History Keepers: Nightship to China (17 page)

Topaz beckoned to the others, and they tiptoed across the roof, keeping their eyes on the activity below. The next chamber was a drying room, where workers were busy hanging up or taking down the parchment, some climbing bamboo ladders to utilize every bit of space. Finished sheets were stacked by the far wall.

Jake froze as a face suddenly stared up at him just below the vent. He clutched the hilt of his sword. But the man, an ancient hunchback with leathery skin, did not seem to notice him and simply felt along a sheet of parchment, mumbling to himself as he checked it. Jake realized that he was blind, his eyes milky white. At last he unhooked the sheet and made his way back down his ladder, leaving Jake to sigh with relief.

The three of them edged further along the roof, first over a hallway where two sentries guarded a metal door; then on to the next chamber. Here, the workers were fully clothed and had cotton gloves on. Several wore spectacles – tiny discs of glass held in gold wire frames – and were operating a pair of machines: cast-iron contraptions that clanked and thumped incessantly.

‘Printing machines,’ Topaz murmured.

Jake peered down with interest. He had seen such devices before, in the dungeons of Castle Schwarzheim, the mountain hideaway of Prince Zeldt, but these were far more elaborate, like the insides of a giant clock; they printed a page a second, each one covered with intricate writing.

‘What’s that?’ Jake asked, watching as the sheets were carried over to a workbench, carefully guillotined into smaller sections and stacked up in a metal casket. Then he realized: ‘Money. They’re making
money
.’

‘As you may know, we invented the banknote,’ Yoyo couldn’t resist boasting, ‘way back in the 1050s, while you were all still bartering with chickens.’

‘Yoyo, we get the point,’ Topaz sighed testily. ‘We were late developers. Can we leave the subject now?’

‘Are they printing it illegally?’ Jake asked, trying to forestall another argument.

‘Not necessarily,’ Yoyo replied. ‘The business of making money is franchised out by the government. This factory has an imperial seal, so it makes sense – and it explains the guards outside.’

‘Someone’s coming,’ Jake said, hearing the bolts on the metal door being drawn back. They all watched as the door swung open and a young man swaggered in. He wore a light blue tunic, belted at the waist, with a sword swinging either side. Hanging from his lips was a toothpick, which he rolled from side to side. He made his presence known with a sharp whistle. An old bespectacled man – clearly the foreman – told him to wait.

‘Give me your spyglass,’ Topaz whispered to Yoyo. She opened it and peered at the new arrival. ‘There’s a mark on his tunic – an octopus! Xi Xiang’s emblem. Can you see it?’ She passed the telescope to Jake, but the man jumped up and went over to the metal casket of banknotes. The foreman took a key from a chain around his neck, locked the box and handed it to the man in blue. He fastened a chain around the youth’s wrist and secured it to the casket. Finally he signed a piece of paper, stamped it with a seal, put it in the youth’s free hand and dismissed him with a clap of his hands.

The young man winked at him, turned and strutted back to the door, knocking twice. The guards on the other side let him out, before slamming it shut behind him.

‘After him,’ Topaz declared. ‘Quickly!’

They hurriedly retraced their steps back to Nathan.

‘Anything?’ he asked.

‘It looks like one of Xi Xiang’s men is taking a box of money somewhere,’ Jake said. ‘Let’s go . . .’

THE HISTORY KEEPERS
crept back round to the front of the factory. The youth in the blue tunic was just emerging from the main entrance. He handed the sheet of paper to the guards, who examined it, patted him down, double-checked that the box was secured to his wrist, then sent him on his way. He crossed the street and boarded a rickshaw with an awning that was the same colour as his tunic. He snapped his fingers at the driver and they set off.

‘Follow it!’ Topaz commanded, crossing the street in pursuit. They hurried to the corner . . . and their faces fell.

‘Rush hour!’ Jake shook his head. They’d come to a wide boulevard. At this hour it was full of traffic: carts, carriages and litters – not to mention hundreds of rickshaws – rattled past in both directions.

‘There!’ Topaz shouted, spotting a flash of blue in the distance. Opening the telescope, she double-checked it was the right vehicle. She could just see the black money box on the seat. ‘That’s it.’

‘Taxi!’ Nathan shouted as an empty rickshaw pulled to a halt.

‘It’s too small to take us all,’ Yoyo said, flagging another one down. She pulled Jake in beside her, leaving Nathan to travel with his sister.

Topaz gave an order to the drivers in basic Chinese, and they all trundled off.

Jake watched the Cantonese going about their business, fanning themselves against the heat. They were rushing home or shopping in the many stores that advertised their wares on large banners. There were apothecaries, calligraphers, tobacco shops, spice and tea emporiums, pickle merchants, sandal-makers, wood carvers and stonemasons. There were stalls selling a host of different foods: chicken’s feet, white peaches, steamed dumplings and skewers of meat. Festoons of paper lanterns hung between the shops and across the street.

Accompanying the rumble of the city was a cacophony of different music. Jake noticed a group on the sidewalk, ringing bells, plucking bamboo harps and bashing cymbals. And here and there locals gathered to play games: dice, chequers and chess.

Most of the people were Chinese, but as Topaz had pointed out, many were western. Canton was indeed as international a city as Jacobean London. The foreigners looked at home, having picked up the rhythms of the city, though some were sweating profusely in the tropical heat.

They followed the blue rickshaw as it wound its way up a slope, across an old bridge and into a shabbier district. Men trudged along, weighed down with yokes bearing heavy buckets, while barefoot children and skinny dogs scavenged for food amongst piles of rubbish. Soon they found themselves heading back towards the water past a succession of ramshackle wharves.

At the first, a number of horses was being herded down a ship’s gangplank. Emerging from the hold after a long journey, they stumbled, their legs unsteady after being cooped up for so long.

‘Probably from Persia – or at least the Middle East, judging by the ship,’ Yoyo told Jake. ‘As you may know, horses are not native to China, so we swap other wares for them. In fact – it’s not too far-fetched to say – if it weren’t for horses, world trade probably wouldn’t even exist.’

As they passed the next wharf, Jake smelled an acrid stench that made him gag. The driver turned and smiled.

‘Fish sauce factory,’ Yoyo explained.

‘Fermented rotting fish,’ Topaz commented to her brother in the other rickshaw. ‘It’s not exactly haute cuisine.’

‘I don’t mind the aroma,’ Nathan called back, for Yoyo’s benefit. ‘It has an earthy piquancy,’ he added, remembering one of Charlie’s phrases.

No sooner had the stink of fish faded than Jake smelled another aroma – spicy and woody, pleasant at first, but soon so overwhelming, it made him sneeze – once, twice, thrice . . . and a fourth time for luck. Workers were decanting velvety brown powder from a barrel and packing it into smaller cases. Soon Nathan and Topaz also started to sneeze; but Yoyo, who seemed impervious to it, was giggling.

‘Nutmeg,’ she told them.

Ahead of them, at the top of a slope, the blue rickshaw stopped in front of a tumbledown building with a distinctive pink-tiled roof. It stood at the bottom of a rocky escarpment that marked the edge of the city; in fact, the building almost seemed part of it. The man in the blue tunic dismounted and, as his taxi started back towards the city, carried the money box up some steps, casually glanced around and went inside.

Topaz told the rickshaw drivers to stop. ‘We go on by foot,’ she said, handing over two silver coins to each driver. It was obviously much more than they were expecting: they thanked her profusely and helped the others out before turning to go back down the slope.

The History Keepers took in their seedy surroundings.

‘Intriguing location,’ Nathan deadpanned.

Jake looked up at the sky. Still obscured behind hazy cloud, a blur of sun was sinking towards the horizon. In the distance there was a crackle of thunder and the sky pulsed with lightning. They all turned to the building with the pink roof and, checking their weapons cautiously, walked towards it.

Close up, it was both larger and older than it had appeared from a distance: a square edifice of crumbling stone overlooking both the city and the sea. There was music coming from inside – what sounded to Jake like a noisy jangle, along with drums thumping and high-pitched singing.

‘Chinese opera,’ Yoyo said. ‘The building is probably a tea house.’

‘Opera?’ Nathan stopped dead.

Topaz couldn’t help smiling. ‘There is nothing Nathan loves more than the opera,’ she teased.

For Yoyo’s sake he tried to look excited. ‘I do, I do – especially Chinese opera.’ He thought about it for a moment. ‘What exactly
is
Chinese opera?’

‘Ancient tales told through music, dance and acrobatics. Entertainment for the people.’

‘Wonderful! Wonderful! What are we waiting for?’ Nathan exclaimed, before whispering to Jake, ‘I’d rather be burned alive.’

Topaz saw a crooked sign above the entrance and stopped dead. The letters were half eaten away by the salt air, but she could just make them out. ‘I don’t believe it!’ She turned to Yoyo. ‘Does that say what I think it says?’

It was Yoyo’s turn to catch her breath. She translated for the boys: ‘
The Ocean Door
.’

‘Wh-what?’ Jake stammered, his heart skipping a beat. He unbuckled his brother’s watch from his wrist and examined the inscription once again:

Tell family I love them. Find Lazuli Serpent – through the Ocean Door, C

‘The C was for Canton,’ he said. ‘Philip hadn’t finished writing. So what’s in there?’

Topaz cautiously peered inside. ‘As Yoyo said, it’s just a tea house. Why bring a casket of money here?’ She turned and nodded for the others to follow.

They slipped through the shadow of the doorway into a large, noisy chamber. Dozens of people clustered around low tables, chatting as they sipped from little china cups. Many of them fluttered paper fans and some smoked thin white pipes, making the air hazy.

Topaz whispered to the others, ‘See our man anywhere?’ They all drew a blank: he had apparently vanished into thin air.

On a lopsided stage, a troupe of artistes were performing a Chinese opera – a curious display of exaggerated mime mixed with musical interludes. They were dressed in gaudy costumes – in turquoises, pinks and oranges. Some of them wore masks; others had their faces painted in black and white. The actresses all carried fans, which they moved in time to the music, and their elaborate headpieces jangled with jewels. Jake had never seen – or indeed heard – anything quite like it in his life.

‘Wonderful!’ Nathan repeated, doing his best to conceal his loathing. ‘We’ve chanced upon entertain ment gold!’

On one side of the room, staff bustled behind a bar, preparing tea: they selected dried leaves from a variety of jars and stirred them into steaming pots of water.

‘Let’s take a seat and see what’s going on,’ Topaz said, grabbing an empty table.

A man hobbled towards them holding a tray of skewers threaded with some unidentifiable food. Yoyo tossed a coin onto the tray and helped herself to a couple.

‘What are those?’ Nathan asked, half hiding behind his handkerchief.

‘Fried beetles,’ Yoyo replied, crunching into one with relish. ‘High in protein and iron.’

‘Why don’t you try one?’ Topaz suggested, mischievously passing them over.

Nathan pushed it away gingerly. ‘I have a solemn rule: no bugs after sundown.’

Jake noticed that the waiter had a false leg – a piece of roughly shaped wood attached to his knee. His other, real leg looked frail, with black feet and curling toes. Wanting to help him out, Jake also threw a coin into the tray and took a skewer – though he didn’t fancy insects either.

‘What’s the worst that could happen?’ He grimaced as he bit into one. ‘Quite tasty, actually – like a burned shrimp.’

‘Jake is the only truly brave one amongst you,’ Yoyo declared.

Nathan bristled. ‘Excuse me, my good man’ – he clicked his fingers – ‘another portion here please.’ He too paid up and bit into the beetle with a determined smile. ‘Delicious! Heavenly! Never tasted the like!’

Looking around, Topaz suddenly noticed something odd. ‘
They
don’t look like they belong here,’ she said under her breath, nodding towards some new arrivals: four older men wearing silk robes and clutching pieces of paper. They seemed far more well-to-do than anyone else in the room; a few locals stared at them over the brims of their teacups as they conferred and took the next-door table.

A man with a long, thin moustache came out from behind the counter – the manager, Jake guessed – and approached them. The oldest of the customers perused the menu before placing his order, speaking very deliberately. The manager nodded, turned and went back to the counter.

Yoyo whispered to the others, ‘He just ordered Jun Shan, but Jun Shan is not on the menu . . .’

‘What is it?’ Jake whispered back.

‘Golden Needles, the rarest tea in China,’ she replied.

The manager returned with a tray, poured out four cups of tea, bowed and took his leave. The four men had a hushed conversation before the eldest reached inside the pot, retrieved something and nodded at the others. They all stood up, filed across the room, round the back of the stage and out through a low door. Their cups of tea were left steaming on the table.

‘What was in that teapot?’ Jake wondered. There were shrugs all round.

‘There’s only one thing for it . . .’ Topaz beckoned the manager over. ‘Jun Shan. For four,’ she said. He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing each of them in turn – but returned with a teapot, filling four cups and leaving them to it. Topaz peered into the pot and saw something glistening at the bottom. Turning the vessel on its side so as not to scald her fingers, she reached in and pulled out a small jade disc. It was the size of a coin, with a rectangular hole in its centre and a motif of waves inscribed on it.