The Devil of Nanking (43 page)

I slid off the chest. ‘We’re going north.’ I brushed off my gloves and pointed out beyond the houses. ‘That way. We’re going to find a breach further up the wall.’

And so we crept up a side-street, moving parallel to the wall. This was the most dangerous part of our journey. If we could get through the wall we’d have achieved the greatest hurdle. If we could just get through the wall . . .

‘Here. This is the place.’ A hundred yards up from the gate I happened to peer through a fence and saw, beyond a burned and devastated patch of land, a valley-shaped notch in the wall, stones tumbling into a scree below it. I took Shujin’s arm. ‘This is it.’

We slid between the houses on to the main road and pushed our heads out from the gap, peering up and down the length of the wall. Nothing moved. We could see the dim glow of the sentries’ lanterns to the south. To the north the snow fell in darkness, only the moonlight illuminating it.

‘They’ll be on the other side,’ Shujin whispered. Her hands were fluttering unconsciously round her stomach. ‘What happens if they’re waiting on the other side?’

‘No,’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady, trying to keep my eyes on hers and not look down at her hands. Did she sense an urgency that she wasn’t communicating to me? ‘I make you this promise. They are not. We must get through here.’

Half bent to the ground we hurried across the open patch of land, the handcart skidding in the churned-up snow and earth, causing us both to slip and almost lose our balance several times. When we got to the wall we instinctively dropped to a crouch behind the cart, breathing hard and peering out into the silent snow. Nothing moved. The snow swirled and shifted, but no one shouted to us or came running.

I put my hand on her arm and pointed up the slope of rubble. It was a small climb, and I covered it easily, turning back and reaching down for the handle of the cart. She did her best, trying to lift it, trying to push it up the scree to me, but it was almost impossible for her, and I had to double back and drag it up with all my strength, my feet sliding hopelessly on the rubble, the stones avalanching down and making a noise I was sure would wake every Japanese soldier in Nanking.

Eventually I reached the top of the scree. There, I let the cart roll as far down the other side as possible, until I couldn’t lean any further and had to let it topple away, bouncing down the stones and falling on its side, all our belongings tumbling out into the snow. I held out a hand to Shujin, hauling her up, her ponderous weight coming slowly, so slowly, her eyes all the time on mine. We half scrambled, half slid down the other side of the wall, where we fell on to our belongings, grabbing them up in armfuls, throwing what we could into the cart, then racing blindly into a group of maple trees, me bumping the cart wildly behind me, Shujin doubled over as she ran, a bundle of clothing clasped to her chest.

‘We’ve done it,’ I panted. We huddled in the shadows under the trees. ‘I think we’ve done it.’ I squinted out into the darkness. On our right I could just make out a few slum dwellings, unlit and probably uninhabited. A track ran in the shadow of the wall and about twenty yards along it, in the direction of Taiping gate, a goat was tethered under a tree. Apart from that there was not a soul to be seen. I put my head back against the tree and breathed out, ‘Yes, we have. We have.’

Shujin didn’t answer. Her face seemed not sullen, but unnaturally tight and drawn. It wasn’t the fear alone. She had hardly spoken in the last few hours.

‘Shujin? Are you well?’

She nodded, but I noted she would not meet my eyes. My sense of unease increased. It was clear to me that we couldn’t rest here – that we needed to get to the salt dealer’s house as soon as possible. ‘Come along,’ I said, offering her my hand. ‘We must keep going.’

We loaded up the cart, stepped out of the clump of trees and began to walk, looking around ourselves in disbelief, astonished to be here, as if we were children stepping through a magic world. The streets grew narrower, the houses more sparse, the road underfoot giving way to a dirt track. Purple Mountain rose up silently on our right, blotting out the stars, while on the left the land fell away, leading back down to the blackened ruins of our city. The relief was exhilarating: it drove me along, intoxicated. We were free of Nanking!

We walked rapidly, stopping every now and then to listen to the silence. Beyond the five islets on the Xuanwu lakes a fire was glowing in the trees. We took it for a Japanese camp and decided to cut off the path and head across the foot of the mountain, moving along one of the many storm gullies. From time to time I would leave Shujin and slither down the small embankment to check that we were keeping parallel with the road. If we stuck to this course we would reach Chalukou eventually.

We saw no one – not a man, not an animal – but now something else was on my mind. Increasingly I was concerned for Shujin. She looked more tense than ever. From time to time she would allow a hand to float down to her stomach.

‘Listen,’ I said, slowing to whisper to her. ‘The next time the snow clears for a moment, look to where the road bends.’

‘What is it?’

‘There. Do you see? The trees?’

She squinted into the snow. In the torched remains of a wild sugar-cane field stood a ghostly snow-covered windlass, spidery above a well. Next to it was a border – a row of bushes.

‘A mulberry orchard. If we reach that we’ll be able to see the outskirts of Chalukou. We’re nearly there. That’s all you have to do, these few last yards . . .’

I broke off.

‘Chongming?’

I held my finger to my lips, looking down at the land sloping into the darkness. ‘Did you hear anything?’

She frowned, bending forward and concentrating on the silence. After a while she looked back up at me. ‘What? What did you think you heard?’

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t tell her that I thought I had heard the sound of the devil touching down in the dark countryside nearby.

‘What is it?’

From out of the trees to the left of the track came a sweep of headlights, and an ear-shattering roar. About two hundred yards away a motorcycle leaped up over the lip of a bank, found its balance on the higher land, and pivoted round, sending up a plume of snow. It stopped, seeming to come to a rest facing us directly.

‘Run!’ I grabbed Shujin’s arm and threw her bodily into the trees above the track. I grabbed the handcart and stumbled up the slope behind her. ‘Run! Run!’

Behind me the rider throttled the engine, making it roar. I didn’t know if he’d seen us, but he seemed to aim the motorcycle at the track we were on. ‘Keep going. Keep going.’ I stumbled through the thick snow, the cart twisting behind me, threatening to shed its load.

‘Which way?’ Shujin hissed from above. ‘Which way?’

‘Up! Keep going up the mountain.’

When the footsteps began their stealthy progress up the metal stairs, I could have kept quiet. I could have gone silently to my room, crawled out of the window, disappeared into the muffling snow and never found out what was in the plastic bag. But I didn’t. Instead I hammered on Jason’s door, yelling at the top of my voice: ‘
Jason! JASON, GO!
’ As the Nurse’s horrible shadow appeared out of the gloom of the staircase, I launched myself away, skidding, still shouting, bounding down the corridor in a way that was so frantic it must have looked like exuberance, not fear, all the way to the garden staircase – ‘
JASON!
’ – throwing myself down the steps, half sliding, half falling, slamming into the screen at the bottom, diving out into the snowy night.

Outside I paused, just for a second, breathing hard.

The garden was silent. I glanced through the branches at the gates to the street, then back to the plastic bag, which hung only a few tantalizing yards to my left, just above the do-not-go-here stone. I looked back to the gates, then to the bag, then up at the gallery. A light came on, glaring across the garden.

Do it
—

I launched myself sideways from the doorway, not through the wisteria tunnel but away from the gates, towards the bag, scurrying crablike into the undergrowth, hugging the wall where it was darkest. Overhead the branches bounced, throwing snow everywhere. The shadow of the carrier-bag flickered across my head. When I got to the deep shadows and the undergrowth was too thick to go any further, I sank down on to my haunches, panting silently, my pulse rocketing in my temples.

The bag swayed lazily overhead, and beyond it the silvered windowpanes outside Jason’s room sent back a reflection of the trees and swirling snowflakes. A few beats of silence passed, then something in the house splintered deafeningly – a door flying back on its hinges, or furniture being overturned – and almost immediately came a sound I will never forget. It was the sort of sound the rats in the garden sometimes made at midnight when a cat had them skewered. It unravelled through the house like a whip. Jason was screaming, a terrible, penetrating sound that raced round the garden and lodged in my chest. I clamped my hands over my ears, shuddering, unable to listen to it.
My God. My God
. I had to open my mouth and gulp in air: big, panicked lungfuls because for the first time in my life I thought I might faint.

The bag in the tree shifted in a small breeze and a little snow shook out of its soft hollows. I looked up at it, my eyes watering with fear. There was something inside it, something wrapped in paper. I could see it clearly now. Jason’s cries crescendoed, echoing into the night, bouncing off the walls. I didn’t have long – it had to be now. Concentrate . . .
concentrate
. Sweating, trembling uncontrollably, I stood on tiptoe, groped for the branch, pulling it down and reaching cold fingertips up to the bag. A little ice fell off it, the plastic crackled under my fingers, and for a moment I pulled my hand back instinctively, startled that I’d actually touched it. The bag swayed a little. I took a deep breath, stretched up and grabbed it more firmly, just as Jason stopped screaming and the house fell into silence.

I shot back, pulling the bag along the branch with a series of shuddery jerks. When it came off the end the branch leaped away from me, whipping back and forward. Icicles cascaded on to me as I tumbled backwards into the dark, huddling in the undergrowth – the frozen bag tight in my numb hands.
Did you hear me?
I thought, staring up at the gallery, wondering where she was, why the house was so silent.
Jason – why so quiet? Are you quiet because she’s stopped? Because you’ve told her where to look?

A window flew open. The Nurse’s horrible horse-like form appeared in the gallery, her face indistinct through the trees. I could tell by the intent, motionless way she stood that she was thinking about the garden – maybe thinking about the echoes of me, ricocheting down the stairs. Or maybe she was looking at the trees, wondering where a plastic bag might be hanging. I rotated my head slowly and saw the shadow of the branch I’d moved, magnified ten times and projected up on to the Salt Building, whipping and bouncing across the white stretches on the wall. The Nurse put her nose into the air and sniffed, the odd sightless eyes only two blurry points of shade. I shuffled further back in the undergrowth, breaking sticks, groping blindly for something heavy to hold.

She turned, stiffly, and walked slowly along the corridor, tapping her long fingernail on each window as she passed it. She was coming in the direction of the garden staircase. A second shadowy figure moved behind her – the
chimpira
. Next to my foot a stepping-stone was sunk into the wet ground. I clawed at it frantically, making my fingers bleed, dragging it out and clasping it, with the bag, against my chest. I tried to picture the garden around me. Even if I could get through the twisted branches, the gates were a fifteen-second sprint from there, straight across the naked garden. I’d be safer in here, where my tracks couldn’t be seen for the undergrowth, and if I . . .

I stopped breathing. They’d found the staircase. I could hear their footsteps echoing on the stairs.
They’re coming for me
, I thought, all the bones in my body turning to water.
I’m next
. Then someone was pulling open the screen door, and before I could scramble away the Nurse’s dark profile emerged through the frozen filigree of snow-covered branches. She dipped a little to enter the wisteria tunnel then travelled quickly, smoothly, as if running on invisible tracks, to the end where she emerged, standing straight and dark in the snow-covered rock garden, twitching her huge head in tiny movements, like a stallion sniffing the air. Her breath was white – she was steaming as if from some exertion.

I didn’t breathe. She’d sense it if I did – she was so attuned she’d sense my hairs going up, the infinitesimal widening of an artery, maybe even the crackle of my thoughts. The
chimpira
hovered in the doorway, peering out at the Nurse, who turned her head first in my direction, then to scan the trees, and then in the opposite direction – to the gates. After a moment’s hesitation, she continued across the garden, every now and then stopping to look around herself with great deliberation. For a moment, as she went into the tunnel, she was lost in a swirl of snow, then I heard her trying the gate, I heard it opening with a long, slow creak. The snow cleared and I could see her, standing very still, contemplating, her hand resting on the latch.

‘What is it?’ hissed the
chimpira
, and I thought I heard nervousness in his voice. ‘Can you see anything?’

The Nurse didn’t answer. She rubbed her fingers on the latch, then lifted them to her nose and sniffed, her mouth a little open as if to let the scent roam round her mouth. She pushed her head through the gates and looked out into the street and it hit me like lightning:
no tracks – no tracks in the snow. She’ll know I haven’t gone out there
 . . .

I shoved the package inside my jacket, zipped it up, pushed the stone into my pocket and edged silently, just another shadow slipping round the trees, to where the broken security grille hung on its hinges. The window was just as I remembered it, slightly open, the glass rather mossed. I leaned over as far as I dared, gripping the frame for balance, and hauled myself across the blank stretch of snow, up onto a toppled branch that lay against the wall. I stood for a moment, wobbling, my hot, terrified breath coming back at me, steaming up the pane. When I wiped it my own face met me in the glass and in my shock I almost stepped back.
Slowly, slowly, concentrate
. I turned and squinted through the undergrowth. She hadn’t moved – her back was still towards me, she was still considering the street in her detached, unhurried way. The
chimpira
had stepped out of the doorway and was watching her, his back to me.