The Mark of the Golden Dragon Page 12

  "All right, so what else do you want?" he says, his eyes closed in pain. "Besides the two thousand pounds?"

  "I want my little boy back—without the chain, thank you. And my knife, too, if you please."

  Charlie murmurs something to the girl Mai Ling on his right and she gets up and undulates out of the room, the movement of her hips beneath her gauzy lower garment not going unnoticed by my male crew. They have been at sea a long time. Even so, I give the avidly staring Davy an elbow in the ribs and a stern look. You be good, you. You're a married man.

  Presently a joyous Ravi bounds into the room and plunks himself down beside me.

  "Very good for Ravi to see Memsahib again," he says. "I was thinking many horrible things happening to poor dear Missy."

  "Well, as you can see, my dark-eyed boy, I have not yet gone up to Brahma to be assigned another billet, which, considering the state of my karma, might be, perhaps, a post as water snake?" I say, delighted to have the little rascal by my side again.

  He considers the wisdom of that and nods. "Water snakes very pretty. Would suit you, yes."

  Hmmm...

  Higgins, never the gastronomical prig, is hugely enjoying the feast, as well as the repartee with my tiny spiritual guide. I believe he figures Ravi has me nailed pretty well in the karmic sense, for sure.

  "Were you surprised to see the return of your mistress, Ravi?" asks Higgins.

  "No, Sahib, not totally," says the lad, expertly spearing a pink shrimp with a sharp chopstick and holding it over the small brazier of glowing coals that rests in the center of the table. "When Mai Ling come to bring me here, I see two badmashes in hall holding heads and moaning most piteous, so I sense gentle Missy not far away."

  Higgins laughs, appreciating, I know, Ravi's fine sense of the ironic, as I say, "Hush now, Ravi. Grownups are talking."

  Mai Ling has also brought me back my shiv, which I gratefully take and slide up into my forearm sheath. Welcome back, Rooster ... back where you belong... As Mai Ling settles down on her cushion again, she lets her almond-shaped eyes travel over my crew.

  "Now, Charlie, where were we?" I say, all officious. "Oh, yes. Two thousand pounds. Well, that amount is what is needed to resupply my ship, the Nancy B. Alsop, which lies down at the Rangoon docks, so that we can go back to England to give King George the rich store of ancient artifacts that you are going to stuff into my hold. When those things are placed in the British Museum, you will be an honored man, believe me. Is this not so, Higgins?"

  "Indeed," says Higgins. "She does know a good many very important people, in spite of her size and appearance. I, myself, am a sometime member of British Intelligence, and I believe you would do well to pay heed to her words."

  Right, and a lot of those important people would like to wring my skinny neck, such that neither air nor food nor good wine like this ever travels down it again. But we shan't mention that.

  "And the British government does, indeed, cast covetous eyes upon this part of the world, Mr. Chen Lee, so it would be well for an honest man of business such as yourself to place that same self in an advantageous position."

  Nobody can lay it down quite like my Higgins can.

  "So, Honored Guests, with your honeyed words, you clean out my treasury and then plunder my storerooms. You do know how to tear the heart out of poor Chopstick Charlie." He sighs, once again tapping his chest. "But Number One Daughter has been restored to her poor father's side, and so I will agree to your terms. Let us now enjoy the rest of the evening."

  Charlie, plainly done with his dinner, holds up the mouthpiece of his smoking device and the girl to his left rises, lights a taper in the brazier, and then holds the flame to the pot of tobacco that rests on top of the thing. He puffs mightily until he gets a good blaze going. He inhales deeply and then passes the mouthpiece, which is attached to a long hose that is connected to the bottom of the ... what?...oh ... the hookah ... to John Thomas, who sits close to his right.

  John Thomas takes it and sucks avidly, making the device burble like a drowning man, and then, he, too, inhales deeply.

  "Ah, thankee, Sir, and bless thee," says my good strong crewman. "Our own supplies o' that weed have done run out, and we miss it sorely."

  He passes the pipe to his mate, Finn McGee, who takes it as if he were a baby and it was his mother's own dear breast upon which he was suckling.

  "Well, gentlemen," says Charlie, who has clearly divined the status of all my sailors. "We shall certainly fix that tomorrow with several bales of the finest Turkish leaf."

  With that, he has certainly won the love of those two coves, for sure.

  As the pipe is passed around, I do not take the smoking mouthpiece, as I do not drink spirits and certainly do not partake of the vile weed. All the others, with the exception of Ravi, do however. Soon the smoke is all about us in swirls above our heads, mixing with the fumes from the pots of smoldering incense, and it is all, along with the saki, making me quite dizzy. I would not be surprised if our genial host had not put a little something extra into the tobacco bowl, as there is a unique scent in the mix of the smoke.

  "I believe, Chopsie," I say, my head swimming, "that we must depart and return to our ship to prepare for the supplies that will be coming onboard tomorrow."

  "If that must be so, then pray, Honored Guest, allow Mr. Tinker and Mr. Jones to stay for the evening and further enjoy our poor hospitality," says Charlie. "Mai Ling here, and her sister Mai Ji, have informed me that they would enjoy extending the entertainment of the House of Chen to these two fine young men."

  I know a demand for hostages when I hear it, but I say, "Alas, my poor ship lies unguarded in the harbor, and I must have my men about me to protect it," I say, perfectly aware of the anguish this will cause in several male breasts. "However, I will allow Mr. John Tinker to stay the night, and I thank you for your kindness."

  We rise as Mai Ling and Mai Ji, with barely suppressed giggles, lead off a happily compliant John Tinker. There is a string of low, strangled curses from a certain David Jones, but to that we pay no mind, no mind whatsoever.

  You are married to my great good friend Annie, you dog, and don't you ever forget it...

  Charlie provides us with a coach to take us back to the Nancy B.—sort of a coach. It seats four of us, inside, with Finn McGee and John Thomas jogging alongside, but instead of horses hauling us along, there are eight big strong men in harness, four on either side. It's still a bumpy ride, but it works. Higgins sits across from me, Davy at his side, and Ravi sits by me.

  "Oh, Higgins," I warble, as we wend our way down the narrow streets. "If you could just see the beautiful bathhouse that Charlie has out back of his place! A deep pool with steamy water and blue tile all over, and I bet Tink is in it right now, and Mai Ling and Mai Ji, too, and there are soaps and perfumes and sweetmeats, and oh, it is just so wondrous!"

  I do not say this for the benefit of my good John Higgins, but to bring joy to a very silent David Jones...

  Oh, I do so love torturing the lad!

  Chapter 21

  "And then Mistress comes in, madder than a wet hen, and Rebecca and I run screechin' out the back of the kitchen, beggin' for Peg to hide us, but it doesn't do any good and we're caught good and proper. Mistress doesn't use her famous cane anymore, but her hairbrush does the job on our poor bottoms just as well, believe me."

  We're in the cabin of the Nancy B., me poring over the charts on my desk and preparing for departure. Outside I hear the sounds of supplies and treasure being brought aboard, and I do love the sound of that.

  "And just what were the two of you up to that earned the anger of Mistress Pimm, eh?"

  "All we did was to sneak out of the school on Saturday afternoon to go down to the Pig and Whistle for a bit of fun, and geez ... We didn't skip any classes or anything, but we did meet up with Daniel and he had a friend named Johnny with him. He and Rebecca got on tolerably well so we went walkin', you know ... but we got caught on the way back and—"


  "And Mistress didn't think it quite proper that her charge, Miss Rebecca Adams, of the Quincy Adamses, was out mixing with the rabble? Ummm?"

  "Even so, and—"

  Davy pokes his head in the door and says, "Most of the stuff's on board. We should be ready to leave within the hour."

  I nod and give him what I know is my infuriating little finger wave. Yes, John Tinker had come back onboard this morning smiling in a state of beatific bliss—if nothing else, he was quite scrubbed and very clean... Ah, yes, that tub. It is plain that Davy will never forgive me.

  Ah, well, so be it. I turn back to the charts Charlie has so graciously provided.

  Damn! I sure wish I could cut up the Red Sea and cross over Suez to Port Said and on into the Mediterranean, but no, of course, it cannot be. Charlie says there are plans for a canal to be dug there, but getting the Arabs to work together on anything is like trying to herd cats, and so it is around Africa for us, once again.

  "So tell me about the divine Miss Clarissa Worthington Howe, then," I say. "Does she still think she is the queen of the school?"

  "Oh, yes," says Joannie, munching on one of my breakfast biscuits. "But I am beneath her notice ... especially since it is known that I have a connection with the wild and contrary Jacky Faber."

  "Ah, same as it ever was..."

  "Anyway, Clarissa's gotten herself engaged to a John Randolph down in Virginia, and they say he is sure to be governor of the state someday."

  I look up from my study of the charts.

  "The poor man," I say. "Do you think he knows what he's getting into? Ha! And could you imagine being one of the lesser ladies in Virginia society if she gets to be First Lady? By God, she'll make 'em dance to her tune, she will!"

  A snort of suppressed laughter from Miss Nichols...

  "And Dolley Frazier?" I inquire, always anxious for news of my schoolmates. "You said she married?"

  "Oh, that's a good one!" says Joannie, bouncing up and down in her chair. "She left the school soon after the last time you were there and married a lawyer. Who? I dunno. Anyway, she got in the family way and then the poor man died, never having seen his child..."

  Oh, poor Dolley, and you the best of us...

  I leave off my study of the maps in some distress over this news, but then the girl goes on.

  "She gives birth to the child—a boy—and then, having no prospects, goes to visit a friend, Mrs. Martha Washington. You know of her?"

  Oh, yes...

  "And she fixes it up so that Dolley meets this cove named ... I forget what ... but Dolley calls him 'Jemmy' and she is now very happy. It seems her Jemmy is now Secretary of War or somesuch down in Washington, where they built a palace for the President or something."

  Well, Dolley, that's certainly better than being on your own in the world with a baby on your hip, I'd say...

  "And Miss Amy Trevelyne?"

  "Oh, yes, your dear friend Amy, how could I forget?" says Joannie with a sigh. "Every chance she got, she'd grab me and sit me down in front of her desk and make me tell her every single little bit about what happened on our trip down to the Caribbean last year, while she scribbled it all down."

  Heavy sigh. Yet another book, Amy, detailing my misadventures, my lapses of feminine propriety, my greedy ... and...? Uh-oh...

  "You didn't tell her of the gold stash we left down in the Florida waters, did you?" I ask, alarmed.

  "Come on, Jacky," she says, putting on a miffed look and the old accent. "Just what do you take me for, mate? An easy mark, a peach, a snitch? Oi'm a rum cove from Cheapside, as well as ye, and I knows when to keep me guard up and me gob shut."

  I have to smile at hearing the good old Cockney talk.

  "Good. Now go on."

  "Well, everybody at the school was sad that you'd been shipped off to Australia for life..." Joannie pauses to peek out my window at all the hustle and bustle on the wharf. I know she thinks it wondrous exciting that we're going back to England, full of the treasures of the East. Well, so do I.

  "Especially Miss Amy, but she did say she hoped you might be safer in prison, rather than leading your usual life on the outside ..."

  Chopstick Charlie had come aboard earlier to make sure that the cargo was being safely stowed and had been reassured that, indeed, it was. Sidrah accompanied him and we had a nice lunch down in my cabin.

  Charlie looked about him, stroking his goatee. "Hmmm ... We pick up a dirty, mute beggar in the street and this is what it turns out like. Strange."

  "Cheer up, Chops," I chirped. "It's karma, right?"

  He nodded, not totally convinced.

  "And don't worry about the cargo, Charlie. As I am sure you noticed, we are amply armed and my crew is well seasoned."

  He cast his eyes heavenward, placed his hand on my head, and muttered what I am sure is some sort of Chinese benediction, and then, with his daughter on his arm, left somewhat mollified, I trust, as to the future of his treasure.

  I regard Joannie's slight form bent over at the window, watching the loading. Hmmm. When first I saw Joannie again after all those months, I noticed that she had grown a bit since last I saw her. It's natural, after all, for it's been months and months. She's come out a bit on top, not much, but some, and her bottom is a bit rounder. One thing's sure, she will not be bedded down with Daniel Prescott anymore—not when they're on my ship, by God, proclaims the hypocrite Jacky Faber.

  Joannie comes back and plunks herself down at my table and continues.

  "'Course Miss Clarissa thought that a few years in the pen would do you a lot of good. Keep you out of her hair, for sure, and for that she was grateful. I didn't believe her completely on that, but"—here Joannie sticks her nose in the air—"she is Clarissa Worthington Howe, after all, and she must keep up appearances."

  Higgins comes into the cabin, bearing sheaves of papers.

  "Here is the manifest of the cargo. I gave a copy to Mr. Chen and he appeared satisfied," he says, handing me the documents. "I believe we are ready to depart."

  "Excellent, Higgins, then let us go."

  I stride out on deck, dressed in my usual underway togs—loose white shirt, white trousers, bare feet.

  Looking over the side, I see that the tide, as well as the wind, is in our favor. Good.

  "Let's get her underway, Captain Delaney," I say to Liam, who stands looking all solid and grand on the quarterdeck.

  "Aye, Miss," says Liam to me. To John Thomas, Finn McGee, and Davy Jones he calls out, "Take in the gangway, and lines one, three, four, and five. Hold number two."

  As this is being accomplished, I, too, go up on the quarterdeck and stand in my usual spot, one foot to either side of the centerline, the better to feel the movement of my lovely little ship.

  "Hoist the main," says Liam. He does not have to roar, though he is certainly capable of a stentorian bellow, for they all know what to do. Many pairs of hands grab the line that will haul up our mainsail, and they take a strain. The sail begins to move up.

  "Rudder amidships," orders Liam, and Tink, who is at the wheel, complies.

  "Take in number two."

  The Nancy B. Alsop moves away from the dock, her mainsail filling. We are underway.

  Ah, how I wish my shantyman, Enoch Lightner, with his big voice, were here to sing us off.

  But—oh, well—I can do it myself. I raise my somewhat littler voice.

  Haul on the Bowline, our bonny ship's a'rollin',

  Haul on the Bowline, the Bowline HAUL!

  Haul on the Bowline, so early in the mornin',

  Haul on the Bowline, the Bowline HAUL!

  On the last HAUL! the boys really put their backs into it, and the sail goes ever higher.

  Haul on the Bowline, Davy is a married man,

  Haul on the Bowline, the Bowline HAUL!

  Haul on the Bowline, his Annie is in Boston Town,

  Haul on the Bowline, the Bowline HAUL!

  It is a simple shanty, true, but it lends itself to any lyric tha
t might come to a simple sailor's mind, and it's fun and it gets the sails up right briskly.

  Now, one more at Davy's expense...

  Haul on the Bowline, Davy hopes she's bein good,

  Haul on the Bowline, the Bowline HAUL!

  The mainsail is topped off and secured and we are pulling fast out of the harbor. The men go to the foremast line, and Davy, before I can launch into another verse, takes it up.

  Haul on the Bowline, the Nancy is a worthy craft,

  Haul on the Bowline, the Bowline HAUL!

  But her Skipper's sure a pain in me ass,

  Haul on the Bowline, the Bowline HAUL!

  May it be ever so, Davy. I come in, exulting and laughing, for one last verse.

  Haul on the Bowline, we're all bound for London Town,

  Haul on the Bowline, the Bowline HAUL!

  Haul on the Bowline, we'll dance a jig in Georgie's hall,

  We'll haul on his Bowline, his Royal Bowline, HAUL!

  And so we are off, laughing and singing, all on the bounding main.

  PART III

  Chapter 22

  A Personal Friend of Yours

  Onboard the Schooner N.B.A.

  Cape Town, South Africa

  May 1808

  Miss Amy Trevelyne

  Dovecote Farm

  Quincy, Massachusetts, USA

  My Dearest Amy,

  I hope this letter finds you well and happy. I trust, too, that you will excuse the brevity of this letter as I must get it off quickly because the ship carrying it to you is leaving within the hour.

  When the Lorelei Lee came in to Boston Harbor, you probably learned of my sad demise, but you should know by now, dear Sister, never to believe that Jacky Faber is dead and gone unless you see with your own eyes her lifeless and doubtless soggy form stretched out on some plank—or else hanging from a rope and no longer kicking, which is much more likely the case. You do recall those geese on Daisy Hill, do you not?