China Edward Rutherfurd (essential reading .txt) 📖

send an embassy to China, the imperial court sees us as a subject people who have come to pay tribute. They expect the ambassador to kowtow, flat on his face, before the emperor. Merchants like us may not care two hoots about this, so long as we can trade. But to Elliot, it is intolerable, an insult to the British Crown and to his dignity. He’s concerned with status.”

“No trade, no money. No money, no status,” said Tully crossly.

“I agree. But even on the subject of trade, Elliot cannot be a friend of China. And why is that? Because China will not allow us to trade with her as we do with other nations. In all this huge empire, we are allowed to trade only at Canton, and we can’t even reside in the city. But if we had free access to the cities of China, to offer them our goods—who knows?—we might not even need to trade in opium. Or so Elliot might argue. In short, he hates the status quo. And until the celestial throne recognizes the British Empire as an equal and joins the normal trade and intercourse of nations, Elliot will be implacably opposed to it.”

“You know how to talk,” said Odstock grudgingly. He turned to Trader. “You’re an Oxford man. I hope you can give Matheson a run for his money in the talking department.”

But before Trader could respond to this embarrassing proposition, the conversation was interrupted by a servant quickly entering the dining room and announcing:

“Mr. Zhou asks Mr. Odstock to please come to his house. Bring Mr. Trader also. Very urgent.”

Odstock looked at them all in surprise. “The devil he does.” He turned to Trader. “Zhou’s a member of the Hong. He’s the Chinese merchant I deal with, mostly.” He turned back to the servant. “Why?”

“Commissioner Lin’s orders.”

“Me?” said John in horror. And the man nodded.

“How very strange,” exclaimed Matheson. Even he looked slightly alarmed. “Well,” he said after a pause, “I suppose you’d better go.”

—

As Trader walked up Hog Lane with Mr. Zhou’s servant and Tully Odstock, his partner tried to sound completely calm.

“I call him Joker,” he explained. “His name sounds like Joe, you see. He doesn’t mind.”

They were halfway down Hog Lane when Tully stopped at a stall and bought a couple of almond cookies. Giving one of them to Trader, he slowly began to eat his without moving.

“Mr. Zhou says come quick,” that gentleman’s servant cried anxiously, but Tully ignored him.

“Never hurry. Never look anxious,” he murmured to Trader, who took the hint and crunched through his almond cookie before taking another step. “By the way,” Tully continued, “when we get there, we’ll talk, and after a while they’ll bring tea. Once you’ve drunk your tea, you’re expected to leave. That’s the form here.”

“Anything else I should know?” John asked.

“At the moment, Joker owes us quite a bit of money. But don’t worry. Joker’s all right. Known him for years. He’ll pay.” He nodded. “As a matter of fact, I haven’t seen him for nearly a week. Wonder what he thinks about this Lin nonsense.”

It took only five minutes to reach Mr. Zhou’s house. It was impressive, with a courtyard, verandas, and a handsome garden behind. He received them in a well-furnished room hung with red lanterns.

“Afternoon, Joker,” said Tully. “Long time no see.”

“Six days,” the Hong merchant answered.

As John Trader gazed at Mr. Zhou, it seemed to him that his partner’s nickname for the Chinese merchant was very badly chosen. He received them sitting in the most dignified manner, in a chair like a throne. The high polished dome of his head surmounted a long, almost skeletonic face. Over a richly embroidered tunic, he wore a wide-sleeved black silk gown. Around his neck, a long double row of amber beads hung to his waist. He looked to John more like an emperor than a court jester.

“This is Mr. Trader,” said Tully. “Studied at Oxford.”

Mr. Zhou inclined his head and smiled.

“How do you do, Mr. Zhou,” said John politely.

“You can speak Chinese?” Zhou asked.

“Not yet.”

The Chinese merchant did not look impressed.

“Joker,” asked Tully, “what’s Commissioner Lin want?”

“He wants all the opium,” the Hong merchant answered.

“Why does he want so much?”

“He must get it all or lose face.”

“No can do,” said Tully firmly. He looked at Joker carefully. There was something in the Hong merchant’s eyes: a look of real fear. “Joker’s in a funk,” Tully murmured to Trader. He turned back to the Hong merchant. “Why does Lin ask for Trader?”

But before Joker could answer, there was a sound of voices, and a moment later a servant ushered two men into the room.

◦

Jiang Shi-Rong looked at the three men. He already knew Zhou. It was obvious who Odstock was. So the dark-haired young man must be the scholar.

He’d wondered how he might converse with Trader. He didn’t want to communicate through Zhou, whom he didn’t trust in any case. So he’d brought his own interpreter.

To be precise, the man in question had arrived with Commissioner Lin. He was a curious fellow, small, thin, and of indeterminate age. He said he was forty; he might have been fifty. He wore scratched round spectacles with very thick lenses, though Shi-Rong could not detect any sign of magnification in them. And he claimed to speak and write English to an equally advanced degree, having learned it first in the household of a missionary in Macao, before improving his knowledge still further during a sojourn in Singapore. As a result of this last part of his story, he was known to everyone by a nickname: Mr. Singapore.

As soon as Mr. Zhou had performed the introductions, he observed to Shi-Rong that Odstock had just been asking what the commissioner wished to accomplish in Guangzhou.

Shi-Rong bowed politely and turned to Mr. Singapore. “Tell the barbarian merchant that Commissioner Lin is here to abolish the opium trade forever.” He watched as Mr. Singapore, without too much difficulty, conveyed this unequivocal message. He noticed that