The Mark of the Golden Dragon: Being an Account of the Further Adventures of Jacky Faber, Jewel of the East, Vexation of the West, and Pearl of the South China Sea

by Louis A. Meyer

  All here aboard our little schooner are well and in good spirits and you may inform sundry wives and sweethearts as to that happy fact. Just don't mention me.

  Ha-ha. Again...

  Seriously, though, if you would look after my dear friend Mairead McConnaughey, who has been aboard the Lee with her husband Ian. She has had some troubles lately and I would like it if she were restored to her former cheerful self. Perhaps Ezra can offer her some gainful employment to take her mind off her recent woes. Break the news of my resurrection to her gently, as the dear girl is of an expressive nature and in her joy is liable to break something.

  Uh-oh ... The George Washington is pulling in her lines and I must quickly blot this and get it sealed and over to them.

  Please give my warmest regards to Mr. Pickering. John Higgins has written separately to him concerning the business dealings of Faber Shipping Worldwide, and I am sure our dear Ezra will be delighted to fill you in on happenings in that regard. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.

  Do not worry about me, Sister. I have some business to take care of in London—business that concerns my dear Mr. James Emerson Fletcher—and then I am getting back to the States as fast as I can. And I swear I shall never again leave the safety of that part of the world, which has proved so kind to a poor wandering girl.

  I so look forward to many more happy days lolling about with you in that hayloft at Dovecote.

  Regards to all,

  Your friend,

  J.

  Chapter 23

  Jacqueline Bouvier

  Onboard the Nancy B. Alsop

  Off Gravesend, England

  James Emerson Fletcher

  9 Brattle Street

  London, England

  Dearest Jaimy,

  Yes, it's me, popping up yet again. Ta da! I know it must be a bit of a shock for you to find that I am still alive and back here in England, but I hope you will rejoice in that knowledge, I really do.

  Father Neptune must love me some after all, for he did allow me to survive the awful storm he kicked up back when you and I were last together, there in the Straits of Malacca. You see, Jaimy, when I was swept overboard with the Lorelei Lee's fallen foremast and sank down with it, entangled in its rigging, the sail had enough trapped air in its belly to finally pull it back up to the surface with me clinging to it for dear life, my little Ravi clinging to me, as well. As Higgins says, I really must be part cork, as I do have a habit of bobbing back up from various troubles.

  Long story short, though cast away and penniless, I resolved to bend all efforts to get back to you, dear boy, and so Ravi and I made our way up to Rangoon and there we fell into some luck. Biggest bit of that luck was meeting up with the Nancy B. and her crew—what joy that brought me, I cannot tell you. Will explain more about that later. Suffice it to say, my new plans concern much Oriental treasure and a possible way out of our current difficulties for the both of us. Yes, Jaimy, both you and me. We shall see.

  We had a relatively uneventful journey from Rangoon to here, with only a few storms in the Bay of Bengal and some encounters with pirates off the Horn of Africa. The storms pounded us, but we managed to survive them. The pirates tried us, but those brigands came out much the worse for it when they found out, to their dismay, that our teeth were far sharper than theirs, and that we were more than willing to use them.

  We made port at the Maldives, then the Seychelles, and still later Cape Town at the southern tip of Africa, and it was there that we found an American merchant ship. The General Washington was bound for the States and upon her I posted a quick letter to Amy Trevelyne, and I sure hope she gets it.

  As for now, we are lying off Gravesend at the mouth of the Thames, waiting for the turn of the tide to take us up to London. We sailed past Sheerness in the morning, so now we have the land of England all about us. Even though Mother England has scorned me, reviled me, and condemned me, it's still good to see the land of my birth once more. I had vowed, not long ago, to never set foot on her ever again, considering what she has done to me, but England is where you are, Jaimy, so that is where I will go. I am in rather deep disguise, though, so I should be all right.

  Evening is falling, so it will be tomorrow before we'll take the Nancy B. into the London docks. I hope with all my heart that I will see you then, or at least send this letter on its way to you. But believe me, for all my longing to be in your arms again, I will approach your family's house with great caution. I fear your mother might keep a loaded gun about the house, and if so, I am sure she would not hesitate to drop me in my tracks should she recognize me. I am also sure she greatly rejoiced over the report of my death, thanking the very heavens themselves for my demise, and would not take kindly to see me come back from the dead. But that is not your fault, Jaimy, so don't worry about it.

  It has been many months, Jaimy, since I went over the side of my ship to certain doom, and you could have taken up with another girl by now, thinking me dead and gone, and if you have, I will not blame you and will instead wish you and her a long and happy life, but I really hope it will not be so, I really hope that.

  Your girl forever, Jaimy...

  With all my heart,

  J.

  Chapter 24

  "What do you plan, Miss?" asks Higgins, as I sit cross-legged on my bed, mending my black burglar's trousers. The black jersey and watch cap that go with the pants are spread out on the coverlet, as well as other articles of clothing.

  We are lying anchored in the Thames and expect to dock in London in the morning.

  "I can tell you one thing for sure, Higgins," I answer with firm conviction. "I shall not go blundering blindly into London tomorrow. Each time I have done that, I have paid with the loss of my precious freedom, along with a good deal of my equally precious blood. No, thrice burned, well learned."

  Joannie is also on the bed, busily sewing a black pair of pants for herself, as well. She insists on doing it, and hey, maybe she'll come in handy ... for nighttime errands and such. She certainly knows her way around the streets that we will be traveling, that's for sure...

  "And as for what I plan? Well, what I will do is this. I will go into the city in deep disguise as soon as we arrive and will therefore be able to get clues to the whereabouts of one Jaimy Fletcher, find the dear boy, and then give him the joyous news of my survival without being snatched up by the authorities yet again. Whereupon we will all get the bloody hell out of Britannia's waters and go back to good old Boston."

  I hope the news is received joyfully by the lad and he hasn't already taken up with another girl. The last time I took my eyes off Mr. James Emerson Fletcher for a moment, that Clementine Jukes popped up. And it has been months now since he and I were parted. Hmmm...

  "And Mr. Fletcher will agree to this?" asks Higgins.

  "He must," I retort. "He is still under sentence of Transportation to the penal colony in Australia, and I am sure he would rather endure a harsh winter or two in Boston than the bleak prospect of seven years of hot and dusty captivity in New South Wales. Especially if I am by his side to keep him very, very warm."

  "Ummm," murmurs Higgins, not totally convinced of that.

  "Besides, Higgins," I say with a laugh, "he would not be the first sailor I have shanghaied and sent off to sea. If he must be bound and gagged and thrown into the hold of the Nancy B, then so be it."

  That gets a slight smile out of him. "Ah, yes," he says. "I recall the fate of the unfortunate Mr. Gulliver MacFarland."

  "Even so, Friend and Former Husband Higgins."

  "Well, I will again counsel you to take care. You would not want to fall back into the Admiralty's hands. You, also, are still under sentence of Transportation to the penal colony, and in your case, it is for life."

  "I will be careful, Higgins," I say, and then throw the warning back at him. "And I would urge caution on your part as well."

  He raises a questioning eyebrow.

  "It's true. You are well known as a friend of mine ... and a me
mber of Naval Intelligence. Ravi, hand me that spool."

  "A much changed branch of that service, I am afraid," admits Higgins.

  "Too true, too true. All our friends have moved on ... Mr. Peel ... Lord Grenville. And our enemies sit all smug in their place."

  We had already learned, by inquiring of small Naval ships on our way in here, that Baron Mulgrave was still First Lord of the Admiralty, which was unfortunate, for he certainly is no friend of ours. And furthermore, he is a friend to agents Flashby and Bliffil, a pair who certainly mean me no good, having at various times in the past assaulted me, beaten me, and threatened me with much worse treatment, as well.

  "So, Miss," asks Higgins. "How will you go?"

  I reach over and take up my HMS Dolphin cap, which I had sewn as a ship's boy on that dear ship all those years ago. I cram it down low on my head and look at Higgins from under the brim.

  "Why, as young Jack the Sailor, of course," I say, grinning and whipping off a snappy salute.

  "Who else will serve as well in this situation?"

  Chapter 25

  We were lucky and got a nice berth for our little ship at Paul's Wharf, portside to and right near Blackfriars Bridge, under which was our kip when we was all members of the Rooster Charlie Gang. As soon as I popped off the Nancy B. this morning and headed out into the town, I checked under that same bridge, but again I found only some pathetic gin-soaked drunks. Ah, well, I thought. The Golden Age of the London Gangs of Urchins is over for good, a pity in a way ...But I found out not too much later that I was wrong in that.

  When I departed the Nancy B., I had left instructions that Joannie, dressed in her Lawson Peabody School dress, should go to the London Home for Little Wanderers to inform my grandfather and the rest of the staff of my continued existence on this benighted orb. She was also to let them know the whereabouts of Mairead McConnaughey, former Mistress of Girls at the place, and now, it is to be hoped, resident in Boston, USA. John Thomas and Finn McGee, my fine Enforcers of the Faber Will, would accompany Joannie there, not only to protect her but also the three hundred pounds sterling of Chopstick Charlie's money that she was transporting to Reverend Alsop to keep the orphanage going for a bit longer. I, of course, could not visit my dear grandfather, even though I wanted to very much, for fear the place would be watched. I cannot risk being taken again.

  Liam, Davy, and Tink have to stay aboard to watch the ship, with Ravi and Lee Chi as steward and cook. McGee and John Thomas, too, would be aboard, except when they were accompanying Joannie on her errands. All would have some liberty soon, but not now. I put my finger on Joannie's nose and warned her that after her mission to the orphanage, she was to return promptly to the ship and remain aboard till I got back, or her bottom will pay for it. She reluctantly agreed, though I knew she's as anxious as I to visit our old turf.

  Higgins, impeccably dressed in soft gray suit and cloak, put on his matching hat and got ready to go off, as he put it, to check his sources, as it were.

  I'm pounding up Earl Street and heading for Fleet, pigtail flying behind me, my small leather kit bag over my shoulder. I recall that the publishers of the Shipping News on Fleet Street generally post a registry of the ships arriving and departing in nearby ports, and I mean to check it out, first thing, before I do anything else this day. Gotta find out what's what and who's where ... in particular, where's Jaimy?

  Free! I exult as I tear up Bouverie and onto Fleet Street. It feels awfully good to be out and free, dressed in my sailor gear with my Dolphin cap crammed down on my head, my pigtail braid hanging behind it, my bald forehead covered. I love my ships, I love my men and all my mates, but sometimes it's just grand to be out and free of entanglements, at least for the moment.

  I pass the newspaper print shop where, as an orphaned child, I used to sit on Hughie's broad shoulders and read out loud the broadsides pinned to the wall for the edification of the illiterate crowd in the hopes of earning a penny for my service, and where, thankfully, no one is peddling the latest installment in the Bloody Jack series of penny dreadfuls. That's a relief, anyway. I don't need anyone peerin' too close at me, or rather, my face. Hmmm ...It seems when I get back into my old neighborhood, I tend to slip back into my old ways.

  Ah, here it is. The Shipping News office. I pop in bold as brass and look at the ships arrival postings on the wall. I certainly don't stick out here—the place is full of sailors, officers and seamen, Royal Navy and merchantmen, all looking for news of shipmates or possible postings. The Shipping News also lists promotions and honors, and, in time of war, the Butcher's Bill—the listing of the dead and wounded in battle.

  I have on my old Dolphin gear, the dress uniform I had made for myself—and for the Dread Brotherhood of Ship's Boys, to their great annoyance—four years ago when we were on that ship. The boys' uniforms no longer fit them, but mine does me. My braided pigtail sits on the blue flap in back and the loose fabric in front hides what I got in the way of female equipment—'course I've got my tight-fitting bathing suit top under it to flatten me out some, and so with the loose-fitting pants down below, I'm well rigged out as a saucy sailor boy and not worth a second glance from anybody in the room.

  I work my way to the front and look up and scan the lists.

  Hmmm ... Nothing here at the London docks. Try Plymouth ... no. I recognize a lot of the ships, but not the ones I want. What's at Spithead, then ... no ... yes! There's the Dolphin! That's something, for sure. Says here she got in three days ago. No word on when she's leaving—typical Naval secrecy—but I'll bet she'll be in for a while. Although I'd love to run down there and see Captain Hudson and my old shipmates again, there's one particular former Dolphin I must see, but I know he will not be there.

  There is a long counter at the other side of the room, behind which sit several clerks holding pens and scribbling things. I go up to a pleasant-looking chap and say, "'Scuse me, Guv'nor," all respectful. "But can you tell me if there's any news of HMS Dart or the merchant ship Cerberus?"

  He pulls a ledger over and opens it up. He has spectacles perched on his nose and he peers through them at the entries therein.

  "Hmmm ... Let's see. Ah, yes ... The sloop of war Dart was in at Margate two weeks ago ... shipped out on the sixteenth of May."

  Damn! I could have used Joseph Jared's help in this. Plus, I wouldn't have minded seeing the rogue again, no I wouldn't. But enough of that... Press on ...

  "And the Cerberus, Sir?"

  The clerk continues to peruse the columns of entries, running his finger down the page and muttering, "No ... no... Calliope ...no... Constellation... no ... Ha! Here it is... Cerberus!"

  Hope rises in my breast... Jaimy!

  "Cerberus. Crew disbanded. Re-manned with a Captain Peterson in command. Set sail twelve days ago for India."

  Hope dies... Oh, Jaimy, where are you?

  The man sees my distress. "Did you hope to ship on her, lad? Too bad. The Hiram Walker is taking on crew down at Hungerford Pier. You might try her."

  "Thank you, Sir, I will do that." I lift my shirt and stick my finger in my money belt and fish out a coin, which I place on the counter. "'Ere, mate, have a pint on me, for your 'elp."

  He didn't ask for a bribe, but I gave him a treat, anyway, for his kindness. Not enough of that quality in this world, I figure, and it should be rewarded when found.

  I bounce out of the Shipping News with a destination in mind. I head down Fleet till it becomes Ludgate and then turn left up Old Bailey, pressing north. I go by the Admiral Benbow and think about stopping in for a bite and a mug, but no. Later. Push on, girl, there's business to do. Jaimy's gotta be somewhere.

  And there's Saint Paul's, where I almost got married once... sniff ...and here's Paternoster Lane, which used to be Shanky Boys turf, back in the day, and...

  ...it still is...

  As I pass the entrance to a side alley, three boys step out in front of me. They seem to range in age from twelve to sixteen. The biggest of the three grins a grotty
grin at me and slaps a billy club in his palm.

  "Well, well, what we got 'ere? A fancy little sailor boy come 'ome from sea, is it?" says the cove. "Ain't that sweet, now, lads?"

  The other two sods nod their agreement.

  "Just so, Grimbo." They chortle.

  "And just who the 'ell are you," I spit out, angry at being stopped by this crummy trio.

  "Us fine lads is members in good standin' of the Shanky Boys Gentlemen's Club," says this Grimbo. "And now that in-tro-duck-shuns is done wit', give over that bag and ye can run home to mum and tell her how you was buggered all over the fleet from Drisco to Tim-buck-tu, whinin' me bum is all sore, mummy, please to put some butter on it, please, mummy."

  This bit of hilarity is met with gales of laughter from his cronies... Good one, Grimbo! ...and the middle-sized one makes so bold as to come up to me and knock off me cap, exposing my head.

  Cor! Look at that! Blimey!

  After they recover from the sight, the little one puts his fingers to either side of his eyes and pulls them into slits and starts singsonging...

  Ching Chong Chinaman, sittin on a fence

  Ching Chong Chinaman—

  That's as far as he gets with that little number, as I bring up the toe of my right foot and sink it deep in his crotch. He goes "Ooof!" and doubles over, puking out whatever foulness is in his gut.

  I whip out my shiv from my sleeve and get into a crouch, holding the blade up in front of me face.

  "Shankies!" I say, and spit on the cobblestones. "Shankies? In-tro-duck-shuns ain't over yet, oh, no, you miserable scum wads! My name was Mary Faber when I ran these streets with the Rooster Charlie Gang and I was killin' Shankies for sport whilst you was still suckin' on yer mama's filthy teats. See the dried blood on the hilt of me shiv? Aye, that was prolly yer dead daddy's poxy blood that's there, and now yours'll run there, too, you poor excuses for honest footpads! Come on, I'll cut off yer cods and stuff 'em in yer mouths! Come on and git it, you lousy pieces o'—"