The Chinese Vase Read online

  The angle was too great for her to see without leaving her post. She moved the end of the tube to her mouth. “How far?”

  “We arrive before them,” came his reply.

  They were about five miles out when the air-dock became visible: a rectangular field of close-cropped grass dotted with groups of buildings. The ice warehouses were in the northeast corner, and a group of Bainbridge ships were docked around their own storage buildings. A couple of independent ice buckets were docked near the general trade warehouses; there was no activity, which meant the workers could start unloading as soon as Beauty made dock.

  Qi did not expect the perfection Remy had promised, but he was close. They were at two hundred feet by the altimeter and half a mile out when she disengaged the power to the main propeller and their forward velocity dropped. The easterly wind kept pushing the ship off course. Qi adjusted the thrusters to compensate for the drift and keep their heading true.

  A team of five dock workers emerged from the customs building and grouped around a mooring pier close to the other landed ships. Qi adjusted her course and the four thruster power levers. The Beauty drifted smoothly into position. But it wasn’t the ship’s speed that was the problem: it was the tonnage of ice in the hold. Misjudge the approach and the Beauty would be smashed to pieces as the cargo met the brick building. The sooner she could get Beauty on the ground the better.

  She saw the forward lines drop down, thrown out by Ding and Ichiro. She was now so close all she could see was the pier. The two forward lines went taut as the workers below caught hold. She reduced power further until the thrusters were just compensating for the wind. Up on top deck she knew Remy would be closing off the valves that allowed the super-heated steam from the boilers into the array of pipes that ran up into the balloon envelopes.

  The Beauty came to a halt a couple of yards from the mooring pier. The pier seemed to be rising as the ship sank to the ground. The head of a man came into view followed by the rest of him, like a ship coming over the horizon: an Indian in dungarees, the uniform of the dockers.

  There was a gentle jolt as the ship settled onto the grass. Qi cut the power to the thrusters and stepped away. She turned to Otto who had his hand on a large red button set into the wall. “Give them a blast, Otto.”

  He grinned. “Ja, Captain.” He pushed the palm of his hand against the button and a klaxon roared, filling the ship. She glanced at the chronometer, which ticked five seconds.

  “Again.” The noise blasted out

  Another five seconds. “Once more.” He pressed the button and the klaxon roared again. Qi stepped across to a lever and gripped it with both hands. The final five seconds passed and she threw the switch that disengaged the Faraday device.

  Even though she was ready for it, she staggered as the weight of every object on board ship—and the vessel itself—quadrupled and it sank into the ground.

  The crew of the Beauty had done this dozens of times. In the engine room Ding and Ichiro would be banking the fires in the furnace; on deck Remy would be releasing the steam pressure and ensuring the balloons deflated neatly and without burning on the pipework. Qi, accompanied by Otto, made her way through into the cargo hold. The lights were already burning and she could hear the Australian cook, Terry Montgomery, hammering at the frozen bolts of the main hatch.

  She had found Terry in a Buddhist monastery in China. She had never asked why he had been there. He seemed to think her arrival had been some sort of sign; he had immediately attached himself to her. He had a lean strength but she had never seen him raise his hand in anger to anyone. Right now he was exerting that strength on a particularly reluctant bolt.

  She stood back to give him and Otto space to free the ramp. Otto grabbed the wooden handle of the winch and wound it down.

  The hot air of the Delhi evening flooded in and did battle with the frozen atmosphere inside the hold, forming a low mist that flowed along the icy deck. The dock workers lounged in a casual group a few yards away, waiting instead of rushing forward to start unloading.

  The reason was clear. Like a tiger ready to pounce, Walter Templeton, Constable of His Majesty’s Customs and Excise, stood poised with a polished clip-board in one hand.

  Qi resisted the temptation to glance into the back of the cargo hold. Instead she walked steadily down the ramp forcing a smile on to her face.

  “Constable Templeton, this is a surprise.”

  iv

  “Captain Qi.”

  Templeton strode up the deck. He loomed over her, blocking the light.

  “Is this really necessary?” she asked as he stepped past her into the aisle. One could hope he might slip and maybe break his neck (or at least break something important), but he was experienced at walking the ice decks.

  Ding had disembarked on the outside and now stood on the grass, glaring at Templeton. He glanced at Qi, who shrugged. There was nothing they could do.

  “Would it be possible to unload the cargo you’ve inspected?”

  “No.”

  Templeton wandered up the aisle at a slow pace, examining the straps and looking above and below the ice blocks. What did he think he was looking for? Anything under the ice would get crushed.

  Qi looked back at Ding; she jerked her head towards the back of the hold. Ding started up the ramp.

  “Please keep your crew out of the hold while I make my inspection.” She turned round and saw Templeton frowning at her. She waved Ding back and he descended again.

  “Hey! English!”

  Both Templeton and Qi turned at the sound coming from above them. Remy Darras stood at the gantry entrance.

  Templeton turned his head to Qi. “I believe I asked you to keep your crew out of the cargo hold.”

  “Monsieur Darras, I would appreciate it if you would leave the deck.”

  “But I am not on the deck. I am not interfering with this stupid English.”

  “You will kindly treat me with some respect,” Templeton said in a tone that would brook no argument from a sane person.

  “And why would I do that, English?” Darras’s taunting voice echoed around the cargo hold, along with the occasional crack of warming ice and what, to Qi at least, sounded like footsteps. She moved towards Templeton, whose attention was thoroughly occupied with the Frenchman.

  “Because, Monsieur,” countered Templeton. “I can have you locked up.”

  “I am not one of your British citizens; there is nothing you can do.”

  “Or I can make Captain Qi wait here without unloading until all your precious cargo is melted into worthlessness.”

  The Frenchman stepped forward and placed his ungloved hands on the icy rail. He took a deep breath.

  “Allons enfants de la patrie,” sang Darras. “Le jour de gloire est arrivé / Le jour de gloire est arrivé /—” With each refrain his voice grew louder. Templeton tried to speak but his voice was completely drowned out by the French national anthem.

  Qi watched Darras’s eyes, and saw a flick above and behind them. She crossed behind Templeton to ensure he did not take his eyes off Darras and then called up.

  “Remy?”

  Darras broke off his song. “Oui, Captain?”

  “Why don’t you take Otto to a bar and get drunk?”

  “Bien sur, that is an excellent ideé.” He peeled his palms carefully from the freezing steel of the rail and went back into the ship.

  She faced Templeton. “I apologise, Constable. I do not think Monsieur Darras subscribes to the Entente Cordiale between your two countries. And he does not appreciate the hard work you do. I will be sure to censure him about his behaviour.” She conjured up the most pleasant and innocent smile she could. “Why don’t I leave you to finish your inspection? Perhaps you would like a hot mug of tea?”

  After the abuse from Darras, the earnestness of her tone confused him and he accepted her offer.

  She strode away across the deck and broke into a run as soon as she was out on the grass. Hand over hand she climb
ed one of the ladders attached to the outside of the ship up to the afterdeck, where Ding held the dripping box he had recovered from the hold while Templeton had his attention on Darras—who stood nearby, grinning like a madman.

  “You could have made it worse, Remy,” she said.

  “We have recovered the item and we are safe, non?”

  She sighed, there was no point arguing. She had been careless and they had been right.

  “Why?” asked Ding.

  She shrugged. Why indeed. Inspections were not unknown but they were rare. If it had been serious, Templeton would have had a platoon of soldiers to search the whole ship and he wouldn’t have been so lax about keeping the crew out of the hold. He would have had them all in one place under guard before he started the inspection.

  It stank.

  She leaned on the rail and looked up. If the Jackanape made it to port before Templeton finished, all their fancy flying would be wasted and their cargo would spend a warm night melting.

  * * * * *

  The Jackanape was on its final approach when Templeton declared that he was satisfied. The other ship was still twenty minutes from touchdown; being hydrogen-based it did not have the ability to land quickly like the Beauty.

  Templeton handed the half-frozen mug of tea to Qi as he signed off the report and passed her a copy. She glanced at it and gave him another smile. “Thank you.”

  He nodded and walked towards the administration building.

  “We can unload now?” she called after him.

  He did not turn or answer but raised his hand to the lounging workers. At his gesture towards the Beauty, they climbed to their feet. Qi climbed up to the walkway to watch as they went smoothly to work moving the ice from the hold. None too soon: even the ice on the gantry was melting.

  Ding came through the upper door and handed her a backpack containing a single heavy item.

  “What about the others?”

  “Gone.”

  “All right, you stay on board. I’ll see what I can get for this.”

  He reached out and laid his hand gently on her shoulder. “Be careful,” he said in Mandarin.

  “I will.”

  The sun was dipping low as she walked down the ramp beside the dock workers, who were using ropes and pulleys to manhandle another ice block onto the steam-powered truck that chugged just inside the hold. They’d be at it for another few hours.

  She took a circuitous route away from the administration block and down towards the main passenger buildings. There were a couple of small British vessels in dock as well as a zeppelin. The big ships did not come to Delhi; they went via Bombay and then down the coast to Ceylon. Only the smaller lines plied the route across the top the country, from Bombay across to Calcutta via Delhi, along the base of the mountains.

  On the street she hailed a rickshaw and headed into the city.

  v

  The streets of Delhi sweated in the dying light of the day and the sky took on a purple hue. The low sun’s half-light made the shadows thick as night.

  The rickshaw driver flew through the streets that bustled with people on foot, horses, bicycles; there were carts pulled by oxen and goats, and a variety of mechanicals from personal carriages to big huffing omnibuses overflowing with passengers. Her driver gave not so much as a sideways glance as they passed a fruit vendor and an engineer engaged in a screaming argument beside a toppled cart half-crushed by a steam carriage.

  From the wide and tarmacadamed road that led from the air-dock to the city, the driver turned off on to narrower streets. They passed markets where their speed dropped to almost nothing while the driver shouted at the pedestrians, and trotted along side streets splattering effluent against the walls and onto anyone who had the misfortune to be standing nearby.

  Finally they reached a stand of small shops built in the typical British style that pervaded the larger Indian cities. The driver stopped in the middle of the street and Qi dismounted, clutching the box. She took a few coins from her belt and passed them over. Flashing a grin, he headed off.

  Someone had thoughtfully constructed a walkway to keep pedestrian feet out of the mire that comprised the street, but she still had to step carefully to reach it. It had been such a long time since she had worn women’s attire, and she was not sure she possessed any. Skirts were impractical aboard ship, bound as they were to get caught on the metal work, and when worn visiting a city they would only attract dirt. Dock worker’s boots and sturdy trousers were the order of the day.

  Qi knew her clothing was unusual. She was used to being stared at and even mistaken for a man on occasion. Looking feminine was not something she considered necessary in her line of work, and she had never encountered any occasion when it was required. Nor did she comment on the choices of others: live and let live was her motto.

  But the Caucasian lad with the badly trimmed black hair under a cloth cap—lounging against a brick wall outside the shop she intended to enter—caught her attention. He wore a light jacket over a loose shirt with trousers and practical boots, in his mouth was a short clay pipe, and he was casually sharpening a knife on a whetstone. Despite all that, the boy looked distinctly female with his soft features and, if Qi was not much mistaken, breasts: not prominent, but there nonetheless.

  Qi realised first that she was staring, and then that she had stopped walking. She nodded at the boy, as if they were slightly acquainted, and received a smile and nod in return.

  She pushed open the shop door. It had no signage, but she knew this was the right place. The dark interior held a wide selection of items for sale. There was no organisation, and no consistency: a bicycle, a lady’s reticule, some golf clubs. One pile consisted of bits of machinery even she did not recognise. The smaller items were displayed on pieces of furniture which were themselves for sale. Most were in reasonable condition, but everything was coated in a layer of dust.

  “Captain Qi.”

  From the back of the shop emerged Emily Wong, wearing a cheongsam that may have fitted her once but was now several sizes too large, as if she had shrunk. Her age was indeterminate, but in excess of a hundred if her wrinkles were counted like rings in a tree trunk. Her pure white hair was tied back in a thick braid.

  “Emily.”

  There were no pleasantries to be spoken. Qi had known Emily since she first travelled with her father on the Beauty. Emily had always looked the same, and she existed for only one reason. Qi lifted the box, expecting Emily to invite her into the back to examine the item.

  But she did not. Instead she stood impassively in the half-light.

  Something moved behind her. Someone. Kuan-Yin Sun’s portly frame emerged from the gloom. With his high-quality silk kimono, leather sandals, long, drooping moustache, and conical hat, he looked every inch the Mandarin he pretended to be. There were other figures behind him in the dark: his bully boys, no doubt.

  “I am disappointed, Qi.” He spoke in Mandarin though she knew he had an excellent command of English. His voice was very light in tone, so unlike the weight of his character and business.

  “I am sorry I did not call on you first. We were delayed by the port authorities.”

  “Indeed you were.” Kuan-Yin stepped further into the light. His face was smiling though there was little mirth in his eyes. “You did not bring your cargo to me on your last trip. It seems that was not your intention this time, either.”

  Qi glanced behind herself. There were two more Chinese in suits a size too small outside on the street. If she couldn’t talk her way out of this one, it could end up being quite painful for someone. She hoped it would not be her.

  “I did not know I was required to sell through you, Sun.” She took a step back. “I can get a better price selling through Emily, here.”

  His humourless smile broadened to reveal an expanse of teeth with gaps. “Emily is not buying from you anymore.”

  “Isn’t that up to her?”

  Kuan-Yin did not respond. Qi already knew the answer; it
would not be hard for him to ensure she had nowhere to sell smuggled goods.

  “There are other cities.”

  The grin did not leave his face. “I wonder,” he said, picking some imagined piece of food from between his teeth. “How will you travel to those cities without a vessel?”

  “You wouldn’t destroy my Beauty.”

  “I do not need to destroy her, Qi. Merely repossess her.”

  Her heart sank because she knew it was true. She might love the Frozen Beauty but she did not own her—or, at least, she could not prove she did. It was a fact she chose to ignore. She had lived on board any time she had not been at Catholic school. Her father had been the captain before she took over, and while she might not have a piece of paper that proved she owned her, she loved the ship with all her heart.

  And no one would take Beauty from her.

  She lifted a curiously shaped iron paperweight from the desk beside her and weighed it in her hand as she eyed Kuan-Yin. The smile slipped from his face. She flung it with all her force at the light fitting above his head, shattering the glass.

  Turning, she threw herself towards the front door. The two heavies could not see into the shop, but they anticipated Qi fleeing the premises. The nearest one lunged at her as she came through the door. She twisted out of his way and, as he flew past, gave him a push that sent him through the plate glass with a crash of glass and blood.

  She turned to face the second but he was not attacking. His attention was riveted on the knife at his throat. The boy-girl had him pinned but did not press her fatal advantage. Qi did not hesitate. She slammed her fist into his solar plexus. He went down with blood trickling from a cut in his neck. Qi looked at the boy-girl, who smiled and shrugged.

  “Fanning, ma’am,” he said and held out his hand. As Qi shook it, she noted the grip was firm but the skin was soft.

  “Qi Zang.”

  “Reckoned there’d be trouble when those two showed up.” There was a growl and shout from the shop. “Shall we be going?”