Artemis - Kydd 02 (18 page)

'Whampoa, m'lord,' the pilot said unnecessarily.

Neatl
y,
L
eila
ran alongside an Indiaman. Stirk expertly dowsed the headsails and, turning quickly, grappled the boathook to her main-chains. It became apparent that Lord Elmhurst would not be swarming up the rope ladder to get aboard the merchant ship, but would be dining aboard
Leila.

'Two hours to find scran,' warned Quinlan, who lost no time getting himself over the bulwark. The Indiaman's hatches were off, and a continuous line of coolies brought cedarwood tea-chests for loading; others were in the hold stowing, tomming down the cargo securely for the stormy trip home.

A man in breeches and shirt-sleeves glanced at them curiously, his eyes following every move of the coolies. Quinlan nodded to him and crossed the deck to the precarious planks of the brow down to the jetty.

Kydd's mind whirled at the impact on his senses — an unmistakable sickly stench from the vegetable plots, the charcoal smell of cooking fires and the sheer rich stink of land after months at sea. The flank of the central spine of the island was one long alley with shanty shops on both sides, each with its blank-faced proprietor in white gown, shaved head and slender pigtail to the waist. There was every kind of knick-knack and curio.

'Keep together,' Quinlan muttered. He seemed to have directions, and strode forward purposefully. There were occasional European sailors, but they were of another world, the merchant marine, and were in loose, serviceable sea-clothes that were as different from their own smart man-o'-war's rig as they were from the Chinese. Some even wore the baggy petticoat breeches of a previous age.

At the natural boundary of a stream they turned right and soon were in much more congenial surroundings: notwithstanding the bamboo walls and roof it was unmistakably a tavern. In fact, there were several — and more! They wasted no time and crowded into the first. The Cantonese pot-boy seemed to understand their needs and scurried away. Before they had chosen their rattan table and
settled
into the odd straight-backed chairs he was back, whisking foaming tankards before them.

'Well, stap me!' Stirk marvelled. 'Died 'n' gone t' heaven!' The pot-boy remained, standing
quietly
. His eyes were fathomless black buttons.

'Er, yair — anyone got some loot?'

Quinlan held up a Spanish silver dollar. 'This makee two rounds, you sawy, John?' he said, making a twirling motion with his finger. The man glanced back, with considerable d
ignity, thought Kydd. Apparentl
y the answer was an affirmative for he nodded and left soundlessly.

It was nectar, the first beer ashore. The taste was more watery than their English palates would have preferred, but it was fresh and went down very rapidly.

'Hey, John! Next round - chop, chop!'

As swifdy as the first, another round was before them, and they raised their tankards. 'T' the poor bastards back aboard, an' workin' their hearts out.'

Kydd raised his tankard, thinking of Renzi. He didn't notice the men looming behind until one spoke. 'An' what are King's men doin' here, c'n I ask?' The speaker was bulky, unshaven, and there were several others with him.

'Yes, yer might ask, mate,' Stirk said mildly.

'Well?'

'Well, cully, we're not the press-gang — but we could make an exception in your case,' he said, with a chuckle.

'Don' you chouse us, matey — we tips the Hoppo an' he'll se
ttle
yer soon enough.' He folded his arms. 'Whampoa's fer merchantmen only — what're yez doing here?' The man's hectoring tone annoyed Kydd, who got to his feet.

Stirk interrupted him. 'We're here on a mishun,' he told the merchant sailor
softly
.

'A wot?' he replied mockingly. Kydd stiffened.

The man's lips curled in a derisive sneer. 'We don' hold with no pretty boys in sailor suits here — it's men only.'

Kydd's fist slammed out. The man fell back, roaring.
Instantly
, everyone was on their feet, defensively grouped behind Kydd.

The man felt his bloody nose. Snarling, he drew his knife. Kydd's heart thudded, but he was elbowed aside by Stirk, whose own blade was across his palm, held loosely forward.

'Seen 'is kind afore, mate - can't take a joke.' Stirk glanced behind, quickly. 'About time we weren't here, mates. Let's head back.'

Pitching his voice towards Kydd as they withdrew from the tavern the large man shouted, 'You watch yer back ashore, mate. You 'n' me got somethin't' se
ttle
.'

Stirk slid his knife back, and chuckled grimly. 'Merchant jacks — got me sympathy, always short-handed an' that, but pickin' a man-o'-war's man, they'd 'ave t' be pixy-led!'

Kydd winked at Stirk. 'Insultin' the King's uniform -couldn't help m'self.'

The last stage to Canton was through
perfectly
flat rice-fields that seemed to stretch away for ever into the immense unknown of Asia, an alien vastness that made Kydd shiver. Abru
ptly
the last bend straightened and within sight of the city walls the northern bank opened up, with wide buildings fronting the river. In front of each was a flag-pole with a national flag firmly in place.

The largest and most central had the Union flag of Great Britain, and they headed towards it. Respectfully, Kydd handed the envoy up the wooden steps to the small group at the top.

The sailors waited in the cutter until the formalities were complete. The envoy's small party moved off, and a figure appeared at the edge of the wharf. 'Hey, you lot, up here, chop, chop!'

The seamen looked at each other, shrugged and clambered up. The young man at the top was in white silk breeche
s and loose shirt, and was coatl
ess. He surveyed the group in surprise,
their trim appearance apparentl
y a novelty. 'So, Lord Elmhurst has given instructions that you shall be the, er, guests of John Company while he is in Canton.' There was a noticeable hesitation. 'And it seems I shall be answerable for your conduct while he is here.'

The young face had a patrician stamp and an easy confidence, but it was clear that its owner was unsure of a situation that placed him with the responsibility for a crew of hard-looking naval seamen.

Stirk folded his arms and stared at him, while Quinlan stepped forward to the front and tugged his tarpaulin hat to an aggressive tilt.

The young man seemed to come to a decision. 'I'm Jamesen, supercargo in John Company for my sins.' The tone of his voice suggested that he had decided to take them into his confidence rather than attempt to lord it over them. 'Now, Canton is different from any place you've ever been to, and there's rules here which are stupid, childish and cruel — but this is China, and we have no choice. There's a hundred million Chinese over there,' he said, waving towards the endless paddy-fields, 'and we are a few hundred. Do you get my drift?'

The interior of the mess was airy and cool, the furniture spare. With the seamen incongruously clutching an eggshelllike teacup of transparent green tea, Jamesen explained further. 'Trade is everything — we buy tea, they buy . . . not much. They think they're the centre of the world, and everyone else is a barbarian and needs to be kept at a distance, so all trade with the biggest country in the world is through the one place. Canton!

'Now, I warn you in all sincerity, if you cause an incident, we can do nothing to save you. All dealings are through the Hoppo, a greasy, fat and entirely corrupt chief of the Co-Hong, which are a scurvy crew appointed by the Viceroy to deal with the barbarians and save him getting his hands dirty — as long as he gets his cut.' He finished his tea and refilled his cup. 'The season finishes soon, and we all have to fall back to our families in Macao, until March.'

He paused, and grinned. 'Your envoy will find that he will get his audience, and his presents will be graciously accepted, but he will have to wait for his reply at Macao like the rest, so

I doubt you'll be here long. There's shops and things around here, we're pretty self-contained. Wouldn't advise going off on your own. Be in the mess by sundown, don't get fuddled with drink, beware of everything and everybody.'

They nodded. They were not about to go on the ran-tan ashore hereabouts.

Jamesen softened a
little
. 'If there's any wants a stroll, it's my practice to take a turn around the city walls before dark. Anyone want to come?' Stirk and Kydd were the only takers.

They stepped it out, down the narrow alleys and along the sandy northern banks of the Pearl river. Much closer to the city the bustle increased. Flooding the pathways were Chinese of every description, carrying trussed chickens, yokes suspending large dark jars and huge clusters of unrecognisable vegetables. Their constant chattering was deafening.

'You know, it's instant execution for any Chinese teaching the language to a foreign devil,' said Jamesen.
^‘
Tui m syu!’
he added politely, stepping around an old lady struggling with a bound piglet.

A palanquin with oiled-paper windows swayed towards them, preceded by a lackey in an embroidered gown banging a gong to clear a path. There was no sign of the occupant.

Kydd noticed a ragged bundle floating in the river. 'Ah, that you'll find is a female baby - up-country they want strong sons, not useless girls. Easiest way to solve the problem,' Jamesen explained.

Just before the dilapidated walls was a small sandy beach, and a crowd gathered around some officials. A large drum pounded monotonously. 'You may be interested in this,' Jamesen said languidly.

They hovered on the edge of the crowd and watched two men being brought forward. They had signs in Chinese characters around their necks, and their heads hung in lis
tless
dejection. 'They're pirates - probably peached on by their friends.' The men were thrust to their knees, facing the water. Reading from a scroll, an official chanted loudly, then suddenly whipped it down and stepped back. From the crowd came a man bared to the waist, carrying a highly polished Oriental sword. He swaggered up to the first pirate and stood ready. The noise from the crowd buzzed on without change.

At a screamed order from the official the executioner made ready, slowly and deliberately. Kydd went cold. The sword went up, the crowd's chatter continued to wash around unabated; the victim had nothing but a blank look on his face but tensed sli
ghtly
. The sword blurred down and connected with a meaty crunch, the head bounced twice on the sand while the torso toppled slowly, gouting blood from the neck.

'Doesn't seem to deter them,' Jamesen commented. 'The pirates, I mean.'

There was no variation in the cheerful hum of conversations in the crowd. The seamen watched as the second pirate lost his head. Stirk looked at Kydd, but didn't speak.

The city walls were decrepit and crumbled at the edges. 'Never really needed these since the Ming dynasty was overthrown,' Jamesen said, kicking away a half-eaten gourd of some sort of fruit.

They paced along slowly, deliberately ignoring the small barefoot boys who tagged on behind chanting,
^l
Faan
kwai! Hung mo-tik faan kwai lo!’

At Kydd's look, Jamesen explained, 'Seems you're the usual sort of a hairy foreign devil.'

On the way back, they wended through a market, a riotous mix of women bargaining shrilly and vociferous stall-keepers. Edging around them, Kydd had never in his life felt so conspicuous, and was not helped by the many darting looks, some curious, most sullen and venomous.

"Ere - rum dos!' Stirk had seen a movement in a large wicker basket and was standing over it, pointing. Kydd crossed to see and was shocked to see that it contained a human being, tied in a foetal position.

'It's not—'

Jamesen cocked an eye, then grabbed his arm. 'Leave now!' His voice was urgent. The talking had died away around them, and there was hostility in the air. They hurried off, pursued by derisive shouts.

'What?'

'Not your fault,' said Jamesen breathlessly. 'They're on display.' He paused to recover. 'Don' tell me!' Stirk growled.

'Yes. If they're found guilty, they're on display at the scene of the crime until sunset, then they're taken out and strangled on the spot. Silk rope, of course.'

'O' course,' Stirk said hoarsely:

Jamesen sniffed into a handkerchief and went on. 'They don't like the foreign devils to get involved — I'll be glad to get back to the compound. A few years ago they got hold of a gunner of a Bristol packet caught in an accident.' He looked back furtively, and went on. 'They tortured him publicly in front of the family concerned before strangling him.'

* * *

In the factory Jamesen found some wine. 'Has to be drunk anyway before we retire to Macao. China is old and ancient,' he mused. 'Decaying on the inside and out. If some country knocked on the door hard enough, it would come crashing down and let some fresh air in. And trade.' He drained the glass expe
rtly
. 'As near eighty per centum of trade goes in English bottoms, I guess it'll be us doing the deed some day - and I hope soon.'