Amitav Ghosh - Flood of Fire

‘God save the Queen!’

A chorus of voices returned the cry and then Commodore Bremer stepped forward to read from another sheet of paper.

‘I Bremer, Commander-in-Chief, and Elliot, Plenipotentiary, by this Proclamation make known to the inhabitants of the island of Hong Kong, that the island has now become part of the dominion of the Queen of England by clear public agreement between the high officers of the Celestial and British Courts: and all native persons residing therein must understand that they are now subjects of the Queen of England, to whom and to whose officers they must pay duty and obedience.’

Kesri’s gaze strayed now to the other, less privileged, group of spectators, on the hillside above. Among them too he recognized a face: Freddie’s. Standing beside him was a youth in jacket and breeches; he looked distantly familiar but Kesri could not recall where he had seen him before.

*

It was the eighth shot in the gun salute that drew Paulette’s eye to the the tall, broad-shouldered gun-lascar who was standing behind the Bengal Volunteer’s field-piece. After watching him for a while she took her spyglass out of her pocket.

‘What you looking at, eh?’

‘That man over there. Standing behind that cannon.’

‘Who?’

Paulette handed Freddie the spyglass. ‘Here. You have a look. See if you recognize him.’

‘Who you think it is?’

‘Just look.’

Freddie raised the instrument to his eye and kept it there for a good few minutes. Slowly a smile spread across his face. ‘You think it could be him, eh? Kalua, from the Ibis ?’

‘Yes, could be,’ said Paulette. ‘I’m not sure.’

The ceremony had ended now and the parade ground was filling quickly with people. Spectators were pouring down the slope, to gawk at the soldiers and sepoys.

‘Come,’ said Paulette, tapping Freddie on the arm. ‘Let’s go closer.’

Stepping down the hillside, they mingled with the crowd. When they were about fifty yards from the gun-lascar, Paulette came to a halt. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I’m sure it’s him.’

Just then Maddow too happened to glance in their direction. His eyes rested first on Paulette and then passed over to Freddie and back. Suddenly his sleepy gaze brightened and a smile played over his lips. He cast a glance around him, and seeing Kesri nearby he gave them a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head, as if to warn them not to come any closer.

Struck by a thought, Paulette murmured: ‘I wonder if Kalua knows that Havildar Kesri Singh is Deeti’s brother?’

Across the fifty-yard distance, Maddow seemed to understand what was going through her mind. He answered with another tiny nod.

Paulette smiled. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He knows.’

*

At the other end of the ground Mr Burnham was surveying the surging crowd with an expression of marked distaste. ‘I can’t say I care much for this riff-raff,’ he said to his wife, ‘we’d better be on our way — but I need to have a quick word with the commodore first.’

‘Yes of course, dear,’ said Mrs Burnham. ‘I’ll wait for you here.’

Mr Burnham turned to Zachary: ‘Reid, can I trust you to make sure that my wife’s reticule is not snatched by some opium-crazed la-lee-loon?’

‘Yes certainly, sir.’

Mr Burnham hurried off, leaving an awkward gap between Zachary and his wife. Slowly they edged closer until they were standing almost shoulder to shoulder.

After a few minutes of silence Mrs Burnham said: ‘It has been a while, Mr Reid, since I last saw you. I trust you’ve been well?’

‘Yes I have, thank you.’

This was Zachary’s first encounter with Mrs Burnham since the levée. Apart from two days in Macau, he had spent the intervening weeks at Hong Kong, assisting Mr Burnham with the construction of his new premises on the island.

‘And what about you, Mrs Burnham?’ said Zachary. ‘How have you been?’

‘Not too well I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘That is why I had to remain in Macau while my husband was at Hong Kong. My sawbones told me that the island’s air is unhealthy and I would do well to stay away.’

Her voice was languid, her manner indifferent, in a fashion that Zachary had come to know all too well from watching her at social occasions. In the past, when they had conspired to deceive the world together, he had delighted in observing her cool public demeanour. But now he knew that he too was among those whom the mask was meant to deceive and it was like having salt rubbed on an open wound.

But Zachary was careful to keep his voice level. ‘It must have been pleasant to be in Macau,’ he said. ‘I’m told the town is filled with convalescing military men.’

She was silent for just long enough that he knew he had rattled her. Then, recovering herself she continued: ‘Were there many military men about in Macau? I didn’t see any, but then I hardly left the house.’

‘Really?’

Zachary had been waiting for this moment and he knew exactly what he was going to say. Mimicking the silky tone that she herself often used, he said: ‘As it happens I was in Macau myself for a couple of days and I could swear I saw you going into a milliner’s shop one afternoon, down the street from the St Lazarus Church. As a matter of fact, I even saw you coming out after an hour or two, with Captain Mee. I’m told this milliner sometimes has a room to rent.’

‘Mr Reid!’ Mrs Burnham had gone white. ‘What on earth are you implying?’

A bark of laughter broke from Zachary’s throat. ‘Oh come, Mrs Burnham, there’s no need to pretend with me. You forget that I am perfectly familiar with your play-acting.’

‘What on earth … what do you mean, Mr Reid?’ she said, stumbling over her words.

Zachary saw from the corner of his eye that Mrs Burnham’s face had disappeared behind her parasol. ‘Captain Mee is the one, isn’t he, Mrs Burnham? The lieutenant you told me about?’

This set the parasol twirling in agitation so he softened his tone. ‘There’s no need to hide your face, Mrs Burnham.’

Now at last she answered, in a faltering, breathless rush. ‘Oh please, Mr Reid. All we did was talk — you will not speak of it to anyone, will you?’

Her capitulation softened Zachary a little. Without quite meaning to he voiced the question that had been circling in his head ever since the night of the levée.

‘Why him, Mrs Burnham? What do you see in that clodhopping dingleberry?’

‘I can’t tell you,’ she said softly. ‘I don’t know the answer. All I can say is that if it were in my hands I would not have chosen him.’

‘And why is that?’

‘Because we’re different, he and I. He is utterly without calculation, without guile; he is ruled entirely by his sense of duty. It is strange to say so, but I do not think I have ever known anyone so completely selfless.’

A thin smile rose to Zachary’s lips. ‘You are either deluded or naive, Mrs Burnham,’ he retorted. ‘There is nothing selfless about these military men. They are all drowning in debt; they can be bought for fifty dollars apiece. You should ask your husband about it — he has plenty of them in his pocket.’

‘Not Neville,’ she said with calm certainty. ‘He is not that kind of man.’

Zachary noticed now that her eyes had strayed to the other end of the parade ground, where Captain Mee could be seen, leaning against the hilt of his sword as he chatted with some other officers.

‘Is that what you believe?’ said Zachary. ‘That Captain Mee is immune to the inducements that tempt other men?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I am sure of it.’

He permitted himself a smile. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘we shall see.’

To grease the captain’s palms would not be easy, Zachary knew, but he was certain that it could be done: it was certainly a challenge worth rising to. And the more he thought about it the more important it seemed that he should succeed in the endeavour — for would it not thwart the design of the world if one man were allowed to flout the law of cupidity, that great engine of progress that matched needs to gains, supply with demand, and thereby distributed the right rewards to those who most deserved them?