The Red Pavilion Read online

  ‘I noticed it too. Probably some dead animal lying under the shrubs.’

  ‘Let’s go inside, I’ll have to change.’

  They went into the sitting-room. Ma Joong pulled the double doors closed. While he was helping the judge to put on a clean robe, he said:

  ‘Before coming here I had a drink with that young poet Kia Yu-po, Your Honour. The Crab and the Shrimp were right, that old curio-dealer was indeed concocting with the Academician a plan to oust Feng Dai.’

  ‘Sit down! I want to hear exactly what Kia said.’

  After Ma Joong had finished, the judge remarked with satisfaction:

  ‘So that was what Wen Yuan omitted to tell us! I told you that I had the distinct feeling that he was holding something back. Probably Wen and Lee had planned to put some seditious documents in the box Kia was to have smuggled into Feng’s house. Then they would have denounced him to the authorities. But it doesn’t matter much, for the plan was abandoned. Well, I just had a long talk with Feng and his daughter. Apparently the Academician didn’t commit suicide. He was killed.’

  ‘Killed, Your Honour?’

  ‘Yes. Listen to what those two told me.’

  When he had given his lieutenant the gist of the conversation in the garden pavilion, Ma Joong said with grudging admiration:

  ‘What a wench! That poet had the word for it, high-strung! I can see now why Kia isn’t too eager to marry her. Marry her and you marry trouble! Lots of it! Well, so the case of the Academician is solved.’

  The judge slowly shook his head.

  ‘Not quite, Ma Joong. You have been in many a brawl. Tell me, do you think it likely that Jade Ring cut with a dagger in her right hand the right jugular vein of her attacker?’

  Ma Joong pursed his lips.

  ‘Likely, no. But not impossible, sir. When two persons are clinching with a drawn dagger in between, queer things happen, at times!’

  ‘I see. I just wanted to check that point.’ He thought for a while, then said: ‘I think I’d better stay here, after all. I want to sort all this out so that I’ll know exactly what to ask Miss Ling. You go and ask the Crab to take you to Miss Ling’s hovel. Don’t knock, just let the Crab point out the place to you. Then you come back to fetch me, and we’ll go there together.’

  ‘We could easily find the place by ourselves, Your Honour. I know it’s somewhere on the waterside, opposite the landing stage.’

  ‘No, I don’t want to walk around there asking after Miss Ling. There may be a murderer about here, and Miss Ling is probably the only person who can supply information about him. I won’t endanger her safety. Take your time, I’ll wait for you here. I have plenty to think about!’

  So speaking, he took off his outer robe again, laid his cap on the table and stretched himself out on the couch. Ma Joong pushed the tea-table nearer so that the judge could easily reach it, then took his leave.

  Ma Joong went straight to the large gambling hall. He thought that, since it was already late in the afternoon, the Crab and the Shrimp would have come back from their day-sleep at home. He found them indeed upstairs, watching the gaming tables with solemn faces.

  He told them what he wanted, adding: ‘Perhaps one of you could take me there?’

  ‘We’ll go together,’ the Crab said: ‘Me and the Shrimp are a team, you see.’

  ‘We just came from there,’ the Shrimp remarked, ‘but a little exercise’ll do us good, won’t it, Crab? And my son’ll be back from the river, maybe. I shall speak to the superintendent about our replacements.’

  The small hunchback went downstairs and the Crab took Ma Joong to the balcony. When they had drunk several cups there, the Shrimp came back and said he had arranged that two of their colleagues would replace them for an hour or so.

  The three men made their way through the busy streets, keeping to a westerly direction. Soon they were walking through the quiet alleys of the quarter of the street-vendors and coolies. When they came out on a piece of waste land, covered by thick undergrowth, Ma Joong remarked dubiously:

  ‘You didn’t choose a very cheerful neighbourhood to live!’

  The Crab pointed at the cluster of tall trees over on the other side.

  ‘Beyond those,’ he said, ‘you’ll find it quite pleasant. Miss Ling lives there in her small shed, under a large yew-tree. And our house is farther on, among the willows on the waterside. This waste land may not be cheerful, but it separates us from the noisy streets.’

  ‘At home, we like it quiet,’ the Shrimp added.

  The Crab, who was walking ahead, entered the narrow path leading through the trees. Suddenly there were the sounds of breaking branches. Two men leaped from the undergrowth. One grabbed the Crab’s arms, the other gave him a fearful blow with a knobstick in his heart region. He wanted to raise his stick to brain the Crab, but Ma Joong sprang forward and placed a vicious fistblow on his jaw. As the ruffian slid to the ground, together with the groaning Crab, Ma Joong turned to the second rogue, but he had drawn a long sword. Ma Joong stepped back, just in time to avoid the thrust aimed at his breast. At that moment four other ruffians appeared; three had swords ready in their hands, the fourth raised the short spear he carried and shouted:

  ‘Surround them and cut’m down!’

  It flashed through Ma Joong’s mind that it wasn’t a very nice situation. His best chance was to try and wrench the spear from that tall scoundrel. But he must first get the small hunchback out of this, for he was not too sure that, even with the spear, he would be able to hold out for long against four swordsmen. He placed an accurate kick on the shaft of the spear aimed at him, but the tall ruffian held on to it. Ma Joong barked over his shoulder at the Shrimp:

  ‘Run for help!’

  ‘Get out of my way!’ the hunchback hissed behind him. The small fellow brushed by Ma Joong’s legs and went straight at the rogue with the spear. He poised his spear at the hunchback with an evil grin. Ma Joong wanted to spring forward to drag the Shrimp back, but the swordsmen closed in on him, leaving the hunchback to their leader. Just as Ma Joong dodged a swordblow at his head he saw that the Shrimp’s hands had shot out, each swung an egg-sized iron ball attached to a thin chain. The spear wielder was falling back, trying frantically to ward off with his weapon the iron balls that came whirling towards him. Ma Joong’s attackers now turned round to help their leader. But the Shrimp seemed to have his eyes everywhere at the same time, he swung round and let one of the iron balls bash in the skull of the nearest swordsman. He turned again, now the other ball crushed the shoulder of the leader. The others tried to stab the hunchback, but he gave them no chance. He was dancing around with incredible speed, his small feet seemed hardly to touch the ground, his grey hair fluttering in the breeze. And all around him were the whirling iron balls, a deadly, impenetrable curtain.

  Ma Joong stepped back and watched breathlessly. This was the secret art of chain-fighting which people spoke about sometimes, in hushed voices. The chains were lashed to the Shrimp’s thin forearms with leather straps, he controlled their length by letting them slip through his hands. He crushed the arm of the second swordsman with the shortened chain in his left hand, then let the right iron ball shoot out to the chain’s full length. It smashed the face of the third hooligan with the force of a sledgehammer.

  Only two of the attackers were still on their feet. One made a futile attempt to catch the left ball on his sword, the other turned to make his escape. Ma Joong wanted to jump the latter, but it wasn’t necessary. The Shrimp let the right iron ball hit his spine with a sickening thud, the man fell forward flat on his face. At the same time the left chain had slung itself round the sword of the last rogue that remained; it curled upwards along the blade like an angry snake. The Shrimp jerked the man closer, shortened the chain in his other hand, and let the iron ball smash his temple. It was all over.

  The small hunchback skilfully caught one ball in each hand, slung the chains round his forearms and pulled his sleeves down over them. When Ma Joong
stepped up to him he suddenly heard a deep voice behind him saying sadly:

  ‘You twisted again!’

  It was the Crab. He had freed himself of the limp body of the club-wielder lying half over him and was sitting up now, with his back against a tree trunk. He repeated disgustedly: ‘Twisted again!’

  A CHAIN-FIGHTER DEFEATS THE ASSASSINS

  The Shrimp turned on him and said sharply:

  ‘I did not!’

  ‘You did!’ the Crab said firmly. ‘I saw you use your elbow, clearly. It spoiled your last short-chain.’ He rubbed his bulging chest, the blow that would have killed any other man didn’t seem to have hurt him much. He scrambled up, spat on the ground and went on: ‘Twisting is bad. It must be flip. From the wrist.’

  ‘A twist gets you in sideways!’ the Shrimp said crossly.

  ‘It must be a flip,’ the Crab said stolidly. He bent over the club-wielder and muttered: ‘Pity I nipped his throat a bit too hard.’ He went on to the leader, the only ruffian who was still alive. He was lying there gasping, his hands pressed to the left side of his breast that was oozing with blood. ‘Who sent you?’ the Crab asked.

  ‘We … Lee said …’

  The man’s voice was stifled by a stream of blood that came gushing from his mouth. His body twitched convulsively, then he lay still.

  Ma Joong had been examining the other dead men. He said with undisguised admiration:

  ‘Mighty fine work, Shrimp! Where did you learn that?’

  ‘I trained him,’ the Crab said quietly. ‘Ten years on end. Keep him at it, daily. Well, we are near our home here, let’s go and have a drink. We can gather up the remains later.’

  They walked on, the Shrimp lagging behind, still sulking. Ma Joong asked the Crab wistfully:

  ‘Couldn’t I learn that too, Crab?’

  ‘No. Hefty fellows like you and me can’t. We’d always want to impart our force to those balls, and that’s wrong. You just set them into motion, thereafter you must let them do the work, you only guide them. Technically that’s called the suspended balance, for you are hanging, as it were, between those two whirling balls, you see. Only small, light fellows can do that. Anyway, you can use this art only out in the open, with plenty of elbow space. I do all the indoor fighting, the Shrimp does the outside work. We are a team, you know.’ Pointing at a sagging small shed of cracked boards leaning against a tall yew tree, he remarked casually: ‘That there is Miss Ling’s place.’

  A short walk brought them to the waterside, lined by willow trees. A small, white-plastered house with a thatched roof stood behind a rustic bamboo fence. The Crab took Ma Joong round the house to the well-kept garden, covered with pumpkin plants, and made him sit down on the wooden bench under the eaves. From there one had a good view of the broad expanse of water beyond the willow trees. Surveying the peaceful surroundings, Ma Joong’s eye fell on a high bamboo rack. Six pumpkins were displayed on it, each at a different height above the ground.

  ‘What is that for?’ he asked curiously.

  The Crab turned to the Shrimp, who was coming round the house, still looking sour. He snapped at him:

  ‘Number three!’

  Quick as lightning the right hand of the small hunchback shot out. There was a clanking of iron, then the ball smashed the third pumpkin on the rack.

  The Crab rose ponderously, picked the half-crushed pumpkin up and laid it on the palm of his large hand. The Shrimp stepped up to him eagerly. Silently the pair examined the pumpkin. The Crab shook his head and threw it away. He said with a reproachful look:

  ‘Just as I feared! Twisted again!’

  The small man grew red in the face. He asked indignantly:

  ‘Do you call half an inch out of centre a twist?’

  ‘It isn’t a bad twist,’ the Crab conceded. ‘But still a twist. You use your elbow. It must be a flip. From the wrist.’

  The Shrimp sniffed. After a casual look at the river, he said: ‘My son won’t be in for some time. I’ll fetch a drink.’

  He went into the house, and the Crab and Ma Joong walked back to the porch. As Ma Joong resumed his seat, he exclaimed: ‘So, you use them for target practice!’

  ‘What else did you think we are growing pumpkins for? Every other day I set up six for him, different size, different position.’ He looked over his shoulder to make sure that the Shrimp was out of earshot, then whispered gruffly at Ma Joong’s ear: ‘He is good. Very good. But if I say so he’ll get slack. Especially on his short-chain work. I am responsible for him. He is my friend, you see.’

  Ma Joong nodded. After a while, he asked:

  ‘What does his son do?’

  ‘Nothing much, as far as I know,’ the Crab replied slowly. ‘He’s dead, you see. Fine, strapping lad, the Shrimp’s son was. The Shrimp was proud of him, proud as the devil. Well, four years ago, the boy went out to fish, with the Shrimp’s wife. Collided with a war-junk midstream, and they drowned. Both of them. Then the Shrimp would begin to blubber every time you mentioned his son. You can’t work with a man like that, can you? I got fed up, and I said: ‘Shrimp, your son isn’t dead. Only you don’t see him so often nowadays, because he’s out on the river, mostly.’ The Shrimp took that. I didn’t say anything about his wife, mind you, because there’s a limit to what the Shrimp takes from me. She had an awfully sharp tongue, anyway.’ The Crab heaved a sigh. He scratched his head and went on: ‘Then I said to the Shrimp: ‘Let’s ask for the night-shift, that’ll give us a chance to meet your son when he comes back, in the afternoon.’ And the Shrimp took that too.’ Shrugging his broad shoulders, the Crab concluded: ‘The boy won’t come back no more, of course, but it gives the Shrimp something to look forward to, so to speak. And I can talk to him about his son now and then, without him beginning to sniffle.’

  The Shrimp came outside with a large wine jar and three earthenware cups. He put them on the brightly scoured table-top, then sat down also. They drank a toast to the successful fight. Ma Joong smacked his lips and let the Crab refill his cup. Then he asked:

  ‘Did you know those bastards?’

  ‘Two. They belong to a band of rogues from over the river. Fortnight ago they tried to hold up one of Feng’s messengers. I and a colleague of mine were escorting him, and we killed three. The two who escaped then we got now.’

  ‘Who is that fellow Lee the dying man blabbed about?’ Ma Joong asked again.

  ‘How many people of the surname Lee do we have on the island?’ the Crab asked the Shrimp.

  ‘Couple of hundred.’

  ‘You heard him,’ the Crab said, fixing Ma Joong with his protruding eyes. ‘Couple of hundred.’

  ‘Doesn’t get us very far,’ Ma Joong observed.

  ‘Didn’t get them very far either,’ the Crab said dryly. And, to the Shrimp: ‘The river looks good at dusk. Pity we aren’t here more often, at night.’

  ‘It’s peaceful!’ the Shrimp said contentedly.

  ‘Not always, though!’ Ma Joong remarked as he got up. ‘Well, I suppose you fellows’ll look into the affair we had out there. I must go back to my boss and report that I know where to find Miss Ling.’

  ‘If you find her,’ the Crab said. ‘When we passed by there before dawn this morning, I saw a light there.’

  ‘She being blind, a light means visitors,’ the Shrimp added.

  Ma Joong thanked them for their hospitality, then walked back through the gathering dusk. He paused a moment in front of Miss Ling’s hovel. There was no light; it seemed completely deserted. He pulled the door open and cast a quick look at the semi-dark room that contained only a bamboo couch. No one was there.

  Chapter 16

  BACK IN THE RED PAVILION Ma Joong found Judge Dee standing at the balustrade of the veranda, watching the park guards who were lighting the coloured lampions among the trees. He told the judge what had happened, and concluded:

  ‘The net result is that I know exactly where Miss Ling lives. But she isn’t there, so we needn’t go. At least not now. Prob
ably her visitors took her out somewhere.’

  ‘But she is very ill!’ Judge Dee exclaimed. ‘I don’t like the idea of her having visitors, I thought nobody knew about her except your two friends and that girl Silver Fairy.’ He tugged worriedly at his moustache. ‘Are you sure that the Crab and the Shrimp were the intended victims of that murderous attack, and not you?’

  ‘Of course it was they, Your Honour! How could the bastards have known I would be there? They were lying in ambush for the Crab to avenge three of their gang, killed by him during a hold-up two weeks ago. They didn’t know about the Shrimp!’

  ‘If that were true, the hooligans must have been aware of the fact that your two friends have the habit of sleeping during the day and not returning home until dawn. If you hadn’t happened to ask them to take you to Miss Ling’s hovel, the attackers would have been waiting there the entire evening and night!’

  Ma Joong shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Perhaps they were prepared for that!’

  Judge Dee thought for a while, staring at the park restaurant opposite, where again a feast seemed to be in full swing. He turned round and remarked with a sigh:

  ‘I spoke rashly indeed when I said yesterday that I would spend only one more day on Magistrate Lo’s business! Well, I won’t need you tonight, Ma Joong. You’d better go now and have your dinner, then amuse yourself a bit. Tomorrow morning we’ll meet here again after breakfast.’

  After Ma Joong had taken his leave, Judge Dee started to pace the veranda, his hands clasped behind his back. He felt restless, he didn’t relish the idea of having his dinner alone in his room. He went inside and changed into a gown of plain blue cotton. Putting a small black skull-cap on his head, he left the Hostel of Eternal Bliss by the main gate.

  Passing the front door of the inn where Kia Yu-po was staying, he halted in his steps. He might invite the young poet to share the evening meal with him and ask him more about Wen’s scheme against warden Feng. Why would the Academician have given up that plot so suddenly? Had he perhaps decided that forcing Miss Feng to marry him was the easier way to get Feng’s wealth into his hands, and without the need of letting the curio-dealer share it?