Killigrew and the Golden Dragon

by Jonathan Lunn

  ‘We’re well aware of that,’ Robertson said tersely.

  ‘I trust you have some proof of what you suggest?’

  ‘If I had proof, Mr Cargill, we wouldn’t be standing here jawing, we’d be on our way to Bannatyne’s house to put that devil under arrest.’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure you’re not misconstruing this, sir? I mean, I know it’s not my place to speculate, but from what Mr Bannatyne said to me this morning… well, I rather got the impression he thought his wife might have run away with Captain Verran.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Killigrew said dubiously. ‘But it doesn’t alter the fact that Verran’s guilty of piracy and murder.’

  ‘It’s still a case of your word against his,’ pointed out Cargill. ‘And the word of his crew, and three Chinese fishermen Captain Verran pulled out of the water after you sank the fishing fleet.’

  Killigrew was on his feet again in an instant. ‘Jesus Christ! You don’t honestly believe that, do you?’

  ‘It’s not a question of what I believe. It’s a question of what the jury’s going to believe. And I’m afraid the word of an opium smoker isn’t going to count for much.’

  ‘An opium smoker? Who told you that?’

  ‘It wasn’t Strachan, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ said Robertson. ‘Bannatyne told us.’

  Killigrew grimaced. ‘I should have seen that one coming.’

  ‘Do you deny it?’

  Killigrew sighed. ‘No. But I’m off the filthy stuff now. And I certainly didn’t order an attack on any damned fishing fleet.’

  ‘I never believed that for a moment,’ said Robertson. ‘But you must take Mr Cargill’s point. You’re batting off a sticky wicket here.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said Cargill. ‘But until this whole matter has been cleared up, I’m going to have to take Mr Killigrew in for questioning at the very least.’

  ‘Now hold on a moment, Assistant Superintendent. I’m sure we can come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement here. I’m going to speak to Captain Morgan immediately to try to get him to see this business isn’t as clear-cut as it first appears. While I’m doing that, would you have any objections if Mr Killigrew were to stay on board the Tisiphone? I’m sure he’ll give you his word of honour as an officer and a gentleman that he won’t go anywhere.’

  Killigrew stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded.

  ‘I suppose that’s all right,’ mused Cargill.

  ‘Very well, then,’ said Robertson. ‘That’s settled. You and I shall go and see Captain Morgan while Killigrew remains here.’

  Killigrew and Hartcliffe went up on deck to see Robertson and Cargill off.

  As soon as the gig was out of earshot, Killigrew turned to Molineaux. ‘Fancy a jaunt to the Buchan Prayer?’

  Molineaux raised an eyebrow. ‘I take it we don’t have an invitation, sir?’

  ‘That’s why I’d like you to come with me. I need your skill at picking locks and breaking and entering.’

  ‘I came to sea so I could get away from a life of crime,’ Molineaux said huffily.

  ‘Just one last time. Remember, you’re on the side of justice now.’

  ‘Tell it to the beak when he has me lagged for breaking and entering.’

  ‘Actually, in law I don’t think you can be transported to Australia for trespassing on a private vessel.’

  ‘No?’

  Killigrew shook his head. ‘This will count as piracy. You know what penalty that carries, don’t you?’

  Molineaux sighed. ‘I wish you’d kept your trap shut, sir. I was just starting to think this might not be such a daft idea.’

  ‘It would hardly be fair to ask you to do this without letting you know the risks involved. If you want to back out, I shan’t think any the less of you.’

  ‘In a pig’s eye!’

  ‘I can’t order you to do this.’

  ‘Oh-kay, oh-kay. I’ll help.’

  Hartcliffe was horrified. ‘Killigrew, what are you talking about? I thought you were going to stay here?’

  ‘While Cargill and Morgan prepare the case for the prosecution? No can do, my lord. We have to find the Golden Dragon before it’s too late. Verran hasn’t got the sand to disobey Bannatyne. Our friend the tai-pan knows exactly where his missing steamer is, and it’s my guess we’ll find the information we’re looking for on board Bannatyne’s receiving ship. We may even find proof of Bannatyne’s involvement with the pilongs.’

  ‘Please, Killigrew, I’m begging you. The Old Man’s going to have me strung up from the yardarm if he gets back and finds I’ve let you cut and run. Besides, you promised Cargill on your word of honour. As an officer and a gentleman.’

  Killigrew grinned boyishly. ‘I had my fingers crossed.’

  Chapter 15

  The Buchan Prayer

  Killigrew was still dressed in his Chinese clothes – conical hat and all – when he climbed into Mei-rong’s yolo with Molineaux. If one of Cargill’s constables – or one of Bannatyne’s spies, for that matter – saw a man in the uniform of a naval officer being sculled away in a yolo, that would give the game away; the black silk tunic and pyjamy trousers would also provide better camouflage than his white pantaloons and shirt when Killigrew climbed aboard the Buchan Prayer at night.

  ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Killigrew,’ Hartcliffe called down softly from the entry port.

  ‘That makes two of us,’ Killigrew heard Molineaux mutter under his breath. The seaman was dressed in his pusser’s slops, just another sailor and hardly likely to arouse any suspicions on shore. Both Killigrew and Molineaux quickly sat down beneath the matting awning while Mei-rong sat cross-legged in the stern, sculling the boat towards Possession Point and beyond, swirling figures of eight in the water with well-practised motions.

  ‘How long will it take us to reach Discovery Bay, Mei-rong?’ asked Killigrew. They were headed for Lan-tao Island, and Discovery Bay would make a good place to land, on the far side from the Cap-sing-mun anchorage but at the narrowest part of the island.

  ‘Four hour.’

  Killigrew nodded. It would be twilight by then; they would have a bite to eat, and then walk across the island. Then it should be dark enough to swim out to the Buchan Prayer unobserved. ‘Once we get out of the harbour, Molineaux can scull,’ he said, and the Able Seaman nodded eagerly.

  ‘No can do!’ hissed Mei-rong. ‘My boat, my rowum. My no trustee barbarian rowum.’ She grinned. ‘You no worry; my plenty strong, my gettee you there in plenty good hour.’

  Killigrew shrugged and made himself comfortable amongst the rough cushions and bolsters. ‘I’m going to get some sleep, Molineaux. Wake me in a couple of hours and then you can take a spell.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  Killigrew tipped his conical hat over his eyes and went to sleep. The sea was no place for insomniacs; one soon learned to sleep when and where one could.

  Twilight was descending when he awoke. Glancing out from beneath the awning, he could see the shore of Lan-tao only a couple of cables’ lengths away. He heard a low murmur of voices behind him and twisted to see Molineaux seated at the real' of the awning, talking to Mei-rong as she continued to scull them as tirelessly as ever towards the island. ‘I thought you were going to wake me when we got halfway?’

  ‘Is that the time already, sir? I had no idea it was so late.’

  ‘You need your sleep just as much as I do, Molineaux.’

  The seaman grinned. ‘You looked so peaceful, sir; seemed a shame to wake you.’

  Killigrew joined them in the stern and indicated a cove to the east of Discovery Bay. ‘Can you put us ashore there?’ he asked Mei-rong.

  She nodded and sculled the boat in through the surf. Killigrew and Molineaux jumped overboard and dragged the boat over the shingle into a place of concealment between two boulders. Mei-rong had cooking utensils and a stove on board and she prepared fish stew and fried rice for them.

  ‘There’s something I don’t understan
d, Mei-rong,’ said Molineaux. ‘You Chinese are s’posed to be an ancient and wise people, right?’

  She nodded. ‘Hai.’

  ‘You invented paper, printing, gunpowder, the compass and all kinds of useful stuff like that, right?’

  ‘Hai. What you wantchee savvy?’

  ‘So how come you never invented bloody forks?’

  She laughed. ‘Chopstick plenty good for civilised Chinee. Missee Killigrew, him eatee with chopstick, can. Only barbarian needee fork.’ Molineaux produced his Bowie knife and used the blade to balance his food on as he scooped it into his mouth. ‘Where did you get that?’ asked Killigrew. ‘I’ve seen cutlasses with smaller blades.’

  ‘Took it off a slaver at the Owodunni Barracoon, sir. It’s called a Bowie knife. Invented by some Yankee cove who got cramped at the Alamo.’

  ‘If that’s the kind of weaponry the Texans had at the Alamo, it’s hardly surprising they held out for so long.’

  ‘You got any weapons, sir?’

  Killigrew shook his head. ‘Remember, if we bump into any guards, they may just be innocent employees of Grafton, Bannatyne and Co.’

  ‘Innocent!’ scoffed Molineaux, who did not share Killigrew’s free-trade principles. ‘Don’t see as how anyone who works smuggling opium can be called “innocent”, sir.’

  ‘All the same, they’re not guilty of anything under British law.’

  ‘Is it oh-kay to scrag them in self-defence?’

  ‘If you must,’ sighed Killigrew. ‘But only if you must. If all goes well we won’t need any weapons.’

  ‘And if all doesn’t go well?’

  ‘I’d rather not think about that.’

  ‘You needn’t worry, sir. If the worst comes to the worst and they catch us, somehow I don’t think it will ever come to a trial.’

  They washed down their food with some rice wine and Killigrew glanced about at the gathering dusk. ‘Time to go,’ he decided.

  ‘You be plenty careful!’ Mei-rong warned them.

  Molineaux nodded. ‘Remember, if we’re not back by sun up, you head back for Victoria Harbour and pretend you never even heard of us.’

  Killigrew and Molineaux set off walking across the island. Complete darkness had fallen by the time they reached the far side, but paper lanterns lit up the decks of all the receiving ships. They could just make out the guards patrolling the decks. The opium-stuffed hulks were prime targets for pilongs, and they were well defended with cannons and swivel guns.

  A strong sea ran through the Cap-sing-mun Passage and it was hard work just to swim out to the Buchan Prayer. They reached the hulk without anyone on deck raising the alarm, and swam round to the stern. Both stern ports were barred shut: somehow Killigrew had not expected getting aboard to be easy, but it had been worth a try.

  They swam the length of the hull to the anchor chain, using a gentle breaststroke that caused hardly a ripple. On the deck above them there would be a watch on duty, but no one was gazing over the bulwarks. ‘I’ll go up first,’ whispered Killigrew. ‘When I signal the coast is clear, you follow.’

  Molineaux shook his head. ‘Better leave this to me, sir. I’ve done this kind of thing before. On land, at any rate.’ Before Killigrew could protest, Molineaux was climbing nimbly up the taut anchor chain. He reached the hawse hole and from there he could get one foot on the cheeks of the port bow. He scrambled over the rails on to the beak over the prow and was gone from sight.

  A moment later his head appeared at the rail, peering down to where Killigrew still trod water by the anchor chain. Molineaux pointed to something, and in the dim illumination of a paper lantern Killigrew could make out a sentry armed with a musket standing on the forecastle. The sentry faced forwards; the only reason he could not see Molineaux was because the seaman was in shadow. If Molineaux tried to climb on to the forecastle he would be spotted and the alarm would be raised. Killigrew saw Molineaux stick two fingers in his mouth, and for a moment he thought the seaman was going to whistle. Then he understood: Molineaux wanted a distraction, something to make the sentry turn away from the prow.

  Killigrew had a better idea. He slapped the water beside him with the flat of his hand to make a splashing noise.

  The sentry crossed to the starboard-side rail of the forecastle and glanced down. He carried a bull’s-eye lantern and suddenly opened the shutter so that the beam fell on Killigrew. Still treading water, the lieutenant smiled and waved. A moment later the sentry crumpled as Molineaux stepped up behind him and hit him on the back of the neck with the haft of his Bowie knife. The seaman caught him before he could hit the deck with a noisy thump and then signalled that the coast was clear.

  Killigrew shinned up the anchor chain and was about to climb over the rail to join Molineaux on the forecastle when he heard a voice as another sentry appeared from behind a deck house. ‘You all right, Zeke?’

  ‘He just collapsed,’ Molineaux called softly. He was no fool: he must have known that all the second sentry could see was one figure crouched over another slumped on deck. He motioned for the other sentry to approach.

  The second sentry hurried forward, reassured by Molineaux’s distinctly non-Chinese accent. ‘Is he all right?’

  Molineaux stood up and punched the man in the throat. He gave a strangled gasp, and Molineaux hit him again. This time he went down. ‘No worse than you,’ he told the second sentry’s unconscious body.

  Killigrew climbed over the rail. ‘Everything all right?’ he whispered.

  ‘Nothing I couldn’t handle,’ Molineaux assured him. ‘Help me get this one trussed up and we’ll lower them on to the head. They’ll be out of sight there.’

  Killigrew nodded. ‘All the same, someone’s bound to notice their absence. We may not have much time.’

  ‘We’d best look lively then, sir.’

  Molineaux had already gagged and bound the first sentry with his own belt, bootlaces and musket-sling. They did the same for the second, and gently lowered both to the grating of the head, more so as not to make any unnecessary noise than because they did not want to hurt the men.

  ‘Now what?’ asked Molineaux.

  ‘We’ll search the ship separately. You try the offices in the stern deck house; see what papers you can find in the safe. I’ll check the accommodation below decks, see if Mrs Bannatyne’s being held on board.’ Killigrew was hoping against all common sense that the tai-pan would not have it in his heart to murder his own wife in cold blood; but if Huang’s theories were correct, Bannatyne was a ruthless man who would stop at nothing, and Mrs Bannatyne was probably at the bottom of the South China Sea. But until he knew that for certain, Killigrew had to do everything in his power to rescue her; after the way she had cared for him during his sickness, he owed her that much at least. ‘If someone raises the alarm, it’s every man for himself. If either of us doesn’t make it back to where we left Mei-rong with the yolo, then he takes his own chances.’

  Molineaux nodded. They both crept along the deck, leaving a trail of wet footprints that would lead anyone who stumbled across them straight after the two trespassers, but that could not be helped. Molineaux opened the door to the aftermost deck house and peered through for a moment before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

  As soon as the seaman was out of sight, Killigrew glanced about until he found the after-hatch. He descended a companionway to a narrow corridor with doors leading off on either side. He listened at the first, heard nothing, and gently rapped his knuckles against it. There was no reply, but he opened it anyway, to find an empty cabin with linen folded on the bare mattress of the bunk. He was about to try the door of the next cabin when he heard sounds coming from the door behind him. Creaking and moaning. He glanced at the sign on the door – ‘Captain Ingersoll’ – and smiled. He grasped the handle and slowly eased the door open.

  Ingersoll lay on the bunk with his head thrown back on the pillows, his eyes closed in ecstasy. A Chinese girl sat astride his hips, her head thrown back, her bac
k to the door. A percussion pistol lay on a chair next to the bed: Ingersoll was clearly not a man who liked to take chances.

  Both were too focused on what they were doing to notice Killigrew enter the cabin and close the door behind him. He tiptoed across the deck, picked up the pistol, encircled the girl’s neck in the crook of an elbow and clamped a hand over her mouth while he levelled the pistol at the man’s head.

  The girl writhed in panic and moaned. ‘Oh, yes!’ gasped the man. ‘Yes! That’s it! Yes!’

  Killigrew tapped him on the chest with the cold muzzle of the pistol. Ingersoll’s eyes opened and his hand shot out towards the chair, fumbling for the pistol which was no longer there. He stared at Killigrew in shock. ‘What the…? Who the hell be you?’

  ‘The questions you should be asking at this juncture are: what do I want, and what’s going to happen to you if I don’t get it? Speakee English?’ he asked the girl.

  She nodded as best she could.

  ‘I’m going to take my hand from your mouth in a moment. If you scream, he dies. Then you. Savvy?’

  She nodded again.

  He took his hand away. ‘Put on that robe.’ He jerked his head to where a scarlet silk robe, the kind of thing Chinese prostitutes wore, was tossed on the deck.

  She climbed off Ingersoll. ‘You him spilum, my no care,’ she said with defiant truculence, but she was trembling and did as she was told.

  Killigrew kept the pistol levelled at Ingersoll. ‘You be Killigrew!’ the captain exclaimed in shock.

  ‘I’m honoured that my reputation has preceded me. Get up.’ Killigrew backed away and gestured to the girl with the pistol. ‘Tie her up and gag her. No snowball hitches.’

  Ingersoll scowled. ‘All right, missy. On the bunk, face down. You won’t be tied up for long.’

  ‘Most time my makee payee plenty extra for this.’

  Killigrew picked up a silk scarf with his left hand and passed it to Ingersoll. ‘Gag her. I think we’ve both had enough from her for one night.’