The Stone Dragon

by Peter Watt

  Naomi found the tub located in a room where the Boxers slept at night and carried jugs of water to fill it. She was pleased to see that she had privacy and noted the Chinese pants and blouse set aside for her to change into. They were the clothes of a peasant but were clean and Naomi sighed with pleasure for the chance to recover some of her dignity. For now she found just a tiny beam of sunshine in her bleak world of despair. Being able to wash and put on clean clothes went a long way to mending the spirit.

  Meili entered the room as Naomi slipped into the clothes. ‘Han has been ordered to go to the walls of the foreign legation,’ she whispered furtively. ‘I overheard a conversation he had with a man from the Imperial court. His mission is important.’

  Naomi glanced around them to ensure they were not overheard. ‘Do you still wish to escape?’ she asked.

  Meili shied away with an expression of fear in her face. ‘You have seen what they will do to us if we attempt to escape,’ she replied. ‘I do not have any desire to be killed in ways only these men can devise.’

  Naomi accepted her friend’s fear. When she closed her eyes she could still see the unfortunate Boxer soldier screaming his life away as the boiling oil slowly cooked him alive. ‘I understand,’ she said, placing her hand reassuringly on Meili’s arm.

  Meili slipped from the room to leave Naomi pondering as to why Han would be going to the walls of the European legation. What she could not imagine was that her captor was about to trigger the opening of the gates of hell for the Europeans trapped in the city.

  • • •

  Baron von Ketteler, the handsome, blue-eyed German minister to Pekin married to an American heiress, could not believe his eyes. And many others in Legation Street were similarly stunned. Sitting on the shaft of a small cart in direct view of all the Europeans was a brightly dressed Boxer casually sharpening a huge knife on his boot. The man was dressed with red ribbons around his wrists and ankles and a scarlet waist sash securing a white tunic. His hair was bound with a red scarf and the insolent expression on his pockmarked face spoke his contempt.

  ‘He challenges us with his insolence,’ von Ketteler snarled, rage turning his handsome face into a mask of fury. ‘I will teach him to respect his betters.’

  Before he could be stopped by one of his staff, the enraged German strode out into the street, waving a stick he had scooped up from the road.

  Han saw the German hurrying towards him and hesitated in the act of stroking the large knife along the side of his boot. He had not expected the cowardly barbarians to accept his challenge and, in his hesitation, had allowed the German diplomat to descend on him. Von Ketteler struck Han savagely about the head with the stick. Han did not understand the guttural curses raining on him but did glean that if he attempted to retaliate he might easily be killed by one of the armed Europeans watching the show. The blows were painful but not as much as Han’s sense of shame at losing face before the foreign devils. However, his instinct to live overcame his sense of shame and Han wisely fled to a nearby alleyway.

  Von Ketteler might have followed but his attention was drawn to the interior of the cart where he saw a small, frightened boy huddling. The German diplomat hauled him by the scruff of his neck from the cart and began thrashing the terrified child with his stick.

  As Han retreated he could hear the boy crying out his protests at the beating and the Boxer commander swore he would see the German dead.

  Despite the protests of one of his staff, von Ketteler ordered that the boy be marched to the German quarters as a prisoner. ‘It might not be a wise idea, sir,’ an older and more China-wise civil servant warned. ‘The heathens are watching every move we make here.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ von Ketteler snorted, shaking off his anger. ‘They have had a demonstration that Germany does not tolerate insolence from mere savages.’

  The civil servant nodded his obedience and escorted the battered and bruised boy away. But he had been right. Hell was unleashed by the spectacle. By late afternoon the exaggerated version of what had happened in Legation Street spread like wildfire to the Boxers throughout the city. Columns of smoke rose over the city marking a new outbreak of violence, and news came that even vaster numbers of armed Boxer reinforcements were streaming into the city. Any unguarded mission stations in the city were torched and any Chinese converts captured dealt with by the enraged Boxers. Any lucky captives were hacked to death but the unlucky ones were tortured in rebel camps and outposts before they died of their wounds.

  Han was in a rage when he returned to his headquarters. The beating he had received from the European had been witnessed by many of his men watching from the open streets surrounding the European legation. He had never considered that his contemptuous bravado would be challenged. Rather, the barbarians were supposed to be terrified by his brazen act.

  Naomi saw the blood splashes on his clothing and unfortunately caught his eye.

  ‘Your foreign devil friends will pay for this,’ he raged, his dark eyes bulging. ‘You will pay for this.’

  Naomi felt a chill of fear as Han strode towards her, grabbed her by the throat and smashed his fist into her face, splitting her upper lip. She did not resist but felt the blows striking her around the head until he let go and she fell to her hands and knees. In her dazed horror she realised that he was behind her and forcing her legs apart. The rape that came was savage and especially degrading in front of his men. When it was over he left her with a brutal kick in the ribs.

  Naomi lay for a short time in a pool of blood and shame.

  ‘You must get up and be somewhere Han cannot see you,’ Meili said in a furtive whisper. ‘If he returns he will see you and his anger is not yet spent.’

  Hardly hearing the wise words, Naomi allowed Meili to assist her into the courtyard to a corner shaded by a large tree under the stares of Boxer warriors idling in the courtyard.

  ‘You have some cuts and your lip will bleed for some time,’ Meili said softly. ‘Do you feel pain inside your body?’

  Naomi tried to focus on Meili’s words but felt the dark despair return, blotting all else out.

  ‘You must put this behind you,’ Meili whispered. ‘Do not live in the world of dark spirits that eat the soul.’

  Meili’s words sounded hollow but her gentle touch meant a great deal. ‘I will get better,’ Naomi responded hoarsely, bringing the faintest glimmer of a smile to Meili’s face.

  ‘And when you are better you will one day kill Han,’ Meili said, causing Naomi to start.

  ‘How did you know?’ she asked.

  ‘It is in your eyes,’ Meili answered, applying a clean, damp rag to Naomi’s wounds. ‘I wish to live to see that occur.’

  Naomi felt the rage returning. Yes, she would live to kill Han. For now that moment was not at hand but one day Han would drop his guard.

  In the early evening Robert stood on the parapet overlooking the city and watched the myriad of dancing lights in the Chinese quarter. He knew they were torches and the now-common sound of ‘Sha, sha’ drifted to him on the smoke of the burning missionary buildings. Below he could see a contingent of slouch-hatted American marines, shepherding a few lucky survivors of the afternoon’s massacre into the safety of the walls of the legation.

  Robert had seen enough. It was time to join the British troops and his fellow officers for a conference on the best way of defending the foreign legation. This was it, he thought as he walked down the stone steps to a large courtyard inside the walls. In the flickering shadows cast by the fires of the city he noticed Dr George Morrison. The correspondent looked tired and was covered in soot.

  ‘Have you been out there?’ Robert asked.

  ‘Yes, and thank God I am here now,’ Morrison replied wearily, wiping the grime from his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘I saw some terrible things today,’ he continued, staring bleakly into the flickering shadows. ‘I saw men and women trussed up like cooking fowls, their eyes gouged out and their noses and ears cut off. I saw others t
hat had been roasted alive on spits and luckier ones who had died from having their throats slit. I tell you, old boy, we are going to have to fight to the death if we do not wish to share their horrible fate.’

  ‘It should never have come to this,’ Robert responded bitterly. ‘We saw it coming and those supposedly in charge left everything until too late.’

  Morrison did not reply and both men stood silently for a moment, listening as the strangled screams for mercy from the continuing massacre of Chinese civilians drifted to them on the hot night air.

  ‘I have matters to attend to,’ Morrison finally said, breaking the silence. ‘With the help of Professor James from the Imperial University who acted as interpreter I was able to save a few Chinese converts and their families. Prince Su has agreed to my demands that they be given accommodation in his palace although he has chosen not to hang around.’

  ‘Good for you, Dr Morrison,’ Robert said. ‘I should also be away to help form a defence. I hope all continues to go well for you.’

  Morrison grinned from beneath the soot. ‘How much worse could it get?’

  ‘They are neither Boxers nor Imperial soldiers,’ Tung hissed softly, crouching beside John, adjacent to an earth embankment. The campfire that the four heavily armed Chinese had built clearly silhouetted them as they sat together.

  ‘We have to get past them,’ John whispered.

  ‘That would mean losing many hours of night,’ Tung replied, carefully scanning the area beyond the light for any sign of others. ‘I think that they are preparing to sleep.’

  ‘Are you considering taking them on?’ John asked. ‘All we have is a single revolver between us.’

  ‘I have a knife,’ Tung responded. ‘And we have surprise on our side. I do not sense any others with them.’

  ‘A big gamble,’ John said, peering at the region under the embankment. ‘What if they have a sentry?’

  ‘I will look,’ Tung said. ‘If they do not have any sentry then we will strike when they sleep.’

  Both men snaked on their bellies to where Andrew and Liling lay together in the long, desiccated grass.

  ‘Tung thinks the party ahead are bandits. They have one modern rifle between them while the others are armed with old muskets,’ John briefed Andrew. ‘Tung is going up the embankment to see if they have posted any lookouts.’

  ‘Is he planning to find a way of bypassing them?’ Andrew asked anxiously.

  ‘Not exactly,’ his father replied dryly. ‘It appears that we are going to take on the party ahead when they retire for the night.’ John did not see the shock in Andrew’s face at his explanation.

  Within the half hour Tung joined them.

  ‘They do not have guards outside the camp,’ he said. ‘But they do have one man awake while the others retire to sleep away from the fire. They are not stupid and have made their beds in the dark. I have observed their locations and I think that we should strike in an hour.’

  ‘What do you suggest we each do?’ John asked.

  ‘I will circle and with my knife take care of the one who is furthest from the others. I will then move on to the next not far from him and then the third man. You will place yourself within easy range of the man sitting just outside the firelight and shoot him when you hear me call to you,’ Tung briefed them. ‘It is a simple plan and will work.’

  ‘I can help,’ Liling said quietly, producing a small but deadly looking knife.

  The three men glanced at her in surprise.

  ‘It will not be necessary,’ Tung rejected. ‘You are a woman.’

  ‘I have heard that the Boxers have women warriors in their ranks,’ Liling said. ‘I am no less capable.’

  ‘Have you ever killed before?’ Tung asked.

  ‘No, but my village has fallen to bandits in my lifetime,’ Liling replied. ‘I have no love for such men and am prepared to kill them.’

  Andrew was stunned by Liling’s declaration. ‘I think that you should stay out of this, Liling,’ he said. ‘Tung and my father can deal with such matters.’

  Liling reluctantly slipped the knife back under her blouse.

  ‘It is time,’ Tung said, addressing Andrew. ‘You and Liling are to remain here while we are away. You will know when we are successful.’

  Tung’s words caused Andrew a gripping fear. They were spoken so calmly that they did not hide the fact that things could go wrong. Andrew wanted to hug his father and tell him that he loved him, but to do so might imply they were embracing for the last time. Instead, Andrew reached over and touched his father on the arm. ‘Be careful, old man,’ he said with a forced smile.

  ‘Old man,’ John snorted. ‘I will show you that your old man has not lost any of his skills in these matters.’

  And then his father and Tung were swallowed by the night as they advanced on the unsuspecting bandit camp, leaving Andrew and Liling virtually defenceless. Andrew turned to reassure Liling that they would be safe but Liling was nowhere to be seen!

  John had very carefully wriggled into a position opposite the shadowy figure of a short, stocky man holding a musket in his lap. Disturbed by his presence, chirping crickets occasionally ceased their song, and John would freeze as the sentry stirred to stand and look around him then sit down again.

  The man was alert, John thought, holding the French military revolver out in front of himself. He was aware that he had to be very close to ensure that his first bullet found its target. Preferably no further than ten feet away in the dark, he calculated, from past experience on similar operations.

  When the crickets resumed their song John would crawl slowly forward on his stomach until he was satisfied that he was within range. Now it was only a matter of waiting and wondering how good the former Shaolin priest was. John suspected that Tung was very good, judging how easily he had ambushed the police officer and his Aboriginal tracker back in Queensland.

  Something crawled over John’s hand and he was forced to stay his instinct to flick it off. He lay waiting, hoping that the heavy beating of his heart could not be heard by the sentry a stone’s throw away. Then, everything went wrong.

  The sentry suddenly rose, turned to one side and levelled his musket. A voice called to him and a fifth bandit was approaching from the dark. John could not see him but could hear the soft swishing of the grass beneath the man’s feet and was suddenly aware the bandit would inadvertently step on him if he continued walking in the direction that he was. No signal had come from Tung and John had only seconds to decide what he should do.

  He fired from his prone position, the sound exploding the still night air. The shot missed and the sentry swung in John’s direction, bringing his musket to the shoulder. Cursing, John fired but missed once again. The unseen approaching man was on him before he could get to his feet and from the corner of his eye John saw the flickering light shimmer off a sword blade. He attempted to roll and bring his pistol up to bear on the second man, now shouting warnings to his comrades in the camp. Suddenly, the swordsman jerked backwards. Liling! The young woman was standing behind the swordsman, whose warning cries had turned to a gurgling sound.

  A musket ball threw up dirt in John’s face before he could leap to his feet. The bandit musketeer was also fighting for his life. It was not a long struggle, as Liling’s knife had ripped through his throat, almost severing the man’s head. The action had taken seconds but it felt like hours to John. The crickets were briefly silenced by the bloody hand-to-hand battle. John regained his feet and realised that his hands were trembling uncontrollably. He still held the pistol but realised that he would have had trouble aiming it if he had to.

  ‘Liling,’ he called. ‘Are you hurt?’

  Liling emerged from the darkness, her clothing stained a dark colour. ‘I am unharmed,’ she said in a shaky voice.

  ‘They are all dead,’ Tung said in a flat tone, joining them ‘We had the ancestors on our side.’

  In one hand he held a modern bolt-action rifle and a bandolier of ammunition
that he had taken from one of the dead bandits. He held it out to John. ‘You might be able to use this,’ he said. ‘It seems that you are not a very good shot with a pistol.’

  John accepted the rifle. ‘It was dark,’ John defended himself, but he saw just a twinkle of mirth in the dark eyes of Tung.

  ‘And you need a woman to protect you as well,’ Tung continued, enjoying John’s discomfort at his failure to kill the sentry as they had planned.

  ‘Liling did well,’ John complimented the young woman as she stood silently staring at the flames of the campfire.

  Tung nodded his agreement. ‘We must keep moving if we are to be near Pekin by dawn,’ Tung said and called to Andrew, who stumbled out of the dark to join them. His eyes first fixed on Liling and John could see his son’s great concern for her welfare but any anxiety was quickly replaced with astonishment when he saw the blood-soaked blouse she wore and the bloody knife in her hand.

  ‘What happened?’ he gasped, looking from his father to Tung.

  ‘Liling will tell you when she is ready,’ John said. He could see that the young woman was in a mild state of shock for what she had done only minutes before. ‘Here, take this,’ John continued, handing his son the revolver and spare rounds of ammunition. ‘You might have better luck with it than I did.’

  Andrew accepted the pistol, still staring at Liling in the flickering half light cast by the campfire. Whatever she had done appeared to have gained respect from both his father and Tung. Their attitude to her was one of deference as they trekked away.

  Just before dawn John called a halt. Their trek to Pekin had been slowed by the need to move cautiously in the dark, avoiding any parties of armed men. From time to time they had all smelled the stench of decomposing bodies wafting to them on the night air. And once they had stumbled over a group of bodies huddled together in death; a family, from what they could discern, that had died under the blades of swords.