The Eleventh Tiger

by David A. McIntee

  The smell of salt water, oil and fish rose in the air along with the sun. Wherever they were Barbara knew it had to be coastal, or perhaps an estuary. The road ahead breasted a ridge and, as they climbed, the smell became stronger.

  As light spread towards them she saw that she was right. A city sprawled across the long east-west curve of a wide river, which then flowed south, and widened still further, on the far side of the city. Most of the buildings were low and brick-built, with wooden or tiled roofs. Many were enclosed in their own little courtyards and compounds.

  Barbara couldn’t help thinking it was an organic, growing city. It was solid at its heart, but new buildings spored out towards its edges like a moss thriving on the moist side of a rock.

  Larger, more impressive buildings flowered here and there.

  A rather Gothic-looking cathedral rose by the riverside, and behind it, a few streets further inland, there was what looked like a mosque. On a low hill to the left, overlooking the city, there was a dark pagoda at least five storeys high. A wall had been set up around it, patrolled by men in uniform, though none of them was manning the cannon dotted around the walls. There were more walled fortresses on the other islands that dotted the river here and there.

  Off in the distance there was a shipyard. All the ships Barbara could see, either on the water or in the construction yards, had sails, though there were also some vessels with funnels belching steam. ‘Doctor,’ she said, ‘the design of those ships is too primitive for the 1960s.’

  ‘No, no, you’re quite right,’ the Doctor admitted. ‘The late nineteenth century, I should say.’

  ‘I think so too,’ Barbara agreed. ‘And that tower looks Chinese.’

  She looked back at the dark pagoda, and tried to remember what China had been like when the TARDIS had brought them there before. Barbara Wright the Coal Hill schoolteacher would have had no trouble recalling a trip to the far side of the world, but Barbara the traveller in time and space had seen so many wonders that a lot of them had stopped being wonders. It saddened her for a moment.

  ‘I think you’re right, Barbara,’ Ian said behind her. ‘We passed two Chinamen earlier.’

  ‘Yes, wearing queues. I think they stopped that before the war, didn’t they? But they’d certainly still be wearing them in the nineteenth century.’ She kicked herself mentally. ‘I wish we’d asked them where we were.’

  ‘Well, my dear,’ the Doctor said, ‘I’m sure we can find someone to tell us both the place and the date down there, couldn’t we? And perhaps something for breakfast. I’m rather peckish, I must say.’

  ‘Me too,’ Ian admitted. ‘And it’s not like this city is likely to be full of Daleks or radiation. It’s only the Victorian era.’

  ‘It could be the Boxer rebellion,’ Barbara reminded her companions. But she doubted it. The city looked too peaceful for that, and some instinct told her that they had arrived there earlier than the time of the Boxers.

  As they made their way into the city they began to pass more people and receive more glances. Nearer the waterfront the streets were crowded, and uncomfortably so. Barbara hated this as much as she hated rush hour in London - the flow of people bouncing her around like the ball in a roulette wheel. She held on to Ian’s hand, so that she wouldn’t be pulled away by the pedestrian current and then have to spend hours looking for him.

  The time travellers attracted a few curious, suspicious or downright hostile glances, but most people ignored them.

  Barbara suspected that the glances - the curious ones, at least - were more for their clothes than their race. There were other white people around, mostly dressed in suits or uniforms she recognised as being nineteenth century. There were priests - Jesuits, by the style of their clothes - and some French and American soldiers, though most of the soldiers were in Victorian-style British uniforms. Some of the Chinese also wore uniforms, and flattened hats like upturned baskets. She didn’t know whether they were the local army or the police. While the western soldiers were either armed with rifles or unarmed and presumably off duty, the uniformed Chinese were all bearing swords, with only the occasional pistol.

  ‘The 1860s, I think,’ Barbara said to Ian.

  ‘The uniforms look about that sort of era,’ he agreed.

  ‘Too early for the Boxers, but probably not too long after the Opium Wars.’

  Barbara found herself smiling. Someone had once said that the past was another country, but she didn’t think they realised it was the sort of country that it would be rewarding to mount an expedition to. No doubt the idea of said country being suitable for a holiday was also not intended.

  ‘Your assessment of this place is quite right, I should say,’

  the Doctor chipped in. He smiled and chuckled. ‘Vicki has spotted an inn, where we might find both some sustenance and confirmation of what the time and place are.’

  He pointed with his walking cane to a relatively high building on a corner.

  There Vicki, ever the enthusiastic explorer, was waiting for them. Barbara sometimes wondered whether she and Ian ever also seemed to the Doctor’s eyes like the excitable children of a holidaying family. She hoped not, but suspected this was a vain hope. She felt settled here, in the past again, and, after all, there were worse things than being enthusiastic or passionate about what one did with one’s time.

  Guangzhou might be eighteen hundred years later than Rome, but it didn’t seem to be much more advanced.

  Considering how different the Roman period was to her own time, Vicki had thought that with technology developing over the years the differences between the two cities would have been far more noticeable.

  She had expected to see vehicles powered by internal com-bustion engines, but there were none around. She wasn’t quite sure whether this was because they hadn’t been invented yet, or whether there simply weren’t any in the city.

  In any case she wasn’t complaining; there was plenty to see and do, by the looks of things.

  Confident that the others would stay close behind her she had allowed herself to wander, admiring the banners and paper lanterns that hung above the streets, and the bolts of silk in shops hidden under bright awnings. Though there were no cars, the streets were far from empty and she found herself winding between people, obstacles and vehicles under more organic power. There were bicycles, and rickshaws, and horses, and chickens, and although there were men carrying rifles as well as swords, nothing else seemed to have advanced.

  If anything, the smell was worse than it had been in Rome, as if man’s knowledge of sewerage had somehow regressed rather than advanced. It wasn’t all bad, though. There was a smell of food that was pulling at her like a black hole pulled at, well, anything and everything. True, there were other, less palatable smells as well - of animals, filth, incense, wood smoke and a lot of other things she couldn’t identify because they no longer existed in her time. None of them deflected her attention away from the scent of spices and frying oil.

  It was coming from a three-storey brick and wood building on the next corner. Chinese characters hung from a sign, and were painted on lamps that hung both inside and out. The carved shutters over the windows were open and folded back, so Vicki could see almost all of the ground floor and first floor.

  The place looked well populated, with trays of steaming bowls on many tables and laughing faces enjoying their contents. A couple of girls in tight, if well-worn, silks were ferrying bottles and mugs around. Somewhere at the back of the ground floor a man was chopping something. He was larger than anyone else Vicki could see in the building.

  She turned, and for one gut-tightening moment thought she’d lost the others. Then she saw the Doctor’s white hair, and Ian and Barbara a few yards behind him. She ran back to the Doctor. ‘I’ve found breakfast. An inn or something. It looks well filled, and most of the customers seem clean, so it’s probably a good choice.’

  The Doctor smiled, chuckling to himself. ‘We’re becoming quite the little travel expert a
ren’t we? Hmm? Yes, that’s very good. Very good indeed.’

  He looked around for Ian and Barbara, and stepped over to them to pass on the news. Vicki turned again, and this time went through the doors of the building.

  The ground floor of the inn was, barring the style of lamps and carvings, much like any other the time travellers had visited in different eras. It had a worn feel, but one that was homely and lived-in rather than tired out. The smell of beer and dark wine was overwhelmed by the smell of spices, frying vegetables and steaming meat.

  It was completely irresistible.

  The innkeeper was a hawk-faced man with a scarred cheek.

  When he looked at the travellers one eye moved further than the other, and Vicki suspected the latter was glass. He looked surreptitiously around at his other customers with a troubled expression. Vicki couldn’t think why, though she did notice that the murmur of conversation had lessened when they came in.

  The Doctor pointed to an empty table with four stools around it, two on either side. ‘I suggest we take a seat. I can order for all of us. Whichever province of China this is, I speak the local dialect, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ Ian agreed.

  At the sound of his voice, the rest of the inn fell silent. Vicki could feel eyes on her back, and began to wonder if she’d made such a good choice after all. She dismissed the worry; this was a civilised place, a city on Earth. Even if someone here was a criminal, they’d hardly start trouble in a public place.

  Ian and Barbara sat on one side of the table, opposite the Doctor and Vicki. The Doctor went over to the man with the glass eye and spoke to him. While he was there Vicki looked around. There were a couple of white men at another table, but they were concentrating on their meal. Everyone else was looking at the time travellers’ table.

  It was more specific than that, Vicki realised after a moment: they were looking at Ian. Their expressions ranged from surprise through curiosity to indignation, and they were all looking at Ian.

  The Doctor returned, flanked by a waitress carrying a tray of dim sum. He didn’t seem to notice the looks. ‘Help yourselves,’ he said, taking his stool.

  Vicki took his walking cane while he got himself settled.

  ‘Thank you, child.’

  Vicki felt more comfortable sitting with the Doctor rather than with Ian and Barbara. It wasn’t that she disliked them -

  they were smart enough, considering they came from a time not much evolved beyond this one, and they were good people. It was just that she didn’t feel at ease being in their way. They were so much a couple - almost a gestalt entity, she sometimes thought - that she felt like an intruder when she was around. Or sometimes just like a fifth wheel.

  Vicki suddenly realised how hungry she really was. The food machine in the TARDIS seemed able to supply any amount of nutrition, and could even manage the taste of real food, but it wasn’t really real. It didn’t have the right texture, and you certainly couldn’t sit and have a chat over a meal the size of a chocolate bar, even if it did taste like steak and eggs.

  She helped herself to spring rolls, noodles, steamed dumplings and anything else her arms could reach. As she had found in Rome, the food in the past tasted better, or at least more real, than the food of her time.

  On the ship to Astra - and even on Earth in her time -

  everything was engineered and processed to be nutritious and healthy, but it all tasted much the same. She looked over at Ian and Barbara, who were chatting and relaxed as they picked at the buffet. Though they came from a time not much more advanced than this one, she envied them the food they ate. Healthy or not, at least it was worthy of the name.

  ‘This is excellent,’ Barbara exclaimed.

  ‘Much better than anything out of the food machine,’ Ian agreed, echoing Vicki’s thought.

  ‘And just what is wrong with the food machine?’ the Doctor asked haughtily, though Vicki could tell from his tone that he was being playful rather than truly offended.

  ‘Nothing, Doctor,’ Ian said, doing a good job of faking ruefulness. ‘But you have to admit that nutrition bars, however well flavoured, are no match for the real thing.’

  Vicki got the feeling their banter was an old and favourite game for both of them.

  ‘Oh, aren’t they, young man? The Ship does have a kitchen, you know - or perhaps I should say a galley. If I were to collect ingredients, perhaps you’d care to do the cooking from now on, eh?’

  Ian looked tempted. ‘Well, I’m no cordon bleu, but I know how to fry an egg -’

  ‘Chesterton!’ a voice from a nearby table exclaimed.

  It was a man with the waxy face of a drinker, and the stained clothes of one whose drinking gets less accurate with every cup of wine. His face seemed to be caught in a battle between the expressions of a jackpot winner and a crash survivor. The whole populace of the restaurant looked at the travellers.

  ‘Yes,’ Ian said cautiously. ‘My name’s Chesterton.’

  ‘Chesterton,’ the half-drunk man said again.

  Vicki was astonished. ‘How did he know your name?’

  Ian could only shrug and look baffled as the drunkard put his massive knuckles on the table and pushed himself up from his stool. He came over, almost managing to walk in a straight line.

  ‘You must have more guts than we thought, to come in here with only an old man and a couple of your gwailo whores for company - or less brains than we thought.’

  ‘Look friend,’ Ian began tartly, ‘I don’t care what you think you’ve got against me, but if you don’t take back what -’

  His protest ended in a solid smack of drunken fist against speaking mouth.

  The old temple off the Baiyun road didn’t look nearly as spooky in the morning light. It was just a tumbledown old building, with grass for a floor, and plants and flowers covering the walls. Fei-Hung felt more than a little foolish.

  Perhaps he had been tricked by a shadow or the movement of trees in the wind?

  That’s what his father would say, anyway. He was sure of that. But he was also sure the wind didn’t make the sound he had heard, and neither did it cast a flashing light. There were certainly no lamps in the old ruin.

  ‘Where were you, exactly?’ his father asked.

  Fei-Hung pointed to an arch. ‘Through there.’

  Wong-sifu immediately made for the arch and, after a moment’s hesitation, Fei-Hung followed. He wasn’t sure whether he was expecting to see anything or not. The daylight had banished most of the fear, and even if there had been anything demonic, surely it would have returned to one of the hells by dawn.

  Fei-Hung stepped through the arch - and froze, a chill trickling down his spine. The gate that had appeared from nowhere was still there. ‘There it is.’

  Kei-Ying moved closer to it, but Fei-Hung stayed where he was for a moment. In the light he could see that it was more like a kind of wooden box - the size of two or three coffins stuck together - that had appeared in the gap in the wall.

  ‘You see, I told you!’

  His father gave him a withering look, which mellowed after a moment. ‘This box is new, but it’s nothing supernatural.’

  He pointed to some writing above the doors and on one of the panels. ‘This writing is in the European alphabet. It probably belongs to the compound on Xamian Island, or one of the companies in town.’

  ‘Then what’s it doing out here?’

  Kei-Ying stepped back, studying the box. ‘I don’t know. It’s out of the way, but they haven’t hidden it or covered it up. It could be abandoned, I suppose. Or some sort of small supply cabinet for columns nearing the city. I wonder how heavy it is; the noise you heard could have been some kind of steam-driven traction-engine that was carrying it.’

  Fei-Hung shook his head. ‘Nothing carried it,’ he insisted.

  ‘It appeared out of nothing. I saw it,’ he added emphatically.

  He knew it sounded insane, but he also knew he wasn’t given to flights of fancy, and he ho
ped his father knew this too.

  After a moment Kei-Ying nodded. ‘I believe you believe that’s what you saw.’ He turned back to the box and made to pat its side. Instantly, he drew his hand back. ‘What the -?’

  ‘Father?’ Fei-Hung was immediately on guard, though he wasn’t sure what he was guarding against.

  ‘It... tingles.’

  ‘Tingles?’

  Wong-sifu nodded.

  Gingerly, Fei-Hung put out a hand towards the wooden door. There was a strange feeling in his fingertips, as if the flesh was trying to ripple against the bone inside. He jumped back. ‘Magic?’

  ‘Maybe... The man who owns the Hidden Panda does deals of some kind with one of the Englishmen at Xamian. Perhaps he’ll know something about this.’

  Kei-Ying turned on his heel and marched out of the temple.

  Fei-Hung was glad to follow.

  It didn’t take long for them to return to the city. They came in past the docks this time in order to have a shorter walk to the Hidden Panda. As they neared it they could hear shouts, and the occasional crash of pottery or furniture. People in the street were looking towards the junction where the Hidden Panda stood.

  Fei-Hung hoped the trouble wasn’t there; his father’s friend was almost certainly a good man simply by virtue of being his father’s friend, and Fei-Hung didn’t want such a person to be hurt. He started running, his father matching him stride for stride.

  Through the open framework of the ground floor Fei-Hung could see a fight going on. The inn was in uproar. Labourers and merchants alike were struggling together in a knot of bodies in the middle of the floor.

  Two hefty men - dock workers, perhaps - were restraining an older white man. A white girl was trying to pull them away from him, while a white woman was clawing at the knot of men trying to break them up. A few other men dotted around were using the chaos to settle private scores, or just joining in for fun.