The man's lips curled in a derisive sneer. 'We don' hold with no pretty boys in sailor suits here — it's men only.'
Kydd's fist slammed out. The man fell back, roaring. Instantly, everyone was on their feet, defensively grouped behind Kydd.
The man felt his bloody nose. Snarling, he drew his knife. Kydd's heart thudded, but he was elbowed aside by Stirk, whose own blade was across his palm, held loosely forward.
'Seen 'is kind afore, mate - can't take a joke.' Stirk glanced behind, quickly. 'About time we weren't here, mates. Let's head back.'
Pitching his voice towards Kydd as they withdrew from the tavern the large man shouted, 'You watch yer back ashore, mate. You 'n' me got somethin't' settle.'
Stirk slid his knife back, and chuckled grimly. 'Merchant jacks — got me sympathy, always short-handed an' that, but pickin' a man-o'-war's man, they'd 'ave t' be pixy-led!'
Kydd winked at Stirk. 'Insultin' the King's uniform -couldn't help m'self.'
The last stage to Canton was through perfectly flat rice-fields that seemed to stretch away for ever into the immense unknown of Asia, an alien vastness that made Kydd shiver. Abruptly the last bend straightened and within sight of the city walls the northern bank opened up, with wide buildings fronting the river. In front of each was a flag-pole with a national flag firmly in place.
The largest and most central had the Union flag of Great Britain, and they headed towards it. Respectfully, Kydd handed the envoy up the wooden steps to the small group at the top.
The sailors waited in the cutter until the formalities were complete. The envoy's small party moved off, and a figure appeared at the edge of the wharf. 'Hey, you lot, up here, chop, chop!'
The seamen looked at each other, shrugged and clambered up. The young man at the top was in white silk breeches and loose shirt, and was coatless. He surveyed the group in surprise, their trim appearance apparently a novelty. 'So, Lord Elmhurst has given instructions that you shall be the, er, guests of John Company while he is in Canton.' There was a noticeable hesitation. 'And it seems I shall be answerable for your conduct while he is here.'
The young face had a patrician stamp and an easy confidence, but it was clear that its owner was unsure of a situation that placed him with the responsibility for a crew of hard-looking naval seamen.
Stirk folded his arms and stared at him, while Quinlan stepped forward to the front and tugged his tarpaulin hat to an aggressive tilt.
The young man seemed to come to a decision. 'I'm Jamesen, supercargo in John Company for my sins.' The tone of his voice suggested that he had decided to take them into his confidence rather than attempt to lord it over them. 'Now, Canton is different from any place you've ever been to, and there's rules here which are stupid, childish and cruel — but this is China, and we have no choice. There's a hundred million Chinese over there,' he said, waving towards the endless paddy-fields, 'and we are a few hundred. Do you get my drift?'
The interior of the mess was airy and cool, the furniture spare. With the seamen incongruously clutching an eggshelllike teacup of transparent green tea, Jamesen explained further. 'Trade is everything — we buy tea, they buy . . . not much. They think they're the centre of the world, and everyone else is a barbarian and needs to be kept at a distance, so all trade with the biggest country in the world is through the one place. Canton!
'Now, I warn you in all sincerity, if you cause an incident, we can do nothing to save you. All dealings are through the Hoppo, a greasy, fat and entirely corrupt chief of the Co-Hong, which are a scurvy crew appointed by the Viceroy to deal with the barbarians and save him getting his hands dirty — as long as he gets his cut.' He finished his tea and refilled his cup. 'The season finishes soon, and we all have to fall back to our families in Macao, until March.'
He paused, and grinned. 'Your envoy will find that he will get his audience, and his presents will be graciously accepted, but he will have to wait for his reply at Macao like the rest, so
I doubt you'll be here long. There's shops and things around here, we're pretty self-contained. Wouldn't advise going off on your own. Be in the mess by sundown, don't get fuddled with drink, beware of everything and everybody.'
They nodded. They were not about to go on the ran-tan ashore hereabouts.
Jamesen softened a little. 'If there's any wants a stroll, it's my practice to take a turn around the city walls before dark. Anyone want to come?' Stirk and Kydd were the only takers.
They stepped it out, down the narrow alleys and along the sandy northern banks of the Pearl river. Much closer to the city the bustle increased. Flooding the pathways were Chinese of every description, carrying trussed chickens, yokes suspending large dark jars and huge clusters of unrecognisable vegetables. Their constant chattering was deafening.
'You know, it's instant execution for any Chinese teaching the language to a foreign devil,' said Jamesen.
A palanquin with oiled-paper windows swayed towards them, preceded by a lackey in an embroidered gown banging a gong to clear a path. There was no sign of the occupant.
Kydd noticed a ragged bundle floating in the river. 'Ah, that you'll find is a female baby - up-country they want strong sons, not useless girls. Easiest way to solve the problem,' Jamesen explained.
Just before the dilapidated walls was a small sandy beach, and a crowd gathered around some officials. A large drum pounded monotonously. 'You may be interested in this,' Jamesen said languidly.
They hovered on the edge of the crowd and watched two men being brought forward. They had signs in Chinese characters around their necks, and their heads hung in listless dejection. 'They're pirates - probably peached on by their friends.' The men were thrust to their knees, facing the water. Reading from a scroll, an official chanted loudly, then suddenly whipped it down and stepped back. From the crowd came a man bared to the waist, carrying a highly polished Oriental sword. He swaggered up to the first pirate and stood ready. The noise from the crowd buzzed on without change.
At a screamed order from the official the executioner made ready, slowly and deliberately. Kydd went cold. The sword went up, the crowd's chatter continued to wash around unabated; the victim had nothing but a blank look on
