Mean Sun (15 page)

“Lord Douglas will not be going?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” he rejoined, shrugging dismissively. “We need someone to make an accurate rendering of the inside of the villa and the grounds around it.”

With some effort, he handed me a few blank rolls of paper, a quill and ink.

“You are laying out a scheme for the planting of the roses.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep in mind, Mr. Wren,” he said, pausing to take a gulp of water, “roses require an abundance of sunlight. Mark the shady areas and make a clear reference to east, west, north and south. Can you do that?”

“Aye, sir, I can.”

Whitehead sank miserably back into the cushions of his bed, with a groan. He saw me still standing before him.

“That’s all, Mr. Wren. Dismissed.”

The roses were drawn by cart up the hot, winding path to the house I had visited the day earlier with Lord Douglas. I had gone on ahead in a separate cart. This time I was promptly greeted at the entrance by one of the soldiers and allowed inside, which, except for the occasional servant or two rushing to and fro, appeared empty.

With great care I began by stepping off the length of the north wing of the compound. The large wooden doors to each of the bays were closed. I estimated the width of the rooms by taking a count of the roof tiles to the peak of the structure and doubling the count. I then laid out the drawing paper and carefully sketched the dimensions, detailing the time of day by a quick estimation of the sun’s position, ‘north’, and the areas of shadow.

I worked for over an hour, during which time no one seemed to take notice of me. As I began to mark off the east bay, I noted one of the main doors had been tossed open. I peeked into a lovely room. Each wall was a painted mural of broad, fanciful seascapes, towering mountains, trees, churning rivers and colorful birds in flight. The furnishings were no less magnificent, carved tables and chairs, and floral carpets on the wide teak floors.

My eyes were darting about at all the splendor when amidst it all I saw the pretty face of Wen Xi staring sternly back at me. I quickly ducked away, chagrinned, and hastily returned to my papers. She dashed to the doorway.

“Englishman, what you do?!” she shrieked.

Her tone was indignant and accusatory and indeed I felt like a culprit. The previous night the lusty memory of catching a glimpse
of her naked breast had roiled my sleep so powerfully that I could not now meet her eye without betraying my guilt.

“What you do?!” she demanded in an even louder tone. I said nothing, glanced down at my feet as if they had just been attached, and held up the papers. “
Bring here
!”

I collected my drawings and walked back to her. She snatched them from my hand and looked them over impatiently.

“They are for the roses,” I proffered. I pressed my two hands together and spread my fingers like they were a bloom. “You know, the
roses
. Flowers.”

Although she was my own age, this woman’s beauty held terrifying power over me, so when she wordlessly returned inside to her pillows I was at a loss as to what to do.

“May I have them back?” I crooned from the door in the sweetest tone I could muster. “Please, you give me papers.”

She simply sat examining them, turning them this way and that, until she lost interest and flung them aside.

“Ah! Papers. I may have?” I asked, a little more exasperated.

With a lovely gesture she gracefully held her palm out to them. I rushed in and gathered them up, praying I would not be chopped to pieces as an intruder. I was about to dash off when she spoke again in that brassy voice.

“Your name?”

“Daniel Wren, my lady,” I said, most eager to vanish. “Thank you so much—”

“Wing?” she repeated.

“No,
Wren
,” I corrected. “Rrrr…Wren.”

She practiced my name several more times and it continued to be ‘Wing’.

“Yes, that’s right, madam,” I said, bowing. “Wing. Very good.”

There was an awkward interval of silence, while she observed me with a curious eye, taking in my shoes, my shirt, my trousers. She pointed to the paper.

“You make how English girl—” here she pinched the lapels of her silk robe. “Make look.”

“Dress?” I said, pinching my own shirt. “
Dress
?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” she retorted with irritation. “Dress girl. Dress girl.”

I cast an eye about out of caution and saw one of the servants lingering at the doorway, shrewdly assessing the two of us. I sat on the floor and drew a crude, dismal figure of a woman in an English costume with a bonnet on her grinning head. I handed it to Wen Xi and she began to chuckle. She called out to the woman at the door who obediently came running. They spoke in animated Chinese as Wen Xi explained what the drawing was meant to represent, and then the two of them laughed aloud, barely covering their mouths.

Wen Xi took off her slipper and held it out to me.

“Make this!”

“Shoe, boot,” I instructed.

“Yes, yes, yes. Boot, boot. English girl boot.”

I fought to recall a typical English shoe and instead composed an elegant one I had noticed once at a cobbler’s shop. I did a fairly good job of it, including ribbons and bows and a fine tall heel. I even added a couple of touches that were strictly my own. When I displayed it to the ladies they took a solemn admiring estimate of it.

“What this?” asked Wen Xi, tapping her thumb on one of the features.

“Feathers,” I said. I looked about, saw the birds on the wall, strode over and pointed to the features. “Feathers.”

We pursued English hairstyles and hats and a few other items, and I did my best to render them as well as I could. More servants came and the women seemed entirely absorbed. Wen Xi’s beautiful features softened with smiles and laughter, which she occasionally directed at me. To my astonishment, I was making her happy.

At the end of the afternoon, I begged leave to go.

“You come tomorrow,” she said.

I was not sure if it was an order or a question, but I covered my ignorance with a bow.

When I reported back to the ship, Lord Douglas seemed entirely indifferent to the placement of the roses.

“Just direct the diggers tomorrow, Wren,” he said. “I don’t care a particle where they go.”

Mr. Whitehead, however, ordered that I make a detailed copy of them for the captain’s records. In the way a jeweler tumbles a stone to polish it, lying in my hammock that night I reviewed each exchange with Wen Xi that day, until every moment sparkled with special meaning. I wanted her with me.

In the early morning I scrubbed myself to the bone, shaved, rinsed my shirt clean until it was worked nearly threadbare, and brushed my hair, then set out for the compound. On the path I began to worry that all these fine ministrations might have upset the natural appeal I had the day before.

But she greeted me with a wide smile when I entered the compound and immediately became my companion. Though always in the close company of her servants, she watched and consulted as I directed the scores of laborers who had been sent to install the plants. The exception was along the perimeter outside the compound, where she was not allowed to venture. Whenever I returned from there, I found her sitting patiently on the porch outside her bay, eager to take up my company again.

She asked me questions about myself. In words and elaborate gestures I told her all the history I could communicate, most of which she could not comprehend. Aside from my sister, she was my first female companion. But her proximity to me—her face and body, her scent, the sudden brush of her robe against my arm—intoxicated me.

My head was buzzing with speculation and I had to confide to someone. I foolishly chose Mr. Heath while we were waiting for our mess.

“I’m sure she fancies me,” I said to Mr. Heath.

Mr. Heath gave a roar and then set himself to banging his knife on his plate to gain everyone’s attention, and kept up until the low growl of voices stilled and every eye was on him.

“Boys!” he declared at the top of his lungs, “Mr. Daniel Wren ‘ere has captured the heart of the princess Wen Xi!”

“Be quiet, man!” I barked in my most menacing voice.

“He’s going marry the girl and make us all squires,” he sang out. “He’s in love, boys! Love, men! And with a Chinese princess!”

My face felt as red and pulpy as an apple. To my surprise, most of the men only smiled, while some regarded me with sympathy. Mr. Wouk, our impressed pirate, standing behind me, kindly put his hand on my shoulder.

“That’s a fine thing,” he said, respectfully.

Lieutenant Jameson was on deck and called over to Mr. Heath.

“We need an extra hand to assist in the manger,” he said. “Do you think you can do that for us, Mr. Heath?”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Mr. Heath sourly replied.

On the third day, when the planting of the roses was all but completed, I began to fret that I might not see her again. Mr. Wong came and inspected the job we did and was most pleased. He saw the two of us standing together and like a pelican saw what was beneath the surface. He drew me aside.

“She be married in three day,” he said. “Your work done.”

I left that afternoon and saw Wen Xi at her chair on the porch. I waved, as I usually did, but this time she only stared at me with solemn eyes.

The next day was General Jheng Jiing’s banquet, and Lord Douglas and Captain Hearne were the honored guests. Grimmel was ordered to stay behind on board the
Sovereign
with most of the other officers. The ship had been ordered on full alert. Arms we distributed to every man, and I was chosen to act in the capacity as a messenger in the event the captain required to dispatch immediate communication with the ship.

Our party consisted of Jacob Hearne, Mr. Whitehead, Lord Douglas, Mr. Brooks, Zachary Riddle, captain of the marines, and myself.

There was a large courtyard at the eastern edge of Amoy, central to a cluster of buildings that made up a marketplace. Instead of being conveyed by cart, the captain elected that we should walk the distance. From the moment we arrived on the quay I could hear furious caterwauling echoing from the direction of our des
tination, like the baying of hounds on the hunt. Cold fear trickled down my spine. The closer we came, the more thunderous the roar. A thousand soldiers were gathered about the marketplace along the lanes and the alleyways, shouting and thrusting their fists into the air in unison, a savage, warlike chant.

Lead by Captain Hearne, we threaded our way through their ranks. We were allowed to pass, but the faces of the men around us glared as we passed. We did not know what the focus of their attention was until we reached the edge of the courtyard, where, in the tender glow of scores of colorful paper lanterns, we saw a line of prisoners being dragged by their pigtails and made to kneel before a dais of officers, at the center of which, ensconced in a magnificent throne, was General Jheng Jiing.

In groups of three, the prisoners were held down by their braids while three executioners, dressed in the ceremonial livery of the guards who escorted us to the mountain compound, swung their axes with ruthless authority, beheading them. Promptly three more men were ushered in and dispatched.

The severed heads were strung onto poles by their long braids, like lamps, with their lips and eyes still twitching and gaping while their torsos were left to bleed away. The next trio of prisoners, seeing the heads, shouted in horror and struggled helplessly against their guards. I was so terrorized that I could not speak or move or think a clear thought. The sights and my emotions raced together in a wild frenzy.

Mr. Wong noted our presence from the dais and dashed across the courtyard to greet us.

“Captain Hearne,” said he, beneath the heathen chants of the soldiers, “General Jheng Jiing is most delighted, most delighted. Come, come.”

“What is happening here?” shouted Hearne.

“Captured men and officers of the Manchu invaders.”

“Are they Manchu?”

“Not Manchu. Han traitors,” said Wong bitterly. “Our great general was most successful. Killed much enemy. Won many great battles.”

Mr. Wong guided us over to the edge of the dais, where we found Roger Belfry and several of his fellows watching the proceedings. Belfry gave us a cordial nod. The general and his officers took scant notice of us.

“And here you are, Mr. Belfry,” said Hearne, when Wong has out of range. “What do you make of this celebration?”

“The general lost three thousand men,” said Belfry, shouting in Hearne’s ear. “But you’d never know it looking at him.”

“Seems he’s in a corner.”

“The Emperor is pushing his people off the mainland,” said Belfry. “But he’ll not give up the fight. His father was a famous pirate hereabouts. Became a powerful warlord. Jheng Jiing has seen war all his life. He has the head for it.”

“How do you find him?”

“Sharp as crystal, sir. Never breaks his word. If he has use for you, you need not worry.”

The bloody spectacle continued for an hour, at the end of which General Jheng Jiing rose from his chair and addressed his army, who fell into a hush. It gave me the opportunity to study the man in some detail. His uniform was most elaborate, bearing what appeared to be a tiger on his breast. A cape of gold silk was cast over his shoulders and it, too, bore beautifully embroidered symbols of the tiger. A belt and sword were buckled around his waist, the hilt of which was wrought of gold and silver. The most remarkable part of his appearance, however, was his face. He was a handsome man, with all the marks of intelligence and a reserved moral strength. He watched the proceedings thoughtfully, detailing the impressions of those around him. At one point, a servant appeared at his elbow with a drink. He paused, looked the server in his eye and thanked him. The man’s face blushed with pride and pleasure. Indeed, this fellow appeared every inch the king, the sun around which spun the orbit of this small universe.