by null
Beneath this level of authority, the local triad gangs controlled their territory with brutal enforcement, demanding protection money from every business that opened its doors. The Nine Dragons was visited regularly by the younger brothers of the black society, who answered only to the rules of violence—collecting the squeeze, eating and drinking, and taking women without payment whenever they wished.
Number Twelve seated herself before Three-thumbs as he began counting out banknotes with a practiced hand. “You have done well, Number Twelve. You are entitled to your commission of five percent.”
He was taken aback when Siu-Sing replied, “I thank you for your generosity, sir, but I believe the other hostesses receive ten percent, and I wish to be paid the same. I would also ask that this become fifteen percent if I am asked for special services.”
Three-thumbs paused in his counting, his frog face thrust into the lamplight. “You ask too much. You are new here. If those that have been here longer knew of such demands, there would be great trouble.”
“Then we will not tell them. I am contented here and do not wish to seek employment elsewhere. I make no further inquiry of my father, as I am sure you have done your best to seek word of him.”
The glare behind the rimless spectacles grew less belligerent, the hands once more busy counting money, his voice bearing a hint of admiration. “Agreed. While you continue to make money, you will share in the profit.” He handed her a wad of notes. “But do not let Number Five find out.”
“There is one more thing I would ask. Can you find me a trusted messenger to deliver a package to the Tavern of Cascading Jewels? I have a small matter of business to take care of.”
Siu-Sing dispatched a fat envelope with a letter to Ah-Jin, The Golden One:
Dear Gracious Mother:
It is not in me to run or to hide. I ask your forgiveness, but no man will own me, and I will not let a woman rule my life. I am also honorable, as you are in your way. You taught me things that make money, things I might not have learned without your help. You saw in me what others could not. You taught me the difference between love and lust, and I owe you much for that.
Enclosed is three times the figure you paid for my sung-tip, and more for the sung-tip of my sister, Ruby. Do not seek us in anger, but forget us both. You cannot be forgiven for taking Ruby’s happiness, but I have made her smile again, so leave us to find our way without you, and to take love wherever we may find it.
I know I must one day face the man who would own me, and I will accept the consequences. I am the new woman and you are the old; our worlds are different. We are each possessed of a warrior spirit, and if we fought, one of us would conquer the other. Or one of us would die.
Let us respect each other and go our separate ways, so that we shall never know.
Siu-Sing
Z
Siu-Sing had worked in the Nine Dragons Ballroom for six months when the Englishman appeared. He was the first foreigner she had seen there; she might not have even noticed the shadowy figure sitting alone unless she had overheard others buzzing about the gwai-lo.
With every eye upon her, she moved between the tables toward him. He wore a blazer of dark navy blue over an open-necked white shirt. The shaded candle in the center of the table threw a dim light upon the gold braid of a regimental badge embroidered on the breast pocket. As he lit a cigarette, the flare of a match showed briefly the glitter of golden hair and the unmistakable deep blue eyes of Captain Toby Hyde-Wilkins.
He flicked the matchstick into an ashtray, rising from his chair at her approach. At that moment Number Five appeared close behind Siu-Sing, hissing a warning in barroom Cantonese. For a second, Hyde-Wilkins stared into Siu-Sing’s eyes. Then he produced a card from an inside pocket and offered it to the mama-san without taking his eyes from Siu-Sing.
“I beg your pardon, but I am not a banana-eating ape, and this lady is not my whore. I am Captain Hyde-Wilkins, adjutant to the officer commanding the Eighth Royal Rajput Rifles and military attaché to His Majesty’s Government. This young lady is a friend of mine, and you will kindly apologize.”
He crossed quickly to hold a chair for Siu-Sing, sitting down with a slight smile as Number Five stared in stunned amazement. Meeting a foreign devil who could speak her language so fluently reduced her to the customary denial. “You must have misunderstood me, sir,” she stuttered.
In reply, he took out his wallet, handing her a red one-hundred-dollar note. “Perhaps I did, in which case I need not complain to Mister Poon of your rudeness …”
He selected a second hundred-dollar note. “Unless I misunderstand you again?”
At a loss for the words normally at the tip of her tongue, Number Five accepted the money with a stunned bow. “Any possible misunderstanding is most regrettable, sir,” she stammered. “May I bring you a drink with compliments of the Nine Dragons?”
“Thank you.” He ordered a cold Tsingtao beer and turned to Siu-Sing. “Perhaps you would care for something a little more interesting than Coca-Cola or cold tea?” She shook her head as Number Five hurried away.
“Forgive my poor Cantonese,” he went on. “I have learned enough to know that foreign devils such as I are not very popular, especially in places like this. May I also beg to be forgiven for not recognizing you immediately? I thought I must be dreaming …”
Siu-Sing had thought of him many times since the banquet: so clean and young—she guessed perhaps twenty-five or thirty years old—and altogether different from the flabby jowls, stale perspiration, and sickly pomades she had become accustomed to. His thick hair was the color of bamboo leaves that had fallen and been bleached by the sun, she decided. His skin was not white, but a light honey brown like her own; his nose quite large and strongly shaped. The shaded candle flickered in his remarkable eyes.
“I was unable to thank you for your kindness to me on that evening at the tavern of Tamiko-san,” she replied, delighted by the astonishment it caused him.
“You speak English!” He laughed, reaching across the table to offer his open hand. His warm, strong fingers closed firmly around her own. “We were never properly introduced… . My name is Toby—Toby Hyde-Wilkins. I hope sitting with me will not cause trouble for you. Chaps like me are not entirely welcome here.”
“You must forgive her; she would not dream that you might understand her. Such insults were for my ears alone … they do not bother me.”
He had already forgotten about Number Five. “That night I wanted nothing more than to speak with you, to know more about you, but that was impossible. I could not believe that someone like you could be part of J. T. Ching’s world. How fortunate that I decided to see for myself what the famous Nine Dragons has to offer.”
He took a small leather wallet from his breast pocket and held it open. “I am here partially in an official capacity; it is part of my job to make sure our chaps are not losing their pay in places like this.” He put it away with an encouraging smile. “Now you know who I am. Will you tell me about yourself?”
“My father is British, my mother was Chinese,” she said, trying to keep the excitement from her voice. “You are the first Englishman I have ever seen. Please forgive me if I stare.”
“You are forgiven. We shall stare at each other… . May I ask your name?”
He looked at her with such friendly interest that she blurted out, “My father’s name is Devereaux, Captain Benjamin Devereaux. My Chinese mother was called Li-Xia, a southern name. I am called Siu-Sing.”
His smile returned comfortingly. “Little Star,” he mused. “You are no longer little, so, if I may, I will call you Sing … a star. It is clear that you were born to shine like one.”
Releasing the strength of his hand was like letting go of a lifeline in a gathering storm. She lowered her voice to lean closer, aware of the many eyes upon them. Words tumbled from her lips. “I need help, but we cannot speak of it here. My room is on the next floor, with the number twelve on the door. Come up in a few m
inutes.”
The music seemed to fade and the chattering voices to drop away as he stood to draw back her chair with a slight bow. It was the smallest of gestures, yet it helped her to walk tall and straight as she mounted the stairs with every eye upon her.
Moments seemed like hours before she heard his gentle knock. She opened the door in an instant; he slipped into the room as she fastened the chain. “I don’t believe I was seen.”
She shrugged, smiling up at him. “It matters little now—we have committed the unforgivable.” She did not want to lose his closeness, drawn to him in a way that went beyond the pleasures to be found in the arms of the Silver Sisters.
In that moment, the need for him to hold her was stronger than the need for words. Toby seemed to sense her yearning, yet held back.
“I am here to help you if I can. I am not one of those who would use you.”
Every man she had met except Master To had tried to use her. But from the moment she had seen Toby, there had been no question in her mind. “I believe you,” she said.
In the privacy of the apartment, Sing spoke of her background and the search not yet begun. She showed him the photograph of the man in a master mariner’s uniform beside his Chinese wife.
“I think it is fate that had us meet not once, but twice in so short a time. As it happens, it is part of my job to investigate the difficulties of British subjects in China.” He studied the photograph closely. “From what you have told me, your father is a man of importance. Men like him do not disappear easily. A name of such prominence should be easily traced.”
Placing the photograph in his wallet, Toby took out two calling cards and handed them to her. The first was embossed with the official crest of his regiment; below it were his name, rank, and a Kowloon telephone number. The second bore the official crest of Government House and his private number.
“Keep these safe; one number or the other should reach me at any time. If it does not, I can be quickly found. I will see that the photograph is copied and safely returned.” His manner became briskly confident. “But first, we must get you out of here for a while. You need to get some fresh air and to see something of this place you call the Golden Hill.”
Ruby appeared at the door of the adjoining room with a look of concern. Sing smiled reassuringly at her friend. “You remember Ruby, my companion—”
“How could I possibly forget such dancing?” He held out his hand to Ruby. “Don’t worry. I will bring her back safely.”
Sing was almost surprised when the elevator took them to the ground floor and no one stopped them from leaving the Nine Dragons. Toby flagged a taxi, and under the canopy of neon signs they left the crowded streets of Wan-Chai behind them.
Toby took her to the Army and Navy Club, where the dignified dining room was filled with soft spoken Westerners. If they glanced her way, it was with only passing interest as he patiently explained the menu. It was the first time Sing had tasted such food as mulligatawny soup and a dish he introduced, with obvious pleasure, as steak and kidney pie.
Afterward, he took her into the heart of the Central District, where brightly lit shop windows were filled with gold, sparkling gems, and beautiful clothes. Most magic of all to Sing was the cinema, where they sat in the dark, transported to a world filled with happy people doing strange and wonderful things; where children played on perfect lawns with white picket fences. She watched a beautiful woman who sang like an angel and whose eyes were as clear as a summer sky and whose hair was as bright as Toby’s. Surely this must be a vision of the Westerners’ heaven.
Sing watched the three lucky thumbs slowly circling each other under the glare of the desk lamp. “It is not good for you to see this foreign bing. He can cause only trouble.” Three-thumbs Poon had used the term of contempt for a common soldier. “He belongs in the bars with drunken sailors, buying drinks for low-class whores. You must not see him again.”
“He is no barroom soldier. He is an important officer sent in search of me. While he is here, his money is as good as any other. If he pays to take me out, I will go with him. He says that if you do not agree with this, he will report you for keeping me locked up.”
Three-thumbs Poon was a greedy man but not a cruel one. She reached into the pool of light to lay a gentle hand on his nervous thumbs. “He pays well and is a gentleman. He asks nothing of me but my company. Please, you cannot stop him without great fuss. You lose nothing by this and can only gain. If he is satisfied he will make no trouble. I will speak only well of you.”
Over the following days, Sing began to see why the city of Hong Kong was called the Golden Hill: They lunched in the old hotel in Repulse Bay; dined overlooking the harbor; and visited the outlying islands aboard the steam ferry. Sing felt a new kind of happiness, as though a part of her that had been sleeping was now wide awake. When a dangerous shadow suddenly fell across her path, she was unprepared.
A few days later Number Twelve was sitting at a corner table waiting for Toby to arrive. He had promised to take her to the cinema to watch the film again, this time with Ruby. She could not think of a time in her life when she had longed so much to see someone, and she eagerly watched every man who stepped from the elevator or mounted the red-carpeted stairs from the restaurant.
She was still looking for Toby when a tall figure dressed in black pushed his way through the dance floor and walked toward her. There was a momentary lull in the chatter as the dancers instinctively drew aside to let him pass.
The reflections of the revolving ball made it difficult to see his face, but she felt a flash of warning in the slight rise and fall of his walk. Without asking permission, Ah-Keung sat down in the chair opposite her, his face gaunt but well groomed, his hair neatly trimmed yet as unruly as ever, standing straight as though charged with electricity. Along with a well-tailored black suit, he wore an extravagant wristwatch and a heavy gold ring with a large stone of pale green jade on the small finger of his left hand. He twisted the ring as he regarded her with mild curiosity.
“I have heard of the new jarp-jung hostess who has so quickly become queen of the Nine Dragons Ballroom,” Ah-Keung said. “I hear she has turned her back on her Chinese heritage to seek the ghost of a mysterious gwai-lo who does not exist.” His voice was calm, as though he were speaking to an old and trusted friend about an unsavory acquaintance. “A jarp-jung slut who chases an impossible dream. They say she is possessed by a demon … born of a fox fairy that hides among the bones of her bastard ancestors.” Only a slight rhythmic motion of his outstretched foot gave away his inner tension.
Sing replied with equal calm. “The boy who herded goats and searched the hills for herbs has done well … chosen by the taipan Ching to protect his person. It makes me wonder why such as you would be seen in the streets of Wan-Chai.”
He showed no irritation at her insolence, clearly pleased by her perception of him. “There is nothing in these streets that is not known to the Yellow Dragon. The fat fool with the lucky thumbs has to report on those he employs. It seemed a strange coincidence; I thought I would see Number Twelve for myself. No one but the Little Star has the eyes of a ghost.”
His eyes crawled slowly over her, the same unblinking stare as yan-jing-shi. His unpleasant grin bared uneven teeth, cleaner now than she remembered them.
The expression on Sing’s face did not change, though she could suddenly taste bile in her throat.
Ah-Keung flashed the signet ring and wristwatch as he signaled the bar. Number Five came at once. “Brandy … the best old moneybags has hidden under the bar. This is no ordinary bar girl; a prized jewel such as she does not drink cold tea or Coca-Cola.”
Number Five looked at Sing with frightened eyes. “Ginger tea, please. I will not take brandy.”
“We have so much to say to each other, you and I. Did you not think I recognized the Little Star at the banquet for the foreign bing? Did you think me fool enough to make our secret known?” He laughed harshly, his outstretched foot slightly incre
asing its pace. He waited while Number Five set down the brandy and the tea.
“Do not hate me, Little Star. Did I not find you a roof to sleep under as I said I would?” He gave a snort of laughter. “Is it my fault that you did not please the Emperor of Sausages?”
“You sold me as a bond servant when I trusted you.”
He shrugged. “It was business. I filled your rice bowl; I had to fill my own. Could you have found a place to take you in if I had not? Far worse could have befallen you on the streets of Macao than the feeble flesh of Fat Fan.”
He reached across the table to cover her hand with his. “Besides, I knew you would find a way out. I have faith in the Red Lotus.”
The grin faded from his face as she drew her hand away from his touch. He swallowed his anger, reaching over to fill her cup, then sat back, swirling the brandy under his nose.
“I did not fear for the last disciple of Grand Master To-Tze. Surely Fan-Lu-Wei and his fat amahs could be easily dealt with by a warrior such as you? Did you not go on to be a pipe-maker in the Tavern of Cascading Jewels, favorite to the Golden One herself? And did you not learn things of great value from the Japanese mama-san?”
He lifted his glass in an exaggerated toast. “You were the chosen one of J. T. Ching, one of the richest men on the Golden Hill … you, the Red Lotus from the Rock of Great Strength.
“Let us drink to the Place of Clear Water, where the old ones are at peace.” He smirked as he swallowed the brandy and stood up, offering his hand. “But come—this is not the place to speak of such things. Let us go upstairs, where we can talk privately.”
