Amitav Ghosh - Flood of Fire

Zachary’s amazement deepened as the Ibis ’s longboat made its way along the city’s miles-long waterfront: the sprawl of habitation, the traffic on the river and the sheer density of people was almost beyond comprehension. Grudgingly he admitted to himself that his native Baltimore would be dwarfed by this vast metropolis, even if it were three, four or five times larger than it was.

To find Mr Burnham in this vast honeycomb of a city would be a devil of a task, he assumed. But when the boat drew up to the foreign enclave he had no difficulty in deciding which way to go: a tall flagpole with a fluttering Union Jack led him directly to the British Factory where Mr Burnham had taken an apartment.

On entering the factory Zachary was handed over to a bowing, gown-clad steward who led him through a series of richly panelled hallways and carpeted corridors. Zachary’s eyes widened as he took in the gilt-framed pictures, the gleaming sconces, the tall porcelain vases, the ivory doorknobs, the lavishly painted wallpapers, the thick carpets — the opulence of the place was marvellously seductive; this, Zachary decided, was how he would like to live.

Mr Burnham’s apartment too was lavishly appointed, so much so that the luxuries of Bethel seemed modest by comparison. The door was opened by another pig-tailed, black-gowned servant, and Zachary was led through a wainscoted vestibule to a large study.

Mr Burnham was sitting at a desk, enthroned in a rosewood chair. ‘Ah there you are, Reid!’ he said, as he rose to welcome Zachary. ‘You’ve arrived at last.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Zachary. ‘And I’m much obliged to you for making the arrangements.’

‘Oh it was nothing. And you’ve come not a moment too soon.’

‘Really, sir? Why?’

‘There’s a reception this evening in this factory.’

Mr Burnham paused, as if to add emphasis to what he was about to say.

‘A large contingent of military officers will be present.’

Zachary was instantly on the alert. ‘Yes, sir?’

‘I believe Captain Mee is expected.’

‘I see, sir.’

‘I was wondering,’ Mr Burnham continued, ‘whether there’s been any progress on that little matter that we talked about?’

‘Well, sir,’ said Zachary. ‘I did speak to Captain Mee a while ago and I do believe I succeeded in planting a thought or two in his mind. He’s had some time to think the matter over — so I should be able to get an answer from him now.’

‘Good,’ said Mr Burnham, glancing at his fob. ‘Well we should go then — the reception will have started already.’

Zachary followed Mr Burnham down a flight of stairs to a mahogany-panelled refectory. A dozen or so merchants had already gathered there and they pounced on Mr Burnham as soon as he stepped in.

‘Burnham, have you heard? The mandarins have moved four thousand more troops from Hubei to Canton.’

‘And a new battery has been built on the Dutch folly!’

‘There can be no doubt of it now — the Chinese are preparing another offensive!’

‘And what I want to know is what in hell is the Plenny-potty doing about it?’

As others joined in the outcry Zachary retreated to the edges of the group, and manoeuvred himself into a position from which he could keep an eye on the door.

It wasn’t long before Captain Mee entered, with a group of red-coated officers: he was in full dress uniform, with a sword at his side. Their eyes met briefly as the officers stepped in and Zachary knew, from the way the captain flushed, that he was rattled to see him.

In the meantime Mr Burnham had added his voice to the discussion: ‘I have it on good authority, gentlemen, that General Gough has already issued orders for the troops at Hong Kong to be brought forward to Whampoa. As long as he’s at the helm we have nothing to fear!’

‘Hear, hear!’

Zachary listened with only half an ear; his attention was now wholly focused on Captain Mee.

The captain too seemed to be aware that he was being watched and his discomfiture became steadily more evident: he kept mopping his face and fidgeting with his collar. Seeing him drain several glasses of wine in quick succession, Zachary realized that he would have to act quickly if the danger of a drunken scene were to be averted. When the captain drifted away to a window he decided to make his move: he crossed the refectory and stuck out his hand: ‘A very good eveningto you, Captain Mee.’

The captain turned his head slightly and an angry flush rose to his large, heavy-jawed face. A vein began to throb on his temple and, as if by instinct, his fingers began to fidget with the hilt of his sword.

This was a decisive moment, Zachary knew, and he kept his gaze fixed unflinchingly on the captain’s face. Their eyes met and locked together; for a long moment it was as if two powerful currents had collided and each were trying to force back the other. Then something seemed to shift and Zachary sensed that he had only to keep his nerve in order to prevail; without dropping his eyes he repeated, ‘Good evening, Captain Mee,’ and again thrust his hand at him.

And now at last the captain brushed a hand across Zachary’s fingertips. ‘Good evening.’

Zachary smiled. ‘It’s always a pleasure to see you, Captain.’

The captain turned away with a grunt. ‘What the devil do you want?’

‘I was wondering,’ said Zachary evenly, ‘whether you’d given any thought to my proposal?’

The captain’s chin snapped up and his eyes flashed in anger.

Zachary returned his stare with an unperturbed smile. ‘We must recall, mustn’t we, Captain Mee,’ he said, ‘exactly what is at stake, for yourself and others — especially a certain lady?’

The veiled threat hung between them for a second or two while Captain Mee struggled for words. Then, in a low, gruff voice, he mumbled: ‘What do you require of me?’

At that a warm exultancy surged up in Zachary: he knew that he had won, that he had bent the captain to his will. He had suspected that the captain’s truculence was an expression not of strength but of insufficiency and this was now confirmed; Zachary understood that outside soldiering Captain Mee was at a loss to deal with the world and expected only failure and defeat. That he should capitulate to a bluff; that he should so readily abase himself to protect the woman he loved — all this seemed laughable to Zachary: how weak they were, these childlike, bumbling warriors, with all their talk of honour and conviction. It was all he could do not to gloat.

‘We mustn’t worry about the details, Captain,’ he said. ‘It’s the principle that matters and I’m glad we find ourselves in agreement on that.’

Zachary stuck out his hand again and this time he made sure to give the captain’s reluctantly proffered fingers a hearty shake. ‘It will be a pleasure doing business with you, Captain.’

As he turned away, Zachary heard the captain mumble, ‘Go to hell,’ and was tempted to laugh.

On the other side of the room Mr Burnham was still deep in discussion with his fellow merchants. Zachary made his way over, tapped Mr Burnham on the elbow and led him aside.

‘I’ve had a word with Captain Mee, sir.’

‘And what came of it? Is he amenable?’

‘I’m glad to tell you, sir,’ said Zachary proudly, ‘that he is.’

‘Good man!’ Mr Burnham beamed as he clapped Zachary on the back. ‘That’s all I needed to know. You can leave him to me now, I’ll handle the rest. It’s enough that you’ve brought him around — can’t have been easy, I imagine.’

‘No, sir,’ said Zachary. ‘It wasn’t.’

‘I won’t ask how you did it,’ said Mr Burnham. ‘But I do think you deserve a commission.’