The Masters

by Christopher Nicole

  At the foot of the steps there were several corridors. All were utterly dark, but again Li-su knew what she was doing, and darted along one of them, still holding Duncan’s sleeve. He was aware only of the high-pitched curses from behind them as their pursuers stumbled down into the gloom, yet she knew her way. She kept pulling him onwards, opening yet another door he never even saw, and then halting. “Up,” she panted. “Shut door.”

  He closed the door, and reached for her in the darkness, but she swung herself from the floor. He waited, listening to the bangings and crashes and high-pitched chatterings of his pursuers coming closer. Then Li-su touched him on the shoulder. He gave her his hands, and she guided them to a lip about a foot above his head. He grasped this, and drew himself up beside her. She scrabbled about, and the trap was replaced. “They no look here,” she asserted confidently.

  Her hands slid over his shoulders and ran down to his chest. “You like?”

  “I can’t, right now,” he told her. “Listen, you saved my life.”

  “You glad?” she asked.

  “Very glad.”

  “You keep Li-su?-

  “Ah...” But there was only one reply he could make at that moment. “Yes,” he said.

  “Always?”

  “Always.”

  “You give word? Word of Englishman?”

  “I’ll give you the word of an American. That’s just as good, if not better.”

  She snuggled against him. “Li-su make you very happy,” she promised.

  It was only a little while later that he remembered that, if she had saved his life, it was because he had saved hers, first.

  Gradually Duncan’s panic wore off. He doubted that anyone was going to accuse him of murder once the Japanese were in charge. As for Li-su, she would be his servant. His servant and his mistress.

  The noise above them slowly died, until it was overtaken by another, the tramp of many thousands of feet. “Nippon,” Li-su whispered.

  “We go now,” he told her.

  “Better stay here,” she suggested.

  “We cannot stay here forever,” he told her. “The Japanese have promised us our lives. In any event, I will protect you.”

  She giggled. “Always?” she asked again.

  “Always,” he promised again, and swung himself down, holding up his hands for her. “You need clothes,” he said.

  She said something in Chinese, presumably agreeing with him, then took his hand to lead him back out of the rabbit warren beneath the brothel. Meanwhile the tramping of boots continued, now accentuated by the music of a brass band and the rumble of caisson wheels. They went upstairs, Duncan somewhat apprehensively keeping one hand under his tunic and on the butt of the gun tucked into his pantaloons, but now there were only the girls and boys of the brothel to be seen. They were all crowded into the doorway and windows, shattered during the previous night’s debauch, staring at the Japanese troops as they marched by. It was a glittering display of military might, and Duncan found himself staring with the rest. “I find clothes,” Li-su whispered, and sidled off.

  Her words reminded him of Georgei, and he went along the corridor, to where he had last seen his cousin. But Georgei was no longer there, and the room was empty. Well, if the lout had got out of town, so much the better. Duncan returned to the main room and the crowd. The parade was drawing to a close now, at least of soldiers, although following them were supply wagons, guarded by men who were not wearing uniform, but kimonos with elaborate sashes, through which were thrust fearsome double-handed swords, while their hair was shaved on the front of the crown, the remainder, worn long, being bound up on the top of the head in a vast knot. “Samurai,” one of the girls muttered.

  Duncan had heard of the legendary Japanese warriors. Their refusal to accept the changes, both social and constitutional, imposed upon their nation by the Meiji Emperor some twenty years before, had left them as a loose and dangerously drifting class, forced to exist on a miserable government stipend, unable any longer to impose their will upon those they considered their inferiors, as they had done for so many centuries. As no samurai would take orders from a social inferior, they had refused to join the new Japanese conscript army, but had yet wanted to go to war against the hated Chinese; thus they had enlisted as irregulars, and were euphemistically described as being baggage masters and orderlies. But that they were boiling for a fight was obvious. “We go now?” Li-su was back, dressed in a green sheath, the skirt slit to the thigh to permit movement, her hair almost concealed beneath a flat cap, her feet in sandals. She exuded perfume, and looked very feminine, and very lovely.

  “Is there a back way out?”

  “I show you,” she said, holding his hand. But as they made to leave the room, there was an explosion of violent sound from the street. Duncan turned round and saw that one of the samurai had drawn his sword, swung it round his head, and brought it down on one of the Chinese spectators lining the route.

  There was no way of immediately determining what had caused the outburst of fury, but as if it had been a signal, the entire body of the samurai suddenly went berserk. Swinging their great swords to and fro, they charged at all the Chinese who had gathered to watch the Japanese entry. Then they turned to the houses, and of all the houses on this street the Blue Dragon was the most conspicuous. With a roar several samurai charged at the open door. The prostitutes scattered with screams of terror.

  “We go down one more time!” Li-su shouted, holding Duncan’s hand. But there were too many others there before them, and the secret doorway, now gaping open, was packed with bodies. Into these the samurai charged. Only a few of them sought sex; most wanted blood, and the once elegant salon became a slaughterhouse. Duncan virtually tucked Li-su under his arm as he retreated towards the bedrooms, fingers tight on the gun butt beneath his tunic, but reluctant to draw the weapon and perhaps precipitate another personal crisis. One of the samurai saw him, and the girl, and ran at him, sword raised.

  “I am not Chinese!” Duncan shouted. “I am American.” The samurai seemed to understand this, for he lowered the sword, but he yet intended to have the girl, and snatched at her arm. Li-su screamed, and Duncan snapped, “None of that!” and drew his revolver.

  The samurai snarled, and raised his sword again. Duncan reckoned he certainly meant to slash at one of them, and fired. The samurai gave a great howl of pain and doubled up, the sword dropping from his fingers. As before, the sound of the shot alerted his companions, who all turned towards him. Duncan realised he was in a far more serious position than a few hours earlier, for here he was faced with swords rather than knives, and there was no way of escape. He could only retreat towards the bedrooms, his left arm round Li-su’s waist while the samurai uttered fearsome yells and stamped their feet, huge swords thrust in front of them as they advanced. He was aware that he had only four bullets left - and that these were members of the conquering army, not itinerants. “Stop this!”

  The bellow halted the Japanese, and Duncan blinked at Georgei, who had emerged from some place of concealment, bleary-eyed and with his clothes disarranged. Duncan recognised immediately that he was drunk, but was acting very much the Bolugayevski, as he marched towards the Japanese behind upheld hand. They were certainly astonished enough to stop and stare at him, swords momentarily lowered. “Georgei, thank God!” Duncan said. “Now let’s get out of here.”

  “Through the front door,’ Georgei said.

  “But...those fellows...”

  “They kill you!” Li-su gasped.

  “I am Count Georgei Bolugayevski,” Georgei announced. “Out of my way, scum, and make way for my cousin.” He glanced at Li-su. “And his lady.”

  The Japanese stared at him for a few more seconds, then one gave a roar, and leapt forward, sword carving the air. Duncan thought that he would never, to his dying day, forget the sound of that crunch as the razor-sharp blade slashed through Georgei’s collarbone and sank deep into his chest, causing a fountain of blood to erupt fr
om the wound. Instinctively he fired again, and the samurai spun round and fell as the bullet struck him, leaving his sword embedded in Georgei. Duncan released Li-su and ran forward, but realised before he touched his cousin that Georgei was already dead. Indeed, he must have died almost instantly from the terrible blow which had all but split his torso in two.

  And now it was time to look after himself, for Li-su was screaming again. He jerked up, saw the gleaming swords, and fired twice more. Two men fell, although he did not think either of them was killed, and the rest again recoiled. Duncan retreated to where Li-su waited, all the time watching the Japanese, who were muttering at each other, and in turn being watched by the mass of people crowded against and behind the bar. It was tempting to hope that the samurai were discussing abandoning this mad foreigner, but he knew it was far more likely that they were debating how many more bullets he possessed, if any. “Is there a way out along the corridor?” he asked Li-su.

  She shook her head. “Windows barred,” she explained. “Nobody get in, see? But...nobody get out.”

  “Then we’re in a whole heap of trouble,” he muttered, as the Japanese advanced again. He levelled the revolver, and they checked, but only for an instant, then surged forward. He fired, and the first man fell, then he hurled the empty revolver at them...when there were several more shots, this time from rifles. The samurai checked, and turned, as blue-jacketed soldiers ran into the brothel, bayonets fixed. Then they all started talking at once, while the prostitutes and transvestites also began prattling away, everyone giving their own version of what had happened.

  There was only one certain fact: two men were lying dead from bullet wounds, and three more were badly wounded, and this interested the officer commanding the regulars more than the other bodies which had been slashed and cut by the samurai swords. He stood in front of Duncan, stooped and picked up the revolver; it had been lying in a pool of blood, and his white gloves were instantly discoloured. He raised the gun in front of Duncan. “Your gun?” he asked in English.

  “Oh, thank heavens!” Duncan said. “Yes, that is my gun. But I used it in self defence.”

  “You Russian?” the officer asked.

  “Well, actually, I am American. But I am one of the Russian party, yes.”

  The officer looked at Li-su, who was still clinging to Duncan’s left arm. “This your woman?”

  “Always,” Li-su said.

  “You speak,” the officer told Duncan.

  “Ah...yes, she is my woman.”

  “Always,” Li-su said again.

  “She fire gun?” the officer asked.

  “No, no. I fired the gun. In self-defence.”

  The officer regarded him for some seconds. Then he nodded. “You under arrest.” He raised his hand, and two of his men came forward, to stand one on each side of Duncan. One of them detached Li-su’s hand from his sleeve.

  “You say, always!” Li-su wailed.

  “My woman has committed no crime,” Duncan shouted.

  The officer nodded. “I send home. You...out.”

  *

  “My God!” Anna said. “My God, my God, my God!” They had had to walk from the wreck of the trap, although they had had an escort of Japanese soldiers. The Japanese had even improvised stretchers, on which to place the five dead, Jennie, Catherine, Nikolai, Father Sergei and Elizabeth, as well as Rurik, who was seriously wounded — he had been hit in the chest. Anna had torn one of her own petticoats into strips to stem the bleeding, and Patricia had provided strips from one of hers to bandage him up: she and Grishka had been splendid. Both Collins and Sophie appeared to be in a state of shock and Olga was still weeping and wailing. But Anna was quite sure the bullet was still in the wound, and that the groom urgently needed attention.

  “Doctor,” she had said to the Japanese sergeant. “Doctor!”

  “You go home,” he had politely insisted.

  There was no way of arguing with him: she hadn’t wanted to be abandoned with just the four women to help her carry the stretchers. But now they were at last at the houses and as it was just daylight, they could see all the destruction. Oddly, the place did not seem to have been looted, but the Chinese soldiers deputed to turn the house into a fortress had done just that. The furniture was piled against doors and windows; all the glass had been deliberately shattered to reduce the risk of splinters; the carpets had been rolled up...Anna ran round the house to the storeroom. Colin’s embalmed corpse had been tin own in a corner; the coffin had broken open and his body had fallen out — lying awkwardly, he might have died only a few minutes before. Patricia followed her. “How could they do such things?” she asked.

  “They were obeying orders,” Anna said, and glanced at the girl. She didn’t seem to have taken in the fact of her mother’s death.

  “What are we going to do?” Patricia asked.

  “Look after Rurik first,” Anna said.

  “But...Papa...”

  “He is not feeling anything,” Anna told her. “We will set him right when Duncan and Georgei get home.” She wished they would come. For the time being...she returned to the house, where the sergeant and his men were preparing to leave. “Doctor,” she said. “We must have a doctor. That man is badly hurt. By your bullets,” she added for good measure.

  The sergeant gave one of his bows. “So sorry,” he said, and marched his men off. Anna realised he wanted to put as much distance as possible between himself and the tragedy his men had inspired before a superior officer happened along. She looked around her. Quite apart from the house being wrecked, there were five dead bodies lying on the floor, one of them being her oldest friend; Rurik was moaning and rolling on his stretcher, and commencing to bleed again; Sophie lay on the displaced settee, her eyes tight shut and her fists clenched, clearly in some kind of catatonic shock; Olga sat on the floor beside her dead daughter and moaned while rubbing Catherine’s hands as if by doing this she could bring her back to life; Collins sat on the steps, looking more dishevelled than Anna had ever suspected she could look...and Patricia and Grishka were staring at her, expecting her to take control of the situation and restore normality. She was the Countess Anna Bolugayevska. She was a woman with a reputation, for doing things. And all she could think of was Duncan...and Rurik. “Rurik, first,” she said. “Help me.”

  Patricia and Grishka hurried forward, and undid the bandages. Blood welled everywhere and Patricia fetched the water Anna required. “Help the Countess, Collins,” Anna snapped, and Collins slowly heaved herself to her feet, moving as if sleepwalking.

  Grishka managed to light a fire in the kitchen range and found a saucepan in which to boil the water. Anna was able to wash the wound as clean as she could, but she could feel the bullet, wedged against one of the broken ribs, too deeply to be removed without both a forceps and medical knowledge. “Is he going to die?” Patricia asked, as Anna bandaged him up again.

  “I very much fear so, if we cannot get hold of a doctor, and some proper antiseptics, and some sedatives. He is in great pain...” as Rurik, now regaining consciousness, writhed and ground his teeth together. “Fetch some brandy for him to drink.”

  Patricia did so. “You are very fond of Rurik,” she remarked, with apparent innocence.

  “Yes,” Anna agreed.

  “What are we going to do about Sophie?”

  Anna gazed at the woman. “She is suffering from shock. If you can get her to drink some brandy, it would probably do her some good. But in any event, put a blanket over her; we must keep her warm.” She resumed trickling a little of the brandy down Rurik’s throat; he swallowed greedily.

  “She won’t take it,” Patricia said.

  “Well, don’t force her. Find that blanket.”

  Patricia went upstairs, and returned with a blanket, which she draped over her sister’s body. “What are we going to do about Mama?” Patricia asked.

  “Oh...as soon as Georgei and Duncan get here…”

  “Until they do,” Patricia said. “Do you t
hink we could cover her up? Or at least her face. She keeps staring at me.”

  “Of course, darling,” Anna said. “It was callous of me, to leave her so. Fetch another blanket. Five more, in fact.”

  Patricia went to the stairs, and then sat on the bottom step, heavily. “Oh!” she said.

  Anna’s head jerked. “You are not wounded?”

  “I did not think so. But...oh!” She doubled over with the pain.

  “Oh, God,” Anna muttered. A miscarriage on top of everything else was more than she felt she could cope with. But she had half expected it, after the girl’s heavy fall from the trap. “Grishka!” she shouted. “Collins! More water.” She placed the brandy decanter beside Rurik, who was now fully conscious. “Drink some more,” she recommended, and ran to her niece.

  “People, Your Excellency,” Grishka remarked.

  Anna hesitated, gazing at Patricia’s bowed body. My grandchild, she thought. But people were more important right now. They promised either help, or the final disaster. She ran on to the porch, gazed at the horsemen. And woman, she realised. Four were Japanese soldiers, commanded by an officer. The other was a young Chinese woman. “You are the Princess Bolugayevska?” the lieutenant asked, in good English.

  “The Princess Bolugayevska is dead,” Anna snapped. “Shot by your people. I am Mrs Cromb.”

  “Cromb,” the lieutenant said, with some satisfaction. Obviously he did not intend to go into the matter of the Princess’s death. “This is your son’s woman.”

  “My what?”

  Li-su slid from the saddle and ran towards her, as fast as the tight skirt would allow. “You Duncan’ mother?” she asked. “I Duncan’ woman. Duncan say, always.”

  Anna looked at the lieutenant in consternation. “Mrs Cromb,” the lieutenant said. “You come with us, please.”

  “Come where?”