The Mark of the Golden Dragon (33 page)

Looking over Flashby's head, I see a pair of feet appear in the window, and then knees, and then the rest of Davy Jones being lowered from above in a Bo'sun's chair. When his face is full in the window, I nod to Ravi, who redoubles his blowing of the flute, while I bring my finger cymbals to either side of Flashby's head, one by each ear to cover any sound of the window being opened.

Flashby reaches up and takes the end of the silken cloth that is slowly slipping from my body. The sari has now completely fallen from my chest and is bunched about my waist. Flashby, breathing a bit more labored now, begins unwinding the rest of the garment and I move ever closer to him as he does it, my finger cymbals ringing in his ears, my voice still singing.

When the sari is fully unwound and lies on the floor leaving me completely unclothed, I nod to Ravi, who trails off his piping and goes silently to the window to open the latch. Flashby is otherwise engaged and does not notice.

I keep the finger cymbals clanging as I see Davy slowly lift the window sash and then climb into the room, belaying pin in his belt.

Flashby now has a hand firmly on each of my buttocks, with objective plainly in sight, and is about to bury his nose where it don't belong when he happens to glance to the side and notices my HMS
Dolphin
blue anchor tattoo sitting on my hip. He jerks back, and I can see memory tugging at his jasmine- and lust-fogged brain.

"Wot?...You...? No..."

"Yes, it's me, you rotten son of a bitch!" I snarl, yanking the veil aside.

He stares incredulously into my face and is about to cry out when Davy slams the belaying pin down on the back of his head.

Joannie follows Davy into the room, with Tink and Toby right behind them. Joannie flips me the bag containing my black burglar's gear. I rip it open and dump out its contents.

"Quick! Get him bound up before he wakes up! And quiet!" I hiss. "Shhhh! There's a guard right outside that door!"

Tink and Toby bend to their task while Davy wraps a gag around Flashby's mouth and cinches it behind his head. Just in time, too, for the captive is starting to wake up. His eyes look about, dazed, and then focus on me ... His stunned look is replaced by one of sheer terror.

I sit on the floor to pull on the black pants and jersey and cram the watch cap down on my head. Then I get up and see that they have done an excellent job of trussing up our Flashby, just like any Christmas goose. His hands are tied behind him and strands of good thick rope are coiled tightly about his legs. Ah, yes, trust seasoned sailors to know how to go about these things!

Toby goes to the open window and signals to the Shankies on the roof and presently a large iron hook at the end of a rope is lowered and brought inside to be affixed to the ropes that bind Flashby's ankles.

His head back inside, Toby quietly says, "All right, lads, take a strain."

The slack goes out of the line and Flashby is taken, wriggling for all he is worth, out the window, to dangle upside down in the night air.

I go to the window and look down. Sure enough, a wagon drawn by two horses and driven by John Thomas, with Finn McGee beside him, has pulled up below.

Flashby's face, which hangs on a level with mine, is flushed bright red, partly from the blood rushing to his head on account of his being upside down and part from fury.

I reach out and tap him on his nose.

"You like your Lotus Blossom, Sir Harry-san?" I say. "You velly happy man, now? Good." Then I gesture to those on the roof. "Lower him down."

And lower him they do.

After we've ascertained that Finn McGee has gathered Sir Harry, none too gently, into the wagon, Joannie and Tink slide down the rope. Then it is Davy, with Ravi clinging to his neck, and then, finally, me.

When I am in, I give the rope two jerks and the dangling block and tackle is drawn up. The Shankies will dispose of the rope, the pulley, and the Bo'sun's chair, and all evidence of our being there will have disappeared.

We head joyously back to the
Nancy B,
all of us singing away in the London night, with our feet firmly planted upon the recumbent form of Lieutenant Harry Flashby, late of the Naval Intelligence Service, and soon to be the bait for a certain Black Highwayman.

If there's one thing the crew of the
Nancy B.
knows how to do, it's how to celebrate, and celebrate we do after we bring our struggling captive aboard and plunk him down in a chair in my cabin.

Wine, rum, and ale are passed all around, along with trays of spicy snacks brought up from the galley by Lee Chi. We all fall to, delighted with the spread and with our own cunning and daring in bringing our quarry to bay.

Poor Flashby is still bound tight—hands, arms, and feet—and his mouth is gagged, so he cannot, alas, join in the festivities. It's unfortunate, because he is the guest of honor, after all.

There are not enough places for everyone to sit in my small cabin, so Davy and Tink grab two of the chairs and Liam yet another, while Joannie and Ravi sit on the bed. Seamen Thomas and McGee squat by the door, clubs in hand. No sense in allowing ourselves to be caught unawares, is there?

I, myself, plump the black-clad Faber tail down on the unfortunate Flashby's lap and place my finger on his nose, his mustache sticking out over the top of the gag, all bristly and comical. "This is where you wanted the Lotus Blossom to be, isn't it, Sir Harry-san? Well, here she is. It's too bad that this will probably be the last female bottom to sit in your lap before you are taken off to be thrown into the fires of Hell. Perhaps Satan will give you a loathsome female demon all slimy and scaly and stinking of brimstone to cuddle with. I trust you will find her charming."

Laughter all around. Flashby is not particularly loved by this company, and all are greatly enjoying his discomfiture.

His eyes wide with fear, he tries to speak, but all that comes out is an incoherent mumble.

"Our ever-so-charming Mr. Flashby is being uncharacteristically quiet, do you not all agree?" I ask with raised eyebrows. "I do believe he wants to speak. Shall we loosen his tongue? John Thomas, please bring your club over here." John Thomas gets up and goes to the side of Harry Flashby.

"Show him your club, John."

John Thomas, grinning, dangles his belaying pin before Flashby's eyes. He taps the club lightly on the bridge of the captive's nose.

"Mr. Flashby. We are going to remove your gag so that you might speak to those of us gathered here. You know we are your friends, but if you should even consider for one moment crying out for help, Seaman Thomas there will bring his bludgeon down upon your face, smashing your nose and probably a good many of your teeth. Do you understand that, Mr. Flashby?"

Flashby nods.

"Ravi. Please relieve our guest of his mouthpiece."

Ravi bounces down off the bed and goes behind Flashby's head and unties the gag, casting aside the limp and soggy rag in disgust.

While Flashby coughs and clears his throat, I run my finger lightly down the side of his face and ask, "What is it you want to say, noble Flashby?"

"I ... I've got to relieve myself."

"Oh? Hmmm ... I have noticed, dear one, that you have to do that a lot when you are in some danger," I say, thinking back to our time on the Mississippi, when I had Flashby walk the plank, and he did not present a very noble figure.

I jump off his lap and look toward the chamber pot that sits in the corner. Then I glance at his bound arms and laugh. "If you think for one minute, Harry Flashby, that I'm going to pull that thing out and hold it for you while you are eased of your discomfort, then you are sadly mistaken."

Coarse laughter all around.

"Joannie, do you want to help out our guest in his time of need?" I tease.

"Eeeeeww," she squeals and dives behind my bed.

"Oh, well," I say, ruffling Flashby's hair. "We cannot have you messing up the cushion of my fine chair, now can we? We'd never get rid of the stench. John Thomas, Finn, please take our guest back up to the head, and do what you can."

Thomas and McGee come over to grab our captive and carry him away.

"Don't worry, Cap'n," grunts McGee. "We knows what to do with the sod."

They carry him out and I say, "Give us a song, Davy, to celebrate this fine day!"

And we do "Hearts of Oak" and "The Bonny Ship the Diamond" with much gusto and great acclaim, and presently the bound form of Harry Flashby is brought back into my cabin.

"And how did you manage the task, my fine fellows?" I ask of Thomas and McGee as they dump their burden back in his chair.

"Aw," says John Thomas. "We just pulled down his drawers and throwed him on a hole and made him piss like a girl, is all. He did it."

More raucous laughter, all at Flashby's expense.

I had pondered earlier about sending my two crushers, Thomas and McGee, over to Chiswell Street to meet Benny Crespo when he came back thinking to pick up the much-soiled Lotus Blossom, and to lay some well-deserved punches upon him, but then I thought,
Nay, let that Randolph and his fellow thugs take care of the Creepo when they find both the Lotus Blossom and their master gone from that room, without a trace.
Well, actually, there was a trace. I had left my silk veil neatly folded on the unrumpled bed as a token of remembrance. I am sure that Benjamin Crespo has come to rue the day he ever set eyes upon the Jewel of the East, and well he should.

"Doesn't do much for your manly esteem, does it, Flashby?" I chortle, plopping back into his lap.

He stares straight forward.

"Cat got your tongue, Sir?" I tease.

"So you mean to kill me, then?" he asks, his voice shaking.

"Oh, do be a man, Flashby. Bear up, my lad. Others have faced execution. I certainly have, and I am sure you, too, will face yours bravely. Well, actually, I'm not sure of that at all, knowing you as I do."

"I have money," he says.

"Of course you do, you lyin' son of a bitch. But you do not have enough money to buy yourself off, Flashbutt. Not this time," I say.

I stand and point my finger between his eyes. I drop the bantering tone and my voice hardens. "You tried to rape me when I was but thirteen. You tortured me when I was fifteen. You kidnapped me from my wedding when I was sixteen. And you bore false witness against me and James Fletcher last year, thinking to get both of us hanged. But it didn't happen, did it, you sorry bastard? No, it did not. It only served to get me condemned to life imprisonment in a foul penal colony and to drive James Fletcher to the edge of madness and beyond."

"Do not kill me, please," he whimpers.

"Kill you? Nay, though that would be a real pleasure, I shall not kill you," I purr. "No, what we are going to do is to deliver you to the Black Highwayman. Any mercy you might plead, you must beg of him!"

Flashby slumps in the chair at that news.
Well, let him suffer,
I say.
Just let him...

"Skipper," says John Thomas from the door. "Someone's comin'. It's Mr. Higgins ... with a friend."

Hmmmm...
I consider this, then I jump up and order, "Get the gag back on him, quick now!"

The soggy gag is stuffed back in Flashby's mouth as I pick up my napkin to wrap it around his eyes, effectively blinding him. Then I go to the door to welcome the visitors. I give Higgins a look and hold my finger to my lips, signaling that care is to be taken.

Higgins ducks his head to enter and I see him immediately appraise the situation.

"No last names, gentlemen," I warn. "While it's true that Mr. Flashby here, late of the Naval Intelligence Service, is not likely to be alive to tell tales in a few days, one can never tell. And it does not hurt to be cautious, hmm?"

"Leave you alone for a moment, Miss," says Higgins, "and no telling what one will find upon one's return."

Higgins is followed into the cabin by George Gordon, also known as Lord Byron.

Gordon surveys the scene. He sees both me and Joannie in black burglar's garb, many rough sailors scattered about, a small brown boy in a turban, and a bound, gagged, and blindfolded man weeping in a chair. His eye travels further, taking in my skull and crossbones Jolly Roger flag, my various trophies, like my swords, Buddha statues, my Ganesh, the Golden Dragon pennant, and oh, just all my glorious stuff. His gazing about is interrupted by Lee Chi coming in again, bearing another tray of Oriental delights.

Upon Lord Byron's entrance, I signal for McGee to toss Flashby onto the deck, which he hastily and roughly does, while I wave the poet to the now vacant chair.

"Come, my lord, and share our humble hospitality," I murmur, and bow my shaven head.

"My word," remarks Lord Byron. "I'll say it again, friend John. You do have some very interesting friends. 'Tis a shame I'm to be shipped off tomorrow. A great pity, indeed."

We do aim to please, my lord, in the way of Romantic Tableaux.

Busy, busy, busy ... so much to do, so little time ... Tonight we attend a performance of
A Midsummer Night's Dream
at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. Someone else is trying to reprise Mrs. Jordan's role as Hippolyta, but I doubt that she'll even come close. I am, however, looking forward to listening to Mrs. Jordan's comments on the actress's vain attempts to emulate her. And I'm anticipating the Royal Museum people's coming here tomorrow to inventory Charlie Chen's treasure trove, thanks to Lord Clarence's efforts on our behalf. Then, of course, there are other important tasks for me to accomplish, such as the disposal of Lieutenant Harry-the-Bastard Flashby chained up down below, the rescuing of my Lieutenant James Emerson Fletcher, and the refitting and supplying of my
Nancy B.
for another transatlantic voyage.