“What is it?”
“I’ll tell you when I return.”
56
San Francisco
Maggie found a cargo for the Cressida. Mail and parcels, dirty laundry, and a few passengers. Nothing as lucrative or exciting as opium and guns. How strange it was that she was now running a shipping line—if one ship can be called a line. She had grown accustomed to the role of crimper and shanghaier.
She sat at her desk. The Dalmore Shipping Company was profitable—no thanks to its namesake. She had rescued it. She had done what Dalmore could not do. She had done for herself what the late Mr. O’Connell would not do.
“Mrs. Dalmore?” A small, well-dressed man with thinning dark hair stood in her office. He startled her. How long had he been there?
She composed herself. “Yes.”
“This is quite the establishment you have here. The business is being run impressively. Congratulations.”
“How may I help you, sir?”
The man walked around the office. “You are more adept at this than your late husband.”
“You knew him?”
He looked at her. “Yes and no.”
“Is that an answer?”
“I was sorry to hear of his passing.”
“Yes,” said Maggie. “It was a terrible tragedy.”
The man smiled. “You seem to be the kind of woman that recovers quickly.”
“I shan’t say how you seem to me, sir.”
The man continued to smile. “You are very beautiful. May I sit?” He did not wait for Maggie to respond, and sat across from her. “Please, Mrs. Dalmore, join me in a conversation.”
“You say you knew my husband. You had dealings with him?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of dealings? And don’t be coy—I do not like this game.”
“Your husband’s ships were to transport my guns to various places around the world. During our first endeavor the vessel was raided by pirates, the cargo stolen. Rather than receive payment for shipping my cargo, he decided that he wanted to be my partner. Partnerships require capital, of which he had very little . . .”
“And so he gave you a percentage of his company as collateral.”
“Correct. He assumed the proceeds from the sale of the weapons would be enough—and they would have been. It was a calculated risk, but the gods can be mercurial. You don’t seem at all surprised.”
Maggie did not respond.
He smiled. “You have an adventurous spirit, don’t you Mrs. Dalmore?”
“Why are you here, sir? To tell me a history lesson on my late husband?”
“Mrs. Dalmore, I thought we agreed to not be coy with one another. I have kept my end of the bargain, and so should you . . . and so should your late husband. You and I are partners. Unless you intend to purchase my shares. But that is unlikely. Anyway, I am not sure I would want that.”
“What do you want?”
“I need things shipped. You have a ship. It will be lucrative for the both of us. I did not intend for things to turn out this way, but life is a mystery to be lived, not a problem to be solved. The late Mr. Dalmore and I were partners. Can you and I be partners, Mrs. Dalmore?” Two men, with tailored suits and terrifying faces, appeared in the doorway.
Maggie gasped.
“Don’t look at them, Mrs. Dalmore. Look at me. Don’t mind them. This isn’t that. This is just a conversation between two business people.”
Maggie gathered herself. “Well, I must say, sir, that you are quite persuasive. However, I am not concerned with any agreement you had with the dead man I married. I will ship your weapons—I like this idea—but I want my money up front.” One of the men in the doorway sniggered.
“I’m willing to give back a percentage of the company—increase your shares.”
“I don’t want what you think my dead husband deserved. I am here and he is not. I want what I deserve. I want my money up front. A third of the anticipated sale. Dalmore ships are sound and trustworthy. Your cargo—whatever you decide to ship—will arrive at its intended destination safely. I won’t be beholden to the uncertainty of your business, sir. My business has enough of its own risks. I won’t wait for you to sell your weapons to get my money.”
The man put on his hat and stood. He was so short and impish-looking. “I knew transporting parcels and foreigners would eventually bore a woman like you, Mrs. Dalmore. We have a deal. We’ll discuss the details of the shipment tomorrow.” He bowed to her slightly and left the office, the two men lingering before they followed.
Maggie took a deep breath, and then the fear became exhilaration. She had held her own with her new partner. It was a good deal. Her value was recognized. He needed her more than she needed him. In her mind, she was already spending the proceeds of her new partnership.
Her partner . . . She hadn’t even asked for his name.
57
Shanghai
They docked in the old port—up the coast and used less frequently—then entered the city through a decaying wall, a remnant of when the city was still a citadel protected from outsiders.
The city buzzed with business. Merchants negotiating with the Hongs, both parties trying to find favorable terms for their goods—silks, salts, spices. The coolies followed agents of the European merchant houses, pandering obsequiously in their pidgin English. Flower girls bloomed outside brothels. The sun turned away from the blackened windows of the opium dens.
They walked for a long time along the shore, leaving the chaos of the port city behind, until they came upon an impressive compound.
Jupiter marveled at the statues, the beautiful gardens, and ornate architecture—techniques that went back a thousand years—it was all so intimidating and seductive. He had never been in the presence of such skill and opulence. He looked over at Archer, who was in awe too. Jupiter became aware of his clothes, his appearance. He felt dirty.
They were met by guards at the entrance of the compound. Barrett said something to them in Chinese, placed his hand over his heart and said his own name, nodded at Archer and Jupiter, then addressed the guards once more in Chinese. The guard stepped aside and whispered in the other guard’s ear. “Come,” he said. The three of them followed him inside.
Upon the divan sat a man in beautiful silk robes decorated with a thousand different figures and settings. They seemed to tell a story in color and glyph. He rose to greet them.
“Captain Barrett. It is good to see you. It has been too long.”
“Indeed, Wu Ping, it has,” said Barrett.
“The days have not been good to you? You do not look well.”
Barrett smiled. “Any day that I rise is a good day for me.”
“Barrett, I apologize for my rudeness, but it has been so long since we have turned a wheel together. Please forgive me. You are my guests. Follow me.”
They sat at a large wooden table, made entirely of one solid slab. “I do not know why I took such issue with your appearance, Barrett. You look better than when I saw you last.”
“Yes, during the war. I suppose my position in the world has improved.”
“What brings you back to Shanghai?”
“Actually, Wu, the same thing that brought me here the first time.”
Wu shook his head and sucked his teeth. “I cannot help you in that way, Barrett. Not at this time.”
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
Wu Ping stared.
“Forgive me, I do need your help, but not in that matter. My men and I need a place to stay while we wait to get word to our contact.”
Wu leaned back in his chair. “Tell me your contact’s name. Maybe I know him. I can invite him here and we can dine together, and you can provide me with the details.”
“I am sorry, Wu, but I can’t do that. He insists on anonymity.”
“You ask for my hospitality yet you keep secrets from me?”
“Forgive me, Wu. I didn’t mean to be rude. I do mean to repay you for your hospitality, but I trust that I can do so without offering too many details.”
Wu Ping nodded, then studied the faces of Jupiter and Archer. He stared at Archer. “It is strange,” Wu said to Barrett, “how much he looks like him.”
“Who?” asked Barrett.
“Like Hua, the White God. Have you not noticed?”
Barrett did not answer.
“Of course you have. I am sure his resemblance to Hua has something to do with your meeting.” He turned to Archer and smiled. “Have you brought guns into China? That is a very dangerous business. We are told that we can only purchase weapons from the British. They are the only ones who can sell us guns. Unfair, I say. What do you say?”
“Doesn’t sound right at all,” said Archer.
“The British . . . what they sell us . . . useless. Rusted. Some fire, some do not. Those that do fire would not harm a fly. Barrett, however, always had good guns. Not the sort the British would sell to us. But they are the kind of guns the Emperor’s army should have.”
“It is unfortunate,” said Barrett, “but that is what happens when you lose a war. Twice.”
“This is true. But we have friends. Thank the heavens for crooks and Americans.”
Barrett stroked his beard.
“I am certain that by now you have learned that Captain Barrett is a man like no other.” Wu Ping looked at his guests. “But did you know that he once associated with a god?” He waited for a reaction. Barrett let him continue. “That’s right. A white god. Brave and strong and fair, he traveled across the sea from a faraway land called America.” Wu Ping smiled. “But when he arrived in Shanghai, he was not a god yet. No, he was just a boy from Minnesota.”
“Massachusetts,” corrected Barrett.
“Massachusetts,” Wu Ping said slowly. “At the time, China was immersed in a very bloody war with itself. A group who called themselves Tai-Pings wanted to replace the imperial government with their Heavenly Kingdom. Their leader claimed to be related to your Jesus. The White God—we called him Hua—arrived here with no money, no honor, and yet he fought the Tai-Pings valiantly to save our country. The Emperor called Hua’s men The Ever Victorious Army, and was so impressed with his bravery in battle that he made Hua one of us, a true Chinese subject. He was allowed to socialize among the mandarin merchant class—and even wear the peacock feather in his cap. What, you may ask, did he do to deserve all of these privileges? He took our soldiers, woefully unprepared and moored in the past, and showed them how the old could exist with the new. He led a Chinese army against a Chinese army, a feat unmatched before or since by a Westerner. How was all of this possible? What was so special about Hua? Maybe a great deal, maybe nothing. You must understand that in China, we have only recently embraced modern warfare. The access to modern weapons was denied us after the Opium Wars. Hua’s victories against the rebels all coincided with the arrival of modern weapons perfected in your country during its war with itself and then smuggled onto our shores. He became associated with all of those things, a symbol of our good fortune, and, eventually, a god responsible for that good fortune. Yes, he may have been brave, but as far as I know, he was no weapons smuggler. Am I correct, Barrett?”
“Indeed,” said Barrett.
“No, he was not a smuggler, but no smuggler, if he is any good, will have his visage made into a shrine.”
“That’s an interesting story, but what does this have to do with me?” asked Archer.
Wu Ping smiled at Barrett and then addressed Archer. “I never said that it did. It may or may not. But you do look a great deal like him—the scar on your cheek a mirror image of the one on Hua’s. If you wanted to do business in Shanghai, Archer, a man like you could do very well. Especially, if that man looked like Hua and was interested in selling guns. Of course, it would have to be among the right people. Not everyone in China is persuaded by tales of the White God.” Wu turned to Barrett. “You are meeting with someone from the imperial government, are you not?”
“Now, Wu,” said Barrett. “If I was, you would already know it. Such a thing would never get past you.”
Wu Ping smiled. “We were friends once, Barrett. We shared a great deal.”
“We are still friends, Wu. But we shared only when it was necessary.”
“Very well, Barrett, then let me share this with you. The rumors have already started circling. Something is brewing between you and Clinkscales. The merchants in Shanghai believe that you are here to cause trouble. They are choosing not to choose sides, but they do not want anything to do with you. Why should I ignore this trend?”
Jupiter and Archer, their eyes bounced between Barrett and Wu.
Barrett leaned back. “I can think of a number of reasons, Wu. During the war in the States, I gave your cotton shipments priority over that of many a fine Englishman—and I never questioned how you obtained said cotton. There are many other reasons, but the most important one being that when Ward—Hua, the great White God—had served his purpose to Peking, and when the Emperor’s minions became suspicious of Ward and wondered if he would use his newfound popularity to become a warlord in the hinterlands, they thought he was being financed by some enterprising merchants. They suspected that you were among them. I remember smuggling you away on my ship until the danger subsided. You were given fine accommodations once at sea, if I remember correctly. I am not saying that you owe me anything, Wu. I am just telling a tale of a sailor’s hospitality.”
• • •
The flower girls entertained the men who came from every corner of the world to experience their charms. It reminded Jupiter of Maggie’s place. He wondered if she was still alive, if she would be inspired by such a place, or if such a place was her inspiration. A flower girl led them to a table. Some men eyed them as they passed.
They sat in comfortable chairs.
“It shouldn’t be too long, now,” said Barrett.
They waited for a long while, resisting the temptation to have their mouths and laps warmed by drinks and girls. Their desire must have been apparent. “Be patient,” Barrett said to them.
“Don’t worry, chaps, I’ll sort them out.” A tall, gangly man with too many teeth in his smile approached their table.
“What was that?” asked Barrett.
“Don’t worry, I said I’ll sort them out. You gents can relax. Have some drinks and some girls on me. Well, not on me, but gratis, you see.”
Barrett looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re making a spectacle of yourself, man, for God’s sake. Shanghai is a cosmopolitan place, but some of the lads in here carry a bit of provincialism with them.”
Barrett looked at Jupiter.
“I mean having a Negro interacting with us so casually still puts some people off. But I have sorted them out. You can thank me later.”
Jupiter shifted in his seat.
“And whom should I thank?” asked Barrett.
“What, you can’t take a joke, Barrett? You hurt me, you truly do.”
Barrett squinted. “I know you?”
“Don’t hold that last bit against me, Barrett. It’s been far too long.”
Barrett said nothing.
The man showed his teeth. “Liverpool,” he offered.
“Your name or the place?” Barrett asked.
The man laughed. “As you wish, Barrett. It is good to see that you are doing well.”
“Why shouldn’t I be?”
“Indeed you should. But there has been a great deal of talk of Clinkscales and his Shanghai endeavors.”
Barrett ran a finger across his whiskers. “I know nothing of Clinkscales or his endeavors.”
Liverpool touched his right nost
ril gently. “Of course you don’t, Barrett, of course you don’t. However, in case you are interested in portside gossip, smugglers in Shanghai are scrambling to pick up every bit of business, every little crumb, that he hasn’t tidied up. And now I find you here with such . . . exotic company, and I think that those eager fools had better watch out. But then I think again that a more enterprising man had better align himself with the best smuggler on the seas.”
“I think you think too much,” said Barrett. “I am not the best smuggler on the seas.”
“Surely, you are being modest.”
Barrett did not like the looks of Liverpool. Large ears and head, beady eyes and too many teeth, he looked liked the product of royal incest. “I am not being modest. I cannot be the best smuggler on the seas, because if I were, a moron such as yourself would not know of me.”
Liverpool stared at Barrett . . . and then laughed. “You almost had me, old man.”
Barrett laughed. “I always had you, Edmond. It works every time.”
“Yes it does, I confess. But in all seriousness, Barrett, I am surprised to see you. What are you doing in Shanghai?”
“I am here with my sons.” Barrett nodded at Jupiter and Archer. “They are late bloomers and have yet to bed a woman. No better training than the girls in Shanghai.”
“I don’t like that answer, Barrett.”
“I am not too fond of the question.”
“Seriously, Barrett, I am surprised to see that you are still seeking your fortune in Shanghai. A man of your talents seems to be needed in Cuba.”
Barrett arched an eyebrow.
“Oh, haven’t you heard?” asked Liverpool. “The place has erupted. Sugar, coffee, and tobacco plantations all set ablaze.” Liverpool closed his eyes. “Imagine the aroma. It seems that they are fighting for their independence from mother Spain, but there is a variable—the black rebels—some slaves armed with nothing but machetes, and scaring both their allies and their enemies. Imagine what they could do with proper weapons.”
The Abduction of Smith and Smith Page 20