1636- the China Venture Page 26

  “The ‘flowery-flag’ barbarians?” asked Peach. The Chinese who had seen the SoTF flag when the Groen Feniks had docked near Hangzhou had mistaken the stars for some kind of five-petaled white flower, and the word had spread.

  “Yes, but the symbols on their flag are white stars, not flowers. Master Song told me.”

  “So, is he very rich?” asked Peach.

  “No.… Well, I am not sure. I have heard that he has been selling ginseng.… And the ‘flowery-flag’ barbarians have some kind of shop that sells exotic things—even more exotic than the clocks and telescopes of the red-haired barbarians—and I think he shares in the profits. So, he is not poor. But I doubt he is rich.”

  “Then why have you invited him to your home?” asked Peach.

  “He is very handsome and brave. He took me up into the air in a device like a giant sky lantern so I could look down on the city of Hangzhou. And he knows many things.”

  Peach snorted. “Sounds to me like you were the one who was brave. And good looks and deep thoughts don’t pay the bills.”

  “Enough! You are not my madam.”

  * * *

  There were several houseboats moored at this dock. Mike had been told to look for one flying a flag with a picture of a willow tree on it. Finding it, he smiled. There was a character combination in Chinese which could represent either the surname “Liu,” or the willow tree.

  He studied the craft before boarding it. Mike had seen many houseboats in Anhai and Fuzhou, but this was his first visit to one. It looked like it was seventy or eighty feet long, and perhaps fifteen feet wide, with a wooden cabin, fashioned to resemble a small Chinese home, occupying most of the aft deck. One peculiar feature was a raised and covered platform at the aft end. After studying it from several angles, Mike decided that it must be the captain’s bridge, raised so he could see over the main cabin and covered to give him some protection from the elements.

  Behind the putative captain’s bridge, there was a short stretch of open deck, and then a small cabin at the extreme aft. Was it the captain’s? The helmsman’s? Mike couldn’t tell.

  Returning his gaze to midships, there was a single mast, but the rattan sail was folded. Folded, not furled; it was the typical junk sail made of battens. Ahead of it, there was open deck, or at least what would have been open deck but for the presence of a sort of hut. The crew’s quarters, Mike guessed, and something that could be cleared away if need be.

  The deck and cabin appeared to made of pine and cypress. The boat was not painted, but Mike thought he detected the distinctive smell of tung oil.

  Mike decided he had spent enough time in observation, deduction and speculation. A gangplank gave access to the open deck forward, and a lad stood guard there, wearing a uniform of some kind.

  Mike hailed him and gave his name, and the lad motioned him up.

  “This is quite a big ship,” said Mike. “How large a crew is on board?”

  “No one, sir.”

  “I don’t understand. Surely you and Liu Rushi don’t sail the ship yourself.”

  “Oh, no, sir, certainly not. The ship has been at anchor for months, so it does not need a crew, just a caretaker. If the mistress decides to sail up the Grand Canal, to Suzhou, or Yangzhou, or beyond, she will hire a crew.”

  “Then who’s that,” said Mike, pointing to another man, who was leaning against the wall of the main cabin. “Is that the captain?”

  The lad laughed. “That’s ‘Big Hands’ Yao. He is not smart enough to be a captain. But he does whatever the mistress tells him to do—including throwing misbehaving visitors into the water.”

  “And your name is?”

  “‘Big Ears’ Li.”

  “I see,” said Mike. “And does your nickname refer just to your anatomy, or also your behavior?”

  Big Ears chuckled. “Both. The mistress sometimes needs an extra set of ears. Now wait, I’ll let the mistress know that you’re here.”

  He knocked on the door of the main cabin, and was let inside. A moment later, a girl came out. She was, Mike guessed, a few years younger than Liu Rushi.

  “You are Master Song? Liu Rushi welcomes you. I am her maid, Peach. Please come in.”

  Mike was ushered into the first room of the main cabin. This was plainly Liu Rushi’s parlor. There were drawings and calligraphic inscriptions on the walls. In the center of the room there was a table, with Liu Rushi sitting on a stool behind it. In one corner, to the left of the entrance, there was a tall tripod stand with a vase resting upon it. To his right, there were a couple of stools in the near corner, and beyond them, along the right wall, a side table laden with musical instruments.

  He bowed to Liu Rushi and said, “Thank you for inviting me to visit your home.” She gestured for him to sit down, and once he had done so, he saw that diagonally across from him, a narrow corridor opened up.

  Noticing Mike’s glance in that direction, Liu Rushi said, “Off the corridor are my library and workroom, my bedroom, and the kitchen.”

  “Workroom?”

  “I paint there if the weather is inclement. Otherwise, I set up my easel on the open deck, so the light is better.”

  Mike could understand why. The parlor had several windows, with bamboo blinds and wooden shutters, but no glass. He surmised that the windows of the bedroom and workroom were of similar design.

  “I beg your pardon, but why don’t you have glass in the window?”

  Liu Rushi looked at him in utter bemusement. “What good would glass do?”

  It was Mike’s turn to be shocked. “What do you mean? It keeps out the rain and lets in the sun, and you can see outside through it.”

  After some further discussion, Mike came to realize that Liu Rushi had never seen clear glass—not even the clear cristallo wineglasses of contemporary Venice, which could be found in upper-class homes throughout Europe. Nor was glass used, at least in her part of China, to make any kind of window.

  Liu Rushi reached into a container, and brought out several spherical objects. “These are the most common things made of glass; we call them ‘dragonfly eyes.’” Mike could see that they were colored glass beads. “You can also find curtains made of strings of blue glass beads.

  “Glass is also used to make cheap imitations of superior materials,” she added. “I would be very unkind to a suitor that gave me a hairpin made of glass instead of jade!”

  “I won’t make that mistake!” said Mike. Then he blushed, realizing that it implied that he was a suitor. “Is Chinese glass blown or just cast?” Mike stammered.

  Liu Rushi laughed. “I have no idea. If you really wanted to know, you would have to go to Boshan, in Shandong Province. That’s the closest glassmaking center.”

  “Back home, we have windows made of flat, see-through glass. In fact, the Europeans had them even before the people of Grantville arrived from the future. They made flat glass from blown glass. In Normandy, they blew out a bubble of glass, cut it open, and spun it into a disk. In Lorraine, they swung the bubble to form a sausage-like cylinder, cut off the ends, slit the cylinder lengthwise, and unrolled it.

  “Both methods could make flat glass, but of limited size, flatness, and clarity. There were air bubbles, wavy bands and other defects. A large European window had to be made of many small panes. In Grantville, we know of better methods. One is to cast the glass onto a table, and then polish the sides. In the old time line, the technique would have been developed only about a half-century from now. In the new time line, well, about a year ago the first cast plate glass started coming out of the glass manufactories associated with Grantville and we were lucky enough to snag some to take with us.”

  Mike spread his hands. “If you had our glass in your windows, you could let the light in and keep the wind and rain out.”

  “I would like very much to see this window glass of yours,” said Liu Rushi.

  Mike smiled. “I will make sure of it.” His brow wrinkled. “You know, there are three glass mirrors in the ka
leidoscope I gave you. They are essentially flat glass covered with a reflective amalgam. We could take the kaleidoscope apart—”

  “Definitely not!” cried Liu Rushi. “The images it makes are lovely. I did get the impression that you like taking things apart and putting them back together again, but please leave the kaleidoscope alone.” She paused. “Of course if you want to take a second kaleidoscope apart to show me how it works, that would be all right. Tell me, why don’t you have this wonderful glass of yours in the windows of your exhibition hall downtown?” she asked. “Wouldn’t that help draw attention?”

  “Uh.… Because we didn’t think of it. I will speak to Eric about it.”

  “Who is Eric?”

  “Eric Garlow. He is the only up-timer you haven’t met yet, and he is our ambassador to your emperor. Should we ever get an imperial audience, that is.”

  “I look forward to meeting him in the near future. But excuse my manners. We should have tea. Peach!”

  The maid had been waiting in the shadows of the corridor, by the kitchen entrance. At Liu Rushi’s peremptory call, she came forward. “Yes, mistress?”

  “Bring us tea, please.”

  Peach brought over the teapot. Mike could see that it was in a padded basket, no doubt to help keep it warm. The teapot, of course, was porcelain. Mike knew that the Chinese porcelain monopoly had already been broken two years ago. Mike had seen porcelain cups made in Grantville from local clays. And Eric had told him, just before the mission left Europe, that there was a porcelain project in Meissen. Hence, if SEAC bought porcelain, it would be single pieces, to serve as references for copying.

  Peach set down two teacups, bowed, and backed out of the parlor.

  Once Peach was back at her post by the kitchen, Liu Rushi continued, “I understand you were in Fujian?”

  “Yes, in Fuzhou,” said Mike.

  “Then you must have tried Guanyin tea.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Mike. “It was a red tea, very pungent. It was very nice to have tea, again, I hadn’t had it since…the Ring of Fire.” That wasn’t quite true; Mike had had tea in Batavia, but it had been a very inferior, bitter brew.

  “The ‘Ring of Fire’? That sounds like something out of the Journey to the West.” Liu Rushi was referring to a sixteenth-century novel which describes a Buddhist monk’s journey to India on a fantastical version of the silk road, peopled with demons. In one chapter, the hero encountered a wall of flame.

  “Oh, you’re thinking of the fiery mountains!” said Mike. “I read that novel, well, an abridged version, in school.”

  Liu Rushi took the teapot out of its caddy, and poured some of the Guanyin tea into the two cups. She handed one to Mike. He waited for her to take the first sip, but she said, “Please, you are the guest.”

  Mike took a sip. “Ah, that’s good. You may remember that when I took you up into the sky, I told you of the town of Grantville being moved from the future to the present, and from one continent to another. When it happened, there was a great flash of light. People in Badenburg—that’s a German town near where Grantville appeared—said that the light formed a dome. The ‘Ring of Fire’ is where the dome met the Earth’s surface and as far as our scholars could tell, the area transported was a perfect circle. We think, in fact, that it was a sphere, about six miles in diameter, since the coal mines below Grantville also came with it.”

  “So the air above Grantville was also transported?”

  “That’s right. At least, there was no immediate change in temperature, even though the Sun was suddenly in a different part of the sky.

  “Everything we got from outside the Ring was no longer available to us. Everyone who lived in our former time, but outside the Ring, was lost to us. For me, that included my mother and my father, as they lived a few hundred miles away from where I was staying—I was visiting my aunt and uncle when it happened.”

  “How awful!” said Liu Rushi. “Why, you must have also lost contact with your ancestral spirits; in this time, the more recent ones have yet to be born. And even the older ones are half a world away from you.”

  Mike gave himself a sort of shake, and straightened. “Perhaps we should talk of something more pleasant.”

  “If you wish,” said Liu Rushi. “But it seems to me that your Ring of Fire must be by the Will of Heaven, and that you and your people must have a celestial purpose to fulfill.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Mike said.

  They continued to talk, and soon Peach reappeared, silently removing the tea service and then bringing the meal. Mike and Liu Rushi squatted at a low table on which many small plates were placed. This being Hangzhou, there were several types of fish and shellfish, but there was also rice served with mutton, goose with apricots, lotus-seed soup, and honey fritters.

  Once they had finished eating, and the silent Peach had cleared away the plates and retreated into the kitchen, Liu Rushi cleared her throat. “My bedroom has hibiscus-embroidered bed curtains. Would you like to see them?”

  Mike blushed. “Umm.… Yes, I’d like that very much.”

  Chapter 32

  The next morning

  “My dear Mike, are you awake?”

  “Uh…give me a minute.… Yes, I am hereby awake. More or less. For some reason, I didn’t get much sleep last night.” He levered himself up on one elbow and smiled down at her.

  “I have a confession to make,” said Liu Rushi.

  “A confession?”

  “Yes. I was born in Jiaxing, in 1618. When I was ten years old, my parents sold me—”

  “Sold you? That’s legal in China?”

  Liu Rushi nodded. “Yes. I was sold to be raised to be a maid-concubine for Zhou Daodeng, who was a retired chief grand secretary living in Wujiang.” That was the highest position in the Chinese civil service.

  “A maid-concubine. At that age? And did he…”

  Liu Rushi shook her head. “He would have, eventually, of course. But not until I was fourteen or fifteen. But he praised my looks, and delighted in teaching me calligraphy, poetry and chess, listening to me sing and play the zither, and watching me dance. It fed my ego, but it made his concubines jealous. They spread terrible rumors about me and the Zhou family decided to sell me to a brothel.”

  He looked at her, looked away for a moment, then faced her. “How did you escape that fate?”

  “I didn’t, not entirely. But my artistic skills were such that I was quickly classified as a courtesan of the highest class. As a practical matter, that meant that I could pick and choose who I consorted with. As long as I didn’t wait too long. I entertained wealthy men, and sometimes slept with them, for big fees, most of which went to my madam. And I occasionally took lovers who couldn’t afford me, but whom I admired for their looks or intellect.”

  Her fingers traced circles on the coverlet. “There was one poor but brilliant scholar I loved who loved me in return, who wanted to take me as his concubine. My madam was rather lukewarm about Chen Zilong—he was just a student, not an official, but considered to have good prospects for passing the national examination, and he was a member of the local branch of the Fu She.”

  “The Fu She? My friend Fang Yizhi is a member. I haven’t figured out whether that’s a poetry club or some kind of political activist organization.”

  “It’s both, actually,” said Liu Rushi. “As a jinshi, he would have been eligible for a ranked civil service position, like district magistrate, and could have afforded to buy out my contract with the brothel. But Chen Zilong—”

  “That was your lover? My friend Fang Yizhi has mentioned knowing him and admiring his poetry.”

  “And Zilong has mentioned Fang Yizhi. Poor Zilong failed the national examination in 1634. My madam objected to my continuing to see him, since it would be another three years before he could take the exam again.”

  Mike nodded understanding. “And until he passed the national examination he couldn’t be appointed to any ranked post, from what Yizhi has told me. What
would he have needed to buy out your contract?”

  “If he couldn’t bring any political pressure to bear on the madam, probably a thousand taels.”

  Mike whistled. “That’s a lot of money. That’s how much the madam paid the Zhou family for you?”

  Liu Rushi laughed. “Oh, no. She probably paid something like fifty taels for me. But she charges ten taels a night for my services, so it’s a ‘lost profits’ fee.”

  “So you broke up with him, under orders?”

  “No,” she sighed. “His family was unhappy, too. They blamed me for his failure; said I was a distraction. He left me. Recently.”

  Mike started to say something, then stopped himself.

  “Did you have a question? A comment?” Liu Rushi asked gently.

  “A question. You live on this houseboat, and not in the brothel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that a privilege the brothel permits you because you are a courtesan of the first class?”

  “It is because I bought it and the privilege of living ‘off-site,’ partly with savings and partly with borrowed money. I did so as soon as I could afford to, as it got me out of the ‘house of joy,’ and also permitted me to travel. And I found that some clients prefer the additional…discretion…it provides. I suppose that I wouldn’t have been able to come up with the money if I weren’t of that rank. But the loan comes due New Year’s.” That was February 7, 1636 in the western reckoning.

  “I wish I could have afforded to buy out my contract altogether, but I couldn’t come up with enough money. And without a husband to support me, or a new paying occupation—it is difficult to make a living just by selling art—I would soon have been back in the business, I fear.”

  Liu Rushi lowered her head. “I have been attracted to you since I first saw you ascend in the balloon. And, when you took me up, and when I visited your exhibition, you treated me as…a respectable person. Almost an equal. Since you are Chinese, I didn’t realize at first that you would not recognize the telltale signs of my position in society. The particular clothes I wear, the songs I sing, and so on. I suddenly resolved that I must tell you the truth. Whatever the result.”