Robbie Taggart

by Michael Phillips

  “And if she should see the qualities you speak of in the sailor instead?” he asked at length.

  “He’ll be too dead to matter to her anymore. A living hero means more to a woman than a dead one.”

  “And this sailor . . . what skill has he?”

  “He is a tough one, I gots to admit that,” replied Pike. “But nothing compared to yer lordship. He don’t know nothin’ about weapons—take swords, for instance. Now with guns, he might get lucky. But with swords, it’s skill pure and simple. And he ain’t got none.”

  “Tell me this, sea captain: is your sailor stupid enough to walk in here where he knows that—however remote his chances—if he should win, he will be instantly killed?”

  “Robbie’s a headstrong lad,” said Pike, running a hand over his four-day growth of beard. “But if he hesitates, ye’re a smart fellow. Ye can figure something out.”

  “You may go, pig!” ordered Wang. “Get your wretched, stinking self away from me!”

  Pike grabbed his crutch, and, partly leaning on it, partly bracing himself against the wall, he hobbled from the room, not once looking back over his shoulder, neither worrying about an unexpected rear attack from the warlord. Wang needed him. He’d be safe for a while, and by then he’d have figured out some other safeguard. Nothing would deter him from his prime goal—self-preservation. Especially now that the destruction of Robbie Taggart was within his grasp.

  He grinned to himself as he limped along the deserted corridor to his own little cubicle. The true beauty of the plan he had just laid before Wang was that Pike himself would not have to lift a finger against Taggart.

  Not that he was squeamish. He could do it if he had to. But he would just as soon have someone else handle the actual deed.

  Perhaps, after all, there was a small, misplaced shred of humanity left in Benjamin Pike. Enough at least to make him afraid of forever seeing the face of his best friend’s son in his dreams, if he had to be the one to strike him down. He remembered too vividly that first time . . .

  He had been in one of his hateful fits on the Macao. Robbie was just a kid, and the apple of the captain’s eye. How his favor with the officers had galled Pike, himself nothing but a grimy sea cook with no hope of advancement. One night he sneaked up into the rigging, nearly killing himself with that fool peg leg of his. But he had made it to the top, and had fixed the ropes so that no one would be able to make that climb again and survive. He made sure it was Robbie who took that line the next day—it hadn’t been hard to do; Robbie loved nothing more than going aloft.

  A pang of guilt—he’d had some feelings left back then—suddenly struck him, and he nearly cried out a warning at the last moment. But in silence he watched the lad fall to the deck, saved from a certain death only by a turn of the wind. The gust had forced his descending body against the other rigging that had remained secure. It had been weeks before Pike could get the vision of that falling body from his mind.

  “He’s inhuman!” cried Pike, his voice echoing against the stone walls of the monastery. “More lives than a bleedin’ cat!”

  Robbie had survived, though badly injured. Yet the incident still haunted Pike, and he’d rather not risk repeating it.

  Better to let that fool Wang do the deed. Let him have the nightmares!

  49

  Fools Rush In

  Hsi-chen made her way slowly across the mission compound from the hospital.

  It was dark now, and the last of the evening patients had gone home hours ago. Her father had been called to the village to see to the state of a pregnant woman, while she had remained to put the dispensary in order for the following day.

  As she walked, she hoped to see Robbie returning across the bridge. He had gone with a villager to gather more wood for his shingles. He should not have been so long, but he must come soon.

  She ran a hand across her perspiring forehead. There was not even a hint of breeze to dull the oppressive heat of the mei-yu season. The plum rain was good for the rice, but insufferable for humans, though somehow they managed to survive the few weeks it lasted. This year, however, Hsi-chen seemed to feel it more than ever before. Her body sagged as if all vitality had been sapped from it by the heat and her plaguing illness.

  “Dear Lord,” she silently prayed, “please give me more time. But . . . help me to be strong, and to say not my will but yours be done.”

  Her prayer reminded her how unreasonable it was for her to seek Robbie out. She was being unfair to him and causing herself unnecessary pain by thinking there was any possibility of . . .

  She did not complete the thought. On this evening she simply wanted to see him, for his own sake. She wanted to look upon those eyes, the color of the sea he loved, sensitive, laughing eyes. She wanted to see his smile, so easy, so unabashed, so filled with the very thing she felt at the moment she lacked—life.

  She chided herself for her vain thoughts. She possessed eternal life. And that was enough.

  “Oh, Father!” she prayed again, “make it enough!”

  But Hsi-chen was young. All the faith in the universe could not keep her from loving life and desiring more of it. Neither could it keep her from sorrow at the prospect of parting from this world, a world which the Spirit of her Lord had given her such an appreciation for. Her heavenly Father would not condemn her for this; He too had suffered great anguish of heart at His parting from the world of men.

  Yet she had to admit that it had not been so difficult before Robbie Taggart came along.

  Dear Robbie . . . whose vibrant energy she had felt even that first day when he lay unconscious in the hospital.

  Oh, what a man of God you will make! she thought with a smile. Why do you struggle so against the life that is pressing toward you?

  She knew, however, that the harder fought the battle, the more glorious would be the victory in the end. And Hsi-chen harbored not the slightest doubt that there would be ultimate victory yet in Robbie Taggart’s life.

  Hearing a sound behind the chapel building, Hsi-chen paused.

  It sounded soft, like the whimpering of an injured animal, or perhaps a small child. The children did sometimes play there. But it was so late! Could one of them have been hurt and somehow got left behind?

  The servant spirit of the Chinese maiden prodded her toward the sound, giving no heed to the dangers the night might hold. In her longing after ministration, she had innocently forgotten that the mission was under siege by a notorious band of strangers.

  ———

  Robbie returned to the mission later than he’d expected. The farmer who had helped him with the wood invited him to stay for supper. Robbie consented, accepting the challenge of attempting to put to use some of the Chinese phrases Hsi-chen had been trying to teach him.

  The evening had been an enjoyable one. Robbie had been able to lay aside his mental quandaries and enter into the hospitality of the village folk, though he could understand nothing of what was said. He left in a contented mood, glad to have another pocket of local friends to add to the many such encounters he had had all over the world.

  When he crossed the bridge it was quite late. Yet he immediately noticed all the lamps in the residence burning brightly. Something must be amiss, he thought, for he had been at the mission long enough to familiarize himself with the habits of the place. There had never before been such activity at this hour, though an individual lamp occasionally burned past midnight in Wallace’s study.

  Therefore Robbie turned his steps toward the residence, not wanting to barge in where he was not wanted, but sensing trouble in the wind.

  He opened the door and immediately perceived that he had stumbled into the middle of a tense and highly emotional prayer meeting. Coombs, Miss Trumbull, Shan-fei, Yien Nien, and Wallace were all kneeling in a circle, holding hands, with heads bowed. All heads shot up and turned in his direction at the sound of the door creaking open.

  “Come in, please, Mr. Taggart,” said Wallace. “Won’t you join us?” Robbi
e could see from the man’s eyes that evil omens were in the air. His voice was an empty shell, drained of fervor, clinging thinly to the hope that went against the instincts of his flesh.

  “Where is Hsi-chen?” asked Robbie anxiously, slowly approaching the circle.

  “She has been taken,” replied Wallace.

  “Taken!” exclaimed Robbie. “Taken ill? Taken . . . what do you mean?” His words spilled out in a rush of intensity and confusion.

  Wallace tried to explain, though every word was a great effort. “Wang has apparently been here,” he said, “and has kidnapped her. We believe it happened an hour or two ago.”

  “What! But here where . . . was she alone—did no one see anything?”

  “She was alone. I was in the village. The others were here. We heard nothing. One of her sandals was found behind the chapel. There were signs of activity, perhaps a struggle, in the brush bordering the area.”

  “But I thought it was Shan-fei—?”

  Hsi-chen’s mother shook her head. “It was revenge he wanted more than anything,” she said dismally. “He is an evil man!”

  “What are you doing about it?” said Robbie, almost shouting. By now his tone was frantic, his eyes wild with fear. He wanted to scream and run all at once. He could barely control his emotions, much less his tongue. His agitated body cried out for action. “Why are you all sitting here! Why hasn’t someone gone after her?” The accusation in his tone was felt by everyone in the room.

  “We are doing the best possible thing we could do, Mr. Taggart,” answered Coombs. “We are surrounding Hsi-chen with prayer. The power of the Lord is greater than an army of ten thousand.”

  “Prayer! And nothing else?”

  “Wang will not harm her,” said Wallace, holding out a piece of heavy paper. “This was left. It says he has taken her to be his wife.”

  “Wife! And you say he will not harm her!” yelled Robbie, his control breaking. “What kind of man are you! You’re going to let this happen without a fight?”

  “The fight is not ours, Mr. Taggart. The battle is the Lord’s, and He will deliver her. We are praying for that deliverance. And in the meantime, I have sent one of the village men to Hangchow to notify the British legation—”

  “Hangchow!” Robbie threw his hands in the air. “Do you have any idea what a man like Wang could do to her in just one night?” he exclaimed in disbelief. “How can you be so callous!”

  “God will protect her, as He did Esther in the court of Ahasuerus.”

  “God! I don’t believe what I am hearing! How can you recite fairy tales at a time like this? You can do what you will. I’m going after her!”

  “Mr. Taggart!” warned Wallace, resuming some of his old tone. “Do not act foolishly. I know your heart is right. But your actions could do more harm than good.”

  “No more harm than sitting idly by and doing nothing!”

  “There are other steps I have undertaken besides Hangchow. But we must wait upon the Lord for guidance at every move. Without Him both before us and behind us, we are certain of failure. In trust of Him, there is certain victory.”

  “You call this victory! You, with your pious words that prove empty to save your own daughter.”

  “Leave it in God’s hands, Mr. Taggart.”

  “For a while, I almost thought I could believe in this God of yours,” retorted Robbie. “But not if He requires me to sit still while someone I—”

  He stopped short, flustered even in his anxiety at the word which nearly escaped from his lips. “I won’t do it!” he yelled, spinning around and stalking from the room.

  He did not even know where to go, but he’d find out. He had no weapon, but he’d get that too. He might find himself facing an army of cutthroats, but he didn’t care. Even if he was slain trying, he had to make the attempt. He had to show them that what they were doing was wrong!

  Hsi-chen had taught him the expression, Where is . . . ? He would try that. He could use her name, perhaps Wang’s. He could pantomime bandit. Somehow he would make himself understood!

  I must free her, he thought blindly. He shrank even at the thought of Hsi-chen in the presence of such men, much less being forced to—

  He shuddered and forced the thought from him.

  I’ve got to find her! I can’t be too late! God, help me! he cried, half-aloud, before he even realized what he was saying.

  Across the bridge Robbie ran, aimlessly, just to be moving. Suddenly he found himself at the door of the farmer with whom he had spent the evening. He managed to make himself understood, and a few minutes later left the way he had come, jamming the knife he had been given into his belt. Pounding on doors and making frantic signals and crying out in a most unintelligible form of gibberish, he made his way throughout the village, waking half the hardworking men and women of the fields, until at last he found what he suspected to be the information he needed.

  Then, lightly touching the hilt of the farmer’s blade for reassurance, he raced into the hills toward an ancient monastery.

  50

  Where Angels Fear to Tread

  When Robbie caught sight of the imposing monastery, he slowed his frenzied pace.

  Now that he was near his destination he knew he must pause and force his distraught mind to focus on practical considerations. All at once Wallace’s words seemed more rational than they had earlier in the evening.

  “ . . . I know your heart is right, but your act could do more harm than good . . .”

  He shoved Wallace from his mind. Prayer was not a weapon men like Wang understood or honored. Perhaps God had put Robbie at the mission for just this occasion. Hadn’t God used force over and over in the Bible? This must be another such occasion where prayer had to be supplemented with strength. Maybe God had brought Robbie here so that there would be a man of action ready to intercede when the need arose.

  He looked up at the ancient walls a hundred feet above where he stood. Part of the edifice was carved right into the rock of the mountain, giving it the appearance of a fortress rather than a place of contemplation and worship. What a fitting contrast! Robbie thought.

  He stepped off the path he had been following. He could not walk right up to the temple gates! Instead, he climbed a more circuitous route, over rock and through brush, hoping to approach the compound unobserved. It was still dark, with an hour or two left before daylight. If he could just sneak into Wang’s hideout, locate where they were holding Hsi-chen, he might be able to get her out and avoid any unnecessary violence.

  Wang’s lookouts, however, had been watching for and expecting Robbie. They had, in fact, known of his approach even as he left the village.

  When he reached the south wall, Robbie began to assess it for breaches. There had to be another entrance other than the front gates. Slowly he began to walk along the length of the wall. He had not reached its end before three stout figures jumped from the undercover of darkness and laid hold violently on him. With a sudden horrible ache, Robbie knew the truth of Wallace’s words. His madcap flight had been a foolish gesture of knight-against-dragon. But this was no fairy tale. The dragon’s lair would no doubt be his tomb.

  Struggling uselessly, he was half carried, half dragged inside the fortress-monastery, then forcefully thrown down in the center of the courtyard at the foot of a statue of some deity he did not recognize, nor care to.

  Before he could look up, a searing and shrill laugh, devoid of all humor, rent the night air. It was a familiar sound he had never expected to hear again.

  Robbie’s eyes moved in the direction of the sound. Benjamin Pike!

  “Oh, laddie,” said the broken-down old sea captain, “how I wish I didn’t know ye so well! But ye showed up jist like clockwork!”

  All the questions that came to Robbie’s mind didn’t seem so important just then. Pike was here, that was all that mattered, no doubt in league with these scoundrels. He quickly surveyed his immediate surroundings. It was not unlike the Buddhist temple where he h
ad passed the night several days ago, only this was larger and built on two levels. Glancing up toward the long balcony that skirted the second level, he spied some ten or twelve of Wang’s soldiers heavily armed, positioned along its length. Robbie had imagined Wang’s forces to be larger—as in truth they were, for only a small portion had been dispatched from his main headquarters farther inland. But even though there were fewer than twenty men altogether, the chance of escape seemed hopeless.

  Robbie brought his attention back to Pike just as two more men left one of the buildings and approached him. Without having laid eyes on the man, he instinctively knew Wang at first sight.

  Robbie pulled himself to his feet, and his three captors fell away. Pike and Pien took their positions on either side of Wang, and the warlord eyed his enemy up and down with a derisive glint in his narrow eyes.

  “So this is all the barbarians could spare to rescue their little flower! Ha, ha!”

  “You won’t get away with this, Wang!” retorted Robbie. But his empty words of challenge were met only with mockery for his fool’s hope of rescue.

  “But you see, I have gotten away with it, as you say!” Wang laughed again, then turning coldly sober, motioned to one of his men.

  The next moment another door opened, and two more men emerged, bearing Hsi-chen roughly between them. She appeared pale, even in the lantern-lit darkness, and fragile. But she walked proudly, bearing a strength within her that even these ruthless villains could not daunt.

  “What of your feeble rescue attempt now, Wai-chu?” spat Wang.

  “Let her go!” begged Robbie.

  “Even now you think you may convince me to release my prize, perhaps this time by pleading rather than violence.”

  Wang rubbed his beard.

  “Hmm,” he mused, “what would the maiden think of her brave barbarian, watching him grovel in the dirt before me, begging for his life?”

  “Any coward could make a man grovel, with a dozen guns pointed at him,” returned Robbie defiantly.