The Russian Concubine Part 60

Or whips?

Rape?

Chang An Lo, my love, give me strength.

The fabric was sliding. Suddenly the weight of it took over and she could feel it slipping smoothly over the tip of her finger. And then it was gone. Nothing changed. No light. No greyness. No hint of a world out there. Disappointment crashed down on her and she burst into tears.

No. Not that. Not tears. No waste of precious fluid. No self-pity.

She made herself stop, but her shoulders kept heaving. It frightened her that a few miserable air holes mattered so much to her. They were trivial. What about the big things yet to come? The bad things. Really bad. To survive she had to get herself under control. She pushed her face into the corner with the air holes and breathed deeply. The air was fresher. Not much.

She licked the metal around the holes. It tasted foul but it was damp with condensation. Moisture. No more than a few smears of it, yet it set her brain functioning again. For the first time it occurred to her to think about rescue. What a fool. Of course she'd be missed when she didn't return home from school. Well, not immediately maybe, because they'd a.s.sume she'd gone over to Polly's house when she didn't show up, but eventually. By nightfall.

It might be the middle of the night already for all she knew. It certainly felt as though she'd been inside Box for a very long time because her body ached all over from the cramped positions her limbs were squashed into. So they could be searching. Right now. Out there with dogs and torches. For a moment she stopped s.h.i.+vering and lifted her head. Opened her eyes. No amount of listening or staring into blackness altered anything, but she felt she needed to be ready. For when they came.

Mama. Don't be casual about this. This is important. It's my life, Mama. Do something.

Do something.

Valentina's hand slammed onto Chang An Lo's cheek. 'You dirty yellow piece of pig s.h.i.+t. Where is she?'

Theo stepped forward to intervene, but she slapped the young face again and again. Punctuated by demands.

'What have you done with her?'

Slap.

'Where have your stinking friends taken her?'

Slap.

'Speak, you G.o.dd.a.m.ned money-grubbing kidnapper. If she's hurt I swear I'll . . .'

She raised her hand to strike once more, but Theo seized her wrist and yanked her away from where Chang was standing in the middle of the room. 'Enough, Mrs Parker. This is not helping.'

She swore ferociously in Russian and Theo expected a slap himself, but she shook herself free and glared at all three men in the room as if she would bite their b.a.l.l.s off.

'Find her,' she shouted. She dragged her hands through her dishevelled hair in a gesture of despair, her face flushed with rage. 'Communist, listen to me. You get out there and bring her back. Because if you don't, I will turn the police on you and you'll be hanged, so . . .'

'Let him speak,' Theo said curtly. 'Alfred, for Christ's sake, man, shut her up. The b.l.o.o.d.y woman is insane. Chang An Lo didn't kidnap her. He hasn't left this house and anyway, look at him.' The Chinese was swaying on his feet. His face was grey except for the crimson imprint of Valentina's hand on his cheek. 'He's about to drop.'

'No,' Chang insisted. 'Mrs Parker is correct.'

'What?'

'I mean the search must start right now.' His voice wasn't quite steady, and Theo wasn't sure if it was the fever and the shock of the attack by Valentina or because Lydia was missing. Either way, he looked bad.

'Call the police,' Alfred said firmly. He'd been standing by the door, silent up to now. 'They'll know how to handle it. They're used to kidnappings. They'll trace her and hunt down the culprits. If there are any, that is. Let's not panic yet, my dear. She may just have wandered off on some pet project of her own without telling you. You know what she's like.'

'Gospodi! Don't talk like an imbecile.' She swung back to Chang. 'Tell me, Communist, what has happened?' Don't talk like an imbecile.' She swung back to Chang. 'Tell me, Communist, what has happened?'

'I know nothing. But I suspect.'

'Suspect what?'

'That the Black Snakes have her.'

'What the h.e.l.l are they?'

'It's a secret tong,' Theo explained. 'But why would they want Lydia, Chang?'

Chang did not waste effort on a reply. He was pulling on his boots. 'You are right, Mrs Parker. I will get out there.'

'Steady, old fellow,' Theo said quickly. 'You're in no fit state to go roaming the streets.'

Chang s.n.a.t.c.hed his padded coat from the back of the door and spoke fiercely. 'And what about the state Lydia is in?'

'The police . . . ,' Alfred started.

'If you call in police,' Chang said, looking only at Valentina, 'they will be slow and heavy tongued. They might get her killed. You will have to tell them I was here and the schoolmaster will go to prison. It is against your law to help a fugitive.'

Alfred stepped in. 'Look, young man, that is not . . .'

Valentina sliced a dismissive hand through the air. 'Mr Willoughby can rot in jail for the whole of eternity for all I care, as long as I get my daughter back. Find her, Communist.'

Theo did not take offence. Love was never rational. If it were, he wouldn't be with Li Mei. And out on the street, Chang's search methods would be more effective than those of the police, as long as he could stay on his feet.

'But first the police will want to question him,' Alfred pointed out quietly, 'to learn what . . .'

'You're wasting time, Alfred.' Theo rested an arm on his friend's shoulder.

Chang opened the door.

'G.o.dspeed,' Alfred murmured.

But Theo put more faith in the knife up Chang's sleeve.

55.

Lydia waited. In the dark. Hunched inside her senses. She knew they'd come for her eventually, when they were sure she was weak and helpless, and then they'd start their amus.e.m.e.nt amus.e.m.e.nt - that's the word Chang An Lo had used for it. The thought turned her bones to water. - that's the word Chang An Lo had used for it. The thought turned her bones to water.

The only defence she had was inside her head, and she started working on it. Preparing. For questions. For pain. For how far she could go.

The nakedness. The cold. Even the absolute darkness inside Box. They had all seemed so important only hours ago, so crippling, but now she put them aside into a separate compartment in her head. She had gone beyond that.

It was a matter of focus.

She went over scenes. Inch by inch. Good scenes. Scenes with her mother when she was young. Bright s.h.i.+ny scenes of laughter. Of Russian tales at bedtime or of proudly playing the left hand of Dance of the Cygnets Dance of the Cygnets on the piano while her mother played the right. Swimming in the river on a hot summer's day and diving for fish skeletons to take home. s...o...b..ll fights in the schoolyard with Polly. on the piano while her mother played the right. Swimming in the river on a hot summer's day and diving for fish skeletons to take home. s...o...b..ll fights in the schoolyard with Polly.

Why had Polly betrayed her? Lydia had begged her not to, had pleaded for her silence. And even if Polly believed she was helping Lydia by telling her father, what good was that to Lydia now? What use were good intentions inside a metal Box?

She forced Polly's name away. Good memories were what she needed now. Lizard Creek. The touch of Chang An Lo's warm skin. The smell of his hair. His p.e.n.i.s firm in her hand. Inside her. Good memories to build up good strength.

She could survive this.

She could.

She would.

The noise cracked like a gunshot. Her ears, so used to silence, misinterpreted the sound. It took an effort of mind to realise it was an iron bolt being drawn back. A door being unlocked. Shuffling footsteps on wood. Stairs? Someone descending toward her. She had prepared for this, run it already a thousand times in her head and taught herself to control the panic. Focus. Breathe.

But her heart rate exploded. Terror swamped her.

'h.e.l.lo?' she called out.

A guttural stream of Chinese came in response and a thump on the side of Box, the sound of a palm hitting metal. She shut up. The best thing was the light. She focused on the tawny little trickles of twilight that filtered through the six holes and steadied herself by it. It was only faint. A candle? An oil lamp? But it was light. Life. She could make out her own knees, see a bruise on her leg, see her hand. Her eyes squinted after the utter darkness they had grown accustomed to but they wanted more. More light. More life.

A sc.r.a.ping sound, something dragging across the floor. She sat still, listening. The squeak of metal, then a whoosh whoosh and suddenly water was coming through the holes. The shock was total. Quickly she pushed her face under it and opened her mouth. The joy of feeling moisture in her mouth took over and she gulped it down, greedy and stupid. Then the taste of it kicked in. It was foul. Rank with dirt. Full of grit. She retched on the floor. Her mouth was full of grease and acid bile. She rubbed at her tongue with her wrist. and suddenly water was coming through the holes. The shock was total. Quickly she pushed her face under it and opened her mouth. The joy of feeling moisture in her mouth took over and she gulped it down, greedy and stupid. Then the taste of it kicked in. It was foul. Rank with dirt. Full of grit. She retched on the floor. Her mouth was full of grease and acid bile. She rubbed at her tongue with her wrist.

The water kept coming. She forgot about her mouth.

'Hey,' she called out. 'Stop it. Enough water.'

A man's laugh and another bang on the side of Box.

'Please. No more water. Qing. Qing. Please.' Please.'

The flow of water increased. It was inches deep already and her teeth were chattering so hard they hurt.

'Stop!' she shouted, but it came out as a wordless scream.

Focus.

Breathe.

Breathe deep. Fill your lungs.

The water rose. It crept up past her waist. She banged on the roof. 'Please. Qing. Qing. Please.' Please.'

But the laughter grew louder. Gloating. Gleeful.

She'd got it all wrong. They were going to drown her. The noise of her blood in her ears was deafening. Why drown her? Why? It didn't make sense.

As a lesson to Chang An Lo.

My love. My love.

The surface of the water rose to her chest, her neck, and she was ice cold. Her body felt paralysed. She forced it to move, squatted on her haunches, pus.h.i.+ng her face up against the metal and kept dragging air deeper and deeper into her lungs. Abruptly rage ripped right through all her focusing and her breathing, and she hammered uncontrollably on the metal roof.

'You let me out of here, you b.l.o.o.d.y murdering gutter sc.u.m, you filthy b.a.s.t.a.r.d son of the devil. I don't want to die, I don't, I . . .'

The water reached her mouth. She dragged in a last gulp of air. Held her breath. Closed her eyes. Water packed inside her nose, solid as snow. Spasms began in her calves and travelled up her body. In her mind she found Chang An Lo's smile waiting for her and she kissed his warm lips.

Box filled to the brim.

Chang crouched in the garden. Close to the shed. Somehow it brought her nearer. Dawn was not yet anything more than a slight bleed in the sky behind him, but already a thrush was chattering its alarm call from high in a bare willow tree. A fanqui fanqui cat, a colourless shadow in the darkness, strolled round the edges of the frosted lawn staking out its territory, its thick fur ruffled by the wind from the northern hills. cat, a colourless shadow in the darkness, strolled round the edges of the frosted lawn staking out its territory, its thick fur ruffled by the wind from the northern hills.

The shed.

Chang had been inside, seen the blood, put a hand in the empty hutch. He promised Chu Jung, G.o.d of fire and vengeance, a lifetime of prayers and gifts in exchange for it being rabbit's blood. Not Lydia's.

Not Lydia's.

He had worked all night, seeking out those with eyes that see. Twice he'd used the knife because twice he'd been seized by hands that took Po Chu's silver. Fever had made his reactions slow but not that slow. The spiralling strike of his heel smas.h.i.+ng a kidney, a tiger paw punch to the throat, a knife in the ribs to make sure. But before either of them went to join the spirits of their ancestors, Chang asked questions. Where was Po Chu now? His headquarters? His hideouts?

One gave answers and Chang followed the trail, but it led him into a black alley where only death lingered. Po Chu was being careful. It seemed he moved around, never long in one place, flitting at night, as alert as a bat to any threat. Chang couldn't get close.

'Po Chu, I swear by the G.o.ds that I will hound you down and make you eat your own blood-soaked entrails if you harm one hair of my fox girl.'

He howled it. In the darkened streets of the old town where guarded eyes watched from hidden doorways but few dared show a face. There was the stench of blood on him and on his blade, and they could smell it.

Chang waited for dawn to arrive. His own blood felt like lead in his veins because he knew he had become a death bringer. It followed him, padded silently at his heels, its foul breath cold on his neck, first to Tan Wah and now to Lydia. He knew she was going to die. Even if Po Chu wanted to recapture him and was using her as bait, still that devil son of Feng Tu Hong would delight in killing her. He would slit her throat when he was finished, to punish Chang for the loss of face. If for one second he believed that Po Chu would release her in exchange for himself, he would be there on his knees, his knife tossed to the ground. But no. Po Chu would kill them both. After his amus.e.m.e.nts with them.