by Andre Norton
Lorens yanked on his coat and shuffled the papers he had been working on into a pile. “Then perhaps she would enjoy seeing some of the things from the old days which my cousin keeps in his office. And I can offer both of you cool drinks.”
He could not ever after say whether the girl who stepped out of the taxi was what he expected or not, since after he saw her he could not remember what he had expected. She was tall and her hair had red threads in its brown; it was short and curled freely in damp rings around her face, for she carried her wide-brimmed hat carelessly in her hand. She smiled as her father introduced them.
“I am afraid, Mijnheer van Norreys, that you will have to excuse my Dutch — ” She spoke haltingly, spacing each word as if she were translating it in her mind before shaping it with tongue and lips. “I am only still just learning — ”
“But I am able to speak English, Juffvrouw Cortlandt, if for you that will be easier,” Lorens responded eagerly.
“It would be much easier, yes,” she laughed, “but very bad discipline, Mijnheer. If you don’t mind my talking at the rate of about one word a minute, we’ll stick to Dutch — and that is all the English I’ll speak today!”
“Mijnheer Cortlandt says that you have an interest in these old buildings,” Lorens began, as they all fell into step on the wide staircase leading to his room on the second floor. “These were once the homes of the merchants of the East Indies Company, you understand. But for many years they have been offices and banks.” He pushed open the solid slab of wood which was the door to Piet’s office.
Here modern Venetian blinds held out the sun, and there actually seemed to be a thread of breeze. Dewa had left the jug on a side table and set out three of the golden, twisted-stemmed glasses brought from Holland a century before.
“But what a wonderful room!” Carla paused just across the threshold, looking from the heavy, grotesquely carved teak furniture to the array of weapons and masks which made patterns on the walls.
“My cousin is something of a collector. Most of these are native work from Bali and Sumatra. They are master workers in wood, the men of Bali. But Piet says that they are fast losing the best of their art because they no longer evolve their own designs, only work from the cheap models the Chinese shopkeepers tell them sell best to the tourists.”
“But these surely aren’t from Bali.” She pointed to a fan of clubs and swords on the east wall.
“No. Those are from headhunting Borneo and the Outer Islands. Some of them must have been brought here by my grandfather when he was still in command of the pearl fleet — ”
“Pearl fleet — van Norreys — ” Mr. Cortlandt repeated half to himself. “Great guns! Are you connected with the famous House of Norreys, the jewel merchants?”
Lorens set down the jug from which he had been filling the glasses.
“The House of Norreys closed its doors about a year ago, Mijnheer. My grandfather was its last guiding spirit.”
“Why, now I remember where I heard that name before,” chimed in Carla. “It was the House of Norreys who had that wonderful exhibit of replicas of famous jewels at the World’s Fair in New York. They couldn’t tear me away from it for hours. I wonder what ever became of that odd ugly necklace made of golden flowers. It looked much too heavy to wear comfortably, but its history was exciting!”
“ ‘This three-tiered necklace, made of soft gold and set with rubies, emeralds, and topaz, was fashioned to order for the Duke of Monmouth and presented to Princess Mary of England, consort of William of Orange and later Mary the Second of England. It remained in the possession of the House of Orange until the Revolution of 1793 when it passed to the House of Norreys in settlement of a debt. Known to the collectors of the world as the ‘Flowers of Orange’ it is rumored to bear with it a curse — ’ ” Lorens was reciting from memory what had been printed in the guide book.
“That was it! Of course, the one they displayed in New York was only a copy. But in spite of its being so ugly there was something about it — ”
“For once” — Lorens reached for a brass tray — “I trust that the curse is in good working order. If it should turn up in Herr Goering’s celebrated collection, for example — ”
“I hope so, too! And it’s just the sort of thing which would appeal to looters. But I can’t help wishing that they hadn’t found it — even with all its ugliness it’s too good for the Nazis!”
Her father laughed. “Well, if the curse is in good working order, they may try to send it back again. But I am sorry to hear that the House of Norreys is closed. Its history is a long and honorable one.”
“Just temporarily” — there was a decisive note in Lorens’ voice. “We shall open our doors again.”
“That’s the stuff to give ‘em!” Cortlandt nodded vigorously. “And from what I’ve heard and seen up and down this island empire of yours, I think you have a good chance of getting some of your own back People say that the Yankees know how to get things done, but I maintain that we’ll have to give room to the Dutch when it comes to hard work. You’ve got what it takes!”
“We have everything but time. For we have only just as long as the little men from the north give us.”
“The Japanese?” Mr. Cortlandt’s smile disappeared, and he turned the glass slowly in his fingers, staring into the cloudy liquid it contained as if he were trying to read the future in its depths. “Yes. There are none so blind as those who will not see. We’ve coasted along for years with our eyes carefully shut, and now we’re afraid to open them. I only hope that we won’t be caught badly at our napping. You Dutch won’t be, that is certain And what is this stuff?” He sipped his drink with visible relish. “Best I’ve tasted since I came south of the line.”
“A concoction of lime and other fruit juices, secret monoply of the houseboy here. And I’ve practically lived on it since the dry season began. This country is not easy for the unacclimated European.”
“For any white man, I should say!” Cortlandt exploded.
Carla laughed. “Dad is thinking about dinner last night. They served us something called rijsttafel — whew, that is a mouthful for a beginner at Dutch. We simply sat there, appalled, while everyone around us ate their way through the endless chain of dishes. How do they do it?”
“But rijsttafel is good!” protested Lorens.
“It is not the quality but the quantity I’m quarreling with. After such a day as yesterday — gadding about in that sunshine — I would prefer just a salad and not much more. Instead there appeared before me” — she began to count off on her fingers — “rice, fried duck, fried chicken, eggs, sausages, fish and meat balls, fried bananas, potatoes, several kinds of vegetables, grated coconut, chutney, pickled cucumber, and Bombay duck. I didn’t try to count the side dishes. We Americans can’t live up to that sort of thing, at least not more than once a month.”
“Again it is a matter of becoming acclimated, Juffvouw Cortlandt. Two months or so from now and you will not be able to remember when you did not enjoy rijsttafel.”
“Only we won’t be here two months from now. I wish we would — ”
“We are planning on getting home for Christmas,” interrupted her father, “if I can get this business cleaned up. And now we must be going, my dear, if you are to get to this sewing circle of yours on time — ”
“Sewing circle?” echoed Lorens.
“A meeting of the C O V I M. Guisela Umbgrove asked me to go with her. She said that they were canning this afternoon — but I must have misunderstood her — canning in this weather!”
“Canning — ? Oh, yes, the Whilemstadt sails soon, they will be working on her cargo. It is this way, the C O V I M, our women’s volunteer organization, have gathered clothes and dehydrated foods. These are put in cans and sealed. Then they are labeled as to contents and sent to England where they will be kept in safe storage until the time comes that the Netherlands are free again. These cans will then be sent to give our people a fresh start in the early days of
peace. Already many such cargoes have gone — ”
“I’d call that a little better than being foresighted, son. You are all very sure of the outcome of the war, aren’t you?” commented Mr. Cortlandt.
“We have to be,” returned Lorens simply.
“Well, if any one nation can do their best toward that end — it is the Netherlands. Thank you for your hospitality, Mijnheer van Norreys, and I’ll be back later to see your cousin.”
As they went out into the main hall, they almost collided with a man who stood there, apparently unable to decide which of the three doors before him was the one he wanted. He avoided Mr. Cortlandt with a quick step to the right and bowed, the silk of his long dark merchant’s robe straining at its seams over his plump person.
“I am speaking to Mijnheer Dusdyn, ja?” The Dutch words in the high sing-song voice were addressed to Mr. Cortlandt, but it was Lorens who answered.
“Mijnheer Dusdyn’s office is at the other end of the corridor — the last door to your right.”
“Oh. Am sorry to be trouble making, please excuse. Goeden dag.” Again he bowed before padding off, his felt-soled slippers making little sound on the old wood flooring.
The incident, trivial as it was, lingered in Lorens’ mind after he had seen the Cortlandts off in their waiting taxi and he had returned to his labors. Dewa was crouched over the antiquated typewriter, picking out, letter by letter, the report they had already finished. And Lorens asked him the questions at the back of his mind.
“What business is Mijnheer Dusdyn engaged in, Dewa?”
The Javanese allowed his slim fingers to slide from the keyboard to his lap.
“He has many interests, Tuan — rubber plantations, oil, the copra trade, a coffee plantation, precious woods — And he is a lucky man, everything he puts a finger into prospers.”
“Does he have many contacts with Chinese merchants?”
“Yes, that would be necessary. You see, Tuan, the Chinese merchants have much money. Many, many of the native businesses are backed or really owned by them. It was once forbidden them to own land in the Indies, so they became the traders and the shop-owners, and, in many places, the moneylenders. Mostly they are honorable and upright men — ”
“Mostly, you say,” prompted Lorens.
“Well” — Dewa hesitated before he completed his sentence — “rich men have always a dislike for losing their riches. And in war sometimes they say among themselves: ‘We shall bargain with the enemy, offer them gold and goods not to disturb our property. It is better to pay than to waste lives and much cash in useless resistance.’ So has it happened in China. And then, too, a man may have a wife and children, or old parents living in the conquered lands, and for them he can be afraid. So — “ he shrugged.
“I see.” Lorens made a little penciled pattern on the margin of the report before him. “Is it like that with some of the Chinese here?”
“I have not said so!” Dewa’s black eyes held his. “Only the Chinese have dared to hold so long and well against the Japanese.”
“You have not said so,” agreed Lorens quickly. “But tell me, do you know a Chinese merchant of this town who stands about to my shoulder, who is stout of body and yet walks and moves with speed, who is a young man in years and yet wears the old-time merchant dress, who speaks good Dutch and has a small red scar line across his chin running down to his throat?”
“Yes, that one I have seen in the hall many times. He has dealings with Tuan Dusdyn.”
“And yet,” mused Lorens, “he so little knows the way to Mijnheer Dusdyn’s office that he must ask it of Mijnheer Cortlandt — even calling him Dusdyn. Who is this very absent-minded gentleman?”
“His name is Hu Shan, and he is from Canton. He is a war refugee and sends much aid to his unfortunate countrymen.”
“Very interesting. Suppose, Dewa, that it were possible to discover more about his Hu Shan — ”
“It might be done, Tuan,” admitted the Javanese almost demurely. “Now, have I your permission to finish this sheet, or should I take the machine to the other room where its voice will not disturb you?”
“Oh, peck away here. And I’ll try to follow the good example you set me.”
But between his eyes and the papers during the rest of the long day there formed now and again a vision of a round bland face, the thin red line of a scar across its plump chin.
5
THE EIGHTH OF DECEMBER
But all thought of Hu Shan was easily forgotten after the talk Lorens had with Piet late that night. There was no insect-attracting light on the wide veranda, so Piet was only a white shadow sprawled out in ungraceful ease in one of the long chairs. The red coal of his cigarette punctuated the dark as he listened to Lorens’ appeal for air training, and he even paid tribute to a telling point or two with a grunt.
As the would-be pilot ran out of arguments some minutes later, Piet swung his feet to the floor, ground out the stub of his cigarette in a big shell on the side table, and proceeded to unleash a broadside of his own.
“Now that you have told me what you want to do, I am going to tell you what you will do. And” — he rubbed the heel of his palm across his chin as if to estimate by touch the indecent length of his unshaven beard — “you needn’t point out the obvious, that you are free and can do as you wish. You will discover that no one will be interested in any effort you may make to enlist.
“Instead, tomorrow morning you will pack a kitbag, get out to the airport by eight, and fly north with Soong Wen. I can’t be in two places at once just now, so you are going to be my eyes — and ears — at that new field in Sumatra.”
Lorens had been waiting impatiently to counter-attack, but now he was interested in spite of himself.
“There is trouble there?”
“Not that I know of — yet. But I’ll feel a lot happier with someone I can trust on the job. Good Lord, Lorens, don’t you suppose I know what it means to hold a routine job instead of getting into uniform and fighting? Don’t you suppose that I’d like right now to be flying a Spitfire over the Channel — just as much as you want to be risking your neck in a training crate over Surabaya?” He crumpled the empty cigarette package into a ball and tucked it neatly into the improvised ashtray. “But someone has to do these ground jobs and do them right. Modern warfare depends upon the number of planes you can get into the air — and the number you can keep there. We must have a chain of fields up and down these islands ready and waiting. I tell you things look darker now than they did even a year ago — ”
“But there’s Singapore, and the American fleet, and — ”
“Listen!” Piet’s pounding fist made the shell dish jump. “Suppose what happened to Rotterdam was repeated up and down the Pacific, sudden heavy blows at every base on the same day. Suppose the American fleet couldn’t get into action, that Singapore and Hongkong would go under. How long then do you think we could hold out here? When those Japanese went home from their so-called trade conference here, they knew very well that we were getting ready to fight. And they know that most of the British strength is tied up in Europe and Africa. This is just the time for the Japanese to strike and paralyze the whole East. And we are not dealing with fools!”
“But there is the peace conference planned in Washington. The Japanese are sending representatives there — ”
“Peace talk is a good cloak for drastic action. They learned that lesson at Munich where apparently we learned nothing. No, the storm is on its way, all right, and it may break sooner than we expect. So, you will go to Sumatra in the morning. Adriaan Heys is in charge of work at the field. You will report to him. But Soong will touch there about once a week. If you have any private messages for me, he will carry them.”
“But I thought Heys was trusted — ”
“You thought! Haven’t you learned yet not to take anyone at face value in these days? Heys is a good foreman and knows how to get things done, and that’s all concerning him that I can swear to. If you ar
e going to be the wide-eyed innocent I might just as well send Dewa. Kindly keep your eyes at least halfway open and your mouth shut!”
Lorens’ equally hot retort was wasted upon the lattice door which had banged behind his cousin. Piet’s temper was apt to be ragged nowadays, and Lorens knew that, before the older man, even at this late hour, lay not a night’s rest, but hard work over the eternal pile of papers which had collected during his absence. When would he learn to do as Piet ordered, keep his mouth shut and his eyes open? This was no time to ask questions or utter protests. But surely, if he did this job well, Piet wouldn’t ask any more of him. A month or two in Sumatra and he might win the right to fly that trainer over Surabaya after all.
At eight the next morning he was lounging at the edge of the flying field, his sun helmet well down to his nose, moodily kicking at his kitbag and wondering what was keeping Soong. The distinctive green-brown ship of the Singapore-Java line was nowhere in sight.
“Goeden dag, Mijnheer van Norreys! Are you leaving too?”
Carla Cortlandt stood behind him, holding her broad-brimmed hat on her head with both hands, and blinking at the dust cloud raised by a plane taking off.
“There’s Dad now,” she added, and waved vigorously at the small crowd boarding a larger passenger craft. “He’s off for Singapore!”
“You do not go with him?”
“Not this time. I have an invitation to visit the Umbgroves in the mountains, and he will be back soon.”
As she gave one last wide-armed wave in his general direction as the plane taxied down the field, something small and shiny spun from her fingers to the ground at Lorens’ feet. He picked up a wide ring of silver, the setting a lily pad on which perched a tiny frog, reptile and leaf picked out with purple and green enamels.
“Oh — my ring! Thank you! Dad bought it for me yesterday. It’s too large, and I’m to take it back to Hu Shan’s — ”