He lifted a hand and stretched it out to her, as if he would draw her to him. 'Tell me, Lydia, what lies so heavy on your heart?'

She stood up straight in the water, letting go of the edge of her dress so that it floated around her legs like a fisherman's net. He saw a decision form in her eyes.

'Chang An Lo,' she said, 'I need your help.'

A breeze swept in off the Peiho River. It carried with it the stench of rotting fish guts. It came from the hundreds of sampans that crowded around the flimsy jetties and pontoons that clogged the banks, but Chang was used to it. It was the stink of boiled cowhide from the tannery behind the G.o.downs around the harbour.

He moved quickly. Shut his mind to the knives in his foot and slipped silently past the noisy, shouting, clattering world of the riverside, where tribes of beggars and boatmen made their homes. The sampans bobbed and jostled each other with their rattan shelters and swaying walkways, while cormorants perched, tethered and starved, on the prows of the fishermen's boats. Chang knew not to linger. Not here. A blade between ribs, and a body to add to the filth thrown daily into the Peiho, was not unheard of for no more than a pair of shoes.

Out where the great Peiho flowed wider than forty fields, British and French gunboats rode at anchor, their white and red and blue flags fluttering a warning. At the sight of them Chang spat on the ground and trampled it into the dirt. He could see that half a dozen big steamers had docked in the harbour, and near-naked coolies bent double as they struggled up and down the gangplanks under loads that would break the back of an ox. He kept clear of the overseer who strutted with a heavy black stick in his hand and a curse on his tongue, but everywhere men shouted, bells rang, engines roared, camels screamed, and all the time in and out of the chaos wove the rickshaws, as numerous as the black flies that settled over everything.

Chang kept moving. Skirted the quayside. Ducked down an alleyway where a severed hand lay in the dust. On to the G.o.downs. These were huge warehouses that were well guarded by more blue devils, but behind them a row of lean-to shacks had sprung up. Not shacks so much as pig houses, no higher than a man's waist and built of rotting sc.r.a.ps of driftwood. They looked as if a moth's wings could blow them away. He approached the third one. Its door was a flap of oilcloth. He pulled it aside.

'Greetings to you, Tan Wah,' he murmured softly.

'May the river snakes seize your miserable tongue,' came the sharp reply. 'You have stolen away my soft maidens, skin as sweet as honey on my lips. Whoever you are, I curse you.'

'Open your eyes, Tan Wah, leave your dreams. Join me in the world where the taste of honey is a rich man's pleasure and a maiden's smile a million li li away from this dung heap.' away from this dung heap.'

'Chang An Lo, you young son of a wolf. My friend, forgive the poison of my words. I ask the G.o.ds to lift my curse and I invite you to enter my fine palace.'

Chang crouched down, slipped inside the foul-smelling hovel, and sat cross-legged on a bamboo mat that looked as if it had been chewed by rats. In the dim interior he could make out a figure wrapped in layers of newspaper lying on the damp earth floor, his head propped on an old car seat cushion as a pillow.

'My humble apologies for disturbing your dreams, Tan Wah, but I need some information from you.'

The man in the coc.o.o.n of newspaper struggled to sit up. Chang could see he was little more than a handful of bones, his skin the telltale yellow of the opium addict. Beside him lay a long-stemmed clay pipe, which was the source of the sickly smell that choked the airless hut.

'Information costs money, my friend,' he said, his eyes barely open. 'I am sorry but it is so.'

'Who has money these days?' Chang demanded. 'Here, I bring you this instead.' He placed a large salmon on the ground between them, its scales bright as a rainbow in the dingy kennel. 'It swam from the creek straight into my arms this morning when it knew I was coming to see you.'

Tan Wah did not touch it. But the narrow slits of his eyes were already calculating its weight in the black paste that would bring the moon and the stars into his home. 'Ask what you will, Chang An Lo, and I will kick my worthless brain until it finds what you wish to know.'

'You have a cousin who works at the fanqui fanqui's big club.'

'At the Ulysses?'

'That is the one.'

'Yes, my stupid cousin, Yuen Dun, a cub still with his milk teeth, yet he is growing fat on the foreigners' dollars while I . . .' He closed his mouth and his eyes.

'My friend, if you would eat the fish instead of trading it for dreams, you might also grow fat.'

The man said nothing but lay back on the floor, picked up the pipe, and cradled it on his chest like a child.

'Tell me, Tan Wah, where does this stupid cousin of yours live?'

There was a silence, filled only by the sound of fingers stroking the clay stem. Chang waited patiently.

'In the Street of the Five Frogs.' It was a faint murmur. 'Next to the rope maker.'

'A thousand thanks for your words. I wish you good health, Tan Wah.' In one swift movement he was crouching on his feet ready to leave. 'A thousand deaths,' he said with a smile.

'A thousand deaths,' came the response.

'To the p.i.s.s-drinking general from Nanking.'

A chuckle, more like a rattle, issued from the newspapers. 'And to the donkey-f.u.c.king Foreign Devils on our sh.o.r.e.'

'Stay alive, friend. China needs its people.'

But as Chang pushed away the cloth flap, Tan Wah whispered urgently, 'They are hunting you, Chang An Lo. Do not turn your back.'

'I know.'

'It is not good to cross the Black Snake brotherhood. You look as if they have already fed your face to their chow-chows to chew on. I hear that you stole a girl from them and crushed the life out of one of their guardians.'

'I bruised his ribs. No more.'

A sigh drifted through the heavy air. 'Foolish one. Why risk so much for a miserable slug of a white girl?'

Chang let the cloth fall back in place behind him and slipped away.

He let his knife do the talking. It pressed hard against the young boy's throat.

'Your badge?' Chang demanded.

'It's . . . in . . . in my belt.'

The boy's face was grey with fear. Already he had p.i.s.sed himself when dragged into the dark doorway. Chang could feel the thick flesh on his bones as he removed the ident.i.ty badge and see the sleek sheen on his skin like a well-fed concubine.

'What part of the club do you work in?'

'The kitchens.'

'Ah. So you steal food for your family?'

'No, no. Never.'

The knife tightened and a trickle of blood mingled with the boy's sweat.

'Yes,' he screamed, 'yes, I admit, sometimes I do.'

'Then next time, you dog-faced t.u.r.d, take some to your cousin, Tan Wah, or his spirit will come and feed on your fat stomach and burrow into your liver, where it will suck out all the thick rich oil and you will die.'

The boy's whole body started to shake and when Chang released him, he vomited over his smart leather boots.

11.

'You know, Theo, he was extraordinarily foolish, that Russian last night. Leaving it in his overcoat pocket like that.'

'The necklace?'

'Yes.'

Theo Willoughby and Alfred Parker were playing chess on the terrace at the Ulysses Club. Theo would have preferred cards, a sharp game of poker, but it was Sunday and Alfred was strict about things like that. No gambling on the Sabbath. Theo thought it absurd. Why not no umbrellas on the Sabbath, or no teeth picking? It made as much sense. Or as little. He moved his bishop and took out one of the p.a.w.ns from Alfred's defensive triangle.

Alfred frowned. He removed his spectacles and cleaned them meticulously on a starched white handkerchief. He had a round, good-humoured face with thoughtful brown eyes, a solid fellow who took his time about things, which was surprising, really, in a journalist. But there was a certain tightness around the mouth that always made Theo suspect that his friend was on the verge of panic. Maybe China wasn't quite what he expected it to be. Above them a fierce blue sky was leeching the energy out of the day. Even the feathery leaves on the wisteria seemed to hang in exhausted indolence, but over on the tennis court two young women in delightful tennis whites were scampering after a ball. Theo watched them with only casual interest.

'It serves him right,' he said, 'that Russian, I mean. I honestly don't give a d.a.m.n about it. I know old Lac.o.c.k and Sir Edward are incandescent with fury that it should happen right under their noses, but really . . .' He shrugged and lit a cigarette. 'I have other things on my mind.'

Parker lifted his eyes from the board, stared at his companion, and then nodded and moved his queen's knight.

'There are rumours,' he said, 'that the Russian was an agent sent by Stalin to negotiate with General Chiang Kai-shek. The general has come up from Nanking and is reported to be in Peking at the moment.'

'There are always rumours in this place.'

'The necklace was supposed to be a gift for Mai-ling, Chiang Kai-shek's wife. Rubies from the dead tsarina's collection of fabulous jewels, they say.'

'Is that so? You are remarkably well informed, Alfred.' Theo gave a rough laugh. 'Fitting that it should pa.s.s from one despot's wife to another, I suppose, but whoever has it now will find it worthless.'

'How so?'

'Well, no one, not even a Chinese fence, would risk handling that piece now. It's more of a noose than a necklace. It's too well known, too dangerous. So the thief can't sell it. Word is out, and he will find his head up in one of those bamboo cages hanging from the lampposts if he so much as breathes a whisper about rubies.'

'Barbaric practice,' Parker shuddered.

'You have a lot to learn.'

They played in silence for the next half hour. Just the chime of a grandfather clock somewhere inside and the alarm cry of a goldfinch disturbed their thoughts. Then Theo, on edge and tired of the game, sprang his trap and Parker's king fell.

'Well done, old boy. You got me fair and square.' Parker leaned back in the cane chair, untroubled by the loss, and took his time lighting up his beloved briar pipe. 'So why have you called me over here today? I know you hate this place. It's not just for chess, is it?'

'No.'

'Well?'

'I'm having a spot of trouble with Mason.'

'The education department johnny? The one with the loud mouth and the quiet wife.'

'That's the one.'

'What of him?'

'Alfred, listen to me. I need to find out something about him, something dirty in his past. Something I can use to get the swine off my back. You're a journalist, you have contacts and know how to dig around.'

Parker looked shocked. He drew on his pipe and slowly exhaled a cloud of smoke that caught a pa.s.sing b.u.t.terfly. 'Sounds bad, old chap. What's he up to?'

Theo kept it short. 'I owe Courtney Bank a fair sum. For the expansion of my school last year. Mason is a director of the bank - you know how he puts himself about - and he's threatening to call in the loan unless . . .'

'Unless what?'

'Unless I oblige him.'

Parker coughed awkwardly. 'Good G.o.d, man, what does that mean?'

Theo stubbed out his cigarette, grinding it into dust. 'It means he wants to make use of Li Mei.'

Alfred Parker turned bright red, even the tip of his nose. 'I say, Theo, that's not on, old chap. I don't think I want to hear any more.' He glanced away and his eyes followed a native servant in white tunic as he approached the veranda with a small tray in his hand.

Theo leaned forward and tapped Parker's knee sharply. 'Don't be a fool, Alfred. That's not what I mean. What do you take me for? Li Mei is my . . .' He stopped when Parker's gaze turned accusingly on him.

'Your what, Theo? Your partner in adultery? Your wh.o.r.e?'

Theo became very still, only the whiteness of his lips betraying him. 'That is an insult to Li Mei, Alfred. I ask you to withdraw it.'

'I can't. It's true.'

Theo stood up with a jerky motion. 'The sooner England abandons the racist and religious straitjackets that paralyse men like you and Sir Edward and all the other d.a.m.ned social misfits that cram into this club, the sooner our people and the people of China will be free. Free to think. Free to live. Free to . . .'

'Whoa, my friend. We are all out here to do our duty by king and country. Just because you've gone native doesn't mean you can suddenly a.s.sume that the rest of us should forget the laws of G.o.d, the need for clearly defined lines of good and evil, of right and wrong. G.o.d knows, in this cruel and heathen country His Word is their only hope. His Word and the British Army.'

'China was civilised hundreds of years before Britain was even thought of.'

'You can't call this civilised.'

Theo said nothing. Stood stiffly. Eyes directed at, but not seeing, the two couples who had just taken to the lawn for a game of croquet.

'Sit down, Theo,' Parker said quietly.