Amitav Ghosh - Flood of Fire

Such was the contrast between the blandness of Mr Chan’s words and the silky menace of his tone that Zachary knew that the nature of the unfinished business was anything but trifling. Nor could he imagine that anyone would want to trifle either with Mr Chan or with the ex-convict: the man was a killer after all — Zachary had seen that with his own eyes, on the Ibis , on that night when he had settled his accounts with Mr Crowle. That he, Zachary, had thereby himself been spared injury — or perhaps even death — was the only consideration that made him hesitate to betray Freddie to Mr Chan.

‘Come now,’ said Mr Chan, prodding him gently. ‘We are partners, are we not, Mr Reid? We must be frank with each other — and you may be sure that no one shall know but I.’

All of a sudden now, Zachary recalled the veiled threats and innuendoes that had issued from the convict’s lips in Singapore. It was then that he made his decision: the man knew too much; to be rid of him would be no great loss for the world.

Zachary looked into the visitor’s eyes: ‘Yes, Mr Chan — I think you’re right. I too have reason to believe that he is at Hong Kong.’

Mr Chan continued to stare at him intently. ‘And would you by any chance happen to know what name he is using?’

‘He calls himself Freddie Lee.’

A smile spread slowly across Mr Chan’s face.

‘Thank you, Mr Reid, thank you. This makes everything much easier for me. I am glad we understand each other so well! One good turn deserves another — you will hear from Mr Burnham very soon; I will make sure of that.’

Zachary bowed. ‘It’s always a pleasure doing business with you, Mr Chan.’

‘And with you, Mr Reid.’

Mr Chan was as good as his word. At the end of the week a letter arrived from Mr Burnham, to tell Zachary that he had been released from his official commitments. He was to proceed at once to the foreign enclave in Canton, leaving the Ibis at Whampoa.

*

For several weeks after the extraction of the bullet from his side Neel was incapacitated by a fever. Of the extraction itself he remembered only that it was performed by a group of Chinese and Tibetan monks, armed with fearsome-looking needles and instruments. Fortunately he lost consciousness at the start of the procedure and did not regain it until the next day.

After that he would wake intermittently, to find himself lying on a mat, in a small, low-ceilinged room. In one corner lay the books and writing materials he had left behind at the Ocean Banner Monastery, with Taranathji. When he could summon the strength he would read or make notes.

Often he would hear musket- and cannon-fire in the distance; the noise would fade into his fevered dreams. From time to time familiar faces would appear — Taranathji, Compton, Baburao — and if their visits happened to coincide with a period of lucidity, they would speak of what was happening.

A truce had been declared, they told him; British warships were stationed all along the Guangzhou riverfront; steamers and gunboats were roaming the waterways, destroying batteries and gun-emplacements at will, attacking any vessel that aroused their suspicions. In the foreign enclave the Union Jack had once again been hoisted over the British Factory; many merchants had moved in and trade had been forcibly resumed. A very senior officer, General Sir Hugh Gough, had taken command of the British forces and he and Captain Elliot had issued a series of proclamations and ultimatums, demanding that the seizure of Hong Kong be formally ratified by the Emperor; that six million silver dollars be handed over immediately; that the ban on the opium trade be rescinded.

And so on.

But the Emperor was adamant: not only had he refused to make any concessions, he had recalled Qishan to Beijing in disgrace. The Governor-General had been replaced by a new set of officials, one of them a famous general; the Emperor had said to them: ‘The only word I accept is annihilation.’

But on arriving in Guangzhou the Emperor’s new envoys had been confronted with the same dilemma that had confounded their predecessors: the British forces were too powerful to be openly challenged — extensive preparations would be required if they were to be repulsed. So they had continued to parlay with the invaders while redoubling their efforts to strengthen their own forces.

Now thousands of fresh troops were pouring into the city, from other provinces and cities; new vessels, modelled on British gunboats, were being built at secret locations and guns were being cast in a foundry at nearby Fatshan, among them a colossal eighty-pounder.

Everybody knew that it was just a matter of time before war broke out again, this time with Guangzhou as the battlefield. This had caused great alarm, especially among those who lived outside the city walls; thousands had already fled from the suburbs and many more were planning to go. In some areas law and order had collapsed. The influx of troops from other provinces had added to the chaos; rumours were in the air that soldiers from faraway provinces had violated local women. This had led to clashes between the townsfolk and the newly arrived troops. Turmoil such as this had not been seen in Guangzhou since the fall of the Ming dynasty, two hundred years before.

It wasn’t long before Neel’s friends began to leave. One day Baburao came to the monastery to tell him that he was taking his whole family to Hong Kong. Guangzhou had become too unsafe, especially for boat-people; most of their relatives had already left.

Aar ekhane amra ki korbo? said Baburao, in Bengali. What are we to do here? In today’s Guangzhou there is no place for an eatery like ours.

In Hong Kong Asha-didi would be able to start over again, serving biryani, puris, samosas, kababs and all the other items for which her kitchen was famous; with so many lascar-crewed ships in the bay, there would be no shortage of Indian customers.

The move had been in preparation for a while, said Baburao. Over several weeks he and his sons had secretly transferred their household goods to his junk; they would leave in a day or two.

And the houseboat?

It will lie empty here for now, said Baburao. Maybe we’ll come back to get it some day. Then it was Compton’s turn to say goodbye. He had decided to go back to his village, he said, but he probably would not stay there long. There was no work for him there; he would have to move to a place where he could earn a livelihood.

So where will you go? said Neel.

Where can I go? said Compton despairingly. If I am to set up a print-shop again I will have to go to a place where an English-language printer is needed.

Such as?

Macau maybe, said Compton shamefacedly. Or maybe even Hong Kong.

You? In Hong Kong?

What else can I do, Ah Neel? Everything has changed. To survive I too will have to change.

A dispirited smile appeared on Compton’s face: ‘Maybe from now on we speak English again, jik-haih? I will need to practise.’

When they shook hands Neel said: ‘Thank you, Compton: for everything you’ve done for me — for all your help.’

‘Don’t thank me, Ah Neel,’ said Compton. ‘After this maybe it will be you who help me, haih me haih aa ?’

The one face that never appeared at Neel’s bedside was Jodu’s. When Neel asked about him he was told, by Taranathji, that Jodu had remained in the monastery for only a few days after their arrival: then a visitor had come looking for him, a sailor from foreign parts — a fierce-looking man with a mouth that was stained red with betel.

Jodu had left with him and had not been seen since.

*

Within half an hour of reaching Whampoa, Zachary was seated in the Ibis ’s longboat, heading towards Canton’s foreign enclave. He had heard a great deal about the size and populousness of Guangzhou but when the city walls came into view he was transfixed nonetheless: the ramparts seemed to stretch away forever, disappearing into the sunset sky. He had once overheard Captain Hall, of the Nemesis , saying that the two most marvellous sights he had seen in his life were Niagara Falls and the city of Canton: now he understood why.