be interested in some photographs of our navy in action,” said Eric Garlow.
“Quite interested,” said Zheng Zhilong.
The four sat down at the conference table. “So, this is a Navy Yard photo of the SSIM Constitution. Note the five gunports; in each broadside it has two cannons firing ten-inch shells and three firing eight-inchers. And also note the metal armor.”
This wasn’t the first photograph that the up-timers had shown to Zheng Zhilong that day, so now he took photographs per se as a matter of course. The content of this photograph was another matter.
“Where are the sails and masts?”
“It doesn’t have any,” said Eric. “It is driven by a water jet. A bit like your Chinese rockets.”
After allowing time for Zhilong to absorb this, Eric produced a second photo. “I apologize for the inferior quality of the photo. It was taken under less-than-ideal conditions. It shows the Wallanlagen, the principal riverside fortress of the city of Hamburg. It was armed with forty-two-pounders.”
“Was?”
“The city of Hamburg refused passage down the river Elbe to our flotilla. The lead ship of that flotilla, the Constitution, engaged the fortress. Using only two ten-inchers, this is the result.”
The third photo revealed a blackened, chaotic ruin of masonry. It could be identified as the Wallanlagen only because you could still see the city proper behind it.
“This is what we call back home a before-and-after. The Constitution came out of the battle with just a few dents. I have a photo of that, too. Here’s the biggest dent. Interesting, yes?”
Zhilong acknowledged this.
“Colonel von Siegroth, perhaps you could give our guest a tour of the gun deck.”
He bowed. “It would be my pleasure.”
* * *
Down below, von Siegroth told Zheng Zhilong about the Rode Draak’s different kinds of cannon.
“I have thought about your proposal of
a demonstration of your cannon,” murmured Zheng Zhilong. “Rather than simply tow a simple rectangular target behind one of my ships, I thought it would be more instructive to use an actual ship for your target practice.”
Von Siegroth nodded avidly. “That would make for a better demonstration of the real-world capabilities, if you have a ship to spare.”
“Oh, I do. It is the Eagle’s Claw, the former flagship of a pirate, Liu Xiang.”
“Splendid, when can you have it here?”
“Tomorrow morning. I will go make the arrangements now.”
On Zheng Zhilong’s flagship
“Liu Xiang is still alive?” asked Zhilong.
“Yes, Admiral, your torturer is most proficient.”
“Excellent. Liu Xiang is the end of the old world; these up-timers are the beginning of the new. I intend to dramatize this, for my family’s benefit.
“Hood him again, put in a cangue, and place him aboard the Eagle’s Claw, in the hold. Make sure he is well weighted down. I told the magistrate in Guangzhou that he drowned at sea, and it is time to make good those words.”
Chapter 21
On board the Rode Draak
Liu Xiang’s Eagle’s Claw was sailed into position by a skeleton crew. Once they got there, they quickly reduced sail. That was an easy task on a junk rig, as it could be accomplished by a single man on deck, easing up on the halyard until the desired number of panels had dropped down and been collected by the buntlines, like an upside-down venetian blind.
The crew then threw over a crude sea anchor. It was in the conical shape of the fishing nets used for trawling, but with sail cloth in place of netting, a sort of underwater parachute. It would further slow the movement of the ship with the wind.