Chapter 7

 

A warm gush of fluid, sticky and thick across her face. The stench of bile. The taste of copper. Anna squeezed her eyes shut and tried to focus on the present sensations, not her memories. The warm fluid was not blood, but tepid water washing the filth away. She smelled cooking oil and greasy dumplings. And no one was screaming in horror, least of all herself. It was kitchen chatter on the other side of the wall. She sat on a rough bench behind a teahouse, cleaning herself with cheap fabric rinsed in a bucket of dirty water.

She swished the cloth around in the dark red water, wondering if her hand would be stained red as well. She knew it would not, and yet she could not help but wonder. Besides, what else did she have to look at? One of the mandarin's guards standing nearby? His eyes were dark and hostile. At the mud-encrusted huts of this tiny village where children ran from her in terror and women shut their doors? No, there was no help from them. More likely another stoning.

So she focused on the bloody water and the feel of wetness that was not sticky, of tepid water that was not body temperature. In truth, she had washed away gore many times behind the mission hospital, so the sensations were familiar, the process done almost by rote. Many times she had felt bathed in blood or human filth. Many times...

Never. Never had a man been murdered while lying on top of her. And yet, she was not sorry. What he'd been doing... What he'd been about to do...

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out all thoughts. Opium. That's what she wanted: the hot curl of smoke, the sensation of floating; the quiet, blissful rest of mind and body: She hungered for it with mind-eating obsession. It consumed her entire focus until her body shook with need. At that moment, she would have sold anything, done anything, been anyone if only it meant a pipe at the end of the day.

"Are you clean, honored lady?" Mrs. Sui's voice was harsh, but Anna latched onto it like a lifeline. She turned quickly, her fevered imagination already seeing a pipe in the woman's hand.

But the woman carried sour, greasy dumplings, not powdered bliss. It was probably the best the woman had to offer, and Anna tried to be gracious. She forced herself to take the tray while in her mind she calculated how best to ingratiate herself. She would find the opium supplier in this dirty little village, and then she would...

"I have brought clothing, honored lady. My daughter's. Not fine silk, but it is clean. Just washed last week."

Last month, more likely, and worn often since then. Though nicely folded, the rough cotton tunic had dark oil stains and smelled of sour soy sauce. Still, Anna set aside the food tray to give overflowing compliments as to the style of dress, that it wouldn't look nearly so pretty on herself as on the lovely Miss Sui, wherever the girl was.

The woman understood the compliments as lies, especially given the large size of the tunic and skirt. Young Miss Sui appeared to be a good ten inches larger around the waist than Anna. And yet, the mama warmed nonetheless.

"But you are not eating!" Mrs. Sui admonished. "Quick! Take some before they grow cold!"

The dumplings were not what she wanted, yet Anna pushed herself to pick up a single greasy crescent. They looked like fat larva to her, but she blocked the thought. She also tried to erase the idea that dumplings like these had probably been the murdered man's last meal. All the village appeared to gather in this sad little teahouse. She could hear them clearly jabbering behind her.

"Eat! Eat!" Mrs. Sui urged.

Anna did. It was the only way to the opium. A teahouse owner would know everything that went on in the entire province, so Anna chewed and swallowed, then declared it the best dumpling in all of China. And then she began to cry. Tiny little drops at first, but growing steadily larger until fat streams slid down her face.

In truth, she hadn't intended to sob. Ladies were supposed to have tiny tears that misted their faces and subtly revealed the deep ache inside. Ladies were not supposed to have great big, gulping sobs that tore through them like a hurricane. Anna's body shook, her stomach cramped, and the only reason she didn't scream was because she hadn't the breath. Mrs. Sui looked horrified. Even the guard backed up a step. Anna had to stop. She could not frighten these people with a fit. But the heaving gasps would not end, and the tears kept coming.

She buried her face in her skirt, mortified by her actions but more ashamed that she had such little control of herself. But then, that had always been her problem, hadn't it? No control.

Madame Sui hovered uncertainly. "Honored lady... Honored lady..."

Anna fought for breath, struggling to regain calm. She had none. None at all as she looked up with desperation, her heart and her soul revealed for all to see. "Opium," she whispered. "Please..."

Madame Sui slumped, her eyes softened and her entire stance filled with understanding. Anna straightened slightly, hope growing with every breath. She clutched the woman's arms.

"Do you have any? Can you get—"

"Well, that's better!" a hearty voice interrupted. It was him—the Enforcer—stepping through the back door to find her. Her thoughts had been growing warmer toward him, especially when he had carried her here. When he had stopped that other man. When... But that brought the other memories—the warm gush, the smell—and she suddenly wished him to Hell for eternity.

She didn't look at him. She kept her eyes on Mrs. Sui, who was going to say something, who was going to offer her opium. But Mrs. Sui immediately dropped her gaze and shuffled backward, deferring to the mandarin.

Hell. Yes, she wished him to Hell. She shot him a malevolent glare that drew him up short for a moment.

His eyes widened and his steps faltered, but he quickly recovered, moving to stand before her. Maybe he would stare down at her, curl his lip in disdain at the filth she'd been unable to remove, then spin on his heel and leave. Then she could try again with Mrs. Sui.

But he didn't. He dropped down into a squat before her—just like any coolie—with knees in the air, bottom dropped almost to the ground between his legs. He and she were nearly eye to eye. If anything, his head was lower than hers as he touched her chin and lifted.

"This has been very difficult for you," he said softly, staring into her eyes.

To her horror, tears came. She almost said it—she was so desperate she almost begged the Enforcer for opium, but at the last moment she shifted her words to something more prudent. "Are we returning to the boat then?" she asked in a small voice. Her stash was there. She didn't care that it was her only means to buy her way out of this godforsaken country. If it were at hand, she'd smoke it.

But he shook his head as his thumb stroked her cheek. "Not yet. We wait to speak with the governor."

Mrs. Sui stepped forward, her eyes alight. "The governor! Here?" Then she spun and spoke over her shoulder in rapid Chinese that was too fast and too accented for Anna to understand. Something about more dumplings, more wine. Anna looked away, uninterested.

But that brought her eyes back to the Enforcer, whose thumb continued to scrub at her cheek. He looked at the bucket of water and grimaced. "Mrs. Sui!" he snapped. "Fresh water. This is disgusting!"

"Yes, yes, your honor. Of course!" She bustled forward, squatting to grab the bucket. Anna thought she was merely responding to orders, but at the last second the woman caught her gaze. "You wait for the governor, honored lady. He will help you." She waited a moment, obviously trying to deliver a message.

Anna frowned, trying to understand. Would the governor give her opium? She straightened, her thoughts whirling. Of course. How stupid she was! The supply lines always went through the local government. How else could an illegal trade thrive but by buying off the authorities?

Hope sparked within her, but questions came equally fast. Did this governor know that the mandarin was really the Emperor's Enforcer? Would the governor be as righteous as the Enforcer? Or would he be corrupt enough to be grateful for the forewarning? She returned her gaze to the mandarin and tried to probe for answers.

"Is he a friend of yours, this governor?"

Anna knew that China was ruled in a strange combination of feudal and democratic principles. The Emperor ruled the land, but he administered it through governors who managed huge provinces. It was all very feudal, with taxes flowing up the line from villager to mayor to governor to Emperor.

Except, each governor was appointed by the Emperor from the list of scholars who had passed the Civil Service Exam. Therefore, anyone who could pass the exam could become a governor. Which was very democratic. Except, in reality only the wealthy could afford the education and the price of the exam. Which meant that most governors came from the same set of rich elite, and most knew one another.

The question was: Did the governor belong to the Enforcer's moral, lawful sect? Or to the larger, opium-addicted, corrupt group of rulers?

The mandarin shook his head, and she caught a glitter of something in his expression. Cunning? "No, the governor is not my friend," he answered. "But wouldn't you come to see me if I suddenly showed up in your village?"

She took a breath, clearing her thoughts. She focused on his face, using him as an anchor to ground herself. It was an unusual moment for her. Usually she wished to escape, to flee. But at this moment, with him squatting before her, she wanted nothing more than to look at him, to focus on the long thin angles of his face. His eyebrows were like elegant dark strokes of an ink brush, his eyes the bright accent beneath. Long nose, curving mouth, he was like a subtle work of Chinese ink brush: elegant, understated and...

What was she missing? Something hovered beneath his expression. Something in his eyes, his stance, his... what?

"You ran from me," he murmured, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

She blinked and forced herself to follow his words and not the mystery of his face. "I have done nothing wrong," she lied. "You had no cause to hold me."

"You are my wife. I can do whatever I wish with you."

She narrowed her eyes. She squinted them to slits so that all she saw of his face were the dark wings of his eyebrows and the bright pupils beneath. "You would never marry a white woman. You are a Chinese official, a mandarin and an advisor to the Dragon Throne. You would be chased out of the Forbidden City by eunuchs with very big swords."

He flinched and, when his body steadied, the mysterious "something" was gone. In its stead she saw hardness, perhaps even anger. "Long ago I loved a woman. She was to be the first wife of my heart, but she was an opium addict and died. She was also the Empress Dowager's niece." His voice remained clipped and hard as he spoke, but his touch stayed gentle on her face. "Since that moment, I have had one goal, one purpose in life: to end the opium traffic in my country. I have been so charged by both the Son of Heaven and his mother, the Dowager. As long as I remain faithful to my task, as along as I find and destroy that evil commerce, then I can do whatever I wish. I can kill whomever I wish." He paused as his hand dropped away and he regarded her with dark intent. "I can even take a white wife."

She swallowed, seeing the absolute purpose in his eyes: an unswerving faith to this task and his freedom to act without consequence. She had no response except false bravado. "I don't believe you," she lied. "No one in the Forbidden City would accept a man with a white wife."

"We are not in the Forbidden City," he said.

He straightened, his long black queue whipping around in the air behind him. "Make yourself presentable, wife. We meet a governor."

Then he left, and the reality of her situation came crashing down on her. She was completely dependent on this man. Her life, her safety and her future lay in the hands of the Enforcer. In the wilds of China, this man was the law—whether for good or ill.

Odd, how the thought was not as terrifying as before. He was a killer, but with a purpose: to end the drug trade. She could not fault him for that. She knew first-hand the evils of this unholy trade that bartered not only drugs but little girls, too.

Very well, she decided, feeling herself grow stronger now that she had accepted her situation. She was dependent on the Enforcer to live. Therefore, she would do what she could to aid his goals while waiting for an opportunity of her own. So she put all her effort into cleaning herself as much as possible, to tying and pinning and adjusting Mrs. Sui's poor cotton tunic into something that would garner the attention of a governor. And then, when she was done, she allowed the guard to escort her to the upper floor and her pretend mandarin husband. He was talking to his friend/servant as she approached. Jing-Li looked tired, his normally haughty stance now drooping with fatigue.

"Both gone," Jing-Li reported to the Enforcer. "And with the slaver dead..." He shook his head.

Anna's steps slowed. A slaver? The man who had attacked her, whose blood still stained her skin was a slaver. She would have been beaten, raped, then sold to the brothels for more of the same. Her gaze went immediately to the Enforcer. It unsettled her to realize that her jailor was the man who rescued her from that horrible fate. It bothered her even more that when she thought of that awful moment, her mind skipped over the worst to focus on the best—the way he had held her. His arms had surrounded her, cradling her in warmth and comfort. He had said things to her too, things she did not recall exactly, but the memory comforted her nonetheless.

It was all so confusing. She just wanted to leave, wanted to be in England where things made sense. That's what everyone at the mission said. That in England people acted like people and life made sense. She had no idea what that meant, but she wanted to find out. She wanted to know what was so different, so perfect, in England. And failing that, she wanted an opium pipe. What she had instead was an enigmatic husband who was growing more... intriguing by the second.

Meanwhile, Jing-Li continued to drone on. "There is no point in remaining. No one will talk to us. We should leave now for Shanghai."

The Enforcer rolled his eyes, then gestured vaguely at his friend. "Wait over there. Have some congee."

Jing-Li's horror was palpable, and Anna might have laughed. The mandarin certainly did. But then his gaze caught hers and her breath stopped. The flow of her air ended, her mouth went dry, and even the beat of her heart seemed to still. She had no explanation for her body's bizarre reaction, but the way his eyes touched her made her insides still as if frozen.

He abruptly laughed even harder. "You look like a drowned crane trapped in a sack!" he chortled.

She stiffened, feeling the insult even though she completely agreed with him. Her hair was wet and flat as it clung in dirty brown strands to her head. She'd done what she could with the coarse tunic, using a rope as a belt to give her body some shape. But looking down, yes, perhaps it did look like a sack tied about her body. But she had tried to look pretty. She had...

"And yet, your beauty shines through," he continued. "I have never met a white woman who could rob me of breath so well as you."

She forcibly exhaled. She had no understanding of how to react to this man. He laughed at the oddest moments and said exactly what was on his mind. He appeared to be shallow and mercurial, with no subtlety at all. And yet, there was something beneath his surface, something clever and cunning and dark. Very dark. It drew her. He drew her, and she found herself gliding forward without conscious thought.

"I did my humble best," she demurred.

His laughter faded into a warm smile. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

She swallowed, her mind lost in the storms of conflicting thoughts. "I want to leave China," she answered honestly. Then she clapped her mouth shut, stunned that she had revealed herself so totally. What was wrong with her? Why could she not think?

The humor faded from his eyes and his entire body sagged. "China holds many dangers. Stay with me a little while, and I will see what I can do."

She smiled, her lips trembling with the effort. He was lying. They both knew it, and yet gazing into his eyes she could almost believe. "You are a very good businessman," she murmured. The actual word was "conman," but she only knew that word in English. Besides, her adopted father had always called himself a businessman whenever he lied to the officials.

The mandarin reeled back as if struck. "Do you purposely insult one who offers you assistance?"

She blinked, genuinely startled. In her father's world, she would have given the highest compliment possible. But clearly to the Enforcer, she had not. "But... but..." she stammered.

"I am a scholar, white woman! I have studied Huang Di Jing and Xun Zi. I have debated morality with the Emperor himself! I am a Confucian disciple and a follower of..." He continued on for quite a while, his voice growing louder and more passionate as he listed names she did not know and ideas she could not follow. All she could do was stare at him in shock, forgetting even to dip her head in apology.

And when he had punctuated his last statement with a fist on the table, she blinked and said the first thing that came to mind: "No wonder we developed gunboats first."

The silence that greeted her words pounded against her temples. Eventually, it became so overwhelming that she dipped her chin in a show of true humility. Who was she to tell this man how to run his country? She needed him to survive. She was being worse than stupid to challenge him in this way.

Too late. She had said the words and they continued to hover in the air. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jing-Li step forward, his hand upraised to strike. She closed her eyes, bracing for the blow. But she did not brace too much. After all, she deserved it for being so stupid.

No blow fell. Instead, she heard the Enforcer speak—a single word that echoed in the room like thunder. "Explain!"

She looked up, completely confused. She had already lost the thread of the conversation. Her words were not important. She had challenged the mandarin in his own country. No good could come of that. Except, apparently, her words were important.

"Explain!" he commanded again. "About your gunboats."

She scrambled to answer and came up with nothing but the honest truth. "You are a leader of this country." The Emperor's Enforcer. "And yet you insist you're an academic and you spit on tradesmen. You think and you study and you debate, but the rest of us need things—food, machines..." Opium. "The whites have scholars, too. But our countries are run by businessmen who understand engineering, crop yields, and weaponry." And opium—the best cash crop in the world, according to Samuel.

"Barbarians!" spat Jing-Li from the side. She glanced at him long enough to see that his hand still quivered with the need to strike. She quickly looked back to the mandarin. How odd that the servant seemed more violent than the Enforcer.

"I am a woman and know little of men's affairs," she lied. "But if you lead only by moral example, then how do you understand the immoral? The barbaric? You cannot. And so..." She shrugged. "The barbarians develop better weapons and overrun your poor country."

"It is not the gunboats that overwhelm China," the mandarin said. From the side, Jing-Li released a loud snort. The Enforcer sighed and shot his friend a dark look. "The gunboats helped, but it is the other that destroys us, woman. It is your opium."

She couldn't stop herself from salivating at the word. She barely restrained herself from leaping forward, so great was her hunger at the moment. But she focused on debating with the mandarin instead. She pushed away her need and looked into his eyes. "Scholarship is a great thing. As a woman, I have little education." True enough, though she had a great deal more learning than any Chinese woman. "But that only means I see what you cannot—the needs of the ignorant and the impoverished." She sighed and admitted the truth: "If a woman cannot have food, she will buy a drug to forget her hunger. If she cannot have hope, she will pay for sleep before she faces another useless day. If there is nothing more than unending horror, why not lose oneself in smoke?"

She looked away, wondering if she had revealed too much. Did he know that she spoke of her own life? Did he realize that she felt more kinship with the lowest Chinese peasant than the men of her own race?

"Come here, wife," he said. His tone was gentle, his face even more so. He gestured to a bench beside his thronelike chair. She complied without demur, not because he ordered it but because his expression promised understanding. It was a lie, of course. What else could it be? She tried to steel herself against it, but the illusion was too beautiful to resist.

She walked to his side, but before she could rest on the bench, Jing-Li pulled it away. He hauled the rough wood back and stared at her with dark, angry eyes. "A wife should sit at your feet," he said to the mandarin.

The mandarin sighed and turned to her. "Forgive him, wife. He is ever aware of my consequence."

She bowed her head and stepped to his side. She tried to look completely demure, especially since another person had just topped the stairs. She had not noticed him at first; she had been too focused on the mandarin. But now as she turned to sit, she saw a man surrounded by four guards enter the room with great dignity. The governor, she guessed. So in order to enhance the mandarin's status, she chose to act as a good Chinese concubine.

She tucked her legs beneath her and began to fold herself at the mandarin's feet. But he was there before her, cupping her elbow before she could drop all the way down. "It is filthy in here," he murmured. "And the floor is very hard."

He shucked his jacket, revealing an ornately embroidered tunic beneath. But it was the jacket that commanded attention as he shook it out, his official emblem flashing in the sun. Then he carefully folded it into a cushion that he lay beneath her knees. In the background, Anna could hear Jing-Li sputter in shock, but the mandarin merely shrugged.

"It has bloodstains on it. What is a little dirt compared to that?"

Jing-Li apparently had no comment, though he managed to look severely disapproving as the mandarin helped her to settle. She was excruciatingly aware of his hand on her elbow, warmly cupping her arm. Like the burn of a brand, even when he released her arm, she still felt the outline of his fingers where they had touched her through the thin cotton fabric.

She tried to close her senses to him, but he sat so close and his presence was so strong. She could not be in a room with him without feeling his personal power. How much more potent was it here, right beside him, as he turned to face a governor? Potent enough to unseat her craving for opium. Potent enough that she could focus on him and not think of sweet, drugging smoke. Potent enough that she knew nothing but him beside her.

"Greetings, Governor Bai," he said. "I appear to have removed a rat in your garden."

The governor bowed in greeting, then seated himself across from the mandarin. His position neatly echoed the mandarin's in that he sat with his legs apart, his weapon—a long ugly sword—dangling from his hip. "Greetings, greetings," he boomed, though his voice was higher and more nasal than the mandarin's. "Yes, that rat was newly come to my home. I had not yet found the time to root him out."

"Of course, of course. Though I am afraid he has been here a great deal longer than you think."

The governor's eyebrows rose in surprise. Anna was startled as well. It was not politic to challenge a man on his own land, but the mandarin did not seem to care. He continued to speak blithely on.

"Ten years, I believe, or more." He leaned forward. "There was a young girl taken from here ten years ago. The youngest daughter of an impoverished scholar. Taken and sold to..." He let his voice trail away. The implication was clear: the mandarin wished to know where this girl had been sold. What brothel did the slaver supply?

Anna repressed a sigh. Though obviously smart, the mandarin was no negotiator. This kind of information was best obtained over good food and wine. What he had just done was reveal exactly what he wanted most—information on this girl—without any pretense or subtlety. And from the canny look on the governor's face, he would pay a high price for such information.

Nevertheless, he was committed now, so all waited in silence to see what Governor Bai would do. While he waited, the mandarin casually reached out and stroked Anna's cheek. It was an unconscious gesture, as if she were a favored pet, and Anna stiffened instinctively at the insult. But she did not draw away. To do so would only weaken the mandarin's position.

All the while, the governor watched, his black eyes narrowing in thought. "An unusual... companion," he finally said.

The mandarin shifted, as if surprised. "Oh! Yes, of course. My concubine."

"A white ghost? Do you not fear for your health?"

"A gift I could not refuse." He shrugged, a slow smile curving his lips. "And I have no fear of the whites."

Anna did her best not to react. She wanted to turn and stare hard at the mandarin who had suddenly become the coldest, cruelest businessman she had ever known. His every word held double meaning, his every caress was a statement that he and whites were as thick as thieves. But what did he mean? What did he want?

Whatever it was, the governor wanted it too. With an abrupt clap of his hands, he shoved to his feet. "Come, come! We cannot talk like this: in the heat of the day with dust in our tea! We will go to my home and discuss the matter like civilized men. I can even arrange for a palanquin for your lovely consort!"

"Aie," the mandarin sighed, in what Anna recognized as a clear ploy. "Unfortunately, your rat has caused us some discomfort. The woman is distraught, and our clothing..." He shook his head in dismay.

"But all that can be mended at my compound!" the governor boomed. "Silk gowns and jade to soothe her rattled nerves. Peking tea, gifted to me from the Emperor's chief eunuch himself." The man was bragging about his connection to the Son of Heaven.

"Yes, Lie-Zi is most generous with the Emperor's tea. I myself prefer the Dowager's special blend." Zhi-Gang meant that he was more closely aligned with the Empress.

"Of course, of course. But I thought I had seen you with the Emperor the last time I was in Peking. In fact," the governor said, his voice slowing with threat, "I am sure of it."

Anna frowned. She recognized the governor's words as a kind of menace. She felt the mandarin's fingers stiffen against her cheek; but she could not understand why. Then she remembered. Not more than a month ago the Emperor had taken ill and now resided in the Summer Palace under the care of numerous doctors. In truth, it was rumored that he had been poisoned by his own mother—the Empress Dowager—who now ruled in her son's name. And every day that passed, another one of the Emperor's modernizing edicts was being countermanded by his mother.

In short, the Empress Dowager had staged a coup d'etat. China's modernizing movement was dead, and now being replaced by a steady push back toward closed borders and an end to all white influence. Anna hardly cared since she wanted out of China anyway. But to these men, allegiance to either the ousted Emperor or the winning Empress made a great deal of difference.

So it was no surprise when the mandarin eventually conceded. In truth, Anna suspected that it was in his head all along to go to this man's compound. After all, where else would he get free new clothes, good food, and a soft bed? But there was more in his mind beyond that, she was sure.

"Very well," the mandarin finally said. "But only for one night. I have an urgent mission for the Empress Dowager."

"Then let me make arrangements with all speed," Governor Bai said as he pushed to his feet. But he paused a moment, his gaze returning to Anna, and she felt his inspection spread like a slow coat of oil across her body. "I will make you most comfortable, honored lady," he murmured. "Most comfortable, indeed." Then he bowed to the mandarin and left.

And at that moment, Anna understood the bargain. The knowledge burst through her consciousness like a crossbow bolt through her chest. She had just been sold. The Enforcer would get all the information he wanted about the slaver and the missing girl. In return, he would allow the slimy governor to spend the night with her.

She twisted her head to stare at the mandarin. It couldn't be true. He wouldn't sell her like that. He had just killed the slaver who intended to do the exact same thing. And yet, even as her heart denied the possibility, her mind knew the truth. The Enforcer had no reason to act faithfully to her. Theirs wasn't a true marriage. Most Chinese thought whites no more than animals, barely more intelligent than a monkey. Of course he would sell her for something he wanted. And she, of course, could do nothing about it, not surrounded as she was by guards and frightened peasants.

"No," she whispered, barely even aware that she spoke at all.

"One night," the Enforcer responded with a congenial smile. "And then we shall see about your escape from China."