“You followed it?” Mina regarded him askance. “Brave man.”
“I didn’t know I was following it at the time,” conceded Kit. “I lost my light and then heard the chink of the chain and moved towards the sound.”
“You’re sure it was Baby?”
“Positive. That chain.”
“All the more reason to take a weapon with us,” Mina concluded. She thought for a moment, then asked, “These cave paintings-are you sure you can find them again?”
“Pretty sure. Why?”
“Because we can copy the symbols in the cave and test them against those on our piece of the map.”
“But we may not need the map anymore,” Kit pointed out. “I can find the Spirit Well again without the Skin Map.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Mina said. “I’m all for it. But we don’t know that the Spirit Well is the great treasure Cosimo and Sir Henry were looking for. It might be something else, something even bigger. In any case, it won’t hurt to spend a few minutes copying the symbols.”
“So we’ll stop off on the way and make a copy. No problem.”
Wilhelmina nodded. “Do you think Arthur Flinders-Petrie was really there?”
“He must have been. How else did those marks get on the wall of that cave?” said Kit. “Either our old buddy Arthur was there and drew them himself, or somebody copied them off his skin.”
“We still don’t know how to read them,” Wilhelmina pointed out.
“True,” agreed Kit. “But we may not need them anymore.”
They talked a little longer, and then Wilhelmina went in to make some more coffee. She was just pouring the first cups when Brother Lazarus returned with the news that he had been granted leave to accompany Wilhelmina and Kit down the mountain to explore the cave.
“How soon can we leave?” asked Mina.
“As soon as we have gathered the necessary supplies and equipment,” replied the priest.
Wilhelmina translated for Kit, who observed, “We don’t need all that much equipment. How long will it take to gather a few torches, some rope, and some drawing paper and pencils?” He thought for a moment, then added, “Can Brother Lazarus get his hands on a camera of any kind? We would need a flash too.”
Mina and Lazarus exchanged a word. “He says he thinks Brother Michael at the library might have a camera we can borrow. The rest of the equipment shouldn’t take more than a couple hours to scrape together. What kind of weapon are we looking for?”
Kit considered this. “Nothing fancy. A hunting rifle-something like that.”
Mina spoke to Brother Lazarus, then said, “We won’t be able to get our hands on one of those at the monastery.”
“Then we can try in the town,” said Kit. He stretched and stood.
“It’s nearly eleven,” Mina told him. “I’ve got prayers in an hour, and I am in charge of setting out the service books for vespers this evening.”
Kit regarded her with a quizzical look. “What are you saying, Wilhelmina? Are you really a nun?”
“No,” she said, dismissing the comment with a laugh. “But I do try to fit in while I’m here. I have duties.” She rose and faced Kit. “That said, I do find the daily office very meaningful. I don’t like to miss it.”
“Okay, but-”
“Listen, let’s take the rest of the day, get all the gear together, and then set out tomorrow morning after Matins and breakfast-how’s that?”
“Well, if you insist…”
“A day of rest won’t hurt you.” She smiled. “And you can use the time to get to know Brother Lazarus better.”
“Fine,” agreed Kit, regarding the smiling cleric. “As you know, my Spanish and Italian are every bit as good as my German. We’ll have a ball.”
CHAPTER 31
The journey to China had proved a trial of patience and endurance. Schooners, however luxurious-and they were rarely that-might be strong and reliable, but they were slow. Even the swiftest of the new clipper ships took six months or more to reach Hong Kong from Portsmouth, and there was no faster way to make the journey. At least there was no faster way Charles Flinders-Petrie had ever found. Grandfather Arthur might have discovered a ley line connecting Britain to China, but if he had, that was yet another secret he failed to pass along to anyone. The monumental inconvenience of sea travel was one of the main reasons Charles had never made the journey, and the only reason he was making it now was that cruel necessity had forced him from his beloved London garden.
Now, as the humped back of Hong Kong island slid into view beneath the low clouds hanging over the harbour, it was all Charles could do to refrain from leaping into the sea and swimming the rest of the way to shore. The ship made port a few hours later, and by midday Charles was picking his slow way up the dusty steeps of Wah Fu Road, looking for the house of Xian-Li’s sister. Having shunned the clamour of rickshaw drivers at the harbour for the pleasure of feeling solid ground beneath his feet after so many weeks aboard ship, he was enjoying his exotic surroundings as much as the physical exertion was making him sweat.
At the top of the hill he stopped and looked about him. The houses in the neighbourhood were oddly out of place-rambling English-style wooden bungalows with steep roofs, deep eaves, and large wraparound porches-built as they were by European businessmen and bureaucrats for families accustomed to suburban sprawl. They were painted white with red trim, and as a concession to climate and decorum, most of the porches and windows were screened with woven bamboo shades. He had never met Hana-Li, but he had the number of the house and, as the widow of a notable government official, she was well known.
When he had caught his breath he continued on, entering a wide tree-lined boulevard where the houses were larger and set back from the road by green lawns strewn with flower beds and ornamental shrubs tended by barefoot gardeners wearing wide straw hats. At last he came to an iron post at the end of a winding driveway. The post bore a sign with the number forty-three painted in gold. He stood for a moment and gazed at the rambling house, wondering whether he would find a welcome within. There was only one way to find out.
Charles walked up the drive and mounted the steps to the porch. There was a bell pull beside the door, which he employed, once and then again, and waited until he heard the quick patter of sandals on the other side of the heavy wooden door. It opened to reveal a sprightly young girl with long black hair, robed in a plain white shift, with simple sea grass slippers on her feet.
“Hello,” said Charles with a smile. “I have come to see Hana-Li. Is she at home?”
If his words made an impression on the girl, she did not show it.
“Do you speak English?” asked Charles.
The girl frowned, then turned away abruptly and pattered off, leaving the door open. Charles stood on the threshold gazing into the dark interior of a spacious vestibule lined with standing porcelain pots in green and blue. He patted the parcel beneath his shirt and waited.
In a moment an old woman appeared. Her dove-grey hair was bound in a topknot beneath which a round face, wrinkled as a walnut, expressed a mild curiosity at what had fetched up on the doorstep. Her robe was threadbare and faded, and she carried a dusting cloth in one hand. Taking her for the housekeeper, Charles replied, “I have come to see Hana-Li. Is the lady at home?”
“She is at home,” answered the woman in careful colonial English with a whistling lisp. “Who wishes to see her?”
“My name is Charles Flinders-Petrie,” he said. “I am the honourable lady’s great-nephew.”
“Nephew?” wondered the old woman.
Charles offered a reassuring smile. “My grandmother, Xian-Li, was her sister,” he explained. “She is my great-aunt.”
The woman paused to consider this, her quick dark eyes wary of this bold gaijin stranger.