The Cloud Leopard's Daughter

by Deborah Challinor

  Rian said, ‘Obviously they took a punt. Typhoons hit everyone in these waters at this time of year. Fortunately for us it didn’t pay off.’

  Very fortunately, Kitty thought, and sent up a little prayer to whoever – or whatever – it was that looked over them while they were at sea.

  It took the Katipo a day and a half to tack down to Cebu, though they didn’t need a tow past Mactan Island. The night they spent aboard was somewhat unpleasant, however, on clammy mattresses under damp sheets that were already beginning to smell. The weather was warm and humid, and Kitty wondered whether the bedding would dry at all. That was the trouble with sailing in the tropics. Perhaps it might be easier to replace the lot. Cebu was a good-sized city and the region’s trading hub, so its merchants would stock all manner of goods.

  The mystery ship did follow them as they wove their way down through the Visayan islands towards Cebu. It lost them briefly, but had reappeared again by the time they’d sailed around the point on which sat the little triangular Fort San Pedro and tied up at a crowded wharf. Through his spyglass Rian, tight-lipped, watched it furl its sails and dock some distance away along the foreshore.

  ‘I told you they were following us,’ he muttered to Hawk.

  They fielded the usual nosy and officious visit from customs officials then disembarked, leaving Mick and Gideon behind, and entered the city.

  It stank somewhat, despite the fresh sea breeze, but the wide, palm-lined streets were attractive, and the architecture, formal public gardens and shopping precincts impressive. The farther you went from the shore, however, the more the city fell into disarray, as though Cebu had been constructed specifically to be viewed from the sea. The northern and western reaches, bordering the market gardens, were positive slums.

  It was a very busy city, perhaps not as grandiose as Manila had been with its walled citadel, but still distinctly Spanish in architectural aspect. The streets were crowded with pedestrians, horsemen, carabao carts (and what a mess carabao made!), the carriages for hire known as kalesas, and privately owned dainty cabriolets and heavier carriages; and many races were in evidence, including Chinese – great numbers of them – English, the Cebuanos (the island’s natives), and the ruling Spanish. You could tell Spaniards anywhere. Kitty was quite envious of the women’s dark beauty, though they did tend to look like bad-tempered birds of prey when they aged. And their clothes! The beautiful flounced skirts and lace bodices with enormous, bell-like sleeves, and gorgeous flower-embroidered and beaded shawls and the brightly painted fans they flicked so artfully. They looked like jewels gliding about the Philippines’ lush greenery.

  While Rian and Hawk went off to look for replacement sails, Ropata and Pierre were dispatched to book a hotel for the night. Kitty and Amber, with Simon as their minder, flagged down a red, yellow and green-painted kalesa and directed the driver to Colon Street in the Parian district, for centuries the centre of Chinese commerce, even before the Spanish arrived, and still known as a marketplace for all sorts of quality goods and services.

  ‘What are we looking for?’ Simon asked, fanning his face with his hat.

  ‘New bed linen.’

  ‘For the whole ship?’

  ‘Well, it’s not going to dry in this weather, is it?’ Kitty said.

  ‘True, it is quite humid.’ Simon sniffed his own armpit and made a face. ‘It’ll cost a packet, linen for everyone. Can’t we just send the wet stuff to be laundered?’

  ‘No. It’s well overdue for replacement. I’m sick of mending sheets – and reminding people to cut their toenails. In fact I might even get new mattresses if the price is right.’

  ‘We need a bigger one anyway, if we’re extending our cabin,’ Amber said. Ropata occupied the berth next to hers, but had offered to move into Tahi’s vacated cabin so the wall could be taken down. ‘You should see the way Tahi sleeps,’ she added to Simon, and grinned. ‘On his back like a huge starfish.’

  ‘That’s quite enough, thank you,’ Kitty said, her hands over her ears. ‘I don’t want to hear about your private life.’ Unless it was to be informed that Amber’s courses were arriving regularly. She didn’t want to be a grandmother for quite some time yet.

  ‘Linen or cotton?’ Simon asked.

  ‘What? Oh, good quality cotton. Really soft linen will be too expensive, even here.’

  They got out of the kalesa at the top of Colon Street, a long and narrowish road bordered by two-storeyed wooden buildings housing commercial premises on the ground floor and accommodation above, and spent a couple of hours wandering in and out of the shops. Rain threatened once more, the air felt as dense as a damp flannel on the face, and Simon and Kitty were tormented by mosquitoes, but Amber, for some reason, was not.

  ‘I wish the weather would break,’ Simon complained, blotting sweat off his brow and neck with his sleeve.

  ‘I don’t,’ Amber said. ‘Then we’ll just be hot and sweaty and covered in mud.’

  ‘I think I’ve seen what I want anyway,’ Kitty said, ‘back that way.’

  So they retraced their steps to a draper’s emporium stacked to the ceiling with bolts of cloth and manchester, and Kitty made a bulk purchase of twenty sets of sheets made from Egyptian cotton, and nine linen ticking-covered, horsehair-stuffed mattresses, two of them double-sized.

  ‘Er, I hope you don’t expect me to carry these back to the ship,’ Simon said. ‘I might get two on my head, if I take my hat off, but not nine.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so stupid,’ Kitty snapped. She was sick of shopping now, and her feet hurt. ‘We’ll pay someone with a cart and one of those stinking great carabao beasts to shit its way back to the wharf.’

  The Chinese draper, who had affected to speak barely any English while transacting the sale of the sheets and mattresses, smiled down at the counter.

  Half an hour and a kalesa ride later and Kitty, Amber and Simon themselves arrived at the Katipo.

  ‘Is Rian back?’ Kitty asked as she clomped down the companionway into the mess room.

  Pierre and Ropata and the rest of the crew were sitting at the table eating cheese and pickles. ‘Non, chérie, but they should not be far away now,’ Pierre replied.

  How did Pierre know that? Kitty wondered crossly. Rian could be anywhere. ‘Did you book a hotel?’

  ‘Oui.’

  ‘Well, we don’t need it now, I actually bought all new linen. And mattresses. They should be arriving soon so if you could all strip your bunks, please.’

  Pierre exchanged a look with Ropata. ‘But the hotel, she is booked.’

  ‘Then unbook it.’

  ‘We had to pay a good-sized deposit,’ Ropata explained. ‘And we can’t get it back.’

  Kitty stared at him for a moment. ‘Is it a nice hotel?’

  ‘Very fancy. Eh, Pierre?’

  ‘Magnifique.’

  It would be wasteful to spend so much money on a deposit and then not turn up, Kitty thought, wondering if the hotel had a guest bathroom with a proper bath. ‘Perhaps you’re right. We can’t cancel now.’

  Rian, Hawk and the new sails arrived half an hour later, Rian in a cheerful mood because he’d purchased the sails at a good price with the cost of delivery thrown in. There were approximately four hours left of daylight and he wanted to fit them as soon as possible.

  Then the new mattresses and linen turned up – ‘How much?!’ Rian exclaimed – and while he and the crew were fitting the new sails, Kitty and Amber set to exchanging the old bedding for new. The ever-present smell of mould tinged with sweat and brine – so ubiquitous it was barely noticed any more – immediately faded from the sleeping quarters. Pierre went off with the boy who’d delivered Kitty’s purchases, his cart piled high with old bedding, to sell the used linen at the rag market, and by the time he returned the sun was touching the horizon and the new sails were almost rigged. It hadn’t rained after all, ratcheting up the humidity, and everyone was suffering because of it.

  Moods were improved, however, once they sett
led in at the Hotel de Oriente, minus Gideon and Mick, left aboard the Katipo clutching their short straws. The hotel truly was ‘magnifique’, built in the usual overblown Spanish style with gothic charm and opulence oozing out of every plastered inch. Pierre, ever conscious of Rian’s budget, had booked them all two to a room, which no one minded, such was the standard of accommodation. Kitty was delighted and very pleased she hadn’t insisted they all stay aboard ship, trying out their new bed linen. And yes, there was a bathroom on every floor of the hotel, which made three in total, each containing a white-painted tin bath almost big enough to float in without touching the ends. The cost of a hot bath was extra, however, but she didn’t care – she was having one. Sadly, the outdoor privies smelt as foul as privies did anywhere, and Kitty hoped she wouldn’t have to spend too much time in the Hotel de Oriente’s.

  Dinner that evening in the hotel’s dining room was an occasion. Although the hotel’s owner was presumably Spanish, and the maître d’ certainly was, the rest of the staff were Chinese or Cebuano, and the food – dishes described on the menu as paella, pisto, jamon serrano, tortilla, empanadas, croquetas and (according to Pierre who spoke a bit of Spanish) something with baby octopuses – all had a distinctly Oriental flavour to it. Delicious, though. Unfortunately Rian lost patience with the maître d’s somewhat theatrical fawning and flouncing among the tables and called him a prancing nancy-boy, which was when they discovered he actually spoke very good English. It was all right for Simon to be the way he was because he never flaunted it, but Rian considered that if you were different, or different in that sense, at least, you should keep it to yourself.

  But apart from that, Kitty thoroughly enjoyed her evening out. Pierre didn’t criticise the food, no one drank too much, she had a delightful if slightly envy-making time eyeing what the wealthy ladies of Cebu were wearing, and was very much looking forward to her hot bath even if the thermometer/barometer arrangement in the hotel hall said it was still eighty-four degrees Fahrenheit.

  *

  ‘God, it’s hot,’ Amber grumbled to Tahi as she opened the door to their hotel room with one hand and yanked off her bonnet with the other. ‘Bloody thing,’ she said and hurled it at the bed.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I hate it. It makes my head itch.’

  ‘Then don’t wear it.’

  ‘All right, I won’t. Oooh, you darling, did you do this?’

  ‘What?’

  Amber indicated the vase of spectacular purple, pink and yellow orchids, the carafe of wine and two long-stemmed glasses on the nightstand beside the bed.

  ‘Um, actually, no.’

  ‘Oh.’ Amber looked for a note but there wasn’t one. And then she realised: this was the first night she and Tahi would spend together not aboard the Katipo since the evening of their wedding, so this was rather like a honeymoon. It must have been her mother; it was definitely the sort of thoughtful thing she would do. ‘Ma,’ she said, and grinned.

  ‘That was nice of her,’ Tahi said. It was, but a little embarrassing.

  Amber lifted the carafe. ‘Want some?’

  Nodding, Tahi drew the drapes then sat on the bed to unlace his boots, grunting slightly and stifling a burp as he bent over.

  ‘That’ll teach you for having two helpings of pudding.’ Amber tasted her wine. ‘Hmm, quite tanniney. Bracing.’ She waited until Tahi had kicked off his boots, handed him a glass and lay down beside him.

  ‘Should you be putting your boots on the bedspread?’ Tahi remarked.

  ‘Why not? I’m paying for it.’

  ‘Your father is.’ Tahi sampled his wine. ‘God, tanniney’s right. You know, my little bellbird, you can be really quite arrogant sometimes.’

  ‘I know. You love me anyway, though.’

  ‘I do.’ He took her free hand in his. ‘And I always will.’

  ‘I know that, too.’

  ‘Do you love me?’

  Amber leant over and kissed him. ‘Until the end of time.’

  Chapter Six

  The following morning in the dining room Simon’s stomach rumbled audibly. ‘God, I’m hungry. Where’s our food? I could eat a maggoty ferret.’

  ‘Never mind your stomach,’ Kitty said. ‘Where’re Amber and Tahi?’

  Mick smirked. ‘Probably still upstairs playin’ tunes on the old one-holed flute.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Mick.’ Rian scowled at him.

  ‘Well, you were young once, so you were. You know what it’s like when you’re that age.’

  Kitty dropped her napkin on the table. ‘I’ll go up and see what’s keeping them.’

  ‘Wait, I’ll come with you,’ Rian said.

  The others looked at one another. After a moment Haunui, then Hawk, left the table as well.

  Upstairs Kitty knocked on Amber and Tahi’s door. No response. She knocked again then cautiously tried the handle. The door opened into semi-darkness, releasing a waft of stale air.

  ‘Good morning,’ Kitty called. ‘Amber?’ She stepped inside, blinking against the gloom, followed by Rian. A figure lay sprawled across the bed. Kitty moved closer. ‘Amber? Are you awake?’

  But it was Tahi, lying on his side, almost fully dressed and apparently still asleep.

  A feeling of dread began to stir in the pit of Kitty’s belly.

  ‘Where the hell’s Amber?’ Rian asked.

  ‘The bathroom? Out in the privies?’ Haunui suggested as he and Hawk entered and gazed down at the bed, but Kitty didn’t think he sounded hopeful.

  Rian prodded Tahi’s hip. ‘Tahi?’

  Nothing. Kitty looked about; Amber’s bonnet lay on the end of the bed, but other than that there was no sign of her.

  Haunui shook the lad’s shoulder vigorously. Tahi muttered incoherently. His eyes fluttered but failed to open. Haunui hauled him into a sitting position and bawled into his face, ‘Boy! Wake up!’

  Then Haunui slapped him. Tahi’s head whipped to one side and his eyes snapped open. He stared uncomprehendingly at his grandfather for a long moment, then leant over the side of the bed and vomited on the floor. Everyone leapt out of the way.

  Rian levered him upright again. ‘Where’s Amber?’

  Tahi coughed and wiped his mouth on the hem of the bedspread, then looked around wildly. ‘Don’t know,’ he rasped. ‘I . . . I must’ve passed out.’

  ‘Were you on the jar last night?’ Rian demanded.

  ‘This carafe is almost full,’ Hawk declared, sniffing the wine from the nightstand. He frowned and sniffed it a second time.

  Tahi shook his head. ‘We only had a glass.’ He coughed again, cleared his throat noisily and spat. ‘Amber said you left it for us.’

  ‘Left what?’ Kitty said.

  ‘The wine. And . . . those.’ He nodded at the orchids.

  ‘I did not.’

  Hawk took the tiniest sip from the carafe, then passed it to Haunui who did the same.

  ‘What’s that funny taste?’

  Hawk scowled viciously. ‘I think laudanum.’

  Kitty’s belly plummeted to somewhere near her boots and cold sweat prickled across her skin.

  ‘Laudanum?’ Rian almost shouted. ‘They’ve been drugged? But . . .’ He turned on Tahi. ‘When was the last time you saw her?’

  ‘I . . . we . . .’ He rubbed his hands across his sweaty face. ‘She lay down beside me. I . . . can’t remember after that.’

  ‘Well, bloody well try, man!’

  Tahi looked wretched. ‘There’s nothing to remember! She poured us some wine . . . I think we lay down, and then you woke me. Oh God!’ He put his face in his hands. ‘I saw this, in a vision.’

  Incredulous, Rian stared at Tahi, then yanked his hands away from his face. ‘You what?’

  ‘In a vision. I saw Amber being taken.’

  Far more calmly, Haunui asked, ‘Who took her, boy?’

  ‘A taniwha. A dragon.’

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ Rian exploded.

  Thinking tha
t Rian might hit Tahi, Kitty stepped between them. ‘Stop it, Rian. This isn’t Tahi’s fault. He was drugged, that’s obvious. Look at the poor boy!’

  Kitty watched as her husband made a massive effort to rein in his runaway fear and anger. Clearly this wasn’t Tahi’s misdeed, or even blunder.

  ‘This is Wong Kai’s doing,’ Rian said, his voice as harsh as steel across stone. ‘I’ll guarantee it. It’ll be those bastards on that ship. I’m going down to the docks.’ He stormed out, Hawk and Haunui on his heels.

  Tahi lurched off the bed after them, took several staggering steps off course towards a chair, then fell over it. On his knees on the carpet, he groaned and clutched at his head again. ‘What’s wrong with me, Auntie? This is worse than being drunk.’

  Kitty helped him to his feet. ‘It’s the laudanum. You’ve had too much.’

  Tahi retched, but hardly anything came up this time. ‘I feel awful, as though my head’s full of cotton.’ He gave the tiniest of sobs then looked mortified. ‘Oh God, please don’t tell anyone I did that. My beautiful little bellbird. I let them take her, Auntie. I just lay there asleep and let them take her. I’m so sorry.’

  Kitty did her best to soothe him, though she would have preferred in her despair and rage to burn the city to the ground.

  The door slammed against the wall as Israel – red-faced, his eyes wild – charged in. ‘Is it true – Amber’s been kidnapped?

  Kitty could only nod.

  Israel kicked viciously at a chair, toppling it. ‘Who? Who’s taken her? I’ll kill them!’ Then he rounded on Tahi. ‘Where the bloody hell were you? Why didn’t you stop them?’

  Already beset with fear and guilt, Tahi sprang towards him, fists raised.

  ‘That’s enough!’ Kitty ordered. ‘It wasn’t his fault, Israel. He was drugged.’ She pointed at the carafe. ‘They both were.’

  Letting out a huge sigh, Israel ran his hand through his hair. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry. But who could have taken her?’

  ‘We think Wong Kai’s men,’ Tahi replied flatly.

  *

  Rian, Hawk and Haunui, together with Pierre and Ropata, raced into the street outside the Hotel de Oriente, hailed a passing kalesa, jammed themselves into it and urged the driver to take them down to the docks as fast as possible. The poor horse, when they arrived, was lathered in sweat from ears to tail. They searched and searched, running along the foreshore and out to the farthest ends of every wharf, but the mystery ship was nowhere to be seen. It, and presumably Amber, had gone.