The Mark of the Golden Dragon (34 page)

Oh, my, yes. So much to do ... But as for right now, I am ensconced in my lovely cabin, enjoying a nice leisurely lunch with my good friend John Higgins. He has just returned from seeing off his boon companion down at Tower Wharf, George Gordon having been bundled off by his fam ily on a Grand Tour of Europe, for his own good, of course ... and to protect the good name of the family.

"Lord B. took it all with good grace?" I ask.

"Oh, yes, never let it be said that George ever lacked grace," replies Higgins. "No, he sailed off, waving his hat in the breeze, his long dark hair blowing in the wind, a budding poem, I am sure, being formed in his mind." Higgins breathes a wistful sigh. "And, speaking of poems, he left this for you."

Higgins hands me a folded note. I open it and read...

Maid of the Orient,
Ere we part,
Give me, oh, give me,
Back my heart!

There is a discreet
G.G.
initialed at the bottom. I smile and refold the paper. "Very nice. I am honored," I say, tucking it into my bodice. Later I shall add some flower motifs to the border and have it framed to add to my collection of treasured things. "However, I think that
I
am not the one to be returning hearts."

A small laugh and a faraway look at that, but no reply.

"Do you think the trip will change our Lord Byron's ... ways?" I ask.

This time, I get a secret smile from the very reserved John Higgins. "I certainly hope not, Miss ... And frankly, I do not think it will be so."

I consider this and say, "You could have gone with him, you know. You are certainly rich enough."

"Yes, I could have, and as a matter of fact, he did invite me along. 'Come John,' he said. 'Let's be off to great adventures, fine deeds, noble causes, and we will leave the dull world and all its cares behind and blaze new paths of glory...' But when all was said and done, I had to admit that I had ... responsibilities, and that it would be best that we part."

My eyes mist up at that and I look fondly upon my very best friend and place my hand on his arm.

"Dearest John ... there will be other friends."

"I know, Miss, but he was so ... never mind," says Higgins, clearing his throat. "Now, what are your plans concerning our unwilling tenant?"

"The prisoner below, you mean?"

"Yes, Miss, him."

"Well, it is all very simple. As soon as we reach an agreement with the Crown concerning various pardons and re-instatements, and dispose of the treasure lying below, we will tip off those who lie in wait at the Blackthorn Inn. In particular, we'll inform Bess, the landlord's daughter, that one day soon, a certain Sir Henry Flashby will be on the evening coach from Northampton bound for Plymouth. She will inform the Highwayman, of course, and all will be in train."

"And...?"

I sniffle, draw in a breath, and continue, none too steady. "And then the Highwayman will stop the coach, and we'll deliver Flashby to his fate. Jaimy will probably put a hole in him, whereupon I shall reveal myself and, of course, Jaimy will be amazed. Then he'll sweep me up onto his mighty steed and we shall pound off to the
Nancy B.,
locked in each other's arms. We'll set sail for America and we will be married at long last and there we shall stay until our names are cleared of all disgrace. The Royal Navy will reinstate Jaimy and I shall be permitted to pursue my interests unencumbered."

"Very neat, Miss. I hope it happens in such a way," says Higgins with some doubt in his voice. "And Lord Allen?"

I smile at the thought of that particular rogue settling down to any kind of stable married life. "Ah, my dear, dear Richard. My dashing Captain of Cavalry ... Alas, I fear domestic bliss is not in the cards for you. There are lots and lots of girls and many fine adventures in your future, of that I am sure. You will get over one Jacky Faber very quickly, as a little of her goes a long, long way, as we all know..."

But I will never get over you, dear Richard, never...

I shake thoughts of the gallant Lord Allen out of my easily befuddled mind.

"And the girl, Bess," continues Higgins relentlessly. "The landlord's undeniably beautiful daughter...?"

That brings a frown to the Faber forehead, but I answer evenly, without malice, "I have gathered a pouch of gold for the girl, which will hold her in good stead, in payment for her ... service to Jaimy in his time of distress. I am sure she will find that adequate compensation," I say, ardently wishing the subject would change. Mercifully, it does.

"Very good of you, Miss. I hope it will serve."

"Umm."

"Now, as to the unfortunate Mr. Flashby's current condition ... I trust you are not abusing him, Miss?"

"No, I am not, though the temptation is strong. I have directed Lee Chi to provide Mr. Flashby with all the fresh water he requires. Also I have described the kind of foul gruel I was given in Newgate where I was confined because of the same Mr. Flashby, and our very clever Mr. Lee has cooked up a similar concoction. It has been served to our guest and I hope he enjoys it."

"Umm. Cruel punishment, indeed, especially since he knows just who is dishing it out."

"Yes, that makes it all the better ... Indeed, it is true. Vengeance is sweet ... and best, as they say, served cold, as cold as Flashby's lunch. Here, Higgins, have some of this goose liver pâté. It is quite good on a nice puffy biscuit ... and the oysters are very plump and fresh. Ravi, Mr. Higgins's glass, if you would?"

"Thank you, I shall," says Higgins, falling to the excellent repast. "And thank you, too, Ravi. This is all very nice. I am surprised we are not to eat it in front of Lieutenant Flashby."

"Well, that would certainly be fun, but it would have been too much trouble bringing him up, and I certainly wouldn't want to eat down in the bilges."

The
Nancy B.
is a clean ship, but as for the bilges, well, they stink on any ship and mine is no exception. Having neither time nor inclination to build an actual cell to accommodate our hostage, his ankles and wrists, which are encased in good stout chains, are merely shackled to the bulkhead. He sits on a little platform above the sloshing water that has leaked or sweated through our hull. With the stench of a dead rat or two floating in the mess, it is very much like Hell ... Not quite, but it will serve for Mr. Flashby till he can be delivered to the real one.

We continue eating and discussing the many charms of London town, which we are both very much enjoying, when there is, yet again, a discreet knock on the door.

"Come in," I call, and Liam Delaney's large form fills the doorway.

"Liam! Come join us!" I exclaim upon seeing my dear old sea dad.

"Maybe later, Jacky," says Liam. "But right now, it's best you come out on deck. We have a visitor."

Wot?

I put napkin to lips and dash out to scan the harbor. I am amazed to see what looks like a Chinese junk being rowed up the Thames. From its masthead flies the Golden Dragon pennant. But, no, it is not Cheng Shih on the
Divine Wind.
No, it is smaller than that, and as it approaches and pulls in beside us, I am shocked to see a very fat man dressed in Oriental finery, seated in a palanquin on the deck of the ship with a very familiar female figure beside him.

The fat man lifts the mouthpiece of the hookah he has been smoking and gestures to me.

"
Neih hou,
my dear little envoy. I have come to see what joy my presents to the British Empire have brought!"

Chopstick Charlie...?

"But how did you ever get here so quickly, Charlie? Surely we left far ahead of you." It is early evening and we are riding in Chopstick Charlie's palanquin, an ornate box affixed with sets of poles, held by eight strong men, four on each side. They carry us along at waist level when the way is clear, and hoist the whole thing up to their shoulders when the crowd gets dense.
Very convenient,
I'm thinkin', for it works really well. It gets us a lot of strange looks, that's for certain. Charlie is in one seat, and facing him are Sidrah and me, side by side, looking very fine, I must say. She's in her Rangoon best, black hair combed and pinned up high with jeweled combs, and me in my usual knock-'em-dead Oriental garb, my head newly shaved and polished and my blue-green sari wrapped all about me.

Ravi sits atop the palanquin, grandly giving directions to the men who carry us through the London streets ... and to two others who escort us—Ganju Thapa and his fellow Gurkha, each of them with their wicked, inward curved
khukuris.

We are taking a brief tour of the neighborhood, and then we are going to the Cockpit. I have arranged for us to meet Richard Allen there. Just how we will be received, looking as we do, I do not know. But hey, I've been thrown out of better places.

"It is really very simple, my dear," says Charlie, gazing about at the passing city. "While you took the long way around the southern tip of Africa, I merely took a shortcut. I sailed my little ship, well protected by Ganju Thapa and twelve of his fellow Gurkhas, around India and up the Gulf of Aden and through the Red Sea to Suez. There is a canal there, you know."

I frown. "Hmmm ... I recollect from my time in the Mediterranean that the canal did not go all the way through to Port Said." I had learned from Dr. Sebastian that...
yes, the canal is almost completely cut through that last bit of desert ... A pity, for it would shorten the time to get to the rich Orient by many weeks. And it would not take them long, considering all the slave labor they have. But you know those Arabs ... renowned in mathematics and science, but when it comes to digging a simple ditch, they just cannot get together on that. The phrase "trying to herd cats," I believe, was coined when dealing with Arab politics...

"Ah, too true, too true, but merely a minor inconvenience. When we got to the end of that canal, I simply hired a contractor who rigged a cradle for our small ship to which was attached many stout poles. There were a number of slaves assigned to each cross-pole and we were
carried
across the land and deposited into the Mediterranean Sea. You see?"

"
Carried?
Your whole ship?" I ask incredulous.

"Slaves work cheap, you know. A little gruel at the end of the day and they are, if not happy, at least allowed to live another day. If one stumbles and falls, another is whipped into his place."

"That's awful, Charlie!" I exclaim.

"It was not awful at all. In fact, it was quite smooth and comfortable—much better than the sea. I did not even have to get out of my palanquin."

"That's not what I meant, Chops. Those poor men."

"It is a cruel world, child, and ... Oh, look, there's Hyde Park. I used to go there often when I was but a slip of a schoolboy."

Looking at Charlie's jolly face and present girth, it is hard to imagine him as a skinny boy, alone and afraid in a strange land.

"But the Arab lands are rife with bandits, Charlie. Did you not fear you would be taken?"

"With my Gurkhas by my side? Surely you jest. One Gurkha is worth a hundred other men. The Gurkha war cry is
'Jai Mahakali, ayo Gorkhali'
which means 'Glory be to the Goddess of War, here come the Gurkhas!' Ha!"

Gazing fondly about at the scenes of his young manhood, Charlie continues the account of his journey here:

"As a consequence of sailing through the Mediterranean, I was able to stop off in Greece to pick up a few more things, such as some very nice statues of comely young maidens that I thought the King might enjoy. Knocked them off this porch thing on a place they called the Cropolis or something. No one seemed to mind. The whole place was a wreck, anyway. Nobody said anything to my Gurkhas, at least when they were chiseling the things off."

"You would not call it plundering, Honored Father? Stealing another country's cultural heritage?" I ask.

"Ha! Listen to her talking of 'cultural heritage,' she who has been, by her own account, beggar, thief, pirate, and buccaneer in the not-so-distant past! No, I think of it more as 'protective custody' for those cultures that cannot manage their own affairs."

"Ummm," I murmur, not entirely convinced of the ethics of the thing, nor of the selfless nobility of Charlie's "protective custody." But he is right, of course—just who is Jacky Faber, Hypocrite First-Class, to cast aspersions on the motives of others, when she has acted as she has?

Earlier, we had received Charlie Chen on the
Nancy B.
and had gone down in the hold to go over the inventory of items
very
thoroughly. Old Chops is no fool. He did not become rich by being careless with his goods. I gave him a list of whatever favors had been given out and he approved wholeheartedly.
We must grease the wheels, mustn't we, dear?

On our way down into the hold, we heard a rattle of chains and a low moan. Charlie lifted his eyebrows in question.

"Oh, just an old enemy, Chops. Think nothing of it," I said. "He is soon to be disposed of. The day after tomorrow, as a matter of fact."

"Umm ... you are becoming more Eastern in your outlook every day, my child. I believe I have been a good influence on you," commented Charlie, chuckling in approval.