by Robert Wang
“Everyone stay where you are.” The words were spoken calmly in Chinese and then in English. An elderly priest, robes hanging like limp sails on his thin body, stepped into the room. It was Father Afonso, who had just arrived at the inn at the request of William Jardine. The senior partner was on his way back to England and wanted to make sure his nephew made use of his services. Father Afonso had notified Matheson the day before that he would no longer translate for him on matters relating to the opium trade but he would continue to help his fellow Westerners with other matters. After meeting Shao Lin, he had gone to the Royal Lisbon Hotel in a driving rain and high winds to find Johnstone. The place was in shambles. A terrified chambermaid told him that the party of Western men had moved to the Dragon Inn. He said a quick prayer of thanks—he had arrived just in time.
“This man,” said Father Afonso, indicating Johnstone, “is a healer.” He moved slowly toward Shao Lin, not looking at his bodyguards.
“We don’t need a foreign devil healer,” snapped Shao Lin. “Go get the best herbalist in Macau and bring him here now! This woman saved my daughter’s life, and we must save hers.” His manservant rushed out of the inn to find a sedan chair, but the carriers had all gone home to wait out the typhoon. The streets were vacant and washed with heavy rain.
“Lord Lee,” said Father Afonso, still speaking calmly and without raising his voice, “this woman will die if you don’t let the Englishman help her. She is bleeding, and your herbalist will not be able to do anything with such a wound. You know this is true. If her life is important to you, let this man help her.”
“Honorable Father,” cried Su-Mei, still crouching on the floor, “you must not let her die! She saved my life, and the herbalist will not get here in time. Please, Honorable Father, I am begging!” She dropped her head into her hands, sobbing.
Lee Shao Lin took a second to consider the situation, then nodded. “Confine this foreign devil who stabbed her,” he ordered. His men took hold of Higgins, forced him to sit, and tied him to a dining room stool. He complied, wordless and limp with shock.
Johnstone shouted for a sailor to bring his medical valise, which was luckily still in the hallway and not stowed away in the upstairs rooms. He motioned to another sailor to come assist him.
“Apply pressure just there,” he said. The sailor used his handkerchief and both hands to try to stanch the flow. Johnstone tore away Pai Chu’s garment to get a better look at the wound. The Chinese men and Su-Mei gasped. This foreign devil was not only touching the body of a Chinese woman, but he was ripping off her clothes! Two of the bodyguards murmured angrily.
“Everyone else, get out,” ordered Shao Lin. Father Afonso repeated it in English for the sailors.
“Please don’t die!” Su-Mei cried. Still on her knees, she crawled closer to Pai Chu’s head. “Pai Chu, please don’t die!”
Pai Chu whispered what might have been Su-Mei’s name before she lost consciousness.
Andrew Johnstone looked at Pai Chu’s wound and sighed. “Almighty God, let this woman live!” he said, shaking his head.
One of the officers brought his medical bag, and Johnstone cleaned the wound as well as he could. He slipped a pellet of solid morphine inside the wound before bandaging it to ease the woman’s pain and keep her quiet. When he rose, wiping his reddened hands on a bit of gauze, he looked for Father Afonso.
“She needs rest. Can someone get her to a bed?” Father Afonso spoke to two of Lee’s men. One of the men lifted her up and followed the other upstairs. Su-Mei rose to follow them, but her father gestured for her to remain.
“Will she live?” Shao Lin asked Father Afonso.
“The wound is deep,” said Johnstone, guessing at his meaning. “But it didn’t penetrate any of her vital organs. Her heart and lungs are untouched, although it did cut into her lower esophagus.” He pointed to his own neck and chest to demonstrate, not sure how much medical terminology this ancient priest knew in any language.
Father Afonso translated, and Shao Lin breathed a sigh of relief. “So she will survive?” Su-Mei clasped her hands together, not daring to say anything.
Johnstone nodded when Father Afonso translated the question. “Aye, she may survive, if she’s strong, and if she hasn’t lost too much blood. There’s no telling at this point.” He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, careful not to smear blood on his face. “However, the esophagus will grow scar tissue there, blocking the opening, which will make it painful for her to eat. She will experience frequent nausea and emesis—at times rather forceful emesis.” The priest looked puzzled. “She will not be able to keep food down easily, and at times she may eject partially digested food rather violently out of her mouth.” Father Afonso paled and dutifully translated the surgeon’s words. “She will be in quite intense pain, possibly for the rest of her life,” Johnstone finished sadly. He had cared for sailors with similar knife wounds, and he was familiar with the symptoms that afflicted them until the end of their days. The prognosis was always poor.
“This woman must rest undisturbed for at least one week so her wound has a chance to heal.” Father Afonso translated this, and Shao Lin finally found his own voice.
“Who is this man to tell us how to treat our own people? When the typhoon passes, we will get the best herbalist available to heal her. She looks like a woman with a strong constitution, and she will return to health.” He gestured for Su-Mei to rise and follow him out. “Tell the foreign healer we are grateful for his efforts, but we will manage her care from now on.”
“Honorable Father,” said Su-Mei as she trotted after her father, “Pai Chu heard the foreign devils’ conversation earlier, before the man crashed through the screen, and she told me that this man—the doctor—is named Master Johnstone. He is the nephew of Taipan Jardine.”
“Really? Then I think the taipan has a lot to answer for. His nephew may be skilled in medicine, but he is a vulgar man.”
“A word, Father, if you please,” said Johnstone. A waiter had brought him a basin of warm water and a towel, and he was washing his hands in the dining room, watching the angry Chinaman depart with the other young woman, who he suspected was the man’s daughter. “Who was that bloody Chinaman? And what is the injured woman to him? A servant?”
“That bloody Chinaman, Master Johnstone, is the Honorable Lord Lee Shao Lin. He is your good uncle’s business associate,” Father Afonso replied drily.
“Oh, bloody hell!” Johnstone’s face turned red. “That was Lee? The mandarin I’m supposed to discuss trade with? What was he doing here? The bastard’s supposed to be in Canton.” He groaned. “What have these sodding buggers done?”
“I do not know the injured lady, sir. By the look of her clothing, she is a servant, possibly a companion or maid for his daughter. But if what I heard from Lord Lee is correct, she did save his daughter’s life, so things will go considerably better for you if she lives. It is a stroke of divine providence that your lot of drunken sailors didn’t stab his daughter instead.” Father Afonso made the sign of the cross and glanced upward.
“Higgins?” Johnstone spoke without looking down. In the chaos everyone seemed to have forgotten about the sailor tied to a stool in the middle of the deserted dining room.
“Aye, sir?”
“You are a damned fool and damned lucky that you stuck the filly you did and not the other one. You could have caused a major incident if you had stabbed this Lee’s daughter. Let’s hope the servant girl survives, or you will find yourself in rather tight straits.” Let’s hope my uncle doesn’t hear a word of any of this, particularly my presence here, he did not say aloud.
“Aye, sir, you’re right, sir,” said Higgins. “Although I seem to be in rather tight straits as it is, sir. Do you think you can untie me now? This Lee seems to have forgotten about having me put in irons—or whatever he planned to do to me.”
“Well, none of us is going anywhere in this weather,” said Johnstone. “Father Afonso, can you inform Lord Lee that I vouch
for this man and that he will be confined to his room until such time as we can solve this problem with civility and without involving the law or his bloody brutes?” With a sigh, he picked up Higgins’s knife, now rust-colored with dried blood, and used it to part the silken cords that the bodyguards had used to tie him up.
At the end of each day, Father Afonso found himself praying for the soul of Father Francisco. He lit candles at the shrines of his patron, St. Francis, and the Blessed Virgin, who could intercede on behalf of sinners. Knowing the true nature of Father Francisco’s sins and that the boy he had been was blameless in these crimes only made him pray harder for his mentor’s redemption. No man is without sin, he reminded himself every time he lit a candle, pushing away the ugly memories.
Before he retired for the evening, Father Afonso sought out Shao Lin. He wanted to do what he could to help solve this problem; Shao Lin and Jardine had both been very generous patrons of the church throughout the years, and bad blood between the Chinese and the British benefited no one.
While her father was occupied with the priest, Su-Mei slipped away and found Pai Chu’s room. She would watch over her and pray and try to understand what could have driven her to risk her own life to save a friend’s. Dear Lord God, she prayed, please let Pai Chu live so I can thank her. She is a good friend.
“No! No, no, no. It is impossible,” snarled Shao Lin. “The foreign devil must pay! He nearly stabbed my own daughter! Englishman or not, he will pay for his crime.” He paced back and forth in the private dining room, now cleared of dishes and bloodstains. Father Afonso tried to argue, but Shao Lin overrode him. “He started a fight in an inn! He brandished a weapon at a member of my family! If my bodyguards had not bound him, he would have killed us all. And after all,” he reasoned, “the man is a common sailor, is he not? Whom do we offend by prosecuting one worthless foreigner?”
“Lord Lee,” remonstrated Father Afonso, “you will offend the British. Every one of them, including Master Jardine and Master Matheson.” He paused. “And the young man stabbed the girl by accident. You know he wasn’t trying to murder your daughter, or anyone else. It’s a mystery to me why this young woman put herself in harm’s way. Your daughter must be very dear to her.”
“She saved my daughter,” said Shao Lin. “And perhaps the sailor did not intend to do harm, but harm was done, and he must pay. We must make an example of him, or every foreign devil will be attacking our noblewomen without a thought to the consequences.”
“What about forgiveness?” suggested Father Afonso. “Do you not think that would be a better way for the British traders to think of you? As a merciful and forgiving man—or one bent on revenge?”
“Revenge,” said Shao Lin quickly. “Revenge is strength.”
Father Afonso was about to respond with some appropriate quotations from scripture when an unearthly crack, followed by the sound of tearing wood and tinkling glass, interrupted their conversation. The priest glanced up just in time to see the top of a tall hoop pine crash through the wall. Through the hole, Shao Lin could see what was left of the tree blowing in the wind against a charcoal-gray sky.
“The roof!” exclaimed Shao Lin. “The tree came down!” Father Afonso made no response. Shao Lin turned his head, but the priest was no longer standing in the middle of the room, his sanctimonious hands spread out in front of him. There was only the massive tree. “Father Afonso?” He glanced down and saw the lower half of the priest’s body, partially covered by the foliage from the man-sized trunk that had landed on him.
He scarcely had time to process what had happened before there was a second crash and the lower half of the tree, its roots undermined by the soaking rain, tilted sideways and fell into the inn. Shao Lin smelled rain and pungent, resiny needles, and then everything went black.
Travers Higgins, released on his own recognizance, heard the crash and came running. The trunk of an enormous old tree had split the inn in two, with most of the guests and staff on one side and Higgins and the private dining room on the other. He fought his way through the ruined screen, and in the dim light he could just make out the old priest’s legs pinned beneath a heavy branch. Higgins began to shift the branch when he noticed that the thickest section of the fallen wood covered the man’s head.
“No!” He took a step forward and then stopped, stricken. The priest’s skull was crushed beyond hope. “Ah, Father, I’m sorry,” said Higgins. He wrung his hands and backed away from the body. The room was dim; all the lamps had been extinguished, and rainwater mixed with mud was pouring in through the broken wall. Higgins felt something soft and warm against his ankle. He looked down and saw another man trapped beneath the tree. He put his face near the man’s face to see in the low light. It was that man, the big shot mandarin—Lee. Higgins dropped to his knees in the cold water and felt along the man’s body. He was breathing!
“Let’s have you, then, mister,” muttered Higgins. “One death is enough.” He rocked the broad branch back and forth until he felt it shift. He looked down again and saw that the man, Lee, was conscious and watching him. His eyes were filled with fear. The branch was too heavy and too big around for Higgins to move it on his own, and it seemed to be stuck at an angle into the corner of the room. A creak above him made Higgins look up. Another tree branch, splintered into jagged points, hung precariously above them, ready to fall on the man’s chest. Think, man!
Leverage. Higgins searched around the room for anything strong. The leg of a smashed stool might do it. He angled one end beneath the branch, carefully considering which way it would roll and whether it would cause more damage to the man he was trying to save.
“Sir, you’ve got to roll to your right when I tip this great buggering branch—do you understand?” No, of course he doesn’t; I don’t speak bleeding Chinese. I’ve just got to do it. Higgins pushed with all his strength on one end of the lever. It didn’t budge. He hung his entire body over it, lifting his feet off the floor. “Move, damn you! Bloody son of a whore!” He cursed the tree, the storm, the whole rotten country. He stood again and moved the lever two inches closer to Lee’s head and tried again. Any closer and it might break the man’s neck when it shifted. He bounced his weight on it. He swore some more. Exasperated, he kicked the lever where it touched the tree. And it moved.
It moved! Higgins pulled the lever out and placed it carefully under the branch that was trapping Lee’s leg. He felt the lever hit something hard and heard Lee cry out in pain. “Sorry, sir!” he called. He pushed down on the lever again, noticing that the lacquered wood was starting to crack from the strain. “Bloody hell!” And he threw his weight on it, and the great ancient branch rolled gently off and landed next to Lee with a splash.
Higgins tossed the splintered lever aside and grasped the man by his shoulders. “Can you move?” Lee grunted and took hold of Higgins’s arms. He sat up, but when he tried to bend his legs, he cried out again. Higgins got behind the man and hoisted him up under his armpits. He draped the man’s arms over his shoulders and dragged him out, boots sloshing through the stormwater, cursing, just as the branch broke free and crashed down, ripping a hole in the floor next to the space occupied by the man just seconds earlier. The Chinaman he carried muttered some words of his own, and Higgins suspected they were speaking the same language. Their eyes met and they nodded at each other.
Shao Lin must have lost consciousness again because he awoke with the foreign devil healer stitching up the hole in his shin where a branch had penetrated. Both his knees were swollen and purple, but he could bend them slightly. The foreign healer said something, probably telling him not to move. Shao Lin looked around the room for the sailor who had pulled him out from under the tree, but he wasn’t there. He wondered why Father Afonso wasn’t there to translate—and then he remembered.
The healer covered his wound with white gauze bandages and drew a sheet over his bare legs. Shao Lin cringed at the idea that he was indebted to one foreign devil for tending to his wounds and another on
e for saving his life.
Su-Mei had heard the loud crashing noises and the wind howling inside the building. She ran out to find half the dining hall turned into forest and foreign devils crowding around her father, who looked injured. A lantern had been lit, filling the room with flickers and shadows. She looked closer at the fallen tree in the private dining room and noticed Father Afonso’s motionless body floating in about six inches of water. His head was pinned down by part of the tree. Su-Mei’s vision grew dim, and she felt her own pulse in her ears before she lost consciousness and crumpled to the floor in shock.
Morning came, with no discernible lightening of the skies. The typhoon was still blowing strong, and no one could leave the Dragon Inn. Shao Lin’s men, the inn’s workmen, and even the sailors from Scaleby Castle all helped to seal off the room that the tree had destroyed and clean up the mess of splintered wood, mud, and ruined furnishings. Father Afonso’s body was carefully wrapped in sheets and moved to an empty room.
Shao Lin awoke feeling stronger but soon realized he would not be able to walk just yet. Pai Chu drifted in and out of consciousness all night. She was still very weak from losing so much blood, and Johnstone hesitated to give her a dram of laudanum, a tincture of opium. The irony of refusing to administer a processed form of the very drug that his company was smuggling into this country with impunity was not lost on him. Su-Mei was up all night, going from one room to another to check on her father and Pai Chu.
Travers Higgins was left alone. Under normal circumstances he would have been jailed and most likely convicted for attacking a Chinese woman, and there was nothing his government could have done to prevent it since there were witnesses to the fight that was started by the drunken sailors. Johnstone was already planning to smuggle him out of the country on the next ship home as soon as the weather cleared. Until that time, he advised Higgins to help the others repair the storm damage and stay clear of the injured parties and their retinue.
