Gunpowder Alchemy (9 page)

I spent mornings above deck, soaking in the sun and searching the horizon for land until the endless sight of water made me dizzy, but this morning I saw a dark ridge appear upon the horizon. After not seeing land for so long, my heart leapt.

“The Kingdom of Annam,” Yang said, coming up beside me.

I didn't recognize the name and made a note to seek it out later on one of the maps in the main cabin. “Will we dock there?”

The bow of the ship was pointed to it as far as I could see. My abilities to tell direction at sea were poor at best. Nothing but the basics of north, east, south, west based on the sun.

“With these winds, we'll dock there by noon.”

The engines below were silent and the red sails were unfurled above like a dragon's wings, angled to make full use of the wind. For a moment, I thought of the promise of land. Once I was no longer adrift, perhaps I could find a way to escape.

“My men and I will be making an excursion into the port, but I think it best that you remain on board during that time,” Yang said with a sly smile as if reading my thoughts.

I might have pouted as I turned back to stare at the horizon. The ridge grew darker as we sailed on, and within the next hour, I could start to see structures in the distance. A towering pagoda stood near the shore.

As we finally neared land, Yang and his crew prepared to head into the village. I watched him tuck a foreign pistol beneath his coat and slip a dagger in his boot.

From the main deck, I peered down into the town, taking in the ramshackle buildings and peddlers that crowded the docks. The people could have been Chinese, black haired and dark eyed, their skin burnished by the sun. The entire shoreline was a market area, baskets of fish, bushels of vegetables. As Yang and his men descended the plank, I noted they didn't transport any goods for trade or sale. One other crewman made some rude remark about a trip to the brothels, and I decided to retreat back to my cabin.

It was Yang's cabin in truth, but it had become my private area. The quarters were small, but much more spacious than the sleeping berths I had spied while roaming about. Once inside, I went to his collection of books and scrolls, and pulled out the maps.

I found Canton and then searched the nearby coastlines until I found Annam. For the first time in my life, I was outside the borders of my homeland.

Now that I could see the lands before me, I knew how foolish I'd been to think of escape. I had assumed wherever we were, the people around us had to be subjects of the Emperor and speak my language.

I left the cabin and walked along the lower deck past the sleeping areas. Most of the crewmen had gone up to the main deck to take in the sights and enjoy the brief rest while the boat was docked. I went to what had become my second hideout: the laboratory.

After spending three days at sea, I had managed to learn the layout of the ship. Initially Little Jie had followed me about, but after the first day, he lost interest and disappeared. It couldn't quite be said that I was sneaking about. Yang hadn't forbidden me from exploring. I had been to the laboratory a number of times to look through all the implements and journals there.

The worktables remained empty, which made me wonder what sort of studies Yang did there. Had he built the room to chase memories? The shelves in the laboratory were filled with volumes containing tables and lists of properties, but there was no record of any experiments.

The books in his quarters also told me nothing about Yang. He was very private despite living on a vessel surrounded by a crew of men. His shelf contained various writings he'd collected from the different lands he'd visited. Most of them in languages I couldn't understand.

I bypassed the worktables and equipment to go to the far corner. There was a door at the back of the room that was always locked. I inserted one of my long, thin needles into the lock to try to pick it, but was unsuccessful. I had no skill for thievery.

After my failed venture, I wandered back up to the galley where benches were arranged near the kitchen area. The cook provided me the usual bowl of mush. It had become more watery as the days went by and also lacked the bits of fried onion or salted egg that he sometimes used to add flavor.

“If we didn't have to leave so quickly,” he grumbled, even though I hadn't complained.

I was the reason the ship had to flee Canton, so I kept my silence as I finished my meal.

When it was time to carry lunch up to the men, I offered to help. The cook hefted the large vat of porridge in his arms while I trailed behind with a basket containing the eating bowls.

“What about that one?” I asked, spying a smaller tureen left beside the iron stove.

“Don't worry, miss. That's for something else,” he mumbled, huffing as he left the galley.

I followed dutifully behind. From the deck, I saw that another group had been sent ashore and was returning with crates laden with goods from the market below.

“Ah, better food tonight,” Cook said.

The line started to form even before he set down the vat of porridge. I began to ladle out portions to the sailors as they shuffled by one after the other. The line was only halfway through when I saw Yang return out of the corner of my eye.

Yang disappeared below deck with a red lacquered case tucked beneath one arm. Even from afar, I recognized the indentation in the center of the case, which created a distinctive shape. It was a wooden pillow box typically used in opium dens.

***

When I reached the door of the laboratory, it was locked. Yang and the crates he'd brought back on board had disappeared into that room. I had to know what was in them.

I thought of the ledger book I'd seen in Yang's cabin; all that money along with the various ports marked on his maps. Were they opium routes? I didn't want to believe it.

I tapped on the door and was surprised when Yang opened it without hesitation. “Soling,” he greeted, his tone nothing but pleasant.

A solution bubbled behind him. When I peered over his shoulder, Yang made no attempt to block me. Instead he held the door open in invitation.

A distillation apparatus had been set up on the main worktable. Beside it sat one of the crates that had been brought from onshore. The lid was pried open, revealing a supply of green gray pods.

“Opium.” I was unable to raise my voice above a whisper.

“Indeed.” Yang fished one of the bulbs from the pile, turning it this way and that. “It's easy to find the finished substance but much harder to procure the plant itself.”

My skin crawled at the sight of it. The pod was sickly in color, but more upsetting than its appearance was what I knew it could yield: the black poison that had taken my mother away from me.

“Why do you have it?”

Yang watched my face closely before answering. “For experimental purposes.”

“Are you running opium?” This was no longer a child's game of question and answer. “Is that why the foreigners allow you into their ports?”

His jaw hardened. “Do you think I would peddle that filth?”

“Have you been running opium?” I demanded, shaking.

“No.”

I stared at him, not knowing what to believe anymore.

“No,” he repeated, stronger this time. “If I were running, would I have only brought three crates on board? And raw opium, for that matter?”

I tried to find fault in that logic and was unable to. Still, I wasn't convinced. “What is behind that door?”

He followed my eyes to the locked door in the back of the storeroom. Instead of countering with an explanation, Yang reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out an iron key, which he placed in my hand.

“If you please.” He beckoned me forward.

Warily, I fitted the heavy key into the lock. With an amenable click, the door swung open.

As soon as I saw what was inside, I felt foolish for accusing him. It was merely a storeroom.

The narrow space ran the length of the laboratory. The wall was full of little drawers on both sides, much like the medicine cabinet in Lo's herbal shop. Each drawer was meticulously labeled. I pressed my hand over my lips to stifle a laugh as I read through the names of rather mundane substances.

His eyebrows arched into a frown. “What's so funny?”

“I was expecting something unspeakable.”

“A dead body, perhaps?” Yang obliged me with a sinister smirk.

It had been silly of me. I started apologizing profusely for insulting him, but Yang waved my worries aside. For the next few moments, he described how the chemicals inside were arranged, the most reactive ones lying inside the bottom drawers, the poisonous ones marked with a red dot beside the name. Then he handed me a flask of clear liquid as he collected several other reactants.

“It's a good thing that you question everything, even your dear Uncle Hanzhu,” he told me as we returned to the laboratory. “And your hatred of the opium trade means you may find this current project of mine of some interest.”

He demonstrated the proper proportions for mixing the solution. “I think it must be fate that caused us to meet once again. Everyone else on board this ship is a laborer or a sailor through and through. No one with an eye for detail or nearly clever enough to lend me a hand.”

He checked the level of the solution and, apparently satisfied, set it down.

His confidence in me made me even more nervous. I had never assisted my father at the Ministry of Science. His work was dangerous, as anyone could see from his missing arm. I was wise enough now to know that the few times I had been allowed to mix chemicals, they were likely concoctions of water and salt Yang had provided to make me feel useful.

But Yang looked completely serious now. “I no longer study explosives or poisons or liquid fire,
mèimèi
. My work is now completely focused on one thing: the one substance that has destroyed our land.

“I don't allow it on my ship, except for this one purpose. I'm going to discover the source of this disease.” He stared at the containers as if staring down an enemy. “And then I'm going to discover the cure.”

“But it isn't a disease.” As soon as I spoke, I thought of the last I had seen of my mother, unable or unwilling to move, her eyes blank. A feeling of helplessness crashed into me. “There is no cure.”

“Our people have used the
minang
poppy for thousands of years,” Yang pointed out. “As medicine or in the bedchamber as an aphrodisiac.”

My face heated with embarrassment and I stared down at the opium pots. Some of them were ornate, grotesquely romantic in their rendering. Twisting dragons and lotus blooms encasing balls of black tar.

“What is it about the foreign opium that makes it so addictive to us?” he continued. “What makes the poison seep into our blood until we want it more than food or water? Something has changed over these last ten years, Soling. Anyone can see it.”

“You think the foreign opium shipments have been tampered with?”

“Engineered,” Yang replied with grim determination. “To make us into perfect slaves.”

It was a wild theory, but he had always been known for such leaps in logic. In Father's circle, Yang had been the boldest. The one most willing to risk being wrong. My father had always been proud of him for it.

“Have you ever tried smoking opium?” I asked meekly.

I watched as his mouth pressed tight. “We all have at one time. But I wouldn't risk it again. Not after what I've seen.”

He turned and started arranging the opium containers, pulling out a set of five. I noticed each was labeled with where it had been procured.

I wanted to believe his theory. If it was true, then someone else was responsible. It wasn't my fault that I couldn't wean my mother from the smoke or that she wanted to breathe it in more than she wanted air. It wasn't her fault that she had abandoned us.

I unbuttoned my mandarin jacket and folded it neatly aside. “Tell me what needs to be done.”

For the next few days, I became absorbed with a series of tests and experiments. Dissolving dabs of the drug, heating the solutions, extracting impurities. At each step, we took notes. These figures and observations meant little in and of themselves, but Yang was constructing a larger picture. We worked side by side, and I was caught up in his quest and the relentless way he seemed to pursue it.

I forgot I was adrift at sea. At times, I even stopped worrying about Mother and Tian as I became absorbed in the work. The experiments gave me purpose, even if they turned out to be another one of Yang's wild schemes.

“There are plantations throughout the empire where the poppy grows like a weed,” Yang would say as he heated the distillation apparatus. The coils and bulbs of glass were designed to separate out distinctive elements from within a compound. “Yet crops from India are in high demand. Cultivated from afar and dumped into our trading ports to be carried inland on riverboats.”

Liquid evaporated and then condensed along the glass coils. Bit by bit, the batches of opium were broken down and trace elements identified. It was a slow, painstaking process.

“At first I thought it was different strains,” Yang lectured, writing notes into his journal. “But regardless of the plant it came from, opium was opium. Concentrations of the chemicals may differ, but not enough to cause such dramatic effects. This made me consider additives. I'm convinced that in particular shipments, there is something more than opium in the dosage.”

I had learned more about opium in the last few days than I had in my years apprenticing with Old Man Lo. Sap or resin from the opium poppy was boiled down to create the sticky black tar that was rolled into balls to be smoked. Whereas for centuries we had ingested the drug in soups and teas, smoking the opium had multiplied its effectiveness.

“Frighteningly effective,” Yang declared. “Don't you see how all our weapons are useless? There is no cannon we can build large enough to defeat this. No engine fast enough to chase it away.”