The Keys of the Kingdom (36 page)

‘Until tomorrow.’ The officer answered promptly. ‘ Provided you deliver to me before midnight at my gun position a personal offering of tinned goods together with sufficient valuables to constitute a suitable present.’

Again there was a silence. Francis felt a dark choking swelling of his heart. He lied in a suppressed voice: ‘I agree. I have no alternative. I will bring you your gift tonight.’

‘I commend your wisdom. I shall expect you. And I advise you not to fail.’

The captain’s tone held a heavy irony. He bowed to the priest, shouted a command to his men, and marched off squatly towards the cedar grove.

Francis re-entered the mission in a trembling fury. The clang of the heavy iron gate behind him set a chain of febrile echoes ringing through his brain. What a fool he had been, in his fatuous elation, to imagine he could escape this trial. He … the dove-like pacifist. He gritted his teeth as wave after wave of pitiless self-anger assailed him. Abruptly, he rid himself of Joseph and of the silent gathering who timidly searched his face for the answer to their fears.

Usually he took his troubles to the Church, but now he could not bow his head and tamely murmur: Lord, I will suffer and submit. He went to his room and flung himself violently into the wicker chair. His thoughts for once ran riot, without the rein of meekness or forbearance. He groaned as he thought of his pretty gospel of peace. What was to happen to his fine words now? What was to happen to them all?

Another barb struck him – the needlessness, the crass inanity of Polly’s presence in the mission at such a time. Under his breath he cursed Mrs Fiske for the interfering officiousness which had subjected his poor old aunt to this fantastic tribulation. God! He seemed to have the cares of all the world upon his bent incompetent shoulders. He jumped up. He could not, he would not, yield, weakly, to the maddening menace of Wai’s threat and the deadlier menace of that gun which grew in his feverish imagination, swelled to such gigantic size it became the symbol of all wars, and of every brutal weapon built by man for the slaughter of mankind.

As he paced his room, tense and sweating, there came a mild knock at his door. Polly entered the room.

‘I don’t like to disturb you, Francis … but if you have a minute to spare …’ She smiled remotely, using the privilege of her affection to disturb his privacy.

‘What is it, Aunt Polly?’ He composed his features with a great effort. Perhaps she had further news, another message from Wai.

‘I’d be glad if you’d try on this comforter, Francis. I don’t want to get it too large. It should keep you nice and warm in the winter.’ Under his bloodshot gaze she produced a woollen Balaclava helmet she was knitting him.

He scarcely knew whether to weep or laugh. It was so like Polly. When the crack of doom resounded she would no doubt pause to offer him a cup of tea. There was nothing for it but to comply. He stood and let her fit the half-finished capote upon his head.

‘It looks all right,’ she murmured critically. ‘Maybe a trifle wide about the neck.’ With her head on one side and her long wrinkled upper lip pursed, she counted the stitches with her bone knitting-needle. ‘Sixty-eight. I’ll take it in four. Thank you, Francis. I hope I haven’t troubled you.’

Tears started in his eyes. He had an almost irresistible desire to put his head on her hard shoulder and cry brokenly, outrageously; ‘Aunt Polly! I’m in such a mess. What in God’s name am I to do?’

As it was, he gazed at her a long time. He muttered: ‘ Don’t you worry, Polly, about the danger we’re all in here?’

She smiled faintly. ‘Worry killed the cat. Besides … aren’t you looking after us?’

Her ineradicable belief in him was like a breath of pure cold air. He watched her wrap up her work, skewer it with needles and, giving her competent nod, silently withdraw. Somehow, beneath her casualness, her air of commonplace, there lay a hint of deeper knowledge. He had no doubts now as to what he must do. He took his hat and coat, made his way secretly towards the lower gate.

Outside the mission the deep darkness blindfolded him. But he went down the Brilliant Green Jade road towards the city, rapidly, heedless of any obstacle.

At the Manchu Gate, he was sharply halted and a lantern thrust close against his face, while the sentries scrutinized him. He had counted on being recognized – he was, after all, a familiar figure in the city – yet his luck went further still. One of the three soldiers was a follower of Shon who had worked all through the plague epidemic. The man vouched for him immediately and after a short exchange with his companions agreed to take him at once to the Lieutenant.

The streets were deserted, choked in parts with rubble and ominously silent. From the distant eastern section there came occasional bursts of firing. As the priest followed the quick padding footsteps of his guide he had a strange exhilarating sense of guilt.

Shon was in his old quarters at the cantonment, snatching a short rest, fully dressed, on that same camp bed which had been Dr Tulloch’s. He was unshaven, his puttees white with mud, and there were dark shadows of fatigue beneath his eyes. He propped himself upon his elbow as Francis entered.

‘Well!’ he said slowly. ‘I have been dreaming about you, my friend, and your excellent establishment on the hill.’

He slid from the bed, turned up the lamp and sat down at the table. ‘You do not want some tea? No more do I. But I am glad to see you. I regret I cannot present you to General Naian. He is leading an attack on the East section … or perhaps executing some spies. He is a most enlightened man.’

Francis sat down at the table, still in silence. He knew Shon well enough to let him talk himself out. And tonight the other had less to say than usual. He glanced guardedly at the priest. ‘Why don’t you ask it, my friend? You are here for help which I cannot give. We should have been in your mission two days ago except that then we should merely have been blown to pieces together by that infamous Sorana.’

‘You mean the gun?’

‘Yes, the gun,’ Shon answered with polite irony. ‘I have known it too well for a period of years … It came originally from a French gunboat. General Hsiah had it first. Twice I took it from him with great trouble, but each time he bought it back from my commandant. Then Wai had a concubine from Pekin’ who cost him twenty thousand silver dollars. She was an Armenian lady, very beautiful, named Sorana. When he ceased to regard her with affection he exchanged her to Hsiah for the gun. You saw us try to capture it yesterday. It is not possible.… Fortified … Across that open country … with only our
piff-paff
battery to protect us. Perhaps it is going to lose us our war … just when I am making a great personal advancement with General Naian.’

There was a pause. The priest said stiffly: ‘Suppose it were possible to capture the gun?’

‘No. Do not entice me.’ Shon shook his head with concealed bitterness. ‘But if ever I get near that dishonourable weapon I shall finish it for good.’

‘We can get very near the gun.’

Shon raised his head deliberately, sounding Francis with his eyes. A glint of excitement enlivened him. He waited.

Father Chisholm leaned forward, his lips making a tight line. ‘This evening under threat of shelling the mission, the Wai officer who commands the gun crew ordered me to bring food and money to him before midnight …’

He went on, gazing at Shon, then abruptly broke off, conscious that he need say no more. For a full minute nothing was said. Shon was thinking, behind his careless brow. At last he smiled – at least the muscles of his face went through the act of smiling, but there was nothing of humour in his eyes.

‘My friend, I must continue to regard you as a gift from heaven.’

A cloud passed over the priest’s set face. ‘ I have forgotten about heaven tonight.’

Shon nodded, not thinking of that remark. ‘Now listen and I will tell you what we shall do.’

An hour later Francis and Shon left the cantonment and made their way through the Manchu Gate towards the mission. Shon had changed his uniform for a worn blue blouse and a pair of coolie’s slacks, rolled to the knee. A flat pleated hat covered his head. On his back he carried a large sack, tightly sewn with twine. Following silently, at a distance of some three hundred paces, were twenty of his men.

Halfway up the Brilliant Green Jade road Francis touched his companion on the arm. ‘Now it is my turn.’

‘It is not heavy.’ Shon shifted the bundle tenderly to his other shoulder. ‘And I am perhaps more used to it than you.’

They reached the shelter of the mission walls. No lights were showing, the outline which compassed everything he loved lay shadowy and unprotected. The silence was absolute. Suddenly, from within the lodge, he heard the melodious strike of the American chiming clock he had given Joseph for a wedding present. He counted automatically. Eleven o’clock.

Shon had given the men a final word of instruction. One of them, squatting against the wall, suppressed a cough which seemed to echo out across the hill. Shon cursed him in a violent whisper. The men were not important. It was what Shon and he must do together that mattered. He felt his friend peering at him through the silent darkness.

‘You know exactly what is going to occur?’

‘Yes.’

‘When I fire into the can of gasoline it will ignite instantly and explode the cordite. But before that, even before I raise my revolver, you must begin to move away. You must be well away. The concussion will be extreme.’ He paused. ‘Let us go if you are ready. And for the love of your Lord of Heaven keep the torch away from the sack.’

Nerving himself, Francis took matches from his pocket and let the split reed flare. Then, holding it up, he stepped from the cover of the mission wall and walked openly towards the cypress grove. Shon came behind him, like a servant, bearing the sack on his back, as if groaning beneath its weight, taking care to make a noise.

The distance was not great. At the edge of the grove he halted, called into the watchful stillness of the invisible trees:

‘I have come as requested. Take me to your leader.’

There was an interval of silence; then, close behind them, a sudden movement. Francis swung round and saw two of Wai’s men standing in the pool of smoky glare.

‘You are expected, Bewitcher. Proceed without undue fear.’

They were escorted through a formidable maze of shallow trenches and sharp-ended bamboo stakes to the centre of the grove. Here the priest’s heart sharply missed a beat. Behind a breastwork of earth and cedar branches, the crew dispersed in attitudes of care beside it, stood the long-muzzled gun.

‘Have you brought all that was demanded of you?’

Francis recognized the voice of his visitor earlier that evening. He lied more readily this time.

‘I have brought a great load of tinned goods … which will certainly please you.’

Shon exhibited the sack, moving nearer, a trifle nearer, to the gun.

‘It is not so great a load.’ The captain of the gun crew stepped into the light. ‘Have you brought money also?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where is it?’ The captain felt the neck of the sack.

‘Not there.’ Francis spoke hurriedly, with a start. ‘ I have the money in my purse.’

The captain gazed at him, diverted from his examination of the sack, his expression lit by a sudden cupidity. A group of soldiers had collected, their staring faces all bent upon the priest.

‘Listen, all of you.’ Francis held their attention, with a desperate intensity. He could see Shon edging imperceptibly into the fringe of shadow, closer, still closer to the gun. ‘ I ask you – I beg you – to leave us unmolested in the mission.’

Contempt showed in the captain’s face. He smiled derisively. ‘You shall be unmolested … until tomorrow.’ Someone laughed in the background. ‘Then we shall protect your women.’

Francis hardened his heart. Shon, as though exhausted, had unloaded the sack under the breech of the gun. Pretending to wipe the perspiration from his brow he came back a little towards the priest. The crowd of soldiers had increased and were growing impatient. Francis strove to gain one minute of extra time for Shon.

‘I do not doubt your word but I should value some assurance from General Wai.’

‘General Wai is in the city. You will see him later.’

The captain spoke curtly and stepped out to get the money. From the corner of his eye, Francis saw Shon’s hand go beneath his blouse. It is coming now, he thought. In the same moment, he heard the loud report of the revolver shot and the impact of the bullet as it struck the oil tin inside the sack. Braced for the convulsion, he could not understand. There was no explosion. Shon in swift succession fired three further shots into the tin. Francis saw the gasoline flood all over the sacking. He thought, with a kind of sick disillusionment yet quicker than the thudding shots: Shon was mistaken, the bullets won’t ignite the gasoline, or perhaps it is only kerosene they put inside the tin. He saw Shon shooting into the crowd now, struggling to free his gun, shouting hopelessly to his own men to rush in. He saw the captain and a dozen soldiers closing on him. It all happened as swiftly as his thought. He felt a final, devastating wave of anger and despair. Deliberately, as though casting with a salmon rod he drew back his arm and threw his torch.

His accuracy was beautiful. The blazing flare arched like a comet through the night and hit the oil-soaked sacking squarely in the centre. Instantly a great sheet of sound and light struck at him. He no more than sensed the brilliant flash when the earth erupted and amidst a frightful detonation a blast of scorching air blew him backwards into crashing darkness. He had never lost consciousness before. He seemed falling, falling, into space and blackness, clutching for support and finding none, falling to annihilation, to oblivion.

When his senses returned he found himself stretched in the open, limp but unhurt, with Shon pulling his ear-lobes to bring him round. Dimly he saw the red sky above him. The whole cypress grove was ablaze, crackling and roaring like a pyre.

‘Is the gun finished?’

Shon stopped the ear-tweaking and sat up, relieved.