The Island Where Time Stands Still (34 page)

‘Isn't it rather a pity to have warned him of our approach?' Gregory asked after a moment. ‘He may prove unwilling to give the Princess up, and if we have to make an attempt to rescue her we should have had a much better chance if we had spent a few days in the city spying out the lay of the land beforehand.'

Kâo gave him a mildly pitying look and said quietly, ‘Mr. Lin Wân does not live in the city, but in a great house some way outside it. Moreover he is the richest merchant in all Shansi, and has many retainers. No attempt to remove the Princess from his keeping against his will could possibly succeed; so put such ideas out of your mind. Either she will accompany us on our return with his and her own consent, or not at all. That is why our best hopes lie in submitting our wishes to him without deceit or delay.'

‘No doubt you're right.' Gregory's lips twitched in a cynical little smile. ‘I wouldn't play it that way personally; but this isn't my party.'

Twenty minutes later they were on their way, Gregory and Kâo mounted on strong shaggy ponies, and A-lu-te and Su-sen rocking uncomfortably in small sedan-chair-like boxes perched on the backs of camels. The caravan was made up of over a hundred people and nearly twice that number of animals. The majority of the beasts were laden with merchandise; but there were several other palanquins occupied by women or elderly men, and other travellers, most of whom were riding on ponies. The remainder of the people were either poor Chinese or the Mongolian pony and camel men. These trudged along on foot and, although the sun was still hot at midday, were mostly clad in goat-skin garments and shaggy fur hats with big ear flaps, that they wore pulled down low to protect their faces from windburn.

Their way lay roughly north-westward and for the most part along the valley of the Lo-ho River. It was an unnavigable tributary of the Hwang-ho, picturesque enough, but rapid and frequently strewn with great boulders against which the swift current churned angrily. Now and then streams running into it necessitated their making a detour through low rugged sandstone hills. Even near the river cultivated areas were infrequent, and generally the track ran through sandy wastes. Although the days were warm the nights were cold, and every evening a chill wind blew from the west, driving the sand into every crevice of their clothing until the round goat-skin tents were pitched and they could crawl into their shelter.

Here, in remote Shansi, despite the fact that it was from this very province that the ‘Liberators' had launched their first campaign for the conquest of China, it was said that the Communist writ no longer ran. Soon they were to have evidence to the contrary; but, from the untroubled state of the rich monasteries, no one would have supposed that the atheist creed had managed to establish its grip.

The Villages were poor places, mud-walled and teeming
with lice; but they were not crowded to suffocation in the same way as those in Eastern China, and the peasants who occupied them seemed to be a more healthy and independent race. Yet the caravan rarely made longer than a half-hour's halt at any of them, and usually pushed on until it reached a monastery before pitching camp for the night.

Generally these huge rambling buildings, with their many courts and pavilions, were set on hill-tops, and in the quiet evenings Gregory greatly enjoyed walking in their public parts with A-lu-te. The yellow-robed Buddhist monks with their great feathered hats resembling the helmets of the ancient Greeks, never failed to give them a dignified salutation, and there was a wonderful atmosphere of peace in the airy stone-flagged courts from which other courts or splendid views could always be seen through long carved lattice windows. Gregory was not greatly given to prayer, except in desperate emergencies, but when the big gongs boomed out, and the temple bells chimed musically on the evening air, he felt a new understanding of these men who could surrender all worldly ambitions to live out their lives in secluded communion with the infinite.

It was on their fourth day out from Tung-kwan that trouble began to brew in the caravan. Kâo told Gregory about it with an uneasy look. In spite of his oriental clothes, and the fact that he returned the briefest possible answers when any stranger addressed him, they had smelt him out for a ‘Longnose', as they termed all Whites. In times past that would not have mattered, as white travellers in these remote parts were either missionaries who miraculously healed the sick, or mad people who wished to explore profitless deserts and paid lavishly for guides and porters to accompany them. But during the last decade things had greatly altered. For many generations the Chinese had regarded the Japanese ‘monkey-men' as the incarnation of all greed, spurious culture, and evil; and now, owing to intensive propaganda, they had come to couple the ‘Longnoses' with the Japs as destroyers of their country.

On the fifth evening antagonism against Gregory had
reached a point at which the drivers refused to tether his mule or fetch his tent when camp was made for the night in the vast outer courtyard of another monastery. Grimly, he set about doing these tasks himself, while Kâo and A-lu-te stood by, disturbed and worried but unable by either request or threats to make the men alter their minds.

Next day the track left the side of the turgid, rock-strewn river and turned away to wind up into a range of barren, sun-scorched hills. About eleven o'clock they halted in a desolate gorge to prepare their midday meal, and after they had eaten it the trouble came to a head. The master of the caravan called a mass meeting of his personnel, and it was decided that a strike should be called if Gregory persisted in continuing with them.

No protest on his behalf appeared likely from the other travellers, as most of them were eyeing him with open hostility. Kâo's curses and A-lu-te's tears proved equally unavailing with the drivers; so Gregory now had to face the fact that he was to be left behind. The prospect was very far from being a pleasant one for, although he felt confident he could find shelter and hospitality in one of the monasteries, he by no means relished the thought of losing touch with his friends and finding himself stranded on the borders of central Asia.

But matters did not end there. Worse was to come. One of the camel men picked up a stone and threw it at him. Another followed suit. Kâo promptly ran for cover, but A-lu-te remained at Gregory's side and the second stone hit her on the shoulder. Knowing that it was only himself they meant to harm, he swiftly sidled away from her and took refuge, as far as he could, behind a small rock.

Getting out the pistol that he had always carried on him, he clicked a bullet up into its chamber. A wave of intense anger surged through him, as it flashed into his mind that to be stoned to death by a crowd of abysmally ignorant Mongolians, for a reason that they were incapable of fully comprehending themselves, was, of all things, the most pointless,
futile, stupid way to die. As he had plenty of bullets he was fully determined to take as many of his moronic attackers as possible with him.

A hail of stones came over the low rock. He waited for another, and the second after it had come raised both his head and gun; yet he refrained from pressing the trigger. He saw that a small, insignificant-looking little man, whom he had hardly noticed during their four days' journey, had stepped forward from among the travellers, and was addressing the caravan crew.

Raising his voice to a high falsetto, the little man screamed abuse and threats at them. Gregory just listened in amazement, then a broad grin spread over his face. In his wildest dreams it would never have occurred to him that he might ever owe his life to a Communist; but it seemed that was what was about to happen.

Drawing some papers from under his voluminous cloak the little man waved them in the air, shouting that whoever disobeyed him would do so at their peril. He declared himself to be a ‘Liberator' with power to dispense death or rewards, and told them that for the honour of the new regime caravans must be conducted in a law-abiding manner. The ‘Longnose' he said, had paid to travel with them to Yen-an, so must be allowed to continue his journey unmolested. If he were not obeyed he would call them to account when they reached the city, and deprive them of their livelihood by having their permits to travel cancelled for good.

Sheepishly the drivers edged away, and the master of the caravan kow-towed to him. Five minutes later they were prodding the camels up from their squatting positions in preparation for moving onward. While they did so Gregory went up to his rescuer to thank him.

The Communist was half a head shorter than Gregory, but, under his big cloak, appeared to be a broad-shouldered man. Gregory guessed him to be middle-aged but it was almost impossible to tell, as his chin was buried in his neckband, he was wearing thick tortoise-shell rimmed glasses
against glare, and the shaggy fur of his hat came right down, concealing as much of his face as does the bearskin of a Guard's officer.

His reply to Gregory's thanks was brief. He simply said in his high-pitched voice, ‘My colleague in Tung-kwan told me that you were a Russian Comrade, so it was my duty to protect you. I apologise for the ignorance of these men, but the Chinese People's Republic is still a young one.' Then, with a quick clenched-fist salute, he turned away.

Gregory could only assume that the young official who had inspected their papers believed that as Poland lay behind the Iron Curtain, Poles could now be considered as Russians. Realising the danger that might lie in further conversation with his Communist protector, he made no attempt to continue it, but returned the salute and went off to saddle his pony.

For three more days they moved wearily on at pedestrian pace, then they crossed a range of low hills and saw the city of Yen-an in the distance. But Kâo and his party did not continue on towards it. A few miles to the west of the city there rose a steep hill crowned by an irregular group of buildings that had the appearance of another Buddhist monastery. Pointing at it with his riding switch Kâo cried:

‘There is the great House of Lin. From the descriptions of it that I have heard I cannot be mistaken.'

Accompanied by their personal camel-men and porters, they left the caravan, and after a further hour were ascending the slope towards the many-roofed residence. As they approached, a sentinel on a watch-tower blew three long blasts on a great horn. A few minutes later a pair of huge gates was thrown open and a little crowd of armed men appeared in the entrance.

At last they had reached their journey's end. From the Island where Time Stands Still they had come over ten thousand miles in their search for the lost Princess. Since they had set out three people had died unexpectedly and horribly; and Gregory had had five narrow escapes from death. Even
his steady heart quickened, as he wondered if they would find the Princess there, and what new perils they might bring upon themselves by bearding the merchant prince who had carried her off to this feudal baron's castle known as the great House of Lin.

It soon became clear that, whatever attitude Lin Wân might adopt when tackled about Josephine, he had no intention of turning away his old acquaintance Kâo Hsüan. A small procession emerged from the gate to meet them. It was mainly composed of fierce-looking men with sten-guns slung at their sides, but now banging drums and cymbals, while at their head walked the obviously peaceable figure of a young man in tennis flannels, closely followed by P'ei.

Kâo and Gregory were riding a short distance ahead of their party, and as soon as they got to within speaking distance of the young man, he called a smiling welcome to them; adding that he was Lin Tû-lai the third son of Lin Wân and had been sent to conduct them to his father.

As Tû-lai led them through the tall gates. Gregory saw that the mansion was even larger than he had thought it from a distance. The gates opened on to a main courtyard as big as that of a medieval castle and in some ways resembling one; for it was as busy as a fair. In lean-tos along its walls animals of half a dozen kinds were being groomed or fed, several cooks were tending cauldrons over open fires, carts were being unloaded, servants hurried hither and thither, and tradesmen of all kinds were plying their crafts in odd corners. While beyond three of its sides rose a jumble of curved roofs and pagodas, showing that the great House of Lin contained numerous smaller courts and as many buildings as an English village.

A-lu-te was helped down from her palanquin and presented to Tû-lai, who then took his guests through a succession
of airy corridors to a small court with a charming little pavilion at each of its sides, where servants were waiting to attend upon them. When their baggage had been brought he left them to clean themselves up after their journey and an hour later returned, now clad in a beautifully-embroidered Chinese robe, to escort them through more corridors to an apartment splendidly furnished with silks, lacquer, porcelain and jade. At its far end, in a big chair the back of which was gilded and inlaid with lapis lazuli to represent a peacock's tail, sat Lin Wan; and beside him on a chair made in the semblance of the more humble peahen, sat an elderly woman whom he introduced as his principal wife, the lady Fan-ti.

The merchant prince was bald, which made him look older than Kâo although actually he was about the same age, and he had a cast in his right eye; otherwise he was a fine-looking man, whose height and strong nose showed him to be of noble Manchu descent. He welcomed them most graciously, inquired how they had fared on their journey, and expressed the hope that their stay with him would be a long one. Kâo made no mention of the object of their visit, neither did Lin Wân enquire concerning it; but it soon became obvious that he knew about the island. Later Gregory learned that his father had been invited to join the migration when the secret colony was formed; and, although he had decided against it, he, and since his death Wân himself, had acted in many commercial matters for the Council in collaboration with its buyers of raw materials and export managers.