Everything Under the Sky (19 page)

“Get down on the ground as soon as I tell you to,” he said calmly, and then continued speaking to the ringleader. The men looked like nothing more than simple, shirtless coolies in dirty, threadbare, blue linen pants, with shaved heads and fierce expressions. I imagined that some of them must have been involved in Rémy's murder.

“Now!” the antiquarian suddenly yelled. The children and I threw ourselves down on the ground, and I could tell by the mass of flesh pressed against my head that Paddy had put himself in front to protect us. There wasn't time to think of much else. A volley of gunfire burst through the tunnel, and bullets began smashing into the walls right next to us. The echo down there in the basement made it sound like an extravagant fireworks display. Great shivers were rocking Biao, so I pulled him tighter. If we were going to die, let it be together. Just then a terrible spasm rippled through the Irishman's body, and he cried out.

“What's wrong, Mr. Tichborne?” I shouted.

“I've been hit!” he moaned.

I let go of the children and carefully started to lift my head to check on the Irishman, but bullets were zipping through the air past my ears, so I was left no choice but to duck back behind the injured man's great belly. Fortunately, the bursts of gunfire began to die down and stopped just a short while later. A sudden, deafening silence took hold.

“You can get up now,” Lao Jiang advised.

The children and I slowly stood. I was completely perplexed by what I saw farther along the tunnel: A handful of inert bodies lay on the ground, and past them, on the other side of the Wei-ch'i board, through a thick cloud of gunpowder, I could see several waxed-paper lanterns illuminating a squad of soldiers carrying rifles with fixed bayonets. What was going on there? Who were those soldiers? Why was Lao Jiang happily greeting the one with a long saber on his belt (so ridiculously long that it scraped the floor)? A moan from Tichborne brought me back to reality.

“Mr. Tichborne,” I called, trying to turn him over so I could see how badly he was hurt. “Are you all right, Mr. Tichborne?”

The journalist's face was contorted in pain as he gripped one leg that was bleeding profusely. Blood was the most plentiful thing in that room: a stream of it from the dead assassins was seeping in between the bricks on the floor—the Wei-ch'i stones—and filling the air with the strange smell of hot iron mixed with gunpowder. This was no time to get dizzy, I told myself. First I needed to see how the Irishman was, and then the children. I leaned over Tichborne and examined him: He was severely hurt. The bullet had shattered his right knee, and he was in urgent need of medical attention. Fernanda was as white as a sheet, her eyes sunken and brimming with tears. Biao, who'd been shaking uncontrollably, was now sweating copiously, fat drops of perspiration sliding down his face and falling to the ground like tears. The two had been frightened beyond belief and hadn't yet woken from the nightmare.

“How are you, Mme De Poulain?” Lao Jiang asked, startling me half to death. I had thought he was still talking to the soldier.

“The children and I are fine,” I replied in a gravelly voice that didn't sound like mine. “Tichborne's been shot in the leg.”

“Is it serious?”

“I think so, but I'm no nurse. We need to get him to a hospital.”

“The soldiers will take care of that,” he said, turning back to the captain with the saber and saying a few words to him.

Four or five armed young men—none of whom looked much better than the Green Gang thugs—immediately came over, set their rifles on the ground, and took charge of Tichborne. They carried him outside, laughing uproariously at the journalist's screams of pain.

“I owe you an explanation, Mme De Poulain.”

“And I've been waiting for one, Mr. Jiang,” I asserted, confronting him.

Some of the soldiers began to hoist the dead bandits over their shoulders without a second thought, while others got started throwing sand on the floor to soak up the blood.

“I've been a member of the Chinese Nationalist Party, the Kuomintang, since 1911, when it was founded by Dr. Sun Yat-sen, a man I'm honored to know and consider a good friend. He is financing this expedition and placed this battalion of soldiers from the Army of the South at our disposal here in Nanking to protect us from the Green Gang. Captain Song,” he said, nodding at the man with the saber, who was standing a respectful distance away while his subordinates cleaned up, “knew of our arrival as soon as we disembarked yesterday and has kept us under discreet surveillance in order to help us if necessary.”

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I was having trouble understanding that this crazy adventure had been politically motivated from the very start.

“Do you mean to say, Mr. Jiang, that the Kuomintang knows what we're looking for?”

“Of course, madame. As soon as I learned what was in the hundred-treasure chest and guessed at the scope of the Qing and Japanese imperial restoration project, I immediately called Dr. Sun Yat-sen in Canton and explained the situation. Dr. Sun was equally alarmed and ordered me to secretly continue searching for Shi Huang Ti's lost mausoleum. However, there is no need to worry: My part of the treasure will undoubtedly go to the Kuomintang, but the rest of you will get what was agreed upon. My party simply wants to avoid the folly of a monarchical restoration any way we can.”

One group of soldiers was sweeping the blood-soaked sand into baskets, while another came behind, throwing buckets of water over the areas that had already been swept, so as to finish putting the tunnel back in order. Soon the only sign of what had happened here would be the bullet holes in the walls. But no, not even those would remain. A couple of young men wearing military caps and bearing a small blue flag with a white sun in the middle
²⁵
began to fill the holes with mud. This was obviously a very well-organized cover-up operation. What were we going to do now that Tichborne was out of commission?

“We have to carry on, madame. We can't stop now. The Green Gang is nipping at our heels, but just like the Kuomintang, they don't want this whole affair to come to light. It would be a national scandal with unimaginable repercussions. China cannot allow that. Western powers would try to take control of the discovery and exploit it in their favor or in favor of whoever they most wanted to keep bleeding this country dry. There is much at stake, and remember, we still need to find the lost mausoleum. Let's do this right, wouldn't you say, madame?”

“But what about Tichborne?”

“He knows nothing of the Kuomintang. He'll stay here for now and can follow us if he recovers quickly. In the meantime he'll be well looked after by Captain Song.”

“Does Captain Song know anything about all this?”

“No, madame. He had orders to watch us from a distance and intervene if we were attacked. That's all. Dr. Sun and the two of us are the only ones who know.”

“And the Emperor Puyi, and the imperial eunuchs, and the Japanese, and the Green Gang …”

Lao Jiang smiled. “Yes, but we have the
jiance.
”

“Actually, Mr. Jiang,
I
have the
jiance,
” I corrected him, leaning down to pick up the bronze box that Tichborne had dropped when he was wounded and that now lay by Fernanda's feet.

Mr. Jiang smiled even wider.

“I just have one last question. Do the Green Gang and everyone else know that the Kuomintang is involved?”

“I hope not. Dr. Sun doesn't want the party officially connected to this.”

“He's afraid of ridicule, isn't he?”

“Yes, something like that. He believes that the Kuomintang is in a delicate situation, madame. We don't have the support of foreign imperialist powers. They think we're endangering their economic interests. They know that if we unite China under a single flag, we'll take away all the abusive commercial prerogatives they acquired by means of trickery over the last hundred years. Dr. Sun's Three Principles of the People—Nationalism, Democracy, and the People's Livelihood—mean the end of their huge economic benefits. If all this came to light … well, they might destroy the Kuomintang.”

“And who's going to protect us on the rest of our trip? I don't need to remind you that not only are we being followed by the Green Gang, but we're about to go into areas that are controlled by warlords.”

“I still have to sort that out.”

“Well, make it quick,” I advised, taking the still-terrified Fernanda and Biao by the hand. “These children are frightened to death. You deceived us, Mr. Jiang, by hiding an important aspect,
une affaire politique,
with respect to this dangerous journey. I don't think you're as honest as you try to appear. In my opinion you're putting your political interests above all else and are simply using us. I admired you up until now, Mr. Jiang. I thought you were an honorable defender of your people. Now I'm beginning to think that, like all politicians, you're a greedy materialist who doesn't consider the personal consequences of your decisions.”

I don't know why I said all that. I was really very angry with the antiquarian, but I wasn't entirely sure if it was for the reasons I had listed or because I was so frightened. In any event, I'd just been through the most terrifying experience of my life and had actually come out of it with grace, feeling stronger than ever. I was beginning to note great changes inside. Still, there was nothing wrong with chastising Lao Jiang. He appeared livid, and I think my words had truly hurt him. I felt a little guilty but then immediately thought, He lied to us! And I no longer felt bad.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” he said. “I'm simply trying to save my country, madame. You may be right, and up to now I may have been using you. I will meditate on it and give you a more satisfactory explanation. If I need to apologize, I will.”

We left Jubao Gate and climbed into the back of an old truck that bounced over the cobblestones through the devastated streets of Nanking to Kuomintang headquarters, an ugly building painted the colors of the party's undulating flag and protected by tall barbed-wire fences. Inside, the soldiers on guard were playing cards and smoking. We were given something to eat and allowed to wash up. Tichborne lay on a cot in a dark, smelly little room, bleeding profusely, until a doctor in Western clothing arrived and began to treat him. By then someone had brought our things from the inn, and Biao, calmer now, told Fernanda and me that in the next room Lao Jiang and Captain Song were making arrangements for us to leave that night. I couldn't remember what our next stop was and therefore had no idea where we'd be heading. I did, however, have in my possession, safe and sound, the little box we'd removed from beneath the bricks at Jubao Gate. Since we were alone and no one was paying the least bit of attention to us, I decided it was the perfect time for the children and me to take another look at what was inside.

“You're going to open it, Auntie?” Fernanda asked, quite shocked. “What about Lao Jiang?”

“He can look at it later,” I replied, lifting the greenish bronze lid. The little bundle of bamboo slats with the tiny spots of ink was still inside. Biao leaned curiously over it as soon as I held it out on my open palms. There was electricity in the Kuomintang barracks, and thus the little marks were clearly visible. “Mr. Jiang said it was a map, Biao. What do you think?”

I don't know what inspired me to put such faith in that wiry-haired young man. If he'd been bright enough to solve the Wei-ch'i problem all on his own, why wouldn't he be able to see something I couldn't because of my Western education?

“Yes, it's got to be a map,
tai-tai,
” he confirmed after looking at it for a while. “I don't know what these tiny little characters next to the rivers and mountains say, but the drawings are quite clear.”

“All I see are lines and dots,” Fernanda said, jealous of her servant's important role. “A small round dot here, a square over there …”

“These dotted lines are rivers,” Little Tiger explained to her. “Can't you see by the way they're shaped, Young Mistress? And these lines are mountains. The circles must be lakes, because they're on the dotted lines or near them, and this square here might be a house or a monastery. There's something written inside, but I don't know what it says.”

“Would you like to be able to read in your own language, Biao?” I asked.

He thought for a moment, then shook his head and snorted, “Too much work!”

It was the answer any school-aged child in the world would have given, I thought as I hid a smile. I felt for Biao, but Lao Jiang wasn't about to let another day go by without teaching him more of the ideograms in their thousand-year-old writing system. So, between the French that Fernanda was teaching him and the Chinese calligraphy Lao Jiang would surely teach him, Little Tiger was in for a very busy trip.

“Do you know what we could do while we're waiting for Mr. Jiang?” I cheerfully asked the children. “We could play Wei-ch'i.”

“But we don't have any stones,” Fernanda objected, brightening up nonetheless. She'd been very withdrawn ever since the firefight in the tunnel, and I'd been worried.

Biao had jumped up and was running to the door.

“I saw a board!” he exclaimed, beaming. “I'll ask if we can use it.”

He came back with a rectangular wooden board under his arm and two soup bowls filled with black and white stones.

“The soldiers loaned it to me,” he explained. “They'd rather play Western cards,” he added disparagingly.

Well, I thought to myself, some of the antiquarian's ideas were taking hold.

Shortly after they brought us dinner, Mr. Jiang finally appeared with a smile that became even more affable when he saw the three of us completely absorbed in the Wei-ch'i board. In all truth, such an exquisitely difficult game wasn't my cup of tea but Fernanda caught on right away.

Biao surrounded my stones easily and with amazing speed, devouring entire large groups while I was focused on some ridiculous attack I never managed to carry out. Fernanda was better at defending herself and at least didn't let him massacre her as he had me. Over the next nine days, as we headed up the Yangtze to Hankow on board a sampan, mistress and servant spent many an hour bent over the board (Lao Jiang got the soldiers to give us the game), caught up in fierce battles that began right after the morning classes and sometimes lasted until dark.