Shanghai (40 page)

Vrassoon thought this all a bit short-sighted and said as much. But the traders were making money—lots of money—and were unwilling to risk the opium markets they had for those that they might get.

* * *

WHEN SHE WAS TOLD of the
Fan Kuei
's refusal of her offer, the Dowager Empress gripped the arms of her golden chair so hard that she snapped the long nail on the middle finger of her left hand. She looked at the stub
of the nail that remained. The blunt end was deeply yellowed. She knew that fungus was alive in the tissue and that it could not be eradicated. She hated the idea that something was growing in her. Something foreign. But then again, something infinitely foreign was growing in her country. Two foreign things! The damnable
Fan Kuei
in Shanghai and elsewhere, and the Taiping religious fanatics in Nanking.
One at a time,
she told herself,
deal with them one at a time.

She looked up at the waiting men. “Bring him in,” she said simply.

A low-ranking officer turned and left the chamber. Moments later he returned, followed by an officer whose right eye drooped from its socket. He had been in charge of securing all the territories that the Manchu armies had wrested from the Taipingers. It was a hard job, since the filthy peasants and thieving merchants would turn around and sell their mothers for a bolt of cloth or a bucket of rice. And the Taipingers always returned, and by coercion or force or both often regained the support of the locals. Without local support there was no way to secure territory, and without secured territory there could be no reliable base from which to mount the final assault on Nanking. It had been a serious problem until the man who stood before her, the man she'd heard them speak of as the Droopy-Eyed General, had taken control. The man's viciousness was the stuff of legend. His willingness to tie hundreds of men to piles of brush and then set them alight had changed the loyalties of many a peasant—and every merchant.

He had also conducted several successful sieges against Taiping-held cities by diverting water to undermine the defensive walls. The details of such things
were both shadowy and of no concern to Tzu Hsi, Dowager Empress of China.

She looked more closely at the man. A tear had formed in the droopy eye and it was about to fall to his cheek when his hand viciously swiped it aside.

Good,
she thought,
he is furious with any sign of weakness. I can use such a man.

* * *

MAXI HELD THE BABY in his arms and looked at the deep, dark pools that were her eyes.
Mine
, he thought,
mine
. His Hakka wife held the hands of her two children as they all, as a family, walked through the tall canes in his bamboo stand. The wind blew gently through the stalks, making them sway. And Maxi's family was in their midst so they swayed too—no different from the canes, all part of one great, moving thing, just as Maxi had felt all those years ago in India when he and Richard had worked with the opium farmers.

Then he saw them standing on the far hill—waiting for him. His wife saw them a moment later and grabbed at his hand and begged him not to go to them. But there was no real argument. These men were from the Heavenly King—no doubt this new general they called the Droopy-Eyed One had taken the field to the east of Nanking.

Maxi held the baby close to him and rubbed his rough chin against her silky cheeks. The baby laughed. Maxi knew that he would have to defeat the Manchu General if he were ever to hear that laugh again.

—

If Maxi had known his Bible stories he might have been aware of the parallels between him facing the Droopy-Eyed General and David facing Goliath—but Maxi neither knew nor cared about such desert-inspired fairy tales. He appreciated them as stories, just as he appreciated the Shakespeare stories that Richard used to tell him, but he never saw Bible stories as morality tales, let alone stories with any portent.

The Droopy-Eyed General was backed by five times the number of troops that Maxi commanded—fine.
Just one factor in deciding the outcome of the day,
Maxi thought. He looked toward the rising sun and for a moment wondered what Richard was doing at that precise moment. He hadn't thought of his brother in a long time. Then he thought of the History Teller and a pang threaded through his heart, so sharp but so sweet that for an instant he wobbled on his feet. Finally he took the red kerchief from his pocket and wound it round his head—the signal for his left flank to charge the siege forces of the Droopy-Eyed General.

—

“What?” the Droopy-Eyed General shouted as he turned in the saddle of his desert pony.

The adjutant repeated the message from their right flank. They were under attack and requesting orders.

“Tell them to fall back slowly, and send me the commander of our centre.”

The man arrived quickly and the Droopy-Eyed General told him of the slow pull back of their right flank. “Should we wheel on the rebels as they chase our troops?” he asked.

The Droopy-Eyed General stared at the man. Finally he spoke. “Why else would I have let our men fall back? Rouse yourself. The day is upon us.”

—

Maxi's men advanced quickly against the enemy's right flank, and much to his surprise the Manchus didn't stand their ground but gave way under the attack. His adjutants were joyful, but Maxi was unsure. He galloped to the highest hill and once again hauled himself up by a rope-and-pulley system—and what he saw terrified him. As his men advanced, the whole centre of the Droopy-Eyed General's army wheeled right and were setting up to attack Maxi's exposed flank. He hollered an order to his adjutant then loosed himself down onto the back of his horse and galloped at full speed to catch up to his left flank.

He managed just in time to get to the flag-bearers in the rearguard to signal a retreat—and not a moment too soon. Twenty minutes later and his forces would have been devoured by the massive power of the Droopy-Eyed General's centre.

—

“What?” screamed the Droopy-Eyed General as he was given the report of the escape of Maxi's left flank. “Bring that general here with his men.”

A half hour later, the general of the Manchu right flank knelt before the Droopy-Eyed General, who looked past him and addressed the assembled troops.

“This man,” he said as he ripped the general's silk robe, “failed you. He failed me as well.” The Droopy-Eyed General drew his sword and with a scything motion cut at the man's neck. Much to his consternation his cut did not go all the way through. A tear built in his malformed eye, but before it came to his cheek he swung a second and then a third time, until the man's head fell from his shoulders. Then the Droopy-Eyed General swiped the tear aside with his sleeve and shouted at his men, “We are not here to fail. Is that clear?”

He leapt onto his horse and rode to the battle front. As he approached, the bannermen lifted their flags and horns sounded. As much from fear as from loyalty, the Manchus cheered their leader.

* * *

“HE'S VAIN,” Maxi said through his translator to his assembled captains.

“And ugly,” one of the younger captains quipped.

Maxi knew that the two sometimes went together, the physical deformity causing the overweening pride. He thought about that and the new tunnel structures he'd been finding. Pride. He had met many prideful men. Then he smiled. Prideful men often thought themselves excessively smart. He ordered his men to go on shifts to mark their way through the night. To Cupid he said, “Assemble the generals. We need a plan.” To himself he added,
A complex plan for a vain man who thinks he's smarter than the rest of us.

With the generals assembled, Maxi began.

“My brother used to read me stories when we were young. One, a play called
Cymbeline
, had a lot to say about deception and vanity. Vanity is all about appear
ance, and this Manchu General needs to be shown he is important because in his heart, and maybe this time in his eye, he knows he's not.

“So let's give him the tribute he wants, that Manchus have always wanted since they invaded the Middle Kingdom all those years ago. I think a huge trunk filled to the brim with silver and gold—and two of our most beautiful women should suffice.”

The Taiping generals balked at that. Sex was an entirely forbidden subject in the Heavenly Kingdom. Maxi saw the resistance and said, “We all make sacrifices for the Heavenly King—some with our lives—these two but with their modesty.” Maxi gave the generals only a moment to object. Then he went on. “Go tell the History Teller what we want. She'll know how to dress the women.”

“How big should the trunk be?”

“I'll have designs for our artisans by evening. I want only our best craftsmen to work on this—and only men we trust.”

“And the gold and silver?”

“Get it for me. If things work out properly it will just be a loan.”

“But how does giving this monster money and women help us defeat him?”

“As in that play I mentioned, there will be something other than money and women in the trunk—on this, trust me.”

—

The Taiping artisans stared at the crude design Maxi had presented them but did not speak. Finally Maxi asked, “Can you make this?”

“Do you have permission for us to make something like this?” the head artisan asked, pointing to the coitally entwined figures of a nude man atop a nude woman on the lid of the six-and-a-half-foot-long trunk. The man's face was buried in the woman's neck, his arms lost beneath her back, while the woman's face was turned out, her eyes open, looking outward while her left arm reached with her fingers splayed.

“I give you permission,” Maxi assured them.

There was a lengthy silence that finally the head artisan broke. “And the man's figure is to be solid but the woman's hollow?”

“Yes.”

“The woman's figure is rather large … for a woman.”

“Yes, it is,” Maxi replied, “and the floor of the trunk should be four inches thick, made of mahogany.”

The artisan nodded. He knew that no knife could penetrate a hard wood to that depth. “What about the lid beneath the woman's hollow figure?”

Maxi thought for a moment, then said, “No. No extra depth there.”

“So there is no protection from below for whoever is inside the hollowed out woman's figure?” the man asked.

“Either the deception works or it doesn't,” Maxi said.

The artisan nodded slowly, then asked, “How long will the person have to be inside the hollowed figure?”

“A while.” Maxi sighed. “Just tell me if it can be done.”

The artisan looked quickly to the other craftsmen, then shrugged as he said, “It can be built.” The man hesitated.

“What?” Maxi demanded.

“How will the hidden figure get to the latch to release himself?”

Maxi thought about that. Then his toothy smile lit up his face. “Put a silk ribbon in the woman's hair and thread it into the cavity.”

The artisan nodded, then asked, “But how shall it be tied?”

Maxi nodded, an old memory from onboard a ship sailing from India to China filled his head, and he said, “Leave the tying of the knots to me.”

* * *

AT NOON the following day, emissaries were sent to the Droopy-Eyed General with a proclamation that did not surrender the city but requested: “The right to present to the most honoured General a token of our esteem for his greatness.”

Although two of the emissaries were kept as hostages, the third returned with a note outlining exactly how and where the “token” was to be delivered. Maxi was not surprised by the demand for much pomp and ceremony to accompany the delivery of the Taipingers' gift.

At the appointed hour Cupid led the small but stately group, who presented the massive carved chest filled with gold and silver, along with the two girls, to the Droopy-Eyed General. The Manchu was much impressed with both the gold and silver and the girls—or so Maxi was later told.

Maxi felt the trunk lid being flung open, and he assumed the Manchu was examining the wealth. Then Maxi felt a heavy shock race through the wood. It set his ears to ringing. As his hearing slowly returned it occurred to him that the Manchu must have thrust a knife, or more likely a spear, into the thick bottom of the chest.

Then Maxi felt the lid slam shut and the whole chest being lifted. Maxi couldn't determine how long he was
carried, but the thump upon landing momentarily snapped his head up and then down, almost causing him to black out. After that he didn't remember much. The two hollow reeds in his mouth were slowly disintegrating from his spittle, and he was worried that he wouldn't be able to get enough air from the tiny air holes without them. As well, his muscles had cramped badly, especially the muscles of his left arm that reached out toward the front of the chest. And he had a terrible need to urinate.

He held on as long as he could, then he pulled on the silk ribbon that controlled the interior latch and pushed.

In his weakened condition the lid felt as though it weighed hundreds of pounds. But it opened smoothly and soundlessly as the artisans had promised.

The luxuriance of what he assumed was the Droopy-Eyed General's tent surprised him. In the dying light from the brazier he saw a pair of feet extended past the end of the silk-swathed sleeping pallet. Maxi assumed the two Taiping girls were somewhere in the tent.

He hoped the Manchu had not hurt them. But that was all he could do for them—hope.

He slid his knife from his pant leg and allowed himself down from the large, carved chest. He thought about closing the lid, then decided against it. He looked around the Manchu's tent and tried to discern exactly who was there. But all he could do was guess. Hope the girls were not hurt. Guess that the Manchu General preferred his sex in private. Too many variables, and he knew it.

—

The Manchu General saw the white-skinned ghost rise from the chest and smiled. Gold, silver, dead girls—and killing a
Fan Kuei.
A fine day.