The Call of the Thunder Dragon (63 page)

“I was saying how your daughter’s
story...”

“Bi Zui! Shut up! Tell the truth.
Man, alive! Zam is nothing but trouble. Hardly a damn Princess at
all! I am just a Lord? She’s a tom boy, running around one minute
dancing the next, then climbing the bloody walls! When she was old
enough, she would ride horses up the mountain or into the forest
and then get stuck in trees! She wanted what wasn’t hers, she
wailed for more all the time, chased boys and she was a runaway!
Always was!

“She’s disappeared two or three
times before, but only for day or two at the most. Sometimes some
local family spots her and brings her back out of fear of me. Zam
was gone four months and half months this time! Did she really want
to come back to me?”

“Yes, I believe she did. She
talked about nothing else, other than what Popa liked about this,
or what Popa liked about that. Made me feel guilty for, well... you
I suppose!”

“Oh yes! It is painful to be
separated from your child! Did you love her?” Lang’s eyebrows rose,
his black beard and hair dripping.

“Yes, I did. It didn’t matter
that I didn’t know the truth, all this business about Jampa the
chamberlain made no sense to me? I found her crying on the top of a
hill with a hundred weight of tea and rice wine and enough gold and
jewels to retire on! And all she wanted to do was go home to her
Popa! I couldn’t figure it out?”

Lang slapped Falstaff’s back.

“Thank you, my son!” He declared
and scooped him up, hugging him so he was lifted out of the water
and squeezed the breath out of him with his enthusiasm.

“It was nothing really.” Falstaff
gasped for air, his face against the monstrous hairy chest. He fell
back swamped by hot water. He started choking on the green leaves.
Lang smacked his back as he bobbed up. Then lifted him one handed
out of the bath onto the cobbles.

“How about another cup of Ara
before we walk back?” Lang boomed.

Falstaff was pleased to find his
clothes waiting folded warm and dry by the fireplace. Lang started
frowning, he was thinking something over in his great big head. He
growled to himself and led Falstaff around the hall inside and out.
Pointing at the architecture and carved corbels and eves, with
hardly much interest himself, apparently he was delaying saying
something to Falstaff.

Lang had just suggested taking
Falstaff to see the stables when Falstaff interrupted Lang’s
mumbling. He had to know where Zam was.

“What’s keeping Zam? Is she
alright?” Falstaff asked starting to become alarmed.

A monk stepped from the shadow of
the wall. “Perhaps if the gentleman is taken up to the hall before
he sees Mistress Karma. Matters of conscience may be settled there
better than here?”

“Alright take him up as far as
the path.” Lang leaned forward and whispered to the monk.

Falstaff heard his chest rumble,
but couldn’t make out the sound.

“This way,” he pointed. “I have
horses outside.” The old monk led Falstaff away.

Falstaff started to follow, he
turned back to ask Lang about his horse, wondering what size beast
could carry him, but the giant was gone. Alone he followed the monk
up the mountain path.

It was a bright afternoon, the
wind was calm, barely stirring the grass by the side the path. The
lake, the Ox sand lake twinkled in the sun. Falstaff looked along
its shore, looking down to where it met the river. In amongst the
trees, he saw a tail. The tail of an aeroplane; a Douglas
Dolphin.

His heart stopped.

“By Thunder you Bastard! Hell and
damnation! Where are you taking me!” Falstaff jumped off the horse
and stormed up to the monk shaking his fist.

“I am taking you to the hall up
there, just beyond the next rise. It is not used now, this village
is empty. But sometimes the hall is good for guests?” The monk said
mildly.

Falstaff cursed again under his
breath. The monk was being too damn literal. “Empty, why here then?
And no riddles!”

The monk matter-of-factly turned
and walked away. Unhitching the load on the second horse. Falstaff
noticed for the first time that it was his bags, including the
Goemon’s sword.

“Oi! Where are you going!”
Falstaff pulled at the monk’s arm.

“The answer to your question lies
up in that hall. There is only what you have brought with you!” The
monk mounted and started galloping away.

A rifle shot rang out, instantly
Falstaff dived to the ground. The sound of the hoofs beats died
away, the monk leading both horses out of his reach.

“Colonel-Sama!” One of the
troopers ran in. “He’s here! They left him!”

The Colonel having heard the shot
was already on his feet.

“I tried to get the man with the
horses, but he was too fast Colonel-Sama!” the trooper gasped.

“What do you mean too fast?
Where’s Falstaff? Where did they leave him?” Soujiro asked.

“He’s coming up the hill now!”
Keiko lowered his field glasses. “He appears to be still
armed.”

“What? The deal was he’d be
brought in chains! I’ll give that monster Lang Druk pain for this!”
Haga-Jin fumed. It was not how he imagined it would be. Whether or
not, he had actually asked for chains he was still outraged. He
ground his teeth exasperated.

“Move the machine gun out!”
Soujiro roared, he grabbed the trooper’s arm and together they
lifted and dragged the heavy machine gun to the door on its
frame.

“Pin him down, stop him from
escaping!”

Falstaff advanced a short
distance to get the lay of the land. There was no sign of the
shooter. He could see the old hall now. The doors of the hall burst
open, he dived into the grass once more, the summit of the hill in
front of him ripped up throwing earth and clods of grass into the
around him.

He groped in his pocket for a
cord, finding it he opened his holster and took out his Webley,
threading the cord through the ring on the revolver's butt. He
swung the cord over his head and dropped the revolver into the
breast pocket of his leather jacket. Next he pulled out the Red
nine, with a full twenty-round magazine slotted in place he scanned
the immediate horizon carefully.

As he crept forward, he could see
four figures around the heavy machine gun in the door of the
hall.

“That’s a bit much!” He said out
loud. “I guess they don’t mind calling attention to themselves!”
Then he remembered what the monk said, this village had long been
empty.

He could run back to Lang and ask
for help, but somehow he got the idea that this is what had been
planned all along. If he went back, the Japanese would follow.
Lang, Zam or anyone might get hurt. Lang might turn on him. Either
way, if he went back and then, Zam might be hurt.

Falstaff slid over the grass and
down the side of a steep gully, stopping himself before he reached
the bottom he crossed over and ran up the other side of the gulley.
He was out of breath before he reached the top. He traversed a
small distance and was now near the stone shells of empty buildings
he’d spotted before.

Peering cautiously around the
stonework, he could see clearly a paratrooper manning the gun and
the captain beside him. Just inside the hall were two other figures
pacing about.

Taking a deep breath, he counted.
Four men, four shots, there would be no time for more. ‘Don’t think
about what you are going to do’, he remembered Fairbairn and Sykes
lecturing him on the need for surprise. They both had developed a
set of skills for the Shanghai police, so that the men in police
uniform could survive on the streets of Shanghai. Fairbairn, he
thought was one of the most illustrious gentleman or soldiers he’d
ever meant; prepared to tell the army that they weren’t teaching
men to shoot properly and ready to go on and teach the army how to
fight dirty.

What were Sykes words? “Don’t
think, or you’ll die!’ They echoed in his mind. “Thanks a lot you
bloody lunatic!” Falstaff cursed. “Okay I’ll count to four and it
will all be over.”

Taking a deep breath, he charged
around the corner. He counted one, two. The Webley barking twice.
Running forward, he dropped to one knee, ready to take aim again.
He never got to three, before he had time to think he heard and
felt the sound of footsteps thundering hard on the ground behind
him.

He started to turn and glimpsed a
rifle butt swinging down towards his head.

Chapter Fourteen – Look back in Anger and Forward in
Fear

Captain Soujiro had been shot in
the chest. Beside him lay the one of his troopers. He looked him in
the eye and the soldier looked back at the blood pouring from his
wound. The soldier tried to reach the wound to stop the flow of
blood from his captain’s chest, then fell back.

“We failed, Captain-Sama,” He
whispered and died.

Captain Soujiro could only think
he had let the man down, the boy. The soldier who’d followed his
orders without question had now died, far any from home.

He would die himself in a few
seconds he knew it. What had their quest for revenge got them?
They’d known Falstaff was a good pilot. They had known he would
fight. Soujiro’s eyes filled with tears, he couldn’t feel any pain.
He couldn’t feel anything. They should have known. Taking revenge
on a soldier ready to fight them? Of course, they’d get hurt; he
was just carrying on the battle started by them.

Silently Soujiro let go of the
anger, the pointless revenge, his pain dissipated. The last second
before he had been hit flashed through his mind. He thought he’d
have longer. He expected to turn the machine gun and fire. Falstaff
had hit the trooper beside him first, then himself. Both in the
chest from over 50 metres with a revolver. What skill! He smiled,
to see such a master with his weapon. As a Japanese soldier, tested
by the ways of Bushido he saw such skill, a beautiful thing. He
wished he could see Falstaff’s face and tell him that, then he
died.

Falstaff felt the bucket of cold
water hit his back. He shivered. The water did nothing for the pain
on the side of his head. He found his hands bound behind his back.
He’d been stripped to his shirt and trousers. He glanced around
quickly, then let his eyes close. He heard men pacing around him.
He took a deep breath and decided to get up. He shuffled on to his
knees.

His head throbbed from the blow
from the rifle butt. Cautiously he looked around. His guns lay on
the table at the back of the room, too far to try and reach. The
door was barred, a heavy beam across it. He saw the bodies of two
men, a paratrooper and another, the captain whose name he’d never
known?

“John Falstaff Wild, you are
awake? I’ve been waiting.” Haga-Jin spoke clearly and calmly.

Falstaff looked up, number three
he reflected, first miss! It was the colonel, with a face like a
demon spirit drawn from the blazing fires of some foul hell. ‘Nice
Scar’ he observed silently.

Looking to his left, he counted
the fourth man, a civilian, dressed much like Falstaff, a pilot he
decided.

Not too surprised, he heard boots
on the wooden floor. He looked down at the brown leather army
boots. Another paratrooper he recognised, still holding his rifle,
the butt threatening.

‘Ah, another then... Number five?
He thought. That explains the bump on the head. I must get round to
telling Sykes about this, he’ll die laughing!’

“Nothing is amusing about the
situation Mr Falstaff!” The Colonel started to pace around him. “Or
do you prefer Flight Officer Wild? Or perhaps Captain Falstaff Sino
Nationalist Army? What were you in the Imperial Airways, hmm? Shall
I guess? Was it Radio operator or steward? You see we know almost
everything about you!”

“I’ll have the usual then…”
Falstaff grinned.

The Colonel spat, “Before you
die we will know a lot more! Bring me a drink!” He guzzled at the
cold tea offered by Keiko. “Put something on the fire. I prefer a
warm drink, don’t you Falstaff?”

Falstaff remained calm as he
could. Firstly, he hoped he might be lucky and Lang would break
down the doors and knock down the Japanese like skittles. He
thought about what the monk had said. Had it been about trouble
following him or he had brought it with him? Lang wasn’t going to
come, not after the display earlier with the heavy machine gun. He
guessed Lang wanted Falstaff and the Japanese wrapped up and
finished with and Falstaff was to finish the job for him. He was on
his own he realised grimly.

Falstaff wriggled his fingers,
the rope around his wrists digging into his skin. He squirmed
feeling his boots under him, there was no knife there this
time.

As if thinking the same thing.
Haga-Jin pointed to the table. “We would not be fooled twice! You
are so stupid, did you think you could get away with something like
that? This scar you have left upon my face is shameful!”

Falstaff raised his head to look
at the red scar from his eye down the face to the jaw. What was it
the fencing master at Harrow had said, the point always wins. I
should have stabbed the bugger Falstaff muttered.

The Colonel stepped forward
again. “First you will tell us where you came by this!”

There was a dull thud, Goemon’s
katana dropped at his knees.

“That is a Japanese sword. We
know the blade! Lieutenant Goemon’s sword. His kai-gunto! To have
killed a harded soldier like Goemon is one thing, but to steal his
sword, the soul of a Japanese warrior is another!” Haga-Jin
roared.

‘Crap!’ Falstaff thought, it just
gets worse and worse. Maybe if it goes on long enough, his father
would turn up as well and tell him what a fool he was for running
away and learning to fly against his wishes.

“Listen to me!” Roared Haga-Jin
him beating over the head with his katana, still sheathed in the
black saya.