Killigrew and the Golden Dragon

by Jonathan Lunn

  Killigrew stared at Hartcliffe, who shrugged. ‘Never does any harm to use one’s full tally in a situation like this. You’d be amazed how many people go weak at the knees in the presence of nobility.’

  A shot sounded from the deck of the opium hulk, and a musket ball whizzed through the air above their heads to splash into the pinnace’s wake.

  ‘Weak at the knees they may be, milord, but it doesn’t seem to have put their aim off by much,’ said Killigrew.

  Molineaux glanced towards the Golden Dragon and saw some of the men on her poop swinging the stern-chaser around to point at the pinnace. ‘Pivot gun off the starboard bow, sir!’ he called.

  ‘Make for the far side of the Buchan Prayer!’ ordered Killigrew.

  The men on the Golden Dragon managed to get one shot off before the pinnace slipped behind the hulk. It screeched over the heads of the bluejackets and plunged into the water on the far side, sending up a great gout of water which almost capsized the pinnace and drenched everyone on board. Then they were protected behind the hulk, and too close in for the men above them to be able to draw beads on them with their muskets.

  ‘Grappling irons!’

  Molineaux snatched up one of the grappling irons and whirled it expertly, as he might whirl the lead when sounding. He let go and it flew up to the rail far above their heads, the rope snaking out behind it. Another seaman did likewise, and both irons caught firm on the rail. Molineaux went up one rope and Killigrew the other. Molineaux was halfway up the hulk’s side when he saw a man at the rail above him, sawing at the rope with a knife.

  Next to him, Killigrew gripped the rope tightly in one hand and braced his feet against the side of the hulk. He leaned out, plucked a pepperbox from his belt and took careful aim. The pistol cracked and the man fell back out of sight.

  Molineaux signalled his thanks and went on and up over the rail. He took off the hook and started to fasten the half-severed rope more securely to the rail. He had almost finished when a guard came at him out of the gloom and swung a musket-butt at his head. Molineaux ducked and drove his fist into the man’s stomach. He doubled up to reveal another guard behind him, levelling a musket.

  Killigrew swung himself over the rail and kicked the musket aside a moment before the guard pulled the trigger. The musket-ball ploughed into the side of a deck house. The lieutenant landed on the deck and laid the man out with a right cross.

  Molineaux finished fastening the rope and a moment later more bluejackets swarmed over the side with daggers, cutlasses, hatchets and belaying pins gripped between their teeth or thrust under their belts. They were followed by Li.

  ‘See if you can find Mrs Bannatyne!’ ordered Hartcliffe. ‘There’s a chance she may still be alive!’

  ‘And if anyone finds the tai-pan himself, he’s mine!’ added Killigrew.

  If the lieutenant intended to exact his own brand of justice on Mr Bannatyne, that was fine with Molineaux. He ducked between two of the deck houses and came face to face with Ingersoll. Grinning, Molineaux pulled his Bowie knife from its sheath.

  ‘Oh-kay, you sonuvabitch. Let’s hear you call me “nigger” now.’

  Ingersoll turned and ran. Molineaux pursued him down the accommodation ladder to the landing stage, and up on to the deck of the Golden Dragon. Li was right behind him. No sooner had they stepped through the entry port than the two of them stopped short.

  Most of the sailors on the steamer were busy lowering the sails or casting off the mooring ropes, but there were still enough left over to form a semi-circle around Molineaux and Li. Behind the two interlopers, the gangplank was raised as the wind began to carry the Golden Dragon away from the landing stage.

  * * *

  On the far side of the deck of the Buchan Prayer, Killigrew parried a bayonet thrust from one guard with his cutlass, punched a second in the face with the knucklebow, and then stabbed the first in the throat.

  Further along the deck, Ågård glanced at Killigrew and his eyes widened in shock. ‘Behind you, sir!’

  Killigrew whirled and came face to face with Bully Hayes and Eli Boggs, the two tindals from the Golden Dragon. Boggs levelled a revolver at Killigrew’s head.

  ‘Finish him, Eli!’ snarled Hayes.

  Endicott stepped out behind them and rammed a musket against the backs of their heads like a quarter-staff. Boggs dropped the revolver and slumped to the deck, while Hayes staggered forward and Killigrew knocked him out with a blow from the hilt of his cutlass. ‘Much obliged to you, Mr Endicott.’

  The Liverpudlian beamed proudly. ‘My pleasure, sir.’

  ‘Killigrew!’ Hartcliffe’s voice came from the other side of the deck. Killigrew ran across to join him in time to see the Golden Dragon move away from the landing stage under sail. Bannatyne stood next to Verran on the quarterdeck, mockingly waving farewell to the two lieutenants. In the steamer’s waist, Molineaux and Li were surrounded by Ingersoll and four sailors.

  ‘They’re getting away!’ Hartcliffe protested.

  ‘The devil they are!’ Killigrew slotted his cutlass back in its scabbard and ran back to where he had left a grappling iron hooked over the far rail. He ran to the hulk’s poop deck, stood at the taffrail and whirled the iron above his head. It arced up through the air and dropped over one of the yards of the Golden Dragon’s mainmast. There was no time to make the rope fast to the hulk’s taffrail. The ship’s movement pulled the rope tight almost at once, and Killigrew barely had time to swing one leg over the taffrail, and then the other.

  He stepped out into space and prayed he had judged the distances correctly.

  He plummeted for a couple of feet and then the rope swung him in towards the Golden Dragon’s stern. He hauled on the rope to pull himself up, raising his legs beneath them to avoid cracking them on the rail, and then swung across the quarterdeck. He hit the planks and his graceful swoop came to an abrupt and inelegant end as he rolled against the far bulwark. No bones broken, though, as far as he could tell.

  He climbed shakily to his feet and turned to where Bannatyne and Verran stood next to Suleiman, the helmsman at the wheel. Killigrew drew his cutlass. ‘Hello, Jago. Time for a return match, I think.’

  Verran was grinning. He made no attempt to reach for his own cutlass. Killigrew realised what was wrong and began to turn, but he was too late. What felt like a sledge-hammer smashed into the back of his neck. He dropped his cutlass, staggered a few paces and sank to his knees. He flopped on to his back and, through the lights that danced before his eyes, saw Shen loom over him. Then Verran was there, holding the point of his cutlass at his throat.

  ‘Never mind him,’ Bannatyne told Verran. ‘Shen will deal with Mr Killigrew. You take care of our slant-eyed friend.’ The tai-pan pointed, and the lieutenant managed to raise his head in time to see Li ascend the ratlines pursued by two Lascars.

  Then Shen grabbed Killigrew by the ankles and started to drag him towards the taffrail.

  * * *

  ‘Three against one,’ said Molineaux. ‘That’s hardly fair.’

  Ingersoll and the two sea-cunnies charged as one. Molineaux danced aside, slashed at one of the sea-cunnies with his Bowie knife, dodged beneath Ingersoll’s grasping arms, and tripped the second sea-cunny so that he sprawled on the deck.

  ‘Hardly fair to you, I mean,’ said Molineaux, dancing back. He ducked behind the jolly boat stowed on deck as they came at him again. One of the sea-cunnies reached for him across the boat. Molineaux seized him by the jacket with his left hand and dragged him across the boat’s tarpaulin cover. He brought the haft of the Bowie knife down against the back of his neck and knocked him unconscious.

  He slashed at Ingersoll with the knife, but the captain jumped clear. A moment later the other sea-cunny had dashed the knife from his grip with a wu-yi kick. It clattered across the deck. Molineaux tried to go after it, but Ingersoll interposed himself.

  Molineaux turned and raced across the deck. Ingersoll and the other sea-cunny pounded after him. He stumbled
down the after-hatch and through a door into the captain’s day room, illuminated by an oil lantern which hung from a nail in an overhead beam. He waited on the other side of the door, and as it began to open outwards he kicked it with all his might. The door smacked into the first man’s face and Molineaux heard his unconscious body hit the deck.

  Ingersoll came through the door, dagger in hand. He slashed at Molineaux’s chest. Molineaux jumped back and bumped into a table. He rolled over it backwards, accidentally catching the lantern with one of his feet and hurling it into a corner. The glass smashed and a puddle of burning oil spread across the deck. Molineaux managed to get both feet on the deck, and then Ingersoll came around the table at him with the dagger.

  * * *

  Li Cheng paused halfway up the ratlines and turned to stamp on the hand of one of the Lascars who pursued him into the rigging. The man cried out and thrust his knuckles into his mouth. Li stamped on his other hand. The Lascar let go with that hand too and only realised his mistake when the ship, moving out from behind the lee of Lan-tao Island, rolled beneath him. He fell backwards with a cry and plummeted into the sea.

  Li continued to climb up to the platform at the foretop where he encountered two Malays who had already been in the rigging. The first tried to kick him in the head as he climbed up through the lubber’s hole. Li caught him by the ankle and gave his whole leg a twist. The Malay tried to turn away from the pain, lost his balance and fell to the deck.

  Li climbed up on to the platform in time to meet the next Malay, who inched his way in from the foreyard. The man threw a punch at his head. Li ducked, and drove the tips of his fingers into the centre of the man’s chest. The Malay doubled up in agony and fell with a scream.

  Hassan, the ghaut serang, came up through the lubber’s hole and slashed at Li’s feet with a kris. Li jumped over the arcing blade and backed out on to the yardarm, arms spread wide for balance. Hassan tried to follow him. The more orthodox method for moving out on to the yard was to stand on the foot rope while holding on to the spar, but the ghaut serang seemed to sense that would put him at a disadvantage to Li, who balanced effortlessly on the yard itself, in spite of the rolling of the ship.

  Holding on to the mast for support, Hassan slashed at Li with the kris. The Chinese skipped back further out on to the yard. The ghaut serang swallowed hard and let go of the mast, edging nervously out on to the spar.

  He faced up to Li and slashed at his throat. His arms folded mockingly, Li leaned back slightly and the wavy blade missed his Adam’s apple by a hair’s breadth. Hassan overbalanced and fell from the yard without Li having touched him. The Chinese shook his head sadly, amazed that the tai-pan should employ sailors with no sense of balance to crew his ship.

  Suddenly the yard jerked sharply below him. He almost lost his footing, and his arms flailed wildly as he teetered for a few seconds. He had just regained his poise when the yard gave another jerk, and then another.

  He heard laughter as he struggled to maintain his footing. Glancing down to the deck – a mistake: it made him feel even dizzier – he saw Verran directing three sea-cunnies to tug on a rope. Each time they hauled, the yard on which Li stood gave another jerk. Now he could see when each jerk was about to come and brace himself in readiness, it was easier to maintain his balance. He waved mockingly to Verran.

  Scowling, the captain went crazy. He drew his cutlass and slashed at ropes left, right and centre. When the third rope parted, the yard suddenly pivoted at the middle and the end on which Li stood dropped down under his weight. As the yard canted he felt his feet slip and the world span around him. He tumbled and fell headlong towards the deck far below.

  * * *

  ‘What the devil does that idiot think he’s doing?’ Bannatyne demanded. ‘He’ll bring down all the sails!’ He started to march across the deck.

  Shen indicated Killigrew. ‘What shall I do with this one?’ he asked in Cantonese.

  Bannatyne did not even glance over his shoulder. ‘Throw him over the side. Suitably weighed down, of course.’

  Shen grasped Killigrew by the lapels, hoisted him to his feet and propped him up against the taffrail. He picked up a length of chain and wrapped it about the lieutenant’s torso a couple of times to make sure his body would sink. Then he bent down to seize Killigrew’s ankles so he could tip him over.

  Killigrew had only been pretending to be stunned, and now he seized his chance. He snatched a mahogany belaying pin from a rack and smashed it over the back of Shen’s head.

  The pin snapped. Shen straightened with an expression of mild annoyance.

  Killigrew thrust the splintered end of the pin in Shen’s face, but the Chinese caught him by the wrist and stopped the thrust short. He twisted Killigrew’s arm, whirled him around and yanked his wrist up into the small of his back.

  Killigrew gasped. It felt as if his arm was going to be wrenched from its socket. His hand opened and the broken belaying pin dropped to the deck. Shen pushed him away. Killigrew staggered backwards across the quarterdeck and collided with the helmsman, Suleiman.

  The assistant helmsman, a Lascar, seized him in a full nelson and held him fast as Suleiman let go of the wheel long enough to draw a dagger from his belt to finish him off. With no one to hold it, the wheel spun crazily as the waves buffeted the rudder.

  Killigrew leaned forward and pulled the Lascar over him so that he lost his balance. Then he whirled round and straightened, putting the Lascar back down in the path of Suleiman’s dagger thrust. The Lascar groaned. Killigrew broke free and whirled round again in time to see the Lascar slump to the deck.

  Suleiman stared down at what he had done, and then came at Killigrew with a snarl. He thrust like lightning, and before Killigrew could defend himself the blade slammed against his chest.

  The two of them glanced down. The dagger’s point had caught in one of the links of the chain Shen had wrapped around Killigrew. Before Suleiman could pull back the dagger, Killigrew caught him by the arm. The two of them grappled for a moment. Killigrew forced Suleiman’s hand towards the spinning helm. He let go of the arm as the wrist was caught between the spokes of the wheel and the bone snapped audibly. Sobbing in agony, Suleiman sank to his knees.

  Another hammer-blow smashed into Killigrew’s neck: Shen again. He staggered across to the rail, trying to put as much distance between himself and the Chinese to buy himself enough time just to turn and face his next attack. He turned and braced himself, but Shen was taking his time, his face the epitome of supreme self-assurance.

  Killigrew removed the chain Shen had wrapped around him. As Shen advanced on him, he whirled the chain around his head like a flail. He swung it at the comprador. The links wrapped themselves around Shen’s head, but the comprador grabbed the chain and hauled on it. Caught off balance, Killigrew staggered towards him and his face met the comprador’s fist coming in the opposite direction. He staggered back against the taffrail, dazed, and shook his head muzzily.

  Shen unwrapped the chain from his head and tossed it over the side, advancing once more.

  The deck heaved violently. With no one at the helm, the Golden Dragon was being blown wherever the wind and current would take it; and it only took one glance of Killigrew’s trained eye to see that the sea was intent on carrying them to where white breakers betrayed the presence of a reef in the gloom.

  Killigrew pointed. ‘If someone doesn’t take the helm, we’ll be run aground!’ he said urgently in Cantonese.

  Shen did not make the mistake of turning to look. ‘First I shall finish you, and then take the helm.’

  Killigrew lunged suddenly at the Chinese, raining a salvo of blows against his face: right jab, right jab, left uppercut, right cross and then the coup de grace – that old left hook that came out of nowhere when they were too dazed to see it coming.

  Shen grinned. ‘Is that the best you can do?’ He jumped into the air, kicked Killigrew in the chest and drove him back against the rail.

  * * *

&nbs
p; The fire in the cabin spread swiftly. Molineaux found himself caught between the roaring flames and Ingersoll’s dagger. He faced the dagger, the greater of the two perils, first. Ingersoll thrust at his stomach. Molineaux caught him by the wrist and the two of them grappled chest to chest. The captain was stronger, but Molineaux had his arm gripped with both hands. Ingersoll gave up trying to thrust the dagger into his stomach and instead used his weight to push him back into the flames.

  Molineaux’s feet struggled for purchase on the deck. He could feel the heat of the flames scorch the back of his neck. He threw himself sideways in desperation, and Ingersoll stumbled into the flames. He let go of Molineaux to beat out the flames where his clothes had caught fire.

  Molineaux ducked out of the cabin. He heard Ingersoll’s footsteps right behind him. He ascended a companionway and turned to kick Ingersoll in the face. The white man avoided the blow and caught Molineaux by the leg. The two of them struggled in the confined space. Ingersoll slammed the seaman first against one bulkhead and then against the other. Molineaux still stood above Ingersoll and he used gravity to his advantage, falling on the captain. Locked together, the two of them crashed back down the steps to the deck below.

  They rolled apart, rose to their feet and faced one another. A terrific shudder ran through the ship and there came a groaning, splintering sound from somewhere forward. Even as Molineaux was thrown against Ingersoll, he knew instinctively that the ship had crashed into something.

  Unbalanced, the two of them fell down the next companion ladder to the lower deck. Molineaux lay there for a moment, dazed. It felt as if every bone in his body was broken.