‘Indeed, Mr Burnham?’ It was Mr King, speaking from the other end of the table. ‘You are evidently greatly solicitous of human life, which is undoubtedly a most commendable thing. But may I ask why your concern does not extend to the lives you put in jeopardy with your consignments of opium? Are you not aware that with every shipment you are condemning hundreds, maybe thousands of people to death? Do you see nothing monstrous in your own actions?’
‘No, sir,’ answered Mr Burnham coolly. ‘Because it is not my hand that passes sentence upon those who choose the indulgence of opium. It is the work of another, invisible, omnipotent: it is the hand of freedom, of the market, of the spirit of liberty itself, which is none other than the breath of God.’
At this Mr King’s voice rose in scorn: ‘Oh shame on you, who call yourself a Christian! Do you not see that it is the grossest idolatry to speak of the market as though it were the rival of God?’
‘Please, please, gentlemen!’ Mr Wetmore thumped the table in an effort to restore order. ‘This is not the time for a theological debate. May I remind you that we are here to consider the High Commissioner’s ultimatum, and that there are lives at stake?’
‘But that is exactly the problem, Wetmore,’ said Mr Burnham. ‘If Commissioner Lin is what I believe him to be, a monster or madman, there is nothing to be gained from dealing with him, is there?’
Before Mr Wetmore could speak, Mr Slade broke in: ‘Here I must beg to differ with you, Burnham. In my view, the High Commissioner is neither a monster nor a madman, but merely a mandarin of exceptional craftiness. His intention is to intimidate us with threats and braggadocio, so that he may boast of his exploits to the Emperor and earn himself a brighter button for his hat. For myself, I do not credit any of it – neither the menaces of the Commissioner nor the professions of terror on the part of our friends of the Co-Hong. It is obvious to me that the Co-Hong is thoroughly in league with the High Commissioner – they are clearly enacting this little pantomime together. The Hongists have assumed these masks of terror in the hope of getting us to part with our goods at no cost to themselves: that is all it is – a charade like those we are treated to every time we cross the Square. It is the usual Celestial humbug and we cannot be taken in.’
‘But what do you propose we do, Mr Slade?’ said Bahram. ‘What are your suggestions?’
‘What I propose,’ said Slade, ‘is that we stand fast and show that we are not to be budged. Once they understand this, Howqua and Mowqua will sort out the matter soon enough. They will dole out a few cumshaws and grease a few palms and that will be the end of it. Their heads will remain on their shoulders and we shall still be in possession of our goods. If we show signs of softness we will all lose: this above all is a moment when we must cleave to our principles.’
‘Principles?’ retorted Mr King in astonishment. ‘I fail to see what principle can underlie the smuggling of opium.’
‘Well then, you have chosen to blind yourself, sir!’ Mr Burnham’s fist landed loudly on the table. ‘Is freedom not a principle as well as a right? Is there no principle at stake when free men claim the liberty to conduct their affairs without fear of tyrants and despots?’
‘By that token, sir,’ said Mr King, ‘any murderer could claim that he is but exercising his natural rights. If the charter of your liberties entails death and despair for untold multitudes, then it is nothing but a licence for slaughter.’
Mr King and Mr Burnham were both on their feet now, staring at each other across the table.
Mr Wetmore thumped the table again. ‘Please, gentlemen! May I remind you that this is a matter of the utmost urgency? We do not have the leisure to conduct debates on abstract principles. The time at our disposal is so short that to speed matters along, Mr King and I have taken the liberty of drafting a reply to the Commissioner’s edict, on behalf of all of us.’
‘Have you indeed?’ said Dent with a quizzical smile. ‘Well, you have certainly been busy, Wetmore! And what does your letter say?’
‘In essence, Mr Dent, it seeks to assure the High Commissioner that we are willing to accede to his terms, but with certain reservations.’
‘Does it now?’ said Dent, smiling thinly. ‘So are we to understand, Mr Wetmore, that you and your little friend Charlie have taken it upon yourselves to write a letter on our behalf but without consulting us? A letter that pledges to end a trade that has existed since before any of us were born? A trade that has conferred enormous wealth upon yourself and your friends, not least Mr Jardine?’