Sherlock Holmes and The Nine-Dragon Sigil

by Tim Symonds

  Wang smiled wryly. A hand flicked towards the distant Summer Palace.

  ‘He gave the order but nobody is killed in such a terrible way without trial except on the explicit say-so of the Summer Palace. It is said, ‘Come bounteous dew and rain, or come the thunderbolt of wrath, all proceed alike from the Imperial will’. No-one feels safe. Even the eunuchs are beaten for little reason except to keep them in a state of watchfulness and fear. You see them walking around the Forbidden City with rubber mats around their backsides, just in case.’

  ‘Do you feel safe?’ I probed.

  ‘I?’ Wang replied. ‘Why not? What have I done to upset the Great Ancestress?’

  We began to wend our way along the canal to the small forest of purple bamboo. I asked, ‘You say the Empress Dowager no longer pays attention to the people’s Memorials - what are these memorials?’

  ‘Communications written by provincial governors and sent direct to the Empress Dowager herself, with no mediation by the court or palace officials. They tell the truth about the bad conditions and official corruption. The secret memorials are transported under lock and key. The locks are from Europe.

  It’s dangerous that she ignores them now. How else can she or the Ch’ing state adjust policies to ensure the popular welfare?’

  Just as we were saying goodbye Wang’s usual enigmatic expression changed. With a conspiratorial air he said, ‘I forgot to tell you. All may not be right with the Empress Dowager’s health.’

  My ears pricked up.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ I asked.

  ‘Because of what I saw this morning. I am still making payment for my mother’s coffin, 10 taels every month...’

  His voice tailed away as he looked carefully in each direction. ‘When I was at the coffin-maker early this morning making my latest payment a covered wagon arrived with a load of costly wood, thick sandalwood from Mukden and hardwood of the Phoebe nanmu tree from southern China. They say the wood has been curing in a concealed room in the Summer Palace. The moisture content will be low, ready for use.

  The wagon driver told me that during the night the wood had been placed in temples around the Forbidden City to be sanctified. I asked the coffin-maker who the auspicious boards (that’s what the Palace calls an Imperial coffin) were for. He shook his head and looked away. I commented the person must be very rich and powerful. He said that was obvious. I pressed him. He would only say the order had come with no prior warning and was to be completed with the utmost urgency. His box-makers were about to apply the first coat of lacquer. The coffin-maker had heard the best tailors were under orders to work through the night to make grave clothes and satin cockcrow pillows. For three nights in a row eunuchs had been sent out to the provinces to muster twenty thousand bearers. Tradition calls for that number to convey a Royal catafalque to the Eastern Tombs. He refused to tell me more, under, he said, pain of both our deaths.’

  Wang gestured towards the Palace.

  He said, ‘Surely - the auspicious boards can only be for one person in the whole of the Forbidden City - the Great Ancestress herself!’

  On the journey home I pondered Wang’s revelations. If his speculation proved true it must be through some sixth sense the Empress Dowager believed her death was imminent. She looked in excellent health at our last meeting.

  My thoughts turned to the young Emperor and the power he would presumably regain. I recalled my first impression of his slight and elegant figure the day after my arrival in the Forbidden City. Above all the long thin expressive hands. Later in a surprisingly intimate chat at the far side of the room from the Empress Dowager he told me, ‘Ten years ago, for a hundred days I set China’s face towards the dawning morning of the future. But,’ he gave a gesture indicating his aunt, ‘she prefers a land which faces always and everywhere towards the darkness of a remote past. She has always hated me. She tells everyone I lack filial respect towards her. She launched a Coup d’Etat. Yet it is I as Emperor who am divinely appointed, not the Empress Dowager.’

  Bitterness radiated from his face as he added ‘It is I, as Emperor, who mediates the cosmic forces.’

  Angrily he spoke of his imprisonment at a nearby artificial lake, kept totally isolated from the rest of the Court.

  ‘In the middle of the Winter Palace Lake is an island, Ying Tai, or ‘Ocean Terrace’. That’s where the Divine Mother locked me up,’ he said with a shudder. ‘In a cold and soulless palace. All my faithful servants but one were put to death or banished. I saw no one except four guards and my wife who I knew was spying on me for Her Imperial Majesty.’

  The reference to his wife as more in the Empress Dowager’s service than his explained why she was never present when we met.

  At that point the Empress Dowager turned her face in our direction as though picking up some conspiratorial character to our conversation. I quickly asked whether the reforms he had tried to introduce would ever again be attempted. He replied sotto voce, ‘We have a saying, ‘Though a tree grow ever so high, the falling leaves return to the ground’.’

  His head inclined as he whispered, ‘Therefore the circumstances might one day return, once ‘the tree’ falls to the ground.’

  With the saddest expression I have ever seen on a human face he continued, ‘I was the second son of the Prince Ch’un. It was the Empress Dowager, she whom we call huang taihou - Papa Dearest - who reached out and selected me for the Throne. Yet while she rides in a palanquin I am carried on a mule litter. When she gets angry with me she says ‘The price of coffins is rising’ by which she means I would do well to commit suicide before a worse fate overtakes me. Like an evil spirit, she has stolen into my life, filling my days with dark forebodings and my nights with terror. If she had her way, two servants carrying plumped-up cushions and a silken cord would follow me into my bedroom the moment you leave my presence.’

  Tears flowed down his cheeks.

  ‘Dr. Watson, my soul would be left orbate in the Hall of Hades. As yet I have no heir to perform the ancestral sacrifices and worship at my shrine.’

  I asked, ‘If Your Royal Highness does come to the end of your time on earth without producing a successor, who have you selected to succeed you, to take on the Mandate of Heaven?’

  He gave a wan smile.

  ‘It is well known she has already chosen. The choice has been taken from me. If a violation of the ancestral and House-laws is required, she isn’t a woman to hesitate. The name is written on three pieces of paper. There is a plaque in Manchu and Chinese over the throne in the Palace of Heavenly Purity. Behind it is a secret niche. One mandate is hidden there, in a small casket. Another she always keeps on her Sacred Person.’

  ‘And the third?’ I asked.

  ‘It can only be found after she mounts the dragon. She will place it inside the Imperial pillow in her death chamber. On her departure, the name on each of the three documents will be compared. If in agreement with each other the person inscribed will be announced heir.’

  ‘And you have no idea who it is?’

  ‘I have not been consulted,’ the Emperor replied.

  ‘So you have no idea at all?’ I persisted.

  His voice was growing weak. I bent nearer.

  ‘There is a clue.’

  He motioned towards the wizened, vigilant Chief Eunuch Li at the Empress Dowager’s side.

  ‘They say Li is busy. Even at this moment he is seeking out special wet-nurses. That can only mean one thing. She expects me at any time to become a guest on high, and that Hsuan-T’ung, the infant son of Prince Ch’un, is her favoured successor to the Throne of Heaven.’

  A cold, hard look had come over the Emperor’s face as he stared across at the Chief Eunuch.

  ‘Li delighted in humiliating me during my imprisonment, keeping me ill-clad and hungry. When I regain an Emperor’s rightful power, all those who
treated me with such disdain know they will be beaten to death in the courtyards of the Palace. Therefore Li can hardly wait to clad me in the Robes of Longevity and pack me off to the ‘Nine Springs’.’

  The crestfallen Emperor reached out and took hold of my arm. His voice was now without much pitch definition, the face pale, the eyes heavy. He seemed to be in the grasp of some resistless, inexorable evil which no foresight or precautionary measure can guard against.

  ‘Unless...’

  He failed to complete the sentence. We heard the sound of a raised voice. The Empress Dowager was dispatching Li to join us. Speaking urgently, the Emperor said, ‘Dr. Watson, our people do not believe in the concept of the divine right of kings. They believe a Dynasty lasts for as long as it has the Mandate of Heaven. The Mandate of Heaven has no time limitations, depending instead on the just and able performance of the ruler and his heirs. An emperor has to be a sage king. Before us the Ming and the Yuán and the Western Xia ran their course, exhausting the Heavenly decree. Am I now ill-starred? Has the time come for dragons to take flight and a new Son of Heaven to appear? Are we too looking at the fall of a dynasty, the Great Ch’ing?’

  Li was almost upon us. It was time for me to leave.

  ‘One request, Dr. Watson,’ came a whisper. ‘Which of your cases remains the most vivid in your memory?’

  ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles,’ I replied.

  His eyes flickered towards the approaching Chief Eunuch.

  ‘Be telling me about it as Her Imperial Majesty’s Chief Eunuch arrives,’ he commanded.

  Quickly I began, speaking loudly.

  ‘A member of England’s landed gentry by the name of Sir Henry Baskerville found that one of a pair of boots had gone missing from outside his London hotel room. He had left them for the boot-boy to wax. Soon this unassuming matter would lead Holmes and me to the Devon moors, the most mysterious and atmospheric part of England. ‘I put them both outside my door,’ said Sir Henry, ‘and there was only the one the next morning.’ He had only bought the pair the previous day, at Walker Bros., and had never had them on.’

  Li was now at my side, his smile watchful.

  ‘I have a copy of The Hound with me,’ I told the Emperor.

  ‘May I read it?’ came the request.

  I said I would return to my quarters and place the book in a clamshell box for delivery to the Palace. I nodded at Li and took my exit.

  ***

  The next morning I did a bunk away from appointed companions. The temple priests were striking their brass drums for morning prayer when four hired porters carried me on a litter back to the gate into the Tartar City, the Ch’ien-men. We progressed through bright courtyards flanked by rows of vermillion columns. Representations of the Double Dragons and the Flaming Pearl were everywhere, on the Imperial pennant, cut into stone, carved in wood, painted in pictures.

  At an intersection the porters halted to allow a group of horsemen to dash past, a splendidly attired young Prince riding in their midst on a red-saddled, handsomely caparisoned steed with purple reins and silver trappings. Around us Chinese and western society women stopped to watch, in hats of rice straw or blue harebell straw trimmed with costly ostrich plumes, velvet bows, osprey feathers and lace. On the return leg I filmed a torch- and lantern-lit procession and glowing tableaux in which a pair of illuminated dragons writhed into the court and struggled for the ‘flaming pearl’ which flitted around beyond their grasp with elusive, fantastic movements.

  With our time in China coming to an end, I began to plan our sea-route back to England. An old Dutch sea-dog doing the sight-seeing rounds of the Capital told me it was 11,713 nautical miles from Shanghai to Southampton.

  ‘If the weather’s fair all the way, which is most unlikely,’ he opined cheerfully, ‘and if pirates don’t board you off Ceylon or the Red Sea, or the Gulf of Aden, or the Arabian Sea, which they might well, and if you manage a steady ten knots, which you won’t if you hit buffeting storms in Biscay... which you will, or go adrift off the Isle of Wight like the Spanish Armada, it’ll take you the best part of fifty days.’

  Back at my lodgings a tall Chinaman had established himself in an easy-chair in the principal reception room. The absurd eyeglasses caught my attention, the lenses four inches or so in diameter, more like bull’s eye lanterns than rational spectacles. At his side lay a conical hat made from black felt, the rim turned upwards for about two inches all round, topped with a long tassel of red silk. At the end of his stretched out legs were black velvet boots coming up to his knees, with a thick white sole.

  He observed me in silence, his gaze solemn.

  ‘Holmes!’ I exploded incredulously, ‘are you about to take part in a performance of Gilbert & Sullivan’s ‘Mikado’? You don’t expect me to fall for that idiotic disguise twice in as many months! Those ludicrous spectacles are a give-away. No respectable Chinaman would dream of putting them on his nose. Why,’ I continued, convulsing with laughter, ‘you’ve forgotten the slab of teeth you wore in your Fortune Teller disguise. And what of the extra thumbs! As to that hat,’ I pointed at the floor, ‘you look like one of the witches in Shakespeare’s Macbeth!’

  It transpired it was not Holmes but a ranking Mandarin sent hot-foot from the Summer Palace. The period of mourning for Shadza was over. Would I meet Her Imperial Majesty on the morrow, in the Garden of Virtue and Harmony? She had something she wished me to see. The gentleman in front of me would escort me to her after breakfast.

  My embarrassment abated only slightly with the visitor’s departure. I considered the many times Holmes had fooled me with his remarkable ability to alter his appearance. It was not merely that Holmes changed his costume. His expression, his manner, his very soul seemed to vary with every fresh part he assumed. His new Chinese soothsayer disguise would work wonders in London. None of the criminal underworld would have seen him in it.

  ***

  Her Graceful Majesty was in the Throne-Room when I arrived. It could have been ‘Il Divino’ Michelangelo’s 16th century studio in Rome. Her diadem was composed from the snowy blooms of the fragrant jasmine, set with leaves and other small flowers instead of the real jewels they faithfully imitated. She was stirring a great bowl of India ink. Eunuchs had prepared large sheets of yellow, red and pale green paper. When the consistency and fluidity of the ink suited her, she was handed a large short-handled brush. The Princesses stood around, watching with interest.

  The hall fell silent. The Empress dipped into the ink. On some sheets she wrote the character ‘Shou’ (Long Life) and on others ‘Fu’ (Prosperity). She appeared to take great pride in her firmness of touch and the accuracy of line. On another sheet, with beauty in the stroke, she painted a single great character some four feet long.

  Chief Eunuch Li appeared at my side. He said, ‘As you see, Dr. Watson, Her Imperial Majesty is remarkably clever with her fingers.’

  A short while later, at a signal, Li packed the entourage out of the room like a herding dog shooing sheep. I was now the only person with the Empress Dowager in the immense Audience Hall. Our greetings completed, she began, ‘Dr. Watson, I wish to be alone with you, to tell you things, to explain things. If I hesitate to say the things that are in my mind, how shall I face the spirits of the sacred ancestors when they greet me in the hall of Hades? By day and by night, in the seclusion of my palace, my thoughts dwell only upon my people’s plight. My advisers tell me I am too good-natured and tender-hearted, that my extreme mildness of disposition puts my Dynasty in real danger. I should stamp hard on the secret societies which threaten me with death - especially the Dragonflower Society and the so-called Society of Justice.’

  With a troubled look she continued, ‘I am beset by enemies. They would throw away the Empire as one who casts away a worn-out shoe. Their incorrigible wickedness renders them one and all deserving of death. The leniency I have shown them has
but increased their arrogance. The number of these evil-doers has grown by reason of the tolerance extended to them. They circulate terrible pamphlets about me. They say the Manchus usurped the Chinese throne, stealing the country from its people, plunging China into stagnation and backwardness. The people say a non-Manchu life is of no more value to me than the life of a beetle or a fly. On the contrary, I think long and hard before I order someone’s execution. I never order Death by a Thousand Cuts. I consider it cruel.’

  She paused, tears in her eyes.

  ‘I know there are those who would overthrow me, even force me to kill myself by swallowing a lump of gold. They say I must be got rid of, or our country will perish. ‘Our’ country! How many of our subjects do they have dependent on their judgement? A handful at most. And I? 400 million. Such evil people refer to me as ‘The old rotten...’.’

  With great reluctance she added ‘deadbeat’.

  She continued, ‘I cannot imagine why those double-faced villains call me a...’ again she struggled with ‘deadbeat’. ‘We who are cheetahs, lions, while those who would replace us are jackals and hyenas. I sigh and weep tears of blood over this. I cannot tell you why they use that disgraceful word. We are at a loss to find the aim of such language as this. It is language altogether false and evil.’

  She pointed to an ornate yellow silk casket displaying a range of imperial seals made from white jade, agate, crystal and nephrite.

  ‘They even forge my Decrees and smuggle them out of the Zijin Cheng sewn into belts. Now I have ordered all my decrees to be printed on special Imperial yellow paper and their contents made known throughout the length and breadth of my Empire.’

  She brushed her eyes.

  ‘These people are red-turbaned bandits, beetles enjoying a meal of snake’s brains. They are rats feasting on excrement. Ten years ago certain evil-disposed persons bamboozled the young and impetuous Emperor, self-proclaimed visionaries who indulged in the wildest notions. They wished only to force him to distort and discard the old virtues. For a while we listened to the siren-call of these so-called Modernists. We were in favour of reforms. We permitted certain energetic measures, especially ones intended to put an end to the many and increasing abuses of peculating officialdom which exist all over my Empire.