Mr Lu had folded his arms. He said impassively: 'Many kinds. Mainly articles of artistic interest. Statuettes, ceramics and the like.'
'They will be inspected,' said the general. 'Instruct your men to unload the goods.'
Again Mr Lu obeyed without demur. As his men began to unpack the bundles which they had so recently strapped on to the packhorses, he said to me in English: 'We might escape with our lives, but not, I fear, our possessions…'
'Silence I' said the general firmly. He rode forward to where Mr Lu's goods had been laid out, looked them over with the shrewd eye of a Chinese peasant woman inspecting fish in a market and then rode back to where we stood. "They will be requisitioned,' he said, 'to help us win freedom from the Manchus.'
Fatalistically, Mr Lu bowed. 'A worthy cause,' he said dryly. 'The horses -?'
'The horses will also be requisitioned. They will be of particular use…'
It was at this point that he was interrupted by the sound of machine-gun fire and I thought at first that he had somehow given the signal for our slaughter. But the gunfire came from higher up the hillside and I saw at once that it was his men who were the target for the attack. My spirits lifted. Surely these must be government troops coming to our rescue.
My relief was short-lived. Almost at once General Liu Fang shouted an order to his men and, head well down over the neck of his horse, spurred rapidly for the cover of some nearby rocks.
It had begun to rain suddenly - a heavy, misty rain which acted like fog to obscure visibility - and I had no idea of what was happening, save that the general's troops were firing on us.
Mr Lu's men dived for their own weapons, but half of them were cut down before they could reach their rifles. Those who remained snatched up their guns and sought what cover they could. Mr Lu grabbed my arm and together we ran towards a depression in the ground where we might escape the worst of the concentrated fire from above. We flung ourselves down and buried our faces in the soft moss while the three-sided battle went on all around us. I remember noting that the machine-guns kept up an incredibly efficient chattering and I wondered how any Chinese army could have acquired such artillery (for the Chinese are notorious for the poor quality of their arms and their inefficiency in maintaining those that they have).
Bullets thudded about us and I expected to be hit at any moment. I shouted over the noise of gunfire and the cries of the wounded. 'Who are they, Mr Lu?'
'I do not know, Mr Moorcock. All I do know is that whereas we might have escaped with our lives, we now stand a very good chance of being killed. They doubtless consider it more important to destroy General Liu Fang than to save us I' He laughed. I regret that I shall be forced to return your fee -I have not kept my part ot the bargain. Your chances of finding the Valley of the Morning have become exceptionally slender. My protection has proved inadequate!'
'I am forced to agree with you, Mr Lu,' said I, and would have continued had I not recognized the distinctive sound of a bullet striking flesh and bone: I lifted my head, thinking at first that I had been hit, but it was Mr Lu. He must have died instantly, for he had been shot not once but twice, almost simultaneously, in the head. I had an immediate sense of grief, realizing how much I had enjoyed the sophisticated company of the Chinese, but the sight of his ruined head sickened me and I was forced to avert my eyes.
The death of Mr Lu seemed to be a signal for the fighting to stop. Shortly afterward the sound of gunfire ended and I lifted my head cautiously to peer through the drifting rain. Death was everywhere. Our own men lay amongst the scattered and broken remains of the works of art they had carried for so long and so far. A few had once again laid down their weapons and were raising the hands high above their heads. General Liu Fang was nowhere to be seen (I learned later he had kept riding, abandoning his men to their fate), but the warlord's soldiers lay in postures of death everywhere I looked. I rose, raising my own hands. There came a few more isolated shots and I surmised that, in Chinese fashion, the wounded were being finished off.
I must have waited for at least ten minutes before I got my first sight of our 'rescuers'. They were all mounted, all wearing leather caps of a distinctively Mongolian appearance and all carried light rifles of a decidedly unfamiliar pattern. Their loose shirts were of silk or cotton and some wore leather capes to protect themselves against the worst of the rain, while others wore quilted jackets. They were mainly good-looking Northern Chinese, tall and somewhat arrogant in their bearing, and none had pigtails. Most had armbands as their only insignia - a fanciful design consisting of a circle from which radiated eight slender arrows. I knew at once that they could not, after all, be government troops, but were doubtless some rival bandit army either fighting for themselves or allied with the government troops against General Liu Fang.
And then their leader rode into sight from out of the misty rain. I knew it must be the leader from the way in which the other riders fell back. Also it was rare to see a handsome black Arab stallion in these parts and that was what the leader rode. Slender, a graceful rider, dressed in a long black leather topcoat with a narrow waist and a flaring skirt, a broad-brimmed leather hat hiding the face, a long Cossack-style sabre hanging from a belt of elaborately ornamented silk, the bandit chief rode towards me, lifted the brim of the hat away from the face and showed evident, and almost childish, amusement at my astonishment.
'Good morning, Mr Moorcock.'
Her voice was clear and well-modulated - the voice of an educated Englishwoman (though bearing perhaps the slightest trace of an accent). She was young, no older than thirty at very most, and she had a pale, soft complexion. Her eyes were grey-blue and her mouth was wide and full-lipped. She had an oval face which Would have been merely pretty had it not been for the character in it. As it was, I thought her the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her slightly waving black hair was short, framing her face but barely touching her shoulders.
And all I could blurt out was: 'How do you know my name?'
She laughed. 'Our intelligence is rather better than General Liu Fang's. I am sorry so many of your men were killed - and I particularly regret the death of Mr Lu. Though he did not know that it was I who attacked, we were old friends and I had been looking forward to meeting him again.'
'You take his death rather casually,' I said.
'It was a casual death. I have not introduced myself. My name is Una Persson. For some months we have been harassed by General Liu and this is the first opportunity we have had to teach him a lesson. We were originally coming to find you and take you with us to the Valley of the Morning, but I could not afford to miss the chance of ambushing such a large number of the general's troops.'
'How did you know I sought the Valley of the Morning?'
'I have known for at least a month. You have made many inquiries.'
'Your name is familiar - where have I heard it…?' Slowly it dawned on me. 'Bastable mentioned you! The woman on the airship - the revolutionist. Una Persson!'
'I am an acquaintance of Captain Bastable.'
My heart leapt. 'Is he there? Is he in the Valley of the Morning as I suspected?'
'He has been there,' she agreed. 'And he has left something of himself behind.'
'But Bastable? What of him? I am anxious to speak to him. Where is he now?'
And then this mysterious woman made the most cryptic utterance she had made so far. She shrugged and gave a little, tired smile, pulling on her horse's reins so that the beast began to move away. 'Where indeed?' she said. 'It is not a question easily answered, Mr Moorcock, for we are all nomads of the time streams…'