by C S Boyack
The canals were covered with boats. There were the narrow bamboo boats like the old fishermen used, wide flat boats filled with fruits, vegetables, and flowers, and strange circular ones that looked like huge baskets. Serang flagged down two of the round boats and said something to one of the men.
They crawled inside the baskets then the boatmen started poling. As they moved past a boat filled with fresh fruit, Serang bargained for pieces of durian. The old man on the boat hacked into the huge fruit then passed out pieces of the yellow flesh, looking like large slugs as long as their hands.
"Smells like rotten onions, McCormack said."
"She hasn't led us wrong yet," James said and took a bite. Juice ran down his chin. "Mmm, it's very good once you get past the smell."
The boats poled on past gourd vendors, clay pot vendors, and everything else one could imagine. They came to a stop at a small space reserved for the circular boats.
Serang climbed out. "Give them each a silver piece. I shouldn't have to pay for everything."
James and Don Velasco paid the boatmen, then they followed Serang up a narrow flight of stairs.
This area was less organized. Homes lined the narrow streets, and vertical silk banners told those who could read them who lived inside. The path led to another plaza alongside a different canal. This also was filled with vendors. There were meats hanging from carts, cages of live chickens and ducks, even a man selling live insects of various kinds."
"Hey, gweilo, what are you doing way out here?" A young man asked.
James turned, and Serang stepped aside into a shop selling a variety of musical instruments. "Good evening," James said. "We're touring the city with our friend."
Serang selected a bamboo flute nearly four feet long. She flexed it, but it did not budge. "May I try this one, please?"
The old lady smiled from under heavy eyelids. "Of course. Special on hand drums right now too."
"I don't see any friends for you, gweilo," the young man said. "I see fat gweilo with fat purses. Give them to me, call it a gweilo tax." Three other men turned about and stepped forward with knives.
Serang shoved James toward the instrument vendor then stepped out front. The young man paused at the sight of her eastern face in western uniform. "Go home to your mothers. My friends will not pay your tax tonight."
The pirates reached for pistols, but Serang stopped them. "Too many people about. Let me give them a flute lesson." She flicked the flute forward until she held the end like a sword. The flute whistled softly from the air passing over its mouth. She cracked it over one of the knife wielder's wrists. His knife went flying. A stranger picked it up and hid it.
The others attacked her, She spun the flute and cracked the leader over the head, while kicking the closest knifeman in the chest. The flute whistled louder from the rapid movement. The leader grabbed the end of the flute, and Serang grabbed his hand, pinning it to the flute. She made a cartwheel using only her legs, while holding the young man's wrist to the flute. She twisted her hips as the flute came back around. The instrument chirped loudly.
The man screamed as tendons tore in his forearm. He came off the ground and flew over an herb vendor's table and into the canal.
Serang extended her leg backwards and spun, tripping the last knifeman. McCormack kicked his knife away toward the gathering crowd. Serang rolled atop the punk, making three fast punches to his face. She relieved him of his own purse, then let him run away bleeding and holding his nose.
The crowd cheered. Serang bowed to them. People tried to force gifts into her hands, but she refused.
"That was fun," she said. She returned to the old woman, and looked approvingly at the flute. "Good flute. I'll take it." She dropped the thug's purse into the old woman's hand. "But I want a carrying strap."
The woman's eyes bugged out at the contents of the purse. She scrambled to find a leather strap that pulled tight around the ends of the flute, then thanked Serang for her generosity.
"Do you play, Miss Serang?" McCormack asked.
"You just saw me play," she teased. "If I am an interpreter, I should not carry weapons. Nobody will look twice at me if I carry it. Now come on, we're nearly there."
She led them around a corner, and James insisted on checking the stars. With all the narrow streets, enclosed buildings, and cloths over the streets he didn't like feeling lost.
They went up a rickety staircase then through the back door of what appeared to be a tavern. The crowd was sparse at this time of night, but would grow later on.
An old man with cataracts over his eyes looked at them trying to make them out.
"Yes, Uncle Guang, it's me." Serang kissed his bald head.
"Serang, it's been years since you graced our home," the man said.
Serang introduced everyone, but stuck to the story of them being Hollish Navy. Guang bowed to everyone in turn, and he bade them to sit with him.
"Where are my manners?" Guang said. He clapped his hands and people came running. He issued orders in their language, then they dispersed in every direction. "Your aunt will be so excited to see you. I sent for her and told her to bring food."
"I would like that, thank you," she said.
A girl ran up and placed a sequence of small clay cups before each of them. Then she placed out an oatmeal colored jar of huangjiu, exactly like the kind Serang usually drank.
Serang tore off the paper sticker, removed a wax ring, then pulled the cork. She wrapped the leather strap around her wrist then poured one tiny glass for everyone. She placed the jar back down and waited patiently.
The old man lifted his cup and said, "Ganbei!" Then he shot down the entire drink and turned his cup upside down on the table.
Serang lifted her cup and gestured for the others to do the same. She said, "Ganbei!" motioned for them to repeat the word, then followed her uncle's lead. The rest of them said the word then drank the huangjiu.
McCormack's eyes rolled at the strong drink. People at another table laughed at him. Serang passed him the jar, and motioned for him to fill the next cup.
"Where does your mission take you next?" Guang asked.
"We will return to Hollish," James said. "I'd like to find the northern passage then sneak in the back way, but I have no charts."
"Perhaps you need a Cartomancer."
"If only they were still around, I'm sure they would have a map. At the beginning of the last war, Hollish attacked their temple to keep their charts for themselves. The Cartomancers burned as much as they could before being overcome by the army."
"The world is changing," Guang said. "We used to have beautiful temples here. The Emperor ordered them closed when he decided to westernize. The priests were all killed, the monks went into exile. And yet, here before me is a temple maiden."
Serang snorted, "Hmph, Maiden."
"Ganbei!" The old man shouted before downing his cup and turning it over in the traditional dead soldier position.
The others followed his lead, then McCormack passed the jar to James, who immediately filled the last cup.
"Today, my country only worships money," Guang said. "The Emperor needs it to quell the island prefectures to the north."
The old man clapped his hands again, and chewed out the girl. She took the "dead soldiers" away, then left behind an entire platter of fresh cups.
"They must have some religion," Johnny said. "We saw a parade with a dragon turtle."
"Remnants of the past. The Emperor defines that as culture, and not religion. Only he seems to find the distinction, but it is worth one's head to question him." The old man leaned forward. "But the dragon turtle is out there. She ate my brother, and all of his shipmates, leaving Serang homeless. That is how she went to the orphanage in the first place."
"She did not move in with you?" Don Velasco asked.
"My brother and I lived in different cities back then. By the time we found out, it had been over a year."
"Ganbei!" Serang said, and scowled at Don Velasco.
The others followed the rules of formal drinking.
"So do you know where one of these remnant cartomancers might be found?" James asked.
"One became a good friend, but I have not seen him in many years. He was on an exploratory mission when the temple was attacked. He could still be alive."
A woman ran into the room and squealed. She hugged Serang then waved for some children to bring the food. "This is our supper, but I already started more. Eat up, and I will bring more as it finishes." She placed out bowls of noodles, platters of stuffed dumplings, and hard bread.
"And what's become of my cousin?" Serang asked.
"He is sumo now. He eats too much for us," her aunt said.
"Yes, now the Emperor feeds him," Guang added. He picked up his chopsticks a placed a dumpling in his mouth.
Serang followed suit, but the others struggled with their chopsticks. She adjusted their fingers until they had a rudimentary ability. Then she lifted a cluster of noodles to her mouth and slurped. Her eyes rolled at the taste of her aunt's cooking.
"You must try our new huangjiu," the uncle said. "It is the same thing, but steeped in mulberry blossoms for thirty days. I am most impressed with it." He clapped his hands for service once more, then issued instructions.
"Wait," Johnny said. "So you're the brewer of this drink?"
"Yes, didn't my niece tell you? We ship huangjiu all over the world, but most of it is for our local markets. The mulberry is a special batch, and will be reserved for the people of Cheng Shi Hua. If you like it, I will send some with you."
The serving girl returned, gathered the dead soldiers, then placed down a grey jar that resembled the other one in every way, other than the color. Serang opened it then served everyone.
The old man lifted it to his nose. "Smell it. You can smell the flowers, and it's taken on a bit of pink color too."
The others did as he did, and the scent was attractive. James yelled, "Ganbai!" and they all drank.
"This is wonderful, Uncle," Serang said.
"Then I will send some of both to your ship. Which one is it?"
"Can't miss it," James said. "It's the biggest one in the harbor."
The aunt returned with more food. Fried duck, roasted pork, and more kinds of dumplings. They ate, and drank for several hours.
"I'd like to get back to this cartomancer you knew," James said.
"He lived on his ship, but he liked his huangjiu. Kept a woman on the ship with him, lovely person. She didn't leave the harbor. Our country was not so open as it is now to foreigners. When your people showed up, he left. He thought the Hollish might be looking for him."
"Do you know where he went?"
"Somewhat. He charted it, but only for himself. He left directions, if I can find them. Would you like me to try?"
"If you don't mind."
"It might take me a day or two."
"Perfectly fine. I have business to attend to for the next few days. Perhaps I can send Serang by later on. Now you must let me pay you something for this lovely meal."
"Absolutely not. You are Serang's captain, and besides you have one more thing to do."
"What's that?"
"Ganbai!"
Three slender women entered the tavern. Johnny turned over his cup, then stood and spread his arms wide. He walked toward them. "Ladies. Has anyone ever told you about the moving reef?"
The rest of the group chuckled and poured another round.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Serang found boats to take them all the way to the harbor. It was best not to walk through the harbor district, since McCormack could barely walk at all.
James awoke to a tinkling sound. He rolled over and looked through the archway at the Boss dumping a leather purse on the table. He swung to his feet, and his head throbbed. "What are you doing?"
"Boss show, clink clink."
James walked to the table then sat down.
"Clink clink gone dead," Boss said. He reached down and put his hand through the hole in the center of an unusual brass coin. "Make shoot. Shiny all gone."
James picked up the coin. "This is called a cash. The Emperor needs the real gold for his war. He makes these for his people, because they don't need gold. They're of no use to us outside Cheng Shi Hua."
Boss kicked one of the cash off the table. "Bullshit."
"Where did you pick up that word?"
"Biscuit say bullshit alla time."
"Good word. Is he bringing breakfast?"
"Say gone past."
"Find him and tell him I want tea anyway. Maybe a biscuit or two."
"I I I I."
James and the Boss headed different directions.
Mal was not in the surgery. Fala burst from their quarters. "He went to get help. Dan's fever's back, and the ice is gone now."
"Where'd he go?"
"Up to town."
"How long ago?"
"At first light."
"We'll never find him now. Keep washing him down with damp cloths, and I'll see if I recognize anything in the surgery that might help."
Mal climbed to the city in the dawning light. People looked at the strange black man in the Hollish Artillery uniform. They'd never seen a black person before.
The vendors started to uncover their wagons and open their windows for the day. Old men carried the odd fishing lizards toward their unseen boats. Even the lizards croaked as Mal passed.
"Medicine?" he asked anyone who would listen.
People turned away and went about their business. He wandered down alleys so narrow he could touch both sides at the same time. There were shops even back in these places.
It turned into a process of elimination. If a place smelled of food, he passed it by. If they had meat in the windows he kept moving.
He spotted a small glass lamp burning in one window and stuck his head inside. "Medicine?" He was confronted by a heavy, greasy, floral smell. Like incense, but more pervasive.
"Would you like to buy a pipe?" The woman behind the counter asked.
"No. Need medicine. Infect."
She put a hand on his shoulder and ushered him outside. She pointed at a sign with a mortar and pestle on it.
Mal made his way down the alley to the sign. The shop smelled of earth, herbs, and mold. A thin man in approximately his late forties approached and asked if he needed help.
"Need medicine," Mal said.
The man's prominent Adam's apple moved up and down as he swallowed. He pulled Mal's eye open, then felt his wrist.
"Not my medicine," Mal said.
"What kind of medicine then?"
"Infect."
"What kind of infection?"
Mal lifted his leg and drew a line across his ankle. "Cut."
"Where is the person now?"
Mal pointed outside. "Ship."
"I'm Doctor Chu. I will see this man." He handed Mal a leather bag. "Hold, please." He wandered around his shop and collected pouches, envelopes and small boxes to place in the bag. After he loaded everything, he grabbed a large jar then buckled its lid shut. It sloshed as he walked. "Bring bag," and he walked outside.
Doctor Chu stopped at the shop that directed Mal over. "Wait, please." He went inside and said something in another language to the woman. She hustled about and gathered items. Doctor Chu placed a pipe, one of the lamps, and another envelope into the bag. "Come, please."
They wandered back toward the docks. When they arrived, James and Serang had already gone to the fort.
Mal led Doctor Chu to Dan's quarters. Chu recoiled at the smell, then immediately opened the windows. He spotted the anvil bird and the peanuts along the window ledge. He gave the bird a nut, and the bird said, "Doh je."
"Remarkable creature. This is a happy spirit and should stay with the sick man."
"Sick man's name is Dan," Fala said.
"Of course." Chu felt Dan's forehead, then started probing his wrist and forearm.
"His arm's fine. Maybe you ought to check his leg."
"Arm tells of his imbalances. Already know about leg." Chu got out the pipe then lit the burner. After adjusting the flame, he opened the envelope. A hard piece of resin fell out. Chu went to work cutting off a piece that would fit inside the long pipe. When he was ready, he held the bowl over the burner, offered the stem to Dan and said, "Smoke."
The greasy floral odor filled the room and masked the scent of rot. Dan took a small puff.
"Deeper. Bigger," Chew said.
"What are you doing to him? You ain't even looked at his leg," Fala said.
"Perhaps you should leave," Chu said. "Without treatment, he dies tonight."
Fala moved her jacket away from the butt of her pistol. "I ain't going nowhere."
"Then shut up and let me work."
Dan drew in more of the smoke. Chu placed a hand on his leg, then squeezed. Dan never flinched. "More smoke. Keep going."
Chu touched the scabby end of the stump. Dan flinched, but not in agony. He took a tiny knife from his bag then poked the end of the stump. Horrid smelling green pus oozed from the wound. "This poison. Must come out." He made a ring with his hands around Dan's calf and squeezed as he moved his hand down toward the stump. Several cups full of the putrid fluid drained onto the floor.
"What are you doing?" Dan asked.
"You smoke. Best thing for you now," Chu said. He dug back in his bag and brought out a large round tin. He unscrewed the top so Mal could smell. It was a leafy dry concoction. "Need to make tea. This tea."
"You want him to smoke and make tea?" Fala asked.
"Pipe is for pain. Let me examine leg. Tea is for blood poison. Help cure Dan. Please, need hot water. Chop chop!"
Fala rolled her eyes then left to find a kettle. When she returned, Dan was asleep. Chu placed the pipe aside. He'd turned off the lamp. "What have you done to him?"
"He rests. We make tea for him."
She placed the kettle of hot water on the small table. Chu produced a small wooden spoon from his bag and counted five scoops of the herbs into the water.
