The Complete Adventures of Hazard & Partridge (52 page)

But here, too, was an automobile. It came chugging up the street, driven recklessly as Chinese drive, scattering everything to right and left, forcing to skip for his life an old gentleman with sparse, white beard, who had stepped from his palanquin to buy from a peddler a cage of crickets to be used in fighting, while wagers were laid on the results. And it was by electric lights that we saw all this, saw the women with their unbound feet, the younger men dapper in foreign clothing, the smart company of troops modernly equipped, that crossed a corner ahead of us.

What I am saying is that the ultimately inevitable had arrived; that China was accepting civilization; was to be made powerful by machinery.

The East was stretching out its yellow hand to the West, accepting what it had to give. With what intention?

The snarling, scaly horror called the dragon, whose qualities no man knew, was to take its place among the symbols of Empire. What word would the dragon bring from the realms of myth?

To my mind the answer to that question most certainly depended upon the secret struggle that was now in progress all over Asia, between the forces of the new-born Republic and the sinister power of the Ko Lao Hui. There was no doubting the stranglehold of that society, whose master was Koshinga and whose creed was Force, upon Chinese society. There was no doubting that Koshinga, who had so far kept pretty well hidden behind the yellow cloud of his followers, might soon be writing his name in characters of blood over all of Asia.

Hazard and I did not need to be reminded of that grisly probability, for it had obsessed our minds for a year; but there had been few days of late that had been free from reminders. The ferment was growing. All over China the long-planned, long-threatened revolution hung like an avalanche trembling in equilibrium, which a single word might release. And though Oriental craft and cunning controlled the whole, such a poised and tremendous force must betray itself. For instance tonight….

Presently, from somewhere in the clutter of dwelling-houses to the east, there came the sound of singing. Strong and bold it came, with shrill, cruel yelpings in between, and a yammering as of tigers; one of the many variations of that old, old song of the Ko Lao Hui, which now seemed dangerously near to becoming the folk-song of the Chinese people. Its most terrible idioms are untranslatable, and one can not put down on paper the malign force and fury of its rendering. But we heard it something like this, in snatches:

Sharpen your knives,

Sons of the Dragon;

Kindle your hate,

Children of Han.

Whet the steel, the vultures come.

Light the brand, Koshinga is calling.

Sharpen your knives, sons of the Dragon;

Kindle your hate, children of Han.

The black cloud gathers over the world.

Soon it shall be as red as blood running warm.

Dragons will then come out of the earth,

Truth-telling dragons with words in their mouths,

Hailing Koshinga, praising Koshinga,

Who was Lao-Tse and Gautama also,

Who will rule all things.

He who was promised,

Whose engines break down the fences of the world,

Whose breath consumes the dwelling-places of princes,

Who spares neither for pity nor fear,

Who will give the sons of Han dominion.

Hail Koshinga.

Then strong be your hate,

Sons of the Dragon;

Strong be your swords,

Children of Han.

For hate is at the bottom of all things.

This the new wisdom, this the new teaching—

Power is the food of the gods.

Be even as they, under Koshinga,

Ruling all things, enduring forever.

Strike, strike, strike—

As if the wind had shifted, bearing the sound away from us, the words became fainter and hardly distinguishable. But the song continued in a great roaring sequence of barbaric chanting, interspersed with falsetto yelling. It was an ominous beginning of our night’s work. Hazard, jammed in by my side with Tsai Mu’i in front of us, stirred restlessly.

“At last!” he whispered in English. “At last it’s come to Peking.”

“They’re bold,” I said. “A detachment of troops—”

“Would find nothing,” asserted Hazard. “An empty compound perhaps, and smiling. Chinese all around who had heard nothing. Even the loyal don’t dare speak. They know Koshinga’s punishments too well.”

“It’s a reign of fear,” I said prosaically.

“Yes. Fear—I’m pretty well afraid myself, Partridge. For I’m afraid the storm can’t hold off much longer. Riots all over, mysterious deaths and disappearances of loyal officers, crimes of such magnitude that no one could think of them but Koshinga, local uprisings and guild troubles; and now it’s starting in the very shadow of the Government House. Things are due to break, one way or the other.”

“The Government’s strong,” I said.

“For a fledgling government, yes. The saner people are back of it, and the more honest. But because of its very good qualities it has its enemies other than Koshinga. The priesthood for instance. That is, the decadent three-quarters of the priesthood.”

“About this affair tonight,” I inquired. “What do you make of it?”

“Well, it’s hard to say,” replied Hazard. “We’ve this much of fact to go on. We know what Sha Feng’s present business is; to find the money Koshinga has accumulated for his war-fund by extortion from the people. A sum so enormous that its withdrawal from the currency of China makes the Republic a secret bankrupt and Koshinga the real money-king of the East. And we know that money’s somewhere around Peking, or at least we’re pretty sure of it. It’s all in bullion, and bullion’s hard to move. And of course Koshinga had it close at hand when—”

HE PAUSED. Early in the trip we had tested both Tsai Mu’i and the driver to see if they understood English. There was no danger from them; but we had both been requested, and had solemnly promised, never while Koshinga lived to let pass our lips any reference to Koshinga’s recent attempted master-stroke of capturing practically the entire government of China while it was assembled in the Government House discussing measures against him.

It wasn’t politic to let the public know how very nearly he had succeeded. But I understood Hazard’s reference. Money is the best backer of power even in the Orient; Koshinga might have needed it to bolster up the one-man Government that he had planned to establish on the ruins of the Republic; and he would have had it near.

“Then there’s the dope we’ve picked up,” Hazard went on thoughtfully. “Indefinite enough, most of it. I wish I understood the meaning of that street-saying that seems to be so common: ‘The treasure of Koshinga will be found only under the waters of death.’ But I’m wandering. The point is, if this message really is from Sha Feng, it’s probably in connection with his search for the treasure.”

Hazard spoke without enthusiasm, a lack that I’d noticed in him before when discussing Sha Feng’s quest.

“But I don’t see why he should send for us,” I objected. “Why not the Government House, if he needed help? As soon as we get rid of the carter I’m going to try finding out what else she knows, that she hasn’t told us,” and I glanced toward the woman.

“She’ll tell us only what she wants to, for she’s Chinese. And since Sha Feng’s Chinese too it’s likely even she doesn’t know much.”

“Well, we’ll hope for the best,” I said, parting the sections of the hood and looking out again. Hazard leaned over and peered out also. We were just then passing the great Lama Temple, filled with innumerable images of that Chinese Pantheon in which the people were so rapidly losing faith—creation of a vicious and grasping priesthood whose power was passing.

“I don’t know,” replied Hazard slowly, “that it would be best for Sha Feng to get hold of that treasure just now.”

“Why on earth—” I began, astonished at that avowal.

“Because of this,” said Hazard. “Remember the song we’ve just heard. ‘Koshinga, who was Lao-Tse, and Gautama also.’ And remember that the prophecy to which those words refer is supposed to come true just two months from yesterday. And in a place the location of which no one knows except the leaders of the Ko Lao Hui—the long-lost Sacred Pass.”

“But we’ve agreed,” I said, “that that is one of the Ko Lao Hui prophecies that will never be fulfilled. That Koshinga will refuse to jeopardize his power—”

“But he’s permitting his followers to continue to believe it. He’s permitting that song to be sung, as it’s been sung for centuries. Still, I agree that Koshinga will never join forces with the priesthood unless he is compelled to. But a desperate man will do anything; a desperate egotist like Koshinga would pull the world down on his own head. That last defeat hurt him; so did the blocking of the revolution in Kiangsi.

“He’s been balked everywhere lately. If I know him at all, his temper’s on a hair-trigger; but he’ll never pull the revolution until he’s sure of at least temporary success. And the support of the Taoist and Buddhist hierarchies would give him that surety, and a holocaust of humanity that would satisfy even him. Only, wouldn’t the loosed forces be too strong even for him?

“That’s his fear, I think; but if he loses this war-fund that’s cost him years of extortion to accumulate, I think he’ll decide to take a chance. So I’d as lief its recovery would be postponed until there’s no chance of his springing the trick—until there’s no chance of his proving, in whatever way that it’s been determined for him to prove it, that he’s the incarnated spiritual authority of the East.”

“The successor of the gentle Buddha and the philosophic Lao-Tse,” I mused. “Heavens, Hazard, when I think of it and of what it would mean—certainly the rule of his Satanic Majesty in Asia for a while anyway—why, it’s impossible!”

“Well, the Tai-ping Rebellion must have also seemed pretty incredible before it happened,” returned Hazard grimly. “Millions killed because one Chinaman proclaimed himself the yellow Christ. No, in Asia nothing’s impossible that relates to fanaticism. And there never was such a rallying point for fanaticism in the world’s history as this Koshinga—never! The Government will hold off, too, until it’s too late. It’s afraid to interfere with the priests.”

“I know. I wasn’t doubting. I was only permitting myself the luxury of a Western view-point for a minute. By the way, Hazard, that white man we were talking about yesterday, the one who seems to be tortured by fear or something—he’s still following us. He saw us get into this cart.”

“The devil he did,” said Hazard. “I wonder if— But here we are at the North Gate.”

Conversation was naturally ended until we had passed through that gate, which was guarded by trim Chinese sentries, standing with soldierly erectness in the shadow of the great Tatar wall, fifty feet high. So we passed into the comparatively uncrowded section of the city outside that wall—a place of trees and of great, quiet compounds lying dark under a quiet sky jeweled with millions of starry points.

There seemed something contradictory in that sight. It seemed hard to reconcile the vast, eternal calm of those heavens with the mad passions of the tiny men who lived under them, such as were expressed in the song we had just heard, such as have from the beginning of man’s time on earth given rise to such ruthless ambitions as the one we were combating.

But I reflected that somehow in the scheme of things they must be reconciled, since they both exist; and now as we turned a corner of the twisting road we saw a little ahead of us the dark contour of the foot-hills; and in the midst of them an earth-born glittering that fairly rivaled those stars.

“The House of the Myriad Lights indeed,” I whispered. “They’re still going, and it’s well past midnight. Ho Pu Bon likes his display.”

“I wonder if it’s merely display,” questioned Hazard.

“One thing,” I said; “before we come to it, I’m going to have another try at getting Tsai Mu’i to speak.”

But I didn’t succeed. It was after we had dismissed the carter, a little distance from the house, that I again questioned her. She responded by developing a complete inability to understand me at all; she was, as Hazard had said, a Chinese, It was hard to understand her silence, if she were really Sha Feng’s messenger. However, she had had her way with us. We had gone too far to withdraw now.

Was she indeed a beggar woman? There had been many signs besides her agility in entering and leaving the cart that increased my doubt of it.

But presently when we reached the gate of that brilliantly illuminated compound we found matters for greater wonder.

III

SHA FENG may have invited us here, but Sha Feng was not here to receive us. Nor, it seemed, was any one else. The gate was open. The porter’s lodge was empty. The grounds inside the gate were sprinkled with softly glowing incandescent globes. And the place was silent—silent as an empty tomb.

“Now this,” murmured Hazard, “is quite the queerest thing yet.”

And after we had passed through the second gate, moving as if every shadow concealed a menace, as if an enemy lurked behind every shrub and grotesquely shaped statue, I echoed him.

“A rich Chinese household without servants! But it’s impossible. Is the household itself here?”