The Weiyuen was the head of the local constabulary, a figure who rarely ventured into Fanqui-town.
Impossible! said Bahram. Why would he go there?
It was the munshi who answered: They’ve got a warrant for Mr Dent, Sethji. He’s been charged with smuggling and many other things.
What other things?
They say he’s been spying and trying to foment trouble in the country.
Are they arresting him?
They want to take him into the old city, for questioning.
Bahram frowned as he looked at the munshi. How do you know all this?
Mr Burnham’s gomusta told me, Sethji; Mr Burnham’s house is in the same hong, the Paoushun. The gomusta-baboo saw it all.
Bahram pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. Have they arrested Dent already? Or is he still there?
He’s still there, patrão, said Vico. The other tai-pans are all heading to his place now.
I must go too, said Bahram. Where’s my choga and cane?
The Paoushun Hong was only four doors from the Fungtai and it took Bahram just a few minutes to walk over. Stepping through the entrance, he found his way blocked by a detachment of guardsmen, tall soldiers with plumed helmets. Fortunately, one of the Co-Hong’s linkisters, Young Tom, was with them; he recognized Bahram and persuaded the soldiers to let him pass.
Dent’s lodgings were at the back of the factory compound, overlooking Thirteen Hong Street. To get there, Bahram had to pass through several courtyards: usually abuzz with people, these too were empty – all but the last which led to Dent’s lodgings. This one, in marked contrast to the others, was filled with people, almost all of them Chinese; most were squatting dejectedly on the paved floor of the courtyard, under the watchful eyes of a detachment of Manchu soldiers.
As he was pushing his way through, Bahram felt a tug on his sleeve.
‘Mr Moddie, Mr Moddie – please help …’
Bahram was astonished to recognize Howqua’s youngest son, Attock: usually suave and reserved he was now in a state of complete dishevelment, his face streaked with dirt.
‘What is happening, Attock?’ said Bahram. ‘Is your father here also? In Mr Dent’s house?’
‘Yes. Also Punhyqua. Yum-chae say he cuttee allo head if Mr Dent not go. Please Mr Moddie, please talkee Mr Dent.’
‘Of course. I will do all what I can.’
Bahram was at the entrance to Dent’s lodgings now; the door was wide open and no one stopped him from stepping inside.
Dent’s lodgings, like Bahram’s, consisted of a vertical set of rooms, distributed over three floors. As was the custom in Fanqui-town, the storage spaces were on the lowest level. The room that adjoined the entrance was in fact a godown, filled with objects that had accumulated there over a period of several decades. The contents consisted of the usual melange of things that passed through Fanqui-town – tall clocks from Europe, lacquerware, locally made renditions of European furniture and suchlike – except that in this instance they also included a number of other curiosities: stuffed animals, pottery and so on.
Now the dusty, dimly lit godown was crowded with people as well as objects. Seated in the centre, on a dainty Chippendale love-seat, was a glowering, stiff-backed mandarin, with a scroll in one hand and a fan in the other. On one side of him loomed the stuffed head of an enormous rhinoceros; on the other side were Howqua and Punhyqua. The two Hongists were crouched on the floor and both had chains around their necks. Their tunics were so begrimed that they looked as if they had been dragged through miles of dust. Their caps were conspicuously devoid of their buttons of rank.
Bahram could remember a time when mandarins would appear before Howqua and Punhyqua as supplicants: the sight of these two immensely wealthy men crouching beside the Weiyuen, like beggars, was so incomprehensible that he felt compelled to look more closely, to see if they were really who they seemed to be.
Only after several minutes had passed did Bahram realize that Dent, Burnham, Wetmore and several other foreign merchants were on the other side of the room, standing clustered around Mr Fearon. He made his way over and was just in time to hear Burnham say: ‘Jurisdiction – that is the principle we must cling to, at all costs. You must explain to the Weiyuen that he does not have jurisdiction over Mr Dent. Or any other British merchant for that matter.’
‘I have tried, sir, as you know,’ said Mr Fearon patiently. ‘And the Weiyuen’s response was that he is acting on the authority of the High Commissioner, who has been invested with special powers by the Emperor himself.’
‘Well, you must explain to him then,’ said Burnham, ‘that nobody, not even the Grand Manchu himself, can claim jurisdiction over a subject of the Queen of England.’