Gunpowder Alchemy

by Jeannie Lin

  Yang disappeared below deck with a red lacquered case tucked beneath one arm. Even from afar, I recognized the indentation in the center of the case, which created a distinctive shape. It was a wooden pillow box typically used in opium dens.

  ***

  When I reached the door of the laboratory, it was locked. Yang and the crates he’d brought back on board had disappeared into that room. I had to know what was in them.

  I thought of the ledger book I’d seen in Yang’s cabin; all that money along with the various ports marked on his maps. Were they opium routes? I didn’t want to believe it.

  I tapped on the door and was surprised when Yang opened it without hesitation. “Soling,” he greeted, his tone nothing but pleasant.

  A solution bubbled behind him. When I peered over his shoulder, Yang made no attempt to block me. Instead he held the door open in invitation.

  A distillation apparatus had been set up on the main worktable. Beside it sat one of the crates that had been brought from onshore. The lid was pried open, revealing a supply of green gray pods.

  “Opium.” I was unable to raise my voice above a whisper.

  “Indeed.” Yang fished one of the bulbs from the pile, turning it this way and that. “It’s easy to find the finished substance but much harder to procure the plant itself.”

  My skin crawled at the sight of it. The pod was sickly in color, but more upsetting than its appearance was what I knew it could yield: the black poison that had taken my mother away from me.

  “Why do you have it?”

  Yang watched my face closely before answering. “For experimental purposes.”

  “Are you running opium?” This was no longer a child’s game of question and answer. “Is that why the foreigners allow you into their ports?”

  His jaw hardened. “Do you think I would peddle that filth?”

  “Have you been running opium?” I demanded, shaking.

  “No.”

  I stared at him, not knowing what to believe anymore.

  “No,” he repeated, stronger this time. “If I were running, would I have only brought three crates on board? And raw opium, for that matter?”

  I tried to find fault in that logic and was unable to. Still, I wasn’t convinced. “What is behind that door?”

  He followed my eyes to the locked door in the back of the storeroom. Instead of countering with an explanation, Yang reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out an iron key, which he placed in my hand.

  “If you please.” He beckoned me forward.

  Warily, I fitted the heavy key into the lock. With an amenable click, the door swung open.

  As soon as I saw what was inside, I felt foolish for accusing him. It was merely a storeroom.

  The narrow space ran the length of the laboratory. The wall was full of little drawers on both sides, much like the medicine cabinet in Lo’s herbal shop. Each drawer was meticulously labeled. I pressed my hand over my lips to stifle a laugh as I read through the names of rather mundane substances.

  His eyebrows arched into a frown. “What’s so funny?”

  “I was expecting something unspeakable.”

  “A dead body, perhaps?” Yang obliged me with a sinister smirk.

  It had been silly of me. I started apologizing profusely for insulting him, but Yang waved my worries aside. For the next few moments, he described how the chemicals inside were arranged, the most reactive ones lying inside the bottom drawers, the poisonous ones marked with a red dot beside the name. Then he handed me a flask of clear liquid as he collected several other reactants.

  “It’s a good thing that you question everything, even your dear Uncle Hanzhu,” he told me as we returned to the laboratory. “And your hatred of the opium trade means you may find this current project of mine of some interest.”

  He demonstrated the proper proportions for mixing the solution. “I think it must be fate that caused us to meet once again. Everyone else on board this ship is a laborer or a sailor through and through. No one with an eye for detail or nearly clever enough to lend me a hand.”

  He checked the level of the solution and, apparently satisfied, set it down.

  His confidence in me made me even more nervous. I had never assisted my father at the Ministry of Science. His work was dangerous, as anyone could see from his missing arm. I was wise enough now to know that the few times I had been allowed to mix chemicals, they were likely concoctions of water and salt Yang had provided to make me feel useful.

  But Yang looked completely serious now. “I no longer study explosives or poisons or liquid fire, mèimèi. My work is now completely focused on one thing: the one substance that has destroyed our land.

  “I don’t allow it on my ship, except for this one purpose. I’m going to discover the source of this disease.” He stared at the containers as if staring down an enemy. “And then I’m going to discover the cure.”

  “But it isn’t a disease.” As soon as I spoke, I thought of the last I had seen of my mother, unable or unwilling to move, her eyes blank. A feeling of helplessness crashed into me. “There is no cure.”

  “Our people have used the minang poppy for thousands of years,” Yang pointed out. “As medicine or in the bedchamber as an aphrodisiac.”

  My face heated with embarrassment and I stared down at the opium pots. Some of them were ornate, grotesquely romantic in their rendering. Twisting dragons and lotus blooms encasing balls of black tar.

  “What is it about the foreign opium that makes it so addictive to us?” he continued. “What makes the poison seep into our blood until we want it more than food or water? Something has changed over these last ten years, Soling. Anyone can see it.”

  “You think the foreign opium shipments have been tampered with?”

  “Engineered,” Yang replied with grim determination. “To make us into perfect slaves.”

  It was a wild theory, but he had always been known for such leaps in logic. In Father’s circle, Yang had been the boldest. The one most willing to risk being wrong. My father had always been proud of him for it.

  “Have you ever tried smoking opium?” I asked meekly.

  I watched as his mouth pressed tight. “We all have at one time. But I wouldn’t risk it again. Not after what I’ve seen.”

  He turned and started arranging the opium containers, pulling out a set of five. I noticed each was labeled with where it had been procured.

  I wanted to believe his theory. If it was true, then someone else was responsible. It wasn’t my fault that I couldn’t wean my mother from the smoke or that she wanted to breathe it in more than she wanted air. It wasn’t her fault that she had abandoned us.

  I unbuttoned my mandarin jacket and folded it neatly aside. “Tell me what needs to be done.”

  For the next few days, I became absorbed with a series of tests and experiments. Dissolving dabs of the drug, heating the solutions, extracting impurities. At each step, we took notes. These figures and observations meant little in and of themselves, but Yang was constructing a larger picture. We worked side by side, and I was caught up in his quest and the relentless way he seemed to pursue it.

  I forgot I was adrift at sea. At times, I even stopped worrying about Mother and Tian as I became absorbed in the work. The experiments gave me purpose, even if they turned out to be another one of Yang’s wild schemes.

  “There are plantations throughout the empire where the poppy grows like a weed,” Yang would say as he heated the distillation apparatus. The coils and bulbs of glass were designed to separate out distinctive elements from within a compound. “Yet crops from India are in high demand. Cultivated from afar and dumped into our trading ports to be carried inland on riverboats.”

  Liquid evaporated and then condensed along the glass coils. Bit by bit, the batches of opium were broken down and trace elements identified. It w
as a slow, painstaking process.

  “At first I thought it was different strains,” Yang lectured, writing notes into his journal. “But regardless of the plant it came from, opium was opium. Concentrations of the chemicals may differ, but not enough to cause such dramatic effects. This made me consider additives. I’m convinced that in particular shipments, there is something more than opium in the dosage.”

  I had learned more about opium in the last few days than I had in my years apprenticing with Old Man Lo. Sap or resin from the opium poppy was boiled down to create the sticky black tar that was rolled into balls to be smoked. Whereas for centuries we had ingested the drug in soups and teas, smoking the opium had multiplied its effectiveness.

  “Frighteningly effective,” Yang declared. “Don’t you see how all our weapons are useless? There is no cannon we can build large enough to defeat this. No engine fast enough to chase it away.”

  It was said monks would sometimes meditate watching drops of rain as they fell from leaves, the pattern providing a focal point. Yang stared at each drip from the distiller now as if similarly searching for answers.

  I returned the current batch of samples to the tray and carried it back to the storeroom. After working side by side, Yang and I had eased into a comfortable routine. He was a different person in his laboratory. He was focused; less angry. I have to admit, the work chased away my sense of desolation as well. Even if Yang was delusional, it was calming to be able to search for an answer. For any answer.

  All of the drawers in the far corner were labeled according to region rather than with a compound name. I began to place the present samples back into the Annam drawer and couldn’t help scanning the entire cabinet. The highest of the drawers were just above my head, but I could still read the names painted onto them.

  I was shocked to see how far Yang had traveled to procure his collection: Goryeo, Japan, Formosa.

  There must have been hundreds of samples in here, maybe close to a thousand. Had he truly been tracing trade routes through the seas, going from one seedy port to another, collecting opium? He was convinced that the shipments smuggled into our ports had been tainted.

  It seemed farfetched, but Yang was a scientist. He wouldn’t make such a bold statement without evidence. What exactly had he seen to give him this impression? Had someone mixed the opium with some other more potent chemical?

  I had to stand on my toes to return the control sample contained in a plain white jar. Finally, I managed to nudge the jar into its drawer with my fingertips, but lost my balance as I started to come back down. Out of reflex, I grabbed onto one of the drawers, which I inadvertently dragged open as I tried to regain my footing.

  The clink of the glass inside turned my attention to the contents of the drawer. Nestled inside the long drawer were twenty slender vials sealed with wax. Each one contained a dark liquid that appeared to be blood.

  Chapter Eleven

  If I was starting to become complacent at sea, the next day served to remind me that it was far from an idyllic existence. I showed up in the laboratory as I had done for the last few days only to find all the equipment had been stowed away. Up on deck, I saw the reason why in the churn of gray clouds overhead.

  Even if I hadn’t been able to interpret the skies, I would have known something was wrong immediately from the demeanor of the crew. Everyone was quieter than usual with heads down to focus on their duties.

  Yang and I found each other at the same time. He came toward me while I wrapped my arms around myself. The air had become much colder than I was accustomed to, and I had nothing but my thin mandarin jacket, which was meant for the summer months. The gentle morning breeze had been replaced by an angry gust that whipped my hair against my face.

  “You should be below deck, mèimèi,” Yang said, touching a hand to the small of my back.

  His tone was gentle, but I sensed it was to not alarm me. Drops of rain splashed against my cheek as he directed me back toward the stairs. I noticed one of the crewmen securing a length of thick rope around one of the masts. As I went with Yang back down below deck, I could see the sailors with their heads tilted up to stare at the gathering darkness above.

  We returned to Yang’s private cabin where he opened the door for me. “Have you eaten?” he asked, as if there weren’t more important matters for him to concern himself with.

  “A storm is coming.”

  “Commonplace for life at sea,” he said dismissively, but I knew his expressions well enough after working in close quarters with him.

  “It’s going to be a bad one?” I asked.

  “One can never tell. But they can build quickly.”

  I knew he had to return to his crew, so I didn’t burden him with more questions. Obediently, I latched the window to keep the rain from getting in and settled in behind the desk. I chose a book of fantastic tales to try to distract myself, but I had barely begun the first one when the crash of thunder made me jump.

  My heart was beating so hard that each throb was painful. The floor of the cabin lurched beneath me. Never had I been more aware that I was floating in a contraption of wood upon a vast ocean.

  Within minutes, a knock came on the door. It was Little Jie. He had brought food on a tray, but I doubted my stomach would allow me to eat the way the waves were tossing the ship about.

  “Miss, don’t be scared!” he piped up, though the pitch of his voice told me he was far from calm.

  He set the food down and stayed in the cabin with me, which I was grateful for. “Have you been through a storm like this before?” I asked.

  The rumble of thunder interrupted his reply. With a yelp, he edged closer to me. “No, miss. I only came aboard in Canton, just like you. What are you reading?”

  We moved to the sleeping berth where we could huddle beside each other, and, despite the flicker of the lantern as it swayed with the ship, I started reading. The first story I turned to was one about a fox demon seducing a scholar. I quickly found another story, one more suitable for a young boy. Jie made no remark. He just pressed closer, listening intently to every word as I began to read a ghost story. I was reminded of my younger brother Tian as Little Jie laid his head against my arm.

  I wanted to curse the string of mishaps that had brought me onto this ship. If I hadn’t gone to Changsha that day, I would still be home in our village. I didn’t know what deities I needed to pray to, but I couldn’t end here, swallowed by the sea.

  I forced myself to turn the page, reading about a young man who was unknowingly haunted by the ghost of a maiden he had once fancied. Words came out of my mouth, but they had no real meaning. I was listening to the crash of the waves and the crack of thunder. The sear of lightning across the sky could be seen as a glow through the shutters.

  “Why did the exorcist have to get rid of the ghost?” Jie was asking. He stared up at me, his eyes looking even larger set against his thin face. “Why couldn’t they just let her stay near her family? She wasn’t scaring anyone.”

  “I don’t know,” I said, wondering about the sadness of only being able to see your loved ones as a ghost. Would my spirit be able to find its way across the waves back to our village?

  I had spent too much time aboard this ship, wooed by Yang’s cause and slipping into a routine. How had I forgotten why I’d come in the first place?

  I vowed that if I survived this day, I would do everything I could to get off this ship and return home to my family, as flesh and blood and not as a wispy ghost caught between worlds. I put my arm around Little Jie, who reminded me so much of my brother that my heart ached.

  Another rumble momentarily drowned out the patter of rain outside, but it wasn’t thunder this time. The low sound vibrated the floor beneath our feet.

  The gunpowder engine was firing up down in the hold. Despite the winds that battered the hull of the ship, it began to gain in speed. Was it possible to outsa
il a storm?

  “Let’s find another story,” I said, sifting through the pages of the book. The boy Jie was looking up at me expectantly, and he seemed calmer when I read to him. It certainly calmed me.

  I had just begun a story titled “The Tiger Guest” when a huge boom rattled the walls. Immediately after, I heard a sound that I could only describe as a ragged cough from an iron throat.

  Jie clutched onto my arm. “What was that?”

  The ship had ceased its forward movement and once more lurched on the waves. “The engine,” I muttered, shoving the book aside and launching toward the door.

  If the gunpowder engine had exploded, it could have taken a large part of the hull with it. Water could be flooding the hold at this very moment.

  With my heart in my throat, I bemoaned the fact that I couldn’t swim, but that hardly mattered. We were out in open water with a storm bearing down on us. This junk was life itself.

  I had never been to the engine room, but I knew it was located to the rear of the ship. I stumbled through the hallway, navigating by lantern light.

  As we neared the hatch to the engine room, I could smell the sulfurous stench of gunpowder. Yang appeared then as well, rushing down the ladder from the upper deck. He spared me only a glance before reaching for the hatch. His hair was slick with rain and his coat drenched.

  A trail of smoke poured out from the opening as Yang disappeared. Grabbing one of the hanging lanterns, I went to peer down the passageway. The haze of smoke was thin, which I hoped was a good sign. Taking a deep breath, I eased myself down the ladder after Yang.

  The corridor below was a narrow one. There were two chambers separated by a large iron cauldron. I chose the one where an orange light glowed through the crack at the bottom of the door. Tentatively, I pushed the door open and caught the middle of a conversation.

  “I told him a hundred times,” a gruff voice chided, the sound muffled behind a face mask. “The boy overloaded the cylinder. He gets overexcited.”