The other man left the woman and pushed himself to his feet to advance on Molineaux. ‘You’re making a big mistake, nigger. Do you know who I am?’
‘Firstly, you’re the one making a big mistake – by calling me “nigger”. And secondly, you’re asking the wrong question.’
The man furrowed his brow. In the faint glow from the distant harbour lights, Molineaux could see he was in his mid-thirties or thereabouts, with a face which was mostly covered by a greasy beard. He looked well-dressed, but he was clearly no gentleman. ‘The wrong question…?’
Molineaux nodded. ‘The question ain’t: do I know who you are? The question is: do I give a fish’s tit?’
The man threw a punch at Molineaux’s head. The seaman ducked, but the man’s punch had been a feint and he caught Molineaux with a left hook. The seaman went down and fell on the chicken coop. It splintered under his weight and a hen flapped into the air. Molineaux caught it by the legs and threw it at the man’s face. The man cried out in alarm and took a step back. He tripped over the gunwale and fell into the water between two yolos with a splash.
‘Look out!’ yelled the woman.
Molineaux turned to see the dim glint of light on the six barrels of a pepperbox which Zeke had produced from somewhere. The seaman launched himself at Zeke, but even the few feet which separated them might as well have been miles.
The gun went off, but not before the woman had kicked Zeke in the wrist so that the pistol discharged itself harmlessly into the gunwale.
‘Bitch!’ Zeke tried to pistol-whip her, but she scurried nimbly out of the way. A moment later Molineaux caught him by the wrist and forced him back down. As they rolled over and over on the cluttered deck, Molineaux glimpsed embers glowing through a gap in the door of a small stove. He forced Zeke’s arm down until the back of his hand came into contact with the hot-plate on top of the stove. Zeke yelled and dropped the pistol. Molineaux punched him in the stomach, and jumped to his feet. He grabbed Zeke by the shirt-front, hoisted him up, and punched him in the jaw. Zeke tottered back and fell over the gunwale, landing on the head of the other man who was trying to climb back aboard.
Molineaux retrieved the fallen pistol and stood over them both with one foot on the gunwale. The bearded man got one hand on the gunwale and glared up at Molineaux. ‘I knows you. You’m the nigger sailor on the Tisiphone.’
Molineaux stamped viciously on his fingers and aimed the pepperbox at his head. ‘If I hear you using that word one more time, mister, I’ll blow a hole in your head so big we’ll all be able to see what kind of shit you’ve got where most coves keep their brains.’
With a snarl, the bearded man began to swim between the yolos after Zeke as he made his way to the quayside. ‘You bain’t be hearing the last of this, matey!’
‘You got me quaking in my boots,’ sneered Molineaux. He dropped the pepperbox overboard and turned to the woman. ‘You oh-kay, miss?’ Molineaux had spent two years on a Yankee brig and his talk was laced with Americanisms; the Tanka girl must have met a few American sailors herself, for she seemed to understand him.
She nodded. ‘Hai. Yes. Thank you.’ She glanced down at her torn clothes. ‘Bloody bastard barbarians! They tearum my shirtee!’ Unabashed by Molineaux’s presence, she took off the tattered remains and tossed them aside to ferret for something else to wear. Even in the dim light Molineaux could see enough to remind him that he had not had a woman since Portsmouth.
She was fastening on a fresh shirt when she saw him staring at her. ‘What matter? You no see cow-chillo without clothe before?’
‘Not one as cute as you.’
She unfastened her shirt once more to display her breasts to him. ‘You takee alla look-see you wantchee. My no shamee.’
‘Evidently not, miss. They’re very fine.’ He turned away to start tidying up the debris the fight had caused.
Pouting, she fastened her shirt once more. ‘What for you helpee me?’
‘I wouldn’t want you thinking all barbarians are pigs.’
‘You devil-slave. What for you carum?’
He stood up and rounded on her angrily. ‘Hey! I ain’t no devil, and I sure as hell ain’t no slave.’ He shook his head, and chuckled. ‘First time I ever bashed a man with a chicken. Who were those coves, anyway?’
‘Him Missee Ingersoll, him captainee of number-one opium hulk at Cap-sing-mun.’
‘You think maybe he’ll come back?’
‘Him no savvy me. Alla China cow-chillo lookee alia same to barbarians.’
Molineaux grinned. ‘I wish that were true. If all Chinese girls looked the same as you, I think I’d retire here.’
‘Him savvy you, though. If I be you, I be plenty scarum. Him makee muchee trub for you.’
‘He can try.’ Molineaux became aware that he was being watched. He casually picked up the gaff-hook and whirled, but it was only the hen he had thrown at Ingersoll, perched on the gunwale with its head cocked on one side as it glared accusingly at Molineaux. ‘You still here?’ he asked it. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t make a bid for freedom while you still had the chance, before you ended up in someone’s cooking pot.’
The woman picked up the chicken and carried it back to the wrecked coop. The other chickens were also running loose on deck. ‘They b’long here; they savvy they catchee plenty chow. What for you b’long here, devil-slave?’
‘My name’s Wes,’ he told her irritably, as he started to jury-rig the chicken coop with a ball of twine he found.
‘My namee Mei-rong.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Mei-rong.’
‘You no answer my question. What for you b’long here?’
‘If I thought you could cook chicken the way my mum does, maybe I’d b’long here long time.’
‘That not kind of hunger my thinkee you wantchee satisfy.’ She crouched down next to him to help and put one hand on his.
He was tempted to lean forward and kiss her, but he shook his head. ‘You don’t owe me a thing, Mei-rong. If I took advantage of your gratitude I’d be no better than them two thugs we just chased away.’
‘Is plenty different when cow-chillo willing,’ she pointed out.
He stood up. ‘Don’t think I ain’t tempted. But I’ve got to find one of my shipmates.’
‘You no likee China cow-chillo?’
‘I likee you very much, Mei-rong.’
‘Then what trub?’ She stood up on tip-toes to put her arms around his neck. He dipped his head to kiss her and a moment later she had wrapped her lithe legs around his hips, giggling. Then the two of them fell to the deck.
‘Ah, what the hell?’ Molineaux growled between lingering kisses. ‘Jem Dando can find his own way home.’
* * *
Killigrew was drilling the starboard watch in cutlass exercises the following morning when a boat came alongside from the shore and Assistant Superintendent Cargill climbed aboard. He conversed briefly with Hartcliffe on the quarter-deck and the first lieutenant nodded and directed one of the midshipmen to show the police officer down to Robertson’s day room.
Killigrew concentrated on his work. ‘Come on, Dando! Get that blade up! You’re supposed to be swapping thrusts with a pilong, not doing petit point needlework!’
‘Sorry, sir. Had a run ashore last night. I’m feeling a little the worse for wear.’
‘If this were for real, Dando, do you think that excuse would wash with your opponent?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Have a heart, sir,’ said Molineaux. ‘You know how difficult it is to get your weapon up when you’ve got gallon distemper.’
The others laughed. Killigrew smiled tolerantly, but before he could reply Hartcliffe called him across to the quarter-deck. ‘Keep them at it, Mr Fanning,’ Killigrew told the boatswain’s mate. ‘If any of these lads have the blue devils, we’ll soon sweat it out of them.’ He made his way across to where Hartcliffe stood. ‘Which way does the wind lie?’
‘The Old Man wants to see you in his day r
oom. Seems one of the men in your watch assaulted a member of the public last night.’
‘How do they know it was one of the men in my watch? Have they got a good description?’
‘Well, he was black and wearing pusser’s slops.’
Killigrew sighed. ‘Molineaux!’
The seaman broke off his cutlass drill and crossed to the deck at the double. ‘Sir?’
‘Accompany me to the captain’s day room, if you please.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Molineaux followed the lieutenant down the after-hatch. ‘Am I in the rattle, sir?’
‘That depends. Someone answering your description assaulted a member of the public last night.’
‘Oh, that. I can explain everything, sir—’
‘Save it for the captain, Molineaux.’
In the day room, Robertson stood by the window while Cargill sat in one of the chairs by the table. ‘I understand you wanted to speak to me and Able Seaman Molineaux, sir?’
‘Yes, Mr Killigrew. Mr Cargill here tells me that a gentleman was roughly assaulted on the waterfront last night by a black sailor. The gentleman has two fingers broken in his right hand—’
‘He weren’t no gentleman, Cap’n,’ said Molineaux.
‘Pipe down!’ snapped Killigrew. ‘You’ll speak when spoken to. Hoist in?’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’
‘Well, Molineaux,’ said Robertson, ‘am I to take it that you are admitting to this crime?’
‘I was the one what done it, sir, but it weren’t no crime. It was self-defence. This cove Ingersoll and his mate were trying to do me in.’
‘And why, may I ask, were they trying to do that?’ asked Cargill.
‘Maybe you should ask them what they were doing on the waterfront in the first place?’ suggested Molineaux.
‘The waterfront is a public highway, sailor,’ said Cargill. ‘They had as much right to be there as any man.’
‘Yeah, except when I found them they weren’t on the quayside itself, they was in one of the yolos, trying to rape a Tanka girl. I went to help her and that’s when they turned on me.’
‘Well!’ said Robertson. ‘I’d say that puts an entirely different complexion on things. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr Cargill?’
‘If this man is telling the truth.’ Cargill nodded at Molineaux.
Killigrew could see another sharp retort welling up inside the seaman. He caught Molineaux’s eye and shook his head infinitesimally. The seaman bit his tongue. ‘Dismissed, Molineaux.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Molineaux saluted Robertson and Killigrew, shot a disdainful glance at Cargill, and went out.
‘Well?’ said Robertson.
‘Sir, barring occasional flashes of insubordination, Able Seaman Molineaux is one of our most reliable and honest hands. I might remind you that he’s been twice mentioned in Admiralty dispatches. If he says this fellow Ingersoll was trying to rape a Tanka girl, I believe him.’
‘I’m inclined to agree,’ said Robertson. ‘So, Mr Cargill, what do you want to do now? You needn’t expect me to punish one of my hands for an act of chivalry, but if you want to take Able Seaman Molineaux into custody, I can’t stop you. What I can do, however, is raise merry hell with your superiors, and believe me I shall if I have to.’
Cargill grimaced. ‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary, sir. I’ll have a discreet word with Captain Ingersoll, make it clear to him that he’s only likely to embarrass himself if he pushes the matter any further. I’m sure he’ll see sense and let it drop.’
‘Let it drop!’ exclaimed Robertson. ‘Aren’t you going to charge him with attempted rape? Assault?’
‘It was only a Tanka girl…’
‘I see,’ said Ki Hi grew. ‘What was it you said to me yesterday about having one law for Europeans and another for the Chinese?’
Cargill squirmed. ‘I’m afraid it’s not that simple, Mr Killigrew. Captain Ingersoll is the master of the Buchan Prayer, Mr Bannatyne’s receiving ship, and Mr Bannatyne is an extremely influential man in these parts.’
‘You mean when he says “Jump!’’ you ask: “How high?”’ said Killigrew.
‘That’s about the long and the short of it, sir, yes,’ Cargill admitted with disarming candour. ‘You know Bonham’s predecessor left under something of a cloud? Everyone in Hong Kong knows it was Bannatyne who swung that. The story is the two of them had a row over some matter of dealing with the Chinese and Sir John refused to take Bannatyne’s advice. Six months later – as much time as it takes news to get to the Colonial Office and back – Sir John was forced to resign. And it was Bannatyne who recommended Bonham as his replacement. Now, if you gentlemen wish to take on the tai-pan of Grafton, Bannatyne and Co., that’s your prerogative. But I’d be obliged if you’d keep me out of it.’
‘Very well, Mr Cargill,’ sighed Robertson. ‘I can see you’re in a difficult position. If Ingersoll’s prepared to drop the matter, then so am I. Sounds to me like the damned scoundrel got his just desserts. Two fingers broken, eh?’ The commander chuckled. ‘Good for Molineaux.’
Killigrew escorted Cargill back up on deck. ‘I’m given to understand that the trial of Zhai Jing-mu has been postponed yet again. Seeing that it’s over a week since we arrested him, might I ask what the delay is?’
Cargill sighed with the air of a man who was weary of having to answer the same question over and over again. ‘I’ve been gathering evidence…’
‘Gathering evidence? We caught him in the act. I hardly see what further proof is needed.’
‘I see your point of view, Killigrew. Now please see mine: Zhai Jing-mu has slipped through our fingers too many times in the past. I want to be one hundred per cent certain of a conviction before he goes to trial. Not ninety-seven per cent, not ninety-eight per cent, not even ninety-nine per cent. One hundred per cent. Over the past three years he’s done thousands of pounds worth of damage to the China trade, not to mention the loss of life he’s responsible for. We don’t want another three years of his reign of terror because of some legal technicality.’
‘When you put it like that… By the way, I spoke to Sir Dadabhoy Framjee yesterday. He tells me that Li Cheng resigned as his comprador yesterday morning, and hasn’t been seen at the Framjee factory since.’
‘Now that is interesting,’ agreed Cargill, stroking his whiskers. ‘I shall certainly have to have a word with this fellow Li.’ He climbed down into the waiting boat. ‘And I expect you to stay well clear of the whole thing, Mr Killigrew. If you see this fellow Li anywhere, send word to me. Understand?’
Killigrew nodded. ‘I think I’m starting to understand how this colony works.’
For a moment it looked as if Cargill might reply, but then he scowled. ‘All right, take me back ashore.’
Killigrew watched the boat for a moment and then turned to the boatswain’s mate. ‘Pass the word for Molineaux, Mr Fanning.’
‘Aye, aye, sir. Wes! Mr Killigrew wants a word.’
The lieutenant wandered over to the taffrail and Molineaux joined him there a moment later. ‘Well, Molineaux, it looks like you managed to wriggle out of it this time.’
The seaman grinned. ‘Don’t I always?’ he smirked, and then saw Killigrew’s face. ‘I mean, glad to hear it, sir. Thank you.’
As Killigrew gazed across to where Admiral Huang’s junk was still at anchor, he saw a Chinese woman being lowered to a chop-boat tied up below. From her fine silk robes with rich brocade, it was obvious that she was a gentlewoman, or at least a courtesan at the peak of her career.
Molineaux saw her too. ‘Cool the blower with the gammy dew-beaters, sir! She’s a bit young to have gout, ain’t she?’
‘Golden lotus feet, Molineaux,’ said Killigrew. ‘The Chinese find small feet attractive in women, so they take the girls when they’re young, break the bones in their feet, and then bind them tightly so they can’t grow more than a few inches in length. I understand the Manchus are trying to ban the practice; you have to give them credit for that.�
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Lord Hartcliffe snorted. ‘Damnable savages! Subjecting their women to such an unhealthy, constricting torture merely to make them conform to some unnatural ideal of feminine beauty!’
* * *
‘Pull!’ urged Mrs Bannatyne. ‘Pull harder!’ She gripped one of the posts of her four-poster bed as her amah hauled on the stays of her corset. ‘Tighter!’
‘Is too tight!’ protested the amah. ‘I hurtee you!’
‘I’ll decide when it’s too tight. It’s supposed to be eighteen inches.’
‘But your waist is not eighteen inches! ’
Mrs Bannatyne glared at her.
The amah flushed. ‘But you have got beautiful shape, Missee Bannatyne. Not like my poor, fat, pig-like lump of body.’
‘Spare me your Oriental humility. I’ve seen skeletons with more flesh on them than you. Now are you going to pull, or do I have to get Mr Shen in here to do it for you?’
In the mirror over the dressing table, Mrs Bannatyne saw a trace of fear in the amah’s eyes. ‘I do it, Missee Bannatyne.’ She hauled on the stays again, but it was no good: any tighter and Mrs Bannatyne would be in danger of fainting halfway through the evening. Plenty of girls did, to give dashing young men a chance to catch them before they hit the floor, but at twenty-five Mrs Bannatyne considered herself too old for such games, even if she had not been a married woman. She was just going to have to accept that she was a fat and frumpy twenty-two inches around the waist and the days when she had been the belle of every ball were far behind her.
She finished dressing and the amah was helping her pin up her hair when there came a knock on the bedroom door. ‘All right, Bai-ling,’ she told the amah. ‘You can go now. I can manage the rest.’
The amah bowed and went out. ‘Come in,’ Mrs Bannatyne called through the open door.
She expected her husband to come through the door, but it was Captain Verran. In the dresser mirror she saw him lean nonchalantly against the door lintel with his arms folded and an insouciant leer on his face. ‘Good evening, ma’am. May I say you look as ravishing as ever?’
Killigrew and the Golden Dragon Page 11