by Peter Tonkin
She glanced across at John Shaw but he was locked in some kind of Boys’ Battle trying to outstare one of the more destitute passengers. The train slowed and Robin was surprised to note that they were in Prince Edward already. In a few moments the train would turn right again and whisper off along the coastal tunnels towards Tsuen Wan. There was some talk of extending the system up to Taiping. Guangzhou was the obvious destination but they would never get the tunnels under the marshes around the delta, let alone under the mighty Pearl River itself. And anyway, if you wanted to go from Xianggang to Guangzhou, there was still the old Kowloon to Canton railroad. How those old names rang with romance in her superannuated imagination.
Dear God, how old she felt. Old and tired and helpless and alone and lonely. Lonely, lonely, lonely.
They pulled into Lai King a few minutes later and John Shaw followed Robin up the escalator, his eyes riveted to the black lace tops of her self-support stockings. In the rush and bustle, conversation was all but impossible, but as they walked side by side through the streets down to the container terminal, it became possible for them to discuss what Robin hoped to achieve here. ‘Ideally, we want to get Sulu Queen back to sea as soon as possible,’ she said.
‘That was Captain Mariner’s last mission in life,’ said John Shaw, walking a little closer to her as he avoided a small roadside shrine full of burning money — offerings to the hungry ghosts. Up and down the roadway there were little shrines filled with a range of items, almost all of which were made of paper or papier mâché. Complete wardrobes of clothing, cars, boats, possessions of every kind, were being assembled by quiet knots of people who set fire to them and watched religiously as they burned.
Robin suddenly seemed to spring awake. She crossed to a little stall standing at the roadside and began to point at various items on show there. ‘Gei do chin?’ she asked, time and again.
It went against John Shaw’s blood that she did not bargain, but this was part of a holy rite, so there was little room for negotiation. Within a few minutes, Robin had a pile of papier- mâché possessions which were not unlike those she had not been able to bear to see this morning. Suits, shirts, shoes. A whole wardrobe. A car of the same colour, if not quite of the same type, as Richard’s. A whole house. A ship — a junk in fact, but it would do. Everything that she associated most intimately with the hungry ghost in her heart was piled on the pavement. She and John Shaw began to arrange it. The clerk was not very adept or particularly artistic, but Robin did not work alone. Suddenly there by her side there was a tall, gaunt man with a thin beard. His clothes were a little ragged but neatly pressed. His hair was unkempt and his bearded face ingrained. The jealous John Shaw paid him more attention than the fiercely preoccupied Robin. The man kept his eyes low and in a matter of moments, with his quiet, courteous help, she had everything set out on the pavement. Then from his big, cracked hand she took a burning taper and one by one she set alight all the items she had bought. For a moment, her face illuminated by the dancing flames, her eyes two grey-bottomed pools of liquid fire, Robin and the stranger exchanged a glance. If something passed between them, he may have noticed it but she did not. She looked back at all the symbols of Richard and his life and they were ashes in the gutter now. When she looked up, the stranger was gone and John Shaw was dancing with impatience, looking at his watch. They would close the main gates soon and their journey to Kwai Chung would become a waste of time.
With one last lingering glance at the little temple she had created in the road, Robin turned. Even if they could not get into the terminal, tonight might not have been completely wasted after all, she thought.
*
They were in the act of closing the gates into Kwai Chung when Robin and John Shaw arrived but her ID and letters of ownership were enough to get the pair of them admitted. The terminal was still and ghostly under the glare of the security lighting, augmented by the pearly promise of a rising moon. As they walked across the big facility, down through the geometric piles of containers towards the dockside and the sea, Robin continued to explain to John Shaw precisely what it was she had in mind to do here. As they talked, Robin was struck anew by how pedestrian the clerk’s mind really was. There was no fire of intelligence there — no fire at all, in fact. For all the typical Oriental cunning, John Shaw lacked the ability even for simple lateral thought. But there was a certain temptation in his simple advice: pay the Triad squeeze; bribe the port official somehow; if necessary, organise an under the table whip-round among her reliable clients and offer some serious bribes to Captain So and his officers. Once there was a strong system in place, no matter that it might be an underhand and illegal one, then things would run more smoothly.
The thought of dealing with the Triads made Robin’s blood run cold but at the same time she had to admit that of all the Orientals she respected and trusted most, the most reliable was a Triad Dragon Head — Twelvetoes Ho. Well, no. The one who somehow stood closest to her heart, for all they had spent many months at each other’s throats, was the ex-coastguard captain with the Hong Kong naval contingent, Daniel Huuk. It had been Huuk who had found Richard alone on the drifting corpse-crewed hulk of the Sulu Queen, Huuk who had arrested him, Huuk who had been so closely involved in the charge of mass murder and the case against him. Huuk who had disappeared along with the others soon after the case had collapsed and the colony had been handed back. But somehow it had been Daniel Huuk who had remained the one man of integrity, of unshakable honesty on the opposing side to her own. Huuk of the dark eyes and the dry wit. Huuk of the inscrutable motivations and the ready Shakespeare quotations. If she could have had Daniel Huuk by her side instead of John Shaw, she would have approached Sulu Queen’s gangplank with a great deal more confidence than she felt at this particular moment.
Robin had asked the guards at the gate to call in and warn the ship of her arrival but the deck was empty and silent as she stepped aboard. She paused for a moment to allow John Shaw to catch up — the gangplank was steep and the smoker’s chest almost tubercular. It was strikingly, almost disturbingly pleasant to be back aboard a ship. How much more pleasant still it would have been to cast off the surly bonds of earth and take her out on the next tide. Robin was suddenly struck by guilt that she had made Richard swear away this very pleasure.
A doorway up at the distant bridge opened suddenly, casting a beam of brightness across the deck and away across the dock. Voices washed down towards her, wavering along the deck in the heart of a stirring wind. They came and went as the wind began to whisper through the deck cargo, setting things whistling hollowly, hissing and ticking as though beyond the square piles of containers a sinister army of Blind Pews was whispering and tapping out of Treasure Island, looking for victims to receive the Black Spot — the Pirate’s legendary sentence of death.
John Shaw wheezed up beside Robin and she shook herself out of her sudden childish fancy. She had worse things to worry about than pirates here. But no, she thought at once. That was not true. She certainly did have to worry about pirates. It was just that these ones used Colts instead of cutlasses. They dealt in computer parts and drugs instead of pieces of eight and doubloons. But they all dealt in death if you crossed them. That hadn’t changed with time.
Captain So came puffing sweatily through the restless but humid evening with the rather more dapper Fuk Yuet-tong at his shoulder. It was clear that neither man knew precisely what to make of their new owner. They had both dealt with Richard and neither of them had met Robin as she had been much the quieter partner during the last two years. Quiet if not silent. Their confusion was evident in the fact that they had both elected to come and meet her, but they had done so late and with a bad grace. Whatever face was being awarded was only conditional, clearly. Robin was at once all too aware of the fact that she was out of touch here. She had let control slip with time. Now she was paying the price of getting to know William and Mary that little bit better before surrendering them to Amberley School. Never before had she com
e aboard a ship of hers without knowing the family circumstances of all the senior officers. Never before had she come against a potential opponent such as Fuk without at least some idea of possible weaknesses and a stratagem designed to exploit them. But as John Shaw had noticed, circumstances had armed her. Even in the shadows, her bow of greeting revealed a distracting amount of cleavage to the men. And from that moment on they patronised, flirted, fantasised and miscalculated.
With her welcoming committee at either elbow and her clerk jealously at her rear, Robin progressed up the ship. As she went, her eyes were as busy as theirs, but she was noting the condition of the deck, the furniture, the cargo, the bridgehouse. She was noting the effect of the lit windows, the wide curtains, the lack of harbour lights under the security lighting. The atmosphere of an idle vessel with a lackadaisical crew. By the time they reached the A-deck bulkhead door into the bridge itself, she understood all too well Richard’s burning desire to take command, sail out to sea, and shake this shambles rigid.
It occurred to Robin that her actions on the pavement outside Lai King station had not been as effective as she had hoped. It would take many more years of bonfires yet to quieten Richard’s hungry ghost in her heart.
She stepped over the raised bulkhead section into the A-deck corridor. The engineers seemed to be effective at least, she thought with some relief. They were keeping the air conditioners in full working order. As the four of them crowded into the lift in the sort of intimacy that makes fortunes for personal hygienists, Robin’s mind was working on ways in which she could test the officers and crew at the same time as proceeding with the objective of her visit.
Captain So presented her with a good opportunity to begin at once.
‘Now, Captain Mariner,’ he said as they stepped out of the lift on C deck, one below navigation bridge level, ‘what can I do for you?’ As he spoke he was guiding her towards his own quarters. Clearly, he wanted this meeting to be conducted in his office.
Robin glanced at her watch. It was after seven. ‘Food,’ she said at once. ‘Mr Shaw and I have not eaten this afternoon. I for one had no lunch. I am hungry and it is dinner time. Let us begin with a working meal.’
Both So and Fuk stopped dead. The captain’s considerable bulk was only distantly supported by the efforts of his ship’s cook. He sent out and ate in his day room, usually with Fuk as his guest of late. They had a very cosy little relationship building.
‘I will have mai sent to my office,’ suggested the captain. ‘You are welcome to share our poor — ’
‘No need,’ said Robin. ‘I can smell the mai being prepared for your crew. We will go down to the officers’ dining room. Now, what documents do we need?’ Another little test.
‘Your late husband wanted cargo manifests and the customs documents. I have laid these out in my office.’
‘Good. Bring them down. Mr Fuk, I would also like to see all the documentation which your office has made available. Working in the dining room will allow me to interview the lading officer and anyone else I might wish to see. Captain?’
Captain So, a little dazed, turned back from the open door of his quarters.
‘Send someone up for the ship’s logs and movement books, would you? Accident report books too, please. We will be waiting down at the captain’s table.’ She turned and strode back down the companionway.
Robin had sailed on the Sulu Queen’s identical sister the Seram Queen. She needed no guidance about its rabbit warren of decks and rooms. She knew as well as Captain So himself where everything was or should be aboard. She had in days gone by fought running battles with modern-day pirates through a bridgehouse identical to this one. As she stepped back out on to A deck, she was grimly aware that she was going to have to join battle of a different, subtler, sort here.
Two abrupt left turns took them through a door into a crowded room. With the gimlet eyes of a new commander, Robin surveyed the officers who sat and stood about the room waiting for their evening meal. They seemed at first an unprepossessing lot. Their uniform whites were grey and ill-pressed. As, indeed, were the tablecloths. Were she in command here, her new broom would start sweeping with the chief steward. But then, for her to be in command here, she thought, her new broom would already have had to sweep Captain So aside. ‘Who is senior officer here?’ she asked loudly, calculatedly in English. They all spoke at least some; it was company policy to employ only bilingual officers. Or, given that most of them spoke several dialects of Chinese as well as English, multilingual.
‘I am forst office. Li Pak-t’ing. Captain So in orifice and Chief Engineer Wong gone below. Who you, missy?’ The speaker was a tall, raffishly good-looking young man with more hair and teeth than were absolutely necessary and more self-confidence than both.
‘I am Captain Robin Mariner. I own this tub and I employ all of you. I know where the captain is. First Officer Li, I want you to join us at the captain’s table, please. I would also like the senior engineering officer here to go and get Chief Wong.’
The officers might well have refused to do what this rude gweilo woman ordered. They would certainly have hesitated long enough to damage her face and enhance their own, but John Shaw was signalling wildly from behind her back and so they jumped to obey. By the time the laden and much put-upon captain arrived with Fuk close behind, Robin was behind the captain’s table and the officers stood in respectful ranks around her.
As far as Robin was concerned, the food might as well have been cotton wool. Strips, curls, sprouts, tubes, clouds and grains of cotton wool; hot and cold, steamed and fried and boiled. But it filled a part of the void within her. And it gave her a background against which to talk, a social setting in which the men could feel at ease, off guard, unwary with truths they didn’t really want to share and open to suggestions they didn’t really want to follow.
In fact, Robin soon discovered, the sea breeze of her new energy had come at an opportune moment. Fuk’s investigation had revealed no new evidence of smuggling. He had recommended to his superiors that the ship should no longer be held. First Officer Li was just completing the re-packing of the cargo and was hoping to apply for the necessary clearances before the weekend. Only the unfortunate Wan Wang-fat, currently languishing in Ma Po Ping, was to be charged.
This was obviously as much of a surprise to John Shaw as it was to Robin, and she found it hard to disguise her incredulity and suspicion at the sudden turn of events. She remembered the cynical advice he had offered — pay the squeeze, bribe whoever might cause problems. Somehow, since her arrival — since Richard’s death — it had all been done. Why? By whom? And at what cost?
Robin was as well aware as Richard had been that there was always a hidden price in going down this route. Payments made now would be expected to be repeated in the future. Favours accepted now would need repayment sometime. And there was a further implication here. It was one thing to have an honest crew aboard a law-abiding ship held up because of one illegal deed, holding out against corruption. Now this ship, these men, were being released by that same corrupt system. Who among them had paid the price? Taken the shilling? Sold his soul?
Robin looked round the table at the smiling, confident faces, watching the long dark eyes slide away — mostly downwards. Even John Shaw, she realised, was finding it hard to look her in the eye. As she looked around, her thoughts suddenly heavy with dark suspicion, a stirring around the edges of the room indicated that several junior officers had eschewed the dessert. Soon all the tables were empty except for the captain’s table. Sweet cotton wool was in prospect but suddenly she didn’t feel like it. She was an outcast here, she suddenly realised; an outcast and dangerously isolated by virtue of her honesty, her race, her sex.
‘This is very good news,’ she smiled, hoping to cover her sudden disquiet. ‘But according to these manifests, Mr Li, you will be sailing only three-quarters laden.’
‘Not so, missy. We are most fortunate. Mr Fuk, he find us cargo which cannot go on other boat. St
randed here at Kwai Chung. We take that to Sapporo. Load soon. Document clear. No trouble.’
‘You didn’t tell me about this, Mr Shaw,’ said Robin.
‘I … ’ glugged John, clearly at a loss. Robin’s hackles rose. She really did not like this at all.
‘Perhaps Mr Feng was contacted before he left the office?’ she suggested.
‘Oh yes,’ smirked First Officer Li. ‘I tell Mr Feng late this afternoon. Not so, Captain?’
The tone of the question did much damage to the captain’s face, as did the insulting game with his name. Captain ‘not-So’ nodded curtly. ‘Hou,’ he said.
‘And what precisely does this cargo consist of, Mr Fuk?’
‘Is … ’ Fuk shook his head, his eyes darting around like frightened rats. ‘Is entertainments. For entertainments industry. Video tapes. Such things as this.’ He essayed an openly honest smile. He had no idea that Robin had found her life and company and husband very nearly destroyed because of such apparently innocent cargoes in the past when pirated video tapes had been confused with crack cocaine by some extremely violent people. And here was the same nightmare starting all over again.
Suddenly Robin wanted to take the smugly leering face of the customs officer and shake it loose. She wanted to get up and get out of this place, off this ship and out of the whole country. Why had she come back here? There was nothing she could do. The powers which were supposed to help her were simply obstructing her. The people she had trusted were all helpless or unworthy. Behind every friendly face lurked an enemy disguised. Nothing she could do would lessen the pain of Richard’s death. Nothing she could accomplish would honour his memory. There was no way to do him honour aboard this foul vessel among these leering, double-dealing men. Nothing she could do would ever bring him back. She had been suicidally stupid to come here trying to fix things with her open-eyed honesty, to push her way aboard this ship where discipline had collapsed into an anarchy of bribery and back-scratching the moment Richard’s grip had slipped.