Barbara Faith - Kiss of the dragon (18 page)

"No, but—"

"The men who've been after us..
.they're ruthless men, Tiger. They're only interested in the money he'll bring. They're not interested in his beauty, his—"

"His beauty?" Tiger looked at her curiously. "The statue is an
it,
Bethany, not a
him."
He stood up. He walked to the window, then back. "I don't understand you," he said. "We started on this trip with the idea that we were going to get the dragon and return to Hong Kong and sell it. I've wanted to forget it, let it go, but you wouldn't let me. Now you want to give the statue away. You're acting as though the dragon was real, as though it was alive."

Bethany stared at Tiger, then with a cry she covered her face with her hands. She knew she was being ridiculous. The golden dragon was worth a great deal of money and they'd agreed to sell it. But oh God, what if the person they sold it to didn't see his beauty? What if they melted the dragon down for the gold?

"Bethany?" Tiger's hands were on her shoulders. "Tell me," he said, "what is it you want to do with the statue?"

She raised her head and looked at him. "I...I want to give it to a museum," she whispered. "There's one here, we could see it from the monastery. I want to take him there, where everyone can see him and know that love, that the love he and Flowering Peach shared is eternal."

Tiger's hands tightened on her shoulders. He didn't understand what she was saying, but he knew how important this was to her. And how important she was to him. He looked into her tear-filled gray eyes and his heart swelled with love. "All right," he said in a gentle voice. "All right, Bethany, we'll do as you say. We'll give him to the museum."

"Oh, Tiger." Bethany leaned her face against his chest. "Today," she said, "we'll go today."

He nodded. "But first I want to make arrangements for a flight out of here because there may be only one or two a week. I'll see about tickets, then I'll come back and we'll go to the museum." Tiger held her away from him. "If that's really what you want."

"It's what I want," Bethany said.

"But before, when I told you I wanted to give up our pursuit of the dragon you wouldn't agree. What made you change your mind, Bethany?"

"I hadn't seen him then. I didn't know how beautiful he was." With trembling fingers she undid the string around the box, and brushing aside the silk, picked up the golden dragon. He was heavy, but she didn't mind the weight, for again it seemed to her that she could feel the quiver of life beneath her fingertips. "He doesn't belong to us, Tiger," she said softly. "He belongs to China."

Tiger touched her cropped black hair. He knew that he loved Bethany more in that moment than he'd ever thought it possible to love anyone. He watched as she put the dragon on the bed. He saw the way her fingers lingered on the statue's face as she tenderly traced the tear that marred the golden cheek.

"I want you to stay here and lock the door behind me," he said when he got to his feet. "I don't know how long I'll be. I'm going to the airline office and that usually takes a lot of time here in China."

Bethany smiled up at him. Now that she had made the decision she felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. When Tiger took her hands and pulled her up, she went willingly into his arms.

"I'm asking you to give up a great deal, Tiger," Bethany said. "I know how valuable the statue is, I know the kind of financial security it could give you. But I feel... I know that this is the right thing to do."

Tiger kissed her. "So do I, Bethany."

"Thank you, Tiger."

He held her for a moment, then, reluctantly, let her go. "I may be gone for several hours," he said. "Stay here, Bethany. I don't want you out on the street without me."

"I won't leave."

"And lock the door."

"I will." She kissed his cheek. He opened the door and stood for a moment looking at her. "Lock the door behind me," he said again.

Bethany listened to his steps receding down the corridor. It's going to be all right, she thought. We'll take the golden dragon to the museum where he'll be safe, where other lovers will see him.

With a happy sigh Bethany went to stand by the window. She looked out at the busy street, waiting for Tiger to emerge from the hotel. When she saw him she smiled and thought how much she loved him and of the life they would have together.

Then Bethany's smile faded. She gasped and her hands tightened on the window sill. Two men stood by a lamppost. They were watching Tiger. She'd seen them before. One of them had been driving the car when she'd been kidnapped; the other man she'd seen on the train just before she jumped.

Bethany cried a warning, even though she knew Tiger couldn't hear her. But the men didn't go after Tiger; they only watched, and waited until he disappeared into the crowd.

The man from the train said something to the other
m
an.
Then they walked across the street toward the hotel. One entered, the other positioned himself at the corner of the busy street. They were coming here! After the dragon. After her.

Bethany stood frozen, then with an anguished cry she picked up the gold
en dragon and put him into the w
icker basket. They mustn't get him. They mustn't! She jammed the Mao hat on her head* took the
bas
ket, and without a backward look fled from the room.

Chapter 18

B
ethany ran down the hall to the back stairs. There was no door, only the open stairs leading down to the working part of the hotel. As she plunged down them she heard footsteps running in the corridor above.

She ran, clutching the heavy basket in one hand, the railing with the other. Almost at the bottom she heard a shout from above, and looking up saw the man from the train peering down from the top of the stairwell. With a cry of terror Bethany leaped down the rest of the stairs and when she reached the door at the bottom flung it open. She was in an empty laundry room. Jumping over piles of dirty laundry, she ran through the room, saw another door and pushed it open.

Startled faces looked up from soup pots and steaming kettles. Bethany glanced quickly around the kitchen, frantic to find a way out, knowing the man from the train would follow her in here. She ran
around a table where a cook in a tall hat was slicing vegetables. He shouted something and waved his knife at her, but she ignored him as she looked around searching for a way out. Suddenly, the door she'd entered burst open. Voices raised to an excited pitch as a man with a gun burst into the kitchen.

Bethany ran around the table. She saw a door and headed for it, pushing the vegetable man out of the way as she glanced over her shoulder. The man from the train was only a few steps behind her. She darted around a stove that held a pot of steaming soup, gave it a shove with her free hand, then spurted ahead as the steaming liquid caught her pursuer. He screamed as she raced through the door, up a short flight of stairs, to the street.

Gasping for breath, aware that her hand was burned but not caring, Bethany looked up and down the street. Suddenly she froze. The other man, the chauffeur of the car that had kidnapped her, stood only a yard or two away, looking up at the hotel. Her hand tightened around the handle of the basket. The man from the kitchen, unless he was badly hurt, would come through the door behind any second now. She had to get away.

Be calm, she told herself. Be calm. She pulled the cap lower on her face, then taking a deep breath, stepped out onto the crowded street.

Bethany made herself walk without seeming haste past other pedestrians. Keep your head down, she told herself. Don't panic. Don't—

A shout went up behind her. She darted a glance over her shoulder. The man who'd been after her in the hotel, a towel clutched to his face, was with the chauffeur who'd
been positioned at the corner. He screamed in anger and pointed toward her.

Bethany plunged past the people in front of her, pushing them aside as she raced toward the end of the street. At the corner she paused, stopped, saw a narrow alley and ran into it. Other, smaller passageways, branched off the alley. She ran on, scarcely aware of the heavy burden she carried. I'll be all right if I can get to the end of the alley before they see me, she told herself. She was almost there, another few steps and she'd... She stopped. My God, there wasn't any exit! She was caught in a dead-end passage. Behind her she heard a shout.

Bethany looked wildly around, then, without conscious thought, turned into one of the passageways, opened the nearest door and plunged inside.

An old man was bent over a sewing machine. He looked up, startled, then said something she didn't understand.

"Two men are after me," Bethany cried. "Please help me. Please..." And almost wept in frustration because she knew the tailor didn't understand her.

He got up from his machine and began waving his arms at her.

"Please," Bethany said again. "Please help me."

Heavy footsteps were running in the passageway, angry voices were raised as fists began pounding on the neighboring doors. In another moment they'd be at the tailor's door. They'd have her; they'd have the golden dragon.

Feeling as though her heart would surely burst from her chest, Bethany searched frantically for an escape. The old man grabbed her arm. He spoke again, but
she didn't understand. Skinny fingers dug into her arm. He pulled her after him and she had no choice but to follow him as he led her to a corner of the room and pulled back a rug. He lifted a small brass ring, opened a two-foot-wide trapdoor and beckoned to her.

For a moment Bethany hesitated. Someone pounded on the door. She glanced at the tailor and quickly lowered herself into the opening. The door closed over her head. She heard him shuffle away and cry out in an impatient voice. Then other voices, angry voices.

Bethany huddled in the dark, narrow space, sure
the
men above could h
ear the frantic beating of her h
eart. She'd never known such darkness, such fear. For
a
moment
,
she wanted to cry out so that sh
e
coul
d
escape from this frightening place. But if she did they
'd
take the dragon. She closed her eyes and tried to force herself to calmness.

With shaking hands Bethany clutched the dragon. She took a deep breath. The frantic beating of her heart slowed. She moved the satin wrapping aside so that she could touch him. He was cool against her fingertips, and she held him against her breast.

There were angry shouts above. Noises of furniture being overturned. A cry. Bethany flinched, but she didn't move. She just held the dragon close and waited.

After what seemed an eternity the shouting stopped. The steps receded. There was only silence, and darkness. Bethany waited. She had to be sure her pursuers had gone. Ten minutes went by. She wrapped the dragon in the silk and put him back in the basket. Her legs were cramped, sweat ran down her body. She felt
above her head and with the flat of her hand tried to lift the trapdoor. It didn't budge. Frightened, she put both hands against the door and pushed as hard as she could. It lifted. She raised it an inch and peered out, stifling a cry as she surveyed the room. It was a shambles. Tables were overturned, the material the tailor had been working on was strewn across the floor. He lay beside his machine.

With every bit of her strength, grunting with the effort, Bethany pushed the trapdoor all the way open. She climbed out, then reached down for the basket with the dragon. Quickly she ran and knelt beside the old man. He was unconscious, and a trickle of blood ran down the side of his face. She felt for the pulse in his neck. It was weak but steady. She got up to look around for water. Seeing a spigot and a pail, she ran some water, found a cloth, and hurrying to the tailor's side, bathed his face.

"Please," Bethany said. "Oh, please, be all right." She patted his face. "Sir? Sir, can you hear me? Wake up. They've gone now. Oh, please..."

His eyelids fluttered open. He groaned and tried to sit up.

"No," Bethany said. "Rest a moment. Don't try to move yet." She bathed the wound on his head, then quickly ran to get him a drink of water and held his head while he drank. This was her fault. The tailor had tried to protect her. He'd been hurt because he wouldn't tell the men where she was. She folded some material and put it under his head for a pillow. He murmured something she didn't understand and tried to smile. He closed his eyes and in a little while he slept.

Bethany sat beside him, a worried frown on her face. She took his pulse again; it seemed stronger.

For a long time Bethany sat beside the tailor. Every few minutes she checked his pulse. Finally she got up and began to straighten the shop, righting the overturned tables and the chair, picking up the scattered material, folding it neatly. The table with the sewing machine on it was the only one that hadn't been overturned. When the shop had been put to rights, she went back and sat on the floor beside the tailor.

Bethany didn't know how much time had elapsed since she'd fled the hotel. If Tiger had returned he must be frantic with worry. As soon as she made sure the old man was all right she'd go back to the hotel. She... But no, she couldn't go back. The men who were looking for her would be waiting there. She had to go somewhere else. But where? Dear God, where could she go where both she and the dragon would be safe?

If only she understood Chinese. If only she could call Tiger and warn him. If only... At last, exhausted by all that had happened, Bethany closed her eyes and slept.

When she awoke she saw the tailor standing next to a one-burner hot plate. "Are you all right?" she asked as she got quickly to her feet.

He spoke quickly, bowed several times, then handed her a cup of tea. Smiling her thanks, Bethany took the cup. It was black tea, strong and good, and with each sip she felt the strength flow back into her body. She knew now where she and the dragon would be safe. The monastery, she'd go to the monastery, and some way, from there, she'd get word to Tiger.

After the tea was finished Bethany thanked the old tailor, even though she knew he didn't understand.

He bowed and spoke. His meaning was lost to Bethany, but she took his hand and by her expression tried to show him how grateful she was for his kindness.

He went to the door and peered out. With a nod he motioned her forward.

"Thank you," she said again, as she picked up the basket and stepped out into the passageway.

A late afternoon gloom had settled over the city as cautiously, head lowered, Bethany went down the alley. When she reached the street she merged with the people who were walking there. The monastery, she thought, I've got to get to the monastery. She raised her eyes and looked at the distant hills.

She had no money so she'd have to go on foot. The golden dragon was heavy. She walked for blocks until she reached the edge of town, then began to climb. An hour later, too exhausted to go on, she stopped beneath a tree and sinking to the ground, rested. Soon it would be dark. She closed her eyes for a moment, then with a sigh got to her feet.

The road wound up the high hill. It was quiet here away from the noise of the city. Bethany wiped the perspiration from her face and shifted the basket to her other hand. With the last rays of sun she could see the Yangtze River. She leaned her back against a tree and flexed her arms that ached from the weight of the dragon. She didn't know how much farther she had to go.

When night closed in around Bethany, she stayed at the edge of the road. One step at a time, she told herself. The stars came out, a quarter moon appeared. She rested again, and without meaning to closed her eyes. Then jerking awake, she made herself get up and go on.

"We'll make it," she said to the dragon as she staggered to her feet. "You'll be safe tonight and tomorrow we'll take you to the museum, and all of us who have ever loved will see you there and know that your love, that all true love is eternal."

She fell to her knees and when she raised her head she saw through the darkness the flickering lights of the monastery. With a glad cry she stood up and with both hands lifted the heavy basket.

Her gaze on the lights ahead, Bethany marched on. An hour passed. Her legs and arms trembled with fatigue. The lights grew closer, the air grew chill. She went on without thinking, one foot ahead of the other, one weary step at a time. Suddenly the tall iron gate loomed in front of her, and for a reason she could not explain, she began to weep. She reached for the bell rope and at the sound of the bell sank slowly to the ground.

A monk bent over her. He held a cup of steaming soup to her lips.

"Where am I? What... ?" Bethany tried to sit up but he restrained her.

"Drink," the monk said in English.

Bethany did as she was told. The broth tasted of chicken and noodles. When she'd finished half of it she said, "Thank you. I feel better now."

She was in a clean, small room, resting on a straw mat. The wicker basket had been placed on the floor beside her.

"We found you at the gate," another monk said from the only chair in the room. "You were unable to walk and we brought you here. You must finish your soup and then you will sleep."

"I have to get word to someone."

"In the morning."

"But he'll be frantic with worry. Please. His name is Malone, Tiger Malone. He's at the Hotel of the Swallows in room 402. You must get word to him."

The monk beside her turned to look at the other man. "I will ask Saka Muni Buddha," he said as he rose to his feet. To Bethany he said, "Sleep now, my child. I will leave the candle so that you are not alone in the dark."

Before Bethany could protest, the two monks went out and closed the door.

She was alone in this silent room. "Tiger," she whispered. What had he thought when he returned to the hotel to find her gone? Was he safe? My God, what if the two men who had been after her had attacked him? She covered her face with her arm. Oh please, she prayed, let him be safe. Let Tiger be safe.

As the first light of dawn crept in through the window above her head, Bethany opened her eyes. Before she could sit up there was a knock. When she said, "Come in," the same monk who had given her the broth the night before entered with a cup of tea.

"Drink this," he said, "then I will take you to Saka Muni Buddha."

Bethany ran her fingers through her tousled hair. "Has Mr. Malone been told that I'm here?"

"I believe he has." The monk folded his arms inside the wide sleeves of his robe and did not speak again until Bethany had finished her tea. "Please come," he said then.