The Palace of Heavenly Pleasure

by Adam Williams

  Had he heard correctly? Imperial interests? What had Manners—or indeed the Mandarin—to do with Japanese Imperial interests?

  ‘I am disappointed,’ the Mandarin replied. ‘I had heard so much about your code of honour—your bushido—and had expected a samurai like yourself to appreciate the chivalrous traditions of the hunt.’

  ‘Da Ren-sama, please do not play with me. You of all people know that war is not a sport, and neither is the business of taking power. I have come to these mountains not to hunt but because the agreement that Manners and Lin are broking has reached a satisfactory conclusion where you and I can agree.’

  ‘Perhaps we can agree. I need to hear the details.’

  ‘You will hear the details tonight—from Manners who, thank Providence and the accuracy of my rifle, is still a living man.’

  ‘It may be that I will meet you tonight. However, I have another meeting, which has a bearing on this matter.’

  ‘Another meeting? Here?… I see … So-o … You’re still negotiating with those bandits for Russian guns? I should have guessed. That’s why we’re in the Black Hills, is it? And you talk to me of honour, Da Ren-sama?’

  ‘Colonel, for there to be a bargain there must always be another bid with which to compare it. All life is negotiation and compromise of one kind or another. I think that you are experienced enough to know that—even though you are still very young.’

  ‘I have no wish to be old, Da Ren-sama, as you are lucky still to be. But I will bargain … for a while longer.’ The doctor heard the sound of fading hoofs. Taro had ridden off.

  Airton shook himself back to his task in hand. ‘Put his shirt on him again, Helen Frances. Don’t want him catching a chill.’ But guns? Imperial Japanese interests? Negotiations with bandits? These were the words that repeated themselves like exploding mines inside his brain. With horror Airton looked down at the man he was treating, and experienced a tremor of repulsion. Manners was stirring out of his swoon but his eyes were still closed, his head cushioned in Helen Frances’s lap, and there was a trace of a smile on his handsome brown face. Who was this man? What was he up to? It sounded like treason. Certainly it must be villainy. But if that were true…? And if it was true that Helen Frances had become involved with such a man…? A criminal? A gun-runner? For the moment the reaction of an angry Nellie when she heard about it was uppermost in his mind. Then he realised something else. The Mandarin was in on this too! The man he had trusted since he arrived in Shishan. His friend. His benefactor. The man whose wise advice he had looked forward to receiving this very day about the Boxers, his children, Ah Lee’s unjust punishment, the disturbing overtones in that courtier’s remarks about the Christians—important matters of life and death that affected the whole community in the doctor’s charge. Yet he had just heard this paladin discuss gunrunning with an agent from a foreign power! And proposing a meeting with bandits! Bandits who in the past the Mandarin had sent expeditions against. Or had he? Had anything not been a lie? Whom could he now trust?

  ‘Daifu,’ he heard the laugh of the Mandarin above him, ‘I see that you have already bound the wounds of the conquering hero, and provided him with a beautiful handmaiden to tend him back to health. You must not tell the big soap salesman too much about Ma Na Si’s deeds today or he will be jealous. Yet what a glorious victory we achieved together, this Englishman and I! Did you see our struggle? Did you see it? A bear is better than a tiger! We will feast tonight on her paws!’

  ‘I saw you knocked down by the bear, Da Ren. Shall I examine you?’

  ‘No, I thank you. I am enjoying the pain of the blow that the she-bear gave me—albeit it is a great bruise and throbs. Why? Because it reminds me of the noble creature we slew. I carry the wound in the she-bear’s honour. Do you still wish to speak to me, Daifu, now that the killing is over? I have time as we ride back to camp.’

  ‘Thank you, Da Ren,’ the doctor found himself muttering. ‘It is not perhaps convenient just now.’

  The Mandarin looked at him curiously. ‘Not convenient? Yet this morning you were so importunate?’

  ‘Da Ren, there was nothing of importance…’

  The Mandarin wheeled his horse. ‘You have nothing to ask me about the proceedings of our courts? Nothing about Christians or Boxers? Or the changing winds that seem to be blowing over this country? Or the reason why I was so lately honoured by a visitor from the Imperial Court—whom you met? Which reminds me of a neglect in courtesy on my part. I never asked you about the health of your children. Are they recovered?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Da Ren, my children are well again.’

  ‘I cannot guarantee that I will have time again on this excursion for another talk, Daifu. You know how I enjoy our conversations. Will you not ride with me now? Ma Na Si seems to be in perfectly adequate hands.’

  Airton found himself gripped suddenly by a cold anger, and the words flew out: ‘How do you dare to ask after my children’s health after what you did to us in that court? And what about our conversations, Da Ren? What do they mean to you? Have you ever told me a word of truth? I don’t know you, Da Ren. Not any more, and more’s the pity, because I believed there was a noble soul somewhere inside you.’

  The Mandarin clicked his teeth, steadying his horse. ‘Well, well, the poison of the she-bear seems to have affected you more than she has Ma Na Si or me, Daifu. But, then, there are mysteries in the hunt that arouse strong and curious passions. You are perhaps right. This is not the day for a talk. There will be other days—when you know me better again, and if, dare I say it? you come to know yourself.

  ‘I have much to do tonight and I must leave you, but there is one thing I will say about our conversations—which I have always enjoyed. I know, you see, that you are trying to convert me. You view our dialogue as a civilised debate between a ruthless and pragmatic pagan, and yourself, a man of ideals. You consider yourself fortunate in that you have a faith and try to run your life on an absolute code of what is right and wrong as laid down in your Bible. You are like some of our more serious-minded Confucianists—the academicians not the practical men. I, on the other hand, am an administrator and do what I have to do to suit the circumstances at any given time. Yet are you sure, Daifu, that the conversion process is not a two-edged weapon? Are you not a little influenced yourself by, shall I say, my relative approach? Will you never compromise your ideals to circumstances, Daifu? Ever? For greater gain?

  ‘You may be surprised, but I am as interested in your soul as you are in mine. Is there not a story in your Book about Satan taking your Jesus to a high place to tempt him with the riches of the world? I like that story very much. Oh, I do hope that one day we can resume our debate. Perhaps we can arrange a little test like the trip to the high place and make a wager on the outcome.’

  ‘Are you mocking me?’

  ‘Know this, Daifu. There may come a time soon when all of us will have to be practical, if we are to honour our responsibilities and protect our families. Remember my words. I never speak lightly—and I am your friend.’

  ‘It is not good enough for you to say that, Da Ren. You treated my servant monstrously. An innocent man.’

  ‘You are a surgeon. There are times when a healthy limb needs to be chopped off to preserve the whole. I respect your Christian dream. Your perfect world. Unfortunately I think you will find such perfection only in Heaven. Life is a sea of sorrow, Daifu, a sea of sorrow—but never forget that I am your friend.’

  The Mandarin smacked his whip on his horse’s rump and galloped off, followed by his retainers and Lin’s men.

  The rest of the day had passed in a blur. The doctor had accompanied Manners and Helen Frances back to the camp. Nobody spoke. Helen Frances was as morose as ever and Manners preoccupied. The doctor had almost convinced himself that his suspicions were imagined. Anyone observing the two might have thought that the girl and the young man actively disliked each other. Helen Frances excused herself from the Mandarin’s invitation to sit at the top tab
le at the feast in the great tent, and rather perversely—rudely, the doctor thought—sat with Lao Zhao and the muleteers. Manners and Taro, meanwhile, caroused loudly with the Mandarin, who was boisterously toasting all and sundry and loudly singing his own praises and that of Manners for their feats of the afternoon. The doctor did his best to be sociable in the circumstances, and drank more than he wanted to. After dinner, Helen Frances excused herself to her tent pleading a headache. Airton went to the campfire in their own clearing to light a cigar, expecting the others to join him. All of his new forebodings were realised when Manners and Taro remained behind with the Mandarin and Lin in the Mandarin’s tent. So they were discussing something together, after all, something that required a secret meeting, which went on for nearly three hours. What on earth was he to do? He thought of writing to Sir Claude MacDonald, then felt foolish. What was his proof? And was it his business?

  ‘Still up, Airton?’ Manners appeared behind him, startling him. ‘Sorry to have left you to yourself. Railway matters to discuss with the Mandarin.’

  ‘Quite so,’ said Airton. ‘Will you have a cigar with me?’

  ‘Thanks, but I won’t. Been a bit of a hard day one way or another. I’m off to my tent. Taro might, though. He never sleeps, do you, old boy?’

  But Taro was not with them. They saw his figure standing by the tree-line; he was smoking and apparently contemplating something in the forest. Airton strained his eyes. There was movement in the gloom—red lanterns, the shadows of horses, a muffled shout, a jingle of harness, the sounds and shapes subsiding like wraiths into the haze.

  ‘Well, well, look at that,’ said Manners. ‘Mandarin himself, if I’m not mistaken. And Lin’s troop. What dark deeds are they planning in the woods tonight? Some pagan ritual, perhaps. A sacrifice to allay the spirit of the she-bear we killed? How spookish these woods are, don’t you think? Don’t stay up too late, Doctor. You don’t want to be taken by fox spirits in the night!’

  ‘I’ll be all right,’ said Airton. ‘Don’t worry about me.’

  Taro came briefly to the campfire to finish his cigar. They exchanged uncomfortable courtesies. Airton never knew what to say to the Japanese. Taro excused himself politely. The doctor was left alone in the night, with his thoughts and the cold, inside and outside—and shortly after, in the distance, he heard the drums begin to beat.

  * * *

  ‘Do you consider yourself to be a superstitious man?’ the Mandarin asked Major Lin. The horses were threading their way through the pines, the lantern of the guide bobbing ahead between the branches.

  ‘I am a soldier,’ muttered Lin.

  ‘Quite so. Please remember that tonight—whatever you see or hear. Are you confident of your troop?’

  ‘They, too, are soldiers, Da Ren. I picked the bravest as you ordered.’

  ‘A man may be brave in the daylight but undone by the dark. Fear—like reality—can be manipulated. You will need to be vigilant, Major. Remember at all times that we will be dealing with men no different from ourselves.’

  ‘Surely there is nothing to fear from common bandits, Da Ren? And we have met Iron Man Wang before.’

  ‘Be vigilant, Major. That is all I ask.’

  They rode on. The wind sighed in the pines. The night mists blurred the outlines of the tree-trunks through which they were winding in single file. After a while they became conscious of dim lights flanking the trees on either side of them, torches held by unseen escorts keeping pace with them, watching them, steering them forward. The leather of their harness creaked, and a horse snuffled loudly, but no one spoke. Some distance off a horn blew. Eerily, from all around them, drums began to thump.

  The trees faded away and they broke into a black clearing, lit in the centre by a bonfire. Three men waited, silhouetted against the flames. The man in the middle was not tall, but his wide shoulders and bull neck indicated massive strength. He was leaning on a double-headed axe. The reflection of the firelight flickered over his flat impassive features and reddened the straggling ends of his thick beard. A fur cap drooped over his forehead shadowing his eyes, but the poise of his body indicated suspicion, tension and watchfulness.

  The Mandarin and Lin halted, and the eight troopers quietly wheeled into a protective half-circle, rifles held at an angle by their sides. As they did so, the lines of torches that had accompanied them on their march ringed forward, still behind the line of trees, and soon there was a circle of dim lights weaving around the glade. The unseen drums rose to a crescendo, then ceased. The Mandarin dismounted and, accompanied by Lin, strode briskly towards the men waiting by the fire.

  ‘Master Wang, what a theatrical greeting you have arranged for me.’

  Iron Man Wang grunted. He passed his axe to the taller of his two companions, and pointed to a table and bench laid out on the grass. ‘We eat first. Drink,’ he said. ‘Talk when the others come.’

  He led the way forward and swung himself heavily on to a stool. Without waiting for the Mandarin to be seated he reached for an earthenware bottle and cup and poured himself a draught of white liquor, which he drained noisily. Then he pushed the bottle and cup towards the Mandarin, who had seated himself delicately on the bench opposite. Major Lin and Iron Man Wang’s two companions watched carefully from the sides. The Mandarin sipped the liquor. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘A Shantung wine. I am honoured.’

  ‘Got it from one of the merchant trains you let me have last year. Ten big pitchers.’

  ‘I remember poor Jin Shangui telling me about his loss. The wine he eventually served at his nephew’s wedding feast was inferior.’

  Iron Man Wang cleared his throat and spat. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he pointed at some covered dishes on the table. ‘Meat,’ he said. ‘Eat.’

  ‘Later, perhaps. And who else have you invited to this—feast?’

  ‘Old man Tang.’

  ‘I thought that this time you would be working independently of the Black Sticks. I’m not sure that I approve.’

  Iron Man Wang’s dark eyes flickered peevishly. ‘Yes? Well, maybe none of us have any choice any more. Tang’ll tell you.’

  ‘I will be interested to hear.’

  ‘Drink,’ said Iron Man Wang. ‘He’ll be here soon.’

  The hidden drums began to thud again, slowly at first, at heartbeat rate; then they mounted to the same crescendo as before, and stopped as suddenly. From the other end of the clearing the Mandarin made out figures approaching on foot. One was a thin, bent figure draped in a heavy fur cloak. The other was being led by a small boy. The fire flickered over a bald head and coloured robes. There was something familiar about the man’s shape and the cut of his costume, but in the darkness the Mandarin could not be sure. As the figures moved towards them slowly, another circle of unseen torchbearers moved around the glade, adding to the glow of fire ringing the wood behind the trees; the lights shifted and changed position like glowworms in the dark; it was as if the outside of the glade was being invested by pale spirits. Just the other side of the fire the man in the cloak made a sign for the boy and the priest to stop; they remained in the shadows as he pulled his own way painfully to the table. There he slumped gratefully beside the Mandarin on the bench.

  ‘I really am getting too old for this,’ said the tin merchant, Tang Dexin, releasing his hood to reveal his white pigtail, ‘but this is a momentous day. Da Ren, I am honoured to see you with us. You make an old man happy. Please give me a moment to catch my breath.’

  ‘It is equally an honour to be received by the Grand Master of the Black Stick Society. An unexpected one, however,’ said the Mandarin. ‘I had looked forward tonight only to the company of Master Wang, and the opportunity to discuss some private business.’

  ‘I know about your business,’ said Tang. ‘It is of no matter now.’

  ‘Is it not?’

  ‘I would advise you not to pursue it. Iron Man and I do not think that this is the time to be treating with barbarians, especially the filthy Russians
who already occupy much of our sacred territory in the north. And if the presence of that Japanese soldier on your hunting trip means what I think it does, and you are considering a counter to the Russian proposal, I would advise you to reconsider that too. Chinese do not need foreign guns. If you will forgive an old man the impertinence of offering a respectfully meant admonition, I believe that the da ren has been too indulgent to the foreigners in our city. We do not need them. Or their toys.’

  ‘Really? You and Master Wang have suddenly become very patriotic and altruistic. Master Wang? Iron Man? Is this right? Are you are no longer interested in helping me in my transaction?’

  The bandit shrugged. ‘Tang’ll explain,’ he said sullenly.

  ‘I think he’d better,’ said the Mandarin.

  ‘I hear that you were recently visited by a prince from the Imperial Court,’ said Tang.

  ‘That is no secret. The Prince Yi was conducting a tour of inspection. Not unusual at this time of year.’

  ‘I understand. However, on this occasion I believe that the Prince also imparted news about some recent deliberations in Peking relating to the Christian laws?’

  ‘I will have to dismiss another of my house servants. I do recall a private conversation on such a subject with the Prince over luncheon. As I imagine that your eavesdroppers are efficient I presume you know all the details.’

  ‘Not all the details, Da Ren. Enough to know that there are factions in Court who believe that the empire is in danger, and that it is time for loyal Chinese—all loyal Chinese—to join forces to save the Ch’ing from their enemies and the dark forces that threaten our country.’

  ‘There are many factions at Court and many contrary views.’

  ‘What is important is that this time the Old Buddha herself appears to support the more patriotic elements gathered round Prince Tuan. The star of your old master, Li Hung-chang, the collaborationist, is fading—fast, it seems. You are aware that forces are building in this country that call for the expulsion of the barbarians, their religion and everything evil they have brought here.’