Golden Dragon (Code Black Book 1)

by V. E. Ulett

  Nonesuch put into Port Jackson to rest and re-fuel. Excepting wood for the braziers, the ship didn’t desire much in the way of stores since their transits were of short duration. Captain Thorpe was a great one for resting his crew, however, and so they made themselves look respectable and called on Port Jackson. They need not have bothered. The captain went ashore and after viewing the squalor of the place, returned muttering in his broad Scottish brogue about “dirty and rubbishy going together” and hurried the wood and water aboard. His lady guest Captain Thorpe rowed to a headland outside the town so that Miriam could stretch her legs on dry land amid flocks of parrots, cockatiels, and budgerigars, and away from the sight of the criminals, sots, and blackguards in Port Jackson.

  This same tender inclination, Mr. Dashwood believed, led Captain Thorpe to allow Miriam to remain on Nonesuch’s upper deck during their present descent. If Mr. Dashwood’s readings were correct this third landing should put them in the Celebes Sea, or even into the South China Sea itself.

  Mr. Dashwood was beginning to suspect he’d misjudged Miriam, and she had less in her of the gentlewoman and more of the adventuress, for there were signs she returned the captain’s sentiments. He was surprised she should favor Captain Thorpe in spite of his cautionary words in Cape Town, to say nothing of his own very nearly expressed preference for her. Most of all he could not approve of allowing a woman to remain on deck during a dangerous maneuver like a descent. At the same time, as first lieutenant, Mr. Dashwood felt it beneath his dignity to notice her.

  Miriam was strapped aft, to a stanchion of the quarterdeck, out of the way of the working of the bellows, the braziers, the lines of the balloons, and the critical ballast. Dashwood thought her an absurd sight in her trowsers, head scarf, and knitted cap tied beneath her chin, held to the stanchion and lifelines by a canvas jacket arrangement with buckles and latches of Captain Thorpe’s own devising.

  “Let go the hundred-weights, port and starboard!” Mr. Dashwood called.

  Nonesuch’s descent slowed and she lifted in a gentle upward swoop and then dipped through another thin layer of cloud. Below them stretched a pacific sea with never a white cap in sight. The night was beautifully starlit, and even at altitude the air temperature nearly comfortable. Mr. Dashwood was confident this would be his prettiest landing yet, and that it should take place before Miss Miriam’s eyes didn’t detract from his joy.

  The ship gave an awkward gripe when Nonesuch was some hundred feet above the water, listing horribly to starboard. The balloons were nearing complete deflation and had not Mr. Dashwood instantly called an adjustment to the men manning the stunsail sheets the ship might have rolled over. For several tense seconds she felt sickeningly near to going masts down. What flashed through Mr. Dashwood’s mind was, Captain Thorpe’s uncommon zeal for the passenger on deck caused the split second loss of control. No man ever held helm that did not some time lose his hold, Mr. Dashwood reflected. An error like that might’ve cost them dear.

  Next moment the ship was down and boisterous over a calm sea. Mr. Dashwood began shouting orders to bring the ship to, to house the wind-engine and fix her rudder, to furl in and secure the flotation, setting in motion the myriad tasks of a landing.

  “Mr. Dashwood, sir,” Miriam called to him from aft. “There are three vessels coming up fast.”

  When Mr. Dashwood scanned the sea round he spotted them. Three Chinese junks, their large mat sails set, wringing great speed out of the slight breeze and on a course to intercept Nonesuch.

  “Arm yourselves!” Mr. Dashwood called out to the men on deck.

  He ran back to Miriam, unhooking her from lifeline and stanchion until she stood swaying before him, all canvas jacket and dangling buckles.

  “Run below, Miss. Tell the Captain we are about to be boarded.”

  Miriam hurried for the companion ladder, but up it rushed a file of shrieking men, with Captain Thorpe at their head. He had his sword in his hand, pistols in belts across his chest, and such a furious maniacal grin on his face that Miriam fell back to the stanchion on the quarterdeck.

  Over the sides of the ship hung the two great limp balloons, blocking both gangways with the complicated lines that secured them to the ship. Miriam could hear cries from the forecastle where the pirates had boarded, Mr. Dashwood and his men were struggling over those lines to meet them. It was to be the British cutlass and cavalry swords against the native parang and kris.

  Miriam ran again for the after hatchway companion ladder to retreat below deck. But a hand grasped her roughly by the canvas jacket she still wore and shoved her into place with the afterguard, hauling on lines to bring in a balloon.

  “Where do you think you’re a going to, mate?” the owner of the hand shouted at her. “Captain orders the flotations brought in, and you think it’s time to go below and take a caulk?”

  She’d watched them do this before, the united pulling upon the lines, the furling and folding of the great balloons. Miriam did her best not to squib their rhythm, but the balloon grew ever heavier with the weight of water. From forward on deck came the sound of clashing swords, and the fearful screams and groans of battle.

  “Braziers, light the braziers.”

  Miriam heard Captain Thorpe’s cry as the afterguard finished furling one balloon on the deck. Captain Thorpe was amidships, his sword back in the scabbard at his hip. He called out for the bellows to be manned. Several of the afterguard rushed to take up stations, while Miriam with the rest made their way to the port side balloon. A Chinese junk came round Nonesuch’s stern, tossing stink pots up on her deck.

  “Oh no you didn’t!” Captain Thorpe roared, running aft and kicking the smoking bombs over the ship’s side.

  “Mr. Dashwood! On my word fall back to the quarterdeck!”

  The port side balloon was furled double quick, and Captain Thorpe called out for the gangways to be cleared. Miriam moved away with the hands, to huddle near the lee rail. Jugma Bora was close by. She was looking right at him when Bora made a come hither gesture at the Chinese junk making itself fast to Nonesuch, in preparation for boarding her over the stern.

  She opened her mouth to give warning of this second wave of pirates attacking the ship. But forward Captain Thorpe was shouting orders, recalling Mr. Dashwood and the watch on deck. When they leaped past him, Captain Thorpe ordered the bellows directed over the flames of the braziers. The pirates left on the forecastle were blasted from the ship.

  A cheer went up from Nonesuch’s crew.

  Captain Thorpe was having none of it. “Firemen!” he shouted.

  Into the momentary hush after this command, amid the rush forward of the men called, Miriam shouted. “Arm yourselves! We are about to be boarded up in here.”

  In the charge of seamen as the crew came pounding aft to deal with the raiders clawing at the stern, Miriam was pushed all the way to the taffrail. She felt a calloused hand close on her wrist. Jugma Bora had her in a hard clasp.

  “Little Dragon!” called a man with blackened teeth, looking up at them from the deck of the junk. “What are you doing with the farang?”

  Miriam stared, wondering if she’d understood the eastern language quite so well. She and Jugma Bora turned to one another, and Miriam found her answer in his cold gaze.

  “Here’s the one you want! She’s a British spy and will fetch a fine ransom.”

  Jugma Bora jerked Miriam’s hand up, or tried to. She resisted the man who’d lulled her with tales of another woman’s success, pulling and twisting her wrist painfully in his grasp.

  “You will be letting her loose now, Bora, as you value your life.”

  Shouts and cries engulfed them as the Nonesuches repelled pirates from the quarterdeck, yet Miriam heard that Scottish burr quite clear in the melee. Grappling hand to hand, she and Jugma Bora staggered together and apart, nearly crashing into Captain Thorpe. He held a pistol cocked and pointed. Captain Thorpe came face to face with Jugma Bora, raised a booted foot, and kicked him square in the
chest.

  Miriam reeled back as someone caught her round the waist. Jugma Bora tumbled over the taffrail, smacking into two of his kinsmen on his way down and knocking them from the stern ladder.

  Saramago was the one who’d held onto her. He peered at her, shaking his head, his eyes misting over. “And you always so kind and polite to that Bora.”

  “Here you are, Miss.” Captain Thorpe put a three and half inch blade into her hand, the Scottish sgian dubh. “And may you never more be without it. Mr. Dashwood, sway up one of the guns, I grow tired of vermin on my ship!”

  It was not the swivel gun that saved them from further assault, but a wind coming up. Mr. Dashwood was fixing one of the guns to its carriage, the Chinese junks having fallen back to regroup, when a fair land breeze from the nearby islands found them. Captain Thorpe roared orders that set the sails on his polymorphous craft, and Nonesuch showed the three junks her heels.

  “Well, Valentine,” Maximus said to his first lieutenant late that evening, “those are the dangers of descending in fair weather.” They were reclining at table in the great cabin, having attended to repairs to the ship and to her people. Maximus spent some considerable time stitching knife wounds, and sewing ears back on. “Particularly in these seas, with pirates round every coral reef. We shall have to practice swaying up the guns, when the men are sufficiently recovered.”

  “I much doubt we shall find weather favorable for an ascent, sir,” Mr. Dashwood said, “among these islands, and in this latitude. At least, that is my reading of the Mechanism thus far.”

  Maximus nodded, trying to look grave and not pleased to extend the time before Nonesuch should reach Hong Kong. Miss Miriam had assisted him with the wounded like a regular surgeon’s mate, having benefited from his anatomical instruction. He was not unaware either of how she’d behaved during the late action, shoved about on deck by the bosun, working with the afterguard. Nonesuch’s bosun Mr. Wagner was a perfect Bruin; Maximus made a mental note to discuss with him the difference between a landsman and a young lady.

  “That’s as may be,” Maximus said. “Once we are in the South China Sea, we may find squalls. Relieve Mr. Dodd at eight bells, and I shall take the morning watch.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Mr. Dashwood rose. “By the way, sir, may I say that caper with the bellows and the braziers made things rather hot for the natives.”

  “Mr. Dashwood, I cannot but be approving of a first lieutenant who doesn’t care overmuch for the gingerbread-work.”

  “Good night, sir.” Mr. Dashwood walked out grinning.

  Maximus was dead tired and he went and had a wash in the quarter gallery. He returned to the great cabin shirtless, and there found Miriam with her long dark hair in a plait over one shoulder, wearing a dressing gown and list slippers.

  “I shall be with you in a trice,” he cried, scurrying into his sleeping cabin and emerging a moment later wearing a fresh shirt.

  The sight of her, so obviously ready for bed, moved Maximus in many ways. She was at once innocent and alluring. Miriam stood with her dark gaze cast down. Though she had not blushed to see his naked chest, she seemed now to be having trouble meeting his eye. Maximus hoped he hadn’t given her a disgust of him with his pale skin, and his curling red gold chest hair.

  It was a relief when she spoke first.

  “I am sorry to keep you from your cot, Captain, I know it has been a most difficult day. I could not rest because I...did you hear what he called me?”

  “That traitor Bora?”

  Miriam nodded. “If you understood as well as I did, Jugma Bora may be a betrayer but he is also a prodigious great teacher. He called me a spy. A British spy.”

  Her fear, her distress, and uncertainty were plain. Maximus’s strongest instinct urged him to protect her.

  “No one can like the name of agent provocateur,” Maximus said. “If Bora survived this day to spread that tale far and wide, sure you must reconsider carrying on with your mission.”

  He was sorry to be so blunt. Miriam’s skin was near green-tinged she was so pale. Maximus found he should do anything to persuade her to abandon Lord Q’s infamous, ill-conceived attempt at rescue. Or was it a bait and switch? The notion made Maximus grit his teeth.

  “He called Jugma Bora Little Dragon. Did you attend to it?”

  Miriam turned those luminous intelligent eyes on him, and Maximus’s throat went dry. “So I did too,” he croaked.

  “The Golden Dragon and Little Dragon,” she said. “Do you think Lord Exmouth can have unwittingly sent his own agent provocateur aboard with us? It is hardly likely. I cannot help but feel we may have tossed overboard his lordship’s man on the inside of this clan abducting women.”

  Maximus rubbed his hands over his weary beard stubbled face. “At this moment I am too tired to ken who is doing what to whom, Miss, I hope you will forgive me. Allow me to say the only thing I know is, the middle of a criminal conspiracy is no place for a gentle lass like you.”

  He meant only to be complimentary and honest, but at once Maximus realized he’d blundered again, and invaded the space she liked to keep round herself. Miriam’s gaze became hard and abstracted, and then she stood up.

  “Good night, sir, and thank you for allowing me to remain on deck during the descent. It was the most glorious night of my life, until we were attacked.”

  “Thank you, ma’am, for your service to the ship and her people.” Maximus bowed, pained by this formality between them—a self-inflicted wound.

  “Tell me, Captain,” Miriam said, moving to the door of her sleeping cabin. “Why did you not let them take me, those pirates who attacked the ship? Since that is what is meant to happen.”

  “I have my orders, which are to set you down in Hong Kong. Not to hand you over to the first pointy toothed bugger who crawls up the side.”

  “Ah! Orders,” Miriam said. She dipped him a little curtsey. “And so you will understand that I too have mine.”

  Chapter Ten

  Beautiful verdant islands slipped by on both sides of Nonesuch. The offshore breezes brought the scent of flowers, moist earth, and exuberant vegetable life. Brilliant colored birds—flocks of lories, hornbills, and parrots—shrieked from the forrest canopies. Native longhouses appeared where the jungle had been cleared, and many were built extending out over the water. Miriam couldn’t truly enjoy these fascinating sights, though she was much on deck. When they gained the South China Sea and Nonesuch was obliged to beat against contrary winds and a boisterous sea, the weather better suited Miriam’s mood. A sense of dread plagued her, the same as she’d experienced before leaving her mother and Iran.

  Here was that feeling again, unwelcome and unwanted, of living her last days of peaceful untroubled existence, of time running short. Miriam was angry that she’d wound up in the same place, though in a far distant tropical landscape, whose natural wonders she couldn’t appreciate for her anxiety and depression of spirit. She worried over what became of Jugma Bora, and about her fast approaching meeting with Francis Blackwell. The greater part of Miriam’s unhappiness though, stemmed from losing what had come to feel like a home. The ship Nonesuch, with Captain Thorpe and—she had to admit it—the officers and crew, substituting for a family.

  Since Africa Mr. Dashwood had called a halt to his offers of gifts and guidance, and Miriam liked him better for it. He now quizzed her, full of good-humored raillery, and Saramago doted on her. Mr. Dodd and the heavy-handed bosun Mr. Wagner had each on occasion treated her chuff, just like brothers. And Captain Thorpe? She would actually miss those odd mismatched eyes, and his gallant ways. Miriam was disappointed he wouldn’t help her unravel what had happened with Jugma Bora. Captain Thorpe must know Lord Exmouth better than she, but he didn’t care to share that knowledge. He seemed to believe Miriam needed to be handled with especial care and wrapped in lamb’s wool.

  In spite of the wishes of many more aboard Nonesuch than Miriam was aware, the ship came in to the fine harbor of Hong Kong at last. Dutch
, British, and American ships great and small, and junks, prahus, and kora-kora crowded the port. Nonesuch was brought safely to anchor by her attentive officers and crew, amid the crowd of vessels and house-boats. Miriam stood on Nonesuch’s deck taking in the settlement and the mountainous terrain. The town consisted of a patchwork of warehouses, counting and merchant houses, and residences at the foot, and running a short way up a misty hillside. Somewhere in the humid little town her step-father Francis would be sweating at the British Consulate.

  The day she was to leave the ship Miriam felt oppressed, and not just by the climate. Her basket containing her few possessions was in the great cabin, ready to be put into the boat that would carry her ashore. On the quay Miriam planned to hire a palanquin or sedan chair to take her to Government House. That was how everyone got around, even to visit their next-door neighbor, on the steep streets of the settlement. She stood in the great cabin wringing her hands, tarted up in Lady Elgin’s clothes, with her hair dressed and uncovered. Miriam was anxious; Thrax hadn’t been around all morning.

  “No, Miss, I no see ‘em,” Saramago answered her inquiry.

  “Pisamdeared again,” Miriam said. “And I must say good-bye soon.”

  She and Saramago were blinking at one another with moist eyes, when Captain Thorpe entered from his private quarters. He left the door to his bed space open, a thing Miriam never knew him do before, and she was able to gaze into luxury and comfort.

  “May I beg a private word with ye, Miss Miriam,” Captain Thorpe said.