The chapel clock had begun to ring as Vico was speaking: it was eleven at night.
A meeting? said Neel. At this time?
Yes, said Vico. It’s an emergency – the Co-Hong merchants have just returned from a meeting with Commissioner Lin. They’ve asked the foreigners to gather together because they have something very important to tell them.
Vico had already started for the staircase, but on reaching it he turned around: Who’s on valet-duty tonight? Tell him to come quickly.
The man was more than a little tipsy and water had to be splashed on his face before he could be allowed to go upstairs. A half-hour later, the Seth came sweeping down, in a dark choga: his turban, everyone was glad to note, was properly tied, his clothing impeccable.
It was too late to arrange for a lantern-bearer; instead it was Vico who accompanied the Seth to the Chamber, torch in hand.
Now began a long vigil in the kitchen: it was almost two o’clock when the Seth and Vico returned to the Hong. They went straight up to the Seth’s bedroom and another half-hour passed before Vico came down again.
By this time Neel, who had stayed up to work on the Chrestomathy, was the only man awake. Vico fetched a bottle of mao-tai liquor and poured out two stiff measures.
So what happened at the meeting?
Vico drained his glass and poured himself another: Munshiji, it seems patrao and his friends celebrated a little too early.
Why?
Munshiji, you would not have believed all the hungama…
They had arrived at the Chamber of Commerce to find the main hall all lit up, with people milling about as if it were a public theatre. This was fortunate because Vico was able to watch the proceedings from the back.
Twelve members of the Co-Hong were in attendance, seated in a row. Howqua, Mowqua and Punhyqua were there, of course, but so were several of the younger merchants, amongst them Yetuck, Fontai and Kinqua. They had all brought their servants and linkisters with them and there were dozens of lanterns bobbing over their heads, casting dancing shadows upon the walls. The foreigners were on the dimmer side of the room, some sitting and some standing, their faces looming out of a darkness that seemed barely to yield to the flickering sconces that lined the hall. In the no-man’s-land between the two groups stood the translators – a phalanx of linkisters on one side and on the other, the tall, youthful Mr Fearon.
The meeting began with the announcement that the Hongists had come to tell the foreigners about the Yum-chae’s response to the Chamber’s letter: this being a matter of life and death they had decided to use translators instead of speaking pidgin. The result was that every word had to be filtered through many pairs of lips.
‘We took your letter to the High Commissioner and he gave it to his deputy to examine. After it had been read out aloud His Excellency said: “The foreigners are merely trifling with the Co-Hong guild. They should not attempt to do the same with me.” Then he declared: “If no opium is delivered up tomorrow, I shall be at the Consoo Hall at ten o’clock and then I will show what I will do.” ’
What does this mean?
It means, munshiji, that he saw right through Mr Dent’s little game: he told the Hongists that if no opium was surrendered by tomorrow morning he would carry out his threat.
Of executions?
So the Hongists said – and to tell you the truth, munshiji, even I, watching from the back of the hall, could see they were not joking. Their hands were shaking; their servants were weeping; some actually fainted and had to be carried away. But still the Chamber was not convinced. Led by Dent and Burnham, they kept arguing, questioning every detail, asking how the Hongists could be sure that they would really be beheaded – as if any sane man could lie about such a thing. Every member of the Co-Hong said yes, yes, if no opium was surrendered by ten o’clock tomorrow two of them would lose their heads. But still the Chamber went on questioning. Back and forth they went until someone came up with a suggestion: instead of giving up all the opium, why not surrender a thousand chests? Maybe that would keep the Yum-chae happy?
Did they all agree to that?
In the end, yes, but they – the foreigners – bargained and bargained as if it were a matter of buying fish at a bazar. They even tried to get the Co-Hong to pay for the surrendered chests: ‘Why should we pay?’ they demanded to know. This is the price of your own heads – you should bear the costs.’
They said that?
More or less.
Vico shook his head in bemusement. See, munshiji, when you’re in business, you need to think about your profits, everyone knows that. Sometimes you have to do a little hera-pheri, a little under-the-table business. That’s all in the game. Some days you’ll make money and on some days you’ll also lose a little – that’s normal too, for most of us. But these Burnhams and Dents and Lindsays, they don’t look at it like that. They’ve made more money here than anyone can count, and all of it with the help of Howqua, Mowqua and others of the Co-Hong. But now, when it’s a matter of life and death for the Hongists, they’re still bargaining with a ferocity that would put fishwives to shame. It makes you think, if that’s the value they put on their friends’ lives, what would you or I be worth?
But wait, said Neel. What about Mr King? Surely he wasn’t going along with the rest?
No, said Vico. He was talking about the Chamber’s obligations to the Co-Hong, about old friendships and so on – but those weren’t the arguments that weighed with the others. It was another man who got them to change their minds – an English translator. He told them that feelings were running very high in the city and there might be a riot if any of the Co-Hong merchants came to harm. That scared them a little and they decided to offer the Commissioner a thousand chests, as a kind of ransom.
Do you think he will accept?
Vico shrugged. We won’t know know till tomorrow morning. That’s when the world will find out if the Hongists are going to keep their heads.
Vico poured himself a shot of mou-tai and held out the bottle. Another one, munshiji?
Neel waved the bottle away: it was very late and he wanted to be up in time to be at the gates of the Consoo House when the Commissioner came. After such a long day it was unlikely that Bahram would rise at his usual hour and even if he did he would not begrudge an absence occasioned by khabardari.
Next morning, on stepping out into the Maidan, Neel quickly became aware of a subtle change in atmosphere. Today there was nothing jocular about the shouts of the swarming urchins:
… hak gu lahk dahk, laan lan hoi…
… mo-lo-chaa, diu neih louh mei…
… haak-gwai, faan uk-kei laai hai…
For once even the usual cumshaws had little effect. A snot-nosed gang hung on Neel’s heels as he hurried through the Maidan; in their shouts there was nothing playful or teasing, but instead a touch of real venom. At the entrance to Old China Street the boys dropped away. But here, too, Neel sensed something different in the regard of the watching bystanders; there was an anger in their eyes that reminded him of the rioters who had poured into Fanqui-town after the attempted execution.
Halfway down the lane, Neel heard a shout: ‘Ah Neel! Ah Neel!’
It was Ahtore, Compton’s oldest son: ‘Jou-sahn Ah Neel! Bah-bah say come chop-chop.’
‘Why?’
Ahtore shrugged. ‘Come, Ah Neel. Come.’
‘All right.’
On reaching the print-shop Neel was led straight through to the inner part of Compton’s house. Even more than before, the courtyard seemed like an oasis of serenity: since Neel’s last visit the cherry tree in the centre had burst into bloom and it was as if a fountain of white petals had erupted from a fissure in the paved floor.
Compton was sitting near the tree, under the shade of an overhanging roof; in the chair beside him was the white-bearded scholar he had pointed out on the day of the Commissioner’s arrival.