The Rebellion Engines

by Jeannie Lin

  “It’s called a cravat,” he explained, smoothing a hand over the cloth.

  When I asked, he didn’t know what purpose it served other than fashion. It seemed like an ill-omen, to wrap a strip of cloth around one’s neck.

  The warehouse area was still and dormant at night. Aside from the two of us, the street was empty. Nevertheless, Chang-wei stood close with his hand resting lightly over my elbow.

  “Are we attending a celebration?”

  “It’s just a social gathering. The foreign consuls will be there and Taotai Wu is in their custody.”

  “Is he a prisoner?” I asked, shocked.

  “No.” But then, “It’s complicated. Wu is still the head of the circuit, but his contact with Peking has been limited. I’ve been told Wu attempted a counter-attack early during the insurgency. It failed and since then the foreign authorities have kept a closer watch on him.”

  The foreign powers were adamant about asserting neutrality. There were still ways to communicate with the Qing forces outside the city. Ways to send messages to Peking, but only after navigating a few obstacles like with my message for my mother.

  “You don’t really need a wife to speak to the intendant, do you?” I asked.

  The corner of Chang-wei’s mouth lifted. “You provide the appearance of respectability.”

  The steam-carriage arrived with Mister Lawrence in the driver’s seat. He got out and greeted us with a slight bow before opening the door. I didn’t know why Miss Wei found him so objectionable. He gave the impression of being a gentleman.

  Inside I found myself seated across from Miss Wei Ming-fen who wore a green dress with a phoenix pattern embroidered at the borders. Her hair was pulled back in an elegant coil that highlighted the clean line of her neck. Twin jeweled combs sparkled against the silky darkness. Upon closer inspection, I saw that the spine of the comb was shaped like a dragon with green gems set into the eyes.

  Ming-fen looked like a privileged heiress while I was done up like an old housekeeper by comparison. My hair was pinned up in a simple bun as if to keep it out of my eyes while I scrubbed the floors.

  Dean Burton sat beside her dressed in similar attire to Chang-wei in a dark-colored suit with a row of buttons down the front. His boots were leather and polished to a shine.

  “You look very lovely tonight, Miss Jin,” Burton said, which I took to mean I hadn’t made any appalling errors. Then it was on to business. “I hear that Taotai Wu is meeting with the British consul under the cover of this social function. An official meeting would be too conspicuous given that the major powers of the foreign settlement have all agreed to stay out of the conflict.”

  Wei Ming-fen made another face, but Burton went on regardless. “Wu is usually surrounded by bodyguards, but Miss Wei and I have a prior connection to him.”

  “You’re British. Wu has no reason to be afraid of you,” Miss Wei remarked.

  “Actually, I’m American,” he reminded her, with a half-grin.

  It looked to be some joke between them.

  “What connection?” I asked.

  The pair exchanged another look. “Miss Wei and I smuggled Taotai Wu out of Old Shanghai the day of the Small Swords uprising,” Burton replied casually. “Since then, Wu has remained mostly in the American section for the last year. He was granted refuge at Russell and Company’s.”

  “It’s a trading house,” Chang-wei explained.

  Burton gave us a quick summary of the concession. Each of the foreign countries had their own allotted section controlled by the appointed consul. The Yingguo, or British concession was the oldest and most established. The entire foreign settlement numbered just over a thousand inhabitants; traders, merchants, and other businessmen who called it their home. In the last few years, a flood of Chinese migrants had come from the surrounding countryside as well as from Old Shanghai. The concession had agreed to take them in, in attempt to maintain relations with the Qing Empire.

  “All the while making sure not to anger the rebels either.”

  “It seems like the foreigners are standing back and gambling on who will win,” I remarked coolly.

  I caught the flash of Wei Ming-fen’s smile.

  “We’re trying to stay out of the fight,” Burton insisted. “This is a matter between the Qing government and its own people.”

  “Unless something interferes with business,” Miss Wei pointed out. “Then the warships come charging in.”

  Burton looked around the carriage at us and had to acknowledge he was outnumbered.

  “In any case,” he continued with forced cheer, “Wu’s an interesting character. Apparently quite the businessman before being appointed as intendant. A dealmaker, I’d call him. He has connections to all sorts of people, foreigners included. That’s likely how he was able to arrange an escape from Shanghai during the uprising.”

  “In Old Shanghai, Wu tried to pit rival gangs against one another,” Miss Wei said. “Instead, they all banded together against him.”

  There was a trace of bitterness in the last part.

  “Did any of those gangs come over to this side, to the foreign concession?” I was thinking of the wheel symbol I’d seen painted on the alleyway.

  Both Burton and Wei Ming-fen fell silent.

  “The Small Swords are notably against the foreign occupation,” Miss Wei said stiffly.

  “I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the possibility,” Burton countered. “There are rumors they’re associated with the Triads.”

  I hadn’t heard of that name.

  “The Triad is what the foreigners call a shadowy secret society that supposedly operates in Shanghai. Folktales,” Miss Wei sniffed, looking out the window of the carriage.

  “It would be a mistake to just dismiss them as street gangs. These groups are highly organized. Let us not forget that the Small Swords rebels have met with consuls from the major foreign powers in Shanghai to negotiate a truce.” Burton directed a pointed look at Chang-wei. “Something your Emperor still refuses to do.”

  Instead of negotiating, the Emperor had sent us and his war machines.

  We had reached the riverfront where the oldest and grandest of the foreigner’s buildings stood. The area along the water was well-lit with gas lamps and boasted a fair amount of evening foot traffic. Tall brick structures faced the river, displaying to all the wealth of the West.

  The carriage rolled forward, emitting a hiss of steam as it came to a stop before the steps of an opulent stone building that rose eight stories high. Burton exited first, then turned around to offer a hand to Miss Wei. Chang-wei took his hat in hand and gave me a small nod of reassurance before following Burton’s lead.

  As Chang-wei took my hand to help me from the carriage, he leaned in close. “You do look very pretty,” he said in a low tone, a bit rushed. “I should have said something earlier.”

  He set the black hat awkwardly on top of his head. It was a tall contraption that added to his height.

  I took his arm when he held it out and then stared at the steps that led up to the building. How was I supposed to get this cage of clouds dress up to the door? Looking to Miss Wei for guidance, I gathered the skirt in my hand to raise the hem before beginning the climb.

  Two attendants drew the doors open. I left the brackish waterfront behind and stepped into a glittering entrance hall. A chandelier made of intricate pieces of crystal strung together hung over the vast chamber. It looked like a radiant crown of light surrounded by sparkling jewels. I stared at it in wonderment until my neck hurt from tilting upward.

  I’d seen the imperial palace with its grand halls and courtyards. The opulence of this building was of a different sort. It wasn’t a place of kings, but rather an imitation where wealthy merchants and traders congregated pretending to be royalty.

  We passed underneath the crown of lights to reach another set of stairs. Chang-wei and I followed Burton and Miss Wei upwards. After three flights, the staircase opened into a banquet room where guests
had gathered.

  Gas lamps lined the walls, flooding the room with a warm glow. Long cloth-covered tables laid with food were arranged along one side. A group of musicians assembled at the far end of the room. The space in front was crowded with pairs of dancers who whirled about with abandon. Watching the patterns left me dizzy.

  This is what Ming-fen had meant about dancing.

  The attendees who weren’t engaged in the dance milled about in threes and fours around the room. Nearly every person was a foreigner.

  “Would the two ladies care for some refreshment?” Burton asked.

  “No,” I replied.

  “Yes, please,” Miss Wei said.

  “Yes, please,” I amended.

  Burton started off with Chang-wei beside him. I moved to follow before Miss Wei stopped me.

  “It’s part of the ritual,” she explained. “They get to be gallant and use the excuse to roam the room and make important introductions.”

  “What do we do in this ritual?”

  “Stand back and be seen.”

  “Be seen?”

  “Be seen,” she confirmed, snapping her fan open and waving it in a lazy rhythm as she surveyed the room.

  I opened my fan without the same dramatic flair. I did, however, manage to draw Miss Wei’s eye.

  “That’s quite an interesting piece.”

  Had she guessed the fan’s hidden purpose? Chang-wei had given it to me, not as a gift but for protection. The fan was bladed with reinforced steel spines hidden beneath the silk. The edge was razor-sharp, capable of slicing through skin.

  Ming-fen turned her attention back to the banquet with a sweeping glance. We were surrounded by pale skin and strange clothing. The only Chinese present were the servers and a group of young women who were there as to serve as dance partners. The buzz of conversation was unintelligible and the music had an unusual rhythm. The dancers moved in pairs around the floor, narrowly missing one another with each turn.

  The current song came to an end and after a short pause, a new one started up. The couples resumed their dance, stepping and circling. It was fascinating to see men and woman paired together, practically in each other’s arms. The dance wasn’t a performance for an audience, but more of a public ritual.

  “Do you know how to do that?” I asked Ming-fen.

  “The steps don’t take too long to learn. The music tells you what to do.”

  It all seemed so strange to me. This whole different world growing within our cities.

  “Miss Wei,” I began slowly.

  “No need to be so formal, Little Sister,” she said with a deceptively friendly smile.

  Though we were visibly of the same age, she was adopting the position of elder sister. A not-so-subtle play to establish status.

  “Mei-mei,” she said sweetly.

  “Jie-jie,” I replied, politeness demanding I go along with it. “How did you learn so much about the Yingguoren? Their language? Their customs?”

  “I spent several years at a missionary school run by foreigners.” She looked out onto the dance floor as she spoke. “I grew up there after my parents disappeared.”

  “That must have been hard—”

  “They’re not dead,” she added with a frown. “Just…lost.”

  I had so many questions. She’d lived in Old Shanghai before the insurrection. How did she end up here, working for someone like Dean Burton? I started to ask when she interrupted me again.

  “It must be very painful, dancing like that.”

  I followed her gaze to a dancer with bound feet. She was dressed in Western clothing much like we were and managed to move with surprising grace across the floor on the tiny wedges of her feet which were wrapped in tight bands of cloth.

  I’d attended to women in our village who continued to work the fields even after their feet were bound. Bound feet also required continual care. “The toes and the bridge of the foot often lose feeling after a time. I hear one gets used to it and simply endures.”

  “You’re Manchurian aren’t you, Mei-mei?” She was looking directly at me now.

  “I am.”

  She made a sound of acknowledgment but said nothing more. By that time Burton and Chang-wei had finally returned. Chang-wei handed me a porcelain cup painted with a blue floral design. The drink inside was the color of Yunnan tea.

  “What is this?” It smelled faintly of lemons.

  “Punch,” Burton replied, providing a cup to Wei Ming-fen.

  I frowned at the odd name until Chang-wei explained, “It’s liquor mixed with sugar.”

  I took a sip and coughed as the alcohol hit my throat.

  Chang-wei met my eyes over the rim of his cup before he drank. “That’s the captain of the municipal police force behind me.”

  I stole a glance at the tall Yingguoren with a thick mustache.

  “There have been some recent altercations between his men and imperialist troops,” Chang-wei continued with his voice lowered.

  “But—” I forced my gaze away. “Aren’t the troops outside of the settlement?”

  “There’s a debate over where exactly the boundaries lie,” Burton explained. He held out his hand to Ming-fen. “Miss Wei, will you do me the honor of this dance?”

  “Maybe.”

  He frowned. “Maybe?”

  Ming-fen started off to the other side of the room with Burton dutifully following. I drank more of the sweetened liquor. It burned a trail down my throat to warm my stomach.

  Chang-wei turned to face the room. We stood shoulder to shoulder to watch as the dancers swept by. I could feel the weight of the police captain’s stare on us. My skin prickled as I waited for him to move on, and it felt like the start of the next dynasty before he did. Finally, I could breathe again.

  “Did you find Taotai Wu?” I asked him.

  “Not yet. Burton is asking Miss Wei to check with the hotel staff. Apparently, the staff will ignore him but will speak to her.”

  The police captain was circling back toward us, this time with another man at his side. My heart raced as they looked directly at us.

  “What do we do now?” I asked, my heart pounding.

  Chang-wei finished his drink and then reached for my cup. I didn’t realize how tightly I’d been gripping it.

  “We dance,” he said simply.

  Chang-wei took us away from the wall and onto the floor, just inside the edge. I watched helplessly as other pairs whirled by.

  “Did you learn how to do this in London?” I asked him.

  “Not well.”

  He took hold of my hand in his. His other arm circled around to rest lightly against my back.

  I flushed warm at how close we were. “What happens if we run into someone? Or if they run into us?”

  “Just follow me.”

  I didn’t know what that meant.

  Chang-wei began to move, guiding me along with the slightest pressure of his fingertips as his feet traced out a pattern. I stared at my own feet as I was helplessly tugged along. One moment, I would think I was close to learning the steps only to have my hopes dashed when I stumbled. If it weren’t for Chang-wei’s arms around me, I would have faltered.

  A small laugh escaped my lips. “We must look like fools,” I fretted.

  “We look exactly like fools,” he agreed. “That’s what they’ll think we are. The fool inventor with his wild schemes, dancing with his pretty wife. Trying to act like they fit in with the foreigners when they can’t possibly do so.”

  I was taken aback that he had called me pretty. The rest barely registered.

  My feet were moving one after the other. At the same time, I could hear the music in the background, but if one had anything to do with the other, I couldn’t tell. I laughed at the absurdity of it and Chang-wei smiled back at me.

  And then it suddenly did make sense in a different way. The circle of his arms and this almost embrace. This warm flush that filled me, first caused by embarrassment, but now taken over by something
else. A rush of feeling lifted me from inside as I looked up at Chang-wei.

  “He’s here,” he said.

  I was so caught up in the wildness of the moment that Chang-wei had to repeat himself.

  “Taotai Wu is here.” He kept his gaze deliberately on me as he spoke. “It’s time to go introduce ourselves.”

  Chang-wei bowed to me when the music stopped, then took my hand and led me from the floor. I found the distinguished Taotai Wu immediately. Aside from us, Wu was the only Zhongguoren in attendance. Wu wore his state uniform with an embroidered black silk jacket and official headdress. On either side of him stood several stern-faced gentlemen.

  Burton intercepted us on our way to the intendant. “Taotai Wu,” the American greeted. He exchanged a few pleasantries before starting in on introductions. “This is a good friend of mine, Mister John Chen and his wife.”

  Wu was a middle-aged man, of average height, average build and unassuming in every way. Hard to believe that he had been given authority over all of Shanghai. His gaze moved over Chang-wei with interest.

  “Mister Chen lived for a time in London,” Burton continued.

  That sparked some interest among the men beside Wu. The conversation momentarily switched to Yingyu during which I tried to maintain a pleasant and patient expression despite having no idea what was being said. Both Chang-wei and Taotai Wu seemed to have no problem understanding or speaking the foreign tongue.

  I finally understood the purpose of the Western clothing as well as having Chang-wei approach the intendant in this social, harmless way. These were all signs that were familiar to the foreigners. It made Chang-wei appear to fit into their world. If he dressed like them and spoke like them, then they could, of course, trust him.

  Wu turned to me out of politeness. “London must have been exciting, Madame Chen.”

  “Sadly, I wasn’t able to accompany my husband abroad. I remained in Peking to see to our household.”