Necropolis
Page 24
And then the flight. London to Singapore, followed by Singapore to Macau. I’m too tired to sleep. When I’ve finished this, I’ll have another shower. A cold one, this time. Maybe it will wake me up.
I don’t know what to make of Macau. If anyone had asked me about it six months ago, I wouldn’t even have been able to point to it on a map. I hadn’t heard of it. As it turns out, it’s a chunk of land, just ten miles from one end to the other. And it’s packed with some of the weirdest buildings I’ve ever seen. Take the ferry terminal. If you’re coming in from Hong Kong on the jet-foil, it’s the first building you’ll see and you’d have thought they could have made it a bit welcoming. It’s not. It’s a slab of white concrete, surrounded by flyovers. It’s drab and ugly.
But then you come to the casinos and you think you must have landed on another planet. Macau makes its money out of gambling … horse racing, greyhound racing, blackjack and roulette. The casinos look like nothing I’ve ever seen before. One of them is all gold, like a piece of metal bent in the middle. There’s another one like a sort of crazy birthday cake. The biggest and the most spectacular reminded me of a giant flower. It was five times taller than anything else in the city. I got a crick in my neck trying to see the top.
The old part of Macau was better. Richard told me that it had once belonged to the Portuguese and he pointed out their influence in some of the palaces with their pillars, arcades and balconies jutting out over the street. But it was still a bit of a dog’s dinner. The traffic and the crowds were Chinese. The older buildings seemed to be in better condition than the new ones, which were all dirty and falling down. The Portuguese had built pretty squares and fountains. Then the Chinese had come along and added casinos, shops and blocks of flats, forty or fifty floors high. And now they were all stuck next to each other, like quarrelling neighbours.
Jamie was disappointed too. “I once read a book about China,” he told me. “It was in the house when we were in Salt Lake City. I never read very much, but it had dragons and magicians and I thought it must be a really cool place. I guess the book was wrong…”
We were met at the airport by a young Chinese guy who was carrying a big bunch of white flowers. That was a bit weird, but it was the signal we had been given so we would recognize him. He dumped them straight away. There was a Rolls Royce parked outside, numberplate HST 1. I noticed that it had been parked in a NO WAITING zone but nobody had given it a ticket. So that told me something about Han Shan-tung. He likes to show off.
The journey from the airport took about half an hour. It was pouring with rain, which certainly didn’t make Macau look any better. Fortunately, it eased off a little by the time we arrived here.
And where are we now?
The driver stopped in front of a wide flight of stairs which climbed up between two old-looking walls that had been painted yellow. The steps were decorated with a black and white mosaic and there were miniature palms growing in neat beds along the side. There were clumps of trees behind the walls. They were still in leaf, filling the sky and blocking out any sight of the shops and apartments. It was like walking through a park. The driver got out of the car and signalled for us to follow him. We grabbed our bags and went about half-way up the stairs until we came to a metal gate that swung open as we approached.
It wasn’t a park on the other side. It was a private garden with a courtyard, a marble fountain that had been switched off and, beyond, a really amazing house built in a Spanish style. The house was painted yellow, like the wall, with green shutters on the windows and a balcony on the first floor. It looked a bit like an embassy, somewhere you weren’t normally allowed. The house seemed to belong to its own world. It was right in the middle of Macau and yet somehow it was outside it.
“Quite a place,” Richard said.
The driver gestured and we went in.
The front door also opened as we walked towards it. A woman was waiting for us on the other side. She was some sort of servant, dressed in a long, black dress with a grey shirt buttoned up to the neck. She bowed and smiled.
“Welcome to the home of Mr Shan-tung. I hope you had a good journey. Please, will you come this way? I will take you to your rooms. Mr Shan-tung invites you to join him for dinner at eight o’clock.”
It was one of the most beautiful houses I had ever seen. Everything was very simple but somehow arranged for maximum effect so that a single vase on a shelf, sitting under a spotlight, somehow let you know that it was Ming or something and probably worth a million pounds. The floors were polished wood, the ceilings double height, the walls clean and white. As we went upstairs, we passed paintings by Chinese artists. They were very simple and clean and they probably cost a fortune too.
We all had bedrooms looking out over the garden, on the same floor; Jamie and me sharing, Richard on his own. The beds had already been turned down with sheets that looked brand new. There was a TV and a fridge filled with Coke and fruit juice. It was like being in a five star hotel, but (as Richard said) hopefully without the bill.
We were all dirty and tired after so much travelling and Jamie and I tossed a coin to see who got to shower first. I won and stood naked in a cubicle that would have been big enough to sleep in, with steaming water jetting at me from nine directions. There were towelling robes to put on when we came out. Jamie went next. He was asleep before he was even dry.
I would have liked to have slept.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the library that I visited. Did I make the right decision? I didn’t read the book and I’m beginning to wish I had. Right now I’m just a forty-five minute journey away from Hong Kong and I have no idea what I will find there. The book would have told me. It might have warned me not to go.
But it might also have told me when and how my life will end – and who would want to read that?
It makes me think of a computer game that I used to play when I was living in Ipswich. It was an adventure, a series of puzzles that took you through a whole set of different worlds. Shortly after I met Kelvin, he showed me how to download a cheat. It gave me all the answers. It took away the mystery. Suddenly I knew everything I wanted – but here’s the strange thing. I never played the game again. I just wasn’t interested.
Why did the Librarian show it to me? What was the point he was trying to make? And for that matter, who was he? He never even told me his name. When I think about it, the dreamworld really annoys me. It’s supposed to help us but all it ever gives us is puzzles and clues. I know that it’s important to what’s going to happen, that it’s there for a reason. One day, perhaps, I’ll find out what that reason is.
I’ve written enough. It’s twenty to eight. Time to wake Jamie and to meet our host. Han Shan-tung.
Hong Kong is waiting for us. It’s out there in the darkness, but I can feel it calling.
Very soon now, I will arrive.
MASTER OF THE MOUNTAIN
Han Shan-tung was one of the most impressive men Matt had ever seen. He was like a bronze Buddha in a Chinese temple. He had the same presence, the same sense of power. He wasn’t exactly fat but he was very solid, built like a Sumo wrestler. You could imagine him breaking every one of your fingers when you shook hands.
His hair was black. His face was round, with thick lips and hard, watchful eyes. He was elegantly dressed in a suit that was obviously expensive, possibly silk. His fingers, resting on the table in front of him, were manicured and he wore a slim, silver wedding ring. There was a packet of cigarettes and a gold lighter on the table next to him … his one vice perhaps. But none of his guests was ever going to give him a lecture on smoking. Everything about the man, even the way he sat there – still and silent – suggested that he wasn’t someone to be argued with. He was someone who was used to being obeyed.
And yet his manner was pleasant enough. “Good evening,” he said. “Please come and sit down.” His English was perfect. Every word was well-modulated and precise.
He was sitting in the dining room, at the
head of a long table that could have seated ten people but which had been laid for only four. The room was as elegant as the rest of the house, with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto a wooden terrace and views of the garden beyond. Richard, Matt and Jamie took their places. At once, a door at the side slid open and two women appeared, pouring water and shaking out the napkins.
The man waited until they had gone. “My name is Han Shantung,” he announced.
“I’m Richard Cole.” Richard introduced himself, then the boys. He had already decided he was going to use the names that were on their passports. “This is Martin Hopkins. And Nicholas Helsey.”
“I would have said that this was Matthew Freeman and Jamie Tyler,” Shan-tung muttered. “And I would add that it is discourteous to lie to a man in his own home – but I will overlook it as I can understand that you are nervous. Let me assure you, Mr Cole. I know everything about all three of you. More, in fact, than you perhaps know about yourselves. Otherwise you would not be here.”
“And we know nothing about you,” Richard replied. “That’s why we have to be careful.”
“Very wise. Well, it will be my pleasure to enlighten you. But first we should eat.”
As if on cue, the two women returned, carrying plates of food. Silently, they laid out a Chinese dinner. It was a world apart from the sweet and sour, deep-fried grease balls that Matt had once purchased at his local takeaway in Ipswich. The dinner came in about a dozen china bowls – fish, meat, rice, noodles – and it had obviously been cooked by a world-class chef. Matt was glad to see that he had been provided with a spoon and fork. Han Shan-tung ate with chopsticks.
“I must apologize to you,” he began. There was no small talk. He didn’t ask them about their journey or what they thought of their rooms. “Urgent business took me to America. It was badly timed because it delayed your arrival here. And I’m afraid I have bad news. I had hoped that the object of your journey would have been sitting here with us tonight. I am referring to the girl, Lin Mo.” He continued quickly, before Richard could interrupt. “You call her Scarlett Adams. But I refer to her by the name she was given before she was adopted and taken to the West.”
“How do you know about Scarlett?” Richard asked.
Shan-tung leaned forward and plucked a prawn off one of the dishes. Despite his large hands, he used the chopsticks very delicately, like a scientist handling a specimen. “I know a great deal about the girl,” he replied. “The fact of the matter is that she was with my agents in Hong Kong only yesterday. I have spent a great deal of time and money – not to mention human life – trying to remove her from the city.”
Matt played back what Shan-tung had just said and realized that it confirmed exactly what he had thought. “The Old Ones are in Hong Kong,” he said.
“The Old Ones have taken over Hong Kong,” Shan-tung replied. “They control almost every aspect of the city. From the government and the police to the street cleaners. I do not know how many people they have killed, but the number must run into thousands. My people have been fighting them on your behalf. We are the only remaining resistance.”
“Who are your people?” Richard asked.
Shan-tung sighed. “It is unnecessary to keep asking me these things. I am about to tell you anyway.”
“I’m sorry.” Richard realized his error. “I suppose it’s a habit. I used to be a journalist.”
“I do not like journalists. It is nothing personal – but they have caused me trouble in the past. I suggest you continue eating. I will tell you everything you need to know.”
Han Shan-tung had barely eaten anything. But he laid down his chopsticks and began to speak.
“I have the very considerable honour to be a member of an organization called the Pah Lien. This translates as the White Lotus Society. You might have remarked upon a clue that I sent you at the airport. The man who met you was carrying a bunch of lilies. The lily is part of the lotus family. My society is a very old one. It was founded in the fourth century to resist the foreign invaders known as the Mongols who then ruled over China. The aim of White Lotus remained the same over the next four centuries. It was to help the Chinese people fight against tyranny and oppression.
“But over the years, something very interesting happened. The White Lotus Society changed. It will be difficult for you to understand the nature of this change, so let me explain it to you by referring to a character from your own history. You will, I am sure, know Robin Hood. He stole from the rich and gave to the poor. He was a hero to the peasants in Sherwood Forest. But to the authorities, he was an outlaw, a criminal. They would have hanged him if they could.
“In the early days, the White Lotus Society operated in much the same way. Indeed, it might interest you to know that the society had a motto: Ta fu – chih p’in. This translates as ‘strike the rich and help the poor’. But here was the crucial difference. As the years passed, White Lotus found that it was enjoying and benefiting from the criminal nature of its activities. It was also remarkably successful in the world of organized crime. It continued to steal from the rich but, as its members became richer themselves, it found itself giving rather less to the poor. It also changed its name. It became known as the Three United Society. There was a reason for this. White Lotus believed that the world was made up of three different parts: heaven, earth and mankind. Its members therefore had a triangle tattooed onto their body. The triangle also appeared on their flags. And in the end, they became known simply as the Triads.”
There was a long silence. Matt had heard of the Triads, the criminal gangs that were active all over Asia. They were drug dealers. They were involved in people smuggling, prostitution, extortion and murder. They would torture or kill anyone who got in their way. They were as brutal as they were powerful. And this man was calmly admitting that he was one of them! He glanced at Jamie. The American boy was listening politely. He didn’t seem shocked by what he had just heard. Richard, on the other hand, was staring open-mouthed.
“I can see that you are dismayed,” Shan-tung remarked. “And before you ask me one of your inane questions, Mr Cole, I will answer you. Yes. I am a criminal. More than that, I am what is known as Shan Chu, the Master of the Mountain. This means that I am the supreme leader of my own Triad. I cannot tell you how many people I have murdered to get to where I am today, but at a conservative guess I would say about twenty-five. I do know that I am wanted in exactly nine countries, including the United Kingdom and the United States – and I would have been arrested a long time ago if I hadn’t paid the right people a great deal of money to leave me alone.
“You are now wondering if you should be sitting at my table, eating my food. You are asking yourself why I should wish to help you in your struggle against the Old Ones. You are thinking, perhaps, that it would be more natural for me to be on their side. But you would be wrong.
“Until very recently, I controlled all crime in Hong Kong. I have, for example, heroin laboratories in Kowloon and the New Territories. I have illegal casinos and betting shops throughout the island. Immigrants from China were paying $5,000 a time for me to help them cross the border illegally. The arrival of the Old Ones has changed everything. They have no interest in profit. They do not want to do business. They want only to destroy everything around them – and that includes the Triads. They are as much my enemy as anyone’s, the only difference being that I have the means to fight back. And that is what I have been doing. There is a certain irony, don’t you think? I am undoubtedly a bad man. But a greater evil has come my way and now I am forced to do good.
“And so I have used all my resources within Hong Kong to set up a resistance. I have buildings. I have people. I have weapons … not that they are of much use against creatures that can form themselves out of flies. Above all, I have determination. I will not be defeated by the Old Ones. They can destroy the world. But they will not destroy me.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t ask you to work for them,” Richard said.
“May I ask a question?” Matt asked.
“You have my permission,” Han Shan-tung replied. “But I should warn you that soon I have a question to put to you and I very much hope you will be able to provide me with the right answer.”
Matt didn’t like the sound of that, but he went on anyway. “How do you know about Scarlett?” he asked. “And why did you call her Lin Mo?”
“The White Lotus Society has always known about the Gatekeepers. You must remember that in our early days, almost two thousand years ago, we were to all intents and purposes a religious order. We still are. That means we are the keepers of many secrets … sacred texts and ancient beliefs. Even when we began to devote ourselves exclusively to crime, we stayed true to ourselves. The secrets were passed on from generation to generation. And I think we always knew that one day we would be called upon to return to our origins, to take up the sword once again.
“As to the second part of your question regarding Lin Mo, that I am not yet prepared to tell you. I need to be persuaded that I can trust you and that is still not the case.
“However, I can say that she was born in a place called Meizhou. We always knew that the Old Ones would return and look for her … that she was one of the Gatekeepers. We therefore arranged for her to be adopted and taken to the West. We wanted her to be as far away from here as possible. We hoped that she would be safe.”
“It didn’t work.”
Shan-tung shrugged. “We did everything we could to protect her. It was not our fault that the Old Ones found her. In fact, if anyone is to blame, it is her. Nonetheless, you are right. The Old Ones found her and brought her back.”
“You tried to get her out of Hong Kong,” Jamie said. He hadn’t eaten very much, absorbed in what he was being told.