Flashman Papers 3-Book Collection 4: Flashman and the Dragon, Flashman on the March, Flashman and the Tiger. George Fraser MacDonald

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СКАЧАТЬ a good sleep. God knew what her diary held for tomorrow; my point is, it wasn’t quite the home life of our own dear Queen, and it takes a nature beyond our understanding to manage it.

      Now, as she yawned and hummed and resumed her cloak and hood, she spared a thought for me again, tickling mischievously and skipping away laughing as Little An scuttled in to fend her off. I was to be taken secretly, she reminded him, to the Wang-shaw-ewen, which sounded like some sort of garden (I wondered what Sang would think when his soldiers reported that the wandering boy had vanished into thin air). The little eunuch made a doubtful lip.

      “A pity we must be at the trouble of removing a captive from the Board of Punishments,” grumbles he, “when we have one to hand.” At which she cuffed him soundly, and serve him right.

      “Fat savage, would you harm my barbarian? You’ll treat him with care and respect, d’you hear, or I’ll have you fed to the tiny devil fish, one greasy inch at a time!” She considered me with her secret smile. “Besides, I told you I may have another use for him. Just suppose … when the other prisoners have been killed, the barbarians discover that one has been saved, and kindly treated, by the Yi Concubine. Won’t they be pleased with her – and with her party at court.” She patted his head lightly. “Well, it is a possibility.”

      “Better he should wear the wire jacket!” pipes he viciously. “He deserves it – after tonight he isn’t fit to live! How could you?” He shuddered in revulsion. “Ugh! Disgusting!”

      “Why, I believe you’re jealous, Little An,” she mocked him, as he lifted her in his arms. “Oh, stop sulking! Just because you’re weaponless, selfish little hound, am I to have no fun? Oh, no, I’m sorry – that was a mean thing to say! Forgive me, Little An …” As he bore her from the room she was apologising to the beastly little bladder, and her last words drifted to my ears, filling me with a new and dreadful fear. “Look, if he does not please me, or I tire of him quickly, perhaps …”

      The beautiful voice faded up the stairs, and I was left a prey, as they say, to conflicting emotions.

      It’s a strange thing, but I remember distinctly I wasn’t tired when they whisked me out of that lumber room just as dawn was breaking. Twenty-four hours earlier I’d been waking in my cage at Tang-chao. Since then I’d witnessed the battle of Pah-li-chao, arranged the demise of Trooper Nolan, been ill-used and terrified by Sang’s thugs, crawled to the Emperor of China, and conferred, so to speak, with his principal concubine. A busy day, you’ll allow, but while I’d a right to be played out, body and soul, I wasn’t, because I didn’t dare to be; I must keep my wits about me. For one stark thought was hammering in my brain above all others when the shadowy figures flitted into my room, to unchain and carry me swiftly out, wrapped in a carpet like Cleopatra as ever was – whatever happened now, I must not, for my very life’s sake, utter so much as a syllable in Chinese.

      It was the grace of God that Little An hadn’t been present when I babbled before the Emperor; true, he’d later suggested slitting my tongue, but that presumably had just been native caution – he plainly didn’t even suspect that I understood the lingo, or he’d never have permitted Yehonala to pour out her girlish dreams in my hearing. To both of them, I was a mere lump of uncomprehending barbarian beef, and if ever they realised that I’d taken in every word … quite. Thank heaven I’d been gagged throughout our meeting, or I might well have spoken at some point … “You permit yourself strange liberties, madam,” for example.

      Well, they didn’t know, and provided I kept my trap shut, they never would. Only the Emperor and his nobles were aware of my linguistic skill, and I wasn’t liable to be meeting them again. In the meantime, I faced the prospect of becoming stallion-en-titre to that gorgeous little tyrant, which was capital … and the possibility, if she tired of me, or it suited her murderous plan, that I’d be the one given the wire jacket when they started butchering prisoners. That wouldn’t be for a week; I had that much law in which to escape and take word to Grant that he’d better look sharp if he was to rescue them. Then again … escaping would be damned risky; my safest course might well be to lie snug, bulling Yehonala’s pretty little rump off, and pray that she’d exempt me from the slaughter, which she seemed inclined to do. Which meant letting the other prisoners go hang; aye, well, it’s a cruel world. It was all very difficult, and I must just wait and see what seemed best – best for Flashy, you understand, and good luck to everyone else.

      These were my thoughts as I was borne off, and one thing quickly became plain: in the event that escape did eventually seem advisable (and sorry, Parkes, but on the whole I’d rather not) at least it wouldn’t have to be from the Forbidden City, which would have been next to impossible. For after my swathed carcase had been carried some way, it was slung aboard a cart, and driven for about two miles through city streets, to judge from the noises. Then the rumble of other traffic and the din of the waking city ceased, our speed picked up, there were several cock-crows, and I guessed we were in open country. After about half an hour the cart slowed to a walk, my carpet was stripped away, I was hauled into a sitting position, and looked about me.

      My escort were four men dressed like Little An, which meant they were eunuchs – nominally, at least, for while three were squeaking butterballs, the fourth was lean and whiskered and spoke in a bass croak. There’s one who’s all present and correct, thinks I, and he probably was. These eunuchs, you see, are an extraordinary gang; in most eastern countries, they’re prisoners or slaves who’ve been emasculated and given charge of the royal womenfolk. But not in China, where they’re absolutely volunteers, I swear it. It’s a most prestigious career, you see, offering huge opportunities of power and profit, and there are young chaps positively clamouring to be de-tinkled so that they can qualify for the job. Not a line of work that would appeal to me, but then I’m not Chinese. However, royal concubines being what they are (and you may have gathered that Yehonala, for one, was not averse to male society) it was sometimes arranged that a candidate escaped the scissors and took up his duties in full working order. I suspect that my chap in the cart was one such, and a capital time he must have had of it, since concubines outnumbered the Emperor by about three hundred to one, and his majesty was so besotted with Yehonala that the others had to look elsewhere for diversion. But fully-armed or not, the eunuchs were the most influential clique at court, as spies, agents, and policymakers; saving the Emperor, the most powerful man in China was undoubtedly Little An, the Chief Eunuch – and he was right under Yehonala’s dainty little thumb.

      But I’ll digress no longer, for now I have to tell you of one of the most wonderful things I’ve ever seen, a marvel to compare with any on earth – and no one will ever see it again. There are many beautiful things in the world, mostly works of Nature – a Colorado sunset, dawn over the South China Sea, Elspeth, primroses, cold moonlight on the Sahara, an English woodland after rain. Man cannot make anything to equal these, but just once, in this critic’s opinion, he came so close that I’d hate to live on the difference. And it was done by shaping Nature, delicately and with infinite patience, as probably only Chinese artists and craftsmen could have done it. This was what I was privileged to see that September morning.

      As I remember, we were leaving a little village, on a narrow road between high stone walls, which took us over a stone bridge and a causeway through a lake to a great carved entrance gate. Beyond that was a courtyard, and a massive building, blazing with gold in the rising sun; we drove past it and a scattering of lesser pavilions, and then it burst on the view in all its perfect, silent splendour, and I gasped aloud in wonder, while the eunuchs squeaked and laughed and nudged each other to see the barbarian stricken dumb as he gazed for the first time on the Summer Palace.

      As you may have heard, it was not a palace at all, but a garden eight miles long – but it wasn’t a garden, either. It was fairyland, and how d’you describe that? I can only tell you that in that vast parkland, stretching away to distant, hazy hills, there was every beauty of nature and human architecture, blended together in a harmony of shape СКАЧАТЬ