Netherworld

by Lisa Morton

For someone whose waking life was so often invaded by horror, her dreams were surprisingly serene, and in fact she rarely remembered them. When she did, they often involved extraordinarily large buildings in which she wandered, finding interesting structural features or striking details. She always found that fact odd, because she truthfully had very little interest in architecture. She’d once asked Isadora about the dreams, and Isadora had told her that vast buildings were a symbol of a bright and creative mind.

  But the dream she awoke from on this night hardly featured extravagant architecture. Instead, she stood before a gateway—which she could see quite clearly as a dark, swirling mass—and heard William’s voice, calling to her from the other side. A feeling of immense dread gripped her, and yet she disregarded the ominous sensation and stepped through the gateway—and into the maw of some huge creature. There was a hand that came through the gateway, a friend’s hand, that tried to pull her from the thing’s mouth, but it was too late. As its great jaws closed around her, she knew she was sealed forever in its hot, dripping insides, and her panic rose until she thought it, not the creature, would consume her—

  —and then she was awake, her heart racing, and the humid marine air surrounding her. It was three a.m.

  She knew she would sleep no more, and so she arose and dressed; Mina, who slept at the foot of Diana’s bunk, gazed at her sleepily before tucking her head back into her paws, and curled into a position that only a cat could attain.

  There was a lovely full moon outside and it was a peaceful, warm night, so Diana decided to take a walk around the deck.

  At this hour only a skeleton crew would be working—a few on the bridge, a few more in the boiler room—and the decks were empty. The smoke stack in the center of the ship, situated between two of the three masts, puffed out a steady plume, the great engine driving the ship through the windless night. Diana spent some moments drinking in the beauty of the moon’s image shimmering in the steamer’s wake, and trying to recall certain specifics of the terrifying dream. She was sure William had been saying something to her, something particular that held some deeper meaning, but the words had vanished when she woke. And whose hand had reached through the gateway, trying to rescue her?

  She was returning to her cabin, having decided to pass the remainder of the evening in the company of the mighty Odysseus, when she beheld one other figure on the deck, huddled near the light of a single small lantern. Curious, she approached, and saw it was Yi-kin. And he was reading.

  She was delighted to see he was reading something she had given him (why on earth she’d brought that old Dickens chestnut Great Expectations along, she couldn’t imagine, but now she was glad she had).

  “Good evening, Yi-kin,” she announced.

  The young man started, slamming the book shut, then relaxing when he saw it was Diana. He had made himself a sort of nook by arranging some bales of rope, and placing the lantern above his head. He leapt to his feet now, still holding the book.

  “Oh, Miss Diana, I do not know you are awake—”

  “Nor you,” Diana answered. “Are you working the night-shift?”

  “Oh no, if I am working I do not read.”

  Diana smiled. “Do you ever sleep?”

  Yi-kin smiled and held the book out towards her. “I like to read. This book is very good.”

  “I’m delighted you’re enjoying it. But why read out here?”

  “Oh, I…uh….” Yi-kin looked away, suddenly embarrassed, then finally answered, “I do not have other place to read.”

  “Don’t you have quarters on the ship?” She knew that most of the crew bunked together below deck, while the officers had semi-private or private rooms.

  “Yes, I have quarters, but….”

  “But what?” Diana asked, prepared for yet some new outrageous display of Hughes’s bigotry, or even Sir Edward’s.

  “You are in my quarters.”

  Diana was stunned for a second, then blurted out, “Yi-kin, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know—”

  Yi-kin waved his hands, trying to placate her. “No, siu jeh, I am happy to give you my room. I am honored.”

  He bowed, and Diana felt the blood rush to her face.

  “No, please, Yi-kin…don’t do that. I’m taking your quarters; I should be bowing to you.”

  He stared at her in frank amazement.

  And in that moment, Diana suddenly understood: The hand in the dream, the one that had reached through the gate to save her, had belonged to Yi-kin.

  “Yi-kin,” she asked, “tell me something: Do you believe in the existence of the goong-si?”

  Yi-kin shrugged. “I have not seen them. I do not know.”

  Diana considered that, then went on: “Some of the English say the Chinese are very superstitious.”

  “Oh,” said Yi-kin, “this is true.”

  “Is it? Tell me about what they believe.”

  “Chinese people believe in many things. Ghosts. Gods. And ming wan…what I think you call…fate.”

  “Fate….” Diana pondered the word for a moment, and found it suited her. “Fate. Like…perhaps you and I were destined to cross paths.”

  Yi-kin smiled. “Yes.” Then added, “This I believe.”

  Diana returned his smile. “So do I.”

  And the Althea steamed on across the Mediterranean towards the Red Sea and India beyond.

  Chapter XI

  May 3, 1880

  Calcutta, India

  The trip through the Suez Canal and then across the Red Sea and Indian Ocean had been uneventful and smooth; Diana had found the heat during the days occasionally difficult to tolerate, but the nights cooled down and she’d suffered no more strange dreams. Antonia had been busy during much of the voyage with Hinton Company business, but had nonetheless shared many enjoyable meals and conversations with Diana. Although Diana hadn’t revealed the full extent of her investigations into the paranormal, she found a happy audience in Antonia, who was especially intrigued by the story of her trip into the heart of Transylvania (a place she, Antonia, had never been, since it was well removed from any waterways or ports). For her part, Diana enjoyed Antonia’s skepticism and the breadth of her knowledge; Antonia had obviously excelled in school.

  But Diana had shared her most interesting times during the trip with Yi-kin. She attempted to tutor him further in the intricacies of English, and he introduced her to the marvels of the Cantonese dialect of Chinese (Diana hadn’t previously realized there were such great differences between the various Chinese dialects, which were virtually separate languages). She was astonished to learn that Chinese had no tense, no articles, and no plurals; on the other hand, it had a profusion of inflections, meaning the same sound could have as many as eight different meanings, depending on whether it was pronounced with high tones, medium, low, or some arcane mix thereof. Her English-bred tongue found such sounds as the Chinese “ng” virtually impossible to produce (although she finally managed it by re-creating only the last part of the word “hang”), and Yi-kin suffered through the torturous “th” consonants and verb conjugations of English.

  Yi-kin was also interested in her less verbal pursuits, and asked if she herself believed in kap-huet goong-si. She told him she not only believed in them, but had met one, and she then did her best to describe her encounter with the vampire in the Furnaval family crypt. Despite his earlier, more skeptical answer as to his belief in the existence of the goong-si, Diana was pleased to find that he accepted her story without question.

  At last they reached the Bay of Bengal and left behind saltwater for fresh at the mouth of the Hooghly River. Sixty miles upriver they docked in Calcutta and began taking on cargo: Wooden crates, each the size of trunk, stamped with Chinese characters, and heavy enough to require two laborers to lift each one. Diana asked a crewman about the contents of the crates coming aboard the Althea, and he matter-of-factly answered, “Opium.”

  Stunned, Diana could only stare at her friend Antonia, who was busily supervisi
ng the loading operations. Antonia noticed the look, excused herself, and hurried over to Diana. “Are you quite all right?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me what we were really carrying to China?!”

  Antonia’s eyes briefly widened in disbelief. “Surely you knew.”

  Diana was about to respond, when she thought to herself: Of course. How could I not know?

  Antonia excused herself to return to her work, and Diana went back to her cabin, lost in thought. How naïve she’d been, believing that any British trading company—even her beloved Eddie’s—would be content to trade only woolens in exchange for China’s fine tea and silk. In London, Diana had read editorials about the evils of opium (London’s sharpest writers worried about the drug gaining a foothold in Mother England, given how it had devastated a significant portion of China’s population), but she’d never considered that it would be among the Althea’s cargo.

  Diana finally forced herself to remember her own goals, and was gathering what she would need for her brief trip to the gateway located just northeast of Calcutta, when a knock on her door was answered to reveal Antonia.

  “I’d like to explain a little more about our trade.”

  Diana nodded curtly, and Antonia entered, closing the door behind herself. She looked terribly anxious, and Diana felt her anger begin to fade away in spite of her indignation. “I want you to know that I’m not in favor of this particular cargo either. Father would have me believe that a dose of opium is no more destructive to a coolie than a glass of beer is to an Englishman, but I’ve seen some of its effects on the Chinese people, and it’s…well, quite frankly, it’s monstrous.”

  “Then why keep doing it?” asked Diana.

  “I’m sorry to have to say this, Diana, but…it’s Father’s decision.”

  Diana was literally speechless for several seconds while she struggled to reconcile the image of the benign, slightly befuddled Sir Edward Hinton with that of a ruthless contraband trader.

  Antonia continued, “Father told me that we had no choice, that there was really nothing we possess that the Orientals wanted as badly as we wanted their tea—”

  “There must be something else,” Diana growled.

  Antonia shuffled nervously. “I agree, personally. Unfortunately, it’s at the base of British trade. We grow it here on our Indian plantations, so it makes our colony in India profitable, and it gives us what we need to obtain tea, which is also profitable. It’s been this way for more than a hundred years.”

  Diana was at a loss for more words.

  “I’ve suggested to Father that we seek other cargo,” Antonia admitted, softly. “He wouldn’t even discuss it.”

  Diana finished packing what she would require (including Mina, who meowed in dismay at being forced from the ship, which she’d quite come to love), and said dismissively, “If I’m to make it back by tomorrow I need to go.”

  She started to push past Antonia, who stopped her at the door with a hand on Diana’s shoulder. “Diana, I don’t want you to think badly of me.”

  Diana considered that, then turned back. “No, I don’t. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but…well, it’s really your father who I’m furious with.”

  “I understand, but please try not to be, Diana. As I said before, it’s been this way for a century now. Truthfully our opium trade has become a rather important part of the British Empire.”

  “Has it not occurred to you,” Diana said, her face burning, “that any empire dependent on this sort of trade is destined to fail?”

  Antonia stared at her for several seconds without reply.

  Finally she turned away resigned, saying, “I’ve arranged a meeting for you with our representative here in Calcutta. He’s been instructed to assist you in any way we can. Just remember, we sail tomorrow at nine a.m.”

  With that, Antonia left.

  Diana sat for a few moments, stroking Mina and collecting her thoughts. She wasn’t pleased with the thought of continuing her trip on a freighter loaded with opium—surely she could book a more luxurious passage either back to England or on to Canton—but she had agreed to help the Hintons deal with the mystery of the goong-si, and she would need both Antonia and Yi-kin to help her perform that duty. Once that task was completed, she could return to London and confront Eddie then. Perhaps she and Antonia together could persuade him to discontinue this odious trade. As much as the thought upset her, she decided she must continue her trip aboard the Althea.

  When Diana appeared on the deck with her bag of supplies and Mina (and dressed in her men’s suit), Yi-kin met her and told her he would be happy to lead her on the short walk to the home of the Hinton Company’s agent in the Raj. The Book of Gateways, Conjurations and Banishments indicated that the Calcutta gateway was located in a temple a modest distance to the northeast of the sprawling city itself, and Diana knew she would require local assistance in getting there.

  She was disappointed in Yi-kin’s complacency with the drug trade, although less so than she was with Antonia. As they strode down the gang-plank, Diana asked him, “Yi-kin, you’ve worked on this ship for two years, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes,” he answered.

  “And doesn’t it bother you that the ship is carrying a cargo of a dangerous drug that many Chinese people are addicted to?”

  Yi-kin shrugged. “Chinese government says opium is not illegal, so I do not think about it.”

  Diana nearly told him, But it wasn’t always that way; it was illegal, until the British won the battles in the last war and forced them to legalize it; but she thought better of it, and forced herself to let it go.

  The Champaul Ghaut was a handsome stone esplanade that served as Calcutta’s main landing place for the British ships. Yi-kin, carrying Diana’s small bag and her cat, led the way up a flight of broad steps, and as they stepped through a triumphal archway atop the stairs, Diana temporarily forgot her anger, gazing about herself in complete amazement:

  They were in the fashionable Calcutta suburb of Chowringhee, and it was easy to see why some referred to this Indian port as the “City of Palaces”: From where they stood, Diana saw nothing but a broad road fronted by extravagant mansions. Most were three stories high, with colonnades and terraces, built from a local material called puckha (brick made from Hooghi clay, covered with cement). Shrubs and trees surrounded some of the estates, while others were graced with low walls running around their perimeters. The wide boulevard was thronged with British in western garb, local Indian vendors, sedan chairs carried by coolies clad only in loincloths, a few horses, and even one man leading a camel. The scent of tuberoses collided with musky animal smells and frying foods, carried on a slight, hot breeze.

  Yi-kin spoke again, and Diana realized she was gaping. “We go just a short way there,” he said, pointing to their right. “Not far, but maybe Diana siu-jeh would like doolie.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what a doolie is,” Diana told him.

  Yi-kin pointed to one of the sedans close by, decoratively covered on the sides and top—and attended by four stick-thin carriers. Diana realized several of the conveyances stood nearby, their bearers watching her hungrily.

  “No, I’m fine with walking,” she declined.

  Yi-kin led the way down the broad street to the right, and soon they were passing the lavish houses. All were completely detached from their neighbors, many had Indian servants working on the balconies or in the gardens…and yet despite the tremendous, ostentatious display of wealth, Diana realized that most of the houses were actually somewhat rundown. Paint peeled from the puckha, in some places entire patches of cement had fallen from the bricks, walls were overgrown with lichen, and poor mud huts abutted many of the outer walls, providing shelter for those who serviced the moneyed British inhabitants of Calcutta.

  Yi-kin negotiated the way with easy familiarity. “You’ve been to Calcutta before, haven’t you?” Diana asked him.

  Yi-kin nodded. “Many times. I sometimes stay on ship
, but I also sometimes run errands for captain or Miss Hinton.”

  They arrived at one particular mansion, and Yi-kin rang a small bell next to a gate set in the surrounding wall. After a few moments the gate was opened by a native Indian who was dressed in the simple robes favored by many of the populace. He eyed Diana (or at least her clothes) strangely, then turned his dark eyes on Yi-kin.

  “This beebee is here to see Mr. Smythe-Bentley,” Yi-kin informed the man.

  “Yes,” Diana added, handing to the servant a letter of introduction that Antonia had prepared for her, “I believe this will explain everything.”

  The servant eyed the letter briefly, then smiled at Diana and stepped politely aside. “Please, memsahib, come in and follow me. I will tell the master you’re here.” His accent was very light, and carried a sort of clipped precision, not at all like Yi-kin’s slightly slurred use of English.

  Diana stepped through the gate, then realized Yi-kin wasn’t following. She glanced at him inquiringly.

  “I will stay here,” he told her, his eyes downcast.

  She started to question him, then saw the Indian servant and realized the truth: A Chinaman wouldn’t be welcome in this house.

  “This shouldn’t take long,” she reassured Yi-kin, then followed the servant through a small garden and into the house. She asked the servant’s name, and he told her he was Goompat, the khansamah, or head servant, for Mr. Smythe-Bentley.

  She was left in a small waiting room, while the servant conveyed her letter to Smythe-Bentley. The room was open and comfortable, with wide uncovered windows, and settees in the local style. Diana admired the colorful fabrics and fine woodworking, and found they suited her tastes.

  She was examining a tapestry when the servant re-entered. “The master will see you now, memsahib.”

  She indicated one particular tapestry, which portrayed the very frightening figure of a four-armed woman with three eyes, a blood-red protruding tongue, and a necklace of human heads. “Excuse me, but I’m wondering….”

  The servant saw the object of her interest and smiled darkly. “That is Kali. She is the Hindu goddess of both creation and destruction. She is very much loved in Calcutta, and some here believe the city’s name is derived from a very old word, Kalikshetra, meaning ‘the domain of Kali’.”