The Hidden Blade (32 page)

Ying-ying shoveled a round of rice into her mouth, along with a piece of fish. She could taste nothing. “He was there himself. He said he would ask Da-ren for me.”

Amah set down her bowl. “He did?”

“Would Da-ren agree?” Ying-ying stared into her rice.

“There is a chance,” Amah said slowly. “The boy has grown into a wastrel. But I hear that when he was small, Da-ren had quite adored him. Even today, Da-ren must still hope that he’ll reform. And if the boy swears up and down that he’d make good if only he has you, he just might get what he wants.”

This was not want Ying-ying wanted to hear. “What should we do then, if Da-ren agrees?”

Amah stood up. “If Da-ren agrees, it would be too late.”

“Then what can we do?” Tears of panic and frustration welled up in her eyes. Would they have to flee? How could Amah’s health take the abuse of a life on the move?

Amah came around and laid a hand on her shoulder. “I will think of something. He will not have you.”

Ying-ying and Amah broke all the rules Amah had set for them.

It was no small feat to get a drugged Shao-ye out of Da-ren’s residence and to the vicinity of Minister Chao’s. They hid and waited. It wasn’t that late in the year, but the night was chilly. Ying-ying shivered grimly.

Near morning, Amah judged that Shao-ye would shortly awaken. Now came the crucial part of their plan: She placed a red pill into Shao-ye’s mouth and carefully manipulated his jaws so that the pill dissolved and slid down his throat: True Words pill, its effect similar to a night of hard drinking.

Taking advantage of the last darkness before dawn, they placed Shao-ye close to the front gate of Minister Chao’s residence and hurried home. Amah went to bed. But Ying-ying was too nervous to even sit down. She paced back and forth until breakfast came.

Po was surprised and pleased to see her. “Bai Gu-niang is receiving the breakfast herself?”

“My amah is slightly unwell,” she said. “Thank you, Master Keeper Po.”

He bowed but didn’t leave. Instead, he leaned a little closer. “Has Bai Gu-niang heard the news?”

Her stomach tightened. “What news? You are first person I’ve seen today, Master Keeper Po.”

Po lowered his voice. “I don’t know for sure myself. But I think Young Master is in big trouble.”

“How so?” Ying-ying hoped the tremor in her voice did not call attention to itself.

“Old Tang at the front door said that he was delivered back this morning by Minister Chao’s servants. They said that at the crack of dawn he was shrieking outside Minister Chao’s walls, calling him nasty names that I can’t even repeat to Bai Gu-niang.”

“Is it true?” Ying-ying widened her eyes. “The same Minister Chao he had already offended earlier by being too attentive to the man’s concubine?”

“The very one! Young Miao from Da-ren’s courtyard said Da-ren beat Young Master for the duration of a meal with a walking stick. He said Da-ren even drew his sword at one point, threatening to end Young Master once and for all!”

Ying-ying gasped and covered her mouth. “What is going to happen to Young Master now?”

An angry but dignified Minister Chao came to see Da-ren in person. As a result, Young Master was packed off to a maternal uncle, a general stationed in Canton, at nearly the other end of the country.

Three days after his departure, Amah made ready to set out, a small cloth bundle tied diagonally across her back.

Ying-ying knelt down and put her forehead to the ground. “May the road agree with you, Master.”

Amah sighed. “Rise.”

Ying-ying did. Amah looked at her for some time. Then, out of the blue, she embraced Ying-ying, a quick hug that was over before Ying-ying realized what had happened.

“Keep up your lessons with the Englishman,” she said, tucking a loose strand of Ying-ying’s hair behind her ear. “And stay out of trouble.”

“Yes, Master.”

They went out the gate of the courtyard together. For appearance’ sake, in case anyone saw them, Amah curtsied to Ying-ying, which unnerved her. “Will I see you again?” she asked, unable to help herself.

“Stupid girl, don’t say such inauspicious things,” Amah answered. “Of course you will, when I come back in three months.”

“Please look after yourself, Master.”

Amah shook her head, sighed again, and left.

When three months had passed, Amah did not return.

Chapter 21

The Brightest Hour

The internist from Naples proved entirely correct. Once Miss McHenry had banished everything exciting from her diet, her old vigor returned. She, Miss Violet, and Leighton departed from Capri and visited the Levant, Egypt, Kenya, and a number of places in between.

They arrived in India near the beginning of 1878 and proceeded to the usual destinations for English tourists. Miss Violet like to say, dryly,
Never has anyone been so captivated by the usual
. And so the usual—the Taj Mahal, the mountains of Kashmir, the forts and palaces of Rajasthan—managed to easily enchant them.

Ten months later, on their way back to Bombay, they spoke seriously for the first time about their eventual parting of ways. Hong Kong emerged as their final port together. From there Leighton would travel to Peking, and the ladies to New Zealand, where one of their nieces lived.

Hong Kong was far away yet, but at the end of their conversation, Miss McHenry already shed a tear. Leighton was both saddened and exhilarated. It had been two years since he left England, five years since he last saw Herb, Mother, and Marland. He was ready to throw his arms around any and all of them.

Back in Bombay, they stayed at the same hotel as before, but now Leighton had picked up enough Marathi to speak to the native attendants in their own language.

One afternoon, he and the misses McHenry came back from buying some provisions. An attendant named Aadil helped them carry their bags back to their rooms. Leighton tipped and thanked him. But the man hovered.

“Yes?” Leighton asked.

Aadil cleared his throat nervously. “Beg the sahib’s pardon, but does sahib speak Hindi?”

It was an odd question. “Why do you want to know?”

“A sahib came around a few months ago. He asked whether we have had a young guest with black hair and green eyes who spoke to us in Hindi.”

Leighton was suddenly cold. “And?”

“We didn’t, of course. But he told us that any time we had such a guest, to let him know. Then you came back and spoke to us in Marathi. My friend Komesh and I had a debate. He said the two languages are similar enough that if you spoke to us in Marathi, it was as good as if you spoke in Hindi. But I didn’t think so. Hindi is Hindi and Marathi is Marathi—to my thinking.”

The backs of Leighton’s knees had turned weak. He knew which one was Komesh, a sharp-eyed, clever fellow. “And where is this friend of yours?”

“I think he went to see the sahib about an hour ago. He said there would be a reward.” The attendant suddenly looked crestfallen. “You think I should have gone with him?”

“No, no, absolutely not.” Leighton emitted a bark of laughter, even though all he felt was a painfully sharp fear. “Now why don’t you come in here. Let’s play a practical joke on your friend.”

The misses McHenry looked up in surprise as he ushered Aadil into the sitting room of their suite.

“Have you heard, ladies,” he said, smiling tightly, “that the P&O steamer is going to sail early?”

Their expressions changed. They understood that he had been found and must go on the run immediately.

Leighton turned back to the attendant. “Let me have your uniform.”

“I beg your pardon, sahib?”

“It’s all part of the practical joke.”

“How, sahib?”

“You’ll see. You let me borrow your uniform and Komesh will not get any rewards. But you will.”

This was good enough for Aadil. Ten minutes later, Leighton walked out of the hotel in the attendant’s uniform, a satchel in hand, Miss Violet next to him to make it seem as if he were carrying her luggage instead.

There were several Punjabi attendants on the staff who were just as tall as Leighton, so he aroused no particular attention as he made his exit, even though he himself was painfully aware that the uniform was too short.

They almost ran smack into Komesh and an Englishman, coming into the hotel. Leighton averted his face, his pulse hammering.

He was not recognized.

They found a place for him to change out of the uniform and back into his own clothes. Then it was to the railway station, as the next steamer headed for Calcutta would not depart for another thirty-six hours.

He bought a ticket for the first train out. On the platform he hugged Miss Violet. She kissed him on both his cheeks and wished him good luck.

“You will be fine,” she said.

“Thank you.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “Thank you for everything.”

In Allahabad he boarded another train, headed for Calcutta. By the time he reached his destination, he was a German university student who spoke only a heavily accented English and no Indian languages at all. He left within the week on a mail steamer. After calling at Rangoon and Penang, he disembarked in Singapore to await the next fortnightly P&O liner to take him farther.

He stayed at an out-of-the-way hotel, kept to himself, and made absolutely no attempt to learn any local languages. A clever realization on Sir Curtis’s part that he would take the opportunity to learn and practice local languages--it was too bad that Leighton hadn’t had the foresight to burn all his notebooks before he’d left Rose Priory. The moment one opened those notebooks, full of exercises and translations he had undertaken himself, his love of languages would become all too evident.

It was more than a fortnight into 1879, and two rather frightful South China Sea storms later, when he at last sighted Hong Kong, a far more mountainous and verdant island than he had anticipated. But as his steamer pulled into port, his sense of alarm tingled. It wasn’t long before he spotted two men in a sampan, scrutinizing his steamer with binoculars.

Fear very nearly throttled him. Was this it? Would he truly go no farther, when he was at last in the same country as Herb?