Mandarin

by Elegant, Robert;

  His own affairs were burden enough for one night. Ever since the disaster at Chenkiang, when their besieging armies were routed, the Imps had patrolled the vital stretches of the Long River as if their lives depended on it. Fear of losing their heads could inspire the captains of war junks to remarkable vigilance, and they all knew that smugglers loved to slip through the back channel around Yangchung Island. The shallow water, which now offered security, could become a trap.

  Following the sharp northward curve of the bank, the junk entered the channel. The Low Dah momentarily regretted the dark where the lamps of the Liu Family Village would normally serve as a landmark. Despite the shallow draft that made her agile in the narrow waters, his craft could run upon a sandbank. The darkness threatened the junk as well as hiding her from Imperial patrols. Fortunately, every variation on the silhouetted banks—every temple and pagoda, every cluster of houses, every weir, landing stage, and tree—was etched upon his memory.

  The Low Dah drew a deep breath and stood erect. Shifting his hold on the tiller, he let his arms hang free for a moment to unknot his tense shoulder muscles. He did not relax his scrutiny of the night.

  He saw no alien presence, though the clouds were shifting and starlight glinted on the water. He heard only the occasional leaping of fish and the hum of men and animals in the villages on the shore. No Imperial war junk could be lurking on the river.

  The Low Dah stiffened in terror when steel-blue efflorescence glowed under the tip of the promontory. He whispered aloud, imploring the Empress of Heaven to protect his vessel. Only once before had he seen such an unearthly light: at Kua Tao, Orphans’ Island, where the spirits of the dead congregated beneath the monastery on the cliffs. The blue glimmer could not be man-made, and no star ever dipped so low. As he prayed, the ghost fire flared again. The Lao Dah promised Tien Mu Hou a great feast of lacquered ducks and suckling pigs to bring him safely out of the clutches of the demons. As the ghost fire sputtered out, he ordered his sons to hoist the matting sails. Demons could, of course, fly over the water, but only a fool would not try to escape.

  For three minutes the river was lit only by starlight, and the junk drew toward a crag that might deflect the demons’ flight. The Low Dah sternly reminded Tien Mu Hou that he had never broken a pledge to her. The silence was marred only by a metallic clatter under the promontory where the ghost fire had flared. Once again the goddess had drawn her invisible cloak around her favorite.

  A sapphire spear pierced the darkness. The Low Dah ordered his sons to aim the bronze jingal, which was an enormous blunderbuss. The beam skittered over the wavelets like a blind man’s stick scraping across cobblestones. In the back glow, the Low Dah saw a boxy shape bristling with tall spines breathing red sparks. A malignant water dragon was searching for his vessel with its incandescent blue eye.

  The terrified crew sculled frantically for the rock that reared out of the water. Drawn by the phosphorescent bow wave, the light inched closer to the junk. After briefly lighting the coarse grass in the fissures of the granite crag, the sapphire lance impaled the junk.

  The Low Dah felt like a fighting cricket caged under a glaring lamp. Every pore and wrinkle of his face, every stay, plank, and rope of his vessel was drenched with unearthy light. The dragon eye had fixed his junk. In an instant, the dragon fire would consume them, leaving not a fingernail or a hair, not a splinter of wood or a scrap of metal.

  The Low Dah cursed his fate. He had almost forgotten the jingal. Since they were normally aloof from men and their ancient brains were sluggish, the great dragons had no knowledge of modern inventions. No man-made weapon could wound the water-dragon, but the jingal might terrify it.

  “Fire!” he screamed. “Fire!”

  Orange flame belched from the blunderbuss, and the junk slewed crabwise, pitching under the recoil. Chains and potsherds mixed with broken bottles and iron bolts whistled over the water toward the fire-breathing shape. The dragon eye blinked, then glared remorselessly again. The Low Dah’s shoulders drooped dispiritedly as his sons sculled the junk behind the crag. The dragon eye blinked again, flared bright, and vanished. The Low Dah’s hoarse, exulting cry echoed across the water.

  On board the gunboat Mencius, Gabriel Hyde did not break stride as the shrapnel whistled past. Running barefoot to the foredeck, he pushed aside the bosun, who was tinkering with the temperamental acetylene searchlight. First not enough lime pellets, then not enough water to dissolve the pellets into gas. And now what?

  The tube that carried the gas to the burner was blocked, for the Chinese would never clean it properly. Swearing to himself, the American twisted a wire through the tube. He assured himself the tube was clear by blowing through it, struck a match, touched it to the burner, and replaced the lens. The steel-blue beam again lanced over the water to impale the junk.

  The Low Dah’s head sank to his chest in defeat. Even the barbarian gun could not frighten the ancient beast, perhaps because it was too stupid to be afraid. Whatever the reason, he was beyond even the succor of the Mother Empress of Heaven. He waited for the dragon’s fiery breath to consume him.

  David Lee rose from the slimy deck boards. Glancing behind him to make sure Fronah was safe in the cabin, he grasped the Low Dah’s arms.

  “Don’t give up,” he urged. “We can still get away.”

  “The dragon can’t be frightened away,” the Low Dah replied. “What more can I do against a demon?”

  “It’s not a demon, you fool, only a foreign-devil invention. Keep the junk moving.”

  The quick-firing gun on the Mencius’s foredeck coughed three times. As the echoes died, the Low Dah heard a voice shouting in an outlandish language. He saw the angular vessel hurtling down upon them, and his voice cracked with fear.

  “Worse, far worse!” he moaned. “The barbarians are devils in human form.”

  “What do you know?” Fronah demanded, emerging from the cabin. “We must keep the boat moving! If you’re afraid, my brother and I will …”

  “It’s no use. In Shanghai the barbarians sometimes behave like human beings. On the Long River, they’re all pirates, demon pirates. I’ve had friends attacked by foreign devils—throats cut, cargoes stolen, junks scuttled.”

  David glanced at the bank fifty yards away. Despite the current in the back channel, he could swim that distance. The Imperial Edict was unequivocal: All scholars caught collaborating with the Taipings are to be tortured and decapitated. He saw that the gunboat was lowering a skiff. He began unbuttoning his jacket so that it would not impede his struggle with the Long River.

  His fingers paused, then slipped the buttons back into their holes. Fronah could never make that swim, and he could not leave her to face the gunboat’s crew alone. If the captain were a foreigner, he might treat her well. But who could be certain?

  “Go on, David!” Fronah urged. “You’ve got to get away. They won’t dare harm me.”

  “For every smuggler captured, a hundred get through.” David grinned ruefully. “Why did we have to be the hundredth?”

  “Never mind, David. Just go! I can look after myself.”

  “I can’t, Fronah. It’s too late.”

  The skiff was bearing down on the junk. When Fronah slipped her hand into David’s, he grasped it convulsively. It was very small and very cold. Hand in hand, they waited for the sailors to board the junk.

  Gabriel Hyde swung himself onto the smuggling vessel. Normally his bosun would have commanded the boarding party, but he had wanted to see the vessel for himself. Rocking on the balls of his feet, he watched his sailors prod the junk’s crew onto the fantail.

  Hardly a great haul: nine men, one a boy of no more than twelve from his size. Whatever else they lacked, the smugglers had courage. Defying the Long River and the Imperial war junks in this cockleshell was no pastime for the fainthearted.

  “Have catchee smugglers, Cap’n,” the cockswain chortled, emerging from the hold. “Have looksee bottomside plenty powder and guns.”

&nb
sp; “We’ll take the junk in tow,” Hyde decided. “But first get these people onto the Mencius.”

  Silhouetted by the searchlight, the smugglers clambered from the junk into the skiff. Apathy had succeeded the Low Dah’s terror. Why, he wondered, had the goddess deserted him when he lavishly honored every pledge he made her? And what would become of the hoard of silver in the chest under Tien Mu Hou’s shrine?

  As the skiff pulled away with the first six prisoners, Gabriel Hyde glanced at the remaining three.

  “That’s no boy,” he exclaimed. “Not with that scarf and that shape. What is she? The master’s wife?”

  “No savee, Cap’n,” the cockswain said, grinning. “Maybe damned smuggler’s whore. We makee jig-jig tonight. Better’n Flower Boat.”

  “Not on my ship,” Hyde admonished automatically.

  “She’s a European lady, Captain.” David’s voice quavered. “You must see that she’s treated respectfully.”

  “I’ll be damned!” Hyde exclaimed. “A Chinaman speaking perfect—well, almost perfect—English. Who are you, my lad? A European lady, you say? This is a night of wonders!”

  “You’ve caught me fairly, Captain. Whatever becomes of me, I deserve it. But the young lady …”

  “A Chinaman who speaks English,” Hyde marveled. “And a European lady who doesn’t. Can’t she speak for herself?”

  Fronah unknotted her scarf and faced the foreign captain. She lifted her chin and met his eyes defiantly, though he was even more to be feared because of his American accent. Only vicious foreigners entered the Imperial Water Force, and the Americans were the most vicious. Frantic with worry for David, she realized that she too was in grave danger. No Chinese captain would dare molest a foreign woman. But who could tell what an American might dare? Nonetheless, she smiled confidently.

  “Why, Miss Haleevie!” Hyde was thunderstruck. “If it isn’t my old dancing partner, the mysterious Miss Fronah Haleevie.”

  “You know me?” she asked unnecessarily. “I’m afraid I don’t recall …”

  “That’s not very flattering, ma’am.” Gabriel Hyde yawned to conceal his laughter. “Forgetting me so soon. But I remember you well. Fourth of July at Russells with the Filipino band.”

  “I do recall now. It’s Lieutenant … ah … Lieutenant.…”

  “Hyde, Ma’am, Gabriel Hyde, formerly lieutenant, U. S. Navy.” With light malice he mimicked her pronunciation, leftenant. “Now lieutenant commander in His Imperial Manchu Majesty’s Water Force. At your service, ma’am.”

  “Lieutenant Hyde? Of course I remember you well. That’s all the more reason to free us. How could a naval lieutenant behave like a freebooter? I’m sure …”

  “This is no place for a chat, Miss Haleevie. Let’s go aboard the Mencius and sort this out.”

  “There’s really nothing to sort out,” she asserted. “My father will pay well if you simply forget where you found us—and let us go. You’ll be well rewarded for behaving like a gentleman.”

  “I don’t bargain with young ladies, Miss Haleevie. On the other hand, I’m not out to catch boys and girls, but smugglers. And you two are the most unlikely smugglers I’ve ever seen.”

  “Well, what are we to do about you and … ah … young David here?”

  Gabriel Hyde spoke from the eminence of his six years’ seniority to the Chinese youth. They were seated in cane chairs in the captain’s cabin, sipping jasmine tea from handleless blue-and-white cups. Apparently as self-possessed as if she were entertaining the American in her own parlor, Fronah had formally introduced her brother David, and Hyde had gravely shaken the young man’s hand.

  “Do?” she said lightly. “Why, it’s quite simple, Commander. When we get to Shanghai, just let us slip off your ship.”

  “That’s a reasonable suggestion, ma’am, most reasonable. After I’ve cut the smugglers’ throats, I see no reason why …”

  “Cut their throats?” Fronah was astonished and indignant. “That’s ridiculous. How could you …”

  “They are criminals, you know, smugglers caught red-handed. Worse, they’re traitors. It would be a mercy to spare them the headsman’s sword.”

  “You can’t, Commander!” Fronah protested. “You can’t do that.”

  “Of course I can. I’ll just pass the word to my bosun. He’ll positively enjoy it!”

  “Why, Commander?” David asked. “Why cut their throats?”

  “Plain as the nose on your face, young David. It’s your lives or theirs, not to speak of the young lady’s reputation.”

  “I don’t see why it must be one or the other. You do realize,” she protested, “that you’ll make a bad enemy if you do turn us in. My father will never forgive you—and he’s a very powerful man. But I don’t see …”

  “He means they’ll talk otherwise,” David explained glumly. “And if the Mandarins learn I was caught on a smuggling junk, I’m dead, too. If the Shanghai ladies gossip about your running away with me …”

  “Right the first time, young David.” Gabriel Hyde was saturnine. “Go to the head of the class.”

  Fronah knew the American was enjoying their predicament. The mouth that could be so amiable smiled cruelly, and the dark-blue eyes were hard.

  “Look, Commander, I can see the risk for you,” she said. “But my father will pay you well. Just drop us off quietly—and then deliver your prisoners. A thousand dollars, let’s say, is surely worth the risk. I couldn’t live with the memory. Your killing them to save us.”

  “Even if you’re game for the risk, there’s my crew. They’d understand my cutting a few throats, but they’d never understand letting prisoners go.”

  “Have you searched the junk, Commander?” Fronah asked. “Did your men find a thousand silver taels and several hundred Maria Theresa dollars?”

  “Many thanks, Miss Fronah,” Hyde replied. “If you hadn’t told me, my rascals would have gotten away with it. Yes, that might just be the answer. Suppose I let them keep their loot, but let them know I know. Then sink the junk and let the prisoners go. Nobody’ll talk then, not my cutthroats or your smugglers.”

  “A perfect solution, Commander.” Fronah smiled beguilingly. “You’re very clever.”

  “What about yourself, Commander?” David asked.

  “You’ve hit the nail on the head, young David. What about myself indeed?”

  “There’s this.” David offered the money belt containing his small hoard of silver. “Will this help?”

  “Not really, David,” Gabriel Hyde drawled. “I don’t take candy from babies.”

  “What do you want, Commander?” Fronah hastily moderated her peremptory tone: “How can we reward you?”

  “I guess I’ll just have to satisfy myself with the prize money. Let me see. The junk, unfortunately, was holed and sunk, but not before we unloaded the contraband. That’ll bring me a penny or two, and for the rest …”

  “For the rest, Commander?” Fronah asked as his silence prolonged itself.

  “For the rest, Miss Haleevie, you can satisfy my curiosity. Where does your name come from?”

  Astonished by his strange demand, Fronah told Gabriel Hyde of the Haleevies’ long journey from Spain to Shanghai by way of Baghdad and Bombay. In hopes of dazzling the enigmatic American, she exaggerated her father’s wealth.

  “Jewish, just as I suspected,” Hyde remarked with grim satisfaction. “Well, that’s cleared up, then.”

  “And that’s all, Commander?” she asked. “All you want? You’re being very sensible and very moderate.”

  “Just put in a good word for me with your father and your wealthy friends. Who knows, I might need a wealthy friend some day.”

  Fronah sighed in relief, forgetting the terrible scene David and she would face with her parents. Some day she might know why Gabriel Hyde had toyed with them. For the moment she only knew that they had escaped lightly—and that she owed the American immense gratitude for sparing David’s life and her reputation. Some day he would deman
d payment. Despite his magnanimity, he was a mercenary.

  CHAPTER 26

  May 28, 1856

  Peking

  THE FORBIDDEN CITY

  “The poor chickens,” Yehenala said, laughing. “I pity the poor chickens.”

  The abstracted Emperor gazed into the garden, where bronze chrysanthemums bloomed in lime-green jardinières among the dwarfed pines. It was already half past the double-hour of the snake, ten in the morning by the ingenious Western clocks that he, like his predecessors, avidly collected. He must soon leave for the Hall of Supreme Harmony to welcome Imperial Princes, Grand Chancellors, Ministers, and Senior Mandarins to the banquet celebrating the first month of life of the Prince Tsai Chün. Jaded after Yehenala’s banquet for several hundred court ladies the previous night, he had horrified his entourage by coming on foot to her mansion. However, the palanquin dispatched by the scandalized Chief Eunuch waited outside.

  “Why are you talking about chickens? They’re stupid birds.”

  “I still pity them, Majesty. All those red eggs—hundreds of thousands of red eggs. Tens of thousands of chicken families destroyed. The chicken ancestors must be weeping in poultry heaven. No descendants to offer sacrifices for the happiness of their spirits.”

  “But it’s customary, Nala. Fathers always hand out red-dyed eggs a month after a birth. And We of course must distribute red eggs to the entire capital. Anyway, fowls don’t sacrifice to the spirits of their ancestors.”

  “I deeply regret having intruded my levity into Your Majesty’s profound concerns.”

  “Oh, you were joking,” he smiled. “We see. Very funny.”

  Secure in her new status, Yehenala was not disturbed. Nonetheless, she reminded herself, she must avoid both subtlety and irony with the Emperor, who had become more pompous since the birth of the prince. The prestige of even the Lord of Ten Thousand Years was exalted because he had finally fathered a son.