“Do you think people will believe us when we get back home?” Samy asked. His Malay was soft-spoken for a commoner, Johari thought, especially for one who had never been to school.
“You mean, when we land in the palace grounds with a giant balloon?” Johari pointed out. “I’m just hoping no one shoots us down first.”
Samy choked on a nervous laugh. “As-sayyida did send a message to the Seberang Prai outpost for the Sultan. He should be expecting us.”
“And if he doesn’t believe the letter at first, he will when we land. Where’s the long-scope?”
“Here.”
Johari took the long-scope from Samy and peered over the side of the basket. “We should be there in a day and a night. The dawn tomorrow, I think.” He squeezed the long-scope. “I’m nervous.”
Samy nodded in agreement, although Johari wasn’t looking. “I asked as-sayyida if she’ll give us shore leave once we’ve delivered the message.”
“What did she say?” Johari asked, folding the long-scope and handing it back.
“She said yes, of course.”
“Huh. So what will you do with your shore leave?”
“I’m going to visit my family.” Samy patted the furnace. “Tell them all about this adventure.”
“Are they in Kedah?”
“Yes. Yours?”
Johari sat down on the floor moodily. “Terengganu.”
“Have you heard from them at all?” Samy knew only a little of Johari’s former life, through what he had seen of Johari’s education. He knew Johari had been the son of an elite family, but never got the details.
“Not since I left home, and joined as-sayyida’s crew.” Johari tried to remember how long it had been.
“You should at least write. It is good to keep family.” Samy smiled reassuringly. “But if you have nowhere to go for shore leave, I’m sure my family will welcome two intrepid travelers home.”
Johari smiled back.
“But first, we must go to this one hawker I know who makes the best pasembur in Kedah.”
“Friend, I hate to contradict you but the best pasembur is in Melaka.” Johari grinned, already dreaming of the smells of foods sold on the docks.
“Oh ho! If we’re talking the best ever, then…”
Temenggung Rajanathan Mohan squinted at the morning sky, having just finished subuh prayers. The missive the Sultan had received had set the guards on edge. Expect visitors from the sky, indeed. Fortunately, this didn’t entail more guards, since they were expecting only two people.
He yawned and stepped out of the surau, preparing to head back to the main palace. The path was comfortably lined with smooth pebbles that massaged his feet as he walked.
Ten steps in and he heard a shout, knew what it was for, and his head almost snapped backwards to see a large basket, attached to a great orb of cow skin, just as the letter described. A youth leaned over the side of the basket, waving frantically.
“Asalamualaikum, tuan!” the boy shouted. “Where can we put down the balloon?”
“Front courtyard!” the Temenggung yelled back, forgetting his manners. He ran to the palace, through the hallways past bewildered servants, and out to the front garden. “Everyone move!” he bellowed at the gawking guards. He waved at the floating basket, feeling quite removed from his own body in surprise.
“Samy! You can lower us now,” Johari called, heaving a sandbag anchor over the side.
“Working on it,” Samy grunted as he pushed the lever that would close off the furnace from the balloon. He had been working all morning, lowering the balloon enough for Johari to see where they were going, and yet high enough so they wouldn’t be noticed, and now this was as low as they could go while staying aloft. When the balloon didn’t seem to want to go any lower, he fanned the opening, trying to push in cool air, not that it helped, considering how humid the weather was. “We might have to jump.”
“I am not jumping,” Johari retorted, and threw out another anchor. “Tuan! Would you mind pulling us down?”
After a lot of shouting, guards tugging at the ropes of the anchors, and telling people to calm down, Temenggung Rajanathan found himself looking down at the two messenger-pilots, who knelt respectfully before him. “Are you Johari and Samy?”
“Yes, tuan.”
Bendahara Tun Muasif came running. “Are these the two skyfarers? I wish I hadn’t missed the sight!” He stared down at them. “They don’t look like much. Are you sure it’s them?”
“Do you want to wait for another two boys in a basket with a balloon?”
“I suppose not. Come on, then.”
Bathed, groomed and freshly dressed, Johari felt better than he had in the days spent almost free-floating in the sky. He had declined the clothes the royal staff offered, as he had been told, even as it irked him to do so; he hadn’t been brought up to deny gifts. The staff were impressed by the finery that the sayyida had furnished him with. He walked through the hallways led by a retainer, and soon, Samy also joined him, smiling brightly and looking proud in his new clothes.
The Temenggung was waiting for them at the door of the throneroom. “Ready?”
They glanced at each other, and nodded.
“In you go then.”
The throneroom was not very large, but the windows made it an airy space, filling it with sunshine.
Sultan Abdullah Makarram Shah III sat on his throne, and he beckoned to the boys entering. They slowly walked until they were two meters away, then bowed formally. “Asalamualaikum, Tuanku,” Johari said.
“Good morning, Tuanku,” Samy rejoined.
The Sultan nodded, and they kneeled.
“Ampun Tuanku, we were asked to ensure our employer’s missive was received,” continued Samy.
“It has,” Bendahara Tun Muasif replied. “And true to the letter, you have arrived. What is it called?”
“A hot air balloon, Tuan Bendahara,” came the prompt, if slightly quavering, reply. “The hot air, heated by the furnace in the basket, lifts us up.”
“And will your employer be arriving in a similar device?”
“No, Tuan Bendahara, it is like a ship, but one that flies using engines, built by the scientists of Arabia, called a rohani, because it travels between earth and sky.” Samy relaxed a little. This was familiar ground to him; he understood how to explain these things.
The Sultan smiled graciously. “We had heard of such incredible advancements made in the Land of the Faithful.”
“Ampun Tuanku, our employer asks for safe harbor in Seberang Prai. In return, she will demonstrate the rohani’s capabilities for the Kingdom of Kedah, and offer aid in the efforts to hold off the Kingdom of Siam.”
The Sultan narrowed his eyes. Temenggung Rajanathan averted his, remembering full well the latest skirmish, while Bendahara Tun Muasif raised his eyebrows. “Tell me about your employer.”
Samy opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, and he glanced over at Johari in a panic. Johari felt his mouth go dry, but he nodded, and began to recite the carefully-crafted words that had been drilled into him in preparation for this question. “Ampun Tuanku, our employer is Yap Siew Fei, from the Dutch-infested Melaka, who travels in search of knowledge, from the scholars of the Middle Kingdom to the vidvams of Bharat. At her command are four written languages and nine spoken ones, three merchant vessels and men and women of all places and trades. She descends from the court retainers of Princess Hang Li Po, and claims the lands of the Straits of Melaka as her homeland.”
Samy almost whistled in admiration at how smoothly the words rolled out of Johari. He’d delivered them like a true poet, although they both knew who had really written those words.
“Peranakan,” the Bendahara muttered. He had never really liked the communities of Chinese descendants.
“Better than British,” the Temenggung pointed out. “That Francis Light has done nothing for us, despite the gift of Pinang. Even now, he welcomes more Englishmen to consolidate the colony.”
The Sultan’s face didn’t flinch. Samy and Johari exchanged glances. They knew what to say, but neither quite wanted to be the one to say it. Samy, however, looked so nervous, Johari plunged in. “Ampun Tuanku,” he began, hoping he wouldn’t get into trouble for speaking out of turn. “My employer heard of your recent trouble with Siam and the broken contract between Kedah and Captain Francis Light. She wishes you to know that she has dealt with the British before, and knows how easily they break faith, especially now as they seek to expand beyond their island. She begs you not to concede territory to them, and to watch them closely, for they are known to take advantage of the goodwill of others. She has witnessed what they have tried to do to the great kingdoms of Bharat, and offers her services in protecting the sovereignty and prosperity of the Straits Kingdoms.”
“You speak well for a servant,” Bendahara Tun Muasif said curtly.
“Tuan Bendahara, our employer taught us well,” Johari replied defensively, remembering why he ran from home.
“You have done good work,” the Sultan said before the Bendahara could say anything more. “You may go now.”
The two boys prostrated themselves. “Ampun Tuanku.” They stood up and backed away ten paces before turning for the door.
It was early evening when Lu jian-zhang received a surprise visitor. “Fei xiaojie?” He wasn’t sure how she had arrived and wasn’t about to ask. “I thought you would want to stay hidden for as long as possible.”
“We’re not at the Straits yet. Almost, but not quite. You will dock at Seberang Prai.”
“That’s a tight fit. Why not Binlang? Wouldn’t that be more convenient?”
“I did not buy this ship so my captain could worry about navigating difficult courses,” Fei xiao-jie sniffed. “And there are British colonials there now.”
He grinned. Her supercilious manner always amused him, because he and a few others had traveled with her long enough to know she only pretended to be obnoxious. But he understood the decision, and made a mental note to tell his navigator of the next leg’s course. “Would you like some tea, xiao-jie?”
“I would, and then we must talk. I have plans, and I need this ship.”
He escorted her to his cabin and sent for hot water while she made herself comfortable on the chair usually reserved for him. “How long will we be at port?”
“I’m not sure. It depends on what happens at Binlang.”
“You’re being cryptic again,” he told her smilingly, selecting a mix of tea leaves.
“I can’t be clear if I don’t know what will happen,” she said, with annoyance.
“We’ll at least get two weeks, yes?” He handed her a teacup. There was a knock on the door, and he answered it, coming back to the table with a fresh pot of hot water.
Her eyes crinkled with amusement. “We will need that much time to ensure we’ve sampled all the homeland’s food.” She drew out a map from her sleeve pocket and laid it on the table. “Now then.”
“That’s not one of ours,” Captain Francis Light mused as he looked through his telescope at the vessel approaching. “And I don’t recognize the design. Is it approaching our harbor?”
“No, sir,” the lieutenant in charge of the makeshift fort replied. “It appears to be headed toward Seberang Prai.”
“I see.” That worried him. “Any idea what kind of vessel it is?”
“Not built for cargo, that’s for sure. It’s too fast.”
“It’s also chugging smoke. Good God, is that a steam engine? I heard some fellows in Arabia were developing steam technology of their own, but I never thought to see it out and about so fast. And on the sea, too.”
“Any threat?”
“You better have some troops on hand just in case.” Captain Francis Light lowered the telescope. “And prepare cannons, too. I really don’t like the looks of that ship.”
Throughout the day, people sporadically paused in their work to watch the ship that roared in the distance, ever closer, until it docked in Seberang Prai’s harbor, a silver enigma.
Johari and Samy ran to the wharf as soon as they saw the Dao Yi approaching. They ate little meaty snacks while waiting for it to dock and finally throw out its gangplank. They thrust their hands into the seawater to wash the sauce off their fingers, wiped their hands dry on their trousers, and hurried over.
The sayyida came breezing down, radiant as usual. Her kebaya was a fine gray silk from China, trimmed with black floral patterns, although she had the sleeves specially designed to be large and loose, like true Chinese robes. She held her hands out to them, and they ran forward to kiss the ink-stained fingers.
“You made it. Alive,” she said in a rush of earnestness, her fingers wrapped around theirs tightly. “I am so proud of you! Did you get to meet the sultan?” They laughed and grinned, happy at her obvious pride in them. “He says he will speak to you, ya sayyida,” Johari said. “He didn’t say much, but he looked curious.”
“Very good. Have you seen your family, Samy?”
“Yes, ya sayyida, and the whole town is gossiping about retaking Pinang island. And now people are watching the skies to see if more baskets of boys come showering down!”
This made her laugh, so she took them out to lunch.
To Captain Francis Light, representative of the East India Company upon the island Pinang, which you have erroneously called Prince of Wales Island, after a man who has never set foot upon its soil and likely never will. I hope this letter finds you in the best of health, as you will require it in the days following this day of 14 Safar, in the year 1203.
As the new lease holder of the land you are currently living upon, I am empowered to ask you to remove any and all military personnel, which are superfluous for the protection of the coasts of the Kingdom of Kedah, to an alternative outpost along the Straits of Melaka. Whilst your settlement may remain if it is too inconvenient to remove, please bear in mind that it is now under the sovereignty of the Kingdom of Kedah, and while I welcome the business opportunities that the East India Company has to offer, it is highly inappropriate for land that has hitherto belonged to the people of the Straits to remain under the bureaucracy of foreigners.
I understand that the removal of such forces will be a great undertaking, and am willing to permit one week’s grace before I arrive to assume governance of the island of Pinang. Any attempt to resist the smooth transfer of administration will, in sum, result in a violent eviction.
Captain Francis Light wrote an urgent letter to Director Grant in India, loading it once more with arguments for full military support in all West Indies colonies, punctuating it with observations of the vessel sitting in the strait between Seberang Prai and the Prince of Wales Island, attaching a copy of the letter he had received from the so-called new governor of Pinang. He ordered his troops to stand ready for an attack.
As if in response, to make the English troops even more nervous, the Dao Yi ominously began to encircle Pinang Island. It docked in Seberang Prai every few hours for the crew to enjoy proper meals. Lu jian-zhang could be seen standing at the prow of the ship as it rounded the island, watching any activity of the English. The day before Fei xiao-jie was due to take over Binlang Yi, the Dao Yi docked and the crew took shore leave.
Laksamana Amanjid Taksin withdrew his ships, but stayed on one that remained at a certain distance from Pinang Island, to witness more closely the confrontation between Francis Light’s and Cik Yap’s forces. Cik Yap had also requested that a ship stand by to deliver medical assistance.
Sultan Abdullah Makarram Shah III, accompanied by Bendahara Tun Muasif and Temenggung Rajanathan Mohan, traveled to the formerly sleepy seaside town of Seberang Prai, and ensconced themselves in a house that had a clear view of the harbor and the island.
Yap Siew Fei dined on a delicious meal prepared by a local Baba that night, accompanied by Johari and Samy, who elected to stay rather than take shore leave, even if it meant sleeping on the floor in front of the sayyida’s bedroom door.
Sometime the next morning, after she had had a bath, dressed in fresh clothes, eaten a delicious breakfast, and paid her respects at a local temple to Thean Hou in thanks for an excellent voyage and to beg favor for the day’s doings, Yap Siew Fei boarded the Dao Yi again to inspect the island of Pinang (after a brief put-down of her two messenger boys who wanted to come along). She sighed when cannons began to fire at her ship, but was not surprised.
“Fei xiao-jie!” Lu jian-zhang shouted over the commotion. “Take cover!”
She threw him a withering look, then drew a little mirror from her sleeve and caught the flash of the sun in it.
“There it is!” Samy shouted, pointing at the sky. “Rohani! It’s the rohani!” Johari and Samy waved at the shadow that loomed closer from above.
The rohani broke through the clouds. It was not very large, but Johari and Samy thought it looked larger than what they thought it felt like from within. Its sides were the same sleek lines as the Dao Yi, and sailors waved through the glass of the windows all along the hull. Along the bottom, vents roared and blew a wind downwards as the rohani lowered itself, causing housewives and servants to run out and hurriedly collect drying laundry.
The front of the ship’s hull was lined with glass, within which Nakhoda Harun stood firmly right at the front, peering down with a long-scope and occasionally shouting orders to the men and women behind him. He gave a friendly little salute to the crowd cheering beneath him.
On a gesture from him, the rohani surged forward toward the island. Out the sides, cannons groaned out of their stationary positions and pointed downwards.
Yap Siew Fei stabbed a finger in the general direction of wherever it was she guessed shooting was coming from, even as Lu jian-zhang, now at the navigator’s wheel, steered the ship out of range. She held onto the side of the ship as it swerved away, and made a mental note to stand on deck one day when the Dao Yi was going very fast, for entertainment.
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