The Call of the Thunder Dragon (61 page)

“Zam!” He called out and resumed
his lovemaking, Zam, how could he have forgotten good old Bunny?
Damn I better make the best of this in I case wake up again?

“John! I thought you were going
to die!”

“I thought you…” Falstaff
stopped; ‘were someone else’, he didn’t say it. A slip like that
could get you into very nasty trouble.

He turned his full attention on
her, ensuring that he missed nothing. Kissing her breasts, rubbed
his chin against her neck, squeezing her backside and dragging the
process out until Zam screamed and dug her nails hard into the skin
of his backside.

When they’d finished it came as a
surprise to find himself outside under a canopy of trees, then he
remembered the crash.

“Happy landings?” Falstaff
grinned and dived back under the covers. “Come here you hot little
firecracker!”

Colonel Haga-Jin and his men had
been given the use of an old hall for the night, it was early
morning and the men were just finishing breakfast. The colonel
paced up and down looking around it's now bare worn walls. The
decorations of Buddhist mandala and wheels, seated teachers -
Buddha’s faded into the plaster.

On the opposite wall, there was
an enormous traditional stylized phallus painted on the wall.
Haga-Jin found these paintings to be explicit and embarrassing.
Japan had its own ways, including its own phallus worship. The
State now helped direct the correct way of Japanese worship.
Establishing a new approved Japanese religion. Under the flag of
the rising sun in a new unified Shinto controlled by the local
government, in the name of the Emperor. A pick and mix of the best
of local superstition. The un-Japanese Buddhist influences had been
swept away and unsightly and unseemly would be dealt with as well
in time.

The colonel paused by one of the
Phallus painted on the wall of the building he wanted to wipe the
picture away, but he couldn’t suffer to touch it. He realised he
was staring and moved on, pacing the hall. He didn’t want his men
to see him looking at that enormous thing.

Abruptly, as he turned away from
the picture, he found the old monk waiting.

“The picture is intended to drive
away the evil eye and malicious gossip!” The Monk said. “That image
in other places also can bring strength to your manhood if it were
lacking?”

“Why have you come here?”
Haga-Jin retorted, hoping to change the subject. His face reddening
he didn’t want to be seen discussing that thing or the strength
lacking from his manhood.

“I have news, another flying
machine crashed on the river late yesterday afternoon. The
passengers are a woman and man, as agreed they will be taken to his
Lordship Lang Druk, then the man Falstaff will be brought to
you.”

Haga-Jin stepped away, his face
glowing; he drew his sword and turned. “We will be ready!”

“His Lordship understands that
you are Japanese and wish to take Falstaff into your own custody
for his crimes in China? Is this not the case?” The monk raised his
eyes and looked deep into Haga-Jin’s over the ribbon of glowing
steel.

“It is not your concern!” The
Colonel shouted. His hand gripping the sword tighter.

The monk held his gaze a moment
longer, studying the scar on the Colonel's face.

Around the room, the troopers
rose from their rest and Captain Soujiro approached, his sword
clanking at his side as he joined the colonel. He cocked his
machine gun and held it at the ready.

“Is he here?” The captain asked
his face drawn by fatigue

“Soon! Have the men posted along
the path to watch for them, go down to the river, bring Akira and
Keiko.” The colonel sheathed his sword and went to the fireplace
ignoring the monk, who discreetly turned and left. He squatted down
and started stuffing his face with another bowl of rice. He wanted
to fight Falstaff on a full stomach. Soujiro too took the
opportunity to fill himself, relishing the thought of Falstaff
being brought to him.

He wondered if Lang could control
his anger, how many of Falstaff’s bones would he break before he
released him to them?

The last of the horses were
packed. The cargo of carefully wrapped tea, rice wine and other
souvenirs of Zam’s journey spread between the sturdy horses. Riding
in front, they started on the five-mile trek up the valley to Zam’s
home.

Falstaff mounted the horse next
in line behind Zam and watched her expertly mount the beast then
adjust her hips, so she was comfortable. She looked around at him
as if reading his thoughts, which he hoped she wasn’t because he’d
been mentally comparing the view, with a memory of one seen in the
mirrors of a particular venue in Foochow. Sadly the house was
longer there, he remembered, bombed by the Japanese, which proves
the point that the Japs have no taste at all, Falstaff
contemplated. Still he had Zam and she was home safe and sound. He
chuckled quietly to himself, not sure if his fatigue making him
feel slightly drunk.

Relaxing, he let his horse follow
the others. They had still nothing to eat or drink except rice and
tea. He stuffed the rice balls down like a hungry horse while the
beast of burden carried them away from the wrecked Caproni.

None of the packages appeared to
be damaged or soaked beyond redemption. The layers of waxed paper
and cloth around the tea, inside the big canvas sacks, were dry as
a bone. One bottle of rice wine was broken. The sum total of the
damages.

Imperial Airways, Form 101;
“Certainly you can claim for damages Madam! Just as soon as you
straighten things out with our purser? I’m afraid the aircraft was
a write-off. If you remember, you took full responsibility when
chartered the aircraft?”

Falstaff snapped out of the
daydream, still feeling drained. The gently rocking of the horse
was sure-footed enough to carry him all the way while he dozed. Zam
was awake now as well, he was sure he’d seen her slump down onto
the horse’s neck hugging it while she slept herself.

His daydream came back to him,
whose was the Caproni now anyway? He certainly hoped there wasn’t
an Italian diplomat somewhere, patiently waiting for the return of
Garcia and his Caproni? He had not thought about it at all, he’d
begun to think of it as his! Also, Zam herself could also claim a
stake in it if what she’d said about Garcia’s debts was true. She’d
got him out of hock and they’d renamed it after her as well?

Falstaff thought about putting a
price on the journey? If the original deal was for Zam to clear the
Italian’s debt in return for the flight home. What had Falstaff
got?

He thought of rabbits again and
looked at Zam’s rolling hips as the horse plodded along, Falstaff
grinned putting the suggestion aside.

What could he charge? By day,
flying hours or fuel? Technically, Zam had already paid for the
fuel; so a generous reward from her father would satisfy? A
percentage of the loot, they were returning perhaps? He’d already
got a good percentage from Zam, best not tell her father that!

Soon all those questions would be
answered he hoped. He suddenly thought what if Zam had been lying
all along? What if she had seduced Garcia? Who then had abandoned
his own assignment to follow Zam? What if Zam was running away from
a husband or if there was no father at all? Only an irate husband
she’d run away from? And was now returning to said husband with
tea, wine, gold and jewels; reclaimed from a Chamberlain, - she’d
also seduced? Well, if she were that bad, the husband or the
father, might not want to see her again? Certainly, not with a
lover on her tail? Zam was a good liar, maybe she’d shift the blame
somehow to someone else?

He remembered Jampa the
Chamberlain again, dead – but how?

Falstaff stiffened, then slid off
the horse. Walking alongside it, he started imagining Zam’s father
in battle armour charging down the slope mounted on a horse
swinging a battle axe.

Surreptitiously he checked his
pockets: the small pistol, the Red-9, the Webley on his hip in its
old black leather holster; the knife on his belt and finally the
knife in his boot. Marching compass in one pocket and notebook in
the other. Everything else of use was in his leather map case or
flight bag on the horse.

“Are you really so nervous about
meeting my father?” Zam’s voice snapped him from his malaise.

“Just wondering what you are
going to tell him about the Chamberlain?” He said.

“The truth!” She Answered with a
grin.

“All of it?” Falstaff asked.
‘This could be interesting.’

Echoing around the valley was a
sudden roll of thunder.

Falstaff stopped and looked
around. “Funny I don’t see any clouds?”

Zam waved him on. “Come on this
is the land of Thunder! What did you expect?”

Captain Soujiro and one of the
troopers were working their way down the steep path towards the
moored Dolphin when they heard the twin engines start.

They hurried down the path and
out onto the narrow spit of sand on which the flying boat was
moored.

“What is the meaning of this?
Akira-San!” Captain Soujiro barked as he started to board. “You,
watch that mooring line!”

The paratrooper went to the line
stretching from the bow to a tree on the bank, levelling his
carbine at Captain Akira.

The Co-pilot Keiko appeared at
the hatchway. “Captain Soujiro-Sama! You’re just in time!”

“What is it? Why are the engines
running? Order Akira to stop at once!”

Keiko disappeared. Soujiro
breathed a sigh of relief as the engines clunked to halt. However,
it was more than just an engine test. The co-pilot’s face had said
it all.

“Captain Soujiro-San? We have
orders to leave immediately! No more delays, Foochow wants Colonel
Haga-Jin back in Shanghai immediately. I have orders to leave
without you and see that this aircraft is back in Formosa within
forty-eight hours!”

“You will do no such thing
Captain Akira!” Soujiro thought quickly. “Colonel Haga-Jin has
seniority, as such his word is final. Both of you will come with me
now!”

“No, Captain Soujiro-San. I am
leaving! My orders came through on that radio!” Akira stood with
one foot on the sill of the hatch his hands braced either side.
“Give it up! That Falstaff is too stupid, stubborn and too damn
lucky to lose to the likes of Haga-Jin, come with me now!”

Captain Soujiro rocked on his
heels, the soft sand under his boots. He looked at Keiko behind
Captain Akira, his eyes reaching out to lock gazes with him.

Gathering his breath Soujiro
shouted. “Push!”

Co-pilot Keiko didn’t hesitate.
He obeyed the order.

Captain Akira fell, his arms
flailing, his leg caught on the hatchway. He landed on one hand,
his elbow, twisting the joint tearing muscle, breaking bones, he
folded face first into the sandy river bed.

Soujiro kicked him repeatedly,
his boot making a dull thump as it smacked into his chest. Keiko
jumped from the hatchway and joined in punching Akira in the face.
Soujiro paused and nodded to the trooper on the bank. He came
forward swinging his rifle butt. Soujiro and Keiko stepped back and
watched, as the trooper smashed Akira over and over his rifle. He
stopped as Akira’s body was lifted by the water and it started to
drift away followed by a trail of blood.

“Lieutenant Keiko you are in
command of this aircraft now, you will follow the Colonel’s
orders?”

Keiko bowed. “Hai, Captain
Soujiro-Sama!”

Lord Lang Druk raised his head
expectantly from his massive hands at the sound of the side door
opening. A middle-aged woman entered, it was his first daughter. He
growled, showing his disappointment.

“They are here, my Lord!” She
said, at more than twice Zam’s age she was Zam’s first step-sister.
She always addressed her father as Lord.

Lang stood on the platform before
his great chair, flexing his muscles, clenching his fists. A glint
of a smile sparked in his eyes. He clapped his hands, unable to
hide his glee.

Outside Zam hurried to dismount,
running ahead of the line of horses. Her heart was pounding with
joy. She was already smiling in anticipation, her cheeks aching
with the effort.

Falstaff ran to keep up as she
skipped up the final few steps up into the fort.

“Popa!!” She squealed with
joy.

Land Druk opened his arms to her
as she ran up to him. He held her against his chest then set her
sitting on his forearm as if she was a baby.

“Princess!” Lang boomed
softly.

After a long pause, Lang turned
to face Falstaff. He leaned forward frowning, his eyes piercing and
full of anger. He was about to speak when the white man pointed at
him and laughed, slapping his thigh.

“Hah-hah! Oh, Lord, I see the
family resemblance!” Falstaff grinned looking up the pair. “Damn!
You're both doing it now!”

Zam frowned her brow wrinkling.
“What are you talking about now you fool! This is my father, he
could...”

“I could smash you through those
doors, all the way to the lake!” Thundered Lang like a cannon. “I
will smash you and wipe that insolent grin off you face!”

“But you won’t!” Said Falstaff
cockily, he winked at Zam.

“Only one has ever dared to mock
me in my own house!” Lang shifted on his feet, raising his fist,
shaking it in Falstaff’s face so he could see its size. The fist
was easily as big as his head.

“I’ll bet you her weight in gold
I know who it was!” Falstaff looked up, shifting his stance to
avoid craning his neck.

“Her weight... in gold! What do
you say?” Lang stepped down, picking Falstaff up by the collar in
his sweeping hand.

“Popa!” Zam called out still sat
on his other arm. “Wait!”