Flashman Papers 3-Book Collection 4: Flashman and the Dragon, Flashman on the March, Flashman and the Tiger. George Fraser MacDonald
the lattice door light was streaming, light that moved – someone was quietly descending the stairway to my prison. There was a murmur of Chinese voices just outside: one a falsetto squeak that I seemed to have heard before, and the other … even to my battered senses it was one of the loveliest human sounds I’d ever listened to, soft and tinkling as a silver bell, the kind of voice a happy angel might have had – a slightly excited, tipsy angel.
“Is this the room, Little An?” it was whispering. “You’re sure? Well, take me in, then! Hurry, I want to see!”
“But, Orchid Lady, it is madness!” whimpers Squeaker. “If we were seen! Please, let us go back – I’m frightened!”
“Stop trembling or you’ll drop me! Oh, come on, fat, foolish, frightened Little An – be a man!”
“How can I? I’m a eunuch! And it’s cruel and mean and unworthy to taunt me – aiee! Oh! You pinched me! Oh, vicious, when you know I bruise at the least nip –”
“Yes, so think how you’ll bruise when the Mongols take their flails to you, little jelly …”
“You wouldn’t!”
“I would. I will, unless you take me in and let me see – now.”
“Oh, this is wilful! It’s wicked! And dangerous! Please, dear Imperial Concubine Yi, why can’t we just go upstairs and –”
“Because I’ve never seen a barbarian. And I’m going to, dear Little An.” The lovely voice chuckled, and began to sing softly: “Oh, I’m going to see a barbarian, I’m going to see a barbarian …”
“Oh, please, please, Orchid Lady, quietly! Oh, very well –”
The door opened, and light flooded into the room.
Dazzled, all I could make out at first was a short, stout figure carrying someone – a child, by the look of it. Then the lantern was placed on a cupboard, so that it shone down on me, and as they advanced into the room I saw that the bearer was the portly cove who’d scratched the Emperor’s foot in the Hall of Audience; his burden was wrapped in a scarlet silk cloak with a hood keeping the face in shadow.
“Well!” hisses the eunuch. “There it is – I hope you’re satisfied! Risking our lives just to gape at that monster – to say nothing of the scandal if it were known that the Empress of the Western Palace was sneaking about –”
“Oh, shut up, pudding,” says she in that silvery chuckle. “And put me down.”
“No! We’re going – we must, before –”
“Put me down! And close the door.”
He gave a hysterical whimper and obeyed, and she circled the bench none too steadily, giggling and clutching the cloak tightly under her chin. She craned foward to look at me, and the light fell on the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen in my life.
I’ve said that of three women, and still do – Elspeth, Lola Montez … and Yehonala Tzu-hsi, the Orchid, the incomparable Yi Concubine. And it’s true of each in her own way: fair Elspeth, dark Lola … and Yehonala was the Orient, in all its pearly delicacy of flowerlike skin, lustrous black eyes, slender little nose, cherry mouth with the full lower lip, tiny even teeth, all in a perfect oval face; add that her hair was blue-black, coiled in the Manchoo style – and you ain’t much wiser, for there are no words to describe that pure loveliness. Who could have guessed that it masked a nature compounded of all the seven deadly sins except envy and sloth? But even when you knew it, it didn’t matter one damned bit, with that breath-taking beauty. She said it herself: “I can make people hate me – or love me with blind worship. I have that power.”
All I knew then, as she surveyed me, swaying and tittering excitedly, was that I’d never seen the like, and I can pay the little heart-stopper no higher tribute than to say that my first wish was that I had my uniform and a shave – being flat on your back, gagged and bound in a filthy loin-cloth, cramps the style no end. My second thought was that whoever had painted her mouth purple and her eyelids silver, with devil’s streaks slanting up the brows, had done her no service – and then I noticed that the black pupils were shrunk to pin-points, and the perfect lips were loosely open. She was rollicking drunk on opium. Her first words confirmed it, I’d say.
“Ughh! He’s … disgusting. Not human! Look at the hair on his chest – like an ape!” She shivered deliciously. “Are they all like this?”
“What did you expect?” pipes An fearfully. “I told you, but you wouldn’t listen! Yes, they’re all like that – some are even worse. Revolting. Now, please, come away –”
“They can’t be uglier than this! See his dreadful great nose – like a vulture’s beak! And his ears! And his hair!” She gurgled hysterically, and the lovely face came closer, wrinkling delicately. “He smells, too – ugh!”
“They all smell! Like sour pork! Oh, Orchid Lady, why do you wait, staring at the beastly thing! He’s a barbarian! Very well, you’ve seen him! And unless we make haste –”
“Be quiet! I want to look at him … he’s grotesque! Those huge shoulders … and his skin!” She put out a slim white hand, whose silver nails were two-inch talons, and brushed my chest with her finger-tips. “It’s like ox-hide – feel!” She squeaked with delight.
“I’ll do no such thing! And neither will you – stop it, I say! Eegh! To touch that foulness – how can you bear it? Oh, Orchid, mistress, I beg you, come before anyone finds us!”
“But his arms and legs, An – they’re enormous! Like an elephant. He must,” says she, all tipsy solemnity, “be terribly strong … strong as a bull, wouldn’t you think?”
“Yes, as a bull – and quite as interesting! Imperial Concubine Yi, this is not fitting! Please, I implore you – let us go quickly!”
“In a moment, stupid! I’m still looking at him …” She took an unsteady pace back, head on one side. “He’s an absolute monster …” She giggled again, her knuckles to her lips. “I wonder …”
“What! What do you wonder? Eh? Aha! I know what you wonder! Oh, vile! Shameless! Come away this instant! No, no –”
“I just want to look, fool! You wouldn’t care if it was a horse, or … or a monkey, would you? Well, he’s just a barbarian …” And before he could stop her she had swayed forward, laughing, and yanked at my loin-cloth; there was a rending sound, Little An screamed, averted his eyes, tried to drag her away, succeeded in pulling the cloak from her shoulders – and while her ladyship, oblivious, blinked in drunken contemplation, I returned the scrutiny with interest; in fact, I near swallowed my gag.
I should explain that she had looked in while returning from duty in the Emperor’s bed, and consequently was still in uniform. Or rather, out of it – and his majesty’s tastes were curious. She was dressed in enormous wings of peacock feathers, attached from shoulder to wrist, and high-soled Manchoo slippers from which silver cross-garters wound up to above her knees. The effect was striking; she was one of your slim, perfectly-shaped, high-breasted figures, with skin like alabaster – as I said, I never saw the like. She would have made a stone idol squeal.
“Put it back! Stop it! Don’t look!” Little An was in a frenzy, dropping to his knees beside her, pawing distraught. “For pity’s sake, Orchid Lady! Please, come away quickly, before … oh, Gods! What are you doing?”
It was a question which, had I not been gagged, I might well have echoed – rhetorically, since there was no doubt what she was doing, the wicked, insolent little flirt. She had detached a plume from her peacock wing and was tickling lasciviously, humming what I took to be an old Chinese lullaby and going into delighted peals at the visible result of her handiwork.
“Oh,