Julian Stockwin - Artemis

The young face had a patrician stamp and an easy confidence, but it was clear that its owner was unsure of a situation that placed him with the responsibility for a crew of hard-looking naval seamen.

Stirk folded his arms and stared at him, while Quinlan stepped forward to the front and tugged his tarpaulin hat to an aggressive tilt.

The young man seemed to come to a decision. 'I'm Jamesen, supercargo in John Company for my sins.' The tone of his voice suggested that he had decided to take them into his confidence rather than attempt to lord it over them. 'Now, Canton is different from any place you've ever been to, and there's rules here which are stupid, childish and cruel — but this is China, and we have no choice. There's a hundred million Chinese over there,' he said, waving towards the endless paddy-fields, 'and we are a few hundred. Do you get my drift?'

The interior of the mess was airy and cool, the furniture spare. With the seamen incongruously clutching an eggshelllike teacup of transparent green tea, Jamesen explained further. 'Trade is everything — we buy tea, they buy . . . not much. They think they're the centre of the world, and everyone else is a barbarian and needs to be kept at a distance, so all trade with the biggest country in the world is through the one place. Canton!

'Now, I warn you in all sincerity, if you cause an incident, we can do nothing to save you. All dealings are through the Hoppo, a greasy, fat and entirely corrupt chief of the Co-Hong, which are a scurvy crew appointed by the Viceroy to deal with the barbarians and save him getting his hands dirty — as long as he gets his cut.' He finished his tea and refilled his cup. 'The season finishes soon, and we all have to fall back to our families in Macao, until March.'

He paused, and grinned. 'Your envoy will find that he will get his audience, and his presents will be graciously accepted, but he will have to wait for his reply at Macao like the rest, so

I doubt you'll be here long. There's shops and things around here, we're pretty self-contained. Wouldn't advise going off on your own. Be in the mess by sundown, don't get fuddled with drink, beware of everything and everybody.'

They nodded. They were not about to go on the ran-tan ashore hereabouts.

Jamesen softened a little. 'If there's any wants a stroll, it's my practice to take a turn around the city walls before dark. Anyone want to come?' Stirk and Kydd were the only takers.

They stepped it out, down the narrow alleys and along the sandy northern banks of the Pearl river. Much closer to the city the bustle increased. Flooding the pathways were Chinese of every description, carrying trussed chickens, yokes suspending large dark jars and huge clusters of unrecognisable vegetables. Their constant chattering was deafening.

'You know, it's instant execution for any Chinese teaching the language to a foreign devil,' said Jamesen. ‘ Tui m syu!’ he added politely, stepping around an old lady struggling with a bound piglet.

A palanquin with oiled-paper windows swayed towards them, preceded by a lackey in an embroidered gown banging a gong to clear a path. There was no sign of the occupant.

Kydd noticed a ragged bundle floating in the river. 'Ah, that you'll find is a female baby - up-country they want strong sons, not useless girls. Easiest way to solve the problem,' Jamesen explained.

Just before the dilapidated walls was a small sandy beach, and a crowd gathered around some officials. A large drum pounded monotonously. 'You may be interested in this,' Jamesen said languidly.

They hovered on the edge of the crowd and watched two men being brought forward. They had signs in Chinese characters around their necks, and their heads hung in listless dejection. 'They're pirates - probably peached on by their friends.' The men were thrust to their knees, facing the water. Reading from a scroll, an official chanted loudly, then suddenly whipped it down and stepped back. From the crowd came a man bared to the waist, carrying a highly polished Oriental sword. He swaggered up to the first pirate and stood ready. The noise from the crowd buzzed on without change.

At a screamed order from the official the executioner made ready, slowly and deliberately. Kydd went cold. The sword went up, the crowd's chatter continued to wash around unabated; the victim had nothing but a blank look on his face but tensed slightly. The sword blurred down and connected with a meaty crunch, the head bounced twice on the sand while the torso toppled slowly, gouting blood from the neck.

'Doesn't seem to deter them,' Jamesen commented. 'The pirates, I mean.'

There was no variation in the cheerful hum of conversations in the crowd. The seamen watched as the second pirate lost his head. Stirk looked at Kydd, but didn't speak.

The city walls were decrepit and crumbled at the edges. 'Never really needed these since the Ming dynasty was overthrown,' Jamesen said, kicking away a half-eaten gourd of some sort of fruit.

They paced along slowly, deliberately ignoring the small barefoot boys who tagged on behind chanting, l Faan kwai! Hung mo-tik faan kwai lo!’

At Kydd's look, Jamesen explained, 'Seems you're the usual sort of a hairy foreign devil.'

On the way back, they wended through a market, a riotous mix of women bargaining shrilly and vociferous stall-keepers. Edging around them, Kydd had never in his life felt so conspicuous, and was not helped by the many darting looks, some curious, most sullen and venomous.

"Ere - rum dos!' Stirk had seen a movement in a large wicker basket and was standing over it, pointing. Kydd crossed to see and was shocked to see that it contained a human being, tied in a foetal position.

'It's not—'

Jamesen cocked an eye, then grabbed his arm. 'Leave now!' His voice was urgent. The talking had died away around them, and there was hostility in the air. They hurried off, pursued by derisive shouts.

'What?'

'Not your fault,' said Jamesen breathlessly. 'They're on display.' He paused to recover. 'Don' tell me!' Stirk growled.

'Yes. If they're found guilty, they're on display at the scene of the crime until sunset, then they're taken out and strangled on the spot. Silk rope, of course.'

'O' course,' Stirk said hoarsely:

Jamesen sniffed into a handkerchief and went on. 'They don't like the foreign devils to get involved — I'll be glad to get back to the compound. A few years ago they got hold of a gunner of a Bristol packet caught in an accident.' He looked back furtively, and went on. 'They tortured him publicly in front of the family concerned before strangling him.'

* * *

In the factory Jamesen found some wine. 'Has to be drunk anyway before we retire to Macao. China is old and ancient,' he mused. 'Decaying on the inside and out. If some country knocked on the door hard enough, it would come crashing down and let some fresh air in. And trade.' He drained the glass expertly. 'As near eighty per centum of trade goes in English bottoms, I guess it'll be us doing the deed some day - and I hope soon.'

Hearing curt voices outside, Jamesen got to his feet. 'Stay here,' he commanded. He was back quickly. As I thought. You'll be going down-river tomorrow to await the Viceroy's reply. I'll see to your sleeping arrangements.'

Renzi said nothing, simply puffed quietly on his long clay pipe and sat back on the foredeck of Artemis. Kydd tried to provoke him, but could not break his composure, only a slight smile betraying anything of his feelings. The others had left the deck when the chill of evening crept in, leaving the two alone.

'An' you are telling me this is th' mark of civilisation?' Kydd continued, with heat.

Renzi stirred and knocked out his pipe on the planksheer. Red sparks of dottle cascaded prettily into the gloaming. 'My dear fellow, how can I say? I was not there, I was never a witness to these . . . untoward events.' Inwardly he was hot with indignation that he had not been able to see for himself. He was sure that the savant would not lie, and that the precepts of Confucius did indeed inform the actions of the ruling class, but this?