The Call of the Thunder Dragon (13 page)

It was enough to convince the
telegraph office, who knew nothing of the Lotus Society and would
hopefully be believed by the police if it was followed up.

Marihito brushed off the offer of
a typist and sat down, typing out two letters in triplicate. He
smiled smugly noticing the typewriter was the Chinese version of
the Nippon Typewriter Companies Japanese typewriter. He paid the
old man on the telegraph desk in copper coins and left.

Falstaff was up and about,
although the sun had set. He had slept nearly all day and was now
anxious to get back to the aircraft. Zam managed to get a list of
mechanics and car, or truck owners in the area likely to be of
help. The Doctor visited bringing a large bag of the tea to
‘quicken and balance the Blood’ he said.

Falstaff spat it out at first. It
tasted awful and bitter, but cleared his head and set his heart
going. He soon couldn’t get enough of it.

He checked over the planned
flight while Zam fussed counting their dinner plates and dishes as
they arrived. He reckoned the whole journey might take four days of
actual flying; assuming 4 or 5 hours flying a day.

Lake Meizi
¹³
, where they were to
Myitkyina in the north-west, a distance of about 300 miles. If his
charts were right, it might be the easiest leg of the journey. From
there on, it was a long flight over jungles then a climb all the
way to Bhutan. After Myitkyina, Jorhat, then find the Brahmaputra
river and follow it to Guwahati
¹⁴
, in
Assam then Bhutan. The last leg was potentially the most dangerous
climb over the Black mountains to Thimphu.

He started to think if he hadn’t
broken his ribs and been forced to think about the trip, he would
have ducked out of it. However, in making the plans he had found a
challenge. He decided to send a telegraph to Kunming putting his
contract on sojourn; at least let them know he was alive. He didn’t
want his money being given away? He was sure General Chiang
Kai-Shek would understand.

Zam was counting the dishes she’d
ordered on one hand, relaying her requests to the maid who brought
in a table and was setting it for a feast.

“Zam, shall we get some air
before we eat? It’s dark outside now I’m sure if we get away from
the hotel no one will bother us?”

“Wow, my little soldier-di-di
wants to get up now?” She hugged him. “I hope this is good news?
I’m sure the air will do you good!”

Falstaff eyed her keenly. She
seemed to be very pleased with his recovery.

Outside Falstaff could see a cold
mist descending over the avenue. Winter in Northern China can be
extremely severe. Tientsin, the port of Peking, was often closed to
shipping for six weeks or more, due to the river being frozen.

“We’ll need out coats.” Falstaff
commented as they prepared to leave. Wrapped up against the cold,
they slipped out the hotel by a side door. Falstaff noted the
thermometer by the door was now down on the previous night. It had
already gone below zero once in the last month.

A few weeks ago, flying off a
dirt road near Nanning they’d had clear nights when frost had grown
like crystals of trailing willow over the aircraft’s wings. Then
there were some days when the sky was clear, creating a bright
atmosphere. Bright sun in the day time meant that the cold was not
felt so much as might be expected for the time of year. But at
night while the stars blinked and blazed with an intense
brilliance, then the still frosty air grew ice on the aircraft
control surfaces and cables making them tight and stiff so they
would twang a metallic groaning voice in the air.

The ground was frosty as Falstaff
and Zam walked holding each other’s arms. They could see the pine
trees growing down to the edge of the shoreline, where the
tirelessly flowing river bend had cut out the long narrow lake. The
pine trees, the tea bushes and the pure mountain air made the
riverside town a paradise.

Taking a deep breath, Falstaff
shivered. He was wearing the loose clothes Zam had bought under his
leather jacket, he pulled Zam close and imagined that he warmth
from her body through the padded coat she wore. It was not a night
for beggars Falstaff sombrely reflected The wars and collapse of
the economy in some regions of China had made many homeless. Those
hapless wanderers were nightly frozen by the dozen in the streets
around Shanghai.

Falstaff thought of the bed
welcoming and warm with its iron firepot smouldering beneath,
warming the brick built bed beneath the mattress.

Zam shivered, “I wish we were in
the hot tub instead of out here?”

“Good idea,” Falstaff concurred.
He decided it was the best idea. “We’ll go as soon as we’ve
completed a circuit back to the hotel.”

The bathroom that boasted a brick
floor and paper windows, would be warmed by the steam and hot air
from the boilers, even though the hot tub was outside, it would be
warm and relaxing in the night air, the frost kept at bay.

They turned the corner out onto
the main avenue in front of the hotel. On the long gently sloping
street, well-to-do Chinese travellers, along with local farmers and
fishermen swelled the numbers of folk out enjoying the clear night.
Most of them appeared double their usual proportions. The bulky
clothes thickened by furs or layers of wadded coats. They were
walking out, taking the air, eating and drinking whenever they
stopped. The choices were wide; restaurants, a club or bars here
and there. Also, there were many street stalls grilling things on
sticks or ladling out noodles for coppers and for those who really
wanted to keep warm, - sweet cakes soaked in rice wine.

Falstaff saw a Chinaman, with his
wife trailing behind carrying home a pile of hot, steaming cakes.
They looked like giant Yorkshire puddings with raisins in. They had
come from one of the avenue cook-shops; which had replaced the
market at sundown.

Zam tugged him away from the
stall.

“Don’t you ever stop thinking of
food? Come on,” she whispered, “Bath time!”

After quickly washing and
scrubbing down, they’d stepped into the moonlight naked, then sunk
into the hot steaming water of the thick wooden tub. Frost was
growing thick around the edges of the steam cloud where the warm
air failed to penetrate. Less mesmerised by the naked displays of
the night before, Falstaff was more composed and focused on his or
Zam’s nudity. China had a different view of nudity; especially when
washing. There was nothing suggestive about it. Taking your clothes
off to bathe and jump naked into a hot tub with the rest of the
bathers was normal and not a step towards anything else, as many
Westerners might view it or Falstaff liked to imagine it.

He admired Zam’s body. She was
short, but muscular and with wide hips. Zam stood proudly naked,
with her hands on her hips waiting for him. Falstaff had heard a
little about Bhutan.

He asked. “Do you get naked for a
stone bath?” He asked.

Zam laughed at how Falstaff’s
mind was working. “Are you worried about perverts and peeping
Toms?” She wiggled and laughed. “That’s nonsense and nobody would
do that here, or in Bhutan! People can take baths in front of
others as well as with their entire family and no one would
stare!”

Zam grinned taking Falstaff’s
hand. “Not stare like you anyway? Do you like?”

“The view by the moonlight is
enchantin’... those glowing pale orbs risin’ into view, - by
starlight!” Falstaff sang smugly as he sat back, leering as Zam
lowered herself into the water.

Zam gave a short laugh. “That
sort of look might get you into trouble!”

“I hope it does? Is that a
promise?” Falstaff leered mumbling the half remembered song.

Simply sitting and relaxing in
the hot water was enough to penetrate his aches and pains. The
ribs, although he still wasn’t moving or using his left arm much,
were bothering him less and less. This time Zam rested her head on
his shoulder while they sat back and soaked.

After they’d sat mildly poaching
themselves for an indistinct time, a chambermaid appeared at the
door. She waved and beckoned them inside for dinner.

Zam had taken best advantage of
the local produce and game to select their menu. They started with
Pigeon Soup, which was rich and gamy; it served well as an
appetizer. Falstaff was pleased with the succulent tasty Woodcock
that followed. It appeared pale although it was roasted and was
served on a bed of mashed vegetables. The meat was tender and
light, but fatty.

Falstaff and Zam passed the Rice
and rice wine back between them as they discussed Chinese food.
Comparing it to fish and chips, school and canteen food in England.
Then the spiciness and burning hot chillies on the mutton and Yak
of Bhutanese food.

The juicy boiled Pheasant that
followed served only to fill them while adding to their hunger.
After the game, came the smell of tender fresh fish. ‘Soon Hock’,
caught fresh from the lake and barbecued followed by steamed eels
with black bean sauce. They both agreed it was one of the best
meals they’d had in China. Falstaff, who was used to dried fish or
dried beef with boiled sauces since joining the Nationalist Army
unit, ate on finding his hungry almost impossible to satisfy.

When table was cleared a fresh
pot of tea was brought, with the next round of courses. Plum Cake
soaked in strong rice wine. Garlic-cheese on toasted bread, Zam’s
own favorite made from local dried Yak’s cheese. Then to finish
dried Pumelo, with fresh ginger. The fine meal ended with more rice
wine, tea and finally freshwater mussels and more wine.

After a brief stretch, Falstaff
staggered to the bed almost exhausted, Zam was full of bounce and
showed it, starting a brief pillow fight until Falstaff howled with
pain caused by his ribs.

Zam’s girlish glee turned quickly
to soothing and nursing. She fussing over his bandages. Shortly he
started bleeding again, so the chamber maid and attendants had to
be called. With half clearing the pots, the others set about trying
to remove the bandages.

Falstaff, to save himself from
further injury, was pinned down again.

“Hell’s teeth it would easier if
I did it myself!” Falstaff hollered, but he was ignored.

Without ceremony, Song clapped
her hands, dismissed the idea of calling the doctor and took charge
herself. Falstaff was rolled on to his right side and the bandages
quickly cut off. Then his hands were tied to the wooden railing
behind his head. Shortly he was bandaged and wrapped up as tightly
as before. He lay flat, his sides feeling tight and stiff. The pain
brought out a cold sweat as he looking at the ceiling.

“You hardly needed to tie me up!”
Falstaff protested.

“You nearly knocked that girl out
with your elbow; she was only trying to help. You acted like a
baby!” Zam rubbed his chin.

“I’m sure she knows I didn’t mean
it!” He hissed between gritted teeth.

Zam poured a cup of wine. “This
is for you John-di-di. Feeling better?” She purred.

“Do you know why I ordered the
mussels?” She straddled his hips. “And you were a good boy and ate
they all up!” She leant forward kissed him on the forehead, then
his lips.

Falstaff closed his eyes and
kissed back, writhing to get his hands loose. “Can’t you untie me
first?” He pleaded.

“Oh, no! The doctor said you were
not to move! You might hurt yourself?” Zam undid her robe and then
naked tossed the gown aside. “Just relax di-di, it’s even colder
outside tonight. You don’t mind me warming us up do you?”

Marihito was nearly frozen. He
had eaten and drank as much as he could to keep warm and kept on
the move from place to place, fearful he would be spotted. He kept
moving now to keep the circulation going, it was cold and his last
coppers had been spent.

During the night, he slowly
worked his way around the back of the hotel to find entry to his
room, which he hoped was undisturbed.

In fact, Song had left the room
alone as instructed by the police. The fact that she’d thrown out
the remaining Japanese peace worker or whatever he really was
hadn’t bothered her at all. In any case, the rooms were locked and
the windows shuttered.

Marihito would admit he was
unfit, slightly overweight and slow sometimes, but he was a highly
skilled and cautious agent. Finding the hotel’s boiler room, he’d
managed to lift the latch easily and open the door with his knife.
Sitting on the piles of wood there, he rested and warmed
himself.

He folded up his brown overcoat
and took off his brown Derby hat. Checking his pistol and knife, he
explored further and found the stairs up into the hotel with the
unlocked sliding door at the top. Sneaking inside, he crept along
the hotel corridor towards the front of the building. He moved on
tiptoes, barely making a sound. The timbers and floor regularly
creaked in the wind, his steps altered to the rhythm.

The doors to his and Haga-Jin’s
room were padlocked. Thoughtful of the time, he dismissed the idea
of trying to pick the padlocks or prise the door open. The damage
would be too obvious. Instead, he scouted around the building a
little more then returned to the boiler room to rest.

Daybreak came as a surprise to
him. He was woken by the scraping sound of the sliding door
opening, alerting him to the presence of someone coming down to
stoke the big boiler. He rolled over and off the pile of wood,
grabbing his hat and coat to duck into the shadow of the door
leading outside. He prayed that no one would come his way to use
the backdoor.

Checking his watch, he tried to
think about the schedule of the hotel. Tea, breakfast, morning
bathing? He estimated the best time would be mid-morning when the
guests had left for the day and the hotel staff were busy or
distracted clearing breakfast and making beds. Outside would also
be noisy with the market setting up so any noise made by his
break-in might be covered up.