Robert Lyndon: Imperial Fire

‘What’s in there? Where are you taking it?’

Vallon answered from the ship’s deck. ‘It’s a pigment used in the manufacture of ceramics and it’s on the way to the imperial porcelain factory. Gorka, show him the bill of sale and the superintendent’s seal.’

The officer examined both. ‘I’ll have to examine the contents.’

‘Go ahead. Careful, it’s heavy.’

Satisfied that the barrel didn’t contain contraband, the officer painted a character on the cask to show that he’d inspected the goods. ‘I apologise for the delay.’

‘Not at all,’ said Vallon. He gave an airy wave. ‘I’m going to my cabin now.’

Down below he grabbed Wulfstan. ‘Bring me a sack of sand, a funnel and a dry barrel the same size as the one Gorka’s carrying.’

He was looking out over the river from his cabin when the guards cried out. He went on deck to see Gorka galloping back to the ship. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ he shouted. ‘You should have been in Kaifeng by now.’

‘Why are you angry?’ the Chinese captain called. ‘Why has the soldier come back?’

‘The dolt forgot the letter he was supposed to take to the superintendent.’ He smacked Gorka’s shoulder as the trooper staggered up the gangplank, still burdened by the barrel. ‘Idiot.’

He followed Gorka down to his cabin, where Wulfstan, Hero and Aiken were waiting. ‘Did you make the exchange?’ he asked the sweating trooper.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Make it quick,’ Vallon told Wulfstan.

The Viking took the barrel from Gorka and nearly dropped it in surprise. ‘This isn’t the — ’

‘Of course it isn’t. Empty it.’

Wulfstan prised out the bung and began funnelling the contents into the spare barrel. ‘Could do with some light in here.’

‘No!’ Vallon said. ‘Christ!’

Wulfstan dribbled out the last of the contents.

‘Fill Gorka’s barrel with the sand. Hurry.’

The sun was a crimson glow in the pall over Kaifeng when Gorka emerged on deck, stooped under the original barrel now filled with sand. The captain of the guard was diligent to a fault and insisted on checking the load.

‘For heaven’s sake,’ Vallon shouted. ‘He’ll miss the curfew.’

The officer satisfied himself that the barrel was the one he’d marked before waving Gorka past. The guards watched him galloping away into the dust and then went back to their cooking fire. Sweating with excitement, Vallon returned below.

‘Is it the right stuff?’ he asked.

Hero had decanted a sample of the black powder onto a dish. ‘It looks like finely ground charcoal. There’s only one way to find out.’

‘We can’t test it outside. Vast as China is, you’re never more than a few yards from a peasant. Burn a small sample here. Wulfstan, bring a bucket of water and a hide blanket in case it burns too fiercely.’

Hero formed the powder into a small heap. ‘Bring me a lamp and taper. Stand well back.’

Wulfstan thrust himself forward. ‘I’m the master of ordnance. If anyone’s going to get his eyebrows singed, it should be me.’

Hero gave way and Wulfstan lit a taper from the lamp and brought it towards the powder. Vallon, Hero and Aiken pressed back against the walls of the cabin.

Poof.

Red and yellow flame flashed. Aiken choked on the fumes. Hero opened the window and fanned the smoke out. ‘I recognise one of its ingredients. That Devil’s breath is sulphur.’

Wulfstan laughed. ‘And the other smell is my charred beard. That’s powerful stuff.’

‘You ignited only a spoonful,’ Vallon said. ‘Imagine the effect if we lit the entire barrel.’

They dwelt on the outcome of such an experiment before Aiken spoke. ‘It would consume our ship and everyone on it.’ He crossed himself. ‘That’s a hellish compound.’

‘Stow it somewhere safe,’ Vallon said.

Xiao-Xing was a skilful lover who made it her business to educate Lucas out of his farmboy fumblings and clumsy couplings. With the aid of a lavishly illustrated pillow book, she taught him how to give her pleasure and enhance his own. Lucas learned the technique called ‘Fish Playing in Spring Water’, the position known as ‘The Dragon in the Cave’, and one night, well after midnight, was initiated into the strenuous delights of ‘Taming the Demon Princess’.

Xiao-Xing’s cunning grip she’d taken with arms and legs alike drew him inexorably into the realm of reflex. He tried to delay the climax by thinking of Gorka eating. It was little help. Reflexive spasms began, signalling the end. Beneath him Xiao-Xing convulsed, clinging with all her might, her breath panting.

‘Are you in there, sir?’

He was over the edge and shooting down cascades when Gorka’s shout cut through his orgasm.

‘Sir, it’s urgent. We have to get out of here.’

Swearing, Lucas unpicked his way out of Xiao-Xing’s hold, covered himself with a towel and slid open the door. ‘What the hell are you shouting about?’

Even in his desperation, Gorka couldn’t resist sneaking a look at the girl sitting up with her hands over her breasts. ‘Vallon’s orders. We have to make a run for the ship. Take only arms and armour.’

‘Why?’

‘We must have upset our hosts. If we wait until morning, they’ll arrest us.’

Lucas threw on his clothes. Xiao-Xing looked on distraught. He kissed her and held her face. ‘I’m sorry, my love. I have to go.’

He buckled on his sword, slung his suit of armour over his shoulder and ran out. Men’s curses and women’s wails from all quarters announced an unwilling separation of cultures.

Gorka ran through the compound. Distant firecrackers popped somewhere in the city. Josselin was waiting at the gate. ‘Make for the Gold Bird Guard Bridge.’

Lucas’s gaze fixed on the body of a Chinese soldier sprawled a few yards beyond the entrance.

Josselin pushed him. ‘Get going. Let no one stand in your way.’

Lucas and Gorka ran through the empty streets, the feet of the other Outlanders slapping behind them. Not long before, each of Kaifeng’s wards would have been surrounded by walls with gates closed after the evening curfew and watchmen patrolling the avenues. Now the gates and walls were gone, but the curfew was still in force and night patrols still walked the streets on the lookout for anyone wandering outside their own ward. Twenty blows with the thin rod was the punishment for transgressors.

It wasn’t long before Lucas and Gorka ran into a squad of watchmen. The soldiers challenged them, and when the runaways failed to stop, they twanged their bowstring to reinforce the command, then shot arrows at their feet. Lucas and Gorka swept past. A whistle blew behind them and was answered by more whistles.

Lucas clutched his side to ease a stitch. ‘It’s miles to open country. Three walls and gates block our escape. We’ll never make it.’

‘Vallon must have thought of a way.’

The bridge came in sight, deserted now, lights from a few oil lamps dappling the river.

‘This way,’ a voice called.

Lucas turned right and saw two large sampans moored, a turbaned figure waiting on the bank. He slapped Lucas past. ‘Into the boats and stay quiet.’

Lucas scrambled into a boat already occupied by half a dozen confused and disgruntled Outlanders. ‘What the fuck’s going on?’ one demanded. ‘What’s fucking Vallon playing at?’

Lucas arched up. ‘Talk of the general like that again and I’ll take the hide off you. He wouldn’t order a breakout unless it was necessary. Now stay as quiet as a nest of mice.’

A fraught silence fell, broken by shrilling whistles and braying trumpets dissipating through the city. Windows opened and householders demanded to know what outrage had disturbed their rest. A three-quarters moon raced through a rack of clouds. Four more men pitched into Lucas’s boat and another five found places in the craft alongside. Through their panting Lucas heard more urgent footsteps and then a voice that sounded familiar but unplaceable.