The Call of the Thunder Dragon (12 page)

She waved a finger at the bemused
Haga-Jin, beckoning him to follow. “Please sign the register
paid?”

Suddenly she berated the boy
clerk.

“Wei-shuojing! You clumsy fool:
you put the wrong date!”

Wei frowned, confused but smart
enough not to answer back. There was nothing wrong with the
date.

Song looked at Haga-Jin full of
apology, pulling a knowing face, “Servants are so bad! You’ve lost
one? This one cannot write the date! Please tell me Moy Chan, do
you have the correct date or time? It must be getting late
now.”

Haga-Jin pulled out his watch. It
was a square Seiko pocket watch. Song smiled and thanked him. Wei
stiffened at the sight of yet another Japanese pocket watch; his
oath gave away his observation.

“Chuu-sheng” Wei muttered through
his teeth. Literally beast or animal, the word was also used in
Japan as an expletive. Akin to hell; it literally meant ‘mindless
beast’, a reference to the Buddhist belief that rebirth as a
beastly base animal was the result of bad karma.

Haga-Jin exploded. His impatience
literally lit up his face red with rage. He grabbed the book from
the desk. Hammering the boy over the head with it until own his
nose dripped crimson ooze from exertions of his rage.

Song retreated with the money,
hiding it away.

Haga-Jin glowered at the boy,
still bent over the desk with his hands over his head to ward off
the next blow. Haga-Jin touched his fingers to his nose and swore
at the sight of his own blood. Haga-Jin lunged forward taking up
the pen, he stabbed brutally at Wei’s face.

“Baka!” He roared in
Japanese.

Haga-Jin stood wavering on the
verge of insanity. Never had he been so insulted to his face; never
had he been so humiliated. His nose continued to run crimson. He
realised the boy and his aunt had blown his cover. He reached into
his coat for his pistol.

“Stop!” A voice called out. “I’m
armed.”

Haga-Jin turned slowly. A new
figure emerged with several of the hotel staff from the office
door. He was dressed in a pale blue grey uniform with black
trousers, he was wearing woven sandals and armed with a Dadao
sword
¹¹
stuck through his
sash. In his hand held a small short barrelled revolver, which was
pointing towards Haga-Jin’s chest. It was the police.

Haga-Jin’s tut of disgust was
almost audible. He pulled his hand out from his coat pocket.
Showing his empty hand, he flopped into the nearest chair.

“You will regret this!” With a
deep breath, he pulled out his papers. “I am an embassy approved
official! I travel in peace. I am a member of the peace charity,
the good Lotus society for education and co-prosperity.
Representing our good society, to show the true intent of Japan
with kindness towards China!”

The small crowd of the hotel
staff gawked at the Japanese agent in disbelief. Behind him, Zam
hesitantly came through the front door of the hotel followed by a
rickshaw driver loaded with parcels. Song nudged one of the chamber
maids to help her, urging them to get her out of the way.

Falstaff woke mid-morning to
find Zam gone. His clothes had been returned clean. Neatly folded
in a pile just inside the door. Although stiff, he felt little
pain, his head was fuzzy and heavy.

He found a table placed next to
the bed, on it was a brass dragon candle holder that snaked
upwards. A bell and a tiny hammer hung under its arching body. Next
to the dragon was an empty vile of laudanum, an extract made from
opium. No wonder he felt sleepy he figured. He picked up the hammer
and tapped the little bell. Almost before his head hit the pillow a
chambermaid shuffled in.

“Would you like tea?” The girl
asked in Chinese as she shuffled closer. “Are you sleeping
still?”

Falstaff sat up abruptly. The
girl let out her breath in surprise.

“I’m awake! And hungry? Have you
rice?”

The girl bowed and smiled,
leaving as quickly as she had come. He looked at the brass dragon
again, lifting it in his hands. It was only brass he thought, gold
or jade would have been different he thought. He stroked the
dragons back while he thought back to tablets he had unearthed near
Yinchuan in a long hidden temple. He’d have been rich he thought.
If only General Ma hadn’t taken and concealed the ancient tablets
and the gold. Falstaff cursed at the memory. He had spent months
agonizing over the significance of the tally of nine Jade dragons.
The statues had been listed amongst the rich items waiting to be
found. He shrugged letting his shoulders drop. They could not have
be real, if they were they would have been looted by now he
thought. Still that did not mean there wasn’t more treasure to be
found somewhere. Hungry, he put aside the brass and waited for his
breakfast, thinking of the Jade Dragons.

Tea, rice and mooncakes were
quickly brought. Along with a large housecoat. Falstaff pulled on
the cotton robe, struggling to bend and reach his shoulders, but at
least now he felt dressed.

After a few steps around the room
to stretch, he pulled a chair away from the window and sat looking
into the distance, through the clouds over the mountains. His belly
growled and gurgled. Either with the pleasure of the food or due to
his taking so much wine the day before. He tucked into the
Mooncakes, little cakes served with tea, consisting of a thin
tender pastry skin, enveloping a sweet, dense filling of jelly-like
paste made from lotus seed.

He sat back, hunger and thirst
slated. He contemplated his situation. As he relaxed in the
comfortable surroundings, he thought the hotel must be one of the
biggest, oldest and grandest he had ever been in. Which led him to
think about the inevitable cost. The fuel for the Caproni, along
with oil and anything else he needed would cost a fortune to get up
in the mountains.

Falteringly he took a few steps
to the door. Picking up his long leather jacket, he noticed it had
picked up a few extra gashes and holes. The deep pockets were
empty. This worried him, his passport, papers and visa from General
Chiang Kai-Shek were missing; along with the leather pouch of
emergency funds. A Gold bar wrapped in a silk handkerchief on which
was written a promise in Chinese. Promising more gold for the safe
return of the pilot carrying the message.

At that moment, Zam returned.
Seeing him up and about with coat in hand she rushed him back to
bed.

“You mustn’t go out. They’ve
discovered the body of the Japanese man!”

Falstaff grinned, he had almost
forgotten the matter. “Stirred up a nest of Mafeng
¹²
have I?” He
casually asked.

After fretting over his bandages,
which showed some blood soaking through Zam shooed him back under
the blankets.

“Tell me about the body?”
Falstaff interrupted.

“He was part of a party of four
men.” Zam sat on the edge of the bed, looking pale. She took the
hand Falstaff offered.

“They were supposed to be Chinese
businessmen, but the leader of them went into a fit of rage, -
demanding the hotel be searched! He produced documents that said he
was a Japanese embassy official. He’s been in the hotel foyer all
morning screaming at the staff. He assaulted the clerk with the
register, stabbing him in the face with a pen!”

Falstaff looked up. “Was that
when they found the body?”

Zam shook her head. “The staff
haven’t even told him! They daren’t!”

Falstaff considered this.
“They’re keeping mum then? Not interested in giving us up are
they?”

Zam rolled her eyes, taking his
hand, rubbing it gently. Falstaff seemed so flippant. She carried
on rubbing his hand to calm her own nerves. “I found your papers, I
have them hidden, - but I took your purse and the gold. I showed
the mama-San the handkerchief and told her how you’d flown
yesterday. Destroying those Japanese flying machines, how you fell
out of the sky, then flew with me here. She is keeping the gold and
the handkerchief. I’m sure she will do anything for us.”

“Fine by me.” Falstaff said. “I
like the view here, if things get bad we can always call on Kunming
for assistance.” He put up his feet and took Zam’s hand raising it
to his lips.

Having heard the story of the
morning’s excitement Falstaff was presented with new clothes,
picked out by Zam herself on her shopping trip around the lake side
town.

“I don’t see why you have to
waste my money on clothes?” He complained.

“You couldn’t go on being naked!
Your other clothes are still wet!”

Falstaff sat trying to relax. His
chest was hurting after being up only an hour. Stiffly he sat
upright in a chair wearing a pair of loose cotton pants, with a
golden silk shirt. Zam had found the local department stores well
stocked with clothes and luxury goods. Apart from the clothes,
she’d also bought him Cologne and hair tonic. She’d shaved him
herself and had taken too long rubbing and brushing his hair with
the tonic.

The morning turned to afternoon
as they remained stuck in the room together.

Song came to tell them the news
herself. The guests hotel were buzzing with the news, and it had
taken her awhile to get through all the gossip with them all.
According to her a man had been found dead, presumed to be by
accident, having lost his way at night. He had unfortunately fallen
down the stairs to the boiler room and stumbled into the open fire
pit where he burnt to death.

The manageress, relayed this
version of the news to them in person; the dead man appeared to be
one of a party of four Japanese charity workers the police had
deduced.

The police had arrested the irate
Japanese man for assaulting the hotel staff. As to the matter of
the murder, the police ordered that all guests were to stay in
their rooms or in the hotel until the corpse could be identified
properly. Earlier that morning another of the four Japanese, had
been arrested trying to gain admittance to Madame Kuai Tatiana’s
bordello; apparently claiming his friend was being kept locked up
inside.

Falstaff grinned. His ribs were
feeling slightly better although he was still giddy from the
laudanum. Stories of Japanese incompetence amused him, especially
since he’d had a secret hand in the matter. He was not concerned
about any police involvement, the promise signed by General Chiang
Kai-Shek would see to that.

Zam rubbed his shoulders. “We
will not be discovered. In a few days, we can fly away.”

Falstaff nodded. “We better plan
what we need. I need all the maps and charts, did we bring
them?”

Zam nodded.

“Bring some paper and a pen. It
would also be useful if we know in advance if there’s a garage or
mechanic in the town? We might need oil or tools?”

The rest of the afternoon passed
without incident. Falstaff struggled to work on the route plan,
cursing the inconsistent maps. Eventually, Zam couldn’t stand his
swearing any longer, realising he was in pain passed him a cup of
rice wine with laudanum.

Marihito was tired and hungry
when he got back to the hotel. He’d found Captain Soujiro and his
men in the woods and waited with them while they radioed the other
units for updates on their mission.

The manageress had come out of
the office bellowing. Demanding to know who he was. He had pleaded
innocence, trying his best Chinese, but faltered, drying up as he
tried to explain his absence to the terrifying woman.

Song hadn’t minced words. She
chewed him over calling him every name under the sun, then boldly
told Marihito that his colleague was dead and the others arrested
for assault.

Marihito ran out of the hotel,
almost squealing. He reeled first one way then the other. Alone, he
headed back once more towards the shoreline and break the news to
the others. Breathless from the walk he found Captain Soujiro
waiting near the beached fishing boats. He poured out his news and
his fears.

“If the Chinese are holding
Colonel Haga-Jin Dono, they must know or suspect something of him?”
Captain Soujiro quickly concluded. “We must be swift and get him
released. I will return to my men and have them radio for the rest
to join us immediately. They have found no others from the airfield
and have already started their march south.”

Marihito drew his breath slowly,
wondering how he could contribute. “I will go back to the hotel and
gain access to our rooms. I will ensure nothing is left there.
Also, I have some headed paper we could use. I will find a printer
or office in town and ask to use their type-writer? Haga-Jin will
have gone back to our backup plan, if discovered he will assume the
identity of a peace worker! We shall meet at the bottom of the
avenue.”

Marihito was hitting his stride
now. Firstly he bought several Taro buns, pan-fried cakes filled
with sweet taro paste and with piles of sliced almonds on top. At
the table, he scribbled his plans in his note book. Then licking
his fingers clean of crumbs, put on his overcoat and hat before
going search of a printers.

He found exactly what he was
looking for about twenty minutes later. A telegraph office, it
still had the old Imperial Chinese Telegraph Administration signs
and badges on most of the walls or equipment, despite
nationalization under the Ministry of Posts and Communications
several decades ago. It also provided typists and office equipment
for use of customer’s and local businesses.

He did exactly what he thought he
would be expected to do if he was a worker from the Lotus Society.
He sent a telegraph. He addressed it directly to the Lotus Society
in Shanghai, itself conveniently near the Japanese Embassy and
headquarters.

The message read: “Okura dead in
accident; Haga-Jin arrested after incident. Send funds for longer
stay.”