The Cloud Leopard's Daughter

by Deborah Challinor

  Now he was just scaring himself. He turned again and stepped straight into the solid figure of Ip To. Stifling a shout he leapt back, his fists up.

  Ip To batted away his hands, grabbed him by the collar and hauled him along the lane to the junction where it joined with a wider street.

  ‘Help,’ Israel shouted as he swung wildly. ‘Help!’

  A few curious Chinese faces appeared in back yards but no one came to his aid. The two small children followed, cheering.

  Lee Longwei stood at the junction, his arms crossed, his face calm. Israel felt the pressure on his neck relax as Ip To let go of his jacket.

  ‘We meet again,’ Longwei said.

  The children came close. Longwei dug in his pocket, handed them some money and said something in Cantonese. Or was it another dialect he spoke to them? Israel could never tell the difference. They ran off, delighted.

  Tugging his shirt and jacket back into shape, Israel said, ‘What do you want? I thought we had a deal?’

  ‘We do. I am here to make sure you are fulfilling your side of it. Because, as we agreed, if you don’t I will be compelled to take the girl back.’

  ‘I am fulfilling it.’

  ‘Has she been introduced to Mr Eastwood yet?’

  ‘Last night, as a matter of fact.’ Israel flinched inwardly. God, why had he said that? He should be playing for time.

  ‘And did he like what he saw?’

  ‘Very much.’

  ‘A tired and hungry girl wearing a man’s trousers and a tunic stiff with dried seawater? That does not sound very alluring to me.’

  Israel was getting a bit sick of Lee bloody smartarse Longwei. He wasn’t the only one who could think on his feet. ‘It wouldn’t be, but that isn’t what he saw. As soon as we arrived back we took a room at a lodging house. Amber tidied herself up and I went to town and bought a decent suit for me and a very nice gown for her. She wore that. She looked beautiful.’

  Longwei’s eyebrows went up. ‘Well, well. And have you arranged a rendezvous for Mr Eastwood?’

  ‘I have. He’ll be meeting Amber at the Lotus Pond Gardens.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Tuesday night.’ They’d be on the Ann Marie and heading for England by then and Longwei wouldn’t matter a bugger.

  ‘Mmm.’ Longwei looked thoughtful. ‘Why meet at a public garden, I wonder, when Mr Eastwood has a perfectly comfortable and no doubt well-appointed home?’

  Shit. ‘How should I know? I asked him and that’s what he wants. Maybe he fancies having her outdoors. There’s no telling when it comes to some men’s tastes, is there?’

  A slow nod from Longwei. ‘As you say. And the exact time?’

  ‘The time?’ For God’s sake! ‘Eight o’clock.’

  ‘So, eight o’clock this coming Tuesday at the Lotus Pond Gardens.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well done, Mr Mitchell. And how do you plan to kill Mr Eastwood?’

  ‘That’s my business, isn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose it is, yes.’ Longwei smiled. ‘Then I will leave you to it.’

  Oh, thank Christ for that, Israel thought.

  *

  Haunui was out for a walk. He didn’t like being cooped up on the Katipo for too long. Sailing was good, but he liked to feel solid ground beneath his feet when he could. He was terribly sad, too, about Amber, and for Tahi, who was suffering badly, and he wanted time to himself to get his thoughts in order. He was also worried about Israel; not for his safety but because he thought his disappearance was ominous. Where had the little swine gone? He couldn’t shake the feeling that the boy was floating around somewhere, very much up to no good.

  He hadn’t shared his worst fears with Rian, as Rian and Kitty were also suffering, missing their beautiful daughter, shuffling round like old people. He wished he could help them but he was as impotent as they were. Lee Longwei was a powerful man, with far more warriors at his disposal than Rian had. They couldn’t attack him, and Rian’s attempts at reasoning with him, and doing his bidding, had also failed. He, Haunui, didn’t know much about the matter concerning the opium coming into China, but he did know one man couldn’t do much to stop it by himself. The British were formidable opponents, as he’d seen with his own eyes over the last few years at home in New Zealand. If they couldn’t take what they wanted by tricking people into signing devious and deceptive treaties they declared war, which they won because the Queen had all the warriors and guns she could possibly need, and then they took everyone’s land off them, which was worse even than having to go to war. Without land or access to the sea or rivers, a hapu or iwi couldn’t survive. There was no food and no place to live and raise families. It must be the same, he thought, for the Chinese.

  He thought about going to a pub and having a few ales, but decided that wasn’t really what he wanted. He felt empty, spiritually as well as physically, and when he felt like that what he needed was food, and the crew all said the best place for food in Hong Kong was the Central Marketplace. It probably wouldn’t take him long to walk there, and he would have to walk as he certainly wasn’t riding in one of those chair things. He was too heavy and he’d end up with his arse through the seat, dragging on the ground.

  He marched along the road, enjoying the clean, rain-washed air and smiling at everyone he passed, which meant a lot of smiles. He liked to be friendly, it made him feel good, and better to be friendly than a grumpy old bugger. He received a few smiles back but not many. Most people (except for other Maori) were frightened of him, but he was used to that. It was probably the moko covering his face, his bushy beard, his general size and the fact that he stood at six feet six inches, and he’d decided long ago not to take it personally.

  At the market he wandered around appreciating all the delicious food aromas that filled the air. He liked the way the Chinese prepared their food. He’d never tried it before they’d met Wong Fu at Ballarat, but since then he’d eaten it at every possible opportunity. He decided he’d fashion himself a banquet, so went from stall to stall selecting his favourite dishes and a few he hadn’t tried before, then sat down on a patch of ground out of the way, arranged his bowls before him, and tucked in.

  The meat, vegetable, rice and noodle dishes were as good as he’d hoped, but the sea cucumber he found a bit bland. So were the chicken legs, and rubbery, too, but the sauce was nice and spicy. The shark fin soup was very good, the duck tongues he probably wouldn’t bother with again, and the hundred-year-old eggs, while stinky, were interesting – sharp and piquant, like well-ripened cheese. They’d probably make him fart, though. Leaning back on his hands, surrounded by empty bowls, he decided he felt much better, but now he did need an ale. He returned each bowl to its respective stall, thanked the stall-holder, and went in search of a pub. The Red Lantern, he thought – he’d been there the other night with the crew and quite liked it.

  The pub was fairly busy but, standing at the counter, he was served immediately. He usually was – one advantage of being big and ugly, he supposed. He took his ale to a corner and leant against the wall, looking around. A little bar girl trotted up to him.

  ‘You come with Katipo?’

  ‘I did,’ Haunui said.

  The girl reached up and touched his face. ‘Lily remember pretty lines. You just miss him.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Mr Mitchell.’

  Haunui stared at her. ‘Israel Mitchell?’

  Lily nodded.

  ‘In here? Today?’

  ‘’Bout half hour.’

  ‘Do you know where he went?’

  Lily’s pretty little face turned sour. ‘He say west end. He rude to Lily.’

  Haunui emptied his tankard of ale in several huge swallows and handed it to Lily. ‘Well, I think you’re lovely.’

  ‘You just big bear!’ Lily replied, giggling.

  Haunui left her there, smiling to herself. At the door he let out a burp so loud, long and reverberatingly resonant that it rendered the pub silent for seve
ral seconds. Proud of himself, he stepped out into the sunlight, wondering which path Israel would have taken west. And what the hell was he doing there anyway? Was he holed up or just on his way to do business?

  He thought Queen’s Road, being the main thoroughfare, probably ran all the way west, though he could be wrong, of course, as he didn’t know Hong Kong well at all. Even if it did, the chances of walking along Queen’s Road and spotting Israel were fairly small. It was pretty well impossible to find a person when that person was also on the move.

  But he would try, because he suspected, as he’d said to Rian, that if he found Israel he’d find Amber as well. He had no evidence at all to support this – she could still be shut in Lee Longwei’s cabin on his junk on the other side of Lamma Island – but his gut was telling him he was right. Tomorrow they’d be returning to Hung Shing Yeh Bay so Rian could talk to Longwei again, and they’d find out then where Amber was – or, rather, where she wasn’t – and he’d know whether his intuition was accurate. If only Tahi could have his visions at will, then he could order one and they’d know more. But there’d been nothing from him, which was a surprise, because it was usually in times of stress and upset that he had them. And the poor boy was bloody upset at the moment.

  He’d been walking for about fifteen minutes, and noticing that he was getting a blister on his right heel – bloody boots, his feet weren’t built for Pakeha footwear – when some distance ahead he saw a figure exit from a side street onto Queen’s Road and stride off in a westerly direction. The figure was tall, a head and shoulders above everyone else so probably a white man, and wearing a hat that looked like Israel’s.

  Haunui bellowed, ‘Israel!’

  Without even turning to look the man erupted into a sprint, tearing down the road, knocking several people over in his hurry and disappearing up the next side street.

  Haunui took off after him, darting around the bystanders fussing around the unfortunate pedestrians on the ground, and raced into the side street just in time to see his quarry turn the corner at the end. Haunui followed, starting to puff now and feeling his heel burn as though a hot coal had fallen down his boot. At the corner he saw that whomever he was chasing, and surely it was Israel, had made a mistake as the street ahead was long and unbroken by intersections. The man was pelting down the middle of it, his coattails flapping, a parcel clamped under one arm.

  ‘Stop!’ Haunui shouted as he put his head down and lumbered after him.

  But he was old, he’d just eaten an eleven-course meal, and his boots were hurting him. Slowly the gap between them widened.

  Then the man ducked to the right and hopped over a fence. By the time Haunui reached it all he could see of him was his hat bobbing along, some distance ahead, behind a wall in a narrow lane running parallel. Then that, too, disappeared.

  Haunui swore and, panting heavily, perched on the top rail of the fence, which creaked ominously. He’d lost him. While he sat there, trying to get his breath back, an old lady came out of a nearby house and hit him with a broom, berating him ear-piercingly in Cantonese. He didn’t know what she was saying but he imagined she didn’t want her fence broken.

  ‘Sorry, whaea,’ he said, getting off it.

  He sat down in the middle of the street, fortunately not a busy one, and took off his boots, noting that he’d developed blisters on both heels now. Tying the laces together he slung the boots around his neck then stood again and took careful note of his surroundings. The sea was quite close to the west, and the harbour also nearby, so that probably meant that the man/ Israel’s bolthole was located in a fairly limited area, providing that was where he was going.

  Which was useful to know.

  *

  Israel could taste blood in his throat, but he was fairly sure nothing was bleeding in there. It was just that metallic taste you got when you’d been running hard. He’d nearly died when Longwei had yelled out to him. He’d thought the bastard had finished with him and then he bloody well follows him and makes a scene in the middle of the street! He’d dared not stop to talk to him. The first time had been bad enough. He’d told so many lies now he was losing track of what he’d said to whom. And he had to keep changing them because things weren’t going to plan. If people would just behave the way he wanted them to it would all be a lot easier.

  He let himself into Amber’s room and stood above her, looking down. She was so pretty when she was asleep. Her complexion and hair were lovely, though her lips looked a bit pale. He felt her hands. Hmm, they were a bit cold. Her wedding ring had slid around so that the stones were under her finger. He turned it the right way, thought for a moment, then slipped it off and put it in his jacket pocket. She wouldn’t be needing that any more.

  How was he going to get her into the nightgown without compromising her modesty? It was a nice one, pale blue embroidered silk from neck to ankle with long, loose sleeves. The woman in the shop where he’d bought it had said they were made for the European market and were all the fashion. It had made another hole in his purse but it was worth it. Perhaps he could talk to the Ann Marie’s captain and see if he had any work available on the voyage to England. He didn’t mind being a rigging monkey for a month or so, or even swabbing decks.

  He turned down the bedclothes, undid the fastenings on Amber’s tunic, then arranged the sheet so he wouldn’t see anything when he wriggled the tunic off her shoulders and arms. Then he slid the nightgown on over her head and, with much difficulty, manoeuvred her arms into sleeves. God, she was just like a big doll. He froze, staring at her, watching her breath. It seemed normal. In fact she was breathing quite deeply.

  Suddenly she moaned and flung out an arm, backhanding him right across the nose, making his eyes water. He sat back, his hands over his face. Christ, that had hurt. He dabbed at a nostril, checking for blood, but there wasn’t any. He didn’t blame her, though: she didn’t know what she was doing.

  When he’d recovered he folded the bedclothes all the way down, then recoiled at the smell. She’d wet the bed. For God’s sake! He’d put her on the po this morning. How could she produce so much pee when she wasn’t even drinking anything? And what was he going to do? He could hardly hand the dirty sheet over to Mrs Whittle and tell her his ‘wife’ had peed in the bed. He’d have to replace it. More bloody money gone.

  He tugged the damp, stained sheet out from beneath Amber and dropped it on the floor, then rolled the nightgown down to her knees. Grabbing the hems of the trousers she was still wearing he pulled them off and left them with the sheet. He checked his watch and noted that she’d had her last dose of opium three hours ago, which gave him an hour to duck out and buy some new bed linen. Then, when she’d come round a little, he’d feed her. Rice, probably. She should be able to manage that. But nothing to drink.

  This was turning out to be much trickier than he’d expected but it was only for a few more days. Then he’d have to give her the bad news, on Monday night, probably, and they’d be off to England on Tuesday.

  Not long now.

  *

  The following day the Katipo set sail for a second visit to Lamma Island. When Rian and Kitty had discussed how much of their personal capital they were prepared to offer Longwei to get Amber back, they’d both agreed: all of it. They had a business and could start again, but there would never be another Amber. And if Longwei preferred guns, or tobacco or whisky or diamonds, then they’d sail to whatever part of the world was necessary and bring it back. No request of Longwei’s would be too excessive, outlandish or dangerous because that was Rian’s skill – quietly shipping cargo that other captains wouldn’t touch with a barge pole.

  ‘Do you really think Israel disappearing has something to do with Amber?’ Kitty asked.

  Rian did, unfortunately. He was kicking himself for being so blind. How could he not have seen that the boy had been lusting after her all this time? What an old fool he was. He’d known that Tahi was keen on her, of course, but not Israel. If he’d been aware of that, he’
d have put him off the Katipo years ago.

  But, despite Haunui and his gut feelings, he didn’t think Israel had Amber now. Longwei had a fearsome reputation as a pirate and some, well, rather unusual ideas, but Rian had trusted him, even though Kitty had asked if he was mad. He didn’t believe Longwei would have given Amber to Israel just because Israel had said he should. Not five minutes after they’d boarded his junk during their first visit Longwei had worked out the hierarchy aboard the Katipo, and he knew damn well that Israel was nowhere near the top of it. No, Amber would still be with him today, and this visit would prove it. Haunui was usually pretty wily when it came to determining others’ deeds and the reasons for them, but this time he was wrong.

  ‘Yes, I do. I’m just not sure what,’ he said.

  Battling the wind, Kitty swept her hair back off her face and tied it with a length of ribbon. ‘You know, I really am quite shocked, but more at myself than by anything else. How did I not see that Israel is in love with Amber?’

  ‘I suppose we weren’t looking for it.’ Rian altered the wheel slightly and called to Ropata and Gideon to brace the yards.

  ‘But is he? Really?’

  Rian glanced at her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I know Haunui’s convinced he is, and Ropata, and God knows why he’s disappeared, but do we actually know what he feels for her?’

  ‘Well, no one’s found his diary confessing everlasting love, if that’s what you mean. You’ve just got a soft spot for him.’

  ‘And you don’t like him because you think he’s got Amber.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s got her, actually. I think we’ll find she’s still with Lee Longwei. And I do like him. Well, I did.’