The Eleventh Tiger

by David A. McIntee

  ‘Didn’t they know that plants are living beings?’ Vicki asked.

  ‘Vicki!’

  Barbara turned back to the baffled-looking Fei-Hung.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right. Anyway, this woman was eventually punished by being sent to a hell where she sat on a bed of spikes, clinging to a basin of blood. Her son, of course, had compassion for her as well as for everyone else, and so he travelled into the hells to find her and try to relieve her suffering.

  ‘When he found her he tried to feed her, but the food he offered would burn to ashes, and water or wine would turn to blood. So he did the only other thing he could think of - pray for her. The Buddha heard and was moved by the monk’s compassion, and decided to intervene. He decreed that once a year the gates of hell were to be opened for a month, so that the souls of the damned could return to earth for relief from their sufferings.’

  ‘And that’s now?’ Vicki looked sidelong at the shadows that were falling across the road from trees and bushes.

  Superstitions of this sort had disappeared centuries ago, as far as she was concerned, and yet the darkness seemed more alive than it had before Fei-Hung told the story. More alive and, by extension, more intriguing. Vicki couldn’t help but wonder what animals - or anything else - might be hidden in the deepening black that was closing in around the road.

  She felt a thrill run up her back. It was easy to imagine all manner of strange creatures - ghosts and dragons, perhaps -

  lurking in the shadows, awaiting careless travellers. She knew such things were just from children’s stories, but it was kind of exciting to think about running into them.

  She wanted to laugh, and to skip along the road the way she had skipped through the roof-top gardens of her childhood home, and through the corridors of the Ship she had been on before she met the Doctor, Ian and Barbara.

  Then she remembered the crash, and the deaths, and she didn’t want to laugh or skip any more. She decided it was silly to want to seek out monsters and danger - those were the things that sought you out and killed the ones you loved when you least expected it.

  But she was enjoying the sense of freshness that being in a new place and time brought her, and wondered if China still had pandas in 1865. Seeing one of those would probably be more pleasant than seeing a ghost.

  It began to rain and Vicki wished she was wearing clothes that were more waterproof. And the jacket of Barbara’s trouser suit wouldn’t react well to the wet if it was as woollen as it looked.

  Fei-Hung put up an umbrella, and both women came closer to him to shelter under it, though it wasn’t really large enough to cover three people. ‘How fortunate I am,’ he said.

  ‘The ladies flock to me like birds to a tree.’

  Lei-Fang was gone when Jiang returned to his lord’s cabin.

  Whether the militiaman had been taken away for treatment or tossed overboard, Jiang didn’t know. He didn’t even know whether Lei-Fang still lived, or whether he had succumbed to the diabolical wounds that had been inflicted on him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, either.

  Jiang opened a shutter set into the wall and looked across the river to shore. Only the dying lanterns that the junk passed showed that the vessel was moving at all. Jiang could scarcely believe that such a smooth journey was possible.

  Ahead, a jetty jutted out from a small promontory. It was half-hidden by bushes and reeds, and the buildings beyond it were equally well camouflaged by trees.

  Jiang watched a column of men march along the riverside.

  The smell of burning wood, brick and flesh came before them, and the low clouds behind them glowed with reflected firelight. Glints of infernal light caressed the rain-spattered steel the men wore and carried, giving the column a glistening, serpentine appearance.

  ‘Magnificent, are they not?’ The abbot looked out, his features relaxed. Apart from the armed men, there had been nothing much to see during the short voyage. Just rice fields and the occasional village, but the abbot wore the look of an art connoisseur enjoying his collection.

  The sights had bored Jiang. He saw no brothels, or arenas, or wine shops. The abbot looked as if he was being inspired, but Jiang couldn’t imagine what could be inspiring him. He closed his eyes, inspired only to sleep.

  ‘Men of learning,’ the abbot said suddenly, and Jiang snapped into wakefulness as best he could, trying not to look irritated at his master’s timing. ‘Those are the most important of your targets.’

  ‘But the foreigners -’

  ‘- are a symptom of the ill health of my empire’s body under the Manchu, not the cause of it. To cure the empire, we must deal with the cause.’

  ‘Yes, my Lord,’ Jiang acknowledged.

  The abbot put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Where your militia find astrologers, scholars of alchemy, powerful priests, they will find the empire’s medicine. Those men you will bring before me. In chains if you have to.’

  ‘Yes, Lord.’

  ‘The others who are called - by themselves or others – men of learning are a different matter. The poets, teachers, weak priests... those are of no use to us. Those men you shall not leave alive.’

  Jiang hesitated. Killing off Manchus or gwailos was one thing, but he had nothing against learned men. Except perhaps one. ‘Lord...’

  ‘If we are to unify our people against the invader and occupier, we must be sure that they think as we wish them to think. That they know the great history of their people that we know. Not what those who collaborate with invaders want to tell the people.’

  Now Jiang saw what the abbot was getting at. He was shocked to realise that the enemies of his Lord were so close to home. ‘Teachers who show favour to foreigners?’

  ‘The worst of our enemies,’ the abbot said.

  ‘I know such a man. He treats me like a child, and gives succour to the white man.’

  ‘Then he should be dealt with,’ the abbot spat.

  ‘But I am but one man. Our forces can hardly march into Guangzhou.’

  ‘Then use your intelligence.’

  The abbot’s hand was cold on Jiang’s shoulder, like a slab of salted pork. Jiang could feel the chill through his tunic and coat. Strangely, it felt exciting, and inspiring.

  ‘There is an old saying,’ he said. How better to destroy your enemies than to let them destroy themselves.’

  The abbot, Jiang’s lord, nodded. ‘An old saying, even when I was young. I approve.’

  ‘I will begin at once, Lord.’

  The abbot smiled again. ‘Begin in the morning. I must give my troops the same instructions I have given you.’

  3

  The rain was heavy but not cold, and as there was no wind it fell straight rather than cutting through them. The road was made from hard-packed earth, but it was resisting the attempt to transform it, and only a thin wash of mud clutched feebly at their shoes. Vicki’s were synthetic, and she knew Barbara’s would be leather, so it was Fei-Hung she felt the most sympathy for - she suspected his slipper-like shoes would let the water through, if not soak it up.

  ‘I hope the rain doesn’t last long,’ Barbara said. ‘The road could turn into a quagmire.’

  ‘It will probably pass quickly,’ Fei-Hung replied.

  Vicki sincerely hoped he was right about that. Over the last few months she had become used to nice, dry climates. Dido, the planet where she had first joined the TARDIS crew, was a desert, and there had been uniformly good weather in Turkey and Italy. Not that she minded rain, having spent so much time on a desert world, but she would have preferred more, lighter showers than a solid downpour.

  Suddenly, she heard what sounded like a musical note.

  Then another and another. It was a voice, not an instrument, and it seemed to be singing. Neither Barbara nor Fei-Hung seemed to have noticed it, so Vicki suspected she might be imagining the sound. Then she heard it a little more clearly.

  It was just too distant to make out the words, but the melody was haunting
and faded in and out between the paths of falling raindrops. She turned her head this way and that, trying to judge the direction it was coming from. She finally decided that the sound came from ahead and to the left - the opposite side of the road to the path to the temple and the Ship.

  The leaves of a flowering bush - Vicki had no idea what sort it was - rippled slightly, as if the notes were gently caressing the foliage on their way past it. She stopped and hissed to the others. They turned.

  ‘What is it?’ Barbara asked, concern in her tone.

  ‘Do you hear that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It sounds like... singing.’

  ‘Singing?’ Barbara paused to listen. ‘No, I don-Just a minute... I think I do.’

  ‘It’s your imagination,’ Fei-Hung said quickly. ‘The sound of rain hitting leaves, or a bird sheltering from it.’ He shuffled slightly, putting the umbrella in front of the women as if it were a colourful fly in front of a fish.

  ‘No,’ Barbara said, ‘she’s right. There is a voice singing. It’s coming from over there.’ She ducked out from under the umbrella and went to the roadside. ‘Look, there’s a path.’

  Barbara ignored the rain that was soaking through her jacket

  - she felt only a tense urge to get back to Ian and see him stand again. But she knew that neither Vicki nor Fei-Hung would be feeling quite the same, and wondered whether it would really make a difference to Ian if they looked for shelter.

  The Doctor had said he would be able to cure him, so it would be foolish to get Vicki or Fei-Hung ill for the sake of an hour or two while the rain passed over. If she had been alone she would have kept going, but she knew Ian would think of the others as well if he were here.

  ‘I think we should find some shelter,’ she said. ‘If that is someone singing, presumably they’re under cover.’

  ‘But... Oh, you’d never understand,’ Fei-Hung said.

  Barbara thought she heard a tremble in his voice. ‘This is

  yuelaan jit, the Festival of Hungry Ghosts. What real person would be out singing on a night like this?’

  ‘Gene Kelly, I suppose.’ Barbara sighed at Fei-Hung’s blank look, then tried not to laugh. ‘I don’t believe in ghosts and ghouls, and things that go bump in the night. If there is singing, then it must be a person.’

  Fei-Hung opened his mouth to speak again, but Barbara had turned away and started up the path in the direction of the singing.

  Vicki found the house first.

  ‘Barbara, Fei-Hung!’

  They joined her, and she pointed to a low shape far back in the bushes. There was a clearing there, and a long roof.

  ‘Perhaps we can ask for shelter inside,’ Vicki said.

  Barbara was in two minds, thinking back to another desperate night and seeking shelter in another lonely house.

  One of her minds reminded her that circumstances were very different in those days, and that here there was no reason for fear. The other needled her, reminding her gleefully that there was no reason to be confident or comfortable either.

  To spite it, she started towards the house. Behind her she heard Fei-Hung say to Vicki, ‘Can’t you reason with her?’

  ‘I happen to agree with her. You’re not afraid of spooks and spectres, are you? They’re just stories to frighten children.’

  ‘There could be bandits.’

  ‘Then you can fight them off.’

  Barbara reached the clearing and the house. The building was all of one storey, with a wooden table and bench in front of it. Three steps led up to the door, and all the windows were covered with shutters made from wood carved into a pattern so delicate it was almost filigree. The dark tiles on the roof glistened with wetness, and the walls exuded a clammy feeling. A faint ripple of light passed across it, perhaps as the leaves on the surrounding trees fluttered in the moonlight.

  Barbara tried to look in through the windows, but the shutters blocked most of the view and the house was filled with darkness. She tried knocking on the door, but there was no answer. She knocked again, and this time the door juddered open a couple of inches.

  She stepped back, startled, ready to apologise when the occupants demanded to know why she was bursting into their home. The only thing that emerged from the quiet darkness within was a faint smell of flowers and incense, just tangible enough to be pleasant.

  Nothing else happened, other than the rain continuing to patter on the leaves, and Barbara suddenly realised that the singing had stopped. Perhaps whoever it was didn’t want visitors, and was playing dumb in the hope that the trio would pass on by.

  ‘Hello?’ she called.

  No answer.

  She heard Fei-Hung beside her, and turned to see him lift a lamp from a hook on the eaves. It was old and grimy but, after shaking it and peering inside, he said, ‘There’s still a little oil in here.’ He pulled out some flint and steel and lit the lamp.

  In the soft lamplight Barbara could see through the gap in the doorway into the house. The floor was covered in dust that was disturbed only by old footprints made by small paws and claws. There was no furniture in the part she could see.

  ‘It looks deserted,’ Vicki said. She was holding Fei-Hung’s umbrella now that he had the lamp.

  Barbara decided that if anyone was in the house they would either have come to investigate by now or they were unconscious and needed help. More likely, they just didn’t exist. She pushed the door open and it juddered over the uneven floor. The rest of the room was as bare as the part she had already seen. There was no furniture, but nor were there spots of wetness, which meant they could shelter from the rain.

  The three of them went inside and Barbara almost closed the door, but thought better of it. She didn’t want it to jam and trap them inside.

  ‘Well, this is cosy.’

  ‘I suppose,’ Vicki said doubtfully. ‘Some chairs would be nice.’

  ‘Be grateful, Vicki. The roof is solid, so we won’t get any wetter. The grass is always greener, isn’t it?’

  ‘What?’ Vicki sank on to her haunches in a corner.

  ‘People always seem to want more, rather than appreciating what they’ve got.’

  Fei-Hung cast the lamplight around the room. He still looked a little nervous, but not as nervous as before. His face set into a look of more practical concern. ‘I’d better check we’re alone.’

  ‘Of course we’re alone.’ Vicki said.

  ‘I meant animals. Snakes, especially, like to shelter in places like this.’

  Vicki immediately jumped to her feet, looking down as if she expected to see a cobra flaring its hood at her from the patch of dust she had disturbed. Barbara tried not to smile too obviously, and Vicki sat back down.

  There were only two doors. Fei-Hung shone the lamplight through first one, then the other. ‘No snakes,’ he said, sounding surprised.

  ‘Is there any furniture?’ Vicki asked. Chairs, or stools?’

  No.’ He put the lamp on the floor near Vicki. ‘You were right,’ he said to Barbara. ‘This is a good place to wait out the rain.’

  Barbara wished she could feel as patient about reaching the Ship and getting the medical kit back to the Doctor as she had been when she was out in the rain. ‘Are we for from the TAR-from the old temple?’

  The young man frowned in concentration. ‘Perhaps another half-mile, but the path leading to it will be on the other side of the road.’

  ‘That shouldn’t take us long, once the rain has stopped.’

  Barbara turned and went to lean against the door, looking out at the mini-deluge. Though she didn’t like getting wet, she had always loved watching rain. It was such a fresh and natural thing, washing away the dirt and dust of the day, bringing life to trees and flowers, and even the potatoes in the family allotment. Sometimes she would stand at her bedroom window, imagining herself to be looking out at a storm from the wheelhouse of one of the steamers her father helped to build.

  She had once wondered, setting an imagi
nary course to search for sunken treasure from the Armada, whether she could grow up to become a sea captain, but her father told her that many sailors were superstitious and thought women brought bad luck. Then, as she got older, she was more interested in the hows and whys of things like the Armada than she was in treasure.

  Now, in a deserted house in China, she found herself standing on an imaginary deck, perhaps of a seagoing junk plying between China, India and far Araby. She tried to recall the tune of a sea shanty and hum it, but she couldn’t quite get it right. The wrong notes kept insinuating themselves into her ears, so that the humming sounded like the melody of the song they’d heard earlier.

  She realised that someone was actually humming the tune, and turned to berate Fei-Hung or Vicki for doing so.

  Her heart sprang for her throat with deadly intent, and nearly knocked her over, as she saw a woman in a silk tunic and long silk dress standing at the window, humming to herself. Her feet were hidden under the dress, but there were no wet footprints near her. Barbara’s strangled cry alerted Fei-Hung, who leapt into a fighting stance, and Vicki, who cupped a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream.

  The woman turned. She was pale and delicate, her skin the tone of a paper-thin china cup, nearly transparent in its fineness.

  ‘I like to watch the rain too,’ she said. Her voice was soft and distant, but carried quite clearly.

  ‘You startled us,’ Barbara said. ‘We didn’t hear you come in.’ How could she have, without brushing past her? Or, Barbara thought with a shiver, passing through her.

  ‘I didn’t.’

  Barbara immediately felt guilty as well as foolish. ‘I’m sorry

  - the door fell open and we called out, but there was no answer. We only wanted to shelter from the rain.’

  ‘That’s all right.’ The woman smiled pleasantly. ‘This isn’t really my home any more, anyway. It used to be.’

  Fei-Hung stepped up beside Barbara and said in a low voice, ‘I looked in both the other rooms. There was no-one there, and no place for her to have been hidden.’