The King - Dewey Lambdin

The Viceroy began to speak, sing-songing formal phrases which his linguist translated bit by bit for the foreigners. "By the will of our Emperor, Son of Heaven, Complete Abundance, Solitary Prince, Celestial Emperor, Lord of the Middle Kingdom and swayer of the wide world… my master, Viceroy for the prefecture… in the City of Rams, Yu Quang Shen Wang speaks. Hear his words, make kow tow and obey, tremblingly!"

The eight members of the Co Hong and their creatures, and every Chinese went flat on the floor, while the Europeans performed elaborate bows, doffing hats and making legs. The British barely inclined their bare heads.

"Psst," Lewrie said, nudging Twigg when the linguist began again. "Third from the right, sir. Do you mark him?" he whispered from the corner of his mouth and cut his eyes to Twigg, who swiveled to glare at a minor mandarin in a sumptuously thick and rich embroidered silk robe and pillbox cap with coral button and feather. Twigg nodded and turned back to face the Viceroy on his throne.

"… and disturb the heavenly harmony of our Celestial Kingdom! We tolerate the rude behavior… of foreign-devil barbarians who know no better… the export of our valuable goods… in exchange for what worthless items they bring to the City of Rams… until such time as they displease us beyond measure. You are quarrelsome slaves whose crude barbarian chieftains cannot control… your rustic kings have sent ambassadors to pledge fealty to our Celestial Emperor… made their kow tow to recognize the superiority of the Son of Heaven… made themselves subjects to the one who sways the wide world… the foreign-devil Louis of France… the foreign-devil George of England… so that the Solitary Prince might stay his hand and not conquer them."

"Like to see the buggers try!" Lewrie muttered.

"Hush!" Twigg warned with a hiss.

"We order that there be no more fighting!" the linguist shouted. "No more murderings! Or the Lord of the Middle Kingdom shall withdraw his chop for you to be here! See the punishment! Witness tremblingly, and obey!"

"Damme!" Lewrie was forced to say as he recognized the prisoner. It was Choundas' cox'n, the one in the sampan with him the morning they'd first seen him.

The executioner came forward with a silk rope while two Banner Men soldiers held the sailor by each arm and led him into the center of the gathering and made him kneel down. For a man about to be garroted, the seaman seemed unusually calm, gazing about disoriented but obeying the soldiers without struggle. His eyes seemed glazed and his mouth hung open slackly, with a bit of drool at one corner.

"They've drugged him," Twigg whispered. "Lots of opium. I doubt he even knows what's about to occur."

They strangled him, taking their time about it, too, applying one turn of the silk rope at a time, then waiting to see the results. The executioner looked gleeful as he readjusted his grip before taking another twist or two, which had all the Europeans muttering and shuffling, some coughing.

They continued to strangle him slowly, until the man's tongue stood out, and his face went blue. His head was so suffused with blood, his eves almost nonned. and trickles of blood ran like sparse tears until he went totally limp and ceased breathing.

Lewrie found it as satisfying as any hanging he'd ever seen at Tyburn, though the poor wretch hadn't had his wits about him enough to go game, with a final japery or two, and a crowd of fellow bucks cheering him on, the doxies throwing flowers and kisses to a brave rogue. He turned his head to look at the French, Choundas particularly. Surprisingly, for one so affected by the sad fate of one of his own crew, Choundas was remarkably blase about it, standing slack and bored with his weight on one leg. He looked more like a man waiting for his coach to be brought round, ready to drag out a pocket watch and wonder what was keeping his ostler. Choundas looked around and shot a glare at them.

"Fuck you," Lewrie mouthed slow and silent, hoping the bastard could read lips, then gave him a sly grin.

"And just who was that Chinee you pointed out to me, Lewrie?" Twigg asked, once they were outside after the ceremony was ended.

"He was the third partner in the brothel with Sicard and our jolly friend, sir," Alan replied. "He's not one of your pirates?"

"None I recognize, no," Twigg said, pulling at his long nose. "By the color of his button, he's well-connected. One of the Viceroy's staff. Too well-connected, for my liking. Could get us sent away empty-handed, if he wishes. Or ambush us down-river between here and Lintin Island once he boots us out."

"They couldn't get away with that, sir, not with so many ships in the Reach, armed as they are," Lewrie protested. "Why, we'd blow their city to flinders if they tried!"

"Nothing official," Twigg replied, frowning. "Set upon by… pirates… if you will. So sorry. Nothing to do with his Celestial Emperor's glorious navy, or his crooked mandarins. And trade is too good for anyone to protest too much, not this year. Just a country ship, not 'John Company,' they'll say back in London. Anyone wish to dispatch a fleet and army to Canton? No? Any questions for His Majesty's Minister? End of session, then."

"Arrogant shitten bastards," Lewrie spat.

"Who, Mister Lewrie?" Twigg asked lightly. "The Chinese and their arrogance? Or Parliament?"

"Little of both, mavbe. Mister Twigg."

"Excuse me, sir, you're wanted on deck!" Hogue said, bursting into the wardroom like a bombard. "All officers to the quarterdeck."

They grabbed their swords on the way, sure it was the suspected attack by pirates, or a demand they sail away at once.

"Surely they wouldn't dare, not in the middle of Whampoa Reach?" Burgess Chiswick panted as they dashed topsides. "Should I muster my half-company, d'you think?"

Ayscough and Twigg stood together by the taffrail of the poop, and they ascended in a thundering pack to join him aft.

"Just got a note from the Superintendent ashore at the 'John Company' hong," Ayscough explained, mad as any time Alan had ever seen him. "Seems we have to go ashore tomorrow and entertain more questions from the mandarins about the murder. And look yonder."

'The bloody bastards!" Percival shouted, quite beside himself and ready to tear up a section of taffrail to shred in his bare hands.

"Poisson D'Or's been ordered out of harbor," Ayscough grunted. "For the sake of the rest of the traders," he continued, the sarcasm hotly dripping. "Her chop's been withdrawn, and her cargo's been impounded."

"By the same mandarin Choundas and Sicard dealt with," Twigg surmised. "You may lay any odds you like there'll still be profit enough paid to Sicard to reimburse Choundas for this… penalty!"

Poisson D'Or had already gotten her anchors up, and was paying off from the land breeze with foresails and spanker, her hands aloft ready to let fall her tops'ls once her stern was clear of the American trading brig Salem Witch.

"Damme, to hell with the mandarins!" Alan cried. "Let's be after them, then! We'll never find the bastard until next autumn, else!"

"We'd be fouled by every mandarin junk in the river, Mister Lewrie," Ayscough snarled. "To keep us here for more 'questioning,' see? Might even touch off a war, them and us alone. Goddamn and blast that poxy French bugger! Goddamn him to the hottest fires of hell!"

"Smarter than I thought," Twigg sighed, sounding sadly amused. "I underestimated them, d'you see, gentlemen. Which mistake I shall not make again. They could have gotten Choundas' cox'n off with ten pounds' bribe paid to the court, but I suppose they thought it was better the poor wretch got scragged, so he couldn't talk. Now we know we're dealing with craftier foes. Choundas gets clean away, kicked out of the port, while we have to wait here for our cargoes to arrive. And Sicard stays here, ever the innocent, to keep an eye on us. After murdering the one man who knew most about the native pirates and their lairs. I hate to admit it, gentlemen, but they've made fools of us. And of me. This whole thing was planned long before we tailed them ashore the night Tom Wythy was knifed."

"They lured us, sir?" Mr. Choate asked.

"Aye, lured us. Gulled us, more like it," Twigg snorted. "One of us… Tom or I was to die that night. Perhaps both. To cripple our endeavor. Why else meet with a mandarin on the Viceroy's staff so openly? Trail their colors before us like a false fox? Then pin us in port with more questions, and boot Poisson D'Or out, freeing her to continue her plans for the next season's raiding. But before the next year is out, we'll have them, you mark my words!"

Damme, another year out here, Alan groaned to himself.

"Choundas might be waiting for us to sail in the spring," Ayscough said. "His ship and Sicard's combined against us."

"Ah, but for now, Captain Ayscough, our crafty little peasant has left something of great value behind in Canton," Twigg spat. "An item he cannot do without, or threaten us with such combination."

"And what is that, sir?" Ayscough wondered gloomily.

"Why, La Malouine, Captain," Twigg almost chuckled. "Sicard and La Malouine. Mister Percival said something a few weeks ago that set me to thinking. I believe he was correct."

"Sir?" Percival gawped, swelling with pride, but unsure about what he had done in spite of himself.

"Who has the largest crew? Sicard. But who has the frigate-built ship with more gunports? Choundas. Somewhere out at sea, in the islands, perhaps among the native pirates, I believe these two ships trade hands back and forth. Perhaps there's more of his fell crew waiting with the Mindanao pirates or the Sea Dyaks even now for his return for them. Well, at the moment, he's a little short of the wherewithal, and shall be for some months, if La Malouine will play the innocent here in Canton."

"No point in her not, sir," Ayscough agreed. "There's little profit in taking an outward-bound vessel, 'less he's willing to give up hands enough to take her all the way back to France. Better he lays low until the opium and silver start heading for Canton next summer."

"Then once Sicard sails, we follow him, and he leads us to Choundas, sir?" Choate asked. "Then it's two ships against our one."

"Aye, he'd like that, I'm thinking," Twigg replied, nodding. "In fact, this departure could be another ruse to draw us out, with Sicard in pursuit a few days later for just that purpose. Well, we shall not be drawn, sir. Truly, we shall not."

"It occurs to me, though, sir," the first officer went on. "Surely, if we know who he is now, sir, and may lay this plot to our government officials back in Calcutta, there'd be a stiff note to the French ambassador, and the game's blocked at both ends for them. And they know who we are, more's to the point, Mister Twigg. Surely, this Choundas'll haul his wind and cut his losses. Go back to France."

"And go home a failure?" Twigg barked, rounding on Choate. "I think not. That wouldn't show him clever enough to remain a secret. And if we did send a 'stiff note,' as you say, it's fourteen to eighteen months before a reply could be sent out here from London or Paris. Once they'd wrangled over where the commas go. And who'd take his place, sir, soon as we're called home? How many more ships'd disappear the next time? Well, we're here now, and we have a chance to stop this bugger's business so thoroughly the French'll give up on the whole bloody idea. Wrap things up neat and proper before we lay eyes on the Lizard."