Killigrew and the Golden Dragon

by Jonathan Lunn

  One of the guns on board the junk boomed. Killigrew saw a plume of smoke blossom from the junk’s side, but there was no corresponding round shot strike. After about five seconds another gun boomed, and then another. The junk was firing blank shots in a salute. The junk fired fifteen guns in all, and after a pause the guns of the shore battery fired thirteen in response. He relaxed. Whatever the junk was doing there, it was expected by the port authorities.

  Killigrew paid a Tanka woman to row him back to the Tisiphone in her yolo. When he climbed up the side-ladder he found Lord Hartcliffe talking to Yelverton on the quarterdeck.

  ‘Hello, Kit. Pleasant day?’

  ‘It had its moments.’ Killigrew nodded to the massive junk. ‘Trouble?’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine. Admiral Huang Hai-kwang, come to talk to Rear-Admiral Collier.’

  ‘Huang Hai-kwang? Wasn’t that the name of the only captain of a junk to get the better of a British vessel in the war?’

  ‘For which he was duly promoted,’ Hartcliffe said grimly. ‘By the way, this arrived for you this afternoon.’ He produced a bamboo tube about ten inches long.

  Killigrew checked the seal on the end and recognised the chop of Prince Tan Dian-ning. He broke it off and extracted the tightly rolled scroll within. To his surprise, it was written in English.

  ‘Not bad news, I hope?’ asked Hartcliffe.

  ‘That depends on the quality of Prince Tan’s chef. It’s an invitation to dinner.’

  * * *

  ‘Dinner?’ Robertson echoed quizzically.

  ‘Yes, sir. It’s a repast quite common in most parts of the world, often used as an opportunity for entertaining guests.’

  ‘Spare me your feeble attempts at humour, Second. What I’d like to know is what you’ve done to be singled out for the honour of an invitation on board Prince Tan’s houseboat.’

  ‘I’m his son, sir. That is to say, his adopted son,’ Killigrew added quickly.

  ‘You never cease to astonish me, Second. And how did you get to be the adopted son of a Chinese mandarin?’

  ‘We met after the Opium War, sir. I foolishly allowed myself to be enticed on board one of the flower boats on the Pearl River during a stay at Canton and almost had my throat slit for my pains. His excellency was being entertained in the next compartment and he intervened to save my life. According to Confucian ethics, if you save a man’s life you become responsible for anything he does after that time.’ It had been Prince Tan who had taught Killigrew so much about Chinese culture and philosophy. ‘I expect his excellency is keen to know if I’ve done anything to disgrace him in the last six years.’

  ‘Let’s hope he never learns the truth, then! You trust him?’

  ‘I owe him my life, sir.’

  ‘That’s hardly the same thing. I may not be an old China hand like yourself, but I’ve been warned the Chinese never do anything without an ulterior motive.’

  ‘You might say the same of any race on God’s earth, sir. It could be the Chinese authorities’ wish to pass on a message through unofficial channels.’

  Robertson looked dubious for a moment, but made up his mind with a grimace. ‘Oh, very well, then. I think we can spare you for a couple of hours. Perhaps you may be able to learn something from his excellency which will be useful to the governor. Just remember that relations between ourselves and the Chinese are poised on a knife edge. It wouldn’t take much to spark off another war – there are plenty of people on both sides of Victoria Harbour who think that what was begun during the last war was left unfinished – so mind what you say.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  Killigrew made his way down to his cabin, washed and changed into his full dress uniform. The crew of the dinghy rowed him across to Prince Tan’s floating palace.

  As he drew near he glimpsed a face at one of the windows on an upper storey: a Eurasian beauty, with wide blue eyes and skin like porcelain stretched tight over an angular face beneath black hair piled high on her head. Her doll-like beauty was exquisite, and Killigrew found himself wondering if he would be invited to meet her once he was on board. Then a hand – too large to be hers – pulled down a blind and concealed her from view.

  The guards on the houseboat’s gallery had been instructed to expect him and they made no challenge when the dinghy approached. A Chinese houseboy emerged and bowed as Killigrew stepped on to the landing stage.

  ‘Lieutenant Killigrew? His highness is expecting you.’

  ‘You lads had better get back to the Tisiphone,’ Killigrew told the crew of the dinghy. ‘Come back for me at seven bells.’ He had to be back on duty at eight, and there was no harm in letting Prince Tan’s men know he would be missed. The dinghy’s crew rowed away and the houseboy escorted Killigrew to one of the upper decks.

  The interior of the houseboat was exquisitely decorated. There was not a single beam or bulkhead that was not intricately carved into landscapes, dragons, Chinese lions and flamingos. The houseboy ushered Killigrew into a room luxuriously furnished with silk cushions and hung with crimson silk.

  ‘Please to wait here. His highness will join you presently.’ The houseboy left and Killigrew, well acquainted with Chinese customs, kept his cocked hat on: the Chinese considered it bad manners to bare one’s head. He whiled away the time by studying a hanging scroll painted with a landscape of mountains and lakes, with a written scroll on either side of it. He could hear someone plucking delicate notes from a pipa somewhere upstairs and he wondered if it was the Eurasian beauty he had seen a few moments ago.

  ‘Hands up!’ a voice screeched behind him in English.

  Killigrew whirled round and within an instant his dress-sword was in his hand. He searched the room for his would-be assailant but there was no one, just a bird in an ornate cage which hung from the ceiling. He moved closer to investigate and saw that it was a mynah bird.

  ‘Jobbernowl!’ the bird sneered in English.

  Killigrew brushed the tip of his sword against the bars of the cage, so gently that the bird was not even alarmed. ‘“Who’s a pretty boy, then?” is more traditional,’ he murmured.

  ‘An amusing bird, is it not?’ asked another voice.

  Killigrew turned to see an old man in richly brocaded robes had entered the room behind him. His face was lined with age, his long, thin moustachios shot through with silver, and there were deep bags under his eyes which gave him a soulful look. When the old man saw the weapon in Killigrew’s hand, alarm showed in his features for perhaps a fraction of a second before he composed himself once more.

  Killigrew quickly sheathed his sword. ‘I humbly offer you my most profound apologies, your highness,’ he said. He did not offer to shake hands, knowing that the Chinese considered it an unhygienic barbarian custom, but bowed in the Oriental manner. ‘It was not my intention to dishonour myself by drawing my weapons in your exalted home.’

  ‘Jobbernowl!’ said the mynah bird. ‘Hands up!’

  Prince Tan returned the bow. ‘I am to blame. The bird was a gift from a business acquaintance. I should have taught it better manners. It is only natural that you should seek to defend yourself upon hearing such importunate language.’

  ‘Your apology is wholly unnecessary,’ said Killigrew.

  Prince Tan gestured to the table. ‘Please be seated, my honoured barbarian son.’

  They sat down facing one another at the table and an amah girl entered with a tea tray as if on cue, and started to go through the ritual of serving out tea.

  ‘I’m still in your debt,’ said Killigrew.

  ‘As I told you seven years ago, in saving your life, I was trusting my own judgement in the belief that you would do nothing to dishonour that trust.’

  ‘I hope that my actions since we last met have done honour to my Chinese father.’

  ‘I am sure that they have; and that they will continue to do so in future. I trust my barbarian son is well?’ asked the prince.

  ‘Very well, your highness, thank you.’ />
  ‘His virility undiminished?’

  Killigrew smiled and exchanged glances with the amah, who lowered her eyes demurely. ‘Not so you’d notice. And yours?’

  Tan sighed. ‘I am an old man now, alas. What is it you barbarians say?’

  ‘The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak?’

  ‘Quite so. Have some tea.’

  ‘Jobbernowl!’ squawked the mynah bird.

  Tan smiled sadly. ‘Since you are here, perhaps you could explain to me what “jobbernowl” means?’

  ‘Oh, it’s a colloquialism for a fool or an idiot,’ said Killigrew. ‘You used to hear it all the time when I was a younker. Seems to have gone out of fashion nowadays, though. I can’t remember the last time I heard someone use it.’

  ‘You see?’ Tan asked the bird. ‘Every time you use that barbarian word you insult one of my guests.’

  ‘Be quiet! Jobbernowl!’

  Tan turned back to Killigrew, who grinned.

  ‘I understand my barbarian son recently distinguished himself by the capture of the notorious pirate Zhai Jing-mu?’ asked Tan.

  ‘I had the good joss to be in the right place at the right time.’

  ‘Such is karma. But you must beware. Zhai Jing-mu has many powerful friends; and an enemy of his is an enemy of theirs. You have heard of the Brotherhood of Heaven, Earth and Man?’

  ‘The Triads?’ Killigrew nodded. ‘Yes, I believe a couple of them introduced themselves to me this afternoon.’

  ‘So I have heard.’

  ‘News travels fast. What can you tell me about Admiral Huang?’

  ‘Ah. I was wondering when you would ask me that question. Admiral Huang is here to offer Rear-Admiral Collier a chance for barbarian vessels and vessels of his Imperial Majesty’s navy to work together to wreak righteous destruction on the pilongs.’

  ‘Sounds good to me. If that really is what the admiral wants.’

  Tan smiled. ‘You understand the subtleties of the civilised mind well for a barbarian. There are two factions in the Imperial Grand Council in the Forbidden City. The one which is in favour at the moment advises a policy of harmonious compromise with the barbarians. But there is another faction, foolish men who can only remember the loss of face which resulted from the barbarian affair.’ The ‘barbarian affair’ was how the Chinese dismissively referred to the Opium War. ‘These men are unable to see that a second war will be even more disastrous for the Celestial Kingdom than the first was. Admiral Huang is such a man. If he is proposing a policy of co-operation between our navies, then it would be foolish not to wonder if he had an ulterior motive for doing so. Perhaps you should ask what the price for such co-operation might be.’

  Killigrew sipped his tea and studied Tan thoughtfully. ‘What is the price for such co-operation?’

  ‘That Zhai Jing-mu be handed over to the authorities in Canton for trial.’ Killigrew laughed. ‘Governor Bonham would never agree to that. Besides, what difference does it make whether Zhai Jing-mu’s tried in Victoria or Canton? The penalty for piracy is the same under British law as it is in the Manchu Code, if not the manner of its execution.’

  ‘Admiral Huang has been pursuing Zhai Jing-mu for four years, and in that time never once came close to capturing him. Yet you captured him within days of reaching the South China Sea.’

  ‘Sheer luck,’ said Killigrew. ‘The admiral thinks I made him lose face?’

  Tan smiled humourlessly. ‘Do you think the pilongs will sit back and allow you to execute Zhai Jing-mu without making any attempt to free him?’

  ‘They’d never break him out of Victoria Gaol.’

  ‘Agreed. It would be far easier to rescue him while he was en route to Canton.’

  Killigrew was starting to see what his host was driving at. He knew Tan would never make such an accusation openly, but he was curious to see how far the mandarin was prepared to go. ‘True. But the question is purely academic, as Bonham won’t agree for Zhai Jing-mu to be tried anywhere but in Victoria.’

  ‘Indeed. I was merely speculating concerning Huang’s motives. Be wary of the admiral, my barbarian son. His faction may be out of favour at court at present, but that may not always be the case. And he is a dangerous man to have for an enemy.’

  ‘That’s fine by me,’ Killigrew said coolly. ‘So am I.’

  Chapter 5

  Yolo

  Molineaux and Ågård put the two unconscious sailors on either side of the wheelbarrow outside the Britain’s Boast, one of Victoria’s many waterfront taverns.

  ‘All right, take them down to the wharf,’ Ågård told the coolie pushing the barrow.

  ‘Hai.’ The coolie ducked his head and pushed the barrow before him. Molineaux and Ågård sauntered along behind him. There were worse jobs in Her Majesty’s navy than gathering up the drunks after a run ashore, but by and large Molineaux would have preferred to be one of the unconscious men on the barrow.

  One of the boatswain’s mates waited in the cutter tied up at the wharf. There was already a pile of drunk men amidships, snoring or groaning. ‘Two more for you, Mr Fanning,’ said Ågård, as Molineaux helped the coolie carry the drunks from the wheelbarrow to the cutter.

  ‘We’re still one shy,’ said the boatswain’s mate.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Who do you think?’

  ‘Jem Dando,’ Molineaux sighed.

  The boatswain’s mate nodded. ‘I’ve got to get this lot back aboard, but I don’t have to report him run until the morning watch. If he’s not back by then, though… then it’ll be a matter for the corporal and the marines.’

  ‘We could keep on looking for him,’ suggested Ågård.

  ‘If you think he’s worth it,’ agreed the boatswain’s mate.

  ‘We’ve tried everywhere. The Britannia, the Golden Tavern, the Britain’s Boast, the British Queen, the Caledonian, the Eagle, the Commercial, the Waterloo…’

  ‘What about Labtat’s?’ asked Fanning.

  ‘Labtat’s?’

  ‘Labtat’s Tavern.’ The boatswain’s mate laughed. ‘I can tell you two ain’t old China hands if you’ve never heard of Labtat’s. A cable’s length up the road, then hard-a-starboard. You can’t miss it. Just keep an ear open for the sound of splintering furniture and breaking heads.’

  ‘Labtat’s it is, then.’ Molineaux clapped Ågård on the shoulder. ‘I’ll look for him. No need for us both to lose sleep, Oily. You get back to the Tizzy, if I find Jem I’ll hire a yolo.’

  Ågård nodded and climbed into the cutter. As the boat pulled back to the Tisiphone, Molineaux paid the coolie off and made his way along the waterfront. Before he had gone a hundred yards he heard English voices and what sounded like a West Country lilt. The voices came from one of the yolos crowded in the harbour. Chickens clucked and squawked incongruously.

  He stood at the edge of the dockside and peered into the darkness. ‘That you, Jem?’

  Whoever was in the yolo was too preoccupied to hear him. ‘Hold her down, Zeke.’

  ‘Let me go!’ a Chinese woman squealed in English. ‘You bloody bastard barbarian! Let me go!’

  ‘Yeow! Damned hellspite bit me!’

  The man with the West Country accent laughed. ‘We’ll soon learn her some manners…’

  The woman screamed.

  ‘Stow your gaff, bitch, or we really will give you something to scream about.’

  That didn’t sound like Dando. Molineaux heard the sound of material being ripped. A moment later he had jumped down on to the deck of the nearest yolo and was making his way across the tightly packed boats to the scene of the commotion. He was aware of dirty Oriental faces peering out at him from under awnings, but no one made any attempt to stop him. That was the problem with the Chinese: a child could get murdered under their noses, and most of the time none of them would lift a finger to stop it. Karma, they called it.

  The small boats rocked under his weight, but he jumped nimbly from deck to deck until he had reached his destinati
on. He stood in the yolo’s bow, next to the chicken coop where a couple of bantams clucked and flapped in agitation. Under the boat’s awning, two men were holding down a young Tanka woman. One of them held a knife to her throat while the other forced her legs apart and kneeled between them.

  Molineaux felt rage boil in his blood. ‘Let her up,’ he snarled.

  The two men stared at each other and then slowly turned their heads to meet Molineaux’s gaze. ‘It’s just some damned blackamoor,’ sneered one.

  ‘Walk away, shipmate,’ growled the other.

  ‘I ain’t your shipmate,’ said Molineaux. ‘And as you old China hands are always so fond of saying: “no can do”.’

  ‘Get rid of him, Zeke.’

  One of the men rose to his feet, hitched up his trousers, and swaggered across to where Molineaux stood, picking up a gaff-hook on the way. ‘You got wax in your ears, boy? Get away from here!’

  Molineaux motioned for the two men to precede him with a mockingly grandiloquent gesture. ‘After you.’

  ‘You’re asking for it!’ Zeke swung the gaff at Molineaux’s head. The seaman ducked under the blow and drove a fist into the other’s stomach. Zeke doubled up, Molineaux punched him on the jaw, and Zeke fell to the deck, dazed.