Sea of Poppies

'Why no, sir,' Zachary responded. 'The Ibis is bound first for the Mauritius. If we make good time, we may sail to China later in the year.'

'I see.' This recalled to Neel's mind his original purpose in hosting this meal, which was to discover whether there was any immediate prospect of a change in his chief creditor's fortunes. He turned to Mr Burnham: 'There is an improvement, then, in the situation in China?'

Mr Burnham answered with a shake of his head: 'No, Raja Neel Rattan. No. Truth to tell, the situation has worsened considerably – to the point where there is serious talk of war. Indeed that may well be the reason for the Ibis's voyage to China.'

'A war?' said Neel in astonishment. 'But I have heard nothing about a war with China.'

'I am sure you haven't,' said Mr Burnham, with a thin smile. 'Why indeed should a man like you concern yourself with such matters? You have more than enough to occupy you, I'm sure, with all your palaces and zenanas and budgerows.'

Neel knew that he was being sneered at and his hackles rose, but he was saved from an intemperate response by the timely appearance of the first course – a steaming soup. The silver tureen having been stolen, the soup was presented in the one remaining utensil that was made of the same metaclass="underline" a punch-bowl shaped like a seashell.

Mr Doughty permitted himself an indulgent smile. 'Do I smell duck?' he said, sniffing the air.

Neel had no idea of what was to be served, for the cooks on the kitchen-boat had been foraging for provisions almost till the last. Having reached the final leg of its journey, the budgerow's stocks of food had begun to run low: the news that there was to be a grand dinner had caused panic among the cooks; an army of piyadas, paiks and boatmen had been dispatched to fish and forage – with what results, Neel did not know. So it was Parimal who confirmed, in a whisper, that the soup had been made from the flesh of the very animal whose fat had been used to polish the table – but the latter part of the tale Neel kept to himself, conveying only that the soup was indeed concocted from the remains of a duck.

'Excellent!' said Mr Doughty, tipping back his glass. 'And a fine sherry-shrub too.'

Although glad of the interruption, Neel had not forgotten Mr Burnham's dismissive jibes about his preoccupations. He was convinced now that the shipowner was exaggerating in order to persuade him of the extent of his firm's losses. Taking care to keep his voice even, he said: 'You will no doubt be surprised to know, Mr Burnham, that I have been at some pains to be keeping myself informed – yet I know nothing about this war you speak of.'

'Well then, it falls to me to inform you, sir,' said Mr Burnham, 'that of late the officials in Canton have been moving forcefully to end the inflow of opium into China. It is the unanimous opinion of all of us who do business there that the mandarins cannot be allowed to have their way. To end the trade would be ruinous – for firms like mine, but also for you, and indeed for all of India.'

'Ruinous?' said Neel mildly. 'But surely we can offer China something more useful than opium?'

'Would that it were so,' said Mr Burnham. 'But it is not. To put the matter simply: there is nothing they want from us – they've got it into their heads that they have no use for our products and manufactures. But we, on the other hand, can't do without their tea and their silks. If not for opium, the drain of silver from Britain and her colonies would be too great to sustain.'

Here, Mr Doughty suddenly joined in: 'The trouble, you know, is that Johnny Chinaman thinks he can return to the good old days, before he got his taste for opium. But there's no going back – just won't hoga.'

'Going back?' said Neel, in surprise. 'But China 's hunger for opium dates back to antiquity, does it not?'

'Antiquity?' scoffed Mr Doughty. 'Why, even when I first went out to Canton, as a lad, there was just a trickle of opium going in. Damned hard-headed gudda is Johnny Long-tail. I can tell you, it wasn't easy to get him to take to opium. No sir – to give credit where it's due, you would have to say that the yen for opium would still be limited to their twice-born if not for the perseverance of English and American merchants. It's happened almost within living memory – for which we owe a sincere vote of thanks to the likes of Mr Burnham.' He raised his glass to the shipowner. 'To you, sir.'

Neel was about to join in the toast when the next course appeared: it consisted of fledgling chickens that had been cooked whole. 'I'll be damned if it isn't a roast of Sudden-Death!' cried Mr Doughty, in delight. Spearing a bird's tiny head with his fork, he began to chew on it in dreamy contentment.

Neel stared at the bird on his plate in glum resignation: he was suddenly very hungry and had he not been in plain view of his retainers he would certainly have set upon the chicken – but he distracted himself instead by belatedly raising his glass to Mr Burnham. 'To you, sir,' he said, 'and your successes in China.'

Mr Burnham smiled. 'It wasn't easy, I can tell you,' he said. 'Especially in the early days, when the mandarins were somewhat less than amenable.'

'Really?' Not having given much thought to commerce, Neel had imagined that the traffic in opium enjoyed official approval in China – this seemed only natural since in Bengal the trade was not merely sanctioned but monopolized by the British authorities, under the seal of the East India Company. 'You amaze me, Mr Burnham,' he said. 'Is the sale of opium frowned on by the Chinese authorities, then?'

'I'm afraid so,' said Mr Burnham. 'Trafficking in opium has been illegal there for some time. But they've never made a tumasher about it in the past: their mandarins and chuntocks always got their ten-per-cent desturees and were glad to shut their eyes to it. The only reason they're making a fuss now is that they want a bigger share of the profits.'

'It's simple,' Mr Doughty announced, chewing on a wing. 'The Long-tails have got to be given a taste of the lattee.'

'I'm afraid I have to agree, Doughty,' said Mr Burnham, nodding. 'A timely dose of chastisement is always to the good.'

'So you are convinced then,' said Neel, 'that your government will go to war?'

'It may well come to that, alas,' said Mr Burnham. ' Britain has been nothing if not patient but there's a limit to everything. Look at what the Celestials did to Lord Amherst. There he was, on the very threshold of Pekin, with a shipload of presents – and the Emperor wouldn't so much as receive him.'

'Oh, don't speak of it, sir, it is not to be borne!' said Mr Doughty indignantly. 'Wanted his lordship to kowtow in public! Why, they'll be asking us to grow long-tails next!'

'And Lord Napier fared no better either,' Mr Burnham reminded him. 'The mandarins paid him no more attention than they would this chicken.'