She drank, feeling the brandy burn its way smoothly over her tongue and down her gullet, seeping into all the nooks and crannies of her chest, heating her heart and lungs and stomach, and wrapping her tubes and bones in comfortable, soothing warmth. She felt like she could sit here forever.
‘Amber?’
‘Mmm?’
‘Don’t fall asleep there.’
Israel’s voice seemed so far away.
‘I won’t.’
*
When she awoke in the night, her mouth was dry, her head pounded and she didn’t know where she was.
‘Tahi?’ she croaked.
‘It’s me, Amber, Israel. You’re not well.’
‘Not . . .?’
‘Here, take this. It’s medicine. It’ll make you feel better.’
A strong arm helped her to raise her head and the cold edge of a spoon pressed against her lips. She opened her mouth, and swallowed.
‘Good girl.’
Soon she was asleep again.
*
Rian was in one of his testier moods.
‘Why can’t they find their own bloody passage to Australia? I’m sure she’s got plenty of money stashed in all that stuff she brought aboard.’
Kitty winced. ‘Please, Rian, keep your voice down. They’ll hear you.’
Though, to be honest, she wasn’t sure she cared. Ka was a charming girl, and at eighteen she was only a girl, but a little bit of Wing, who was perhaps ten years older, went a very long way. However, they’d been a great help to Bao, and were now in trouble themselves. She and Rian, as Bao’s friends and surrogate family, were also obliged to assist. Unfortunately, Rian didn’t quite see it that way.
‘No they won’t.’
‘They will,’ Kitty insisted.
They would, too, their cabin being directly off the mess room, which, Kitty knew, was where Wing and Ka currently were. Wing was fiddling about organising her cosmetics, while Ka was making repairs to a gown that had been damaged during the dash from Yip Chun Kit’s compound. Simon had very kindly offered his small cabin to the two women, and was bunking in with Pierre. Wing had initially requested Amber and Tahi’s cabin, which had caused a small ruckus.
Kitty had said no, she couldn’t have it.
And Wing had asked, ‘Why not?’
‘Wing,’ Bao had said warningly.
‘Because that’s my daughter and son-in-law’s cabin.’
‘But your daughter is not using it,’ Wing had said bluntly.
Outraged by the cheek of the woman, Kitty had replied, ‘No, you’re right, she isn’t, and that’s because she’s currently a prisoner of Lee Longwei, China’s most infamous pirate. Did no one tell you?’
‘Yes, I have been told. But it is a big cabin and I am accustomed to having commodious quarters. Surely the husband can share with someone else?’
‘No, he can’t, and you’re out of luck,’ Kitty had said. ‘That’s Amber’s cabin. No one uses it except her and Tahi.’
‘But—’
‘I said no!’
Wing had burst into rapid Cantonese aimed at Bao, who had fired a long volley back. Wing launched into a further tirade, but Bao had cut her off. This had been followed by an extended sulk from Wing, but no further mention of Amber’s cabin.
Now, Kitty said, ‘It wouldn’t be safe for them to travel to Australia by themselves. Bad enough two European women on a ship without a male escort, never mind two Chinese women. They’d be treated appallingly. The crew, the other passengers, everyone. And I don’t think they do have any money. Well, Wing says she doesn’t.’
Rian took his feet down off his writing desk, removed a sock and inspected an itchy patch on one foot. ‘That woman is a liar by trade. And speaking of trade, she could earn plenty of money on her back.’
‘Rian! That’s not very nice.’
‘True though. It’s what she did in Chun’s house, if you recall.’
Kitty supposed that was true. ‘But only with him, though.’
‘What’s the difference?’
‘If it were me, I’d be thinking, quite a lot, actually. I’d much rather just have one customer I shared with other concubines than, say, five a day, six days a week. Not to mention he’s rich.’
‘It would save remembering names, I suppose.’
‘Do you think they do? Remember the names?’
‘How would I know?’
To be honest, Kitty didn’t particularly care to know whether Rian knew the answer to that question or not.
‘Anyway, I bet she does have a bit of money stashed away,’ Rian said, pulling his sock back on. ‘You wouldn’t jump out the window with your best clothes, your jewellery and all that face paint, and not stop long enough to grab your purse, would you?’
‘Shall I get Bao to ask her?’
‘She probably already has and been fed a pack of lies. Bao has standards. She’d expect them to look after themselves if they could.’
‘Well, you go through their belongings, then.’
‘I’m not ferreting through a load of women’s things! You do it. And I’m not sure that Ka girl has anything. Probably too busy packing the other one’s wardrobe to grab anything for herself.’
‘I’m not going through their things, either. If she says she hasn’t got any money, we have to believe her. So we have to take them to Australia.’
Rian moved from the desk to the bed and took Kitty’s hand. ‘We can’t. What if we stopped off at Sydney or Melbourne, then arrived in Dunedin to find we were a day or two too late and Fu had died? How would we feel then? How would Bao feel?’
‘Well, terrible, of course. But, Rian, he could have died already. And we don’t even know when we’ll be leaving Hong Kong because we don’t know when we’ll get Amber back.’
Rian nodded, closed his eyes for several seconds, then opened them again. ‘I’m going out to see Lee Longwei again, see if I can do a deal. I’ll offer him money first and if that doesn’t work I’ll ask him what he needs. Weapons, maybe? A man like him’s always on the lookout for the latest armaments.’
Kitty nodded, though her heart thumped just at the thought of it. Smuggling spirits and tobacco was one thing but running guns always made her nervous.
‘We won’t have to bring them in through Hong Kong customs and excise,’ Rian reminded her. ‘We can meet him offshore.’
‘But we’ll have to collect them from somewhere, won’t we?’
‘There are plenty of shiny new Colts and Remingtons lying around in North America at the moment, because of the war. They won’t miss a few dozen, and they won’t notice them going missing. Don’t worry, mo ghrá, we haven’t been caught so far.’
‘No, we haven’t.’ Kitty swallowed. ‘Not yet.’
‘And, look, if it’s going to take a while, we can send Bao back to New Zealand on another ship. The other two can go with her.’
‘But I don’t want it to take a while. I want her back now.’
‘I do, too, love. But it might. And when we come back from talking to Lee Longwei, we’re not mooring back here. We’ll find a spot farther along the coast or out in the harbour. While we only had Bao aboard we had the protection of the Crown, technically anyway, but we’re not Wing and Ka’s guardians. They’re Chinese nationals and they’re absconding from what to all intents and purposes is their employee. Or quite possibly even owner.’
‘Yip Chun Kit?’
Rian nodded. ‘And that’s Chinese business, not British, in which case Yip is perfectly at liberty to come aboard armed to the teeth and take them back. But he can’t if he can’t find us.’
‘No,’ Kitty said.
But, oh dear, Hong Kong was such a very small place.
*
It was raining quite heavily, dripping off the rim of Israel’s hat and running down his neck inside his new shirt; he grimaced and turned up the collar of his jacket. In Australia or England – England especially – the weather would be considered miserable, but here it was actu
ally quite nice. The rain had washed the buildings and the leaves of all the lush plants clean, and misty cloud had settled on Mount Victoria like the meringue on one of Pierre’s fancier puddings. He couldn’t smell any of the nice perfumed flowers, but imagined they were probably getting the crap battered out of them by the rain.
He hoped Amber was all right. He’d dosed her again before he’d come out and she’d gone straight back to sleep. It certainly worked well, that opium. When she’d woken earlier this morning she’d had no idea where she was, or who he was, and had even squatted over the po for a wee, which had been incredibly embarrassing because he’d had to hold her on it so she wouldn’t tip over. He’d not thought about all that when he’d given her the opium. He hadn’t looked, though, and had tried to ignore the sound of the wee as it had gone into the po, and he’d prayed – prayed – she didn’t need to shit as well. And she hadn’t. And then he’d wondered, should he clean her off? He knew she and Kitty left bits of old cloth in the head on the Katipo for that, but was that just for when they had a crap? Anyway, he wasn’t about to do something that intimate to her, especially when she wasn’t even aware of it. He was saving that sort of thing for when they were in England and they could be together properly. He wanted it to be right.
He was heading for the shipping office to buy two berths to England. He didn’t care which ship they went on as long as it had a couple of decent cabins and was leaving soon. The shipping office was quite close to the wharf where the Katipo was tied up, which was all right as he wanted to make sure she was still there. They wouldn’t leave Hong Kong without Amber, he knew that, but they might return to Hung Shing Yeh Bay and have another go at freeing her themselves. And then there’d be a problem.
He walked on through the rain, dodging sedan chairs, carts, people and puddles until he came to the long and busy expanse of waterfront. Work never stopped there for inclement weather, save for the most violent of storms. He saw with some relief the Katipo was still in her berth, so made his way to the shipping office.
He had to wait in a queue, which was annoying, but finally found himself at the front of it.
‘What ships are sailing for England in the next few days?’ he asked the British clerk. ‘I’m looking for two cabins.’
‘What port are you bound for?’
‘Any. I don’t care.’
Putting on a pair of spectacles, the clerk consulted a large black ledger. ‘On Tuesday the Ann Marie sails for Liverpool, Wednesday the Hannibal to London and the Aurora to Portsmouth. Thursday the Grenadier to Bristol. Any of those suit you?’
‘Nothing sooner? Nothing on Monday?’
‘The clerk looked again. ‘Only two ships departing for San Francisco and New York. You possibly don’t want to go there at the moment.’
Israel took off his hat and scratched his head, then quickly jammed the hat back on in case someone he knew saw him. ‘One on Tuesday then.’
‘The Ann Marie to Liverpool?’
‘Does it have proper accommodations?’
The clerk reached behind him to a pigeonhole containing hundreds of slim folders. Opening one he perused its contents. ‘Ann Marie, three-masted barque, general cargo, crew of eleven, four cabins suitable for use by passengers.’
‘That’ll do.’
‘Two cabins, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Names?’
Israel hesitated. Should he give their real names or false ones? Put on the spot, he couldn’t think of anything made up. Sweat broke out on his brow.
‘There’s a queue behind you,’ the clerk pointed out, unhelpfully, Israel thought.
Suddenly recalling the name he’d given at the lodging house, he blurted, ‘Mr and Mrs Irwin Marshall.’
‘I’ll need a Christian name for Mrs Marshall. In case something untoward happens. For the record.’
‘Er, Abigail.’
The clerk wrote the names down in the black book next to Ann Marie, then told Israel how much the fare would be. He nearly fainted. To hide his embarrassment he lowered his shocked, red face and dug around in his jacket for his purse, then handed over the money. He now had only about twenty-five pounds left – hardly enough to outfit himself and Amber for the trip to England then start a new life once they arrived there.
In return the clerk gave him a receipt, said good day, then peered around him at the next person in line.
Israel felt . . . pillaged. But then he’d never had to pay to travel by sea before. How did ordinary people manage it? Of course, ordinary people didn’t book themselves cabins, he supposed. They went steerage.
He felt he needed a stiff drink after such a shock, and thought longingly of the brandy in his room at the lodging house. Or perhaps he’d stop in at a hotel and get himself a decent glass of rum. There were plenty of hotels in Hong Kong that served proper English spirits and he’d probably been to most of them. How long would that last lot of opium he’d given Amber take to wear off? He’d fed her quite a hefty dose. And speaking of feeding she’d need to eat. What could he give her that she could swallow easily without choking? She didn’t seem to be in charge of her facial muscles. Or many other muscles, now that he thought about it.
He left the waterfront and walked along Queen’s Road until he came to a little pub he knew quite well, the Red Lantern, and went in, pleased by then to be out of the rain. It wasn’t until he’d bought himself a rum and a plate of fried shrimps and found a seat that he realised, with a shock that almost stopped his heart, that if he wanted to avoid the Katipo’s crew, the last place he should be lounging about was in a seamen’s public house. What was he thinking? He scanned the room, which was half full, but to his immense relief, didn’t see anyone he knew. No one from the Katipo, anyway. He knew the barman, and he definitely knew a couple of the Chinese girls who worked out of the pub, Lily and Iris.
He’d been with Lily several times when they’d been in port in the past and Iris once. Iris he hadn’t thought much of. She’d been a bit disinterested, lying there staring at the ceiling, and he’d had the horrible feeling she was mentally writing her shopping list. And she’d called him an orang-utan, because of the colour of his body hair and how much he had. It wasn’t orange, it was bronze. And how would she know what an orang-utan looked like? There weren’t any in China, were there?
Lily was much nicer. She could speak a bit of English and was respectful and had good manners, and even smelt nice. Not like Iris, who reeked like the Central Marketplace. He’d decided Lily must wash a lot and not eat that Chinese food all the time, which is what any smart prostitute should do if she expected a white man to pay good money for her.
He took a decent-sized swallow of his rum and looked across at the girls again. Lily waved, then got down off her stool and made her way over.
‘Morning, Mr Mitchell. You want Lily today?’
‘Not today.’
She sat down anyway. ‘You been good? I been good.’
‘I’ve been busy.’
‘Busy like bee.’ Lily giggled.
Israel had a thought. ‘Lily, what do you know about opium?’
Lily shook her head so violently her earrings nearly fell out. ‘Opium very bad! Lily never touch. Is bad!’
‘But what do you know about it?’
‘Nothing. What you mean?’
‘What happens if a person has too much of it?’
‘In one time?
‘Mmm.’
‘They die.’
Israel felt quite uneasy. ‘Well, how much is too much?’
‘Depend on person. Depend on opium.’
‘Well, what if they were taking it as medicine, say for a headache?’
‘What?’
Putting his hands to his head, Israel made a pained face. ‘A headache.’
‘Ah.’ Lily shrugged. ‘Same opium. Person still die.’
Israel drank and thought for a while. ‘Would you like some shrimp? They’re only going cold.’
‘Not like shrimp.�
��
‘So how would you tell if you . . .? How is it possible to tell if a person’s had too much? What are the signs?’
‘Like big doll, all floppy. And breathing wrong, too slow, not deep enough, like this.’ Lily demonstrated someone barely inhaling. ‘Then no breathing at all, and die.’
For someone who knew nothing about opium, Israel thought, she knew quite a lot. But Amber wasn’t the way Lily had described. She’d managed to squat on the pot. He must be getting the dose right.
He finished his rum and shovelled in a couple of handfuls of shrimp. ‘Right, Lily. I’ve got to go now.’
‘Where you going?’
‘Along the west end. Don’t be so nosy.’
She stood. He smiled up at her but she didn’t smile back.
‘You try be careful, Mr Mitchell. Is not nice, killing people.’
Chapter Eleven
Israel turned off Queen’s Road to take a shortcut through the narrower streets that would get him to Wellington Street a little bit faster. He wanted to buy Amber a nightgown: she couldn’t spend the next few days wearing nothing but that robe and trousers, even if she was only asleep in bed. He’d send them out to be washed and pressed, along with the clothes she’d had on before.
That Lily had turned out to be a cheeky bloody little whore after all. What did she mean he should be careful? He wasn’t going to kill anyone, least of all Amber. Obviously she was perfectly fine.
He stopped, listening carefully. For a second he’d thought someone was following him: but no, the footsteps had gone. He set off again, making his way past the tiny, closed-in back yards of Chinese houses. There was laundry hanging everywhere, dripping wet, rabid-looking dogs slinking about and skinny cats perched on walls giving him the evil eye, and the stink from open drains and middens was horrific, even straight after such a downpour. In a way he felt sorry for the Chinese, banned by the British from living anywhere on Mount Victoria and doomed, therefore, to live down here in the squalor, but it was squalor of their own making.
He stopped again, sure this time that someone was behind him. He turned and had a good look. An old woman was feeding chickens in a yard nearby but it couldn’t have been her – her feet were bare. And there were two little kids, one without britches and the other wearing the strangest little hat with ears on it, sitting on a gate staring at him, but he didn’t think it had been them, either. As he stared back at them they began to rock backwards and forwards, making the gate squeak.
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