Snake Bite (16 page)

Several gangways led up from the quay to the deck of the
Monocacy
. Each one was guarded by a pair of armed American sailors in dark blue uniforms. The sailors were all keeping a wary
watch on the people walking past them.

Sherlock noticed that a lot of the Chinese locals were casting unpleasant glances at the ship, and at the sailors. Every now and then someone would shout an insult at the Americans. Sherlock
understood the words – his Cantonese was getting better and better the more he heard – and he decided it was a good thing that the sailors couldn’t. Some of the names they were
being called were pretty nasty, and the sailors were armed, after all. Insults, tempers and guns didn’t go very well together.

As he got near the gangway Sherlock saw with concern that a small group of locals was gathering a few feet away. One of them bent and picked up a rotten cabbage. He lobbed it through the air. It
caught a uniformed American on the side of the head, exploding in shards of stinking vegetation and a spray of water. The sailor stumbled, then turned around and raised his gun towards the crowd.
His face was twisted in anger and disgust. His companion caught his arm and knocked it down. The two of them argued for a moment while the crowd jeered.

Another vegetable flew out of the crowd and hit the ground between the two guards. They looked to Sherlock like they weren’t sure whether to retreat up the gangway, take some action or
pretend that nothing was happening.

The growing tension was broken when someone started walking down the gangway towards the quayside. It was the man Sherlock had seen the night before at the Mackenzies’ dinner party –
Captain Bryan. He was an impressive sight, in his full uniform and frock coat, and he was followed by two junior officers and a Chinese man in ornate robes – a translator, possibly. Sherlock
thought he recognized the junior officers from the dinner party as well.

Even at that distance, Sherlock could see that Bryan’s bright blue eyes were taking in everything that was happening in front of him. He got to the bottom of the gangway and the two
sailors snapped to attention. Without stopping, he strode directly across to the crowd.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ he snapped in English. The translator hastily translated.

The various members of the crowd looked at one another. Nobody seemed willing to speak for them.

‘We are visitors here,’ Captain Bryan continued. ‘We are, I have been led to believe by your Governor, honoured guests.’ He paused while the translator caught up.
‘Word of the hospitality of the Chinese Empire has spread widely. I am disappointed to see that those words are apparently untrue.’ Again he paused, and Sherlock noticed that some
members of the crowd were looking ashamed of themselves. ‘Wherever this ship has docked around the world, it has been met with the hand of friendship. Do not let this port be any different.
Do not dishonour your ancestors and your Emperor with petty bullying.’

As the translator rushed to convey his words in the native language of the crowd, Captain Bryan let his gaze run across the various people standing there. None of them would look him in the eye.
He waited for a few moments after the translator had finished, then abruptly turned and strode back towards the gangway, apparently disregarding the possibility that somebody might lob another
cabbage at his back. His junior officers waited a few seconds, then turned and followed him. The translator had been looking nervously at the crowd. When he realized that he was alone he quickly
scurried to join them.

Sherlock was impressed to see the crowd start to disperse. The locals looked as if the wind had been knocked out of their sails.

Sherlock suddenly realized that he was going to miss his chance if he didn’t act quickly. He sprinted across towards Captain Bryan.

Hearing his footsteps, the two junior officers turned to face him. At the foot of the gangway the two armed sailors swung their rifles towards Sherlock, fearing that he was another local threat.
He slowed to a fast walk and raised his hands in the air.

‘I’m British,’ he said. ‘My name is Sherlock Holmes. I have a message for the Captain.’

‘You were at the Mackenzie dinner party last night,’ Captain Bryan said, turning around. ‘I remember you. We never got a chance to talk.’

‘You were far too busy and I was far too unimportant to bother you,’ Sherlock said. ‘But thank you for pretending that you might have wanted to talk to me.’

Bryan smiled. ‘You’re refreshingly honest, son. None of my officers dare say anything that sounds like it might disagree with me, and this country seems to run on saying one thing to
your face and another behind your back. Now, you say you have a message?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Sherlock took a breath. ‘You’ve recently taken on an assistant cook. I’m sorry to tell you that he died today. Almost his last words to me were that he
wanted you to know so that you didn’t think he had forgotten, or got a better offer.’

Captain Bryan frowned. One of his junior officers leaned forward and whispered something in his ear. He nodded, and turned back to Sherlock.

‘We cast off and sail up the Yangtze River within the hour,’ he said. ‘It’s too late to get another assistant cook. We will have to manage without, I suppose, which is
annoying given that we have only just replaced our Head Cook with a local man. But I appreciate the effort you went to in order to convey the message.’

He nodded, and turned towards the bulk of the USS
Monocacy
. After a moment he glanced back at Sherlock.

‘You knew this man?’

‘I did.’

‘Was he a good man?’

Sherlock nodded. ‘I was with him on the
Gloria Scott
.’

‘Then my condolences. Good men are hard to find. Good cooks are even harder. How did he die?’

‘He was bitten by a snake.’

Captain Bryan shook his head sadly. ‘Snake bite, eh? Must be a lot of the beggars around. Our own Head Cook was bitten by a snake, and died, a few days ago. You wouldn’t find
rattlesnakes in the middle of an American town, I promise you that.’

As soon as Captain Bryan reboarded the ship, a whistle blew somewhere on deck. The pairs of armed sailors at the bottom of each gangway snapped to attention, then quickly scurried on board. As
Sherlock watched, the gangplanks were pulled up to the deck of the ship by invisible hands. Within a few moments only guy ropes attached the ship to the land. It was now a separate world. An
American world.

Sherlock waited for a while, but the ship didn’t move. Presumably they were raising steam, or checking their charts, or otherwise getting ready.

Eventually he turned away and headed back towards the town wall.

As he approached the gate, and caught sight of the guards in their yellow and red uniforms and their metal bucket-like helmets, he suddenly remembered his earlier fears about getting back into
the town. What was he going to do?

He looked down at his clothes. Fortunately, he had selected things from Cameron’s closet that made him look at least passably like a Chinese youth. His face was another thing. One look at
his eyes and his skin would be enough to give him away.

His mind raced. He had to do something to disguise himself.

Glancing around, he saw an elderly beggar at the side of the road. He wore a wide straw hat to protect his face from the sun, and he stared at every passing person with a pleading expression on
his face and his hand outstretched. Sherlock crossed the road to him. His eyes lit up when he saw Sherlock approach.

‘A copper coin, young master?’ he asked. ‘A copper coin that I can use for a cup of tea and a bowl of noodles?’

‘Two copper coins,’ Sherlock said, ‘for your hat.’

The beggar stared at Sherlock. ‘Three,’ he said.

‘That’s a lot of tea and noodles.’

The man smiled, revealing a mouth that had too many teeth for a proper beggar. ‘I have a big appetite,’ he said, patting his stomach.

Sherlock delved into his pockets and retrieved three copper coins, along with a strange piece of metal that he couldn’t immediately identify. He threw the coins to the beggar. ‘Here
– try not to eat it all at once. You’ll get indigestion.’

‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ he beggar grumbled. He took the hat from his head and threw it to Sherlock. ‘Be careful with it.’

Sherlock paused for a moment, gazing at the metal object in his hand. It was the thing he’d picked up from the ship’s deck outside Mr Arrhenius’s cabin. He still didn’t
know what it was. For a few seconds he thought about throwing it away, but he hated a mystery, even one so small. He would keep it until he knew what it was.

Sherlock set the hat on his head and tipped it forward so that it shielded his face. Looking around, he saw an abandoned bamboo pole by the side of the road. Near it were two broken buckets. He
picked them up, dusted the dirt off them and hung them from either end of the bamboo pole, then balanced the pole carefully on his right shoulder so that one bucket hung in front of him and the
other one hung behind. Then, with a deep breath, he set off for the gate.

He managed to get in behind a group of workmen returning from somewhere in the dock area. They were grumbling, and shoving each other, and he found that if he stayed at the back and bowed his
back to disguise his height then he was pretty effectively blocked from the sight of the guards.

‘Hey, you!’ one of the guards called. ‘You with the buckets!’

Sherlock kept his head down. If he showed his face then they would know he was not Oriental. If he even opened his mouth to speak they would hear his strong accent.

One of the guards stepped into the road in front of the group of workmen.

Sherlock desperately tried to think of some convincing story that would explain why he was trying to sneak into the town disguised as a Chinese worker. He looked up, ready to say something, but
the guard was hauling a Chinese woman out of the front of the group. She had two buckets balanced on a pole over her shoulder as well. They were filled with something that looked like milk. Maybe
it
was
milk – Sherlock couldn’t tell.

‘We’re thirsty,’ one of the guards said. ‘Give us some of that or we won’t let you in!’

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. Although he felt sorry for the woman, he was glad that the guards had missed him. He walked past them, head bent, while they were drinking noisily from her
buckets.

Once inside the town wall, he breathed a sigh of relief. Strange, he thought, how just yesterday the
Gloria Scott
had been home and Shanghai had been unfamiliar territory, but now
Shanghai felt like home. The crowds, the smells, even the houses . . . maybe he had simply been immersed in it over the course of the day, but it did feel familiar.

And Farnham? That felt like another world now. Like a dream.

He quickly moved on. He wasn’t sure what awaited him at . . . at Tsi Huen’s house . . . but he felt an obligation to go back there. Cameron was expecting him, for a start, but he had
got to like Wu Chung’s son in the few hours he had spent in the boy’s company. He had a quiet dignity about him, and Sherlock wanted to make sure he was going to be all right.

A Western face flashed past him, heading across his path, and Sherlock had to look twice before he recognized Cameron’s father – Malcolm Mackenzie. The reason he was so difficult to
recognize was that his face was twisted into what Sherlock first thought was a scowl, but then recognized as a frown of worry and concern.

Sherlock was about to shrug it off as a chance encounter and continue on his own way when he realized that Malcolm Mackenzie was being followed. Something was slipping through the crowd behind
him.

Whatever it was that was following Malcolm Mackenzie, Sherlock couldn’t make out its shape. He only had a rough idea of its size, which was about that of a large dog.
Mainly he could just see movement, a blur as something passed in front of walls or vegetation. He shifted around, trying to get a better view, but it was impossible. Whatever was following
Cameron’s father seemed always to be behind a person or a tree or a cart. It had an amazing ability to stay hidden.

Sherlock suspected it was the same thing he had glimpsed in the garden of the Mackenzie house the night before. Maybe it hadn’t been a burglar, but had been watching Malcolm Mackenzie for
some reason, observing him from a distance. Or maybe it
was
a burglar and it was still targeting him as a victim.

Sherlock found himself torn. On the one hand he wanted to get back to Cameron, and to Wu Fung-Yi and his mother, but on the other hand he wanted to find out what this thing was and why it was
following Malcolm Mackenzie. The latter won. Instead of going straight on, he diverted sideways, keeping Cameron’s father in sight. He knew that if he kept his eyes on Malcolm Mackenzie then
all three of them would end up at the same place. Wherever that turned out to be.

Strangely, nobody really took any notice of this mysterious thing that was slipping past them. Some people turned around, confused for a moment, as it passed, but when they saw nothing there
they scratched their heads and went back to what they had been doing.

Fortunately, Sherlock was able to keep following Mr Mackenzie without being seen himself. Partly this was because the follower was intent on its quarry while Malcolm Mackenzie was staring grimly
ahead, jaw clenched hard, and partly it was because Sherlock was effectively in disguise. He thought about getting rid of the bamboo pole and the buckets, to make it easier to get through the
crowd, but decided for the moment to retain them. He could always throw them away later, if he needed to.

Mackenzie was heading uphill. The closer he got to the top, the larger, more ornate and more colourful the buildings became. They were spaced further apart as well, so that each building had a
cleared area of space around it. That made things more difficult for his tracker, as it had fewer and fewer areas of shadow to keep to. Twice Sherlock saw it dash across an area of open ground, but
frustratingly he still couldn’t make out what it was – only that it seemed to be running on two legs and crouching low to the ground.