Flood of Fire

Sixteen

The Cambridge was a good distance away, riding at anchor at Whampoa, when Jodu pointed her out to Neel. She was like no vessel that Neel had set eyes on, a curious amalgam of West and East. In outline she was like any full-rigged English merchantman but the adornments with which she was bedecked gave her the appearance of a war-junk in disguise: pennants with yin-yang symbols and flags with the Chinese character for ‘courage’ fluttered atop her masts; paper-lanterns were strung up over her decks; and long banners, with Chinese lettering, were suspended from her gunwales, hanging down almost to the water, like gigantic scrolls. As with any junk, her bows sported two huge eyes. This touch made her appear at once familiar and faintly comical: in Bengal too locally made boats of all kinds, large and small, commonly had eyes painted on their bows — yet there was no denying that the design looked out of place on a Liverpool-built three-master.

On stepping aboard Neel encountered many other surprises: while the geography of the vessel’s interior remained European the pattern of use was quite different. The ship’s Chinese officers had chosen to occupy the fo’c’sle, which on Western vessels was always assigned to crewmen; it was the lascars who were berthed in the roundhouse, which, on an English ship, would have been the exclusive preserve of the ships’ officers.

The functioning of the Cambridge too was unlike that of a Western ship. There was no ‘captain’ as such, but rather an officer whose position was like that of the lao-dah of a junk — more a co-ordinator than a commander in the Western fashion. This suited the crew very well since most operational matters were left to them: decisions were generally arrived at by consensus which meant that the atmosphere on board was more relaxed than on most ships.

The crewmen were a varied lot — apart from Indian lascars there were contingents of sailors from Java, Sumatra, the Moluccas, the Philippines and of course Guangdong — but they generally got on well together and there was a great deal of camaraderie on board.

But for all that, there was also something a little unreal about the atmosphere of the Cambridge. The vessel was always surrounded by guard-boats and the crewmen were never allowed ashore except with an armed escort: whether this was for their own protection or to prevent them from deserting was not clear. But Jodu was certainly not the only member of the crew who joked about the Cambridge being a floating jail.

For Neel the most discomfiting thing about being on the Cambridge was the lack of news: she could have been at sea for all that her crew knew of what was happening around them.

Fortunately Compton had become, by default, the go-between who conveyed the orders of the Guangzhou authorities to the crew of the Cambridge. He was always a fount of information so his visits were eagerly awaited, and by none more so than Neel.

After a year of working closely with Compton, Neel had become very finely attuned to his friend’s moods. As the weeks went by he noticed a marked change in Compton’s usually bouyant spirits: at every visit he seemed more and more despondent. Other than ferrying messages he had little work to do, he said. The new Governor-General, Qishan, had brought along a translator of his own, a man by the name of Peng Bao. The trouble was that this man was not really a translator but rather a linkister, whose knowledge of English was limited to Yangjinbang or pidgin English: for many years he had worked for a notorious British opium smuggler, Lancelot Dent. This Peng Bao was a hou gau, a low fellow, the kind of man who ‘lies even while praying’. Yet, he had somehow succeeded in gaining the Governor-General’s ear even as Commissioner Lin’s advisors and translators were being shoved aside. The old translation bureau had been more or less disbanded and Zhong Lou-si was no longer consulted on matters of any importance.

At the start of November Compton confided something that came as an even greater surprise to Neel: he said he was in the process of moving his family away from Guangzhou. He had decided to send them back to his village, which was on the coast, not far from Chuenpee.

Neel was startled to hear this because he knew that Compton had a great love of Guangzhou, as did his family.

Why? Has something happened?

Compton’s face darkened. Things were changing very fast in Guangzhou, he said. Words like ‘traitor’ and ‘spy’ were being thrown around so freely that everyone who had ever had any contact with foreigners had reason to be afraid; the place was becoming a ‘crocodile pool’. If things got worse there was no telling what might happen: it was for their own safety that he had decided to move his family.

Even on the Cambridge the crewmen were aware that tensions were rising around them. But this did not deter the ship’s Muslim lascars from continuing to make their monthly visits to the Huaisheng mosque in Guangzhou. For reasons of prudence, they no longer took the public ferries that connected Whampoa and Guangzhou but travelled instead on hired boats with armed escorts. Their usual practice was to go up on a Thursday afternoon; they would stay the night at the mosque and return to the Cambridge the next day, after the noon prayers.

Opportunities to escape the confinement of the Cambridge were rare enough that Neel took to accompanying the lascars on their monthly outings. After they had gone off to the Huaisheng mosque, he would go over to the other side of the river, to make his way to the Ocean Banner Monastery where he could always be sure of a warm welcome from Taranathji. Often Compton too would come over to meet him there.

On one such visit, in the depth of winter, the three of them — Neel, Taranathji and Compton — had a long talk. Compton said that he had it on good authority that the new Governor-General, Qishan, did not want to provoke another armed confrontation with the British; if the decision were his own to make then he would have acceded to the British demands. But the Emperor had expressly forbidden him to make any concessions. The orders from Beijing remained unchanged: the ‘rebel aliens’ had to be expelled from China at all costs.

Here Taranathji interjected that the best chance of achieving this end would have been to follow the advice of the Gurkhas: to attack the British in the rear by launching a joint expedition against the East India Company’s territories in Bengal. Had the British been compelled to defend themselves in India they would have had no option but to withdraw from China.

This brought a rueful smile to Compton’s face: he revealed that he had heard from Zhong Lou-si that the present Gurkha king, Rajendra Bikram Shah, had recently renewed his offer of military intervention; he had urged Beijing to support him in an attack on British forces in Bengal.

On hearing this Neel sat upright, his hopes soaring. And what had come of the Gurkha offer? he asked. Was there any chance that the Chinese would join the Gurkhas in an overland attack on British India?

Compton shook his head: No, he said, it was against Beijing’s policy to make alliances with other kingdoms. And in any case the Qing did not entirely trust the Gurkhas.

Something snapped in Neel’s head when he heard this.

Oh you are fools, you Han-ren! he cried out. Despite all your cleverness you are fools! Don’t you see, this is the only stratagem that might have worked? The Gurkhas were right all along!

Compton made a gesture of resignation. What does it matter now, Ah Neel? It’s already too late.

That night Neel lay awake thinking how different things might have been, in Hindustan and China, if the Qing had acted on the advice they’d received from their Nepali tributaries. The Gurkhas might even have succeeded in creating a realm that straddled much of the Gangetic plain; a state strong enough to hold off the European powers.

But for the short-sightedness of a few men in Beijing the map of the world might have been quite different …

Just as Neel was drifting into sleep there was a sudden outburst of noise, across the river, in the Foreign enclave. Running outside he saw that a fireworks display was under way at the threshold of the American Factory, where a number of foreign merchants were still in residence.

Evidently they were celebrating the arrival of the Western New Year: 1841 had just begun.

Shireen had initially planned to wear her best evening dress to the Burnhams’ New Year’s Day levée. But as the days went by the thought of stepping on the Anahita in European clothes became oddly disturbing to her: she could not rid herself of the idea that Bahram — for whom the ship had been built — would not approve. When the day came she decided to wear a sari instead — one that Bahram had given her, a mauve silk gara that had been embroidered in Canton.

In keeping with Shireen’s choice of clothing Freddie and Zadig also decided to dispense with their usual jackets and trowsers. On the afternoon of the levée, Zadig arrived at the villa looking like a grandee of the Sublime Porte, in a burumcuk caftan and a tall, black calpac. Freddie was a step behind him, dressed in a simple but elegant Chinese robe, with a finely ornamented collar. On his freshly shaved face there was an expression that Shireen had never seen before, a look of taut, expectant alertness: it was evident that the prospect of re-visiting the Anahita had stirred up a ferment of emotions in him.

It had been arranged that they would meet the Anahita’s longboat at a quay on the other side of the Macau promontory, on the shore that faced the Outer Harbour. Shireen was transported there in a sedan chair and much to her surprise she was recognized as soon as she stepped up to the boat. The serang came hurrying forward to greet her, with a hand cupped to his forehead: Salaam, Bibiji. Khem chho?

Shireen was startled to be greeted in Gujarati, and that too in a fashion that suggested that the man knew who she was. But then, looking at him more closely, she realized that he was a member of the Anahita’s original crew. As with many others in that contingent he had been with her family even before the ship was built, having been recruited from Kutch, as a boy, to work on her father’s own batelo yacht.

Ghagguji? said Shireen. Is it you?

Ji, Bibiji.

He was pleased to be recognized and a wide grin spread slowly across his bearded, weather-beaten face.

Are you still working on the Anahita then?

The serang nodded in affirmation: Mr Burnham had retained the Anahita’s crew in its entirety, he said. Every man on the ship had once worked for Seth Bahram; she was ‘Bibiji’ to all of them and the news that she was coming aboard that day had caused much excitement on the vessel.

Bibiji, said the serang, the timbers of the Anahita may have changed hands, but her spirit will always belong to you and your family. Ships are like horses, Bibiji; they remember the people who rear them.

The affinities of mutual recognition seemed to deepen as the pinnace moved ahead. Shireen had no difficulty in picking out the Anahita amidst all the other vessels that were at anchor in the channel: neither a merchantman nor a warship, she had the sleek elegance of a pleasure yacht.

The Anahita too seemed to stir in recognition as the pinnace drew up: many of her crewmen flocked to the bulwarks, craning their heads over the deck-rails to catch a glimpse of the returning Bibiji. Their enthusiasm embarrassed Shireen — it was almost as though she were coming back to claim an inheritance that had been seized by usurpers. She could not help wondering whether her hosts would be affronted by her reception.

But if Mrs Burnham was put out she gave no sign of it; she greeted all three of them with great cordiality but was especially warm to Shireen. Linking arms with her, she said: ‘You must know this ship very well, don’t you, Shireen dear?’

‘Yes, so I do.’ Shireen was glad to see that Mrs Burnham was completely recovered from her attack of ill-health: she was wearing a very becoming evening gown, of a primrose colour with a high, roxaline bodice and ballooning mameluke sleeves.

‘Would you and your friends like to take a dekko at the after-quarters, for old times’ sake?’

‘That would be very nice. Yes, thank you.’

‘Well come on then,’ said Mrs Burnham, ‘I’ll show you around before everyone else arrives.’

Shireen had expected to find the interior of the Anahita much changed, and so indeed it was. The companion-way that led to Bahram’s suite of cabins had once been decorated with paintings and carved panels, featuring Zoroastrian and Assyrian motifs. The pictures and woodwork were gone now; there were no images anywhere to be seen.

A still greater surprise awaited at the far end of the gangway where lay the ‘Owners’ Suite’. This was the most lavishly appointed part of the vessel and had been especially designed to serve as Bahram’s personal living quarters. It was here that he had always slept, in a large, richly decorated cumra with windows that overlooked the Anahita’s stern.

Shireen had assumed that the Burnhams, as the new owners, would take that suite for themselves — but when the door swung open she saw to her surprise that it was being used, instead, as a baggage hold. A great jumble of furniture was piled up inside — chairs, tables, disassembled bedsteads, settees, chaises-longues, even an upright pianoforte. One of the two windows was wide open.

‘I’m afraid this suite has had its troubles,’ said Mrs Burnham. ‘We were hit by a squall as we were approaching the China coast and the windows in this cumra flew open. The whole suite was flooded and will have to be completely refurbished, at a shipyard — until then we’ve decided to use it as an attic.’

She raised a hand to point aft. ‘Look at that window over there. I told a kussab to shut it just a few minutes ago but I suppose the budmash forgot.’

Freddie took a step towards the window. ‘You want me to close it, lah?’

‘Would you please?’

After shutting the window Freddie stepped back to look towards the reddening horizon, through the glass.

‘Bahram-bhai loved those windows,’ said Zadig. ‘I remember so well how he would lie in his bed, gazing into the distance.’

These words, evocative as they were, conjured up for Shireen so vivid an image of her husband that it was as if he had himself appeared within the darkening shadows, to watch the sunset. At home in Bombay too she had often seen him in that attitude, gazing at the sea with a pensive, slightly melancholy air. She had sometimes wondered what was on his mind and it struck her now that he must have been thinking of Canton: of his mistress and his son, Freddie, who, at this very moment, was looking out of the window in a manner that was strangely reminiscent of his father.

Or was it just that the cabin was so saturated with Bahram’s memory that it seemed to conjure up his very presence?

A shiver went through Shireen. ‘Please, Cathy,’ she said. ‘I think I need some fresh air.’

‘Why yes, of course,’ said Mrs Burnham. ‘It’s rather musty in here, isn’t it? Let’s go back on deck.’

She slipped her arm through Shireen’s and they stepped back into the gangway. As they were heading towards the deck they were waylaid by Baboo Nob Kissin. Captain Mee and sepoys had arrived, he said. The Burra Sahib had asked Mrs Burnham to come to the maindeck, to receive them.

‘Thank you, Baboo.’

Mrs Burnham’s voice sounded languid, almost indifferent — but Shireen, whose arm was still entwined in hers, felt a tremor passing through her body, followed by a distinct quickening in her breath.

‘Cathy? Is something the matter?’

‘Why no,’ said Mrs Burnham in a slightly breathless voice. ‘I’m perfectly theek.’

But even as she said this, she was tightening her grip on Shireen’s arm, leaning on her, as if for support. ‘You know Captain Mee already, don’t you, Shireen? Won’t you come with me to receive him?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Shireen.

They went out on deck to find a line of fifers and drummers filing up the side-ladder. After stepping on board, the boys crossed smartly over to the far end, where the sepoys had already assembled, between the bows.

Captain Mee was the last of the officers to come up the ladder: he cut a splendid figure, in his full dress uniform, with a sword at his side and a scarlet cape slung over his shoulder. As he was stepping on deck Mrs Burnham again tightened her grip on Shireen’s arm, which she had been leaning on all this while. Her agitation seemed to mount as her husband welcomed the captain on board. They stood talking for a minute and then Mr Burnham was led away by another guest — so it fell to Shireen to introduce the captain to Mrs Burnham. And as she was doing it Shireen noticed that Mrs Burnham had turned pale; then her eyes went to Captain Mee and she saw that he too had changed colour, his face growing a bright red. When he took hold of Mrs Burnham’s hand the cockade of his shako, which he was holding under his arm, began to tremble like a leaf. For a minute they both stood tongue-tied, staring at each other; then Captain Mee began to tug at his collar as though he were about to choke.

It was all very puzzling to Shireen and she looked away, wondering whether she was imagining things. But then she noticed that Havildar Kesri Singh was also observing the encounter between Captain Mee and Mrs Burnham with keen interest. When his gaze met Shireen’s he seemed to take it as a signal to intervene and came hurrying over to the captain’s side: ‘Sir — something has come up …’

As Kesri was leading the captain away, Shireen said to Mrs Burnham: ‘Is something the matter, Cathy?’

‘No — not at all!’ said Mrs Burnham — but her eyes, Shireen noticed, were still following Captain Mee and Kesri Singh.

‘I saw you talking to the havildar that day,’ said Shireen, ‘at the Villa Nova. Do you know him?’

‘Yes,’ said Mrs Burnham faintly. ‘Kesri Singh was in my father’s regiment, I knew him many years ago.’

‘Really?’ Struck by a chance thought, Shireen said: ‘But surely then you must know Captain Mee too? He once mentioned that he and the havildar had been in the same regiment for close to twenty years.’

Mrs Burnham’s response startled Shireen; her lips began to tremble and she shut her eyes for a moment. ‘Yes you are right, Shireen dear,’ she whispered. ‘As a matter of fact I do know Mr Mee. Some day I will tell you how we met …’

And just then Baboo Nob Kissin appeared again to make another announcement: ‘Miss Paulette Lambert’s boat has arrived.’

Shireen stood back to watch as Mrs Burnham went to greet the new arrival.

Paulette was dressed in an old-fashioned black carriage dress, with a high collar, and her head was covered with something that looked like a widow’s bonnet. Her clothes sat awkwardly on her and her face too was not pretty in a conventional sense. Yet it struck Shireen that there was something about her that was arresting to the eye, a kind of luminosity.

From the other side of the maindeck Zachary was watching electrified: when Mrs Burnham and Paulette threw their arms around each other a strange oscillating jealousy took hold of him, ricocheting from Paulette to Mrs Burnham and back again. It was as if the two women represented the poles of his desires, one of them forthright, spontaneous and simple in her tastes; the other engimatic, sophisticated, wedded to luxury. The image of them together sparked an epiphany: he realized that different though they were, he would always be in thrall to both — but it didn’t matter, for he knew also that they were both forever lost to him.

*

Paulette too had caught sight of Zachary, from the corner of her eye, and was instantly thrown into a ferment: the wounds inflicted by his letter were still so raw that she could not bear the thought of speaking to him. Had she known that he would be at the levée she would not have come — but now it was too late.

Spinning around on her heel she headed almost blindly in the other direction, towards a companion-ladder. On reaching the top, she found herself on the quarter-deck where a sizeable company had already gathered: it consisted mainly of uniformed officers, most of them young. Stewards were circulating within the throng, bearing trays laden with beverages and refreshments. Although the sun had yet to sink below the horizon, brightly coloured Chinese lanterns were already alight, hanging in rows from the ship’s beams and rigging.

Almost at once Mr Doughty appeared at her side. ‘Oh shahbash, Miss Lambert!’ he cried out. ‘I didn’t know you’d be here — I am ekdum khush to see you! I’d heard that you were in these parts and have been looking out for you!’

Paulette too was glad to see a known face: ‘I am most content to re-encounter you here, Mr Doughty!’

Mr Doughty, in the meantime, had begun to reminisce about Calcutta and the dinners that he and Paulette had attended at the Burnhams’. ‘Oh they were fine old tumashers, weren’t they, those Burnham burra-khanas? Do you remember the ortolans, Miss Lambert? And the chitchkies of pollock-saug? Just to think of the Burnham table is enough to bring on a shoke for more.’

‘You have reason, Mr Doughty …’

At this point Paulette became aware that a figure had entered the edge of her field of vision: even without looking she knew it to be Zachary. A tremor went through her, as the shadow moved from the periphery of her vision towards its centre, yet somehow, by an effort of will, she succeeded in keeping her eyes focused on Mr Doughty’s face, grimly noting the details — the pores on his fleshy cheeks and the twitching hairs of his mutton-chop whiskers. Then, hearing an ominous clearing of the throat, she realized that Zachary was now attempting to enter the conversation. In an effort to pre-empt him, she began to talk at great speed, hoping to shake him off by prolonging her conversation with Mr Doughty: ‘And do you remember Mrs Burnham’s way of dressing a quail, all wrapped up in bacon? Like a cock in a capote, she liked to say.’

‘Oh yes, who could forget those? The very thought sets my jib a-twitch.’

‘And what of all the marvellous stews that were served at her table, Mr Doughty? I own that I have never had a better dumbpoke than in that house.’

Mr Doughty, who was still unaware that Zachary was looming behind him, responded enthusiastically. ‘And what of the relishes and condiments, Miss Lambert? Do you remember those? Would you not agree that if ever there was a chutney to be chartered it is Mrs Burnham’s?’

At this stage Paulette realized, with some relief, that her stratagem had met with unexpected success: Zachary had withdrawn a little and was hanging his head, as if in shame. His discomfiture, inexplicable though it was, heartened her and she would not have been averse to drawing it out still further — but this proved impossible for the talk of food had whetted Mr Doughty’s appetite. Spotting a steward with a laden tray, he sped away with an abrupt ‘Excuse me!’ leaving Paulette in exactly the situation that she had most wanted to avoid: alone with Zachary.

As Zachary cleared his throat, Paulette cast a panic-stricken glance around her. But there was no rescue at hand: all she could do was to look away, hoping that it would dissuade him from addressing her.

But the result was not as she had hoped: her averted face, far from discouraging Zachary, had the effect of transporting him back to the days when quarrels were his only means of coaxing her out of the shadows and into his arms. It was as though he had reverted to an earlier avatar of himself, when his ambitions had been simpler and Paulette had been the principal object of his desire. The carefully worded apology that he had composed, at Mrs Burnham’s behest, slipped his mind: all he could think of to say was: ‘Miss Lambert, there is something I need to tell you.’

Zachary’s all too evident discomfort gave Paulette the courage to answer with a sharp retort: ‘Mr Reid, your needs are nothing to me. I do not wish to know about them.’

Zachary ran a finger around his neck, to loosen his collar. ‘Please Miss Lambert—’

And at this critical juncture, when she was all but cornered, Paulette’s rescue was sounded by a gong.

‘Ladies! Gentlemen!’

The voice was Mr Burnham’s and it gave Paulette the perfect reason to turn her back on Zachary.

*

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Mr Burnham began, ‘a few words before we say a prayer for the success of the mission for which this expeditionary force has been assembled.’

Mr Burnham’s stance was like that of a preacher at a pulpit, with one hand on the binnacle, and the other on the lapel of his jacket.

‘As you may know,’ said Mr Burnham in his booming voice, ‘a fortnight ago Captain Elliot issued an ultimatum to Qishan, the new Governor-General of this province; he warned him that Canton would face an attack if our demands were not met. That ultimatum has long since expired and there is little likelihood that we will ever receive an answer. It is common knowledge now that the Emperor’s edict to his mandarins is to “annihilate the barbarians”.’

Here Mr Burnham paused to survey his audience, which was listening in hushed silence. His voice swelled as he continued: ‘Well, the Manchu tyrant shall have his opportunity soon enough. I have it on good authority that hostilities will resume very soon, possibly within the week. The outcome — which is not in the slightest doubt — will be of truly historic importance.’

Now Mr Burnham turned to Captain Mee, who was standing beside him. Raising a hand, he placed it on the captain’s epaulette.

‘On shoulders such as these will fall the task of freeing a quarter of mankind from tyranny; of bestowing on the people of China the gift of liberty that the British Empire has already conferred on all those parts of the globe that it has conquered and subjugated.’

Mr Burnham paused to gesture at all the young officers who were assembled on the quarter-deck.

‘It is you, gentlemen, who will give to the Chinese the gifts that Britain has granted to the countless millions who glory in the rule of our gracious monarch, secure in the knowledge that there is no greater freedom, no greater cause for pride, than to be subjects of the British Empire. This is the divine mission that the Almighty Himself has entrusted to our race and our nation. I do not doubt for a moment, gentlemen, that you shall once again prove yourselves to be worthy of it.

‘Let no one say that our government has voluntarily sought this conflict. To the contrary we have been exemplars of patience; we have suffered insults, indignities and oppression with unmoving fortitude; we have sent mission after mission to parlay with the godless tyrant who calls himself the Son of Heaven — but all our efforts at diplomacy have come to nothing. Our ambassadors — representatives of the most powerful nation on earth — have been insulted or turned away; epithets like “barbarian eye” have been hurled at them; they have been told that they must prostrate themselves before the despot who claims to enjoy a divine mandate. All our efforts at conciliation and compromise have been unavailing; the Manchu oppressor has rebuffed them all. It is he, who, through his vainglorious ignorance, has brought upon himself the dreadful reckoning that shortly awaits him and his cohorts. It is he who bears the ultimate responsibility for the intolerable affronts that Commissioner Lin has inflicted on us, culminating as they did in an act of the grossest thievery — the seizure of our cargoes. But let it not be said for a moment that our present crusade is motivated by a desire for monetary restitution. This was a predestined conflict, as inevitable as the struggle between Cain and Abel. On one side stands a race that is mired in depravity, tyranny, self-conceit and evil; ranged on the other side are the truest, most virile representatives of freedom, civilization and progress that history has ever known.’

Here a burst of applause interrupted Mr Burnham; he raised a hand to acknowledge it before resuming.

‘Let us not forget that at the heart of this conflict lie two precious and inviolable values, freedom and dignity. This war will be fought not only to liberate the Sons of Han from Manchu tyranny, but also to protect our own dignity, which has suffered greater outrages in this land than in any other.’

This was answered by a spontaneous chorus of ‘Shame! Shame!’

Mr Burnham let the shouts die down before continuing: ‘Is it conceivable that we should forever swallow the insults that are hurled at white men in this land? Shall we always permit ourselves to be vilified as “barbarians”, “foreign devils”, “red-haired demons” and the like?’

The gathering responded with a roar: ‘No! Never!’

‘Is it conceivable,’ said Mr Burnham, ‘that we, who stand under the proudest, most warlike flag on earth, should not seek satisfaction for repeated and heinous affronts to the representatives of our most gracious Sovereign?’

Again he paused and again the gathering answered with a roar: ‘No!’

‘So be it,’ said Mr Burnham. ‘Let the Celestials taste the retribution they have invited upon themselves and let us hope that it will make them turn towards the path of redemption — for does not the Good Book say, “If ye endure chastening, God dealeth with you as sons; for what son is he whom the father chasteneth not?” Indeed I envy the Chinese their good fortune in that the rod of their chastening will be wielded by hands like these.’

Reaching for Captain Mee’s wrist, Mr Burnham held up his arm, drawing cheers from the audience.

Now, with the last rays of the setting sun shining directly on him, Mr Burnham’s face reddened, as if in exaltation: ‘I have not the least doubt, gentlemen, that God will bless and aid you in your endeavour, for it is His work that you will be doing. When the task is finished China will be changed beyond recognition: this will be your legacy to history. Future generations will read with wonder of the miracle that you have wrought. Truly will it be said that never in the history of the world was so great a transformation brought about by so small a company of men!’

As cheers erupted around him, Mr Burnham raised a hand: ‘And now, gentlemen, let us say a prayer.’

*

Paulette was murmuring the words of the prayer, with her head lowered, when she caught another glimpse of Zachary and realized that he was still hovering nearby. She would make her escape as soon as the prayer was over, she decided — but before she could slip away she was distracted by another announcement: ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, a salute to our flag, by our fine Bengal sepoys.’

Even as Kesri was calling out the first command, Zachary was whispering in Paulette’s ear: ‘There is something I need to say to you …’

Escape being impossible now, Paulette headed aft, to the far end of the deck, where there was no danger of their being overheard. At every step she felt that she was being pushed literally to her limit; when she reached the bulwark she turned on Zachary, eyes blazing: ‘No, Mr Reid!’ she hissed. ‘There is nothing that you need to say to me. Was your letter not enough? I know you now for what you are — a liar and betrayer. You are a person whose words are without worth or value. There is nothing you can say that would be of the least interest to me.’

These words, and the vehemence with which they were spoken, stung Zachary so deeply that his carefully composed apology wilted on his tongue. He could not think why he had indulged Mrs Burnham’s hopes of a reconciliation: why should he be saddled with the task of making amends for a misunderstanding on her part? He had done more than enough for Paulette in the past and had never had anything but grief for his pains: his chief impulse now was to make Paulette eat her words, even the least of them — and at just that moment a shouted command drew his eyes to Kesri, who was standing at attention, at the far end of the maindeck, with his sword ceremonially upraised.

Suddenly Zachary knew exactly what he had to say.

‘Did you mean it, Miss Lambert,’ he said, ‘when you said that I have nothing of interest to say to you?’

‘Yes I did.’

‘Very well then — I shall undertake to prove you wrong.’

Zachary turned to point to Kesri who was now shouting a command at the squad of sepoys.

‘You see the havildar over there?’ said Zachary. ‘That tall sepoy? Well, I think it will be of great interest to you, Miss Paulette, to know who he is.’

‘Why? Who is he?’

Zachary paused so that his revelation, when it was made, would have the maximum effect: ‘He is the brother of your friend from the Ibis — Ditty.’

Paulette drew back, in shock. ‘I do not believe you, Mr Reid,’ she said, in a wavering voice. ‘You have misled me many times before — why should I repose any trust in what you say?’

‘Because it is true, Miss Lambert. The havildar and I travelled here on the same ship, the Hind. Somehow he found out that I had been on the Ibis. He came to speak to me about his sister and I told him what I knew. He asked me not to tell anyone about it, and I have respected his request, till today. But you at least should know who he is — for perhaps it will help you to remember that it was because of Ditty that you came to my cabin that night, on the Ibis; it was for her sake that you begged me to let her husband escape, along with the other fugitives. I did as you asked, and for that I have had to spend many months in confinement, sleeping on cold stone floors, while you’ — now, as the memories of all his old grievances came flooding back, Zachary’s tone sharpened — ‘while you were lying on a bed of flowers and roses, having been adopted by a rich man.’

Stung into silence, Paulette could think of no retort.

‘Yes, Miss Lambert,’ Zachary continued, ‘the Ibis has left us with many secrets and I have been faithful in keeping them. I may not be as much of a betrayer and liar as you think.’

Listening to him Paulette was suddenly, blindingly aware of the import of his words: she understood that no matter how much she might want to be finished with Zachary, she would never be free of him — the bond of the Ibis was like a living thing, endowed with the power to reach out from the past to override the volition of those who were enmeshed in it. It was as if she were being mocked for harbouring the illusion that she was free to decide her own destiny.

Before she could think of anything more to say Zachary tipped his hat at her and bowed: ‘Good day, Miss Lambert. I do not know if we shall meet again but if we do you may be sure that it will not be by my design.’

*

A burst of applause rang out as the sepoys’ salute drew to a close. When it had faded Mrs Burnham, who had been sitting beside Shireen, on the quarter-deck, rose to her feet: ‘The sepoys have performed so splendidly that I feel I should thank the havildar myself.’

This proposal received an enthusiastic endorsement from her husband: ‘Of course you must, dear,’ he said. ‘And we must make sure that they are served some refreshments.’

Down on the maindeck, by dint of habit, Kesri was tracking the flow of people on the Anahita’s decks as though they were troops on a battlefield. For the most part his attention was centred on Captain Mee and Mrs Burnham: they were like the standard-bearers, providing points of orientation in the midst of the dust and smoke of battle; he kept track of their whereabouts almost without being aware of it. He had noticed that after their initial meeting beside the side-ladder — when his own, speedy intervention had saved the captain from making a fool of himself — the two of them had stayed well away from each other. Now, seeing that Mrs Burnham was coming towards him, Kesri snapped to attention, fixing his eyes on a point in the middle distance. When she said — Salaam Kesri Singh! — he snapped off a salute, without looking directly at her.

Salaam, memsah’b.

You and your men performed very well, Kesri Singh.

Aap ki meherbani hai; you are kind to say so, Cathymemsah’b.

Then passed a moment of silence and when she spoke again it was in a completely different tone, flat and urgent. Kesri Singh, she said, we have very little time and I do not want to waste any of it.

Ji, memsah’b.

I want to ask you something, Kesri Singh. It is about Mee-sahib.

Ji, Cathy memsah’b.

Is he married?

No, Cathy memsah’b, he is not.

Oh.

She paused and her voice fell: Then maybe he has a … a … kali-bibi, ‘a black wife’?

I cannot say, Cathy memsah’b. He is my kaptán-sah’b. We don’t speak about such things.

Even as he was saying this Kesri guessed she would not be taken in; as a military daughter she was sure to know that such matters were impossible to conceal within a battalion.

Nor was he mistaken; he could tell from her face that she had interpreted his response as a rebuff.

So you don’t want to talk to me, Kesri Singh, is that it?

There is nothing to tell, Cathy memsah’b. Mee-sah’b is not married and there is no woman in his keep.

Has he ever spoken of me?

Not to me, no, memsah’b.

Is that all then? You have nothing else to say to me?

The desperation in her voice stirred Kesri’s pity.

There is one thing I can tell you, Cathymemsah’b, said Kesri.

Yes?

Ek baar, said Kesri, one time, twelve years after that winter in Ranchi, Mee-sah’b was wounded in some fighting. I was beside him and I was the one who removed his koortee. In the pocket, near the breast — Kesri raised a hand to touch his heart — there were some papers.

She gasped: What papers?

I think it was your letter.

My letter?

Yes, Cathy memsah’b. I think it was the letter you gave me, to give to him, all those years ago, in Ranchi.

Kesri knew, because two shimmering dots had appeared at the lower edge of his vision, that her eyes were glistening. And at the same moment he saw that Captain Mee was coming down the companion-ladder, advancing towards them. In an attempt to warn Mrs Burnham, he allowed his eyes to flicker away. Glancing over her shoulder she saw that the captain was heading in their direction; she turned quickly away to busy herself with her reticule.

‘Ah Mrs Burnham,’ said Captain Mee, in a tone of forced banter. ‘I hope my havildar is not giving away all our battalion’s secrets? He seems to have a lot to say to you.’

‘Why Captain Mee,’ said Mrs Burnham, speaking as he had, in a bantering tone. ‘I trust you’re not jealous of your havildar?’

Then suddenly the air seemed to go out of her lungs.

‘Oh please, Neville,’ she said in a soft, shaky voice. ‘How long must we pretend?’

The directness of her tone caught Captain Mee off-guard, wrecking his composure. Like rings on a pond, the pain, yearning and disappointments of the last twenty years seemed to ripple across his face. When next he spoke, his tone was like that which Kesri had heard in his tent, a few days before: the voice of a hurt, bewildered nineteen-year-old.

‘Cathy, I don’t know what to say. I’ve been waiting so long — and now …’

From under the brim of her hat Mrs Burnham shot Kesri a glance that brimmed with gratitude. Then slowly they moved away.

*

‘There you are, Reid!’

Throwing an arm over Zachary’s shoulder, Mr Burnham led him aside. ‘Have you been able to have a word with Captain Mee yet?’

‘Not yet, sir,’ said Zachary. ‘It may be difficult here, with so many people about, but I’ll try.’

‘Best to do it now,’ said Mr Burnham. ‘If we don’t get to him soon you may be sure that someone else will.’

With that Mr Burnham went off to talk to a guest while Zachary took a turn around the crowded quarter-deck, looking for Captain Mee. Seeing no sign of him, his eyes strayed to the maindeck and landed instead on Mrs Burnham: he saw, to his surprise, that she was deep in conversation with — of all people! — the sarjeant of the Bengal sepoys.

Zachary had watched Mrs Burnham from afar at many parties and levées: it seemed to him now that there was something odd about her bearing; her posture was not at all like that of her usual, social self. Her head was cocked in such a way as to suggest that she was hanging on the sepoy sarjeant’s every word.

But what could a havildar have to say that would be of such interest to her?

Even as he was mulling this over, Zachary noticed that a uniformed figure was heading towards the pair. A moment later he realized that this was none other than Captain Mee.

Zachary froze. Standing riveted to the deck, he watched as Mrs Burnham and Captain Mee spoke to each other. When they moved away from Kesri, he leant forward, his knuckles whitening on the deck-rails. At that point Mrs Burnham happened to turn her head so that the glow of a paper lantern fell directly on her face. Zachary had to stifle a gasp — for the countenance she had turned to Captain Mee was not her public visage but rather the one that Zachary had himself come to recognize in her boudoir. So far as he knew there was only one other man who had ever been privy to this other aspect of Mrs Burnham — and that man was a soldier, a lieutenant, she had said, her first and only love.

Zachary noticed now that Captain Mee’s red-coated shoulders were also inclined towards Mrs Burnham in a manner that suggested a more than casual acquaintance. Suddenly suspicion boiled up in him, to be followed by an onrush of jealousy so intense that he had to hold on to the rails to steady himself.

What were they talking about, looking at each other so intimately?

Zachary had to know; the curiosity that had taken possession of him was too powerful to be resisted. Before he was aware of it, his feet were moving, carrying him down the companion-ladder to the maindeck. Plunging into the throng of guests, he began to work his way towards the couple. But he was only a few paces away when he thought the better of it: if Mrs Burnham spotted him she might well guess what he was up to.

He came to a halt, thinking about what to do next, and just then his eyes fell on the white uniform of a fifer: a moment later he realized that it was Raju — the boy was wandering about as though he had lost his way.

‘Hey there, kid-mutt!’

‘Hello, sir,’ said Raju in a small, scared voice.

‘How are things with you?’

‘All right, sir.’

‘Do you like being a fifer?’

‘Yes, sir. I like it. Most of the time.’

‘But not now? Is that why you’re wandering around like a lost puppy?’

‘Sir, the drummers told me to find them some grog. They said the youngest fifer always has to do it. But I don’t know where to find a bottle of grog, sir, and I’m afraid they’re going to be angry with me.’

Dropping to his heels, Zachary squatted close to Raju’s ear. ‘Listen, kid-mutt — I’ll find you a bottle of grog, I promise. But you’ll have to win it from me fair and square.’

‘How, sir?’

‘By playing a game.’

‘What game, sir?’

Zachary inclined his head towards Captain Mee and Mrs Burnham. ‘Do you see those two over there?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘All right, so the game’s this — you have to sneak up behind them and listen to what they’re saying. But they can’t know that you’re there. It’s a secret game, right? Only you and I are playing.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You think you can do it?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Go on then.’

Leaving Raju to work his way across the deck Zachary cornered a steward and slipped him a Spanish dollar: ‘Can you bring me a bottle of grog? Jaldee ekdum?’

‘Yes, sir. Ekdum jaldee.’

As he waited for the steward to return Zachary saw that Raju had circled around the deck and was eavesdropping unnoticed on Captain Mee and Mrs Burnham. Then the bottle of rum arrived and Zachary beckoned to Raju to come back.

Dropping into a squat again, he said: ‘Did you hear anything, kid-mutt?’

‘Yes, sir. Mrs Burnham was talking about a milliner’s shop, near the St Lazarus Church in Macau. She said that she often goes there.’

‘Oh? And what did he say to that?’

‘He said he would meet her there.’

‘Anything else?’

‘That’s all I heard, sir.’

Zachary patted Raju on the back and handed him the bottle. ‘You did good, kid-mutt; you’ve won the grog fair and square. But remember, it’s a secret — not a word to anyone!’ ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’

*

Not for a moment after setting foot on the Anahita’s quarter-deck had Shireen been able to forget that Bahram’s accident had happened here; that it was from this very deck that her husband had fallen to his death. Through the duration of Mr Burnham’s oration and the ceremony that followed, she had wondered whether it was from the jamná side that he had fallen or the dáwa. Or had he perhaps tumbled over the stern? In thinking about these things she was seized by a strange disquiet — a feeling that only deepened when she saw Freddie leading Paulette towards her. But once introductions had been made Shireen took a liking to her; she invited her to sit on the bench and for a while she listened quietly as Zadig and Paulette talked about gardening.

Then at last Shireen gingerly broached the subject that had been weighing on her mind: ‘Is it true, Miss Lambert, that you were on the island the day my husband died?’

‘Yes, Mrs Moddie,’ said Paulette. ‘I was up in the nursery that day and I saw this ship, the Anahita, at anchor below. Although there were many ships in the bay that morning, the Anahita was the one that caught my eye.’

‘Why?’ said Shireen.

‘Because there was a ladder — a rope-ladder — hanging out from an open window, at the back.’

‘You mean from my husband’s suite? In the stern of the ship?’

‘Yes,’ said Paulette. ‘That was where it was.’

Taken aback, Shireen cried: ‘But why would there be a ladder in his window?’

‘I cannot tell you why it was there,’ said Paulette. ‘It seemed very strange to me too, because there was nothing below but water.’

Shireen turned to Freddie and Zadig. ‘Did you know about this ladder?’

Zadig shook his head. ‘This is the first I’ve heard of it, Bibiji.’

‘I did not speak of it to anyone,’ said Paulette. ‘To be truthful, I had forgotten about it until Freddie asked me.’

‘But how would Freddie know?’ cried Shireen, turning towards him. ‘Had someone told you about the ladder, Freddie?’

‘No,’ said Freddie. ‘No one told me. But I see in my dreams, lah, the ladder, hanging from the window. That is why I ask Miss Paulette, ne? Then she tell me, yes, she saw in the morning, but after an hour it was gone.’

‘Vico must have taken it in,’ said Zadig. ‘But he never uttered a word about it to me.’

All of this was completely incomprehensible to Shireen. ‘‘But why would there be a ladder there? Do you think there was some foul play?’

‘No,’ said Zadig, with a shake of his head. ‘If there had been foul play the ladder would not have been left hanging. And anyway there was no sign of a struggle in the cabin or on Bahram-bhai’s body.’

‘But what happened then?’ said Shireen. ‘Why would there be a ladder hanging out of his window? What was its purpose? To climb up or go down?’

Nobody said a word, so Shireen turned again to Freddie: ‘You know the answer, don’t you, Freddie? Tell me what the ladder was for, please.’

Freddie did not answer at once: his eyes were closed and he seemed almost to be in a trance. When he spoke again his voice was very soft.

‘I think Father went down the ladder because someone call him.’

‘Who?’

‘My mother.’

‘Your mother?’ cried Shireen. ‘But that’s impossible. Hadn’t she died some years before?’

Freddie shook his head: ‘Did not die, lah, my mother,’ he said. ‘Was murdered, ne? By men who came looking for me. She help me get away and did not tell them where I went. So they stabbed her and threw in the river — the Pearl River. There was no funeral, nothing, so she is still in the river, still in the water, this water that we are on. I see her sometimes, she has not found rest, so she comes to me. That night, when Father come here from Canton, in this ship, I think she come to him too and call him away. He went down the ladder to go to her. I have seen it so in my dreams, lah.’

‘No!’ Shireen’s head was spinning already, and it began to turn even faster now as she jerked it violently from side to side. ‘No! I cannot believe it. I will not believe it.’

Then all of a sudden, everything went dark.

*

The fuss on the quarter-deck was loud enough to cause Kesri some concern. He kept a careful eye on it and when he saw a prone body being carried away he realized that there was no reason for undue alarm: a lady had swooned and was being taken inside.

Shortly afterwards he spotted a memsahib in a black dress and bonnet coming towards him. He did not make too much of it; several sahibs and memsahibs had already approached him with complimentary words about his squad of sepoys: he assumed that this missy-mem was going to do the same.

But when she came face to face with him she said nothing; she just stood there silently, staring.

Thinking that she was unsure of whether he understood English, Kesri said: ‘Good evening, memsah’b.’

That was when she began to speak — and not in English but Hindustani.

It is true, isn’t it, she said, that you are Deeti’s brother? I can see it in your face, your eyes. She used to draw pictures of you. I saw one once, she had drawn you holding a bundook.

Now Kesri too lost his tongue for a moment. When he regained it, all he could say was: How did you know? How did you know about Deeti — that she is my sister?

Mr Reid told me, said Paulette. I was on the ship too, you know — the Ibis. Your sister was my friend; we talked a lot, especially in the last days, before we reached Mauritius.

You were with her? Kesri shook his head incredulously. Did Deeti tell you why she ran away from her village after her husband’s death?

Yes, she told me all about it.

Kesri was seized with panic now, thinking that there might not be enough time to hear the whole story.

Tell me; tell me what Deeti said. I have been waiting so long to hear — tell me everything.

*

The twilight had turned to darkness now so Raju did not see Baboo Nob Kissin’s saffron-clad figure until it was almost on top of him.

Here, boy! Come aside — I have to talk to you.

Leading Raju to the bulwark, Baboo Nob Kissin knelt to whisper into his ear: Raju, listen, this is very important. Among the guests at this party there are some friends of your father’s. They might be able to help you find him.

Who are they? said Raju.

Did you see a memsah’b in a black dress and a bonnet? Her name is Paulette Lambert — she knows your father. She was on the Ibis too and she has met him here in China as well. And you may have seen also a man in a Chinese robe? He too is your father’s friend. If anyone can get a message to your father it is he. You should talk to him.

Raju looked around the maindeck and saw no sign of either.

Where are they?

I think they went inside, said Baboo Nob Kissin. They went to see how Mrs Moddie is doing.

The gomusta raised a finger to point to a gangway that led astern: Go and have a look over there; that’s where they’ll be.

Raju set off without another word. Threading his way through the guests, he circled around until he reached the gangway that led to the cabins at the rear of the vessel.

This part of the ship was empty and silent; the gangway was dimly lit, by a few, flickering lamps.

Keeping to one side, Raju made his way slowly forward. There were cabins to the right and to the left of the gangway, but the doors were all shut. Only one door was ajar and it was at the far end; above it was a sign that said ‘Owner’s Suite’.

Creeping up to the entrance, Raju put his eye to the crack in the doorway. There seemed to be a lot of old furniture inside; there was a draught blowing through and it pushed the door a little further ajar, as if to invite Raju in. After hesitating for a minute, Raju stepped through the doorway.

Moonlight was flowing in through the windows, one of which was wide open. Raju saw now, to his great surprise, that someone was sitting by the window, in a chair: all Raju could see of him was a turbaned head, silhouetted against the moolight.

To Raju’s relief it seemed that the man had not noticed his presence. Holding his breath, he took a step backwards, thinking that he had better leave while he could.

But just as he was about to slip away the turbaned head turned to look in his direction: the silvery moonlight gave Raju a glimpse of a man with a broad, square face and a clipped beard.

‘Sorry, sir,’ said Raju apologetically. ‘I didn’t know you were here.’

To his relief, there was no torrent of abuse as he had half-expected: the man only smiled silently.

Mumbling another ‘Sorry, sir,’ Raju ducked out. Pulling the door shut behind him, he turned around to find that two figures, a man and a woman, had stepped out of one of the cabins that lined the gangway. The man was dressed in a Chinese gown and when he caught sight of Raju he said: ‘Hello? Who are you, eh? And what you doing here?’

Suddenly Raju understood that this was the couple that Baboo Nob Kissin had told him about.

‘I was looking for you, sir,’ he blurted out. ‘And for ma’am too.’

‘You were looking for us?’ said Paulette in surprise. ‘But why?’

Raju stepped quickly towards them. ‘You both know my father,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘Baboo Nob Kissin told me so.’

‘Who is your father?’

‘His name is Neel.’

Kesri was still recovering from the shock of his meeting with Paulette when Zachary appeared in front of him.

‘Good day there, Sarjeant. Could I have a word with you please?’

‘Yes, Reid-sah’b?’

‘Sarjeant, you remember that evening, on the Hind? How you came to my cabin and asked me questions about your sister?’

‘Yes, Reid-sah’b.’

‘Sarjeant, I need you to return the favour now. I’ve got some questions that I need you to answer.’

‘Questions?’ said Kesri in surprise. ‘For me?’

‘Yes, Sarjeant. You said that you’d been Captain Mee’s orderly twenty years ago — isn’t that right?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Were you ever with him in a place called Ranchi?’

‘Yes, Reid-sah’b.’

‘Was he a lieutenant then?’

‘Yes.’

‘And was Mrs Burnham there too?’

Kesri’s face hardened and the muscles in his jaw began to twitch. ‘Why you want to know, Reid-sah’b?’

‘Listen, Sarjeant,’ said Zachary sharply, ‘when you asked me questions about your sister I answered. You told me then to come to you if I ever needed anything. Well I’ve come to you now with a question, a very simple one, and if you’re a man of your word you’ll answer it. Let me ask again: was Mrs Burnham in Ranchi at the same time as Captain Mee?’

Kesri nodded reluctantly. ‘Yes, Mr Reid,’ he said. ‘She was there.’

‘Thank you, Sarjeant. That’s all I need.’

Now that he had received confirmation, Zachary felt vastly more calm than he had been when the idea was just a suspicion in his head. It was as if Mrs Burnham had given him yet another gift; it was up to him now to use her secret to his own advantage.

*

Tu kahan jaich? Kai? Where are you going? Why?

As her eyes flew open Shireen experienced a moment of pure terror: she had no idea of where she was or how she had got there.

Then she heard Zadig Bey’s voice, somewhere close by: ‘It’s all right, Bibiji — I am here, with you.’

She sat up with a start and a cold towel flew off her forehead. ‘Where am I?’

Holding up a lamp, Zadig Bey turned up the wick: ‘You are in Mrs Burnham’s cabin, Bibiji, on her bed. After you fainted she suggested that we bring you here. I’ve been sitting with you all this while. Paulette and Freddie just looked in on you; seeing that you were still unconscious they stepped out.’

Casting her eyes around the panelled cabin, Shireen fell back against the pillows. Her heart was beating wildly, erratically, and she pressed a hand against her chest, as if to slow it down.

‘What’s the matter, Bibiji?’

Zadig Bey took hold of her other hand and pressed her feverishly hot palm between his own cool fingers. ‘What is it, Bibiji? Tell me.’

Shireen closed her eyes. ‘I had a dream, Zadig Bey; it was very strange — like the dreams that Freddie talks about.’

‘How do you mean, Bibiji?’

‘I saw my husband: he was standing beside me. He had come to see me; there was something he wanted to say.’

She began to cough, choking on her words. Zadig Bey handed her a glass of water. ‘Go on, Bibiji.’

‘He asked my forgiveness and said that I should put the past behind me. He said I should look to the future and make the best of my remaining years. Then he took his leave, saying jauch, and that was all. He was gone. That was when I woke up.’

Snatching up the end of her sari, Shireen began to dab her eyes.

‘Why are you crying, Bibiji?’ said Zadig. ‘There was nothing bad in what you heard.’

Shireen swallowed a sob. ‘It’s just that I don’t understand — why was he asking my forgiveness, Zadig Bey? What for?’

There was no answer, so she turned to look him in the eye. ‘Tell me the truth, Zadig Bey — did Bahram … did he die by his own hand?’

Zadig pursed his lips. ‘I don’t think it was as simple as that, Bibiji,’ he said. ‘If anything, it probably happened as Freddie says: he must have thought that he had heard Chi-mei’s voice. Bahrambhai told me once that he had had a vision of her, on this very ship, the Anahita.’

‘A vision?’ scoffed Shireen. ‘Impossible! Bahram never believed in such things!’

‘But he told me so himself, Bibiji: it happened on his last voyage, long after Chi-mei’s death. The Anahita was hit by a storm, in the Bay of Bengal. Bahram-bhai’s cargo of opium was knocked loose so he went down to secure the chests. That was when he heard her voice and saw her face. He said the hold was filled with the smell of raw opium — the fumes could have conjured up all kinds of things in his mind. Maybe that’s how it happened on the night of his death as well. Opium probably had something to do with it.’

‘I don’t follow,’ said Shireen. ‘Are you saying that my husband was taking opium?’

Zadig shifted uncomfortably in his chair: ‘I wish I didn’t have to tell you this, Bibiji, but the truth is that Bahram was smoking a lot of opium in his final days. After the crisis in Canton he was in a very downcast state of mind.’

‘Because of his financial losses?’

‘Yes, but it wasn’t just that, Bibiji. He had other things on his mind as well.’

‘Tell me, Zadig Bey.’

‘Bibiji, the opium crisis was a great trial for Bahram-bhai — he was torn between his two families, between Canton and Bombay, between China and Hindustan. There he was in Canton, with a huge cargo of opium; to lose it would bring ruin, not just on him but also on you and your daughters. On the other hand he knew very well what opium had done to Freddie; he was aware of what it was doing to China; he knew that it was slowly corroding families, clans, monasteries, the army; every chest that came in was creating more addicts …’

Zadig stopped to scratch his chin.

‘Bibiji, one thing about Bahram-bhai, he was not a moralizer; he was not a man to hold forth about religion, or good and evil. His emotions, his thoughts, they followed his flesh, his blood, his heart. He was above all a family man — but it so happened that fate gave him two families, one in China and one in India. He knew that his actions in Canton, as an opium-trader, would haunt both his families, for generations, and it was more than he could bear. I think that was why he began to smoke so much: it wasn’t just that he was seeking escape; it was as if he were sacrificing himself, in expiation for what he had done.’

Shireen crumpled the wet end of her sari between her hands. ‘Did he talk to you about these things, Zadig Bey? Did he talk about Chi-mei? Did he say he loved her?’

‘No, Bibiji!’ said Zadig emphatically. ‘Bahram-bhai was not a romantic man. He thought love and romance were not for practical men like himself.’

Zadig stopped to clear his throat. ‘In this, Bibiji, he and I were completely different.’

‘What do you mean, Zadig Bey?’

‘When I first fell in love, as a young man, I knew I had no choice in the matter: I was helpless.’

He swallowed a couple of times, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Then, in a low, hoarse voice, he said: ‘And with you too, I knew — since that day in the church.’

The words sent a shiver through Shireen. When he placed his hands on hers she did not pull them back.

*

Hearing a drum-roll in the distance Paulette pulled Raju into her arms and kissed the boy on the cheek. Onek katha holo, she said. ‘We’ve been talking a long time now. Your friends in the band will be wondering where you went.’

‘Yes, I’d better go,’ said Raju. ‘Goodbye, Miss Paulette.’

‘Goodbye.’

Then Freddie’s hand fell on his shoulder: ‘Good thing we saw you, eh? Coming out of that suite?’

‘Yes, sir, Mr Lee.’

‘Why were you there anyway? What were you doing in that suite?’

‘The door was open so I went in,’ said Raju. ‘I didn’t know anyone was inside.’

‘There was someone inside?’

‘Yes, a gentleman.’

‘Gentleman, eh?’ Freddie dropped into a squat and looked him straight in the face. ‘Who was he?’

‘I don’t know who he was,’ said Raju. ‘I had never seen him before.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘He had a beard and he was wearing a white turban.’

‘Oh?’

Reaching for Raju’s shoulder, Freddie pulled him to his chest and gave him a hug. ‘Don’t worry, lah. Everything will be all right. I will get a message to your father. It may take a little time, but he will know that you are here.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Raju. ‘And goodbye.’

‘Goodbye. Be careful.’

As Raju ran off, Freddie seemed to lapse into a trance. Then, without a word to Paulette, he began to walk towards the door at the end of the gangway. Following on his heels, Paulette looked over his shoulder as he put a hand on the doorknob and pushed it open.

There was a heap of furniture inside, silhouetted against a pair of moonlit windows. One of the windows was open and its shutter was flapping gently in the breeze; beside it stood an empty chair.

Freddie walked over to the window at a slow, measured pace, almost as though he were afraid of what he would find. Paulette heard a deep sigh as he looked over the sill.

‘Come. See.’

Stepping up to the window she saw that a rope-ladder was hanging from the rim, flapping gently in the breeze.

‘Is it this ladder you saw that day?’ said Freddie. ‘Was is it hanging like this, eh?’

‘Maybe, I cannot say,’ said Paulette. ‘Anyway why is it hanging there now?’

Freddie made no reply. Leaning forward, he thrust his head out of the window and looked down into the water, at the shimmering reflection of the moon.

For a while he seemed to listen to the waves, with his eyes closed. Then she heard him say: ‘I can hear them, lah — calling me, the two of them, my mother and father.’

On an impulse she put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back. His angular cheekbones stood out in the silvery moonlight, lending a strange beauty to his gaunt, haunted face.

‘You cannot go,’ said Paulette. ‘I will not let you.’

‘Why?’

‘Didn’t you say yourself? That the bonds of the Ibis are very strong? We all need each other.’