The Palace of Heavenly Pleasure (51 page)

Iron Man looked nervously to his sides, and up at the figure of Guandi, whose cloak was now swirling in the breeze and who was raising his own great axe above his head. Hesitantly Iron Man raised his axe into the same position. Slowly at first, but growing more confident with every turn, he swung it around his head in great arcs. He hurled the axe into the air with one hand and caught it effortlessly with the other. Then he was thrusting forward and lunging back, the haft twisting and turning round his body like a baton. Imperceptibly Iron Man had begun to dance. His body was shaking as if from an internal force, while his feet leaped and kicked with an elegance that seemed incongruous in such a bulk. The two blades of the axe spun on the axis of the haft, flashing red reflections from the firelight round the glade. As the speed and the violence of his movements increased, Iron Man made whooping shouts on his thrusts. The Mandarin was amazed at how fast he was moving. This was martial arts of an advanced skill.

The priest had turned to the war god again with his arms upraised. There was a great murmur from the ranks of the Boxers. The figure of Guandi and his horse seemed to be growing and fading at the same time; green smoke swirled around his huge frame. Then he was gone. Where there had stood a horse and a god, now there was an empty black space. At that moment, Iron Man stopped dead, caught in mid-movement, one leg on the ground, the other bent, axe above his head; he stood like a temple statue. The Mandarin stared. It was still Iron Man. There were the shaggy brows, the rough beard, the flat cheeks, but the expression had altered imperceptibly, and what he saw was the fierce and unmistakable scowl of Guandi.

‘Did you see that? Did you see that?' Tang Dexin was whimpering.

There were roars from the Boxers: ‘Guandi! Guandi!' There was an excited movement among the ranks as all strained to see what transformation had occurred before their eyes.

Slowly Iron Man straightened his legs, brought the axe to his shoulder, and turned to face the ranks. He seemed to stand taller and to move with a grace that was not his own. He raised the axe above his head and crashed it to the ground so that one of the heads was fully buried in the grass. ‘Exterminate the foreigners and save the Ch'ing!' he roared, and the whole crowd followed the chant.

He and the Boxer priest moved together among the ranks and companies, examining the excited recruits. They peered closely into men's faces and when they seemed satisfied they would pull out a candidate from among them. Most of the young men so picked stepped forward eagerly, and kowtowed energetically behind the priest and Iron Man as their weapons were proffered to whatever god had been chosen for them. Soon the whole glade was filled with figures twirling and dancing to the frantic beat of the drums and whatever internal madnesses had been unleashed inside them. And one by one the figures on the cloud faded and disappeared and there on the ground would be another rigid possessed statue where a moment before there had been a wild martial artist in a trance; a statue that, after a moment, would move and walk among the Boxers with the characteristics of the god into whom he had been transformed.

Tang Dexin was rocking his narrow shoulders back and forth in his furs, giggling uncontrollably now. ‘I told you, Da Ren. I told you, Da Ren. You wanted guns for your precious soldiers, I give you a militia led by the gods!'

‘Major Lin!' the Mandarin called. ‘Major Lin!'

‘Here, Da Ren.' It took him a moment to come to attention, and it was a dazed reply. Like the others he had been hypnotised by the spectacle.

‘If you are indeed a soldier, get your troops together now and form around us. And remember what I told you, we are dealing with men.'

‘But, Da Ren, you saw—'

‘I saw men, Major. Nothing more. Now quietly gather your troops. We are leaving this place. In good order, I hope.'

‘Da Ren!' Lin bowed curtly, and ran back to his troopers, who were huddled around their horses' heads muttering and pointing. The Mandarin turned, and his heart stopped when he saw Major Lin gesticulating with one of the sergeants who was waving his carbine with a wild face and angry eyes. He held his breath when Lin pushed his pistol into the man's forehead, and exhaled with relief after what seemed to be an age, during which the man shuddered, came to his senses and saluted his officer. Good. Lin knew his soldiers. The two of them should be enough to get the rest back into order. It should not take long. He had feared that he might already have lost them to the Boxers. He turned to the gibbering Tang Dexin. ‘So Iron Man is to lead a patriotic militia financed by the Black Sticks?'

‘The god Guandi will lead the militia, Da Ren. You saw him descend.'

‘And when am I to be favoured by the arrival of this divine assistance in Shishan?'

‘When it is time, Da Ren. The gods will choose the propitious moment to rid the country of the barbarians. Already they have graced the Imperial Court with wisdom. It will not be long now. But you must prepare for the day.' Tang leaned forward and grabbed the Mandarin's sleeve. ‘You are still the Tao Tai, Da Ren. Yours is the authority. But we will be there for you. I knew that you would support us when you saw.'

‘Exterminate the foreigners! Save the Ch'ing!' was the cry from all around them. The Mandarin saw that the Boxer priest and Iron Man, and the others selected to be leaders in the bizarre ceremony, were moving back towards them with purposeful strides.

‘They've become invincible, you see, Da Ren.' Tang Dexin was giggling. ‘Can't kill a god. Not with one of those foreign toys. You see, there's no need to buy guns any more. Shall I show you? I think I should show you.' He reached inside his fur and pulled out a small pistol. ‘Why don't you take a shot at Iron Man Wang now? See what it will do. Don't worry, it won't hurt him. That's the point. Oh, don't you want to try? Then let me.'

‘Sit down, Tang Lao, if you wish to live.'

But Tang Dexin, a wild smile on his face, had risen cheerfully to his feet and was stumbling towards the approaching group, the pistol outstretched. ‘Iron Man, my lord Guandi, we must still demonstrate your invulnerability to the da ren. I would be so honoured.'

It happened very quickly. The Boxer priest stopped and seemed to sniff the air; then he pointed his finger at Tang Dexin, who cowered backwards. As he did so, as if by involuntary action, the gun fired, twice. The Mandarin saw that it was still pointed directly at Iron Man Wang, and at almost point-blank range, but the bandit did not flinch, and continued to stride forward in his new godly gait. But as he did so, he lifted his axe to his shoulders, and swung with both arms. Tang Dexin's head bounced off his body, and the fur cloak subsided slowly to the ground. There was a shout of triumph from the Boxers.

‘Guandi! Guandi.'

The little boy who tended the Boxer priest ran forward, and picked up the white pigtailed head before it had fully rolled. He gave it to the priest who held it high. Iron Man Wang leaned on his axe. The Boxers shouted their slogans, rattling their spears, waving their banners. Some of the other newly made gods inspected the head dispassionately. One of them, a sour-faced, pockmarked youth, who was familiar to the Mandarin although he could not place where he had seen him, took the head, his own face twisting into an evil smile—it seemed of triumph—then he dropped the head on his foot and kicked it high over the crowd of Boxers, where it was caught with shouts and hurled from hand to hand.

‘Exterminate the foreigners! Save the Ch'ing.' The chant had become an insistent chorus, as loud as the drums.

‘Da Ren!' He somehow heard the voice shouting into his ear. ‘Your horse! Quickly!'

Automatically he felt for the bridle and swung himself into the saddle, his eyes not leaving the knot of men. The blind priest's sightless eyes bored into him. The young, sour-faced Boxer captain grinned. Iron Man leaned balefully on his axe. ‘Tao Tai, you may leave,' he said, ‘but you will be ready for me when it is time to kill the foreigners.'

The Mandarin swung his horse and followed Major Lin and the troop at a gallop out of the glade. Suddenly and inconsequentially, he remembered where he had last seen that sour-faced young man. He had been the witness in the trial of the doctor's cook.

*   *   *

Finally the doctor went to his tent. The drums were still beating far away in the forest. He lay fully clothed on his camp-bed, and dozed fretfully, but his mind was churning and deep sleep would not come. In a half-dream he rehearsed over and over again a conversation with Nellie, somehow set in Ah Lee's kitchen, with the cook and Ah Sun in the background plucking chickens and scattering feathers; he was trying hard to explain to her why Henry Manners was to become their new son-in-law and marry Jenny once the doctor had bought a battleship and a field gun, and meanwhile Helen Frances must be kept on her pills … but Nellie was being typically obdurate, showing not the slightest sympathy for his difficult position …

He started awake. There was the sound of hoofs and the panting of horses outside the tent. He recognised the Mandarin's voice and Manners's reply. Blearily he raised his pocket watch to the night lantern and peered at the dial. It was four o'clock in the morning. What were they doing at this time of the night? As quietly as he could he crept to the tent flap and peered outside. The Mandarin was on his horse, a blanket draped over his shoulders, and Manners, wearing nothing more than long johns (he must have been roused from his bed), was standing beside him. They had obviously just concluded whatever conversation they had been having. Manners stretched out his hand. The Mandarin, seeming preoccupied, considered for a while, then reached out with his own and briefly returned the Englishman's handshake. Then immediately he turned his horse away and moved out of the clearing at a slow walk.

The doctor expected Manners to return to his own tent, but instead he walked to where Colonel Taro had pitched his. He paused a long moment there. The doctor waited for him to wake the Japanese and tell him whatever news he had heard, but Manners seemed to reconsider, yawned, stretched—then slowly made his way towards his own tent. To do so he had to pass Helen Frances's. Again he stopped. The doctor, watching, felt a flutter of fear in his stomach. Manners stood by the tent door irresolutely. He turned to go. Then sharply he called out Helen Frances's name—once only—and waited. There was a long, long silence, and Airton at last began to breathe again; she had not heard him in her deep sleep. Then he saw the door flap move and a haggard, tear-streaked face framed in red hair appeared, shining wraithlike in the starlight. Two white arms snaked out, drawing Manners into their embrace, and the two disappeared into the darkness of the tent.

The doctor slumped on his washing stool and put his head into his hands.

*   *   *

‘I thought you'd died,' she said, after their lovemaking, feeling his head in the familiar position on her breast. ‘I thought that the bear had killed you.'

‘Can you forgive me,' he said, nuzzling her, ‘for trying to show off to you?'

‘You weren't doing it for me. I saw the glint in your eyes when you were talking to the Mandarin. You'll always be selfish and follow your own way. And I'll love you anyway. See what you've made me. Do you care?'

Henry sighed, and rolled away so that he was lying on his back.

‘Don't stop,' she said softly. ‘It's been so long since you touched me.'

He slipped his hands under her arms in a tight embrace. ‘You have to believe in me,' he said urgently, his eyes staring into hers. ‘It's not as it seems…'

‘Yes, I know. You've said that before. If only I really knew … But I don't care, Henry, what your secrets are. It doesn't matter. Really. I'll be leaving soon anyway. I can't hide things here much longer. I think that Nellie woman suspects already.'

‘Nobody suspects us,' Henry murmured, kissing her. ‘Trust me.'

‘Trust you?' She pushed him away, then leaned over him, a strange smile on her face. ‘Trust you?' She laughed shortly—a hard, bitter laugh. She shook her head. ‘It's Tom I feel sorry for. That's obviously over, isn't it? Anyway, I don't deserve him. I thought I'd make for Shanghai. I'm told people can disappear there—among the opium dens.'

‘Oh, God, Helen Frances, you're not telling me you still…?'

‘You think I just gave up up when I left? Oh, no, Henry. Why do you think I work in the hospital? In the opium ward? Don't worry. I enjoy my … habit. It's about the only thing I have left that reminds me of you.'

‘What have I done to you?' whispered Henry.

‘Used me,' she said, kissing him. ‘But I told you, it doesn't matter. That's you. And me, for that matter. I'm to blame as much as you are. More so.' She smiled down at Henry, who was breathing heavily, his mouth twisting as though unsure what to do or say. She used one hand gently to straighten his hair, the other to stroke his chest. ‘You could take me away with you,' she said, in a small voice. ‘I'd settle for the half-decent thing not the whole.'

‘I—I can't leave now,' he muttered. He gazed at her wildly. ‘I can't.'

She laughed and flopped on to her back, stretching her arms.

‘Of course you can't,' she said. ‘Railways,' she added. ‘So important. The doctor thinks they'll bring the Chinese to Jesus. Is that what you're doing as well? Bringing Chinese to Jesus?'

‘Helen Frances, dearest, I promise you … I'll think of something … Please don't…'

But she put a finger first to his lips, then she covered his mouth with her own, and then she lowered herself on to him and told him to love her again.

*   *   *

Far away in Tsitsihar, in the last cold darkness before morning, Frank Delamere, Lu Jincai and Tom Cabot were checking the loading of the silver chests on to their wagons while Mr Ding fussed beside them offering well-meant but largely unhelpful suggestions.