We got to get out of here, George said.
The boy barked a command.
Now that’s German, Frank said, like Grandpaps used to talk. You wouldn’t remember none of that.
What’s he saying?
Probly Untie me!
He can’t hurt us, can’t be more’n nine.
They cut him down with Frank’s case-knife then traded it back and forth until the ropes went slack. They unwound him. Out of the ropes, he was naked and all over bluish, a hundred shallow cuts criss-crossing his chest, belly, back, all scabby and oozy. He’d been hanging up so long he couldn’t hardly walk. They helped him along, the two of them, carrying him when they had to, like down the boat’s side.
The Chinese boy fell asleep on the raft right where they laid him down. They threw an old blanket over him.
Wait, George said, wait, we got to go back for all that gold.
You crazy? Frank said.
He untied and pushed off with a spare lash-pole.
But the gold! George said. It’s like pirate treasure in there.
What, Chinee pirates?
Maybe! And we could bury the gold and join up and go buccaneering—
The ship groaned, the gap widened.
One of them statues’d fetch plenty, George said, specially now we got nowhere to sell the raft.
We can’t get it out and we’d lose the raft too.
Frank kept heaving, the current caught them, and they were pulling away fast. The fog closed up again, like eyelids shutting; the wreck, a fading sideways ghost, like a will-o-the-wisp, whirled out of sight, all round and round in one surge, like thunder. Then only the river rolled on as it had for thousands and thousands of years.
* * *
We see a stranje Thing & loos are raft.
The fog cleared bit by bit, like someone coming out of a heavy doze. The air was colder, the sunlight paler. The river flowed fast and easy—broad bends, few rocks or islands; so peaceful that Frank let George take over. Fields reached down to the river banks, freshly plowed, a sharp dirt smell, some already manured and ready to plant. By and by a church steeple would drift by, tucked up in the hills among bare trees, or a road follow the river’s course a mile or two before curving away. The few wagons they saw, bright-painted and drawn by bulky horses with manes plaited in blond braids, were too far away to hail, small as toys. George waved—the drivers lifted their hats, funny conical things with ribbons.
The river was dark with mud. Clear eddies swirled where streams poured in, but it was soon all one brown again.
Where’s it all come from? George wondered.
Where you think it comes from? Frank scoffed. It’s fields and roads and house lots. It’s America, running westwards to somewhere else, anywhere else, someplace maybe better, like Great-Grandpaps did, and like Papa did, and just like we’re doing.
Where’s it going?
But Frank just looked at him like he was a dunce.
He weren’t really no Prince, George said.
No, Frank said, just another scoundrel.
I’d like to see some real royalty. Now that’d be something, wouldn’t it?
Royalty, shmoyalty. You sure talk a deal of stuff.
Oh, silks and furs and crowns and jewels and whatnot?—mighty fine, mighty fine.
Think they’d buy some timber?
Don’t you know that kings already got plenty of that? Queens too. Whole forests of it.
Must be somewhere to sell though.
It’s just a raft, George said. You sure he’s really dead?
Course he is.
I mean maybe it weren’t a kill shot and he floated—
He’s dead.
But—
Frank gave him a look that would freeze sunshine.
The river moved on, hour after hour, mile after mile. The rescued boy slept like a log. It was like one of those long summer Sunday afternoons, dinner over and nothing to do (Hush! It’s the Sabbath!), nothing to look forward to but evening prayers, hours away yet, and at last to bed. Birdcalls, insect drone; brown and green. George drifted off, standing at the sweep.
Frank must’ve packed him away into the hut for a nap, because the next George knew, he was peeping out the canvas door at a river full of noise and color. He sat up and smacked his head on the roof-pole (again). He crawled out and watched the show.
Now that’s sure some pumpkins, Frank said.
Downstream, a fleet of paddle-wheelers, high-prowed like that wreck but plainer, crowded the river bank to bank, red black green flags aloft, snapping in the breeze; and what was that noise? Trumpets and drums? A white puff from the lead ship, then a crack!: a cannon.
Swarming towards the raft from all over was a dozen or so of the oddest looking boats he’d ever seen—sails like giant fish fins and oars swinging away on both sides in time with a drumbeat—and midships of each one, a man in black pajamas pointed a rifle at them, squinting along its length.
Beyond the oncoming boats was a larger one with a high platform at the stern. A man there in a long purple robe and black turban, red and yellow ribbons fluttering, swung his arm down like chopping the air, barked an order.
A dozen rifles flashed.
A dozen plumes of water sprouted around the raft.
Oh God help us!
George and Frank dropped flat down on the logs.
Get the Chinee boy! Frank hissed.
The second volley, closer, thunk-thunk-thunked into the raft, spat splinters into George’s face.
George’s jaw would’ve dropped open (if he hadn’t been so busy saving his own life), the way the Chinese boy stood up of a sudden, wrapped in that moth-eaten horse blanket like it was royal robes of velvet and ermine, and looked around, rubbing his eyes.
Get down get down! George cried.
Frank tugged on the blanket’s corner. The boy jerked it from his hand.
The riflemen looked ready for a third volley.
The Chinese boy raised his hands and clapped for attention. He called out.
The purple-robe man shouted back, raised his arms. The approaching boats gave way like insects scattering when you lift a log. But the bigger one kept coming, and just when it seemed about to ram them, the drum doubled its tempo; half the men rowed furiously, half backed water. The boat drifted to a halt, turning. A cry and all the oars lifted into the air and dripped.
Purple man leaned over the rail to get a better look. The boy chattered at him, purple replied only with grunts. Then purple smiled, spread his arms wide.
The sailors lowered their guns.
Purple ordered a sailor to throw a rope across. George caught it. The Chinese boy made tying gestures, so George wrapped the rope around the forward head-block and hitched it. And besides, those sailors still had guns.
The drum started up again, and the boatmen bent over their oars again, and the blades slapped the water, and the rope tightened, and the raft was beating along behind the boat towards the approaching fleet. In the middle was the biggest side-wheeler George had ever seen, whitewater racing away astern, the bows cutting the coffee-colored water like a plow through springtime mud. They were headed right for it.
That’s funny, Frank said.
What? George asked.
That boat. You see?
He pointed.
I see a mighty big paddle-wheeler churning along.
You don’t see anything funny about it?
George looked long and hard.
It’s slow.
It’s working against the current, Frank said. But look up. See? No smokestacks.
Huh, George said.
Sailors swarmed down the gangway from the big boat and all over the raft. They tugged Frank and George up the plank behind the Chinese boy, where the boys lost sight of him in the crush.
Never knowed there was so many Chinamen, George remarked.
Frank looked over the railing—
Hey! he shouted. Stop that!
The sailors on the raft had start
ed in with hatchets and saws. But Frank couldn’t break free.
Let me go!
He smacked at the hands shoving him along.
That’s our raft, leave it be!
He struggled back towards the gangway but the sailors were like a wall of elbows, knees, forearms, and Frank’s feet skidded on the deck as he and George were all but carried up steps and down narrow passages, through door after door. At last they came to a dim, dusty, bare little room. They stumbled in.
A white-haired white man, dressed all in black with a big shiny cross hanging from a necklace, leaned in the door.
Stay here, he said.
The door slid shut.
Frank rattled it. It was locked.
* * *
We mete a man namd Mary.
People came and went, bringing tea; then rice, fish, vegetables; and, when the boys asked (by gestures), a chamberpot.
Funny tea, George remarked. It’s green.
It’s hot. We got to keep our strength up so we can escape.
How can we without no raft?
We got to bide our time, Frank said, nodding wisely like he had some plan all worked out.
The food was meager and came without forks or spoons, and the fish tasted off—sour, like vinegar—and the vegetables were brown, salty, and mysterious. But by then they were so hungry they ate it all, with their fingers.
Just wait till I tell Mama all about it! George said.
I reckon we have plenty of waiting to do, Frank said.
I don’t like it in here. I want to see this boat.
After a while, a little window in the door popped open. An eyeball looked back and forth. Another eyeball did the same. The little window snapped shut.
After an even longer while, lots of people crowded in with curtains that they hung across the walls, and pillows that they strewed over the floor, and funny lanterns made out of paper that they hung up on hooks.
Then an old lady limped slowly across the cabin and sat down on one of the cushions. She had gray hair cropped short and was wearing a green robe and lots of gold bracelets. She fished in the robe’s pockets and pulled out a little pipe, shiny as porcelain, painted with blue turtles. She tamped in tobacco and lit up. She just kept staring at the two boys and puffing away, all thoughtful, until she was wrapped in a smoky cocoon.
The white man dressed like some priest came back. He sat on a cushion and bowed from the waist—nearly smacked his forehead on the floor—and waited.
George was about to bust. When’d they get to go? Were they prisoners? If only he could just drift down the river, gnawing a biscuit maybe, gazing at that far horizon that kept approaching, never arrived....
Finally a youngish man came in. He sat down right next to the old lady but didn’t bow. She knocked out her pipe against the heel of her tiny slipper. Looking directly at the two boys, she jabbered for a moment.
The man next to her talked some French, then the priest turned to the boys, and said:
You must think this a peculiar way to reward you for the rescue of my grandson.
Frank and George traded looks. George shrugged.
Frank said, Oh it was nothing, we don’t need no thanking and all. Can we go now?
The priest blinked at him, then talked some French to the other man, who looked surprised, then jabbered at the old lady.
A long pause.
She smiled.
Another exchange, and the priest said, The young Englishmen are too modest.
We aint Englishmen, we’re Americans! George said.
The reply made its way back to the old lady, ah-muhr-rah-kins plain to hear both times.
She narrowed her eyes a bit, her mouth tightened.
We shall not play word games, her reply came back. You speak English, thus you are Englishmen.
The priest added: The Queen does not care to be contradicted.
Queen! George exclaimed.
Oh, Frank said. We can go with Englishmen, she don’t look too happy. Don’t translate that!
May I offer a word of advice? the priest asked.
Sure! George said.
Be grateful that your heads are still attached to your necks.
Oh, George said. I am!
Tell the Queen, Frank said, that we are real thankful for the chance to do her some good services and thank her for all that tea and stuff she gave us. And ask can we go now?
Or words to that effect, the priest murmured then switched to French.
The old lady laughed and clapped her hands.
She spoke slowly as the men translated: The officials of the Permanent Emperor of the Second, or Trans-Pacific, Ming are as clever as they are cruel and capricious. I am an old woman, and suspicion and intrigue are like air and water to me. But you, I think, are just as you seem to be: two boys who have stumbled into what must be to you a most mysterious and hazardous maze.
My name’s George Washington Tarr.
Benjamin Franklin Tarr, but everyone calls me Frank.
You are welcome aboard my ship.
Thank you, ma’am, Frank said.
You must stay here for a short time longer, while more appropriate quarters are prepared for you.
Thank you, ma’am, George said.
She stood up and limped out. The younger man followed, but the priest stayed behind.
Never talked to a Queen before, George said. She seems nice.
Queens don’t have much time for the likes of you, Frank told him.
Do too, George said.
Besides, she don’t speak English.
Oh.
Since introductions are being made, the priest said, allow me to do so as well: I am Père Marie-François of the Society of Jesus, but formerly Comte de Chaissapique-et-Patômaque.
Why’s a man got a name like Mary? George asked.
What’s a society of Jesus? Frank asked. You mean like his friends?
It is the name of my order, Marie-François answered, also called Jesuits, and I am honored with the name of the Mother of God.
Where’d you learn to talk such good English?
As a missionary, I spent much time among the apostates at their colony of Magna Caledonia.
Maggie what? George asked.
Where’s that? Frank asked.
North. Very far to the north. I shudder even now to recall the deprivations I endured, not least the food.
The food’s kind of strange here too, George said.
Indeed. But much better.
What happened to our raft?
It was required for repairs to the fleet’s ships.
That raft was worth upwards of eighty dollars! Frank said.
Not really, only—
(Frank kicked him.)
What are dollars? Marie-François asked.
You got different money in, um, France? Frank asked.
Indeed, Marie-François said with a frown.
What’s she queen of, the Queen? George asked.
Of the pirate fleets, naturally, Marie-François replied.
* * *
We lern how to find botes far a way.
Allow me to apologize, the old priest said when he came back, on behalf of the Queen, for your sojourn—however brief—in a disused storeroom. The fleet does not normally take prisoners, so there was some question, you understand, of what to do with you. Follow me.
He led them back the way they’d come, then farther up, onto the hurricane deck, and into the texas. When he opened a door, they were expecting a stateroom, but it was only a tiny cabin, hardly bigger than its bunks.
I bet the Queen’s got a real stateroom, Frank said.
It is a small ship, Père Marie-François said. There is not much room for splendor.
It’s the biggest paddle-wheeler I’ve ever seen, George said.
Perhaps so. Nevertheless....
Where’s our things?
You will find that there are lockers under the mattresses.
We got to stay in here? Frank asked.
/> Not at all!
Marie-François spread his arms wide.
You are free to roam the upper decks as you please.
He lowered his head so that he was looking at them through his bushy white eyebrows.
But the lower decks, he continued, are strictly forbidden, as are the pilot-house, the armory, and the like.
He smiled.
Perhaps our young guests might care to visit the saloon—as I believe it is called in English?
Sounds like fun, George said.
I druther get my raft back, Frank said.
Doubtlessly, Marie-François said, but I cannot do that for you. Come.
The double doors at the forward end of the passage opened onto a glass-walled, deep-carpeted, chair- and table-cluttered room. Far below on the river, sampans rowed from great side-wheeler to side-wheeler like bees around their hives. A crimson and gilt sunset was unfurling like the painting of the Apockylips at the back of the Tarr family Bible.
Père Marie-François sat them at a table, then crossed to a pass-through in the aft wall, where he conferred with a Chinese man. He came back presently bearing two steaming bowls.
Here is a fine dish, he said, that I have taught the cook myself. Café au lait—or milk and coffee, as you might say.
Coffee! George exclaimed.
Boys your age often enjoy it with sugar.
He opened his palm to show two crumbly cubes.
I have a private source, he said.
Why’s it that color? George asked.
Never seen yellow sugar before, Frank said.
It is the true sucre d’érable, Marie-François said, from the, how does one say, the maple-tree?
Yes please! George said.
Marie-François dropped one into the bowl.
Monsieur Frank? he inquired.
But Frank shook his head and Marie-François pocketed the other sugar-cube. He fetched a third bowl for himself.
Have you any questions? he asked.
George and Frank looked at him.
Certain aspects, he said, of your education appear to have been—ah—cruelly neglected. I am here now to correct that fault.
He raised his eyebrows, looked from one boy to the other.
Do you and the pirates just float around and see what’s to be seen, George asked, or do you have battles and treasures and secret maps and all that, like real pirates do? And I read in the illustrated weekly that China’s got an Emperor, what lives in a great big palace like a city full of you-nots, not some old Queen.
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