Tulku (3 page)

‘One,’ she said. ‘Two.’

The club fell and the man turned. She swung the gun along the line, pivoting the others by force of will. Three knives and another club fell.

‘Fair enough,’ she said. ‘Now tell ’em to put their hands over their heads. Right. Now, Lung, pick up a knife and slit the back of each man’s trousers, from his belt to arse. Ah, get on with it, you yellow bleeder. I want ’em so they can walk, but not without holding their breeches up, see? Keep yourself bent low, so as I got a good sight of the bloke you’re doing.’

Still Lung stood twitching by his tree. The
woman
began to swear, without raising her voice but somehow flooding it with energy. Theodore had heard people swearing before – donkey-drivers and such, using the Settlement road because of the new bridge – but never in English. Some of the words he knew from the Bible, others were strange; but he knew that only a soul, man or woman, hopelessly lost to Christ could have spoken them in this manner.

Lung’s nerve broke. He darted forward, grabbed up a knife and bent behind the right-hand man, then moved down the line like a gardener performing some rapid piece of pruning on a row of fruit-trees. As he left each man a dramatic change took place, the shabby but serviceable pantaloons tumbling down to ankle-level, leaving some with bare buttocks and some with a twist of loin-cloth.

‘Fair enough,’ said the woman. ‘Now tell the bleeders to grab their trousies and march. Straight along the road, see? First feller to stop, I’ll shoot him dead, right? Same if he tries to scarper for the woods.’

Lung, strutting now with a sort of confidence, strung the order into his smattered Miao. The men clutched their trousers by the waist-bands and shambled off down the road. One or two glanced over their shoulders and saw the gun levelled steady as ever. The woman clicked her tongue and her horse, with no further command, walked forward behind the retreating porters. Half-hypnotized Theodore followed the procession to the first bend in the road, where she stopped the horse with another muttered order. Beyond the bend the road lay straight for more than a hundred yards, so when the men began to glance over
their
shoulders again they saw her still sitting there, motionless and ready. Slowly the group lost cohesion. Heads turned in argument, free hands gesticulated; another few seconds and they would break for the cover of the trees. Sensing that instant, the woman raised her gun to her shoulder and fired two shots above their heads. Yelling like parakeets they broke into a run, straight on down the road. Two of them tripped – over their trousers, perhaps, or each other – but picked themselves out of the mud and raced on round the further bend. Theodore heard the woman chuckle and turned to see the gun now pointing at him.

‘’Scuse the liberty, young man,’ she said. ‘Just I can’t afford to lose you. You speak English?’

‘Velly little English,’ said Theodore.

‘Fair enough. I shan’t hurt you. I want you to show me this here path. You’re from the mission, I expect? Poor little bleeder. What’s your name?’

Theodore hesitated. Father despised all liars, godly or pagan. ‘Christian name Theodore,’ he said.

Her face was a shadowed vagueness behind her veil, but from the way she cocked her head he had the impression that she was looking at him with sudden sharpness.

‘That’ll have to do,’ she said. ‘Hullo, Theo. I’m Mrs Jones. This here’s Lung. Hi! Grab that pony, one of you!’

She had slid the gun into its holster while she was speaking and was turning back towards the bridge when one of the pack-ponies came round the bend at a nervous tittup, almost knocking Theodore over. More by luck than skill he caught its halter and led it back to where Mrs Jones and
Lung
were gazing at the baskets which the porters had left behind. She slid from her horse and handed its reins to Lung while she went to catch another of the ponies which was wandering off between the trees. Her skirt was so long that she had to hold it clear of the ground with her left hand, but she seemed to find this no impediment and cornered and caught the pony with no fuss at all. The third pony, a grey, was grazing placidly by the edge of the ravine, so Theodore handed his halter to Lung and caught it and led it back.

‘There’s a young man what’s got his head screwed on,’ said Mrs Jones. ‘Tie her to that there branch, and we’ll see what we can chuck out. Heave my bath off Rollo for a start, Lung, and all that lot of empty specimen boxes – that’s the ticket . . .’

Mrs Jones and Theodore did most of the sorting, because Lung was fastidious, even in this mud and danger, about handling objects or carrying weights, so in the end he took the gun and stood sentry. Mrs Jones was quick and decisive, knowing what every basket held and making up her mind at once what she could spare and what there would be room for. Theodore piled the discarded stuff at the edge of the road.

‘Leave ’em good and obvious,’ she said, ‘so as if any of them bastards come back after us they’ll stop here and see what they can nick.’

Everything seemed very well made, though most of it had seen a lot of wear. A spare tent bore the label ‘Army & Navy Stores, London. Invincible Weatherproof Size 3.’ The collecting boxes were of dark oiled wood with brass corners. There seemed to be a surprising number of stoves.

‘That’ll have to do,’ she said at last. ‘We’re not
a
bleeding Chinese charity – it’ll cost me a couple of hundred quid to replace that lot, I daresay. You take Bessie and lead the way, Theo. She’s lazy but she’s quiet. Then you, Lung, with Rollo. I’ll take Albert, who’s a right bastard, and Sir Nigel can tag along behind. I better take me rifle, Lung, if you’ve finished playing soldiers.’

Lung, who had indeed been acting out the role of sentry in a slightly exaggerated way, handed over the weapon and Theodore started between the trees, heading left-handed until he reached the footpath. Looking back over his shoulder he saw the line of horses winding between the trunks, with the one which the woman had been riding coming steadily along in the rear. Drenched and mud-spattered though it was it moved in a quite different style from the dispirited trudge of the pack-ponies, with its head held in a manner that seemed aware and interested as it followed Mrs Jones. She strode along, holding her skirt in a graceful fashion with her left hand and Albert’s bridle with her right. She was short – no taller than the Chinese women in the Congregation, many of whom stood barely as high as Father’s elbow – and under her shape-muffling cloak she looked decidedly plump; but she moved with a sway and ease that made it seem as if she weighed very little, and though Albert – a lean-headed, liver-coloured brute – tugged and wrestled at the bridle she controlled him without apparent effort. She saw Theodore looking round and raised the hand that held the skirt a little further, at the same time cocking her wrist, a gesture no doubt meant only to tell him that he was doing well, but somehow full of liveliness and also vaguely teasing.

The effect was sharp enough to pierce through the trance of shock in which Theodore was once more moving, and to make him wonder what sort of person she was. English, he thought, though she spoke differently from the few English missionaries he had met, with her tinny vowels and lack of aitches. She seemed to be rich. She was wicked – a blasphemer, who had also laughed at the exposed buttocks of her porters. Shameless. But the few words she had spoken to Theodore, like the gesture he had just observed, gave him a sense of somebody full of life and intelligence and friendliness.

Pack-ponies in hill country are used to awkward tracks, and Bessie followed Theodore down into the ravine easily enough, without interrupting his confused musings. He reached the flat rock by the stepping-stones and waited till Lung reached the rock and stood beside him, staring at the stepping-stones where they stood black amid the white rush of foam.

‘Horses cannot cross here,’ Lung said angrily in Mandarin. ‘Why have you brought us here? What have I done that I must perish in this place of uncivilized demons?’

‘Horses used to cross here before the bridge was built,’ said Theodore, ‘provided the river was low.’

‘Where is the Princess? Why does she take so long? If she falls in the river, who will pay my wages? Did I join the robbers when they attacked her? No, I fought for her with my bare hands!’

A loose stone clattered on the rock beside them, and they turned and saw that Mrs Jones had managed to blindfold Albert and was forcing
him
to feel his way down. Her voice, swearing steadily, rose above the river-noise.

‘No cross here, Missy,’ called Lung. ‘Water very bad.’

‘Oh, go and fry your face,’ she shouted, as with a furious heave she managed to rush the pony the last few yards down to the rock.

‘Jesus!’ she said, ‘I wouldn’t do that again for a thousand quid. What are you on about, Lung? I’ve taken horses through worse than that. Theo, you nip across them stones and get ready to hold them. I’ll ride Sir Nigel through and lead the others, one at a time. I’ll take Albert first and get him done with. Right?’

She managed it, though twice she nearly lost her seat when a horse missed its footing in the tearing waters. Lung crossed last of all, teetering on each stone as he nerved himself for the next leap.

‘Don’t you look so smug, young man,’ muttered Mrs Jones as she and Theodore stood watching him. ‘It takes a lot more nerve to do things what you don’t fancy than it does with things what you do. You could start taking Bessie up that path now.’

The climb was easier than the descent had been; the path was better and in any case the horses found it more natural to pick their way uphill. Theodore had time to look about. Further down the ravine, held by the river against a jut of rock, was a bundle of green-blue cloth half-hidden by foam. Mrs Teng had an overshirt of just that colour. Theodore peered at it until he realized that he would rather not know for sure whether it was Mrs Teng’s body or just some bundle dropped in flight, and as he looked away his eye
was
caught by a movement on the further cliff. Three men were beginning to scramble down the path on the further cliff.

‘Look! Ma’am!’ he shouted, throwing out an arm to point.

Mrs Jones glanced across the gap and nodded. She slid her gun from where it was slung across Albert’s back and gave the animal a slap on the rump to send him on up the path. Her own horse halted and waited while she steadied herself against the rock wall and raised the rifle to her shoulder. A shot snapped out almost instantly, and then another. Theodore hurried on, watching the pursuers over his shoulder. They had hesitated at the first shot, and at the second the leading man flinched back; all three paused, staring across the ravine. Another shot, and the leading man leaped and staggered, stood for an instant staring at his fore-arm, and then all three were scrambling back up the path. They reached the top and disappeared into the wood just before Theodore himself came out into the open. He handed Bessie’s halter to Lung and turned to catch the unpredictable Albert the moment he reached open ground.

‘Well done, young man,’ panted Mrs Jones as she came over the top.

‘Did you hit him?’ said Theodore, forgetting to speak with an accent.

‘Not bloody likely,’ she said with a laugh. ‘I was aiming at the rock a foot past him. A splinter must of caught him. He didn’t half jump, did he?’

On the ridge to the west of the terraces stood a grove of wild fig-trees which Father would not let
be
cleared because of the parable Christ spoke in
Luke
21, xxix. From here one could see the whole slope of the Settlement on one side, and then the orchard, and then on the other side of the ridge the ravine and the ruined shrine where the old path rose. Close against the grove the tethered ponies champed at feed-bags. Lung, with the rifle under his arm, stood sentry just beyond the sky-line in case the porters recovered their courage and crossed the ravine. Theodore waited with the ponies and watched Mrs Jones riding among the smouldering huts.

The rain had stopped and the cloud-layer was rising and thinning. Soon it would vanish and the day would half-clear to the steamy brilliance usual at this season. The smoke from the huts, which had dwindled to nothing under the steady rain, revived and slanted up in wispy parallels. Mrs Jones rode very straight-backed, glancing from side to side like a sightseer, but with a shot-gun ready across her knees. She moved at a steady pace between the huts, pausing only by the wreck of the church, where she reined to a standstill and gazed for some time before starting back up the slope.

‘Well, that’s not much cop,’ she said in a sombre voice, then gave a deep sigh and swung herself to the ground. She turned away from Theodore and set about giving her horse its feed, but continued to speak while she was working. Theodore got the impression that she was using the process as a way of not looking at him directly.

‘No, ’elp there,’ she said. ‘Jesus! You’d of thought they’d . . .’

‘Who these men?’ lisped Theodore, wary once more. ‘Why they burn Settlement?’

‘Must have been Boxers, I bet,’ said Mrs Jones.

‘Boxers? Please?’

‘Jesus! Don’t you know? Ah, I ’spect your missionary fellow kept quiet about it – didn’t want all his converts scarpering off . . . there’s bands of young thugs wandering all over China, trying to kick the foreigners out, burning and murdering. They call themselves Boxers. The Empress don’t do anything to stop them – ask me, she’s pleased they’re at it . . . Anyway, you’re going to have to stick with us, young man. There’s nothing for you down there. Not any more.’

‘Stick with you? Please?’

‘What else can you do? I’m not having you going down there, seeing what I seen. It’s all over and done with, see?’

‘Then I must go to mission of Doctor Goertler.’

‘Where might that be?’

‘About hundled miles,’ said Theodore, pointing north-east.

‘Then we’ll come along of you, and let’s bleeding well hope the same’s not happened there.’

Theodore drew a deep breath.

‘Solly,’ he muttered. ‘I cannot come along by you.’