Qi perched on the edge of an armchair facing her. She was not entirely familiar with appropriate behaviour in the British upper classes, but she was quite certain that Mrs Ruane was not exhibiting it.
“I understand you’ve been having trouble with bandits.”
“Yes. And that’s why your arrival is so fortuitous.”
“It is?”
“Of course. Now that you’re here you’ll be able to carry an attack party into the mountains so we can rout the bandits once and for all.”
vii
Terry leaned on the wooden railing of the upper deck. Next to him, the Frenchman smoked a cigarette while Ichiro stared off into the distance. It was not that Ichiro was hard to read. Terry had met Japanese before and while they were like closed books, if Ichiro were a book he would be one for children, with pictures and colour plates.
It was because of his deafness; every movement he made was huge, and he liked it when people were that way to him. Ichiro focused and turned his head, his grin spreading across his face as he realised Terry was staring at him.
We work now. Ichiro’s hands flicked in quick embrasive movements. The boy loved to work. Terry held up his hand to indicate not yet as he nodded at the four British soldiers who also watched the departing group.
Terry wondered how scared they were. Well, it was up to him to put them at their ease. The Frenchman could irritate a Buddhist without raising a sweat, and they had no chance of understanding Ichiro.
He climbed over the railing and made his way down the ladder. One of the soldiers brought up his gun. Once he had reached halfway Terry jumped down to the rocky river bed.
“You boys want a drink?” All four of them were Indian: one of them a corporal by his stripes, the others privates.
“We don’t drink.”
“I was thinking tea, mate,” Terry said with a smile. “Don’t touch the sauce myself. The froggy only drinks wine or one of his fancy French liqueurs.”
They looked at the corporal for guidance.
“They’re going to be gone a long time, right? Back tomorrow at the earliest so we better get settled and get to know one another. Right?”
They relaxed a little. Terry smiled and stuck out his hand. “Terry Montgomery, late of Adelaide, Australia.”
The corporal slung his rifle over his shoulder and shook. “Corporal Rajagopal.” The soldier glanced up at the other two.
Terry leaned in a little. “Frenchie’s name is Remy Darras, aggravating bastard but a genius with the balloons. Just don’t tell him I said that.” The corporal grinned. “And the big guy is Ichiro, but he can’t hear a word, he’s a gentle giant. Don’t let him hug you, he’ll crush your ribs.”
All four soldiers were now relaxed and smiling, looking up at Remy and Ichiro. Terry allowed himself a relaxed smile. At least nobody was going to get shot, as long as Remy kept his sarcastic comments to himself.
* * * * *
The tea had gone down well, even with tinned milk. You got used to it. Only the bridge would have been big enough to hold them all—the ship’s mess was only good for four at one time—but Terry didn’t think the captain would appreciate it.
So he had Ichiro set up a table and chairs from around the ship in the cargo bay close to the open doors. Remy had not joined them. He had sniffed at the idea of tea and had gone up top to fiddle with the balloon gear while they waited for supplies to do his repairs.
“So how long does it take to get to—what? Your barracks?”
The corporal nodded. “By the Big House, two hours from here.”
“That’s quite some artillery piece you boys have got.”
“Not really, Mr Montgomery. It may be big but I think you know it is quite old. I think perhaps you are being deceiving.”
Terry tensed. He’d kept his sleeves rolled down to hide his tattoos. “Why would you say that?”
“You are a military man. This much is clear.”
Terry forced a smile onto his face. Lying was against the Fourth Precept.
“I was. It was another life,” he said. “I moved on.”
The corporal looked as if he wanted to say something else but thought better of it and stood up. “We need to arrange patrols.”
The other three soldiers rose, brushed themselves down and straightened their uniforms.
“It’s not safe here then?”
“This is one of the valleys the bandits use when they raid.”
“And they attack the main house this way?”
The corporal shook his head. “They take from the peasants.”
One aspect of never lying was that it became much easier to tell when someone else was not being entirely truthful. But Terry did not think it wise to push the point.
“All right, mate, well we’ll get back to our work then. Good getting to know you.”
The soldiers left the cargo hold and Terry watched the corporal giving his orders pointing up the valley and round. They set off in two groups of two, the corporal leading the first; when they were a hundred paces away the second pair followed. Weapons at the ready.
Ichiro was gathering up the chairs.
Leave them, signed Terry. We’ll want them here later. He knew his ability with signing didn’t quite communicate exactly what he was thinking in his head, but Ichiro was good at interpreting what people meant.
He might be big, but he was no one’s fool.
They make you sad, Ichiro signed and placed his hand on Terry’s arm.
Terry shook his head and gently pulled his arm free.
The sun was still high. They had managed to kill a couple of hours, but the monotony was going to kick in pretty soon. Better to keep busy. The galley could do with a thorough clean and sort out; that Cameron woman kept putting things back in the wrong place.
viii
Terry came awake at the sound of a gunshot and threw himself out of his bunk. Moonlight was filtering through the porthole, not bright but enough to let him make out the shapes and shadows.
Terry slept half-dressed from habit, so he grabbed an old sweater, a shade darker than his skin, and pulled it over his head. He stopped and listened. Ichiro was snoring in the berth next door. He hadn’t heard anything, of course.
Another shot rang out and echoed back from the mountains. A rifle, close by. Probably one of the army boys. Last thing he knew they’d been arranging to keep patrols on the top deck, with the cargo doors locked shut. It was a good enough plan, as there was little cover close to the ship.
He opened his door and went out into the almost-black of the companionway, as he knew the ship’s layout intimately and needed no light. He opened Ichiro’s door and stepped through. Ichiro’s room was as sparsely furnished as his own. Possessions were a trap.
He shook Ichiro’s arm and the big man grabbed his wrist, immobilising it. In the half-light Terry pressed his finger to his lips and saw the grin spread over Ichiro’s face. Terry frowned. It was not a stupid sign to make; Ichiro needed to know that he should avoid making a sound.
Not that he’d know if he did.
Terry pointed at the porthole and then made stabbing signs into his hand. He had no idea how to express the concept of “bandits.” Ichiro lost his grin, and made the same moves as if to clarify them. Terry nodded, keeping eye contact to ensure Ichiro realised the seriousness of the situation.
He moved to the door and gestured for Ichiro to follow.
“Monsieur Montgomery, ou es tu?” Remy’s hiss pierced the silence of the corridor.
Terry moved out into the passage.
“Is it you?” asked Remy.
“Well, if it wasn’t, you’d be dead by now,” Terry muttered.
“When I have a gun and you do not, I do not think that would be the case.”
“Quiet. Follow me.”
“Bien sur.”
Terry glanced heavenwards in a quick prayer to whoever might be there to silence the Frenchman, who seemed to have little grasp of the concept of “quiet.”
They moved through the ship until they reached a ladder up to a hatch in the top deck. He could see the stars through the opening. There had been silence since the last gunshot. Terry gestured for the other two to remain where they were, and he climbed until his head was just below the level of the open trapdoor.
“Hisssst,” he said quietly. There was sound of something rubbing against the wood of the upper deck.
“Name?”
“Montgomery, what’s my first name?”
There was a moment’s hesitation. “Terry.”
“Advance, friend.”
The head of the corporal appeared, silhouetted against the stars.
“We have bandits.” It wasn’t a question.
“There appear to be. One of my men is wounded.”
“How many are there and which way?”
“Number unknown but they have not rushed us so I do not expect many. We saw them moving by the river.”
Terry digested the information recalling what he could of the terrain, the edge on which they were perched, the river and the valley.
“Give me three minutes and then open fire. Keep them busy for five minutes, then don’t fire unless they rush the ship.”
“Very good, I understand.”
His head moved out of sight. Terry contemplated for a moment how refreshing it was to deal with trained personnel instead of civilians all the time. Then he climbed down into the ship.
“Give me your gun, Remy.”
“You do not use guns.”
“I hope to keep it that way.” Terry held out his hand and Remy handed over the revolver. “Let’s just hope they haven’t put any more holes in the balloons.”
“Sacre, I hope not.”
“If you can think of anything to help protect the ship, do it. Otherwise stay out of the line of fire.”
“Do not worry, mon ami, my life is very precious to me.”
If Ichiro was upset at not being able to follow what they were saying, he did not show it. He simply stood, waiting.
Terry touched Ichiro’s arm and indicated for him to follow. They went through to the bridge and then took the stairs down into the hold. Terry did not dare light the electrics. While it was true the hold was well sealed to keep the cold in for the ice cargo, he did not know whether light would show through anywhere.
They reached the small hatch in the main cargo door at the front of the ship, furthest from the action. Unless, of course, the bandits were planning the same thing as he—in which case this might be a very short and ineffectual military action.
As slowly as possible, to avoid any noise, he unbolted the door. He pulled it open and peered out. The moon’s position placed this side of the ship in blackest shadow. Both good and bad. It would hide his exit, but prevented him from seeing if anyone else was there.
The fields were laid out in the silver light, looking calm and quiet. The gunfire would have echoed across the whole valley, but no peasant would take an interest. They preferred not to get involved. Terry understood that completely.
He stepped into the cold outside air. Ichiro followed. Terry stopped immediately, laid his hand on the man’s chest and pushed him back. Ichiro made a small noise. Terry cringed, but the river splashing over the edge and into the valley would hide any small sounds.
Or so he told himself.
He found Ichiro’s hand and pressed that to Ichiro’s chest and then forced his arm back towards the door. He manipulated his fingers in the dark so the big man’s hand was pointing, and made it move towards the door.
Ichiro extricated his fingers from Terry’s and laid his hand on Terry’s shoulder, then gently pushed him away. Terry took a few steps. Ichiro did not follow; his shadow merged with the ship, and the door closed.
Another gunshot rang out, followed by a fusillade. Terry heaved a sigh of relief and, crouching low, headed for where the river disappeared over the edge.
ix
As Terry expected, the edge was not an abrupt cutoff where the ground suddenly fell away into oblivion. Instead it was rough, with various levels where the river water had eroded gently curving rocks and other places where whole chunks had fallen away, leaving deep grooves with flat bottoms.
It was not too difficult clambering along the precipice keeping his head below ground level, but it was wet and cold. His hands began to grow numb as he descended into another cut, clinging to grasses and reeds that were generally well rooted but occasionally gave way in a heart-stopping jerk.
Eventually he passed the water flow and reached the other bank. In the wet season even this would be flooding with water, but not now. It also meant that he was more aware of any noise he made. He clambered a distance further and then moved up towards ground level.
Sporadic firing still burst from the dark shadow of the ship on his left. The soldiers were moving between shots to prevent being targeted by the muzzle flashes.
The return fire was coming from a position almost directly up the valley from him. The soldiers would stop firing soon; that would mean the bandits’ attention would begin to wander. He needed to move faster.
Fortune favoured the brave, or so he’d heard. He crouched low and moved at a fast walk, not directly towards the bandits but at an angle to take him closer but further behind them. Only a minute had passed when he noticed that the firing from the Beauty had stopped. One or two shots rang out from the bandits, and then it all went silent.
He stopped moving and hunkered down, trying to blend into the shadows.
If the bandits were intelligent they might guess the firing was cover. He hoped it did not occur to them. He fingered the gun in his pocket. He should have removed the bullets; there was always the chance he might hurt someone, even kill them. It wasn’t good playing games with a loaded gun.
He would have heaved a sigh, but that would have been too noisy.
Moving like a snake, he wound his way across the ground, approaching the group of bandits. They had been spread out when shooting but now that it was quiet they moved together. So much the better. They were probably wondering what to do next. The ship was clearly well defended, so what did they think they would gain by storming it?
Perhaps they thought it carried some valuable cargo. They would be sorely disappointed. It wasn’t that the cargo wasn’t valuable, but if it wasn’t kept cool it wouldn’t survive. There was some leeway for delivery but not a great deal.
How much risk were the bandits willing to take? And how soon?
Minutes passed and Terry wormed his way closer. The sound of running water filled his ears and he realized he was moving through the edges of the river water again. The sound would still help to protect him; he just did not like getting wet.
He was no more than a hundred yards away when their voices drifted past him, intermingled with the splashing of the river. They were talking in one of the native languages, of which there were hundreds; it could be any one of them. He had not expected to be able understand them. He just hoped they would understand him. They would probably understand the gun, regardless.
Brilliant white light flooded the valley, pouring from three of the Beauty’s spotlights. Terry blinked. Those lights were not designed to run from the batteries, and only to last a short time. Remy had been busy.
The bandits were blinking and shielding their eyes.
Terry pushed himself to his feet. His muscles ached from the unusual exercise but he ignored the pain. As fast as he could, he covered the intervening distance. Remy had taken a big risk; he might have been much further away and unable to take advantage.
“Put your hands up or I will shoot you dead!” he shouted.
The blinking bandits turned in surprise. Three of the seven raised their guns; they were now facing away from the lights, unlike him. Terry fired at the ground between them. His stomach churned from the false feeling of power the gun gave him. He hated it.
The warning shot had the desired effect. They all raised their hands into the air, just as the spotlights di
mmed.
Terry fired again just to make a point, to ensure they did not think the dimming was a cue to go on the offensive.
“Put down your guns!”
At least two of them spoke English because they crouched to place their weapons on the ground. Looking at them in the dying light Terry got the feeling they were looking over his shoulder.
At something behind him.
He spun round. Another bandit loomed out of the dark, brandishing a sword. Terry ducked as the weapon sliced over his head. The temptation of the gun filled Terry. All he had to do was shoot the man.
He did not want to die, though he knew death was only a temporary affair. He fought his military training that would simply raise the gun and shoot his opponent dead. He dodged again, and slipped on a wet stone. As he went down he heard his attacker cry out.
He looked up and saw his opponent rise into the air, his legs dangling and jerking ineffectually. A look of terror contorted the man’s face. As if he were nothing but a child’s rag doll, he was tossed to the side and crashed to the ground, striking his head.
Ichiro loomed out of the dark, grinning, and pointed behind Terry. He turned quickly and fired once more as the bandits made to run.
“Stay right where you are.”
x
There were songbirds in her dream. Very loud songbirds. Qi tried to shoo them away so they would not wake her up.
Did that mean she was still asleep?
She thought about it. No. She wasn’t asleep. And the songbirds were still very loud. But the bed was extraordinarily comfortable. She lay face down on a spring mattress that supported her weight evenly, layers of finely woven cotton both beneath her and draped across her body.
Mrs Ruane. The house. The soldiers. The storm. The ship. Beauty!
She pushed herself up, she was wearing a cotton nightgown with blue bows that had been laid out on the bed in her room. She usually slept in her underwear when they were on the ground. When they were in the air she might catch a few minutes in her bunk, fully dressed.
Ladies' Day Page 3