“They’re so expensive here,” she explained. “If I want something like this, I’ll get it in England.”
Well, shopping is fun even if you don’t buy anything.
The time came when they had to go back to Beijing. Friends saw them off at the airport, with hugs and promises, and within a few hours they were back in the heat of the capital, and John was looking forward to the next day.
Why?
Well...
*
John was fascinated by the Forbidden City.
“What’s forbidden about this place?” asked Yifan, touching an elaborately carved throne that had a card telling her ‘not to touch’ in seven languages.
“It was the palace of the Emperor,” John explained. “Only members of the court could live here. All the men who worked here were eunuchs.”
“What’s a eunuch?”
John paused.
“It’s a man who isn’t able to have children.”
Yifan pondered this.
“So it’s a man who isn’t married.”
Ji Ye spoke to Yifan in Chinese. Yifan’s eyes grew round.
“No!” she exclaimed. Then she looked at John. “So you would have to...”
John’s face grew pink. “They don’t do that any more, Yifan.”
“Pity.”
The Forbidden City was huge. When they passed through the entrance there was an enormous square surrounded by richly-decorated buildings. Crossing the square and going through sets of tall bronze doors they found another square, and after that another. Progressing from square to square through the huge gatehouses they found tall tiled temples with huge idols, carefully tended gardens, and a theatre where they watched some Chinese opera. This was the entertainment that the Emperors would have watched, and it gave John a headache
On both sides of the squares, behind the long halls that faced the square, were walled lanes leading to the miniature palaces of the wives and concubines of the Emperor, and meeting-rooms, offices and audience chambers.
“What’s a concubine?”
“Ask your mum.”
John’s particular interest was in Yehonala, or CiXi, the Empress Dowager, who had been the power behind the throne of China at the end of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth. After her death the Japanese invaded and imprisoned the last Emperor in a palace in Changchun, which was the city that Ji Ye and Yifan came from.
John was staring into the Audience Room that Yehonala and her husband the Emperor Hsien Feng had used, when Ji Ye tapped him on the shoulder.
“Don’t look round, but there’s someone watching us.”
“How can I see him if I don’t look round?”
“You don’t have to look round. We saw him in the British Museum.”
John nearly looked round, but he managed to keep his eyes on the yellow silk hangings in the Audience Room.
“It’s one of the men who was with Professor Steller. The one who wore the shabby suit. He’s talking to two other men. I don’t like the look of them.
“So YOU are looking at them.”
“I can see them reflected in the glass. You can be so stupid sometimes.”
John changed the focus of his eyes and could see the men Ji Ye was talking about. They were standing in a corner near an ice-cream stall, far enough away that they couldn’t hear the conversation.
“Well, it’s probably a coincidence,” said John. But he did not say it very convincingly.
Yifan wandered over, holding an ice-cream.
“What’s going on?”
Ji Ye explained. Yifan’s eyes grew round.
“Vicky told me things like this could happen,” she moaned. “We’ve got to get out of here!”
“Nothing’s going to happen,” said John. “They can’t start anything here. But let’s wander around some more and see whether they follow us.”
They wandered out of the courtyard and took a meandering route through the temples and palaces. After twenty minutes they were looking through another pane of glass at another silk-lined chamber.
“I can see one of the men,” said Ji Ye. “He’s watching us and sending a text.”
“We need to get to a policeman,” said John.
“What if he is the police?” Ji Ye countered.
“He can’t be. They could just talk to us any time if they were. Let’s leave and find a copper outside, and get some protection.”
The trio made for the North Gate as casually as they could. There were crowds of people around, and they felt very safe. Through the gate, and then up the long pavement over the wide moat to the main road, with sight-seers thronging around them, souvenir and food stalls making brisk business, traffic noise, tourists crowding onto busses, more people than John had ever seen in one place, and then the kerbside, and a policeman on the other side of the wide road. John and Ji Ye waved over to him, but he didn’t see; and then a large black van blocked their view as it drew up in front of them, and the side door opened, and there were three men behind them who pressed gently but firmly against them, and two men in the van who pulled them, and then Yifan found herself with John and Ji Ye inside the van, and the door slid closed.
*
The noise of traffic and people came in through the cracked windows of the derelict apartment, a reminder of the normal, crowded world that surrounded them. Yifan, Ji Ye and John were sitting on a damp sofa. A rough-looking long-faced man sat the wrong way on a plain chair facing them. He held a gun with a long fat barrel, which John knew was a Chinese Type 67 military pistol with a built-in silencer. You can tell John is a boy. In the corner a flat-screen TV showed a Chinese singing contest, also silenced.
The man they had seen in the British Museum stood looking out of the grimy windows. Behind his back his hands tapped together in a slow complex rhythm as he tried to work out what to say. Finally, he turned and addressed Ji Ye.
“Your Majesty,” he began, “we are not here to frighten you or your family.”
John asked Ji Ye what he was saying, but she shushed him. The man looked irritated at the interruption.
“You are the Queen of China,” he continued. “You are our rightful ruler. The Government is a sham. Illegitimate.” He was getting into his speech, becoming animated and strident. He waved his arms about. “We, who hate our oppressors, look to you to bring back the Empire your ancestor began. There are millions on our side.” He stared into Ji Ye’s eyes, and she thought that he must be more than a little bit mad.
“You will lead us. You and your daughter will walk into the Forbidden City as Empress and Princess. You will unite the Qin and the Qing dynasties, the first and the last; no-one will stand against you. The Government will lay down its powers for you; the people will rise for you. We will triumph within the Middle Kingdom and we will triumph around the world. Because of you.” He bowed deeply. John, who had not understood a word, also thought that he must be quite mad.
“What do you mean, unite the Qin and the Qing?” asked Ji Ye. The Qin was of course the first Royal line, which she and Yifan belonged to. The Qing was the last, which had ended with the last Emperor of China in the hands of the Japanese.
“Well, of course; we have a man who is the last of that line. Of course we have – there is such a man, and you will marry him, and then they are united.” The madman beamed. It was not a good look. “You will stay here. We will bring him. Once you are married then all our good luck will be complete, and no-one shall stand against us.”
“But,” said Ji Ye, gently, and trying not to sound as if she was speaking with an imbecile, “I am married already.”
“You will divorce him.”
“I will not.”
“Then we will divorce him for you,” said the madman, whose face was now shining with sweat. He motioned to the man in the chair, who lifted the pistol and pointed it at John.
“Excuse me,” said Yifan, perching on the edge of her seat and half-raising her hand as if she were in school. The sweating
man looked sharply at her; she felt as if things were crawling over her when she saw his eyes. She gulped and went on. “If my mum is Empress, can I have my face on a bank-note?”
And then, as she watched the man’s mouth gape in surprise, she was not there any more.
*
-- What do you want now? Vicky asked, irritably. She was washing her hair.
-- I’ve been kidnapped, said Yifan, breathlessly, although she was not using any breath.
-- Oh my... Yifan, where? Who?
-- I don’t know. And they’re going to shoot John. And my mum’s got to marry someone.
-- They probably heard some of John’s bad jokes, said Vicky drily, drying her hair. But Yifan didn’t hear; she was busy crying with Vicky’s eyes.
While Vicky got a cup of tea and asked her computer to power on, Yifan explained the situation. Vicky started some complicated searches while she used her hair-dryer, and by the time she was dressed in jeans and comfy sweater she and Yifan could see the Chinese Exhibition floating in the air. There was the glass case containing Princess Aster’s lamp and the scroll, and behind it Professor Steller and two Chinese men.
-- Which one?
-- That one. The scruffy one.
-- Okay.
Vicky pointed at him and asked for his ID and a trace of his movements over the next year. She got quite a bit of information – he had a WeChat account, and a WeiBo account, and was on FaceBook and Twitter.
-- This is all quite a few years ago now, explained Vicky. And you’re lucky that he was at the Exhibition here in my world, as well as in yours.
-- What’s that? asked Yifan as photos popped up and vanished in the air like soap bubbles.
-- It’s face recognition pulling images from other places. Some of these come from street cameras, others from photos people put on social media which have him in the background.
-- Look there!
Yifan tried to point and almost got Vicky’s finger up her nose.
-- What?
-- That man next to him. He’s in the room. He’s got a gun.
Vicky looked closely at the long-faced Chinese man and got busy again. This time there was a lot less information. But it was very interesting information.
-- You ought to know that I was not kidnapped by these people in my world, said Vicky.
-- Good for you, said Yifan, sarcastically.
-- What I mean is, things may be different over there in your world.
-- I know, I know. Yifan was thinking of sulking.
-- Don’t start to sulk, Yifan. Just use this information when you get back.
Yifan, making Vicky’s cheeks burn, promised that she would. Now she just had to wait until she got back.
-- Can you drink some hot chocolate now, please? she asked. Vicky made a face, but she went to make a mug of hot chocolate. It could be a long night.
*
“Call a doctor,” said John, but everyone ignored him. Ji Ye cradled the unconscious Yifan. The sweating man fidgeted. The long-faced man toyed with his gun. The only sound in the room came from the busy street outside.
“Would anyone like a cup of tea?” asked John.
*
It was two in the morning. Yifan had suggested a game of I-Spy, but it was obvious that it would not work. Vicky tried to do some work, but Yifan’s eyes kept wandering. Eventually they agreed to watch a K-Pop band on the net.
-- I haven’t seen them before! cried Yifan. She loved their moppy hair and the fact that they played air-instruments with their finger mice. The music was okay too, she supposed.
-- That’s because they haven’t got together in your world yet.
-- You keep saying that.
-- They might do. But in your world they’ve not even been born.
The time dragged on, and Vicky dozed, Yifan fidgeted, and suddenly without any warning she was back.
She stirred against the warmth of her mother’s body. Ji Ye’s grasp tightened, and Yifan struggled. There was movement around her. She pushed against Ji Ye and raised her head, and the room swam into focus.
“Hello,” she said, with her own mouth.
“If you do that again,” the sweating man said, pushing his face close to hers, “You will not be waking up.”
Yifan swallowed nervously, then she got out of her mother’s lap and went over to the window. “What are you going to do to us?” she asked.
“We were talking about divorce,” said Sweaty. “It will have to be a messy divorce,” he went on, pacing around the room like a teacher, or like John when he tried to lecture her. “Your present husband can be disposed of, and you will marry a Prince.”
“I’m not married,” Yifan protested.
“Not you, you idiotic child. Your mother.”
The long-faced man raised his pistol, and John found it was pointed at his heart.
“Not again,” he moaned. “I’ve tried dying recently, and it’s not all that good.”
“Just a minute,” said Yifan, calmly, although she really resented being called an idiot and a child, and felt herself getting red and angry. “I’ve got something to say.”
“Nothing you could say would stop us,” sneered Sweaty. Ji Ye’s eyes were closed and a tear was creeping down her cheek. Yifan glowered back at her captor.
“Liang Jun,” she said. John saw the seated man’s eyes blaze, but he did not move.
“Who is Liang Jun?” The sweating man was by the door to the room; he couldn’t see the face of his accomplice.
“He is Liang Jun,” Yifan stated, in a ringing voice, pointing. “He’s with the State Police,” she added helpfully.
For a moment there was stillness. Then Liang Jun swivelled his body and tried to bring the gun to bear on the sweaty man. But the other moved faster, and was not hampered by being astride a chair. He crashed into Liang and the two went down, tangled in the chair, which started shedding legs as the two men fought. The gun waved wildly around, until Sweaty bashed Liang’s hand against the floor and the gun skidded away into a corner. John immediately dived for it. Yifan rushed back into Ji Ye’s arms and they huddled at the end of the sofa as John check the safety catch and then tried to get a clear shot.
The pair on the floor rolled and bucked, fists flying, knees trying to connect with particularly vulnerable parts of one another. Then the gun made a sound like someone polite trying to cough in a crowded train and the sweaty man cried out and grabbed his thigh. The policeman pushed him over and rolled him onto his face, then sat on him. Blood spattered the dusty floor, but not a lot of it. The hole in sweaty man’s trousers was quite big, though, and Yifan screamed.
“Good shot,” said Liang in English. John put the safety catch on, removed the magazine, ejected the round in the chamber and smiled at the man he had saved.
“Nice. You know how to do that,” grinned Liang. “Now put it back together – there are five more of them, and they could be back at any time.”
*
If you have ever been to a police station, you will know that time flows differently there. Seconds feel like minutes, and minutes drag like hours. It seemed that everyone wanted to ask questions of Yifan, Ji Ye and, sometimes, John. The family did not have much to say, and they could not tell how Yifan had known the policeman’s name.
Sweaty man was in the hospital under guard. His accomplices had been rounded up after Liang Jun had called a squad from his mobile. Before rescue arrived, though, Yifan had talked with him in the squalid room.
“I was asleep and I dreamed who you were,” she explained. “And there’s something else I need to tell you.”
Liang Jun nodded. “Go ahead,” he said. “I don’t think I could be any more surprised today.”
“Your son has... er... will... Well, in a couple of years maybe he’ll get ill. It will be like flu. If you think it’s flu and you take him to the doctor, he’ll die. It’s...” she tried for the word in Chinese but Vicky had used the English word, and Yifan had not really been listening. “Engin
e-itis,” she said, more confidently than she felt.
John heard her and said, “Meningitis.” Ji Ye heard John and said the word in Mandarin. Liang Jun looked sad. “What will happen?” he asked.
“Well, take him to the hospital and tell them what it really is and make sure they believe you,” said Yifan, a bit exasperated. “I don’t know if he’ll survive if you do that. I only know what’ll happen if you don’t.”
Liang Jun nodded slowly. “I don’t know how you know that,” he said. “But I am grateful that you would tell me.” He put out his hand and solemnly shook Yifan’s.
“May I ask a question?” asked John. Liang Jun nodded. “Well,” said John, “would you have shot me, before Yifan revealed what you are?”
The policeman’s eyes narrowed. He hesitated, then shrugged.
“I was working under cover,” he began in English, then hesitated again. “We have been infiltrating this group for two years, trying to find out what their plans were, and how far they would go to succeed. Now I guess we know how they wanted to persuade people to revolt. But I am not sure how you all fit in to this. I don’t know why they thought you were descended from the Qin – there is a certain madness running through the whole gang, and perhaps that affected me more than I would have thought possible.”
John looked steadily at Liang Jun. He still held the gun, pointed at the sweaty man, who was face down on the dusty floor with his hands clasped behind his head. His thigh was bound with Ji Ye’s silk scarf as a tourniquet, and he moaned softly and continuously with pain. Blood pooled around his wound.
“So, yes, I would have shot you. It would have been for the greater good. Now, there is no need. My mission is over.”
John blinked, then nodded, and passed the pistol to him after securing the safety catch.
The police arrived then, and all was confusion, and an ambulance turned up, and some vans, and for a while the room was very full of people. And after that, time slowed down in the police station until eventually only the station’s cleaning lady and a small man who had been arrested for littering had not interviewed the family (although they wanted to), and then John, Ji Ye and Yifan were driven back to their hotel.
“What’s going to happen when the sweaty man tells his story?” John pondered aloud.
“Liang Jun told me they got the others that kidnapped us now,” said Ji Ye, “and they can get the names of the rest of them. Then, I think, the police will be happy and no-one will think about us. We were just part of his fantasy about a new Chinese Empire.”