My Sherlock Holmes Page 41

  “The legation!” Holmes cried. “But surely Fu Manchu—”

  “I am Fu Manchu’s trusted servant,” Ali said, “but I am also a loyal servant of Queen Victoria’s emissaries in Peking. I have been gathering information here for many years. I have been sent to tell you to have no fear. Intense efforts are proceeding through lofty diplomatic channels to have you released by decree of the Empress Dowager herself. The British legate can bring a certain amount of pressure to bear. I must say that the meddling efforts of your Lord Mayfield have caused no little embarrassment for both sides in this negotiation. Nevertheless, an agreement should he reached very soon.”

  “Ali,” I said, “you put yourself at risk for us.”

  He bowed to me. “I am a servant of the big noses, Mr. Musgrave, and as such I would be hated everywhere in Peking. My work has been secret, and I must ask you to honor that arrangement. My life would be forfeit otherwise.”

  “You have my word, of course,” I said.

  “I also have some hope of learning Fu Manchu’s secrets of the Celestial Snows, particularly the ancient Elixir of Immortality.”

  “An elixir of immortality,” Holmes said. “So Oriental geniuses waste their lives in that vain pursuit, too.”

  Ali shrugged. “Fu Manchu has almost perfected it. The difficulty is that ancient texts describe the ingredients in very ambiguous, poetic terms. Fu Manchu must yet learn what the wise old ones meant by Flower of Cinnabar and Red Stone Fat. The third thing is honey, but honey produced from the nectar of a particular flower. The name of that flower is meaningless to modern scholars.”

  Holmes laughed. “I’m glad to hear there’s a rational explanation for Fu Manchu’s actions. He is only a deluded Chinese doctor who believes he can live forever.”

  “Perhaps he is deluded, but if his experiments are successful, a descendant of Tzu Hsi will soon wear the crown in Buckingham Palace.”

  There was a long silence in the dungeon. “We British will make Fu Manchu regret that he ever came to our shores,” Holmes said at last.

  Ali shook his head. “The future shall be as God wills.” He turned his back and left us again in darkness.

  Did I then fall unconscious, did I sleep and dream? The voice of Dr. Fu Manchu roused me. “May I assume, Mr. Holmes,” the Chinese doctor asked, “that you are near a solution?”

  “I must conduct one or two further interviews, of course,” Holmes said.

  Our captor bowed his head, and at his gesture two of his slaves began to loosen our bonds. Fu Manchu, along with his female soldiers and his eunuch guards, escorted us up the stone steps to his stronghold in the Palace of the Opal Moon. His residence and its precious contents would never be suspected by the eunuchs of the Great Within, yet every word spoken there was whispered in Fu Manchu’s ear. He dwelt within the bounds of the Forbidden City because he considered himself the rightful emperor of all China—and who was there to dispute him?

  We were bathed and clothed and fed, made comfortable, and left alone. A young woman arrived to announce that Prince Kung would receive us within the hour. “It must be daylight in the world,” Holmes said in a curious musing tone.

  Not long thereafter we were conducted into the presence of Prince Kung, brother to the former emperor and the current emperor’s finance minister. He was the most powerful of all the imperial princes. He’d been a close ally of Madame Tzu Hsi in years past, but a rift had grown between them. Prince Kung, with his yellow jacket proclaiming his immediate connection to the imperial family and his hat’s ruby button marking his exalted rank, sat grimly in an audience chamber of the Hall of Placid Contemplation. He indicated that we should take seats, and tea was served. Fu Manchu sat beside Holmes to translate the proceedings.

  The prince spoke briefly. He was frankly puzzled why this foreign gentleman with no diplomatic rank should want to see an imperial prince. Unspoken was his true meaning: Why should an imperial prince want to see this foreign gentleman?

  Holmes bowed his head. “Even far away in England, where our Queen Victoria sits like an English image of the Empress Dowager of China, we have men who plot to betray the heaven guided hands of our great ruler. Prince Kung, I pray that you have measured me as a humble but honest and truthful man. I would ask one question of you, and your answer may help to make China the great nation you have always desired her to be.”

  Fu Manchu translated this speech, one more elaborate than anything I’d ever heard Holmes say in all the time I’d known him.

  Prince Kung spoke. Fu Manchu merely turned to Holmes and said, “You may ask your question. The imperial prince will consider replying.”

  Holmes bowed again. “Prince Kung,” he said, “in an ancient city in Europe there is a monastery. The monks who live in this place are honest, decent followers of God. They tend their gardens and practice their devotions, and their one pride is a tree older than any other tree in the land. It was standing before the monastery was built around it. This marvelous tree blooms only once in ten years, and its flowers are the most beautiful that anyone has ever seen. It gives fruit only once in a hundred years, and those who taste it are said to be granted a glimpse of Paradise. Now one day a bolt of lightning struck this magnificent tree and started a fire in its whispering boughs. The monks ran from their cells, anxious and afraid. This is my question, Prince Kung: Did the monks rescue the tree or its indescribable fruit?”

  There was silence in the hall for a few long moments. Then a hint of a smile touched Prince Kung’s face, and he nodded his head in apparent satisfaction.

  Fu Manchu spoke. “Your audience is over, Prince Kung welcomes you to China.” Holmes bowed low. The prince gave another fleeting smile, stood up, and walked from the hall with great dignity.

  I was perplexed. “A nice little story, Holmes. Where did you hear it?”

  “I invented it,” my friend replied. “I had plenty of time for quiet games of the mind while you worked so futilely at breaking your iron bonds day after day.”

  I gave a derisive snort. “Did you learn anything from his answer?”

  Holmes glanced quickly at Fu Manchu. “I learned something, of course. Tomorrow I will discover how much, when I interview An Li, the Grand Eunuch.”

  In the morning a messenger arrived, saying that Fu Manchu awaited us in the Palace of the Opal Moon. The green-eyed villain joined us shortly thereafter. “Your interview with An Li will not be as pleasant as your conversation with Prince Kung,” he told Holmes.

  “I anticipate that,” my friend said. “Yet I must ask him a question and observe his manner when he replies.”

  Fu Manchu nodded. He signaled to his servants, an armed woman and a sword bearing eunuch. We formed a procession and left the small palace, walking beneath the drab, cold Chinese sky toward the peaked roofs of the Forbidden City.

  An Li had no royal blood, so our interview would not be conducted in any of the imperial buildings. We had been scheduled for a mere quarter of an hour in an anteroom of the Hall of the Memory of Glory, An Li’s head quarters. This is where he drew up the daily agenda for the emperor and his intimadating regent, Tzu Hsi

  We waited many minutes beyond the time appointed for our interview. An Li burst into the chamber looking harried and displeased. He made a brief, sour acknowledgment of Fu Manchu’s rank, gave Holmes and myself a contemptuous glance, and sank into a luxuriously stuffed dragon chair. He said nothing, but waited for my friend to get quickly to the point.

  “Master An Li,” Holmes said, “the emperor is the Son of Heaven. Yet at the same time he is the custodian of his people, like the caretaker of a temple that belongs to an invisible god. The temple is the caretaker’s in a sense, for he protects it and draws strength from it. Yet his obligation never lessens, for if he lays down this burden the temple will soon be no more. Then from where will the caretaker derive his strength? What fortune will he have left?”

  An Li frowned. “Dr. Fu Manchu brought you to Peking from the west ern edge of the world just to say thi
s foolish thing?” he asked irritably.

  Holmes smiled. “I would ask you another question,” he said.

  “Yes, speak.”

  “The caretaker of the temple has a servant. If the caretaker abandons the temple, what blame is there for the servant?”

  An Li’s eyes narrowed. He saw that he had underestimated Holmes,. “If the caretaker abandons the temple,” An Li said slowly, “there are other temples and other caretakers. There is no blame for the servant.” He indicated that he was much too busy to give us any more time, so Fu Manchu led us out of the Hall of the Memory of Glory.

  “Now, what have you learned?” asked Fu Manchu, as calmly as if the future of China did not depend on the results of these meetings.

  “There is still one more interview I must conduct,” Holmes said. “I must pose a question to the Dowager Empress, and then I shall tell her the identity of your hidden enemy.”

  Fu Manchu bowed his head in genuine respect. “It will be done,” he said. “We shall dine this evening with the emperor’s regent.” As I write this in 1927, it no longer seems marvelous that Fu Manchu could promise a dinner audience with Madame Tzu Hsi on such short notice. We came to expect such things from that mad genius.

  When we were properly costumed and groomed, Ali led us to the Hall of Assured Harmony. An Li, the Grand Eunuch, showed us to our places. We made our kowtows, waited for Tzu Hsi and the boy emperor to be seated, and the dinner progressed. Never in my life, before or since, have I been so overwhelmed by a banquet.

  Hours later, after the final course had been served, Tzu Hsi spoke to Fu Manchu, who presented Holmes and myself. I think she had the same distrust and contempt for Europeans held by most Chinese noblemen. Further, I don’t think Tzu Hsi understood just what Holmes was doing at her court. Fu Manchu had not fully prepared her to understand what was about to happen.

  Holmes stood and faced the Dowager Empress, then made the triple kowtow to her nephew. “I have been told that you have a secret enemy in your court,” he said. “I believe I can uncover the source of this disloyalty by asking a single question. If that is so, I will tell you who your traitor is. Then I shall ask that my friends and I be permitted to return safely to our homes.”

  Fu Manchu paused and looked at Holmes. She Dowager Empress said something, perhaps demanding that Fu Manchu translate Holmes’s words. Fu Manchu spoke for a few moments. Tzu Hsi replied. “She is interested in hearing your thoughts,” Fu Manchu said.

  Holmes turned and bowed to the Empress Dowager. “A king who has built a great palace will not destroy it because a workman damages some tiles upon the roof. He may dismiss the workman, but then he must hire another to take the first one’s place. Who is to say that the second workman may not do more damage than the first? Yet is it right for the king to mount to his roof and repair the damage himself?”

  Tzu Hsi did not answer. Instead, An Li rose to face Holmes He spoke and Flu Manchu translated. “The king has many servants,” the eunuch said. “He may order any of the servants to work upon the roof. In a well-run kingdom the king will not even know of this matter. It is the duty ot his chamberlain to attend to such trivial things. Why do you fret the Son of Heaven with such foolishness? Is this how you annoy your own queen? You Europeans must learn that we do not enjoy your riddles.”

  Tzu Hsi spoke a few words. “She says you are ten thousand times more wise than her Grand Eunuch,” Fu Manchu said. “She warns you that you must speak again now, and that your words will decide if you live or you die. It is that simple.”

  Holmes permitted himself a brief smile. “Then I am correct, after all. Please inform the great lady that the traitor is with us in this room. It is she herself, the Dowager Empress Tzu Hsi, who bargains with both the Western powers and the secret societies. She is plotting the overthrow of her own dynasty.”

  I stared at Holmes. Ali said nothing. I think that even Fu Manchu was a bit stunned. He turned to the dais and spoke. There was a terrible commotion as the meaning of Fu Manchu’s words sank in. The Grand Eunuch’s face turned as red as wine, and he began to shriek in a ghastly, high-pitched voice that was neither male nor female. The guards moved nearer. The atmosphere in the hall was cold and murderous.

  Ali leaned forward between Holmes and myself. “Fu Manchu did not translate your words,” he said in a low voice. “He told her that An Li was her traitor. The Empress Dowager will accept that. It will save both her and the young emperor. An Li will die. The fate of China itself is on no one’s mind at the moment, good sirs.”

  Fu Manchu turned and cast a fierce expression upon Ali. He pointed one long, gaunt arm and cried a few words. The Mongol guards hurried towards us.

  “He has condemned me, good sirs,” Ali said bravely. “I will—” The Mongols pinned Ali’s arms behind him and led him quickly from the chamber. We never saw that good man again.

  “He was a spy for the British,” Fu Manchu said by way of casual explanation. “No doubt you were well aware of that. However, An Li, worthless dog, will also be removed, and I will use my influence with Tzu Hsi to restore this nation. My power in China is now almost absolute.”

  That night I fell into an exhausted sleep, troubled by terrifying dreams of torture. I awoke in darkness, a hand covering my mouth. “Be still,” a low voice whispered in my ear. I was relieved to see Willard Powers and Lord Mayfield, both of whom I had thought dead.

  “We must move quickly,” Powers said. “The British territorial army is attacking Fu Manchu’s house. Everything is in confusion, and this could be our only chance to escape. If we wait too long, we could be cut off.”

  “Then let us go,” Holmes said. “China holds no more fascination for me.”

  Lord Mayfield seemed dull and besotted. He wore a foolish half-smile on his unshaven face, and he didn’t seem to be listening to our discussion. “I think we’ve been dead wrong about opium,” he said. “It’s rather pleasant in its way, isn’t it?” We all turned to look at him, but no one said a word.

  Powers looked at me. “Mayfield will be useless if it comes to a fight,” the young American said. “Worse than useless, because someone will have to make sure he doesn’t get himself killed.”

  I heard gunshots and shouting. When we slipped out of the chamber, we saw slaves and female soldiers hurrying everywhere. The house was a shambles. Chairs and couches were thrown about, broken and splintered; tapestries had been ripped from the walls; jade sculpture and porcelain vases lay broken on the marred floors. Blood was spattered everywhere and thick smoke filled the air.

  Outside, beneath the cold winter stars, a battle raged. Thundering booms splintered the air as if the moon had detonated above our heads. I heard many rifle shots and the shouts of men and women. From the deepest shadows came the voice of Dr. Fu Manchu. “I thank you again,” he said. “You have given me the key to my destiny. Now I shall rule over all China, and then over every nation east of Suez. In a few short years, I will—”

  Lord Mayfield giggled. “I promise you,” he said with slurred speech, “we English will dispose of you and your hooligans before those few short years are up.” Fu Manchu reached out a long, bony hand toward Mayfield’s throat. All was still for a few seconds, and then the Queen’s Commissioner uttered a single, drawn-out, rattling gasp. Thus did the Lord Mayfield breathe his last.

  He had been a bewildered and misguided old man, officious and hesitant, but he was honest and loyal and ready to serve his beloved queen under any circumstances. He deserved a better end than that, and I have carried a painful burden of guilt for fifty years. His children and grandchildren should know how fine and brave a man he was, because he never received the tribute he had truly earned.

  Fu Manchu’s face had become a mask of hatred and rage. “Mr. Holmes,” he said, “you must have thought me a fool, claiming that the Empress Dowager is plotting her own demise! No, it is not Madame Tzu Hsi who is the secret traitor. It is a conspiracy of powers, an alliance of Prince Kung and the Grand Eunuch. Neither could succ
eed alone. Together they imagine they can reform the dynasty.”

  “If that is what you wish to believe,” Holmes said sadly, “then so be it. I will not quarrel with you.”

  Fu Manchu was not mollified. “You deserve to die with the others. So be it.” Before he could act, however, he was interrupted by a rattle of rifle fire. He muttered something in Chinese, turned, and fled back toward the burning walls of his residence.

  “Prince Kung has brought the English,” Willard Powers said.

  We hurried after Fu Manchu, down the tunnel that led toward the Forbidden City. There was another gigantic explosion, a boiling, storming orange ball of flame and smoke that thundered in the underground passageway. The ceiling fell down around us. We saw Fu Manchu buried in the debris, but Powers, Holmes, and I were unharmed. Our way was blocked and we had to turn back the way we’d come.

  We emerged from Fu Manchu’s demolished estate to find the battle field in the hands of the emperor’s soldiers. Prince Kung and the British Royal Marines had defeated the doctor’s disheartened minions, who surrendered quickly when it was clear that the master himself had finally met his end at last in the violent cataclysm.

  We were met by a frightened British diplomat, a few Chinese translators and aides, some Imperial guards, and Prince Kung himself.

  “Dr. Fu Manchu is no more,” Holmes said. “He chose death rather than be captured.”

  When the information had been translated, Prince Kung nodded briefly, although his expression did not change. “Our British guests have done us a great service,” he said, “one we shall not easily repay. We are in the debt of Mr. Holmes and his fellows, and we will listen to the propositions of the British legation with a patient and open mind.”

  Thanks to Prince Kung and the influence of the British ambassador, we soon found ourselves with staterooms aboard an English ship bound for London. None of us wished to linger in Peking. We had been torn from our quiet lives, and we longed to return to our families and friends, to our own occupations and interests.