by Ron Miller
There were a dozen trains passing through the city every day, carrying coal and iron down from the mountains to the coastal ports. The problem was that the main yards, as well as the city train station, were located only a short distance west of the palace. Still, the easternmost part of the yards lay less than a quarter of a mile due north of the palace. I figured it was our best chance, since the river and the southern roads would be the most closely watched routes.
Pat suggested that we ought to hole up somewhere until dark and I agreed. Even if the emperor’s men didn’t spot us, we were sure to be noticed by a citizen who I was certain would take no chances and report us.
We seemed safe enough where we were for the time being. The buildings that hemmed us in were stucco-covered brick but raised a little over three feet on pilings. We hunkered into the shadowed crawlspace, I for one hoping there’d be no rats.
I was sure that no one would suspect we’d gone to ground so close to the palace. The search for us, I was sure, was spreading in an ever-widening circle . . . and getting further and further away.
Pat reminded me again that it would be a long trip to Ying-kou and we needed food—an clothing, too. We wouldn’t get very far if we didn’t get ourselves cleaned up. Our faces were streaked with dirt, blood and soot and our clothes were torn to ribbons.
I agreed and, for the first time, took stock of our surroundings. It consisted mostly of empty cartons and old vegetable crates and bins filled with tin cans and garbage. I figured we’d gotten lucky and found refuge under a restaurant or grocery. I risked a glance from our hiding place. Of the three walls that hemmed in the alley, only one had a window. I hoped it was one in a place with food.
Meanwhile, I found a couple of apples that’d been overlooked in the bottom of a basket. It wasn’t much but they’d have to last us until dark. I was glad we’d both had a big breakfast.
There was nothing to do but keep out of sight until night fell. Pat snuggled up against me, leaned her head against my shoulder and instantly fell asleep. Her bronze hair tumbled under my chin and I could smell it. It sure smelled better than the alley.
I must have dozed off, too, for the next thing I knew it was dark. I shook Pat’s shoulder. As usual, she was instantly awake, her eyes popping open like a doll’s. She glanced up at the window and my eyes followed hers. The square was dark.
I didn’t think anyone would see me. The nearest street lamp was half a block away and the narrow gap between the buildings was pitch dark. I stood up and looked in the window. It was easy: by standing on a crate the sill was at the level of my chest.
“Can you see anything inside?” Pat whispered into my ear. Her face had never been this close to mine and I noticed that her breath smelled like cinnamon.
“I’m not sure. Looks like piles of baskets and boxes.”
“Got to be something to eat in them.”
“Nothing for it but to try.”
I tested the sash and was astonished to discover that it was unlocked. I swung it out and hoisted myself over the sill. I swung my legs into the room and turned to help Pat clamber in. We stood for a moment, looking into the room, allowing our eyes to adjust. Pat immediately headed for the nearest basket. She pulled off the lid and looked inside.
“Food!” she whispered.
I tried one. It was filled with some sort of dried fruit.
“Look around and see if you can find a sack or a bag we can put this stuff in.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
We were so busy looting the place neither one of us noticed when we were no longer alone.
I sure noticed, though, when the beam of a flashlight hit me square in the face. Whoever was behind the light said something that sounded like “Nǐ shì shuí?”
I could see now it was an old man. I could also see that he had a flashlight in one hand and a revolver in the other. And neither hand was shaky.
“Wǒmen shì bùshì xiǎotōu shūshu,” Pat replied. They went on in that vein for some little while, sounding friendlier and friendlier while I was sweating blood the whole time.
The old Chink looked about a hundred years old. His face resembled nothing more than a badly tied knot in a yard of hemp rope, with two bright black bead-like eyes that looked too much like a snake’s to suit me. He couldn’t have been more than five feet tall. Small and ancient he might be, that pistol didn’t waver so much as an inch.
“It’s all right,” Pat said, finally. “I explained everything to him. I figured anyone his age would consider the emperor a Jap sympathizer and traitor and I was right. He’s perfectly keen on helping get us out of the city.
“How does he propose doing that?”
“Let me see if he has any ideas.”
Pat and the old man jabbered at one another for another five minutes. Pat finally turned to me with an odd expression.
“He wants to know,” she said, “if you’re the same Carl Denham who caught the big monkey.”
“Go ahead and tell him.”
She did and the old man got even more excited.
“What’s he saying?”
“Wonders will never cease, I guess,” she said. “Turns out that old Weng here is a third cousin of a third cousin of an uncle of this Charlie of yours.”
“Well, what do you know about that?”
“He says such an illustrious friend of Charlie’s is like one of the family, so far as he’s concerned.”
“So he’s willing to help us?”
“No problem. He says he makes a weekly trip to the market in Shenyang. That’s about three hundred kilometers—maybe a hundred and eighty miles or so—from here. Takes him about half a day to make the trip. He stays overnight with a nephew who lives there and returns the next day. Ying-kou is another hundred and eighty kilometers—about a hundred and ten miles—beyond that. We’d be well outside the emperor’s influence by then and should have no problem reaching the port.”
And that’s pretty much exactly what happened. The old man fed us first. It was only some rice and vegetables and tea but it was one of the most welcome meals I’d ever had. There wasn’t too much he could do about our clothing other than give us each a set of the plain-looking outfits I’d seen pretty much everyone wearing: cotton trousers, a jacket with four patch pockets and a pair of sandals. After we’d washed up, we put these on. I looked bad enough with six inches of wrist and ankle hanging out, but Pat looked like a gawky teenager.
The old put us up in a garret room for the night and by dawn the next morning we found ourselves buried under a load of wicker baskets in the back of an antique Ford truck and already half a dozen miles south of Changchun. The road was a modern one and we made better time than I’d expected.
We arrived in Shenyang shortly after noon. The old man went directly to his nephew, who ran a wholesale rice business. It was in the center of the city, not far from the train station. The nephew was a tall, slender young man, maybe twenty-five or thirty years old. He wore round, black-framed glasses and Western clothes and looked pretty prosperous. When he heard our story from his uncle, he gave Pat and me a toothy smile. She took over from the old man and you could see that the nephew was mightily impressed. I suspect he was taken with more than just her command of the language.
Pat turned to me and said, “He thinks we ought to be able to safely take a train from here,”
“Sure,” I agreed. “But how do you intend to pay for our tickets? We left everything behind when we were arrested.”
“You really need to develop a more positive attitude, Carl.” She then spoke to the two Chinese. There was a lot of jabbering and arm-waving, but apparently whatever point she was trying to get across got made. She turned to me and said, “Look, you stay here and get something to eat. I’ll be back in half an hour.”
I tried to get more out of her, but you’d think I’d have known better by then. She left with the nephew, leaving me with the old man. I was spared having to come up with conversation since either Pat or the nephew had e
vidently left him with instructions as to my care and feeding. He gave me a toothless grin and a bow and scurried off in slippered feet to what I guessed was probably the kitchen. At least I hoped so.
There was a lot of sing-song chatter and about five minutes later an attractive young woman appeared. I assumed it was the nephew’s wife. Unlike her husband, she was dressed in traditional Chinese costume. When she spotted me she gave me a 100-watt smile. She bore a wicker tray piled with food, which she started unloading on the table in front of me. There was rice and vegetables and fish and an enormous pot of steaming tea.
I was still eating when Pat and the nephew returned. She was wearing a new outfit and carrying a couple of suitcases I hadn’t seen before.
“Everything’s jake, Carl,” she said, picking at the food I’d left for her.
“What’re you talking about?”
“I got tickets on the three-fifteen for Ying-kou and some fresh clothes for both of us. You’d better finish eating and get cleaned up. We don’t have much time.”
“Tickets? Clothes? Where’d you get the money?”
“Don’t be silly. This town has a bank, doesn’t it? All I had to do was see the manager and write a check. What did you think I was doing? Hocking the family jewels? I’m glad you left something to eat. I’m starved!”
There’s not much point in drawing this out. We thanked our hosts profusely. At least Pat did for the both of us. We caught the train and at three-fifteen sharp we were on our way to Ying-kou and—I fervently hoped—Captain Englehorn.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
We found Englehorn waiting impatiently in the port city of Ying-kou. The Venture had been sitting there for days without any word from us. For all the captain knew, we were still in Tang’s camp. After getting our things into our cabins and polishing ourselves up a little, Pat and I met the captain on the bridge. A few minutes later, he was up-to-date.
“I think,” I said, “it would probably be a good idea for us to get on our way as soon as possible.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Englehorn replied, “but that might be easier said than done.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Take a look at this,” he said, handing me a sheaf of colorful paper. It was a thick stack of Chinese currency.
“Well? Isn’t this enough?”
“I thought so when I handed it to the chandler after I’d ordered our coal and supplies. But it’s all phony, Denham. Counterfeit.”
“Counterfeit? You mean it’s no good?”
“Unless you plan to paper the walls in your cabin with it. Otherwise it’s not worth the paper it’s printed on.”
“Would you pardon me a moment, Pat?”
“Sure, Carl. I’m sure I’ve heard worse.”
I did my best to prove her wrong and placed every curse on General Tang I could think of and a few I made up on the spot. I was disappointed to see that not one made Pat blush.
“Well,” I said to Englehorn when I’d finished, “what do we do now?”
“I don’t know. I doubt we have enough to get out of the Yellow Sea. If we can’t fill the bunkers, we’re stuck in Chinese waters.”
“That won’t do us any good.”
“What really irks me,” Pat said, “was losing those planes.”
“Well,” said the captain, “there’s some good news there. Tang had only two pilots, so he bought only two planes. The old ones because his pilots weren’t experienced enough for the modern job. There’s a plane still in the hold.”
“That’s something at any rate,” she said.
“Yeah. Maybe we can chop it up and feed it into the boilers.”
“Over my dead body.”
“You hear anything,” I asked the captain, “from Buck or Andrews before you left?”
“Both of them boys ran into trouble. Buck with the Jap authorities, Frank with the bandits that seem to have taken over the area west of Manchuko. They were both headed back to Yulin last I heard. I would’ve waited for them, but I was anxious to get to Ying-kou to meet you. They’ll be all right.”
Pat offered to go ashore and find a bank. “I can cash a check,” she said, “and be back here in a couple of hours.”
I told her no dice. A dinky burg like Shenyang was one thing, but Yulin was another altogether. I was still worried about Henry and just how far his influence might reach. I doubted whether the Japs took him very seriously, but you never knew. I wouldn’t feel really comfortable until we’d gotten into international waters. But at the moment, I didn’t see any way for us to get out of Ying-kou’s harbor, let alone anywhere else.
I was leaning on the railing at the forecastle, chain-smoking and watching the sampans that crowded the harbor. It would have been a pretty sight under any other circumstances. In fact, I was half wishing I’d had my cameraman with me. I heard someone come up beside me and I smelled the cinnamon even before she spoke.
“I could go into the city and get the money from a bank,” she said. “We could be out of here in forty-eight hours.”
“I don’t know. I’d rather wait and see what happens than see you risk going ashore. Something will turn up.”
“Like what? You got some lottery tickets tucked away? Expecting a legacy from dear old Aunt Violet? You’re crazy if you don’t let me do this.”
“I know I’m crazy, but I just have this feeling, this prem—prem—”
“Premonition?”
“Yeah. That we’re all better off sitting tight right here.”
“You’d be better off getting tight than moping around this boat. You’re getting me depressed.”
“I’m not moping. I’m thinking.”
“That would depress anyone. Who’s that, I wonder?”
She was pointing into the harbor where I saw a motor boat heading for us full tilt. It was flying the Jap flag.
“Oh, great!” I said, flinging my last butt over the side. “This really tears it.”
“You think it’s Henry?”
“Who else?”
A sailor in the bow of the motor boat was waving flags which must have meant something to Englehorn because I heard him order the gangway lowered. The motor boat pulled up neatly and a couple of minutes later, its passengers were stepping onto the Venture’s deck. Two were uniformed officers but I was surprised by the third. It was a distinguished-looking middle-aged Jap in the cutaway coat and top hat of a diplomat. Englehorn was there to welcome them aboard and was obviously just as nervous as I was as to their intentions.
There was a little chit-chat and then Englehorn turned to wave to me. I strolled over as casually as I could. The civilian was a small, slight man who reminded me strongly of Peter Lorre, if Lorre were ever to play a Jap, which is hard to imagine.
“Carl,” Englehorn said, “this is Mr. Nakayama. Mr. Nakayama, Carl Denham.”
I shook hands warily, waiting for Nakayama to be the first to say something. He was.
“A great pleasure it is indeed to meet you, Mr. Denham,” he said, all smiles and in perfect English. “I have come a very long way indeed to find you.”
“The pleasure’s all mine,” I said. The pleasure being, of course, in the apparent friendliness of the Jap. He didn’t look or sound like someone who’d come to arrest me. But then, you can never tell about these people.
“Is there somewhere private we can speak?” he said, turning to the captain. “I have some very important business indeed that concerns Mr. Denham. And you as well, Captain.”
“We can meet in the salon. That’ll be private enough right now.”
Nakayama appeared to notice Pat for the first time. “And of course the lovely Miss—”
“Wildman,” she said.
“—will join us?”
“Couldn’t keep me away with a baseball bat.”
I looked at both of them with God knows what thoughts going through my head. That little dialog sounded like something out of a movie . . . and just as scripted. If Nakayama and Pat didn’t alread
y know one another, I was a monkey’s uncle. And maybe I was at that.
Nakayama said a word to the two officers, who remained behind as he followed the captain, Pat and me as we led him to the salon. We took seats around the big table in the center of the room, while Englehorn took a key from his chain and unlocked a wall cabinet. He took a bottle and four glasses from this and placed them on the table.
“I hope you’ll join me in a drink, Mr. Nakayama,” the captain said. “I need one if no one else does.”
Nakayama said he’d be delighted beyond words, indeed, so the captain poured a couple of fingers of the rotgut he kept reserved for himself. Then he did the same for Pat and me. He raised his glass and we followed suit.
“May I suggest a toast to international cooperation and accord?”
“Sounds jake to me,” I said and we all sipped our drinks.
“Oh my, that is indeed most delicious! I congratulate you, Captain!”
“Don’t mention it.”
“So, what can we do for you, Mr. Nakayama?” I said.
“I think it might be better to ask what I hope you may be able to do for me. Or, to be truly precise, I should say: what Mr. Denham here can do for me.”
“Me?” I asked.
“Yes, Mr. Denham. Your recent, ah, adventures have not been overlooked in Tokyo. Indeed, our consul in New York kept us quite up to date on your expedition to Skull Island and its, ah, unfortunate aftermath.”
“I’m glad to hear I have such devoted admirers.”
“Indeed. However, I hope you will forgive me for saying that my superiors in Tokyo are not quite so interested in your fantastic ape as they are in the island on which you discovered it.”
“Skull Island? There’s nothing there but death—death and the most horrible monsters to ever walk this earth.”
“You have touched upon the gist, Mr. Denham, indeed you have. You have gone straight to the heart of the matter. My superiors are especially interested in your descriptions of the, ah fauna, the active vulcanism, the lush vegetation and the ruins of an ancient civilization. And, most fascinating of all, the possibility of vast deposits of oil and other, ah, valuable resources.”
