In the Shadow of the Cypress (17 page)

Once this was accomplished, a stout chain was wrapped in two directions around the chest. The chain was then looped twice around a strong pillar at the back of the hall near the now empty altar, and secured with a large padlock. The senior elder took the
key, turned, bowed toward the altar, and then ceremoniously presented it to Master Chow Eng-Shu. He politely informed Master Chow Eng-Shu that two of the strongest men available had been armed and told to guard the chest until they were relieved.

Just then a side door opened, and three men entered carrying furniture. The first two hefted a simple Chinese-style bed, and the second entered with a low table and cushions. These they placed near the chained tea chest in front of the altar.

Master Ah Chung turned to Master Chow Eng-Shu and said they appreciated that the esteemed Three Corporations required their own guard to oversee the security and protection of the treasure. To that end the tong was only too happy to accommodate Master Chow Eng-Shu until the steamer departed the following day. They would also send a cook to attend to his meals. In that way he could keep an eye on the treasure and be comfortable at the same time.

Dr. Lao-Hong watched the master clerk out of the corner of his eye, and he knew at once what was going through his mind. Master Chow Eng-Shu could either accept the tong’s Spartan hospitality, or return to the obvious pleasures and stately affluence of Lady Yee’s home. As the doctor expected, Master Chow Eng-Shu took no time in making up his mind. He bowed to Master Ah Chung and said there was no need for him to guard the treasure personally. The tong had done very well in that respect for quite some time. He bowed again and said that he had every confidence the treasure would be safe in their hands.

Dr. Lao-Hong knew that Master Chow Eng-Shu was quite confident of the chest’s security, since the funds and documents he had brought in exchange would not be handed over until the treasure was safely placed aboard the steamer. Only
then would he officially take possession in the name of the Three Corporations. A Chinese notary would be present to witness the contracts signed, and the funds counted out and handed over.

T
HAT NIGHT
L
ADY
Y
EE AGAIN
entertained her esteemed guests with a lavish farewell feast, and again Master Chow Eng-Shu enjoyed a surfeit of excellent wine. The doctor took note of this and suspected the master clerk might pay dearly for his overindulgence the following day. For those not used to the experience, the motions of a ship at sea would only enhance the discomforts awaiting one who overindulges. But it was not the doctor’s place to criticize. Master Chow Eng-Shu would have to plumb those depths for himself. Besides, the doctor was already experiencing his own catalog of disquieting symptoms, but his could easily be traced to an unsettling phalanx of tormenting preoccupations.

Dr. Lao-Hong could not help but reflect upon the complex Imperial ambitions and vast heroic accomplishments commemorated by those two stones, and by what strange chain of events they would now undertake another fateful voyage. Whether they found their rightful place of repose, or were sucked into the maw of greed, power, and jealousy, which in itself was a kind of oblivion, only time and fortune would determine.

Dr. Lao-Hong was quickly learning that it was a tasking burden to shoulder another man’s honor, not to mention his mortality; lives were at hazard, families and clans imperiled. The doctor had done the best he could for all concerned. He prayed that it wasn’t too late.

———

T
HE NEXT MORNING THE GUESTS
bid their generous hostess a respectful farewell, a formality that included the doctor presenting Lady Yee with a beautiful and intricately pierced ivory fan, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and amber. And though it wasn’t exactly the truth, he said the Three Corporations wished her to accept the gift as a mark of their respect. Lady Yee was delighted with both the fan and the recognition.

A half hour later the concerned parties again met at the tong hall. Everything was just as they had left it the night before. Even the same guards were in attendance. A table and chairs had been arranged for the signing of contracts and the counting out of the agreed payment. This was made in small gold bars called teals. Each was weighed carefully, stamped by the notary, and entered on a receipt. Only after all the necessary documents had been signed and exchanged, and all financial formalities accomplished in good order, would the sealed chest be transported to the pier and loaded aboard the little hired steamer.

Master Chow Eng-Shu was formally presented the tong’s key to the padlock. The treasure was duly released from its bonds, and the two guards then slung the chest from a stout pole, which they carried away upon their shoulders. With the tong elders in informal attendance, the procession made its way to the pier. There the chest was loaded down into the stern cabin of the steam launch that would take it to meet the mail packet in Santa Cruz.

The chartered steam launch was fifty feet long, and had started life as an excursion boat for the guests of the famed Hotel del Monte. After the hotel burned down in 1887, the
launch had been sold to a merchant, who put it back into service as a tour boat. Though of heftier construction, it had been built to the standards and lines of an English lake steamer. The brass-trimmed engine and boiler sat amidships, and a tall carriage cabin with large windows all around surmounted the aft third of the vessel. The cabin was furnished with plush upholstered benches on both sides, and even boasted an enclosed toilet for the convenience of the passengers. For the sake of security, the tong had insisted on manning the steamer with its own seamen. Only three men were necessary: a helmsman, a stoker, and a deckhand.

Heavy swells and a stiff chop of whitecaps troubled the bay, and the doctor noted that as soon as Master Chow Eng-Shu boarded the vessel, his previous overindulgence began to register as an evident change in complexion. Dr. Lao-Hong, who wished no creature harm, felt guilty that he had not made a finer point of cautioning his colleague the night before about the discomforts awaiting those unused to traveling under such conditions.

After parting salutations and compliments, the little steamer pulled away from the pier. A towed jolly boat skipped attendance at the stern. The party waited a short while watching the steamer move off, and then returned to the tong hall to have tea and discuss events.

Later, Master Ah Chung took the doctor to meet the three o’clock train north. Before parting, Dr. Lao-Hong presented his host with a gift of a fine gold pocket watch made in France. The case bore a small but exquisite enamel painting of a floating swan wearing a gold crown, and the dial face was surrounded by seed pearls to mark the hours. Master Ah Chung was much surprised and very pleased with the gift. He promised to think of his friend and benefactor every time he read the hour. They
parted with deep respectful bows and salutations. The doctor was moved to see a mist of gratitude in his friend’s eyes.

D
R.
L
AO-
H
ONG WAS OVERJOYED TO
be back with his family, and he promised Mui Choi that he would do no more traveling for quite some time, if at all. However, he felt that he might have spoken too soon, as on the fourth day after his return he received an urgent summons from his uncles to come to their offices at once.

When he arrived, it was to witness a scene of great distress. He was told at once that there had been a terrible accident. The steamer carrying the treasure to Santa Cruz had suffered an explosion, caught fire, and was lost. Happily, there were no fatalities, though the deckhand and stoker had suffered minor burns, but it was no less a tragedy for all that. If it hadn’t been for the courage of the helmsman and stoker, Master Chow Eng-Shu might have lost his life. For at the time of the accident he was suffering from a bad case of seasickness, which rendered him all but helpless to save himself. The seamen had to break out the cabin windows to help him escape, but by then the fire had grown so intense that it proved impossible to go back for the chest.

Lao-Hong was relieved to hear that the four men had escaped to the safety of the jolly boat, and were soon rescued by a passing schooner that had seen the smoke from several miles away. The doctor was told that Master Chow Eng-Shu had only just arrived that very morning with the terrible news. The poor man had been so thoroughly traumatized by the whole experience that he was contemplating taking the robes of a Buddhist
monk and retiring to a monastery. Barring that, he had taken a solemn vow never to set foot on a steamship again. He was devastated at the loss of the treasure, felt he had failed his masters, and knew not how he would survive his disgrace.

Dr. Lao-Hong took great pains to convince his uncles that Master Chow Eng-Shu was far too valuable a servant to discharge over a matter of chance, and since the loss was well insured, he should be exonerated of all blame. Indeed, the tragedy must be attributed to bad joss, and not any failure on his part. The doctor reminded his uncles that the fates had determined that Zhou Man’s treasure, which had been raised from its guarded obscurity in the earth by mere chance, should now return to the guarded obscurity of the sea in like manner. Perhaps the long-revered and powerful spirit of the venerable Zhou Man had taken a hand in the matter. Who could tell?

Again the doctor was presented a purse of money for his services, but he politely refused it on the grounds that all concerned should share in the loss of the treasure. It was only just and right that he not gain where others had sacrificed. He went on to suggest that the money might be given to Master Chow Eng-Shu, for it was he who had almost surrendered his life in faithful service to the Three Corporations. The uncles were quite impressed with their nephew’s worthy suggestion. He gained great face with the gesture, and Master Chow Eng-Shu became his loyal friend for life.

As Dr. Lao-Hong made his way home through the busy streets, he was drawn to one interesting but totally unimportant question: How much would his uncles settle on the owner of the lost vessel? Then he smiled and put the question aside. It was none of his business anyway. Everyone had lost something in the bargain, everyone except perhaps Admiral Zhou Man.
That intrepid explorer had long since secured his place in the Chinese pantheon of great men. In the eyes of most scholars, the loss of the seal and stone would hardly affect his brilliant reputation one way or the other. There remained the improbable chance, of course, that in the future some enterprising salvage diver might find the sunken launch and recover her cargo. But it was highly doubtful that eventuality would come to pass. The great Imperial explorer Admiral Zhou Man was beyond all that now. He was at rest under the sheltering devotion of his people.

AND THE SEA SHALL
GIVE UP ITS DEAD

“Wisdom is not a birthright, it is a treasured inheritance.”

—
CHINESE PROVERB

N
INETEEN NINETY-EIGHT WAS A TROUBLING
year for young Charles Lucas, known as Luke to his family and friends. He had shown himself to be an indifferent C student for the first two years of high school, and his lack of application had troubled his parents exceedingly. Luke’s parents had both been honors graduates of Stanford University, and they felt they had somehow failed their son. More so since Luke had always tested in the top five percent of every intelligence test he had ever taken. There were even those who believed, once upon a time, that Luke would most likely be inducted into Mensa by the age of fifteen. But such was not to be, for an ironbound, teenage streak of rebellion set in like a Siberian winter, and he refused to be influenced by any reasoning not his own. As if to pour acid on his poor parents’ wounds, he developed a full-blown obsession with surfing that seemed to occupy almost all of his time, attention, and money.

Unfortunately, Luke, being a normal teenage boy, possessed little or no abiding sense of personal direction whatsoever. He floundered at everything remotely academic, which only made matters worse for his long-suffering parents. Their daughter, Beth, five years older than Luke and thriving with honors back east at Princeton, had never been a real problem. At least that was how they liked to remember her.