“Not only would I be enormously rich,” Paddy jabbered, “I'd get the feature story of my life. What am I saying? I'd get the book of my life! And our friend Lao Jiang would become the most renowned antiquarian in the world. What do you think, Mme De Poulain?”
“More important, madame, we would prevent the Manchu dynasty from returning to power, averting what would be a historical and political catastrophe for my country.”
Millions of francs, my tired mind repeated. Millions of francs. I could settle Rémy's debts, keep my house in Paris, and provide for my niece, do nothing but paint for the rest of my life and not have to worry about teaching for seventy-five paltry francs a month. What must it feel like to be rich? I had counted my pennies for so long, worked wonders to afford food, canvas, paints, and kerosene, that I couldn't imagine what it would mean to have millions of francs in my pocket. It was crazy.
“How would we evade the eunuchs from the Forbidden City? Actually, how would we evade the truly dangerous ones, the Green Gang assassins?”
“Well, we haven't done too badly so far, don't you think, madame?” Mr. Jiang smiled. “Go home and wait for my instructions. Be ready to leave at any moment.”
“Leave? Leave for where?” I asked, suddenly alarmed.
The antiquarian and the journalist exchanged a complicit glance, but it was Paddy, his tongue loosened by alcohol, who told me what was on both of their minds.
“The three pieces of the jiance are hidden in three places that were very important during the Ming dynasty. Two of them are many hundreds of miles up the Yangtze. We'll have to travel to the interior of China to get there.”
By boat? Stuck inside another boat for days and days, heading up a Chinese river that was thousands of miles long, this time being pursued by eunuchs, the Japanese, and gangsters? This was insane!
“And do I have to go?” I worried. Perhaps it wasn't necessary. “Remember, I'm responsible for my niece and can't abandon her. Besides, what use will I be?”
Tichborne burst out with another unpleasant guffaw. “Well, stay if you trust us! But I personally can't guarantee I'll be willing to share my cut once we're back. In fact, I don't even want you to be part of this expedition! I already told Lao Jiang there was no reason for you to find out any of this, but he insisted.”
“Listen, madame,” the antiquarian hastened to say, leaning forward, “don't pay any attention to Paddy. He's had too much to drink. The man is a wealth of knowledge when he's sober. I myself often consult him. Unfortunately, his hangovers tend to last several days,” he said as Tichborne laughed again. Mr. Jiang gripped the handle of his cane as if trying to keep it from whacking the Irishman of its own accord. “It's your lives, Madame, yours and your niece's, that are in danger, not Paddy's or mine. And we mustn't forget that the chest belonged to Rémy. You therefore have the same right as we do to a share in whatever we find in the mausoleum, but that means you must come with us. No one will be able to guarantee your safety if you stay in Shanghai. As soon as the Green Gang discovers that Paddy and I have disappeared, they'll come after us. They're not stupid. You and your niece will then be their victims, and you know what they're capable of. This chest is very valuable. Do you think they'll chase after us and leave you alone? I wouldn't count on it, madame. The sensible thing is for the three of us to go, to escape Shanghai together and try not to get caught until we find the mausoleum. Once our discovery is made public, Puyi and the Dwarf Invaders won't be able to do a thing. They'll have to seek restoration some other way. Please listen to me, madame. Paddy and I will take care of the details. Prepare your sister's young daughter as well. She can't stay behind in Shanghai. She'll have to come, too.”
“It's going to be awfully dangerous,” I murmured. It's a good thing I was already sitting down, because I'm not sure I'd have been able to remain standing.
“Yes, madame, it will, but with a little luck and intelligence we'll succeed. Your financial difficulties will be over forever. In fact, of the three of us, I think you have the most reason to embark on this adventure and thus be able to return to Paris safe and sound. The Green Gang is connected to other secret Chinese societies, such as White Lotus and the Triad—both of which have spread beyond our country's borders, especially to Meiguo11 and Faguo.”12
“The United States and France,” Tichborne clarified for me.
“What I'm trying to say is that you can't even escape to France in peace. Unless you resolve this matter in China, they'll find a way to kill you there. You have no idea how powerful the secret societies are.”
“All right! All right! We'll go!” I exclaimed.
Fear choked me. How could I involve my niece in such a perilous situation? I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to her. Mr. Jiang was right: She would be in danger in Shanghai or in Faguo, too. Fernanda had fallen into a death trap because of me, and the very thought made me feel just awful.
“And now, to cheer you up a bit, listen to this, madame,” the antiquarian jovially proposed. Picking the miniature book up off the table, he took a second pair of glasses out of his vest pocket and used them like a magnifying glass in order to see the tiny little characters in the minute paper accordion. “Where was it … ? Ah, yes! Here, this is it. Listen closely. We're in Burma, at the Prince of Gui's dinner with his friends the night before he's handed over to the Qing general. Let's see, then…. The prince says to his friends, ‘Put on disguises and assume another's identity in order to cross Wu Sangui's army lines without endangering your lives. Go north, toward the central plains of China, until you reach the Yangtze. Once there, you, Scholar Wan, go east until you reach the river delta. Find Tung-ka-tow, in the county of Songjiang, and look for the beautiful Ming gardens that are exact replicas of the imperial gardens in Peking. Hide your piece of the jiance there. The best place is undoubtedly beneath the famous zigzag bridge. You, Physician Yao, go to Nanking,13 the Southern Capital, where the tombs of my forefathers who governed China from that city are located. In Jubao Gate, find the mark of the artisan Wei from the region of Xin'an, province of Chekiang,14 and leave your fragment there. And you, Master Geomancer Yue Ling, do not allow them to find you until you reach the small fishing port of Hankow. There you will set out on the long, difficult walk west that will lead you to the Qin Ling Mountains and, once there, to the honorable monastery of Wudang. Ask the abbot to keep your piece of the book. After safeguarding the jiance, escape to save your lives. The Qing will not be satisfied with killing nine generations of my family; they will execute all of our friends as well.’ ”
The Prince of Gui's message must have made complete sense to Mr. Jiang and Tichborne, because as soon as the antiquarian stopped reading, both of them smiled so happily, so exuberantly, that they looked like small children with a new toy.
“Do you understand, madame?” the Irishman jabbered. “We know exactly where the pieces of the jiance are hidden and can go after them whenever we want.”
“Well, to be quite honest, I didn't understand much of the message, but I gather that the two of you do.”
“Indeed, Mme De Poulain,” the antiquarian concluded. “And the first fragment, the one that Wan the scholar hid, is right here in Shanghai.”
“Go on!”
“According to the message in this book, Wan's fragment is underneath a bridge that zigzags in some Ming-style gardens in a place called Tung-ka-tow, at the Yangtze delta. We're at the delta. Tung-ka-tow was the name of the old Chinese citadel that gave rise to what is now Shanghai and still exists within what is known as Nantao, the old Chinese city. In the heart of Nantao, in what was Tung-ka-tow, there are indeed some old, abandoned, trash-filled gardens, Yuyuan Gardens, which they say were built by a Ming official to imitate the imperial gardens of Peking. There's almost nothing left of them now. They're in a very poor, dangerous area, and only a few curious Yang-kweis ever visit the teahouse on an island in the center of what must have been a beautiful lake.”
“And can you guess what the bridge that leads t
o that island is like, madame?” Paddy asked.
“It zigzags?”
“Precisely!”
“How lucky the first piece is here in Shanghai,” I pointed out. “That way, if we don't find it, it means the text isn't true and there'll be no need to take that trip, right?”
The two of them exchanged another complicit glance, clearly unwilling to give credence to my assertion. But another, more worrying thought was filling my head by the time they turned back toward me.
“How am I going to slip past the Green Gang's lookouts? If they really are following me everywhere, I'll never escape without their noticing. It's one thing to leave them waiting at the door, like now, and another to depart Shanghai right under their noses.”
“You're right, madame,” Mr. Jiang admitted. He remained lost in thought for a few moments, then looked back at me with a gleam in his eyes. “I know what we'll do. Talk to Mrs. Zhong and ask her to discreetly find some Chinese clothing for you and your niece. It shouldn't be too difficult for her to get a few things from the other servants. Your big feet will go a long way to making you both look the part. Try to do your hair in the Chinese style, although that may be difficult with your short, wavy hair, and be sure to make yourselves up so your Western eyes aren't too obvious. Finally, leave the house in a crowd of servants so you'll blend in with the group. If you do all this, I'm certain you won't be discovered.”
I must admit, I wasn't a bit pleased with the idea of dressing as a servant, but I kept my tongue.
“What do you say we end this meeting?” the fat Irishman bellowed from deep in his seat. “It's nine o'clock, and none of us have had dinner yet.”
He was right. I tended to follow the Spanish custom of eating late (never having gotten used to the European way), and I was getting hungry, so they must have been famished.
“Expect to hear from me, madame,” Mr. Jiang concluded, standing up energetically. “We've a great journey ahead of us.”
A journey of thousands of miles through an unknown country, I thought. A bitter smile appeared unbidden as I remembered my plan to buy our tickets on the first ship to sail from Shanghai in the coming days. I could still hardly wait to leave China, but if everything worked out, I'd be able to settle Rémy's debts and forever go back to my quiet life in Paris, my Sunday walks along the Left Bank. Fernanda's safety was what worried me most. When she found out she'd have to dress as a Chinese servant to travel by boat up the Yangtze in order to recover pieces of an old book, fleeing the same murderers who'd killed Rémy, she would protest vigorously, and rightly so. What could I say to convince her that she'd be in much more danger if she stayed in Shanghai? Then I suddenly thought of a solution: She could stay with Father Castrillo at the Augustinian mission while I was gone! It was perfect.
“Oh, no! Never!” she exclaimed, offended, when I proposed this to her. We were in the small study next to Rémy's office (there, as elsewhere in the house, everything was symmetrical and balanced), sitting in two chairs with high, slightly curved backs beside a folding screen that hid a ma-t'ung. I had gotten her out of bed when I arrived, and she was wearing a horrid nightgown under an even more hideous robe, her hair out of its usual ponytail. She looked like a specter from hell in the candlelight. As I ate a piece of duck quiche with mushrooms and kite eggs on the side, I outlined the legend of the Prince of Gui and the secret of the First Emperor's tomb, leaving out all those complicated Chinese names.
“There's nothing more to say,” I replied resolutely. “You'll stay at the mission under Father Castrillo's protection. I'll go to Mass with you tomorrow morning and ask him to do me this favor.”
“I'm going with you.”
“I said no, Fernanda. This discussion is over.”
“And I said I'm going with you.”
“Insist all you like, but I've made up my mind, and we're not going to spend the whole night arguing about it. I'm exhausted. I've had only one moment of peace since we disembarked, and that was this afternoon in the garden. I'm ready to drop, Fernanda, so let's not fight.”
She jumped up and stomped out of the building, her eyes filled with tears of rage, but I'd made my decision. I couldn't carry that weight on my conscience. The girl would stay in Shanghai with Father Castrillo. However, with a run of bad luck like I was having, I should have known that everything would change just so I wouldn't be given a moment's rest. My plan was ruined at five o'clock that morning when I was awoken by the light of a candle glowing in Mrs. Zhong's hands. The fish vendor had just arrived with the first catch of the day, and he brought an urgent message from Mr. Jiang:
“‘At the hour of the Dragon at the North Gate in Nantao.’ ”
I sighed, sliding my feet out of bed. “What is the hour of the Dragon, Mrs. Zhong?”
“At seven a.m.,” she whispered, using her hand to shield the flame and leaving me in the most ominous darkness, “at the old northern gate to the Chinese city.”
“And where's that?”
“Not far from here. I'll explain how to get there as you dress. Here's the clothing you asked me for last night. I'll go wake Mademoiselle Fernanda while you wash.”
I could hardly believe my eyes half an hour later when I looked at myself in the mirror: Wearing old pants, a faded blue cotton blouse, and a pair of light felt shoes, I looked like a complete stranger. Thanks to newly straightened bangs, cheekbones emphasized by makeup, and eyes lined using fine cotton swabs dipped in ink, I could easily have passed as a native servant or peasant. Mrs. Zhong added a few colorful necklaces that were actually amulets and brightened my pale face a little. I had an even harder time believing the vision of that robust Chinese girl who slipped into my room, similarly dressed and made up, although with a long ponytail down her back and canvas sandals on her feet. Fernanda's face shone with satisfaction, just as it had when we disembarked from the André Lebon. It was obvious that the girl truly needed freedom and excitement. My sister Carmen and I may have been opposite sides of the same family coin as far as temperament was concerned, but her daughter had most certainly inherited some of each.
We left the house at six-thirty that morning in the middle of a group of servants that Mrs. Zhong sent to the Chinese city to shop. We carried large, empty baskets on our shoulders to hide us even further in case anyone was watching. The street seemed deserted, although early-morning sounds could be heard from the nearby boulevard de Montigny. Strangely enough, I thought I saw the same slender, ragged old women who had been outside the Spanish consulate the night of the reception. It scared the living daylights out of me: Were they the Green Gang spies? If those were the same women—and they seemed to be—there was no doubt of it. I became increasingly nervous but didn't say a word to Fernanda, who was walking next to her lanky servant Biao, the boy who spoke Spanish. I didn't want her to do anything that might attract the old women's attention. Until we reached L’École Franco-Chinoise on the corner of Montigny and Ningpo, I kept casually turning my head to see whether they were following us, but I didn't see them again. We'd done it.
Soon we were in front of what used to be the so-called North Gate—that is, the rear entrance to the old walled Chinese city. Celestials believe that south is the principal cardinal point (the direction in which their compasses point, unlike ours), and thus the front doors of their houses and cities face that direction. The north, therefore, is the back in the Chinese concept of space. There was no gate anymore, nor were there any walls; it was simply a slightly wider street that led into Nantao but kept the old name. To one side, similarly dressed as humble Celestial serfs, were the nearly unrecognizable Lao Jiang and Paddy Tichborne, the latter wearing a broad, cone-shaped hat. I recognized them only because of the intent way they were looking at us. I later learned they didn't know us either. It was no wonder!
The servants from the house left without making a fuss or saying good-bye, taking the baskets from our hands and passing us the bundles containing our belongings, calmly continuing on through the narrow, humid, winding stre
ets of the old city. That was when I realized that Biao was still standing next to Fernanda.
“What's he doing here?” I barked at my niece.
“He's coming with us, Auntie,” she calmly explained.
“Send him back to the house right now.”
“Biao is my servant, and he'll go wherever I go.”
“Fernanda!” I exclaimed, raising my voice.
“Don't shout, madame,” Mr. Jiang said as he started down the street. It was odd to see him without his gold nails or his lovely bamboo cane, dressed in that shabby beige tunic and Western hat.
“Fernanda!” I whispered, following the antiquarian as I held my niece by the arm so I could give her a pinch she wouldn't soon forget.
“I'm sorry, Auntie,” she whispered back without even flinching, “but he's coming with us.”
One day I would kill that girl and happily dance over her dead body. Right then, however, there was nothing I could do but apologize to Mr. Jiang and Paddy Tichborne.
“Don't worry, madame,” Lao Jiang calmly replied, surreptitiously scanning in all directions. “A servant who knows how to make tea will come in handy.”
Biao said something in Chinese that I couldn't understand. To me, Chinese phrases sounded just like the shriek of a butcher's steel as it passed over the teeth of a saw: a bunch of monosyllables that rose and fell and rose again in pitch and intonation, creating a strange tune made of conflicting notes.
Lao Jiang replied in his excellent French, “Very well, Little Tiger. You'll make the tea and serve the meals. You'll help your young mistress, obey orders from us all, and remain humble and silent. Is that understood?”
“Yes, venerable one.”
“Let's go, then. Yuyuan Gardens are just over there.”
We moved on, elbowing our way through the crowded, smelly streets filled with miserable little shops that sold everything imaginable: birdcages, used clothing, bicycles, goldfish, unrecognizable meat, chamber pots, spittoons, fresh bread, aromatic herbs, and so much more. I saw a couple of workshops that made both lovely furniture and coffins. Beggars, lepers without hands or noses, merchants, street musicians, tightrope walkers, peddlers, and regular customers haggled, begged, sang, or shouted, resulting in an awful pandemonium beneath the bright, colorful, vertical signs that hung down from on high with gold, vermilion, and black Chinese ideograms. I listened as Tichborne amused himself by translating the signs out loud: “Serpent Potions … Benevolent Pills … Tiger Tonic … Four Literary Treasures.”