Heart of Iron (33 page)

“So it is possible there’s still fighting in the city.”

“Everything is possible.” Lee Bo shrugged. “However, if you want to speak to the Assistant General Feng, this might be a good opportunity to do so. If the Taipings solidify their position over the Qing, the alliance with your country may not seem as necessary as now, when everything is still teetering on the edge.”

I sighed. The political maneuvering was starting to wear on me. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that if it were up to me, I would never leave the comfort of St. Petersburg or Trubetskoye again if I could help it, and if I did would make sure to remain within a hundred yards of a hot bath at all times. “I suppose. Isn’t it dangerous, though, if there’s still fighting?”

“We’ll take Kuan Yu and Liu Zhi with us,” Lee Bo said, as if that negated my point completely.

We came to the gates, that stood undamaged in the otherwise charred wall, but the gates were unlocked. Despite the destruction, I stared all around me, suddenly hungry for novel sights. The streets were wide and deserted, and I marveled at the beauty of the remaining houses — even though only a few still stood intact among the wreckage, I found their appearance as attractive as it was foreign: the houses, only one or two stories tall, boasted an abundance of wide windows and roofs with steeply arching eaves. They were painted green and gold and red, and plum trees, bare now, grew between the houses in small copses. Their bamboo and wood paneling, lacquered and brightly painted, gave the street a cheerful and peaceful air, belied by the burned out ruins all around us.

I let Lee Bo and the others lead the way, and trailed behind, keeping an eye out for troops. There were very few people in the streets, and I couldn’t say I blamed them. However, there was no shortage of dead bodies — I tried to look away when yet another corpse, stiff and straight and white with frost captured my gaze. I stared instead at the roofs and the windows, trying to guess who was behind an occasional shadow that flitted behind the white screens guarding most of the windows.

After a few streets like that, we entered a part of the city where buildings were taller and streets were wider, giving way to several squares with large, imposing buildings. One of them, particularly sprawling, had a statue of a goddess in front of it.

“This is the examination hall,” Lee Bo told me as we passed it. “Local students take their examinations here, and they get assigned to the official posts depending on how well they do.”

“Did you do well?”

He grinned. “Not really. This is why I’m running a factory in Siberia. But Chiang Tse did very well.”

The sound of his name pricked my heart like a small, sharp pin. “Oh? Was he the governor you wanted me to meet?”

Lee Bo only smiled.

“You have to tell me!” Suddenly, it seemed very important for me to know. “Where is he? Will I see him?”

Lee Bo laughed then. “I don’t know. I haven’t been home since October. We exchange an occasional letter, but last I heard, he was on duty in Gansu, his province.”

We arrived at the bottom of the bridge that led to a set of very tall gates. The gates stood between us and the rest of the street, flanked by two white stone dragons; they were probably guarding something important.

I smiled, imagining humble and soft-spoken Chiang Tse as an imposing official figure. “I am sure he’s governing well,” I said out loud. And added, without thinking much, “Do you usually have several wives?”

Lee Bo waited with me at the foot of the bridge until Kuan Yu and Liu Zhi caught up to us. “Under the Qing, yes. Taipings? Just one. Chiang Tse, however, doesn’t have any.”

I blushed without meaning to. “I was just curious, in general.”

“Of course,” Lee Bo said, thankfully not laughing. “In general. Customs of foreign lands are so confusing.” There was a hint of reproach in his voice.

“I thought it was the Chinese who wanted the foreigners to stay away. How do you expect us to know your customs?”

“I don’t.” Lee Bo’s eyes met mine, and I was taken aback by anger I saw in them. “But look around you — this is what happens when you let foreign ideas into a country.”

“I thought you supported the Taiping Tianguo.”

“I do, but that is beside the point. Remember the Qing are foreigners, and the Hakka are among the most ancient people of China, with its original language and customs.”

“I see,” I said, very softly. “But I hoped that being at the foreign university had some benefits for you.”

He looked at me as if he just saw me for the first time. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you. But it hurts, to see it like this. And we keep arguing… ”

“Yes,” Kuan Yu said as he stood next to us on the steps. “Arguing, always arguing, and it’s always the same words that run around like water in a circle, wearing down the bedrock.”

“Yes,” Lee Bo agreed, and looked pensive. “Shall we? This is the imperial residence, the English call it the Forbidden City.”

I looked up to the place where the bridge ended at a flat square area just before the gates. Even though our view was largely blocked by the elevation of the bridge and the platform’s edges, it was still clear there were people there — I heard voices and clanging of metal.

“Who’s there?” I asked Lee Bo.

“Only one way to find out.”

He headed up the bridge, Kuan Yu and Liu Zhi catching up to him and flanking him, so that the three walked almost shoulder to shoulder, with Lee Bo a quarter of a step ahead of the others. Something about their formation made me suck the air through my swollen lips and move the satchel into my left hand, while my right rested lightly on the hilt. There were only four of us and unknown multitudes up and ahead — what reason did I have to be nervous?

The men standing in front of the high red walls were Taipings, about twenty in number, and I drew a relieved breath. Dirty and long-haired or not, they were our allies, and I worked hard at trying to like them.

One of the filthy men stopped us by thrusting a spear he held against Lee Bo’s chest sideways, like a gate.

Lee Bo stopped and said something in Chinese.

The man with the spear argued, and Kuan Yu joined in. The volume of their voices increased as the man with the spear only stood, feet planted wide of the chipped gray stone of the platform, and shook his head no.

A few others joined in, and Lee Bo shoved the spear away from his chest. This gesture was followed by further consternation and agitated hand waving. I looked from one group to another helplessly, hoping for some clue in addition to their outward hostility, something that would reassure me the argument would not end in bloodshed.

One of the other guards, a thin and sullen man with a beard long enough to brush against his rope belt, pointed at me. Even though I did not understand his words, I shook my head. “Not English,” I said, rather contradictorily, in English.

The Taipings around us closed ranks and pushed closer, forcing Lee Bo, Kuan Yu and Liu Zhi to push back, almost leaning into our attackers. I kept my hand on my hilt.

The thin man who had spoken to me reached out — his long-fingered, yellowed hand splayed up in the air — and grabbed the front of my uniform jacket, visible between my open furs. I don’t know whether he just wanted to see my insignia or whether it was a gesture of provocation; all I know is that I took an instinctive step back, to give myself room to draw my weapon and to end the unwelcome contact. The buttons and the gold braid, subjected to so much stress by travel and dirt, snapped and my jacket flew open, spitting forth the theatrical bill with Wong Jun’s calligraphy.

I wrestled out of the attacker’s hand, indignant, and quickly closed my uniform and buttoned my furs. Lee Bo tried to grab the bill out of the attacker’s hand, but the other Taipings held him back.

“You don’t understand,” I started. “I am not here to see the Qing, I swear to you… ”

But it was already too late, as the thin man pointed at me, shouting, and even though I did not know the word, its meaning resonated loudly. “Traitor!” he called. “An English traitor in our midst, a foreigner, carrying a letter offering alliance to the Qing!”

Lee Bo spun close to the ground, and in a fluid quick motion twisted the spear out of the hands of the large man; his foot swept in a wide semicircle, and the disarmed giant thundered to the ground, landing on his rear and elbows.

I already knew what Kuan Yu and Liu Zhi were capable of doing, but here, free of the confines of the train carriage, they took my breath away. I tried to fight, my saber parrying thrusts from the sword held by one of the Taiping guards, but my efforts were half-hearted, because even the threat to my very life could tear my attention from the acrobatic airborne miracles that were Kuan Yu and Liu Zhi. I do not think I had ever seen anything quite as graceful, quite as beautiful as their defensive display. Even the Imperial Ballet would appear a mere trundling of mincing cows in comparison.

Kuan Yu’s feet, slippered like those of a dancer, left the ground as if elevated by some divine will. Unceremoniously, he planted his right foot on the knee of his opponent, who stood with his legs slightly bent, thus offering Kuan Yu an incidental foothold. Kuan Yu pivoted, and his left foot arced through the air, striking several faces in quick succession.

Liu Zhi had disarmed one of the guards and used the spear as a staff to make a wide circle around him — he swung the spear to and fro, lashing viciously at everyone who dared to take a step toward him. Lee Bo, who had his back to Liu Zhi’s, thrust his spear at the brutish man who was the first to attack him, and all three seemed quite unconcerned about the immediate threat — their faces were set in an expression of thorough concentration, but there were no traces of fear or panic, the emotions I felt certain my own face betrayed in abundance.

There was a swish of air, and I stepped to the side, deflecting a sword’s point thrust at me. I am not a good swordsman: I had never had proper training, and all I knew I had picked up from the long summers spent playing with the children of engineers. Childhood play with sticks taught me to sidestep thrusts and to block direct hits; I had no form to speak of, but enough attention and strength to follow my opponent’s attacks and to parry or avoid them. He increased his exertions, and I had to turn away from the sight of Liu Zhi rising into the air, using the spears of several of the guards as rungs of an invisible ladder.

I defended myself as well as I could, even though my attacker kept pressing, forcing me back to the bridge leading down, and I had to keep looking sideways to make sure I was not about to tumble down the stone slope. The man was stronger and would have overpowered me, but I remembered the satchel I still held in my left hand. I swung it at his face, and connected with a satisfying, solid slap. My attacker staggered back, and I used the opportunity to lunge at him and demand he surrender his sword.

Meanwhile, Kuan Yu and Liu Zhi did not waste any time. By the time I stumbled back to the knot of the Taiping guards, they had felled many of the enemy; still more of them ceased attacking and, instead, stepped back. I did not think anyone was killed — even though Kuan Yu and Liu Zhi punched and kicked and punched some more, their fists a gray blur of fast and precisely terrifying motion, their attackers appeared awed and stunned rather than seriously hurt. The only blood flowed from injured noses and lips, not from serious wounds.

One of the guards noticed my approach, and swung about, a spear in his hands gleaming with a sharp brilliant point. I had no time to react as the spear struck me in the shoulder, and with a twist its handle broke off, leaving the point embedded in the cork of my corset. I frowned, and ripped out the spearhead; I think I impressed my attacker — he stepped back, giving me an opportunity to run for the gates.

Lee Bo took another wide swing at the crowd, and his eyes met mine. “Go!” he shouted. “Go inside.”

I ran across the stone paving, sheathing my sword as I ran. The Taipings intensified their efforts at not letting us through; Kuan Yu and Liu Zhi flew over them like two deadly birds. They seemed singularly undisturbed by gravity, and I left this question to be pondered at a more opportune time. I rushed to the carved double gates, red-colored wood covered in long, sinuous dragons and winding flower stems receding before me as if in a tunnel. They seemed so far away — until I slammed into them, full-tilt, and the doors slowly swung open, not making a slightest sound, as in a dream.

Lee Bo followed me right away, and I stopped.

“What are you doing?” he shouted, pulling the door closed behind us.

“Kuan Yu,” I replied.

“They’ll be fine, they can take care of themselves.”

I did not doubt his words, of course, and yet worry gnawed at me — even flying men could be killed, especially if it was only two against twenty. Against an armed twenty.

“You fought well,” Lee Bo said with some surprise, and sucked in his breath. “Come along now.”

We found ourselves in a small courtyard, where only two Taipings guarded the passage to the rest of the Forbidden City — I gasped at its vast and serene appearance, at the bright pavilions and the gardens that stretched around us. Everything was lavishly decorated. There was gold leaf to rival the domes of the Moscow churches, and carvings that seemed to breathe, giving life to the taloned maned monsters that decorated them.

The guards paid us little mind. The outside gates, heavy as they were, did not let through much sound, and I did not suppose they would have a reason to suspect that two men would somehow get through the twenty outside without their consent.

“Where’s Feng?” Lee Bo asked one of the guards — at least, this is what I thought he asked. I recognized the name
Feng
.

The guard waved his arm toward the large building off in some distance. Lee Bo translated. “Talking to the emperor, discussing terms of surrender.”