'But they don't know that, do they? They think Sang and the ministers control the Emperor—they can't conceive the power that rests in the little lotus hand.' She raised one slim silver-taloned pinkie, and laughed. 'What, a mere girl, who looks like me? Can you hear the Big Barbarian crying `Enemy!' when I smile and bid my ladies serve him rose-petal tea and honey cakes in the Birthday Garden? Why, I'm just the dead Emperor's whore —and the mother of his heir. No, to ensure a clear field for my Imperial candidate—whoever he may be—it is necessary only to ensure the complete discredit in barbarian eyes of such rivals as Sang and his reptiles. As the known leaders of resistance, they are ill-regarded already, but I shall contrive their utter disgrace—perhaps even get them hanged, who knows?'
D'you know who she reminded me of? Otto Bismarck. Not to look at, you understand, but in the smooth, sure way she summed it up and lined it out, and had you agog for her to drop the next piece into place—and a bare half-hour since she'd been rogering her soul out, whooping drunk on lust and poppy. And, like dear Otto, she was holding my interest despite my other pressing concerns; come on, come on, I was thinking, let's hear how you're going to get Sang to Tyburn, because I want to be there to swing on the bastard's ankles. Little An, too, was clamouring for information, albeit apprehensively. So she told him—and I wished she hadn't.
'It is simple. Before he dies, the Emperor will issue a final vermilion decree, ordering the execution of all barbarian captives now in the Board of Punishments. For this, the Emperor's advisers, Sang and the rest, will be held responsible, and when the bodies are handed back, and it is seen that they have died by the usual procedures—binding, flogging, bursting, maggots
the barbarians will be in a rage for retribution. Sang will have to make apologies and excuses—that it was the work of brutal underlings, most unfortunate, much to be regretted, and so forth. The barbarians, growling, will accept the apology—and a cash compensation—as they have done in the past. They will bear no love for Sang and his friends, but they will let the matter end there. Unless,' she laughed, and it would have frozen your marrow, 'there is, among the bodies, one that has died by the wire jacket, or something equally elaborate. For that cannot be excused as the casual brutality of some underling; it will be seen as a calculated, insulting atrocity. Barbarians are very sensitive about such things; they will certainly take vengeance—and I wonder if Sang will escape with his life?'
My soul shrank as I listened; only a Chinese female could plot with such cruel, diabolic cunning. Our prisoners were doomed, then, one of them by the most ghastly torture—just so that this wicked, lovely harpy could bring down her rivals and capture Imperial power. And there was nothing to be done—I didn't even know how many of our fellows had been taken, or who. And it would be done without warning, or hope of rescue … that little toad An was at the knots and splices of it already, once he'd babbled out his admiration.
'Oh, Orchid Lady, forgive your kneeling slave!' cries he, and he was weeping buckets, so help me. 'Your eyes are on the stars, and mine on the dirt! When shall it be done? And which of them shall it be? For it will be to arrange—the victim must be brought from the Board secretly, lest Sang's people should hear. Afterwards, when the bodies are sent to the barbarian camp, it will be easy to increase their number by that one.'
'In a week, perhaps. When the barbarians prepare their final attack on the city. And who will wear the jacket?' She shrugged. 'One of their leading people—Pa-hsia-li, perhaps.' So they'd got Parkes; I could hear that lazy drawl, see the superior smile, and … the wire jacket. 'It does not matter. You will see it done. Now,' she stood up, stretching, 'you will take me up. Oh, but I'm tired, Little An! And hungry! Why did you let me talk so long, you stupid little man!' And she pretended to box his ears, laughing, while he squeaked and feigned anguish.
That was what made my flesh crawl—the sudden capricious change from hellish scheming to playful mischief, from the cold, unspeakably cruel calculation that meant dreadful death for men she'd never seen, to happy high spirits demanding crackling with cherries, and a tea-leaf pillow because her eyes were tired. It's a rare thing, that gift of human translation, although I'd seen it before—always in people who held immense power. I mentioned Bismarck just now; he had it. So did Lakshmibai of Jhansi—and in a way, James Brooke of Borneo, although with him it had to be a conscious act of will. For the others, it was a necessary part of their nature, to be able to turn, in perfect oblivion, from determining the destiny of a nation, or a matter of life and death, to choosing a new hat or listening to music—and then back again, with the mind wiped clean.
Here, in an hour or so, this bonny girl of twenty-five had been subjected to heaven-knew-what debauches with a dying monarch, drugged herself with opium, run the risk of death for the mere whim of seeing some new thing (a barbarian), ravished a helpless captive for the sheer sport of it, rehearsed her plans for securing supreme political power, again at the risk of death, and was now yawning contentedly at the thought of a snack and a good sleep. God knew what her diary held for tomorrow; my point is, it wasn't quite the home life of our own dear Queen, and it takes a nature beyond our understanding to manage it.
Now, as she yawned and hummed and resumed her cloak and hood, she spared a thought for me again, tickling mischievously and skipping away laughing as Little An scuttled in to fend her off. I was to be taken secretly, she reminded him, to the Wang-shaw-ewen, which sounded like some sort of garden (I wondered what Sang would think when his soldiers reported that the wandering boy had vanished into thin air). The little eunuch made a doubtful lip.
'A pity we must be at the trouble of removing a captive from the Board of Punishments,' grumbles he, 'when we have one to hand.' At which she cuffed him soundly, and serve him right.
'Fat savage, would you harm my barbarian? You'll treat him with care and respect, d'you hear, or I'll have you fed to the tiny devil fish, one greasy inch at a time!' She considered me with her secret smile. 'Besides, I told you I may have another use for him. Just suppose … when the other prisoners have been killed, the barbarians discover that one has been saved, and kindly treated, by the Yi Concubine. Won't they be pleased with her—and with her party at court.' She patted his head lightly. 'Well, it is a possibility.'
'Better he should wear the wire jacket!' pipes he viciously. 'He deserves it—after tonight he isn't fit to live! How could you?' He shuddered in revulsion. 'Ugh! Disgusting!'
'Why, I believe you're jealous, Little An,' she mocked him, as he lifted her in his arms. 'Oh, stop sulking! Just because you're weaponless, selfish little hound, am I to have no fun? Oh, no, I'm sorry—that was a mean thing to say! Forgive me, Little An …' As he bore her from the room she was apologising to the beastly little bladder, and her last words drifted to my ears, filling me with a new and dreadful fear. 'Look, if he does not please me, or I tire of him quickly, perhaps …'
The beautiful voice faded up the stairs, and I was left a prey, as they say, to conflicting emotions.
It's a strange thing, but I remember distinctly I wasn't tired when they whisked me out of that lumber room just as dawn was breaking. Twenty-four hours earlier I'd been waking in my cage at Tang-choa. Since then I'd witnessed the battle of Pah-li-chao, arranged the demise of Trooper Nolan, been ill-used and terrified by Sang's thugs, crawled to the Emperor of China, and conferred, so to speak, with his principal concubine. A busy day, you'll allow, but while I'd a right to be played out, body and soul, I wasn't, because I didn't dare to be; I must keep my wits about me. For one stark thought was hammering in my brain above all others when the shadowy figures flitted into my room, to unchain and carry me swiftly out, wrapped in a carpet like Cleopatra as ever was—whatever happened now, I must not, for my very life's sake, utter so much as a syllable in Chinese.
It was the grace of God that Little An hadn't been present when I babbled before the Emperor; true, he'd later suggested slitting my tongue, but that presumably had just been native caution—he plainly didn't even suspect that I understood the lingo, or he'd never have permitted Yehonala to pour out her girlish dreams in my hearing. To both of them, I was a mere lump of uncomprehending barbarian beef, and if ever they realised that I'd taken in every word … quite. Thank heaven I'd been gagged throughout our meeting, or I might well have spoken at some point … 'You permit yourself strange liberties, madam,' for example.
Well, they didn't know, and provided I kept my trap shut, they never would. Only the Emperor and his nobles were aware of my linguistic skill, and I wasn't liable to be meeting them again. In the meantime, I faced the prospect of becoming stallion-en-titre to that gorgeous little tyrant, which was capital … and the possibility, if she tired of me, or it suited her murderous plan, that I'd be the one given the wire jacket when they started butchering prisoners. That wouldn't be for a week; I had that much law in which to escape and take word to Grant that he'd better look sharp if he was to rescue them. Then again … escaping would be. damned risky; my safest course might well be to lie snug, bulling Yehonala's pretty little rump off, and pray that she'd exempt me from the slaughter, which she seemed inclined to do. Which meant letting the other prisoners go hang; aye, well, it's a cruel world. It was all very difficult, and I must just wait and see what seemed best—best for Flashy, you understand, and good luck to everyone else.
These were my thoughts as I was borne off, and one thing quickly became plain: in the event that escape did
