The Mark of the Golden Dragon (12 page)

I have perceived that Sidrah is spoiled rotten and always gets her way with her indulgent father, and that, for me, is a good thing. Yes, Sidrah and I have become very good friends.

"Right, Charlie, old top," I say.

"This poor Chinaman perceives a certain lack of respect from an honored guest toward her host," remarks Charlie, mock-offended.

"Ah, Cholly Pops, ye knows we loves ye," says I, planting a kiss of my own on his other smooth cheek.

"Ummm."

"It is a calm day and we shall be quite safe. We are never more than a hundred yards from land in water scarce over our heads. Nothing could possibly happen ... and you don't even have to send the two thugs with us."

But I know he will.

It has been several weeks since my arrival here, and I have been accorded a measure of freedom. Sidrah has been allowed to show me about the city—and it is, indeed, a wondrous place, with its golden pagodas and statues and, yes, shops. True, we are always accompanied by a couple of bodyguards who seem to have two main missions: the first being to protect Sidrah's body from harm and the second being to ensure that my own dear body comes back to the House of Chops, as Charlie has come to consider that particular body somewhat valuable, too. To further that end, Ravi is kept from going with us—in fact, there is a slender but strong-looking chain about his ankle, the other end being attached to the wall, should the lad think of making a run for it.

I have duties, as does Ravi, and we are kept quite busy. With five languages between us, we have proved quite useful to the empire of Chopstick Charlie. Only this morning I had helped to iron out some differences between a very angry Spanish captain and the House of Chen. All parted on good terms ... Charlie's terms, to be sure, but finally acceptable to all concerned.

And yesterday I had sat with him in his records room, where accountants pored over ledgers, adding and subtracting columns of figures, just like in London. Charlie has quite the operation, I have discovered, and I have continued to press my case—my plan, as it were—to do Charlie some good, and to get me out of this part of the world. Although I ran my mouth off quite a bit that first day, thanks to that evil saki, I think my idea of bearing some of Charlie's treasure as gifts to King George is a good one. Chops has got the money, the booty, the ships, and the influence. He is my way out of here and back to where I came from. I know that for certain.

"If you keep me here, what have you got?" I ask now. "Just a scrawny girl who can speak several languages."

"Yes, and one who is mildly amusing and who graces my table with her charm and her musical ability," says Charlie, chuckling.

"But if you help me return to Europe, not only will I get you into the good graces of the British Foreign Service, but I'll also make sure that you are designated as our main contact in the East for Faber Shipping Worldwide. We're planning to open up this area of the world for trade with America. That was decided at the last board meeting. And China, too ... Don't forget, my ships have guarantees of safe passage through Cheng Shih's huge fleet. That's a big thing ... a very big thing."

"Hmmm. True, you have been busy, but still, it makes poor Chop's blood run thin as rice water to think of entrusting you with a large amount of money. That goes against old Charlie's grain."

"Not money, Chopsie," I say, leaning in and pushing my case. "Not just money, no. Stuff. Like statues, artifacts... mummies ... cheap jewelry ... anything as long as it's old. Brits love that stuff, believe me. They've got a big museum in London to hold it all, and their army and navy are always stealing ... uh ... collecting things from all over the world—Egypt and Greece and Rome and Cathay and just about everywhere. That stuff means nothing to you, but I've been there and I've seen 'em—gods and goddesses and such—whole temples, suits of armor and things. I tell ya, they eat that stuff up. They could charge admission just to look at it. Charlie, you couldn't miss! They'd love the hell out of you, and if you ever went back to England, they'd prolly make you a bloody Knight o' the Garter!"

He still looks dubious, his brow knitted as he strokes his goatee and ponders my suggestion.

"They've got a huge stone mansion over on Bloomsbury Street. I've been there. It's free to the public. Oh, sure, they chased us grubby beggars out after a while for panhandling and being filthy, but still I got to see lots of wondrous stuff. The other kids weren't much interested in it all, but I was and I still am."

I poke my finger in his big belly, which today is encased in a flowing white skirt that reaches from the bottom of his brocaded red vest to the tops of his golden silk slippers. He is standing with his hands behind him, bouncing his gold-slippered toes. He is surprisingly light on his feet despite all of his girth.

"Think of it, Pops. Vases with pictures of naked Greeks runnin' around on 'em throwin' spears at each other and wrestling and stuff, and golden masks and figurines ... all gifts from you to the people of England. There'd be little cards next to each, tellin' where they come from and who gave 'em, and that'd be you, Charlie. Hell, you might even be thanked by Parliament for your contributions. You got lotsa stuff like that—I've seen it all over this place."

"So you would have me rob the temples of their golden treasures? So the people of Britain can gaze upon the artifacts of other lands and feel good about themselves because they do not live in such barbaric places?"

"C'mon, Chops, you've already done that. I've seen your storeroom. Hell, you could supply twenty museums with half that stuff."

"True, I do have a rather nice collection of antiquities."

His eyes take on a dreamy look and he softly says, "Sir Charles Chen, Order of the British Empire, Knight of the Garter. Oh, wouldn't that put some of those noses ... Well, never mind," he says, shaking those thoughts out of his head. "I shall think upon your proposal. Here's Sidrah. Now off with you both."

"It is indeed a wondrous place, Sidrah. Thank you for bringing me. I wish we could have brought Ravi with us, though. I don't like the thought of his being chained up like that."

"Do not worry, Jah-kee," says Sidrah, placing her hand upon my arm, as we sit at a low table in a lush garden outside of the temple, partaking of various sweetmeats and drinks. Blossoms hang over our heads, and heady perfumes linger in the air. "Father has taken a liking to the boy. He will be fine."

Today, I have on a lovely pink silk top and a matching narrow straight-to-the-ankle skirt. I'm wearing a similar colored shawl over my head. I figure I blend in pretty well with the crowd.

Ganju Thapa sometimes goes with us on these outings, but not today. I know the man finds escorting us a distasteful duty, and he gets out of it whenever he can. This day he sends two of his underlings, and they don't seem to like it much, either. They helped launch the
Eastern Star,
true, but did not show much joy in the outing. Perhaps they don't like being on the water. Sidrah, thoroughly enjoying herself when on the sea and marveling at my sailing skill, assigned them the task of holding parasols over our heads to guard our complexions from the sun. When we landed at the beach near the temple we were to visit, the two lugs stayed with the boat, while we proceeded through a small village to the temple grounds.

"Why do you not wear your hair like mine, Sidrah?" I ask, popping yet another olive into the ever receptive Faber mouth. There are shrimp-flavored crackers to go with them, and I crunch these with great gusto. Although they took some getting used to, I now find them quite delicious. "Your father seems to like it."

Sidrah wears her hair piled high on her head, held in place with many elaborate combs. She considers, then says, "My mother was Siamese, not Chinese. This is the way we wear our hair."

Hmmm...
I sense she is being ... diplomatic.

"Besides ... ah ... Chinese women do not always wear their hair like you have yours," she says.

"Oh...?"

"No ... Only women of certain ... adventurous ways ... and men, of course."

Oh-ho! I get it now! Thanks, Cheng Shih, for branding me a bad girl. Oh, well, it's been done before, and I shall live with the mark.

"Come," she says, rising to her feet. "Let us go into the presence of Gautama Buddha."

We get up and go into the quiet of the temple.

Sidrah and I kneel before the statue of the Great Buddha that is enthroned within the place—him sitting all calm and serene, gentle smile in place, with a bowl of smoldering incense at his feet. We both had bought some sticks of the stuff from a saffron-clad monk, lit them, and had placed them in the bowl. We sat there quietly for a while—Sidrah, I'm sure, praying her Buddhist prayers, and me thinking my heathen thoughts about who I am and how I got to be here in this place.
You are surely a long way from Cheapside, girl...

There are other monks in the interior of this place and they sit in a circle and chant, and it is a most soothing sound. I close my eyes and let the sound and the smell of the incense take me, swaying, away.

Am I having a religious experience?
My head swims and the place seems to move under me...
Me? Jacky Faber, the skeptic ... the mocker, the maker of Biblical jokes. Could it be?

No, it couldn't.

I open my eyes and look up. Among the wafts of incense smoke, I see strands of white powder, which looks like falling plaster ... and then a grinding noise...

That doesn't sound very spiritual. That doesn't—

"Jah-kee!" screams Sidrah, grabbing my arm and hauling me to my feet. "Run!"

I'm mystified.
Run? Why?

She drags me toward the portal through which we had so recently entered. She sees me confused and screams yet again...

"Earthquake!"

My mind reeling from the feel of the earth moving in waves beneath me like some earthen sea, I struggle out of the temple. Looking down to the shore, I can see the
Eastern Star
resting quietly there despite all the pandemonium that swirls about us. Our two bodyguards begin pushing her out to sea and the cowards are manning the oars. They are probably regretting their lazy decision to let us go to the temple alone, because if anything happens to Sidrah, their lives won't be worth a farthing. Chopstick Charlie, mild though he might appear, would see to that, for sure.

Sidrah listens, head up, watching the shore intently.

"It was but a small earthquake," she says, her hand still on my arm.

Small?
I shudder. It felt pretty
big
to me! I look back to the temple, which is still standing, but there are some other buildings nearby that are not—they are now piles of rubble. Piteous screams rend the sudden, uneasy silence.
Oh, Lord...

"There may be aftershocks ... but that is not the only thing to fear. Come, let us run."

All right.
But she doesn't run toward the boat. She drags me in the opposite direction—inland.
What...?

"The boat's thataway, Sidrah. Why—?" I protest, stumbling along behind her.

"After earthquake," she shouts, panting, "sometimes comes the tsunami, the Great Wave ... And look, Jah-kee, it is going to happen!"

She points to the shore. The water is fast receding and there is a great sucking sound, like it's being drawn out by some giant whirlpool far out to sea. When first we had landed in our little boat, the beach was about twenty-five yards wide. Now it is a hundred ... now a hundred and fifty ... The
Eastern Star
is aground on the sand, her oars now useless to the two men who still sit within her ... Now two hundred ... and then we can see the shoreline no more. All manner of sealife lies exposed to view. Whelks, conchs, giant clams, lobsters, all kinds of fish—all just lying there.
Oh, Lord, if we could just harvest some of these, even a few,
I'm thinking.

"Quickly, Jah-kee, as fast as you can! The wave will come fast!"

I need no further encouragement. Lifting our sheathlike skirts, we race for higher ground.

"To that tree there! It is our only chance!"

She points to a large tree with low drooping branches that sits to the left, way beyond the temple, and we pound toward it. I get there first and vault up onto the first limb, lock my legs around it, and reach back for Sidrah, as she cannot have had the experience in climbing that I do.

She goes to take my hand, but there is a cry of anguish and we both look down to see a baby, a girl, sitting naked upon a rock next to some washing her mother had been doing, the child now plainly alone in a suddenly very cruel world. Sidrah reaches down to scoop her up, then slings the child on her back, and the girl wraps her arms around Sidrah's neck as she runs to the tree. I reach under Sidrah's armpits and haul her, and the burden on her back, up to the first branch.

"Higher!" gasps Sidrah. "We must get higher! Look!"

I look and I see it.
Good God!

The Great Wave looms up ... and up ... and ever up ... out there on the horizon, and it is coming on like the Wall of Doom, and judging from the masts of the boats it is devouring, it's gotta be fifty feet high!