Imperial Fire (53 page)

Vallon and Qiuylue were taking a night-time stroll in the garden when Josselin found them. He saluted and bowed. ‘Forgive my intrusion, sir. Trooper Stefan has just reported something strange.’

‘In French, please,’ Vallon said. He knew that Qiuylue must report all his doings and it wasn’t beyond the bounds of possibility that she understood Greek. ‘My dear, will you excuse us for a moment?’

Qiuylue left them.

‘Well?’ Vallon said.

‘Some of the troopers went out on the town this evening. They were drinking in a tavern when a Chinese man speaking in Arabic approached Stefan and asked him to pass on a message to you. He spoke of you by name. You and Hero are requested to go to the Golden Phoenix eating house tomorrow at noon. The man said you must make sure no one follows you.’

‘Any idea who we’re supposed to be meeting?’

‘None at all, sir.’

‘Strange indeed,’ Vallon said. He could tell from Josselin’s manner that something more was called for. He’d rather neglected his military responsibilities the last few weeks. ‘Are the men content?’

‘Too content. It will be a devil of a job to tear them away from this Lotus-land. Half of them are planning to marry their Chinese doxies.’

Vallon was familiar with the story of the travellers who, having eaten of the lotus tree, forgot their families and homes and lost all desire to return to their native country. ‘I dare say you think I’ve set a bad example.’

‘I won’t quarrel with that, sir. Can I ask when you intend leading us home? That is, if you do intend to leave. There are rumours that you’ve accepted a commission in the Chinese army.’

‘Nonsense,’ Vallon said, smarting at the criticism. ‘We’ll leave in the autumn, when the cooler weather makes for easier travelling.’

‘I think by then it will be too late,’ Josselin said.

Vallon watched the centurion walk away into the darkness and stood for a long time thinking about what he’d said. He started at Qiuylue’s voice.

‘Did the officer bring bad news?’

‘No, just routine business. I have to pay a call on Hero. I won’t be long.’

He found the physician reading in his quarters. ‘How are your eyes?’

‘The soreness has quite gone and my vision is sharper than it’s been for years.’

‘Wonderful. Do you know the Golden Phoenix eating house?’

‘It’s on the corner of Beer Fountain Road and Toad Tumulus Street. It’s one of the most popular eating establishments in Kaifeng.’

‘We’ve been invited to dine there at noon tomorrow.’

‘Who by?’

‘I don’t know,’ Vallon said. He explained how the invitation had reached him.

‘Will you go?’

‘I suppose so. It might have something to do with Fire Drug. The messenger stressed that we keep our visit secret.’

‘That might prove difficult.’

Whenever any of the Outlanders left the compound, they were followed by not-so-secret agents. Their surveillance was quite blatant, the trackers staying in plain view and sometimes intervening to point out interesting sights to their charges or assist with bargaining at a food stall or shop. It was the authorities’ way of letting the foreigners know that their every move was watched, every contact reported. Vallon had experienced the all-pervasive power of the state when he tried to purchase firecrackers in an attempt to lay his hands on Fire Drug. His shadow had thwarted the attempt, telling him that fireworks weren’t allowed in the compound. To test how far state control went, Vallon had sent troopers to two more establishments whose proprietors had flatly refused to serve them.

Allowing plenty of time to reach the rendezvous, Vallon and Hero left the compound and headed south. The day was mild and the streets bustling. They reached the river that flowed through the city from east to west and turned right.

‘Are they following us?’ Hero asked.

‘Two of them,’ said Vallon. ‘Don’t look back.’

A high arched bridge congested by stalls and traffic crossed the river. A grain ship with lowered mast had misjudged the headroom and stuck halfway under the span. Vallon and Hero dawdled along the bank, pausing to examine stalls selling everything from horoscopes to steamed buns, jewellery to toys.

‘Beware that rogue,’ one of the agents hissed in Vallon’s ear. ‘If you want to buy gifts for your lady, I can take you to a far superior place.’

‘Thank you,’ Vallon said. ‘I don’t know what we’d do without you.’

He and Hero resumed their passage, the two agents dogging their footsteps. Vallon paused on the embankment and pretended he’d seen something interesting on the other side.

‘That’s what we want.’

‘Where?’

‘Down there.’

Beneath them a man lay dozing in a skiff. Vallon dropped into it and thrust a string of coins at the startled boatman. ‘A thousand cash to take us across the river.’

The agents didn’t shirk their duty. One of them tried to fling himself into the boat and fell into the river a foot short. The other sprinted back toward the bridge, its roadway now blocked by a crowd yelling advice and encouragement to the crew labouring to free their ship.

Vallon and Hero disembarked on the other side with time to spare and made several false turns before reaching the Golden Phoenix just as distant drummers announced noon by beating a long tattoo. The restaurant stood on the corner of a busy junction criss-crossed by peasants shouldering bamboo poles strung with produce, sweating coolies carrying officials and ladies in litters, high-wheeled ox and donkey carts laden with wine tuns and sacks of millet… A group of scholars had chosen to hold a disputation at the centre of the crossroads. Children bowled hoops through the traffic. To one side of the restaurant, a crowd had gathered around a professional storyteller.

Vallon and Hero picked their way through the streams and eddies of humanity. The restaurant stood three storeys tall, its two upper floors projecting in galleries so that diners could observe the street theatre. A doorman ushered the guests through the brightly painted entrance.

They stopped, taken aback by the scale of the establishment. At least a hundred diners occupied the central banqueting hall and as many again sat in booths on each side. The din of conversation and busy chopsticks was deafening. An army of waiters darted about.

A manager appeared in front of them.

‘Do you have a reservation?’

‘No. Our host made the reservation.’

‘Name.’

‘Ah, that’s the problem. It’s a surprise —’

‘Your name?’

‘Vallon.’

The manager consulted a pad and clicked a finger at a hovering menial, who took charge of the guests. ‘Follow me, honoured sirs.’

‘This is rather exciting,’ Hero said, climbing a flight of stairs.

On the top floor the servant led them to a nook on a balcony overlooking the crossroads and partly screened from below by fruit trees planted in tubs.

‘A good place to speak in private,’ Hero said.

Vallon watched the comings and goings at ground level. ‘Or assassinate us.’

He kept one eye on the road, the other on the entrance to the balcony. Beyond it the activity was frenzied. This diner wanted a hot and spicy dish, his companion something mild and cooling. One diner asked for his pork to be fried; his companion, after much dithering, preferred his meat to be grilled. When a table had decided, the waiter darted to the kitchen, singing out the whole list of orders.

‘Extraordinary,’ said Hero. ‘They don’t write anything down.’

One of these memory artists came bustling up to their table. ‘Ready?’

‘We’re waiting for our host. He must have been delayed by traffic.’

‘Very busy day,’ the waiter said. ‘You order now.’

Vallon noticed a tall Arab crossing the street, dodging a Taoist procession. He wore a blue turban with one end veiling the lower part of his face.

‘Let’s go ahead,’ said Vallon. ‘The whole thing might be some kind of hoax.’

The waiter teetered with impatience while Hero tried to make sense of the menu. ‘What do you recommend?’

‘You have hundred flavours soup and lamb steamed over milk.’

‘I’ll have the same,’ said Vallon.

‘Make that three,’ said the Arab, materialising behind the waiter.

Vallon’s brain refused to believe his eyes. ‘My God.’

Hero sprawled across the table. ‘Wayland! Oh, Wayland!’

‘Not so loud,’ said Wayland. He slid into a seat and smiled at his comrades. ‘Well, fate spares the undoomed man.’

Vallon and Hero spoke at once. How had he arrived in China? What had happened on the journey through Tibet? Had he found the mysterious temple?

‘All in good time,’ Wayland said.

Vallon regarded him through stinging eyes. ‘I thought I’d never see you again. I should have known that seas and mountains mean nothing to a passage hawk. You’ve lost weight.’ He displaced his emotion by summoning a waiter and demanding a flagon of the finest wine.

A moment of hiatus followed, too many swirling questions to articulate.

‘Here’s my tale in brief,’ Wayland said. ‘I journeyed across Tibet and climbed the Himalayan passes into Nepal. I found the temple and learned something about its Christian hermit. Hero, I have a lot more to tell you about my discoveries when we have greater leisure. I reached India intending to turn west into Afghanistan, but found my way blocked by war and famine and ended up at a port near the mouth of the Ganges river. While I was there an Arab merchant ship put in with cargo bound for China. I was weary of wearing out shoe leather on foreign soil and I took employment as a sailor. After voyaging south around a great peninsula and passing through a strait, my ship sailed north until it arrived at a Chinese trading city called Canton. From there I continued north by sea and canal until I reached Kaifeng. I’ve been in the city for a month.’

‘Why didn’t you contact us sooner?’ Vallon said.

‘I judged that I’d be of more use if I hid our association. The Chinese think I’m a lowly Arab mariner and pay little heed to me. I can come and go as I please. The man who passed on the invitation is my spy, cocking an ear at conversations in this tavern and that gambling den. From what I’ve heard, the Chinese are holding you prisoner.’

‘Hardly that,’ said Hero. ‘I’ve explored the city and seen wonders I never dreamed of.’

‘Wayland’s right,’ said Vallon. ‘The Chinese have penned us in a gilded cage, indulging our every wish. God knows, I’ve succumbed to their pampering. By the way, I’m sure we shook off our trackers.’

‘I know. I followed you from the moment you left the compound.’

‘What else have you learned?’ Vallon asked. ‘Do you know what the Chinese intend to do with us.’

‘You’ve already answered the question. They’re lulling you into a pleasant dream from which you’ll never want to emerge. The tavern gossip is that the emperor doesn’t want you to leave China. He hopes General Vallon will agree to command a regiment against the northern barbarians. He believes that Hero will choose to remain in the Heavenly Kingdom.’

The news sobered Vallon. ‘Do they know about our interest in Fire Drug?’

‘From the day you arrived, they knew what you were after and determined you would never find it.’ Wayland looked up. ‘Your concubine reports on your activities. Every servant is a spy.’

Vallon flushed. ‘Let’s eat.’

Hero took a few spoonfuls of soup. ‘Do you notice anything different about me?’

Wayland studied him. ‘Something about your eyes?’

‘A surgeon removed my cataracts. The operation was successful. I can see again – not as well as you, but well enough to read without discomfort. And I no longer walk past friends in the street without recognising them.’

‘That’s wonderful.’

‘And it’s wonderful that one of the first sights to greet my eyes is our beloved friend Wayland.’

Vallon laid a hand on Wayland’s. ‘I too have gained more from our journey than I could ever have hoped for.’

Wayland looked at Hero. ‘You told him?’

Hero beamed. ‘Lucas told Vallon himself – not without a great deal of encouragement and arm-twisting.’

Wayland hesitated. ‘And are father and son reconciled?’

Vallon pretended to give his attention to the food. ‘I pray we will be in God’s good time.’ He gave a desperate laugh. ‘My head’s still spinning. So much news to catch up on.’

‘My lodgings aren’t far from here,’ Wayland said. ‘We can talk at leisure after we’ve eaten.’

‘I’m afraid my curiosity must go unsatisfied a little longer,’ Vallon said. ‘I have a meeting with the deputy minister of war.’

‘Actually, what I wanted to discuss would interest Hero more than you. It concerns something I found in the temple in Nepal.’

‘Tell me,’ Hero said.

‘Later,’ Vallon insisted. He raised a beaker. ‘To old comrades.’

‘It’s best if we don’t leave together,’ Wayland told Hero. ‘Give me time to get clear then turn right at the entrance and stop at the first corner. My Chinese friend will be waiting for you.’

Vallon and Hero went their separate ways, Hero turning right as directed. At the corner where the storyteller had been holding forth, a crowd had gathered to watch a wrestling match. Hero stood on tiptoe to view the contest. On the other side of the crowd, two country boys spectated from the back of a buffalo.

Hero waved away a ruffian vending fake money for use at funerals and scanned the periphery of the crowd for someone who looked like Wayland’s agent.

The currency vendor gestured across the junction. ‘You see the merchant selling archery equipment?’ he said in Arabic.

Hero spotted a gentleman bending a bow on a veranda set up as a shooting gallery.

‘I see it.’

‘Wait until I’ve turned the corner. Stay well back.’

Hero watched him make his way across the street before following. His guide set a brisk pace heading along Beer Fountain Road and then turning into a side street. Hero had difficulty keeping him in sight. The lane was packed with off-duty soldiers, foreign seamen and young civil service candidates celebrating after examinations. Red silk lanterns hung above the doors of numerous wineshops, and heavily made-up women and a few effete boys struck provocative poses in the upper windows.