The Book of Bones

by Natasha Narayan

  “What!” My brain was working agonizingly slowly. “You mean that … that … flaming thing was you!”

  Isaac shrugged modestly.

  I stared at him in disbelief, half thinking he was making it up to cover his cowardice.

  “Remember the firework seller?” Isaac asked. “In Shanghai? Well, I bought some of his products and did a little tampering with them. Won’t bother you with the chemistry, seeing as you wouldn’t understand it, but yesterday, when I heard you all worrying about pirates, I thought I’d prepare a little trick. So I painted an evil eye on the deck with a phosphorus solution and well, tonight, when those rotters came aboard I lit the chemicals. Pretty spectacular, wasn’t it?”

  I was silent, staring at Isaac with something approaching awe. Never had I been so impressed by my clever friend. Waldo clapped him on the back, while Rachel glowed with pride. Even the captain cottoned on to the gist of what we were saying, for he was bowing to Isaac. He muttered furiously to Yin then he turned to us.

  “You clever bignoses. Good for ship,” he said, as his monkey jumped up and down with delight.

  Isaac was looking at me, grinning mischievously. “You don’t have much time for brains, do you, Kit?”

  “What?”

  “You think being strong and brave is the most important thing, that’s why you admire Waldo so much.”

  “I don’t admire—” I began heatedly.

  “Sometimes a bit of brain gets better results than bareknuckle fighting,” he muttered.

  Tongue-tied for once, I blushed and looked down. Meanwhile a coolie had approached and was talking fast to the captain. He listened and then dismissed the man. When he turned to us he looked troubled.

  “That man is telling that Foreign Devil on pirate ship. They see Red Barbarian woman on boat.” Then, although his English was as good as Yin’s, he broke into Mandarin. She translated his words:

  “The captain say that he know foreigners on pirate ship. It strange. Very strange.”

  I stared at them silently. An image of Aunt Hilda had risen unbidden in my mind. My aunt aboard a Chinese pirate ship? My aunt attacking us? Surely this was nonsense. With all my willpower, I put the disturbing thought out of my mind.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  We entered Peking through a gate in the massive outer wall, jolting around on top of bags of rice. The driver of the horse and cart we had hired moved slowly, treating his mangy animal with care. So here we finally were, in the Celestial City, home of the Emperor of China. At first glance the place was hardly very heavenly—the narrow lanes paved with dung, the air filled with choking fumes. It was crowded with all manner of animals: mules, donkeys, camels, bullocks and yelling coolies.

  Then we passed through another large stone gateway, elegantly carved, into the city itself and here the streets were wider. Flowering treetops exploded from secret courtyards. Carved roofs arched upward, many paved with yellow tiles that reflected the sun. Tiered pagodas and temples, brilliantly adorned with dragons and mythical beasts, glinted scarlet and gold. The streets were thrumming with life. Tea merchants resplendent in silk relaxed outside their shops, coolies pulled sedan chairs or were weighed down under sacks of grain. Up above hung banners and flags of all sizes, brilliant in turquoise, crimson and yellow. Silk lanterns fluttered in the breeze. Everything was flowery and elegant. Yin translated some of the signs written in gold Chinese letters: “Garden of Eternal Spring” sold pickled vegetables. “Brilliant Fountains” was a wine merchant.

  She couldn’t understand why we found “Palace of Long Life,” actually a coffin makers, so amusing.

  “The Chinese would never call a spade a spade,” Waldo explained.

  “What is spades?” she replied suspiciously.

  I could sense they were about to argue when our cart was pushed back against the walls. Rachel almost fell head first into the street and was only saved by a helping hand from Waldo. Two burly men dragged split bamboos along the streets, making a splintering din. Behind them came two other men armed with whips. They shouted for people to get out of the way, flicking stragglers in the face with the lethal-looking leather thongs. Small boys ran behind wearing tall black hats, and among them was a towering bare-chested servant carrying a large red umbrella.

  “Is it the Emperor?” Rachel gasped, for we could imagine no other person being given such royal treatment.

  “Even Queen Victoria wouldn’t make such a fuss at home,” I muttered, quietly.

  Yin shook her head: “Not Emperor. Mandarin. Very important government man.”

  Finally, puffing round the bend, came three stick-thin coolies carrying a sedan chair. The man who had caused all the fuss was inside, fat as a toad. We glimpsed him through the silken hangings, dressed in a satin gown complete with a square badge adorned with two beautifully embroidered peacocks. His tall black hat was decorated with a peacock feather and topped by a large blue ball. The mandarin lay back against his cushions, perfectly content with the world.

  “Mandarin of third rank. Peacock feather,” Yin whispered.

  She obviously expected me to be impressed, but I found the mandarin’s smug face repulsive. Sometimes Yin and I found it very difficult to understand each other.

  Eventually the cart dropped us off and we followed Yin as she turned and twisted through lanes with a couple of coolies carrying our baggage. She stopped before a door of a hutong, which looked much like any other and knocked on the door.

  “This important mandarin house. My sister Mr. Chao’s fourth wife,” she explained.

  Rachel mumbled something and I saw Waldo and Isaac grinning in amusement, but Yin seemed unaware.

  “Imagine being a fat mandarin’s fourth wife,” Waldo whispered to me as we were shown into the courtyard. But I didn’t find the whole thing so very amusing. I thought Yin had said her father’s views were modern, he hadn’t forced his daughters to bind their feet, yet he had married off her sister to some high official.

  The courtyard was so beautiful that I forgot to be angry. It was wonderful, with water splashing in a fountain. Silvery and spotted fish flitted around in little ponds shaded by flowering blossom trees. The floors were polished smooth as mirrors, the pillars around the courtyard lacquered in red. Through a half-open door I glimpsed hundreds of songbirds in bamboo cages warbling away.

  Waldo whistled in amazement while the rest of us just gazed.

  Then a golden sedan chair was carried into the court-yard and we saw the mandarin who was married to Yin’s sister. A scholarly man, dressed in silk robes embroidered with a golden crane, his mustaches nearly as long as his pigtail. He peered at us short-sightedly, looking slightly dismayed at our tattered appearance, but then he bowed to us politely and we followed him into a drawing room, where he got out of his sedan and into a carved chair.

  We collapsed into the remaining chairs. But Yin bowed down and knocked her head on the floor several times while we stared in surprise.

  “You forget kowtow,” she hissed once seated. “In China very important remember manners.”

  I remembered vaguely now that one had to knock one’s forehead onto the floor in China when greeting important people. This was called to “kowtow.” Well, Yin might think it bad manners but I didn’t intend to hurt my head, banging it like a slave. Englishwomen were free and bowed to no one. The moment had passed anyway, for now tea had arrived in delicate blue and white china cups. There were plates of unusual sweets.

  Politely we sipped the chrysanthemum-petal tea and bit into the sweets. After a few minutes of this two small boys came in, dressed in yellow silk trousers and long embroidered coats. They knelt down before us and knocked their heads on the ground, humble as could be. Uneasily, I felt that maybe I had been ill-mannered. One had to try to adjust to the rules of the country. Maybe I should have kowtowed, though I hated the gesture. Having performed the ritual, the boys withdrew.

  “Is your sister coming?” I whispered to Yin.

  She shook her head. “Only
son meet guest.”

  “She’s your sister, Yin.”

  “Girl not important. I see sister later.”

  The mandarin, a Mr. Chao, having finished his cup of tea and apologized to us in perfectly clear English for his lack of knowledge of our language, began talking animatedly to Yin. It seemed an age, us listening and smiling politely while Yin and the mandarin chattered in their fluting tongue, before we were dismissed.

  The mandarin had invited us to stay. Rachel, Yin and I had been given a large and beautifully furnished chamber. The boys were put up elsewhere. Once we had all gathered together in the peace and secrecy of our room, I turned on Yin.

  “What are we doing here?” I hissed.

  Yin looked up from the plate of dumplings a servant had brought her and held up a small hand. “Be patient.”

  “Who is Mr. Chao?”

  “He a very good man. There is now battle in Imperial palace between reformers who say Chinee people must learn from West and others who say that China must go back to old ways and old days. But these old ways have become sick now. China must learn new things so she can be stronger. This is what Mr. Chao say and he have ear of old dowager Empress. This Empress very powerful lady. They call her Little Orchid.”

  We listened to all this, bewildered.

  “What has this got to do with us?” I asked. “I don’t care two hoots for Empress Orchid or the old ways.”

  Yin looked disturbed. “Bad manners.”

  “I know.” Rachel soothed her ruffled feathers. “But you must understand, Yin. One of us has been poisoned. One of us is going to die. Unless we do what the Bakers ask we’re condemned, and time is running out.”

  “True.” Yin sighed.

  “So what are we doing here?” Waldo burst out.

  “Looksee,” Yin burst into pidgin English for a moment. “Mandarin Chao very kind man. He like foreigners. He not say you devils. He invite you his home. He kind.”

  “We don’t want to seem ungrateful,” Rachel said. “We’re just anxious about our mission.”

  “This why I bring you here. When you tell me in Shanghai about poison, I not see anything. The future is fog. I think there is only one man in whole China can help you. This is a very great doctor. He is Empress’s own doctor and he can cure you. This why I come to Mr. Chao’s house because he is friend of this doctor.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rachel gasped, and we all added our apologies.

  “Be patient,” Yin advised.

  There was a knock on the door and a servant appeared, his arms full of rich silks. He handed the bundle over to Yin and disappeared with much bowing.

  “Hurry!” Yin said. “We invite to feast. Must change into proper China clothes.”

  I suppressed a giggle when Isaac walked into the dining room in his Chinese robe—he looked so very uncomfortable. Waldo wore his turquoise silk gown, embroidered with elaborate flowers, with a certain swagger. Like Rachel, who looked radiant in a loose red silk with broad red trousers, he does love dressing up.

  There were already a number of people in the room, sitting at small square tables. I was pleased to discover ladies as well as men had been invited to the feast, which must mean our host was modern indeed.

  Yin glowed when she saw the ladies and quietly pointed out her sister, sitting with a group of the mandarin’s other wives. She was a tiny, slender girl—surely not more than thirteen or fourteen years old—with Yin’s high cheekbones and slanting eyes. Like the other wives, some of whom were old enough to be her mother, she was dressed in an elaborate gown with her hair done up on top of her head in the shape of a teapot and studded with flowers and jewels. Still, her stiff clothes could not disguise the bloom of youth, which lay fresh on her cheeks.

  Yin’s sister saw us and gave us a small smile. She moved rigidly, her pink lips hardly opening. Her eyes were blank, puppet-like. This was the first time the sisters had seen each other after many years of separation. I expected the two of them, reunited after so much tragedy, to embrace. At the very least! But no. Once again I had misunderstood the formality of Chinese manners, for they barely acknowledged each other. Perhaps Yin didn’t much like her sister. The disturbing thought came to me that maybe Yin was too cold, too wrapped up in her strange gifts, to really care for anyone.

  We were shown to the top table, where Mr. Chao was already seated, discussing something with a person wearing a vivid crimson robe. Politely, our host stood up and insisted we be seated in the place of honor. Equally politely we refused, as Yin had instructed us. Finally after a little of this to-ing and fro-ing it was good manners for us to sit down. It was only when we were seated that I saw the face of the person in the red robe.

  It was Aunt Hilda. Her pleasant pug-dog features were wreathed in smiles, her sandy hair hidden by a velvet hat. She was dressed as a Chinaman right down to the fake pigtail dangling down her back. At least I assumed it was fake.

  I goggled at her, totally dumbstruck. My friends were also gaping—only Yin seemed unsurprised, but of course she did not know my aunt.

  “Not pleased to see me?” Aunt Hilda murmured. “I don’t call that civil.”

  “Where have you sprung from?” Waldo demanded.

  “Aunt Hilda!” I finally managed to gurgle. Of course I wanted to fling my arms around her stocky shoulders, but I knew that would never do in China. “What? What the—”

  “I’ll tell you later,” she hissed. “In the meantime, eat Mr. Chao’s lovely food, smile and play along.”

  Dumbly we nodded. Waldo managed one last gurgle: “Why are you dressed as a Chinaman?”

  “I’m an honorary man here,” Aunt Hilda said smugly. “Much better all round. Now eat.”

  This wasn’t hard, for my stomach was grumbling. I was starving! The feast looked wonderfully appetizing. I was coming to adore Chinese food. Heaped on the table in front of us were masses of small plates, brimming with sweets, nuts and rice. Each of us had been given a plate, a porcelain spoon, a pair of chopsticks and a wine cup. What an array of food. Sweet pork, shark fins, bamboo sprouts. Greedily we heaped our plates, throwing caution to the wind.

  I ate with pleasure, savoring the salty tang of soy, the rich and deep taste of plum sauce. It was delicious, though unusual to devour sweet tastes with savory morsels. But I soon got used to it.

  A servant walked around the room with a kettle of steaming wine. I took a small sip—it was sugary and rich with a gingery bite. But I didn’t dare drink more than a few mouthfuls in case it was intoxicating.

  Mr. Chao was placing something in a small bowl before me.

  “Eat well,” smiled Yin. “This special delicious.” Yin had certainly followed her own advice, heaping her plate with yet more dumplings.

  It was a strange sort of soup, gluey-looking with odd fronds floating in it. I took a large swallow with my spoon.

  “Mmm, not bad. What is it?”

  “I dare you to guess,” Aunt Hilda said.

  “Fish or some sort of prawn?”

  “Birds’ nest soup,” Aunt Hilda answered with a big smile. “A specialty here.”

  “Ugh!” Waldo, who had gulped down a large mouthful, turned pale.

  “It’s a delicacy!” Aunt Hilda hissed with a sideways glance at the mandarin who was looking on. “An honor to be served it. Act like you’re enjoying it.”

  “But is it really made of birds’ nests?” I gurgled, for suddenly it tasted foul, and the seaweed felt glued to my throat.

  “They use a special kind of swallow’s nest, I believe,” Aunt Hilda replied, glugging a spoonful with gusto.

  I pushed the bowl away. Whatever happened, I wasn’t going to eat birds’ nest soup. Besides I was full to the brim, stuffed with the tasty food we had been gorging ourselves on. Little did I know that worse was to come. With much excitement Yin leaned over to me and whispered, “The eight mountain delicacies.”

  “What are they?” I asked suspiciously.

  Aunt Hilda was enjoying herself. As the mandarin looked
on she said, “Let’s see which ones I can remember:”

  “Camels” humps.

  “Bears” paws.

  “Apes” lips.

  “Leopard fetuses …”

  The dishes, in the finest porcelain and steaming copper dishes, were being set down by the servants with much ceremony. The mandarin was beaming, for he was obviously doing us a great honor.

  “Stop!” I hissed to Aunt Hilda, but she carried on regardless.

  “Rhinoceros tails.

  “Deer tendons.

  “Live monkeys’ brains.”

  I closed my eyes for a minute as the servants lifted the lids off the steaming salvers. I had to get my friend’s pale faces out of my head and also think fast, for we must find a way out of this awful situation. To my horror, Aunt Hilda was heaping her bowl with bears’ paws and camel humps, which she ate with every appearance of delight.

  “Live and let live, Kit.” She grinned. “What is the problem? Americans boil lobsters alive. The French eat frogs and snails. Thais eat crickets and Indonesians eat dogs. Surely a little monkey brain is not going to put you off your food.”

  I scowled at her and looked to Yin for inspiration. The girl was as serene as ever, and I noticed that her plate was heaped with rice, vegetables and, of course, her beloved dumplings. None of the special dishes. Indeed she seemed to have some other, particular, dishes in front of her.

  “Why aren’t you eating this stuff?” I hissed at her.

  “I come from the monastery,” she replied. “I am Buddhist nun so I eat only vegetables. This is duck made from tofu.”

  “What is tofu?”

  “Bean paste.”

  For the second time on this voyage I made up my mind to be a vegetarian too. A member of the little-known Christian vegetarian society.

  Just then I heard squealing behind me and much commotion. The monkey, being led into the dining hall for its execution. They would cut off its head, then I would be expected to scoop up its brains and feast while the poor beast was still kicking and screaming! I gathered all my strength. However unmannerly it was considered, I had to put a stop to this. I had to say, “No, thank you. We are English and we do not eat our food alive.”