I am being bad, and I know it, but I shall float here till I am boiled pink as any shrimp in all my parts, yes, I shall. Oh yes, I shall...
But, no, it must come to an end. Eventually I am lured out with the promise of thick, hot towels and fine raiments. They sure know how to get to the core of Jacky Faber, yes, they do, and I am helpless before them. I am completely and carefully patted dry, then dressed in the finest of silken garments. My pigtail is rebraided, and then, with Sidrah by my side, I am led back into the presence of Chopstick Charlie.
"I trust you are quite refreshed, my dear? Hmmmm?" says Chopstick Charlie, beaming his little smile down upon me.
"Quite refreshed, Sir," I reply, plunking my tail down on a plush cushion. I decide to play it cheeky. "What's the grub, then, mate?"
"Ho-ho. Very colorful. The common street English, just as I heard it spoken in poor parts of London." He claps his small, soft hands together. "Very charming, very charming!"
A cup of the very delicious-looking purple wine is poured into a cut-glass goblet and placed in front of me. I, however, push it away. Charlie looks surprised.
"You should taste it, my dear. It is the very best plum wine, come all the way from China."
"Where is my little boy?" I ask, crossing my arms on my silk-clad chest and looking off, my expression cold and distant.
Excuse me?
"The little boy I had with me when I first came here."
"Ah. That one." Charlie claps his hands and Ganju Thapa appears from the shadows to the side.
Words are murmured and Ganju leaves, and soon a joyous Ravi appears.
"Memsahib!" he exclaims as he bounds over to me and plunks himself down into my lap.
"Ravi!" I exclaim, very glad to see the little fellow. He, too, has been scrubbed up and dressed in what, while not quite as fine as the golden yellow and white dress that sits lightly on the Faber frame, is probably one of the finest things he's ever had on in his young life—soft white trousers and shirt with blue trimming about the neck. Satisfied as to his safety, I lose no time in getting some of the plum wine into my mouth and down my throat.
Oh, Lord, that's good!
"What have you been up to?" I ask of the lad.
"Very unhappy man tied to chair. Ravi hopes he was able to help with the language. Man still alive when I left."
"Umm, yes," says Charlie. "That little matter was resolved to my satisfaction."
Sidrah glides gracefully down next to me as I lay into the feast that is spread before us. It all looks very good ... Well, most of it, anyway.
"Wot's this, then?" I ask. If he likes the Cockney dialect, I'll pour it on thick for him, to be sure. I see that a pair of slender ivory sticks has been laid by my plate. Of course I am quite expert in the use of them from my time spent at Cheng Shih's table aboard the Divine Wind, and so I lift a piece of meat and elegantly aim it toward my open mouth.
"That is breast of peacock. Very rare, and very delicate of flavor, don't you think?"
"Mmm..." I say, as I stuff it in. I notice that several peacock feathers have been laid across the table. "It is good, but not all that different from common chicken."
"Ah. One who is hard to please. Then try this..."
I sit back. "Please, Sir ... No monkey ... nor dog..."
"Oh, no, my suddenly squeamish one."
"Nor cats..."
"What do you think us to be?" he says, smiling that sly smile of his. "Here, my dear, have another delicacy. This is a hundred-year egg ... buried beneath rich soil for all that time, and unearthed just for your delectation."
I look at the gray lump lying before me. Then I take up a piece and pop it into my mouth. It may be a delicacy, but—
"It tastes like mud," I say, struggling to get the delicacy down my throat and not being very successful.
"Hmmm..." says Charlie. "Obviously a plebeian palate. Try this, then." He claps his hands and a new dish appears. "It is bird's nest soup ... famous in all culinary circles."
I am handed a bowl containing a whitish crusty thing.
"What is this?"
"The nest of the white swiftlet that builds its bower inside dark caves high on the limestone cliffs of Gomantong and Niah along the coast of Borneo. The white comes from the spittle of the male bird that works for over a month building the rigid nest. It is a very risky business for the persons who gather the nests in dark caves high up on the cliffs. Many die. But it is worth it, no?"
Now the Jacky Faber belly is famous for its ability to digest just about anything, but...
I take a sip ... taste ... and then declare that I'll stick with the peacock breasts, thank you, and please hold off on the nightingale tongues, but do pass the rice.
Chopstick Charlie laughs and gives up on me.
"Very well, let us dine on that which pleases us!" He claps his pudgy hands. "More plum wine for all! Yes, and some saki, too!"
My crystal goblet is refilled and a new drink is poured—this in a delicate ceramic cup—and it is warm, and, Yum, it is very good, too. I was a little reluctant to taste it, having vowed to never drink spirits and all, but I am assured it is only rice wine, so what could it hurt? Still, I shall have to watch myself.
The dinner being about over, I lean back, lazy as any cat, and stroke Ravi's black hair. He has eaten of the rice dishes and the vegetables, and he is now asleep, his head on my lap.
"So," says Charlie. "You say that you are a person of business—that you own a shipping company in America. Hmm? So what do you advise poor old Chops to do about these incursions of the English into his sphere of influence?"
I think about this for a moment, take another hit of that warm and heady saki, and begin:
"Tell ya what, Chopsie, old boy, what you should do is get a ship—a big one—and fill it up with all the treasures of the East and give it to me and let me sail off wi' it to old England and I'll present it to King George wi' yer compliments and you'll be made the main man in these parts, fer shrrrr ... er ... for sure, that is."
Watch your mouth, girl. And no more of that saki for you... But more is poured and, of course, I do take sips. Small ones.
"Oh-ho, my dear girl. What? You take poor old Chops for a fool?" Charlie laughs. "So very jolly a notion. Ha-ha! No, I fear that you would load that ship with all my worldly goods and never be heard from again!"
"You have my word, Charlie, that I would not do that."
"Oh, no?" He laughs, plainly enjoying this. "Listen, my devious one. While you were in your bath, I made discreet inquiries." He pulls out a sheaf of papers. "Oh, yes, I did, and I was rewarded with most interesting information. To wit."
Uh-oh...
"A certain Jacky Faber, condemned to life in New South Wales for crimes against the Crown of England. What do you say to that?"
"That is true, sort of, but I elected not to stay down there. The climate did not suit me."
"Did not elect..." Charlie chortles. "The climate? Oh, that is rich, so rich, so very rich—"
"I got a pardon from Captain Bligh, the commandant of the prison," I say, huffing up a bit. "For Services Rendered, to wit: the delivery of prisoners to the penal colony—"
"One of which was supposed to be you. Am I right?"
"Well, I had other things to do."
"I can imagine. Now, the East India Company reports that two of their ships"—he looks down at the paper—"the Lorelei Lee and the Cerberus, have gone missing. Have you any idea where they are?"
"I have no idea," I answer truthfully. "But if you were to make further inquiries, you might ask about British Intelligence and my connection there."
Charlie cocks an inquisitive eyebrow.
There is something about this Chopstick Charlie that I like—maybe it's his obvious capacity for avarice or his rampant greed, which matches mine. Yes, that and his rather jolly nature, which seems to find many things of this world not only interesting but also amusing.
Whatever it is, I take another swallow of saki and decide to tel
l him something of my past ... a lot of it, actually...
My name is Jacky Faber and in England I was born...
It is much later this night when I am escorted, rather unsteadily, to a room where I sleep very soundly on pillows of the softest satin, and I do not have any nightmares, but some dreams do come, and nice ones for a change. I curl up on my side and let them take me away...
Jaimy appears, and he seems to be ... what?...scolding me for something ... but I ain't done nothin wrong, Jaimy. I ain't. Maybe I did just drink a little too much o' that saki, but ... then it's not Jaimy who is there, but ... Lord Richard Allen, grinnin his big white smile at me and sayin', "It's all right, Princess, you drink all that heathen stuff you want, Sweetheart, and then come over and sit here beside me. We'll get rid of those stuffy clothes and then maybe a little kiss on the back of your fine neck right on that new tattoo there" And then it's not him, but Joseph Jared, and where's he got his hot hands now? Well, it ain't hard to guess where ... and then ... what? Robin Raeburne? Where the 'oly 'ell did you come from?...and he's sayin', "Jacky, I've been lookin for ye, my bonny wee bairn, for so long now, so long..." And then everything fades away into a plum-colored mist and...
PART II
Chapter 13
James Fletcher, Escaped Convict
Off Spithead
England
Jacky Faber, Deceased
Whereabouts of Soul, Unknown
My Dearest Jacky,
I compose this letter to you solely in my mind, what is left of it, that is, as I lack both writing tools and the strength of will to write anything down, there being no longer any hope of delivering it to my dear lost girl.
It is in the dead of night and I am in one of HMS Dart's lifeboats, wrapped in a cloak and being rowed toward the dark shore of England. I am to land near Portsmouth and from there I will make my way north to London to begin to carry out my plan of vengeance against those who have brought the two of us so very low. Beyond that, I have no plans.
Our mutual friend, Lieutenant Joseph Jared, Acting Commander of HMS Dart, has provided me with clothing and some money, as well as clandestine transport to that lonely stretch of beach up ahead, and I bless him for it. He could have exerted his authority as a Royal Navy officer and taken me back into custody, but he did not. There are many who would think it his duty to do so, but he felt otherwise. Count on it, Jacky, you had some very good friends when you were in this world and I hope you knew that.
Your Lorelei Lee, which I know you loved so very much, departed our company at the southern tip of Africa, bound for the port of Boston, with your Irish crew aboard, so all will be safe from capture under the spread wings of the American Eagle. Your friend Mairead is aboard as well. I know you would be glad of that news, for you always did try to look out for your friends.
The land is drawing near—I can hear the crash of the surf on the shore. I must ready myself. Steady, now...
My ship, the Cerberus, will be returned to the East India Company, and that is fine with me, as I had no particular love for that hellhole of a vessel, nor any desire to continue seafaring of any kind.
I have been in a deep state of melancholy since your passing, and though I have tried to climb out of it, I cannot and only wallow deeper into despair. I fear that I am losing my mind.
But really, it would not be such a precious thing to lose, as it only causes me pain...
Yours Now & Forever,
Jaimy
Chapter 14
"And so where are my two charming girls off to today? Hmmm...? To the bazaar again for more shopping? I swear, the two of you shall bring the House of Chen to ruin," says Charlie, as we appear before him. He sits with his ever present abacus before him, clicking. Yes, his real name is Chen ... Chen Lee... Chen-lee, Char-lee, get it? Oh, how the Brits love to bend everyone's way of speaking to suit their own...
"No, Father," says Sidrah, placing a kiss upon his fat cheek. "I wish to show Jah-kee a temple several miles down the coast. A beautiful place with fine gardens, and I believe she will be pleased by the architectural proportions of the place. Jah-kee has a nice little boat and we shall sail there in it."
I have perceived that Sidrah is spoiled rotten and always gets her way with her indulgent father, and that, for me, is a good thing. Yes, Sidrah and I have become very good friends.
"Right, Charlie, old top," I say.
"This poor Chinaman perceives a certain lack of respect from an honored guest toward her host," remarks Charlie, mock-offended.
"Ah, Cholly Pops, ye knows we loves ye," says I, planting a kiss of my own on his other smooth cheek.
"Ummm."
"It is a calm day and we shall be quite safe. We are never more than a hundred yards from land in water scarce over our heads. Nothing could possibly happen ... and you don't even have to send the two thugs with us."
But I know he will.
It has been several weeks since my arrival here, and I have been accorded a measure of freedom. Sidrah has been allowed to show me about the city—and it is, indeed, a wondrous place, with its golden pagodas and statues and, yes, shops. True, we are always accompanied by a couple of bodyguards who seem to have two main missions: the first being to protect Sidrah's body from harm and the second being to ensure that my own dear body comes back to the House of Chops, as Charlie has come to consider that particular body somewhat valuable, too. To further that end, Ravi is kept from going with us—in fact, there is a slender but strong-looking chain about his ankle, the other end being attached to the wall, should the lad think of making a run for it.
I have duties, as does Ravi, and we are kept quite busy. With five languages between us, we have proved quite useful to the empire of Chopstick Charlie. Only this morning I had helped to iron out some differences between a very angry Spanish captain and the House of Chen. All parted on good terms ... Charlie's terms, to be sure, but finally acceptable to all concerned.
And yesterday I had sat with him in his records room, where accountants pored over ledgers, adding and subtracting columns of figures, just like in London. Charlie has quite the operation, I have discovered, and I have continued to press my case—my plan, as it were—to do Charlie some good, and to get me out of this part of the world. Although I ran my mouth off quite a bit that first day, thanks to that evil saki, I think my idea of bearing some of Charlie's treasure as gifts to King George is a good one. Chops has got the money, the booty, the ships, and the influence. He is my way out of here and back to where I came from. I know that for certain.
"If you keep me here, what have you got?" I ask now. "Just a scrawny girl who can speak several languages."
"Yes, and one who is mildly amusing and who graces my table with her charm and her musical ability," says Charlie, chuckling.
"But if you help me return to Europe, not only will I get you into the good graces of the British Foreign Service, but I'll also make sure that you are designated as our main contact in the East for Faber Shipping Worldwide. We're planning to open up this area of the world for trade with America. That was decided at the last board meeting. And China, too ... Don't forget, my ships have guarantees of safe passage through Cheng Shih's huge fleet. That's a big thing ... a very big thing."
"Hmmm. True, you have been busy, but still, it makes poor Chop's blood run thin as rice water to think of entrusting you with a large amount of money. That goes against old Charlie's grain."
"Not money, Chopsie," I say, leaning in and pushing my case. "Not just money, no. Stuff. Like statues, artifacts... mummies ... cheap jewelry ... anything as long as it's old. Brits love that stuff, believe me. They've got a big museum in London to hold it all, and their army and navy are always stealing ... uh ... collecting things from all over the world—Egypt and Greece and Rome and Cathay and just about everywhere. That stuff means nothing to you, but I've been there and I've seen 'em—gods and goddesses and such—whole temples, suits of armor and things. I tell ya, they eat that stuff up. They could charge admission
just to look at it. Charlie, you couldn't miss! They'd love the hell out of you, and if you ever went back to England, they'd prolly make you a bloody Knight o' the Garter!"
He still looks dubious, his brow knitted as he strokes his goatee and ponders my suggestion.
"They've got a huge stone mansion over on Bloomsbury Street. I've been there. It's free to the public. Oh, sure, they chased us grubby beggars out after a while for panhandling and being filthy, but still I got to see lots of wondrous stuff. The other kids weren't much interested in it all, but I was and I still am."
I poke my finger in his big belly, which today is encased in a flowing white skirt that reaches from the bottom of his brocaded red vest to the tops of his golden silk slippers. He is standing with his hands behind him, bouncing his gold-slippered toes. He is surprisingly light on his feet despite all of his girth.
"Think of it, Pops. Vases with pictures of naked Greeks runnin' around on 'em throwin' spears at each other and wrestling and stuff, and golden masks and figurines ... all gifts from you to the people of England. There'd be little cards next to each, tellin' where they come from and who gave 'em, and that'd be you, Charlie. Hell, you might even be thanked by Parliament for your contributions. You got lotsa stuff like that—I've seen it all over this place."
"So you would have me rob the temples of their golden treasures? So the people of Britain can gaze upon the artifacts of other lands and feel good about themselves because they do not live in such barbaric places?"