She came to stand in front of me, moving without haste, and save for the black ice of her eyes there wasn't a trace of expression on the beautiful oval face framed in the fur collar—even in that hellish moment I couldn't help thinking what an absolute peach she was. She flicked the golden toy in her hand, and the black pearl fell into the cup with a sharp click.
"You speak and understand Chinese?" It was a cold whisper, and since there was no point in denial, I nodded. Ignoring An, who was gibbering for my blood, she clicked the ball into its socket again, and said the last thing I'd have expected.
"You must have nerves like steel chains. Last night … you knew what I had told Little An, but you didn't flinch by a hair's breadth."
"I'm a soldier, Empress of the Western Palace." I was trying not to croak with terror, for I knew that if there was any hope at all, it rested on a cool, offhand bearing—try it next time a Mongol's honing his knife on your jugular. "My name's Colonel—Banner Chief—Flashman, and I'm chief of intelligence to Lord Elgin, whom you call the Big Barbarian —"
"He's a spy!" shrieks An. "He admits it! Kill him! Give the order, Orchid Lady!"
"Why did you never speak before?" Her voice could never sound harsh, but it was fit to freeze your ears. "Why did you lie and deceive, by silence? Are you a spy?"
"Of course he is! He said so! He —"
"No, I was a prisoner of Prince Sang's, taken by treachery. When you found me, I was gagged and unable to speak. By the time I was released, I had heard so much that to have admitted my knowledge would have meant certain death." I frowned, gave my lip a gentle chew, and then looked her in the eye, speaking soft like a man striving valiantly to conceal his emotion—you know, a kind of ruptured Galahad. "I had no wish to die … not when I had found a new reason for living."
For a second she didn't take the drift—and then, d'you know, she absolutely blushed, and for the only time in our acquaintance she couldn't meet my eye.
"He lies!" screamed Little An, God bless him. "Orchid, he has the tongue of a snake! The lying barbarian dog! Will you let him insult you, this beast? Kill him! Think what he knows! Think what he's done!" Keep it up, Little An, thinks I, and you'll talk me out of this yet. She met my eye again, cold as a clam.
"You think you will live now?" She flicked her cup and ball again—and missed.
"Why should you kill me … when I can serve you better alive? What I've overheard is in no way dangerous to you … or to your son; on the contrary." I knew I mustn't babble in panic, but maintain a calm, measured delivery, head up, jaw firm, eyes steady, bowels dissolving. "Tomorrow the British army will be in Pekin, seeking a treaty—not with Prince Sang, or Prince I, or Sushun, but as you said yourself, `with an Emperor acceptable to the barbarians'. Since it's likely that the present Emperor will die, I can think of no more acceptable successor than your own son … guided by those who love him and seek the good of China. So I'll tell Lord Elgin—and he'll believe me. He will also see it for himself. And believe me, Empress—if you want a friend, you'll find none better than the Big Barbarian. Except one."
By jove, it was manly stuff—and true, for that matter. How she was taking it, I couldn't tell, for her face was as mask-like as ever. Little An wasn't buying; he'd picked his line, a singularly unattractive one, and was sticking to it. The Mongol I wasn't sure about, but he wasn't a voting shareholder. I sat bursting with concealed funk; should I say more … ? Yehonala flicked her cup again, and this time the ball snapped home with such finality that like a fool I came out with the first thing that entered my head.
"Of course, you'd want to stop the death warrants for Pa-hsia-li and the others. Lord Elgin would never forgive …" I stopped dead, appalled at the thought that I was voicing a threat—and an even more frightful thought occurred: suppose Parkes was dead already? Oh, Jesus what had I said? Yehonala's reply left me in no doubt.
"He would never forgive Prince Sang, you mean."
"Yes, yes!" cries An eagerly. "That is the way! Don't listen to this liar, Orchid! Kill him and have done! He's a spy, who'll take every word to the Big Barbarian, lying and poisoning him against us! What do they care for China? They hate us, mutinous slaves!" He turned on her, hissing. "And he would defame you … oh, he won't tell them just what he's heard! He'll invent foul slanders, abominations, mocking your honour —"
The temptation to bellow him down with indignant denials was strong, but I knew it wouldn't do with this icy beauty's eye on me, and her mouth tightening as she listened. I waited until he ran out of venom, and sighed.
"There speaks the jealous eunuch," says I, and gave her just a hint of my wistful Flashy smile. "What can he know, Orchid Lady?"
Those were my bolts shot, diplomatic and romantic, and if they didn't hold … I could try shooting feet first out of the chair and diving for the door, but I rather fancied the expert at my back would be ready for that. I waited, while she clicked her infernal toy again, and then she turned abruptly away, signing Little An to follow her out of earshot. At the end of the room her ladies stood agog, twittering at this sensation. While she and An conferred, my watchdog and I fell into conversation.
"Lift the point a little, soldier, will you?"
"Shut up, pig."
Whether our friendship would have ripened, or what conclusion Yehonala and An would have reached, I can only guess, for it was at that moment that we were interrupted. One second all was still, and then there was a confused tumult from the garden, a babble of voices with a man shouting and women crying out closer at hand; distant yells and the sound of approaching hoof-beats; feet running in the house itself, and then the door was flung open and a tiny boy rushed into the room. He was the complete little mandarin, button hat and dragon robe and all, and at the sight of Yehonala he screamed with delight and raced towards her, arms out—only to stop abruptly and make a very slow, deep bow which was never completed, for she had swept him up, kissing him, crying out, and hugging him to her cheek. Then there were women in the room, three of them—a tall, bonny Manchoo girl with scared eyes, in a sable hat and cloak, and two other ladies, one of them squealing in alarm. From the fact that everyone in the room except Yehonala and my Mongol (trust him) dropped to their knees and knocked head; I knew this could only be the Empress Sakota, and the little boy, who was demanding shrilly to be let down so that he could show Yehonala his new watch with the little bell (the damnedest things stick in your memory) must be the heir to the throne, Tungchi.
They were all crying out at once, but before any sense could be made of it there was a yell and a clang of steel from the front of the house, a stentorian voice roaring to knock the bastard down but not to kill him, and noises to suggest that this was being done, not without difficulty. Then the Empress Sakota went into hysterics, covering her ears and shrilling wildly, her ladies stood appalled and helpless until Yehonala slapped her soundly, pushing her towards her own ladies who bore her in a screaming scrimmage to the end of the room. One of Sakota's females swooned, the other was sobbing that the Prince General was here … and booted feet were striding up the passage, the half-open door was thrown back to the wall, and General Sang-kol-in-sen stood on the threshold.
It had happened more quickly than it takes to tell. I doubt if a minute had elapsed since the Mongol told me to shut up—and now for a second the room was still as death, except for the subdued sobbing of the Empress, and the little prince's shrill voice:
"See—when I push it, it rings! It rings!" He pulled at Yehonala's sleeve. "See, mama—it rings!"