9.
The Limehouse district of
the East End was the epicenter of the Chinese community then; it was a small,
vibrant community of about five hundred people, catering to sailors with
boarding houses, laundries, and grocery stores. The population there was a
mix of Irish or East End women and the migrants, creating a mixed-race
community. They were the earlier migrants who were brought to Britain to load
and unload ships in London’s docks and other ports across the country. They
were recruited by the East India Company and other British shipping companies.
Chinese communities settled in two parts of Limehouse.
People from different parts,
like the Shanghainese, lived in Pennyfields, Amoy Place, and Ming Street, while
the southerners lived in Limehouse Causeway and Gill Street. Residents rented
rooms in terraced houses of multiple occupants, squeezed among the factories
and dockyards. The community replicated their own versions of home, including
the tea houses, ever popular for a chat over a cup of tea brewed with authentic
Chinese tea leaves.
The teahouse held its own
identity whether it was in mainland China or London. It was the living area
where the patrons could sit there and enjoy their tea or snacks, while
conversations were of various topics, from the chaos of the land to the
bargaining in the trade deals. Or over differing philosophies on life events.
Simply adapted, varied vocal tones, but ever the resilient sanctuary for
connection.
The chap seated at the
corner, nursing the small cup containing the hot tea, was dressed like a
coolie, the derogatory term for a male servant of Chinese descent, and worn on
his feet were wooden sandals. He had on a wide conical straw hat that covered his
upper face, but the unmistakable thick mustache gave the impression he was not
of local descent.
Another figure sat down
across from the chap, similarly dressed without the hat, but had on the pigtail
for his hair design.
“The dragon resides in the
cloud, while the tigers roam the hills.” The new chap spoke out while he took a
fresh cup to pour his tea. He spoke with a Chinese dialect accent to blend in.
“If the Heavenly Father
permits, where can I locate the cloud that housed the dragon?" The chap
with the conical hat spoke with the similar drawl of the accent.
“The dragon remained hidden
with the deities there; however, the tigers are devouring anyone looking for
the dragon.”
"Perhaps chests of gold
may unlock the dragon.” The conical-hat chap whispered. “Location is all I need
to know.”
“There is an old saying: the
greed of one may be the downfall of mortality.” The other chap said. “My life
is precarious now. I must go.”
The chap moved to step up
when the huge ‘hook sword' (hooked blade), the weapon that has a hook on the
tip and a dagger-like hilt, landed on the table with the blade cutting into the
top.
“Small brother Chin, you are
not at my seat.” The figure who wielded the sword was short but stoutly built
and had on the pigtail that was wound around his neck. He was dressed like any
other there, but his snarl on his expression revealed his indulgence was not
sipping tea. His accent was authentic Mandarin in tone.
“Brother Cheng, we were
leaving.” The one named Chin turned to look at the conical-hat chap. “Shall
we?”
“Take one more step, and you
will bleed here.” The one named Cheng cautioned them. “I am…"
“Ingratitude to your
father.” The one with the conical hat tossed the cup of tea at Cheng. He then
stood up and found himself facing three more brutes with similar swords in
their hands. The patrons at the neighbouring tables took to their heels on
seeing the swords brought to the table.
“I will have your head.”
Cheng rubbed the sleep from his eyes and found the punch fist swinging towards
him at the jaw. He fell backward from the blow, while the one named Seong, who
was the other one there, grabbed the stool he was seated on and wielded it as a
weapon.
“Stand back!” Chin held the
stool against the other three standing there.
“Perhaps this will work
better.” The one with the conical hat leveled the Enfield pistol at them. “I
got a six-round cylinder, enough for three of you here.”
“Leave now, Charlie.” The
one with the conical hat pushed Chin to leave the teahouse.
It was to the end of
Commercial Road before the duo stopped their running. Charlie Song found his
pace to do the run despite his middle-age limitations. He leaned on the wall by
the corner of the shop offering daily catch seafood.
“Nayland Smith, what on
earth provoked you to meet there? We could have done it at Piccadilly or at
Shaftesbury.” Charlie heaved in deep breaths. “Simplicity is difficult to
achieve?”
“Nay, Charlie. I wanted to
be in the depth of the place. Fu Manchu is a devious man. “I never believed him
to be dead. He's cruel, callous, brilliant, and the most evil and dangerous man
in the world."
“Famous words of yours
there, Nayland Smith, and yet you are screwing his daughter.” Charlie smiled.
“He is technically your father-in-law.”
“Fa Loh Suee is…. We eloped,
and technically, we are not screwing each other. We make love, and for info,
she is in America to see some friends. You can call it a sabbatical leave
period.” Nayland explained.
“Call it what you may want,
Nayland Smith. We were fucked just now.” Charlie leaned out to see if they were
pursued by any.
“I thought you were
comfortable there.” Nayland Smith smiled. “I was. I do miss the mainland.”
Nayland Smith was an
operative of the Foreign Ministry assigned to the Far East for some years. His
role there was to do clandestine tasks on the criminals there, where he met the
daughter of the Mandarin crime lord, Fu Manchu. He had a few run-ins with the
man and barely escaped with his life. He did, however, win the heart of the
daughter and, at his request, gave her sanctuary in London, but his works were
still in the Far East.
“After dinner, who cares
about the spoon?" Charlie mocked the other on having gotten the daughter;
why bother with the father?
“In your society, or rather
in my mind, the extended family still matters.” Nayland smiled. “Even though my
father-in-law would like to serve me to his tigers.”
“Okay, here is what I may
know," Charlie sighed. “I have many sons, and hopefully they will not tear
me apart. Back to the man we sought, he is missing or lying low. There is a new
threat on the horizon. Have you heard of the Oni Society?”
“Oni Society? Scant notes on
them. They were from Japan. I was not posted there. Ian Masterson was the one
in the lead.”
“Ian Masterson is missing.”
Charlie leaned out to look again. “He went missing alongside the steamer that
was ferrying him home.”
“I heard that he is dead,
but does that mean I am to replace him? I cannot do that. I am now back in
Blighty and will remain here.” Nayland protested.
“That is where you need to
know now. Mycroft Holmes is asking you to report back. Me? I am just another
coolie at the docks.”
"How did he get my
name?” Nayland asked. “You could be the better candidate.”
“I got sons to take care of,
and you…. You only got one faraway lady to fantasize on. And no sons yet.”
“Fuck you.” Nayland snapped
out.
“Pay me my shilling first.
You owed me one.” Charlie Song laughed.
“Soon I will.” Nayland Smith
smiled. “When you leave this place.”
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