Mandarin-Gold (14 page)

'You are a philosopher?'

'Not really,' said Mackereth, pleased at the suggestion. 'But I like to make the most of each day, each minute. Remember, Dr Gunn, life is a journey without return. We shall never pass this way again. Let us, therefore, make good use of all our opportunities as we see them. Now, I will bid you good morning. I have prayers to make.'

'Of course,' said Gunn. He watched Mackereth go down the companionway. An. odd character, a bit too oily for his taste, but there was no doubt that what he said was true. And Gunn was determined to follow his advice about opportunities. Mackereth had a ready convert there.

They were running in closer to shore now. The countryside stretched green and flat, with patches of cabbage, then Indian corn and millet. He could see the brick walls of a small town: a pagoda, built on a hill because demons and devils could not run uphill; a pyramid of sacks of salt covered by mats; huts built of half-burned bricks thatched with rushes, some with blue and yellow ribbons flying from their eaves as an insurance against evil spirits.

It was warm, but not as hot as in Macao, and a cool breeze blew in from the ocean. Fernandes came up alongside him and slapped him familiarly on the back.

'We
don't. Natives come out in boats.'

'Isn't it risky, trading in opium in broad daylight?'

'Even if we did it by night, they'd still know wouldn't they? Our company will have made its dispositions. The local mandarin will have received a huge fee. Doubtless he will pass on money to others whose duty is to watch us. If he has given enough, we will be all right.'

'I hope so.'

'Do not worry, doctor. This is the easiest way of making money, apart from printing your own banknotes. Mr Crutchley would not be concerned in it otherwise, I assure you.'

They were now about half a mile out from shore. Ahead lay several sampans and man-of-war junks, with high sterns and tiny thin guns, poking like porcupine quills from their sides. One flew a strange multi-coloured flag with two long tongues.

'That's the local commodore of the Chinese navy,' explained Fernandes. 'He'll have to be taken care of, too.'

A ship's officer was shouting orders; the sails fell slack and empty of wind, whackering away at the spars. The clipper slowed and rocked on the oily, burnished water, turning slightly with the tide, pointing to the shore. The loose sails beat above their heads like great drums.

A small boat, known as a fast crab, had left the nearest junk and was heading towards them; painted oars dipped rhythmically into the sea. In the stern, beneath a huge scarlet silk umbrella, embroidered with designs of flowers and birds, a fat man sat in a wicker armchair smoking a long clay pipe. His hat was ornamented with a mandarin's red button. Three servants stood — one behind, one on either side — and fanned him with painted paper fans.

Close to the mandarin, heads bowed, hands folded, stood several officials in grass-cloth robes and rattan hats, bound with red silk cords.

' 'Course he bloody does. He wants his fee, that's why he's coming out. He'll be watched by others on the shore. So he must go through the motions of enquiring what cargo we carry. That's his job. Then we'll sell him our mud. That's
our
job. And. the quicker we start, the better.'

A gangway was run down, and Crutchley saluted the mandarin as he came slowly up the steps, followed by one servant carrying a fan. The mandarin bowed to Crutchley and then to Gunn. He had a bland, expressionless face, long waxed moustaches and a pigtail that reached down to his calves. He sat down in a chair that had been brought up for him. Everyone else remained standing.

A cabin boy ran down for Mackereth, who came up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His face was flushed; he had been at the whisky again.

'Do your stuff with this Chink,' ordered Crutchley, nodding towards the mandarin. Mackereth cleared his throat and began to speak in a high-pitched voice, now and then inclining his head to one side or the other, or nodding vigorously, pursing up his face like an actor. Finally, he turned to Crutchley.

'I have told His Excellency that we would not have dared to come so close to shore had not contrary winds and strong hostile currents driven us from our appointed course, which was from Singapore to Canton by way of Whampoa.

'Unfortunately, through being driven so fair out of our course, we have run short of water, and therefore it is necessary to seek this pleasant spot in order to replenish both water and provisions.'

'Never mind what you've said,' said Crutchley. 'What does
he
say?'

'He says they are pleased to supply what we need. But he insists that as soon as water and victuals have been delivered, we must depart at once for Canton. By Imperial Decree, no loitering is permitted. Is that understood?'

'Of course it's bloody understood,' said Crutchley angrily. 'Cut out all this rubbish, and let's get down to the object of the visit. How much mud is he going to buy? And what is he going to pay?'

'It is impossible to do this so crudely,' retorted Mackereth, angry in his turn, whisky firing his blood. 'You've asked me up here to interpret. There's a certain etiquette we have to follow. No wonder they call us Barbarians!'

'Get on with it,' said Crutchley sullenly.

Mackereth began to speak again. Then the mandarin nodded and, putting down his hand, pulled out a long tube of parchment from the top of his right boot. He handed this to Mackereth who unrolled it and began to read.

'True copy of Imperial Edict. His Majesty, being ever desirous that his compassion be made manifest, even to the least deserving, even to Barbarians from the outer seas, cannot deny to such, who are in distress from lack of food, through adverse seas and currents, the necessary means of continuing their voyage. When supplied they must not linger, but put to sea again immediately. Respect this!'

Mackereth nodded and rolled up the Edict and handed it back to the mandarin, who replaced it in his boot. Then the man stood up and said something in a low voice. Mackereth turned to Crutchley.

'Where's the wine? It's courtesy to offer them a drink, you know.'

'Get on with it, man,' said Crutchley irritably. 'I'm trying to trade, not run a bloody tap-room.'

But he nodded to the cabin boy, who sprinted below decks again, and returned with, a tray, a bottle of red wine and four glasses. Crutchley filled the glasses and handed them round, and then raised his in a form of toast. The mandarin emptied his glass and immediately held it out to be refilled. Then he spoke; Mackereth interpreted.

'He says you are wise to stay in this area. Farther north, along the coast, a new set of customs officers are exceedingly strict. At Amoy they recently decapitated a number of smugglers. Their heads are on pikes around the town.'

'All same custom,' said Crutchley, too impatient to wait for Mackereth to translate. 'Just like lastee time. All-light, number one top flight pickings, yes?'

'All same custom,' the mandarin repeated like a parrot.

'Don't know why you're here at all,' Crutchley told Mackereth. 'I've done the deal myself. Same terms as last time. Ten per cent flat on the middle price. I even had the bloody coins counted out in advance. All your bloody palaver.'

A sailor handed him a small leather bag. Crutchley dumped it on the table. It chinked with money. The mandarin picked up the bag and held it out at arm's length. From long experience, he knew the value of its contents by its weight. He bowed his thanks and handed the pouch to his servant, who concealed it in his robes. Immediately, his oarsmen sat upright, blades held out horizontally over the shining sea.

'He says he announces his departure,' said Mackereth.

'Not before time, either,' said Crutchley. 'Tell him to hurry his men out in their sampans for the mud. We don't want to miss the wind.'

The mandarin went down the companionway, into his crab and, without a backward glance, was rowed across to the largest junk. As he reached it, five sampans struck out towards the clipper from the shore.

'You speak the language well,' Gunn told Mackereth.

'You wouldn't think that was important if you listened to Mr Crutchley. You
can
get by with pidgin in many places, of course. But not for very delicate matters. And not at all farther up the coast.'

Mackereth bowed and went below decks to his cabin. He locked the door and poured five fingers of whisky into a tooth glass, and stood looking through the open porthole at the blinding reflection of sun on sea.

He had done well in his interpretation, despite the crudeness of that vile drunken fellow Crutchley. But Crutchley did not count. Only Jardine and Matheson really counted. And Jardine would not have come to see him unless he needed him. The Iron Headed Old Rat did not waste time or money. He knew his value all right. He would give him other trips, other fees. How strange if he won back all the fortune he had lost! Or rather, to be more honest about it, if the Lord, in His infinite wisdom and compassion, had given him the gift of the strange Chinese tongue, so that he
could
win back his money. Truly the ways of the Lord were sometimes mysterious, but they worked in a very powerful fashion. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him. I trust. Psalm ninety-one, verse two. Mackereth poured another hand so that he could consider the ways of the Lord more closely.

Up on deck, Crutchley leaned over the rail idly for a few moments, spitting in the sea. He had done well to sell at the middle price; he had been ready to come down, for he had heard that some buyers were holding off; they feared new penalties for trading in opium. He turned as though to go to his own cabin, and looked quickly around the deck. Only Gunn was near, his back to him. Crutchley pulled a small soft leather pouch from his trouser pocket.

'That bloody mandarin's left his wallet here,' he said in irritation.

'I thought he gave it to a servant,' said Gunn.

'He did. The fool must have dropped it, damn his eyes. We will have to return it to him as a matter of courtesy, otherwise he will think we have stolen it.'

'How will you get it to him?'

'In any normal country we would send a boat over with a couple of seamen and hand it back. But here, because he is a mandarin of high rank — you saw the colour of his button — an officer has to take it to him. It means a lot of rubbish, bowing and scraping.
Kow-towing,
they call it. Trouble is, I have no-one I can spare.'

'Well, put on a hat because the sun is hotter than you think. I'll have a boat lowered for you. By the way, it's against all custom and etiquette to try to board a Chinese vessel, so do not approach that junk he came from. They might think we were going to seize it, or something. You will have to take the purse ashore.'

'But I don't speak the lingo.'

'You won't need to. They'll see you arrive, and send a secretary to meet you. We've landed here before. I'll get Mackereth to write a note in Chinese characters. Just give it to him with the purse.'

Gunn went down to his cabin. He put on a straw hat, and a new silk handkerchief in his breast pocket, and on the impulse, he slid his loose notes and the Parsee's cheque into his wallet and buttoned it in the inside pocket: of his jacket. Then he picked up a pair of spectacles with tinted glass against the sun, and came back on deck.