The Concubine's Daughter (57 page)

He did not wait for a response, but called even louder as Siu-Sing lowered the instrument, rising from the stool. “Join us, Topaz—bring the
chi-chi
with you. I have entertainment of my own to amuse our honorable guests.”

Siu-Sing and Ruby were quick to obey, taking the chairs left vacant for them. Although Siu-Sing knew that she was now fully exposed, there was no sign of recognition from the silent figure of Ah-Keung. And even the shock of his sudden appearance seemed to fade in the presence of the man with sunlit hair.

“With respect, Mr. Ching, we have been sumptuously fed and enchantingly
entertained … could we perhaps move on to the business at hand?” Col o nel Pelham studied a gold fob watch as he spoke.

“This will take but a moment … a small display of our futile and pathetic powers.”

At the snap of Ching’s fingers, Ah-Keung stepped forward, striking a stance on widespread feet, knees bent, clenched fists drawn into his sides. He faced the six half-burned candles in their silver holder in the center of the table. Without warning, his fist struck out with whiplash speed to stop inches from the first candle, instantly extinguishing the flame; then repeated the feat so rapidly the six candles stood smoking faster than the eye could follow.

“The power of chi, gentlemen. Intrinsic energy developed beyond all accepted boundaries of physical potential.” The taipan chuckled. “Each punch was pulled four inches from the candle, yet its velocity put out the flame. If such a blow connected, it would deliver the force of one thousand pounds per square inch from a distance of six inches and at a speed undetectable to the eye.”

Ching clearly enjoyed the brief silence amid the wavering threads of smoke from the blackened wick and the acrid whiff of hot wax. “Ah-Keung is a man who says little but sees much. He is my driver and my—” he paused for a second, “personal assistant. He takes excellent care of both my car and my person.”

Ah-Keung had instantly stepped back to his position behind the taipan’s chair, his hands folded, his face an impenetrable mask, his eyes revealing nothing of thought or intention. Siu-Sing sat obediently, her eyes downcast, conscious only of the young British officer. It was as though the room were empty but for him.

“You are right, of course, Colonel—enough of entertainment. With the Japanese in Manchuria and now in Shanghai, there is little to stop them pushing south.” J. T. Ching held up his brandy balloon to be replenished. “We must be ready.” As he spoke, a large covered salver was placed in the center of the cleared table. The chef lifted the silver lid with a flourish, revealing a mound of golden confectionary neatly cut into squares.

“No banquet is complete without the rarest of all desserts.” Ching selected a piece with his silver chopsticks, chewing it with noisy relish, urging them to join him. “Such important proceedings must begin or be completed with the sharing of
mu-nai-yi
. You will have noted, gentlemen, that we poor Chinese have little taste for sweets … jam roly-poly, bread-and-butter pudding, or spotted dick, delights that I am sure you enjoy in the comfort of the officers’ mess.”

His guests each selected a square of what appeared to be a rich toffee or perhaps a fudge. He watched attentively as they consumed the morsels, nodding in appreciation of its taste and texture. Visibly delighted by their approval, Ching turned to Siu-Sing and Ruby.

“Help yourselves, ladies. It is unlikely that you will ever enjoy such delights again.”

“It is quite delicious,” Col o nel Pelham remarked politely, “but perhaps a little too rich for a man more accustomed to jam roly-poly.” The stiffness of his retort showed clearly that he found Ching’s words offensive.

Captain Hyde-Wilkins, who had remained noticeably silent throughout the proceedings, nodded his agreement. “May one ask what it contains? It has a flavor unlike any I have tasted … certainly not in the class of spotted dick.”

Ching beamed his satisfaction, his face blotched from too much brandy. He offered a piece to Siu-Sing with great ceremony, giving her little alternative but to accept. She found it pleasantly sweet … like caramel, with a strange aftertaste she could not define. When chewed, it slowly disintegrated on her tongue and was easily swallowed.

“
Mu-nai-yi
is otherwise known as ‘mellified man.’ In certain distant villages where poverty rules necessity, when a man dies of natural causes, preferably of great age and possessing an accumulation of wisdom, his family may sell the corpse to the local physician. If he so chooses, however, the man may pledge his cadaver at any age, or sell it from his deathbed, so that he can greet his ancestors knowing that he has benefited those left behind.” Hugely satisfied that he had the attention
of his audience, Jack Teagarden Ching reached for another morsel, holding it in his chopsticks as a rare gem might be held up to the light and scrutinized.

“It is a fascinating process,” he continued as though unaware of his guests’ discomfort. “The corpse is cleaned and then steeped in a stone casket filled with wild honey. The name and date are marked upon the sealed casket and it is stored in a cave, mysteriously selected for the purpose, and left untouched for no less than one hundred years.” Ching’s flushed face showed his mounting enjoyment of the moment. “The casket is then opened and
mu-nai-yi
—mellified man—is the result.”

He popped the portion into his mouth with an exaggerated display of appreciation. “You will be pleased to know, ladies and gentlemen, that the cadaver you now enjoy was in life an ancient sage of great renown.”

Before he had finished speaking, Siu-Sing felt herself choke on the half-eaten confection. The taipan seemed more amused than concerned. Captain Hyde-Wilkins was instantly on his feet with a clean napkin held to Siu-Sing’s mouth. Ah-Keung had moved to prevent him, but a flick of Ching’s head caused him to step back.

“I see our precious Topaz is more
gwai-lo
than Chinese … ,” Ching said with contempt and impatience. “There is no need for such attention, Captain; please do not concern yourself.”

In a sharper tone of voice, he addressed Tamiko-san, who had rushed to the table. “Get this slut out of here before she spews all over the table … and take the
chi-chi
with her. We have business to attend to.” Tamiko-san apologized profusely, hastening the girls from the banquet hall at the point of her fan.

Before Ching could say more, Captain Hyde-Wilkins tossed the napkin onto the table. “With your permission, Col o nel,” he said flatly, “may I strongly advise that while we are appreciative of our host’s hospitality and tolerant of his sense of humor, the serious matter of extending our border patrols and strengthening our defense would be better discussed at another time and place? Perhaps with more attention paid to the enemy advance and less to an excess of food and drink.”

Ah-Keung’s folded hands parted and his stance grew alert. He took one small step closer to the adjutant, his eyes returning the cold blue stare.

Ching dropped his patronizing manner. “You may leave us, Ah-Keung. I apologize, gentlemen. You are right—let us discuss our business.” Ching led the British officers to the comfort of divans, his manner suddenly businesslike.

“For many years, gentlemen, my company has traded with the Japanese. I have many friends in Tokyo, and they have made me a proposition, which I now put to you. As you know, Japanese forces under General Jiro Toshido are advancing on Hong Kong.”

He smirked. “They are in no hurry … Hong Kong will not go anywhere. My associates in Tokyo have proved that to stand against them is futile. Many thousands of Chinese are dead because they resisted the Imperial Japanese shock troops.”

“Correction, Mr. Ching,” said the captain. “They were defenseless Tanka boat people and Hakka peasants trying to protect their homes and families. The Japanese slaughtered them.”

Ching lifted his hands in a gesture of acceptance. “My apologies. As you know, I am a great believer in British diplomacy; I wear this medal with pride.” The officers were well aware that J. T. Ching had been awarded the Order of the British Empire for his philanthropic services to the colony. He was not the only rich Chinese to “buy” his OBE.

“I am also a realist, gentlemen,” Ching went on. “We do not want such a tragedy to take place on our soil.”

“What are you proposing, sir?” Col o nel Pelham demanded. “Let us get to the point of this meeting.”

Ching poured himself another brandy. “Very well, Col o nel.” He rolled the liquor in its glass, lifting it to sniff the bouquet. “General Toshido, I understand, is an honorable man. He has given his word that there will be no bloodshed if his troops are allowed to cross the border without re sis tance, to march through the New Territories into Kowloon, and occupy Hong Kong Island.”

Colonel Pelham and Captain Hyde-Wilkins were quickly on their
feet. “You are asking me to have my forces lay down their arms … to surrender Hong Kong without re sis tance?” the col o nel said in disbelief. “You are a traitor, sir, as well as a bore. I shall see that you are treated as such.”

Ching remained seated, his florid face quivering with suppressed fury. “No, Col o nel, I am Chinese, and do not wish my people to be slaughtered to save a British colony.” He raised his glass in a mock toast. “Die at the border if you must, gentlemen, but the Chinese are not interested in your stuttering king or his mealy-mouthed
tai-tai
.” He ripped the medal from his chest and flung it at their feet.

Colonel Pelham nodded his head curtly. “We thank you for a most interesting evening and apologize for an early departure. You will hear from Government House in the morning. Good night, Mister Ching.”

“As you wish, Col o nel.” The taipan lifted his glass in mock salute. “The Imperial Japanese Army is on its way, with nothing to stop them but the rabble gathered around the traitor Chiang-Kai-Shek, or the starving Communists who die like flies around an empty pot.” He rose unsteadily to his feet, the brandy balloon held high. “Long live the British Empire.”

Back at the Japanese-style lodge, Siu-Sing moved quickly. Tamiko-san had turned on Siu-Sing in fury as soon as the taipan’s guests had departed. “That you should puke on such a priceless delicacy has taken all face from this establishment. Could you not have swallowed it and smiled? Instead, you have made a fool of him before his honored guests. That the
gwai-lo
soldier has laid his paws on you may cause him to reject you.”

“I am sorry, Gracious Mother; I had not eaten human remains before.”

The Golden One waved aside any excuses with contempt. “When he retires, see to it that you show him all respect; say that you were unwell and beg his forgiveness. Do whatever he requires … or I will personally return you to Fan-Lu-Wei and the pigs of Double Happiness.”

Siu-Sing had watched the staff car drive off, the pennants of the colonial government and the regiment fluttering as it disappeared through
the wide-open moon gates. The shock of Ching’s association with Ah-Keung confirmed the necessity of leaving at once. That Ah-Keung had shown no sign of recognition meant nothing; he was disciplined enough not to show his hand or make a move until it suited him.

The taipan’s limousine remained in the garage, suggesting that the Forceful One would be quartered in the servants’ wing for the night, and his master would soon be escorted to the lodge.

When the taipan appeared an hour later, Siu-Sing was ready, a bath drawn and the accoutrements of comfort and the ultimate escape at hand. Too much brandy had taken the sting from Ching’s humor and much of the sense from his speech. He mumbled curses against the British imperialists and spoke of the Japanese as conquering heroes.

He said nothing of the evening’s events, and under her ministrations was soon asleep. She had been careful to see that his pipe was a strong one, that he would not return from the Emperor’s Garden for many hours into the following day.

Siu-Sing changed into the simplest of
sam-foos
. Careful not to attract attention to herself, she scrubbed her face clean of makeup and plaited her hair into a single braid like any
mooi-jai
.

The Tanka sling fastened about her, the
er-hu
slung across her shoulder, she placed the topaz on the night table beside his bedside, and silently left the lodge, keeping to the moon-etched shadows until she reached the window of Ruby’s room.

T
he Nine Dragons Teahouse
and Ballroom was the biggest and grandest of its kind in downtown Hong Kong. Buried in the neon jungle of Wan-Chai, the infamous red-light district, it lured its customers with a gigantic pink and blue sign on which nine cavorting dragons chased each other up one side of the building and down the other in a crackling blaze of electricity.

Occupying the tallest and most elaborate building on Lockhart Road, it was a restaurant, ballroom, brothel, and casino under one roof. The lower floor was the traditional tea house, patronized by those who walked their caged songbirds each morning to take exercise in Victoria Park, then met for
yum-cha
. At midday, dim sum girls with trays and trolleys of steaming delicacies in bamboo containers roamed among the tables, calling out their wares in loud, singsong voices.