The Mark of the Golden Dragon (23 page)

He takes a sip of his wine, sighs, then says, "I have conferred with Mr. Peel. You will remember him, Miss? Yes, of course. Anyway, he was most receptive to your proposal concerning the donation to the British Museum. Although he is no longer with the Admiralty, he does still have a measure of influence. It is too bad that Mr. Pitt has recently died, but Lord Grenville is Prime Minister now—"

"Not
my
Lord Grenville?" I ask hopefully. He was First Lord of the Admiralty several years ago and was very kind to me. Joannie bounces back into the cabin and settles at my feet.

"Afraid not, Miss," says Higgins. "He is William Grenville, older brother of your Thomas Grenville, but the connection could be of use ... Meanwhile, I did talk to Mr. Peel, whom you know well, and though he was intrigued in the treasure we carry, he was even more interested in the possibility of gaining native allies in Burma, local contacts driven more by self-interest than by nationalistic fervor. He was most enchanted with my account of Chopstick Charlie and his many-tentacled empire."

"Ummm."

"And Cheng Shih ... and the chance of opening China, and maybe even Japan, to English influence and trade. It is most attractive to a man like Peel."

"Does he know it is me back here on British soil proposing all this?"

"I believe he suspects, Miss," says Higgins. "And if I may say so, you have proven very valuable to him in the past. It might be well to pursue that line. I know that if you were to manage to find him a way back to his former position as head of Naval Intelligence under the First Lord, he would be most ... appreciative."

I nod, taking this in.

"And did you meet with Dr. Sebastian?"

He nods in turn, saying nothing.

"Then you know about the Highwayman of Blackheath Road?" I say.

"Indeed, Miss. A most unfortunate circumstance. Mr. Fletcher must be quite beside himself."

"Um, rather," I say, gathering my thoughts.

"I spent the night at Dr. Sebastian's. He was quite the generous host. We talked of many things, some of which I think will be to your benefit."

"Good," I say, shaking myself out of my reverie. "I myself spent the night in the company of my dear Captain Lord Richard Allen and—"

"Ha!" exults Joannie, her two forefingers again rubbing away and pointing up at me. "So
that's
where you were! 'In the company of...' right, in the
bed of
you mean."

I point my own forefinger down at her and say, "Out. You have your mission, Joannie. Now go do it."

She turns and heads for the door, well fitted out in her own black burglar gear. "Aye, aye, Captain!"

"And be careful! Stick to the rooftops!"

But she is gone.

I turn back to Higgins.

"And so how is our gallant and quite handsome Captain Lord Richard Allen?" asks Higgins, trying, unsuccessfully, to suppress a slight smile. Higgins, over the past few years, has given me counsel many times on matters political, financial, and social, but never on my own personal behavior in matters of ... well ... my affections for certain members of the male persuasion. Which is good, as I count it, since I do not think I would take advice in those matters. Certainly I haven't in the past, that's for sure. My senses tend to ... overwhelm me.

"He is well," I answer, all prim and proper. "He is quartered with his regiment at Whitehall. They expect to decamp shortly to Portugal under the command of Lord Wellesley ... Old Nosey, they call him."

"Ah, yes. That honored lord is supposed to possess quite a prodigious proboscis," Higgins says, and then sighs. "The awards and honors one wins hang upon the chest, and the fleeting fame that go with them, but a nose like that hangs upon the face for the rest of one's life. Pity, that."

"But while Richard is here, he places his men at our disposal. Within reason, of course. Certainly he would never do anything treasonous, or dishonorable. But within those bounds..."

"Ah. There's nothing like a company of mounted heavy cavalry at one's back, is there?"

"It can lend a measure of comfort, yes," I say. "So what's your next move, Higgins?"

"Well, tomorrow I must go to Blackheath. Dr. Sebastian informs me that there are many low and disreputable inns along Blackheath Road and I mean to check them out. I am sure there will be news of Mr. Fletcher there. So I shall prepare—"

"Dear Higgins," I say, placing my hand upon his arm and smiling. "The people in those places would take you for a copper in a moment. Or at least a swell, a nob, and you would get neither information nor a safe way out. Nay, better that I should go with Liam Delaney. Both of us know how to look rough and low. Nay, best for you to pursue your aims through the perilous alleys of British Intelligence."

Higgins nods ruefully, seeing the wisdom of that. "And tonight?"

"Tonight? Well, I am having dinner this evening with Lord Allen."

"Oh? Will it be here? What shall we serve? Shall I turn back the bed?"

"No," I say, giving him a stern look. "He says he will take me to a place called the Cockpit. It is close by Whitehall."

"Forgive me, Miss, but given the name, it sounds rather like a brothel."

"It is not, O Suspicious One. It is a famous coffeehouse, I am told."

"Where more than coffee is served..."

"Aye. Richard informs me that it is an establishment where anything goes—it is not cheap, and the food is very good. The sporting crowd, the
ton,
goes there, and no telling whom one might meet—highborn or low. It is a place where a gent meets his friends on a level ground, and where one might take a lady ... who might, or might not, be one's wife."

"Aha."

"And he says we just might meet someone who could do us some good in the British Museum line."

"Umm. So what shall you wear? The Empire white, the Marie Antoinette blue, the—"

"I believe, dear Higgins," I say, rising and stretching my arms above my head. "Tonight, I shall go ... exotic."

As they had promised, John Thomas and Finn McGee returned at six and Richard Allen arrived by coach shortly thereafter. He was met at the gangway by Higgins, Davy, and Tink, all of whom were known to him from our treasure hunting expedition in the Caribbean. Hearty greetings were exchanged—brothers-in-arms, and all that. As Richard was dressed in his full red-coated regimentals, introductions to my good Irish Captain Liam Delaney were somewhat stiff but cordial, I later learned.

The lads then left the
Nancy B.
and headed off for some liberty of their own. They were dressed in the fine Spanish Naval Officers uniforms they had bought in Havana last year and they looked splendid.

"You two be good now," I had warned earlier in my cabin as I gave them a bit of a brush and some good advice. "And find out what you can about the Highwayman." I figure Dr. Sebastian has his ways of finding out things and these boys have theirs. 'Twas plain they intended to hit every low dive within two miles, and who knows what they'd discover?

Ravi, dressed in his loose trousers and white turban, then escorted Captain Lord Richard Allen down into the cabin where awaited the Dragon Lady, Western Edition, lurking in her lair.

"So what do you think, Lord Allen? Will this serve?"

I give a bit of a pirouette and hold my Chinese fan in front of the lower part of my face, my kohl-darkened eyes peeking out above. "You like, Ree-chard-san?"

He looks around my cabin, noticing, I believe, the new things I have acquired since last he was in this room—the little statue of Ganesh, for instance, that I had gotten in India. There is a little earthenware bowl in front of the jolly elephant god, and incense smolders within. My Chinese sword and sheath hang on the back wall next to Esprit, the sword given to me by my fallen comrade Bardot. And on the top of my bureau, my Golden Buddha smiles upon all within. Some frankincense burns in front of him, too. Ravi, who tends to these little fragrant offerings, is a committed Hindu, but he does try to cover all bases in the way of religion. I don't blame him for that, being something of a pantheist myself.
Yes, Father Neptune, I hear you rumbling below...
Then, of course, there is my Jolly Roger flag draped over
that
wall, and my Golden Dragon pennant displayed over there ... musical instruments all over the place ... and, of course, there's my bed—that noble structure that lies over there. Yes, his eyes play over it, but he says nothing of an amorous nature—he is a gentleman, after all.

Ravi pulls out a chair for Captain Allen and he rakes his sword to the side and sits. Ravi darts out of the room.

"Ah, yes, that simple little Indian girl I met in the forests of America ... hmmm..."

"You have learned that appearances can be deceptive, milord, and I am glad to have been a helpful teacher as regards that part of your education," I simper. "Anyway, am I properly dressed for this Cockpit?"

I have on my rich silk sarong, shimmering all blue and gold, given to me by Sidrah of the House of Chen. It is wrapped tight about my bottom and goes up to wind about my chest, leaving my belly bare. My bellybutton proudly wears an emerald taken from the treasure trove below. Hey, who could possibly think that Jacky Faber, she of the Rooster Charlie Gang and of the pirate ship
Emerald
and the
Belle of the Golden West,
yes, and even the
Santa Magdalena
salvage crew, could give
all
that treasure to some dry old museum.
Yeah, right ... There's enough to go around,
I say. Even Ravi has a nice little red ruby stuck up on the front of his turban, of which he is most proud.

I wear the silk robe that Cheng Shih gave me, the one with the Golden Dragon on the back, over the sarong for a bit of modesty. As for my hair, I have on my brunette wig, which Higgins has pinned up with some really cunningly carved ivory pins, also from the treasure stash, to look a lot like the hairdos of Oriental women. We have seen pictures of them in the papers that protect the porcelain china that comes from the East. Some of the wrappings have lovely, delicate images on them—wood engravings, we think—and that's how we know what their ladies look like. They are very lovely, and I have saved many of the thin tissuey prints, pressing them in a heavy book. If I ever have a house, I shall frame them up for all to admire.

"Yes, Princess, I believe it will serve quite well," he says, smiling widely. "Now, why don't you come over here and sit on my lap and we will discuss plans for the evening?"

Ravi comes back into the cabin, bearing a tray with a bottle and two glasses upon it. Ravi sets it down on the table and pours the golden Porto wine.

"A glass with you, Sir, as preface to what promises to be a lovely evening. I will, however, forego the pleasure of your lap, for now."

"Ah, Princess, you slay me, you really do. Where did you learn to talk like that?"

"I have had many teachers, of whom you are one," I say, taking a glass and holding it up to him in salute.

"Well, I am honored to be named as such," he says, grasping the stem of his glass and clinking it against mine. Then he drinks from it. "Ummm. That is good."

"Yes. It is from the Douro Valley in Portugal, but we took it from a Spanish merchant on our way here from the East," I say. "It seems both our armament and our resolve were greater than his. Too bad for him that we did not know that the Spanish were once again our allies."

"Well, serves the Spanish right for being so slow coming aboard." He laughs. "I guess Napoleon's naming his brother as King of Spain was the last straw for the Dons."

Allen drains the glass and fishes out a cheroot from his vest and puts it to his lips. Ravi is right there with a glowing taper from the incense bowl.

He holds it to the cigar and Richard sucks deep on the vile weed. Soon smoke swirls about his head. Then he speaks—not to me but to Ravi.

"
Shukriya, larka.
" Then he adds in English, "Where do you come from?"

Ravi, a bit startled upon hearing a bit of Urdu spoken, answers, "From Bombay, Sahib All-en wallah."

I had forgotten that Lord Allen had served in India.

"So where did you get the little wog?" asks Richard of me.

"In India ... Bombay,
Mr.
Allen," I reply, slightly huffily. "His name is not 'wog' but rather Ravi, which means 'Sun,' which suits him. He has proven most valuable to me and I love him very much."

"Oh, do get down from your high horse, Princess, as it does not suit you," he says, ruffling Ravi's black locks. "He seems a fine fellow to me, and if you like him, so will I. Now, I believe it is time we are off to the Cockpit."

Our coach draws up to the entrance of the place and I am handed out by a footman. I place my hand on Richard's arm and allow myself to be led in. Covering all my Oriental gear, I wear a light cloak and hood, as my escort thought it best that I save some of the surprise for later, and I agree. After all, one must think about timing in any theatrical enterprise.

We go in, and my senses are immediately assaulted by the tobacco fumes that lie in dense layers all about the place. In what's left of the air that exists in the room, there is the smell, too, of perfume and liquor, along with beer and ale, as well as sweat and clothes that need a bit of cleansing. The lighting is mostly from candles placed in front of enclosed booths wherein clusters of people huddle and laugh and raise toasts together in what appears to be great conviviality.