Caravans By Night Part 39

Ahead, above a sea of indigo poppies, rose the walls of Tali-fang. Blue poppies rippled eastward and north to the foot of blue mountains (the seamed, craggy wastes that bulwarked Tibet); rippled westward and south until they melted into the blue haze of uncertain distance. Thus the city, with its dun-colored walls, swam in the poppies like an island against whose battlemented sh.o.r.e blue waves surged and tossed.

The cavalcade that rode through the veritable tunnel under the ramparts was hardly one to arouse suspicion in the mind of the blear-eyed Yunnanese soldier who drowsed in the damp dismal shadow of this gateway that was almost as ancient as China itself and under which at least one fifth of the opium that finds its way mysteriously to the Coast, and thence over the rim of the earth, had pa.s.sed. To him it was merely a string of burdened, tired-looking mules, four half-naked savages--_yehjen_, as the Chinese call the hill-folk of Upper Burma--and two swarthy, turbaned men that he could not immediately cla.s.sify and was too indolent, too saturated with drugs, to conjecture about.

Tali-fang was small and sprawling. Flies swarmed over it, as over a corpse, and the odor of it was very like that of the dead. Misty-eyed, morbific beings--neither Trent nor Dana Charteris could call them human--lounged in the doorways of filthy houses: Mossos, Loutses, Chinese and Tibetans. City, inhabitants, all, seemed as old and iniquitous as sin itself.

After numerous inquiries they were directed to the _yamen_ of the Tchentai, or military chief--a house with upcurling eaves, surrounded by a wall. A soldier informed them that his Excellency Fong Wa, the Tchentai, was at present indisposed, but if they would go to the inn he would send for them at the proper time.

The caravanserai was a mean, stinking place. If there was a _khan_-keeper he was nowhere in evidence. The hovel was deserted. Late in the afternoon two Mussulman soldiers appeared and told Trent that the Tchentai would receive him, and with Masein in tow (he left Dana Charteris, a slim, boyish figure, hair bound under a turban, sitting in a dejected heap in the courtyard) he followed them to the _yamen_ of Fong Wa.

The mandarin was waiting in a court where orange-trees and pomegranates dappled the ground with shadow. From the manner in which he greeted Trent the latter suspected that the Chinaman knew he was white. His green eyes--vicious, cunning eyes--looked out from beneath puffed lids.

As he talked a flat-breasted slattern attended him with a pipe and poppy treacle.

"I expected you many days before this," said his Excellency, through Masein. "I trust you have not been ill."

Trent replied that he had. After a few more courtesies, including gifts, the yellow man presented Trent with a wrapped packet.

"She who intrusted these papers into my keeping pa.s.sed on the night of the new moon." Then, concluding the interview, he added: "Certain supplies and mules, together with a _makotou_ and three _mafus_, will be sent to you some time to-morrow. You will then proceed as she directed."

"I wish to leave immediately," Trent told him. "I am late now."

"That is quite impossible," answered the mandarin, abruptly. "All is not ready."

"But if I was expected before this, then why aren't they ready?"

The Tchentai was not pleased with that question. The green eyes flickered.

"It is enough that I say it is impossible," he replied curtly. "I am military chief of Tali-fang. My word is law."

Trent suspected that the Chinaman, knowing he was white, was deliberately taking the opportunity to display his authority. He was muscle-sore and brain-tired, and the prospect of spending the night in this moribund city did not cheer him. With a slight movement he parted his jacket; the oval of coral lay against his stained skin.

"Tell his Excellency," he instructed Masein, noticing by Fong Wa's expression that he saw the pendant, "that I demand the supplies and pack-animals to-night, now; and if he refuses, I shall report it to one whose authority reaches many miles beyond Tali-fang."

Revolutions have been ignited by fewer and less veiled words than those.... The Chinaman's eyes burned like chrysoprase, and for a moment the Englishman thought he had lost. Then Fong Wa spoke and Masein translated.

"Your threats are useless, yet I will see what I can do." And Masein did not put into English the _chu-kou_, or pig-dog, that his Excellency added.

Trent left the _yamen_ of the military chief in a very troubled state of mind. He knew he had struck flint--knew also that despite Fong Wa's evident fear of the "one whose authority reaches many miles beyond Tali-fang," there were ways and means of diverting circ.u.mstance to his cunning. For himself he had little fear; Dana Charteris was the source of concern.

A short distance away, one of the soldiers who had summoned Trent to the mandarin's house approached and addressed him in very bad English.

"_Tajen_," he began, "seven days ago a Buddhist priest pa.s.sed this way and left a message for you with Fong Wa. Because the Tchentai was angry, he did not give it to you. For three _taels_ I will steal it and bring it to you."

Trent considered a moment before he said--

"When you deliver the message to me, I will give you three _taels_."

This evidently satisfied the soldier, who grinned and hurried off toward the mandarin's residence.

"I think we'll leave Tali-fang to-night," Trent informed Dana Charteris when he reached the _khan_. "It's the wisest move--for more than one reason. Suppose you rest; we may have to ride into the night, or until morning."

The girl shook her head. "I am not tired."

He saw that the town had tainted her--that she was struggling with one of those rare moments when glamour tarnished and she was close to surrender to her feelings. She had shown fine courage during the journey, flexing herself to meet every circ.u.mstance. Pure metal was behind those eyes. And it amazed him that she could meet the tests of the wilds and lose none of the feminine. (A romanticist always, this Trent, seeking in woman those elements that keep her in the vestal niche.) At times the call of her vibrated through his every nerve--but he had not forgot the circlet of gold. "Bracelet-brother." That he would be until they returned to metaled roads and electric-tramways; then the lover, with the lover's message to deliver....

"Don't trouble about me," she said. "When we get into the open s.p.a.ces again it will be different; there our lungs won't be poisoned."

While Masein was cooking the evening meal the soldier who told of the purloined message appeared and in exchange for three _taels_ pressed a folded sheet of rice-paper into Trent's hand. By the firelight the Englishman inspected it. It was written in Urdu and ran:

They tell a tale of Chunda Ram, the juggler, who made two cobras dance; of a mongoose that entered a lair and instead of vipers found a fat-bellied spider; of a lioness that guarded her whelps. You shall hear it--this tale of tales--from Rabsang Lama, who has journeyed north, into the falcon's country.

That was all--no signature. Trent read it and reread it. A fourth time his eyes traveled over the cryptic lines before he mined their meaning.

Then he chuckled. Kerth--Kerth of many ident.i.ties--was the lama who had pa.s.sed through Tali-fang seven days before, and it was he who arrested Da-yak and Tambusami. The spider was Li Kwai Kung; the lioness the British Empire. The message came as a rift in gloom.

Perceiving the soldier who had brought the missive still standing close by, he directed a questioning look at him.

"I would speak with you alone, _Tajen_," he said.

Trent started to rise, but Masein and the porters were not within earshot and he decided otherwise.

"Speak. This"--indicating the girl--"is my brother. What I know he knows."

Trent could have sworn that the soldier winked at him slyly as he said "brother," but it was too dark to be sure.

"_Tajen_, I came to warn you," he announced. "Fong Wa is not kindly disposed since your visit. He will send the mules and supplies, because he is a coward; but he has made it impossible for you to leave the city to-night. All gates close at sunset, and he has issued an order that no caravan pa.s.s in or out."

Trent thought for some time before he spoke. Finally:

"What reason has he to wish to prevent me from leaving to-night?"

The soldier shrugged.

"_Ma-chai_," he replied--which is the superlative of indifference.

That the Oriental had some ulterior motive Trent did not doubt for an instant. In a land where three thousand years of intrigue has bred a suspicious people, a kindly act is not the best symptom. He did not waste words, but asked:

"Why do you tell me this?"

Another shrug. "I am _houi-houi_," he explained, that is to say, a Chinese Mussulman. "Fong Wa is a Lamaist dog. He is a leech that sucks blood from the people. They hate him. He never pays the soldiers and many are deserting to go down the Yangtze, where a war is brewing."

Trent kept silent, waiting to hear the purpose behind this introductory talk. The soldier was a reckless-looking fellow. The edge of his scant turban touched eyes that gleamed with a light inherited from a succession of robber-ancestors. An amiable young villain, he imagined.

"My name is Kee Meng," the Oriental volunteered. "My father was Tibetan, my mother Mosso. But I am Yunnanese. Oh, I have traveled much!

Chung-king--even Hankow! I was _makotou_ for an English _Tajenho_ who went from Liangchowfu to Urga. See,"--he drew a piece of paper from under his jacket--"this is a letter he wrote saying I was a very fine _makotou_--only he called me _bashi_--the very best in China. Read it, _Tajen_."

Trent took the paper; glanced over it; waited.

"I will tell you something else, _Tajen_," Kee Meng continued. "Your _makotou_ and _mafus_ are spies. She who pa.s.sed on the night of the new moon told them to watch you and report to her at Shingtse-lunpo. I heard her. They are dogs and thieves, those muleteers." Then he bent closer, as though afraid he would be overheard. "_Tajen_, I know the road to Shingtse-lunpo--I and my three friends. We have been there often to deliver messages from Fong Wa to the Grand Lama. Fong Wa is a tool of the lamas. He is a fool. We are tired of Tali-fang, my friends and I. We will serve you well. We are cheap. Only twenty _taels_ a month. And look, _Tajen_."