The Warlord of the Air Page 12

“About thirty shillings in Calcutta—if you are an Indian. About five shillings if you are a European. Europeans, you see, control the bootmaking trade. While they are able to buy from the source, the Indian has to buy from a shop. Retail shops need to charge thirty shillings and this is what the average Indian earns in a month. Food costs more in Delhi than it does in Manchester, but the Indian workman earns a quarter of what the English workman earns. You know why this is?”

  “No.” It seemed a pack of lies to me.

  “Because Britain’s prices and incomes are maintained artificially, at the expense of her colonies. All trade agreements favour her. She sets the price at which she buys. She controls the means of production so that the price remains stable no matter how the market fluctuates. The Indian starves so that the Briton may feast. It is the same in all colonies and ‘possessions’ and protectorates, no matter how it is dressed up.”

  “But there are hospitals, welfare programmes, there is a dole system,” I said. “The Indian does not starve.”

  “True—he is kept alive. It is silly to let your pool of available labour die altogether, for you never know when you may next need it. Slaves represent wealth, do they not?”

  I refused to rise to this sort of inflammatory stuff. I was not sure his economics were particularly sound, for one thing, and for another I was certain that he saw everything through the distorting glass of his own mind.

  “All I know is that the average Indian is better off than he was in 1900,” I said. “Better off than many English people were in those days.”

  “You have seen only the cities. Do you know that Indians are only allowed to come to the cities if they have permission from the government? They must carry passes which say they have a job here. If they have no job, they are returned to the countryside where they live in villages where schools, hospitals and all the other advantages of British rule are few and far between. This sort of system applies throughout Africa and the East. It has been developed over the years and now even applies to some European colonies—Poland under the Russians, Bohemia under the Germans.”

  “I know the system,” I said. “It is not inhumane. It is merely a means of controlling the flow of labour, of stopping the cities from turning into the slums they once were. Everyone benefits.”

  “It is a system of slavery,” said the aristocratic anarchist. “It is unjust. It leads to further erosions of liberty. You support tyrants, my friend, when you support such a system.”

  I smiled and shook my head. “Ask the Indian man in the street how he feels. He will tell you he is satisfied, I am sure.”

  “Because he knows no better. Because the British conspire to teach him just a little—enough to confuse his mind and let him swallow their propaganda, no more. It is strange that their educational spending remains the same, when certain other forms of ‘welfare’ spending go up to meet the demand. Thus have you broken the spirit of those you have conquered. You are the ones who speak complacently of free enterprise, of a man standing on his own feet, of ‘bettering himself by his own efforts—and then are horrified when those you colonise resent your patronage, your ‘system of controlling the flow of labour’. Bah!”

  “I might remind you,” I said, “that, compared with seventy years ago, this world has a stability it has previously never known. There have been no major wars. There has been a hundred years of peace throughout most of the world. Is that an evil?”

  “Yes—for your stability has been achieved at the expense of the pride of others. You have destroyed souls, not bodies, and in my opinion that is an evil of the worst kind.”

  “Enough of this!” I cried impatiently. “You’re boring me, Count von Dutchke. You should feel satisfied that you have defeated my plans. I’ll listen no longer. I regard myself as a decent man—a humane man—indeed, a liberal man—but your kind makes me want to—want to—well, I had better not say....” I controlled my temper.

  “You see!” Dutchke laughed. “I am the voice of your conscience. That which you refuse to hear. And you are so determined not to hear it that you would wipe out anyone who tries to make you hear! You are so typical of all those ‘decent’, ‘humane’ and ‘liberal’ men who hold two thirds of the world in slavery.” He gestured with his pistol. “It is strange how all authoritarians automatically assume that the libertarian wishes to impose his own views on them when all he actually wants to do is to appeal to the authoritarian’s better nature. But I suppose you authoritarians can only see things in your own terms.”

  “You cannot confuse me with your arguments. At least give me the privilege of spending my last hours in silence.”

  “As you wish.”

  Until we let slip from the mooring mast, he said little, save to mutter something about the ‘dignity of man’ having come to mean nothing more than the ‘arrogance of the conqueror’. But I shut my ears to his ravings. It was he who was arrogant, in seeking to foist his revolutionary notions onto me.

  During the next part of the voyage I made desperate efforts to contact Johnson, saying that I was sick of my food being brought by Barry and I would enjoy seeing a face other than his.

  Instead, they sent me the captain’s daughter. Her grace and her beauty were such that I could scarcely scowl at her as I had at the others. I tried, once or twice, to find out from her what her father intended to do with me but she said he was still ‘puzzling it over’. Would she help me? I asked directly. She seemed astonished at this and made no reply of any sort, but left the cabin in some haste.

  At Saigon—I could tell it must be Saigon by the glitter of gilded temples in the distance—I heard the babble of the Indo-Chinese pilgrims taking their places in the space allotted for them amongst the bales of cargo. I did not envy them those hot, cramped quarters, but, of course, they were lucky—if they were genuine Buddhist pilgrims—to get an airship passage at all.

  Once again—although Saigon was a ‘free’ port, under American patronage—I was guarded vigilantly by a Count Rudolph von Dutchke who seemed less sure of himself than on the previous occasion we had met. He was definitely ill at ease and it occurred to me that the American authorities might have had some wind of The Rovers mission and were asking awkward questions. We certainly left in what seemed to be a hurry and took the air scarcely three hours after we had moored and refueled, the engines going full out.

  Later that evening I heard from across the little passage the sounds of voices raised in argument. I recognised the voices as belonging to Dutchke, the captain, Barry and Una Persson—and there seemed to be another voice, softer and very calm, which I did not recognise.

  I heard a few words—‘Brunei’—‘Canton’—‘Japanese’ —‘Shantung’—mainly names of places which I recognised, but I could not guess the nature of the argument.

  A day passed and I was brought food only once—by Una Persson who apologised that it was a cold meal. She looked strained and rather worried. I asked her if anything were wrong. It was politeness which made me ask. She gave me a baffled look and a brief, bewildered smile. “I’m not sure,” was all she said before leaving and locking my door on the outside as usual.

  It was midnight, when we must have been well on our way to Brunei, that I heard the first shot. At first I thought it was a sound made by one of the engines, but I knew at once that I was wrong.

  I got up, still dressed in my clothes, and stumbled to the door, pressing my ear against it and listening hard. Now I heard more shots—shouting—the sound of running feet. What on Earth was happening? Had the villains fallen out amongst themselves? Or had we landed without realising it and taken on a boarding party of British or American police?

  I went to the porthole. We were still airborne, flying high over the China Sea, if my guess were right.

  The sounds of fighting went on for at least another half-an-hour. Then there were no more shots, but voices raised in angry exchange. Then the voices died. I heard footfalls in the passage, I heard the key turn in the lock on my door.

&nbs
p; Light burst in and half-blinded me.

  I blinked at the tall figure which stood framed in the opening, a revolver in one hand, his other hand on the door-knob. He was dressed in flowing Asiatic robes but his handsome face was distinctly Eurasian— a mixture of Chinese and English if I were not mistaken.

  “Good morning, Lieutenant Bastable,” he said in perfect Oxford English. “I am General O. T. Shaw and this ship is now under my command. I believe you have some flying experience. I should be very grateful if you would allow me to avail myself of that experience.”

  My jaw dropped in stupefied astonishment.

  I knew that name. Who did not? The man who addressed me was known far and wide as the fiercest of the bandit chieftains who plagued the Central Government of the Chinese Republic. This was Shuo Ho Ti— Warlord of Chihli!

  Chapter II

  The Valley of the Morning

  MY FIRST THOUGHT was that I had been lifted out of the frying pan into the fire. But then I realised that it was the habit of many Chinese warlords to hold their European prisoners to ransom. With luck, my government might pay for my release. I smiled to myself when I thought that Korzeniowski and Company had innocently taken on board a gang of rascals even more villainous than themselves. Here was the best irony of them all.

  General O. T. Shaw (or Shuo Ho Ti as he styled himself for the sake of his Chinese followers) had built himself an army of bandits, renegades and deserters so big that it controlled large areas of the provinces of Chihli, Shantung and Kiangsu, giving Shaw a stranglehold on the routes between Peking and Shanghai. He charged such an extortionate sum as a ‘toll’ on trains and motors which came through his territory that trade and communications between the two cities was now conducted almost wholly by airship—and not every airship was safe if it flew low enough to be shot at by Shaw’s cannon. The Central Government was powerless against him and too fearful of seeking assistance from the foreigners who administered large parts of China which were not in the Republic. For the foreigners—Russians and Japanese for the most part—might make it their excuse to occupy that territory and refuse to leave. This was what gave Shaw—and warlords like him—his power.

  I had been taken aback at meeting such a famous and romantic figure in the flesh. But now I managed to speak.

  “Why—why should you want me to fly the ship?”

  The tall Eurasian smoothed his straight, black hair and looked more like a devil than ever as he replied softly: “I’m afraid Mr Barry is dead. Captain Korzeniowski is wounded. You are the only person qualified to do the job.”

  “Barry dead?” I should have been exultant, but instead I felt a sense of loss.

  “My men reacted hastily when they saw he had a gun. They are frightened, you see, of being so high in the air. They feel that if they die the spirits of the upper regions—devils all—will capture their souls. They are ignorant, superstitious men, my followers.”

  “And how badly is Captain Korzeniowski hurt?”

  “A head wound. Not a serious one. But, naturally, he is very dizzy and not up to commanding the ship.”

  “His daughter—and Count Dutchke?”

  “They are locked in their cabin, with the captain.”

  “Johnson?”

  “He was last seen on the outer catwalk. I believe he fell overboard during a fight with some of my men.”

  “My God,” I muttered. “My God.” I felt sick. “This is piracy. Murder. I can hardly believe it.”

  “It is all of those things, I regret to say,” said Shaw. I recognised the soft voice now, of course. I had heard it earlier when they had been arguing in the opposite cabin. “But we do not wish to kill any more, now that we have control of the ship and can fly it to Shantung. None of this would have happened if your Count Dutchke had not insisted we go to Brunei, even though I warned him that the British knew he was aboard The Rover and would be waiting for him there.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “It is the duty of a leader to know everything he can and so benefit his people accordingly,” was the rather ambiguous reply.

  “And what will you do for me if I agree to help you?” I asked.

  “It is what we shall do to the others which might interest you more. We shall refrain from torturing them to death. This might not impress you, however, since they are enemies of yours. But they are” (he lifted his right eyebrow sardonically) “fellow white men.”

  “Whatever they are—and I’ve nothing but contempt for them—I wouldn’t want them tortured by your ruffians!”

  “If all goes well, nobody will be harmed.” Shaw uncocked his revolver and lowered it, but he did not put it back in the holster at his hip. “I assure you that I do not enjoy killing and I give you my word that the lives of all aboard The Rover will be spared—if we reach The Valley of the Morning safely.”

  “Where is this valley?”

  “In Shantung. It is my headquarters. We will guide you when you reach Wuchang. It is expedient that we reach there quickly. Originally we meant to go to Canton and move overland from there, but someone had telephoned that we were aboard—Johnson, I suppose —and it became obvious we must go directly to our base, without pause. If Count Dutchke had not objected to this plan, all trouble might have been averted.”

  So Johnson had been on my side! In trying to save me and warn the authorities of all that was happening aboard The Rover, he had brought about this disaster and caused his own death.

  It was horrible. Johnson had, in effect, died trying to save me. And now his killer was asking me to fly him to safety. But if I did not, others would die, too. Though some of them deserved death, they did not deserve to have it served to them in the manner which Shaw had hinted at. I sighed deeply and my shoulders sagged as I made my reply. All heroics seemed pointless now.

  “I have your word that we shall not be harmed if I do as you wish?”

  “You have my word.”

  “Very well, General Shaw. I’ll fly your damned airship.”

  “That’s very decent of you, old man,” said Shaw beaming and clapping me on the shoulder. He bolstered his revolver.

  When I arrived on the bridge my horror was increased by the sight of the blood spattered everywhere on the floor, the bulkheads, the instruments. At least one person had been shot at close range—probably poor Barry. The coxswains were at their positions. They looked pale and shocked. Beside each coxswain stood two Chinese bandits, their bodies criss-crossed with bandoliers of bullets, their belts bristling with knives and small-arms. I had never in my life seen such a murderous gang as Shaw’s followers. No attempt had been made to clean the mess and charts and log-tables were scattered about the bridge, some of them soaked in blood.

  “I can do nothing until all this is cleaned up,” I said bleakly. Shaw said something in Cantonese and, very reluctantly, two of the bandits left the bridge to return with buckets and mops. As they worked, I inspected the instruments to make sure they were still in working order. Apart from some dents caused by bullets, nothing was badly damaged except the telephone which looked to me as if it had been scientifically destroyed, perhaps by Johnson himself before he had made a run for the outer catwalk.

  At last the bandits finished. Shaw gestured towards the main controls. We were flying very low at not much more than three hundred feet—a dangerous height.

  “Put her up to seven hundred and fifty feet, Height Coxswain,” I said grimly. Without a word, the coxswain did as he was ordered. The ship tilted steeply and Shaw’s eyes narrowed, his hand going to his holster, but then we levelled out. I found the appropriate charts for China and studied them.

  “I think I can get us to Wuchang,” I said. If necessary, we could always follow the railway line, but I doubted if Shaw was prepared to drop speed. He seemed anxious to get into his own territory by morning. “But before I begin, I want to be certain that Captain Korzeniowski and the others are still alive.”

  Shaw pursed his lips and gave me a hard look. Then he turned on h
is heel. “Very well. Follow me.” Another order in Cantonese and a bandit fell into step behind me.

  We reached the middle cabin and Shaw took a key from his belt, unlocking the door.

  Three wretched faces stared up at us from the cabin. A crude bandage had been tied around Captain Korzeniowski’s head. It was soaked in blood. His face was ashen and he looked much older than the last time I had seen him. He did not appear to recognise me. His daughter was cradling his head in her lap. Her hair was awry and she seemed to have been crying. She offered Shaw a glare of hatred and contempt. Dutchke saw us and looked away.

  “Are you—all right?” I asked rather foolishly.

  “We are not dead, Mr Bastable,” Dutchke said bitterly, standing tip and turning his back on us. “Is that what you meant?”

  “I am trying to save your lives,” I said, a little priggishly under the circumstances, but I wanted them to know that a chap of my sort was capable of generosity towards his enemies. “I’m going to fly this ship to—General—Shaw’s base. He says he’ll not kill any of us if I do that.”

  “His word’s hardly to be trusted after what’s happened tonight,” said Dutchke. He gave a strange, harsh laugh. “Odd that you should find our politics so disgusting when you can throw in your lot cheerfully with him!”

  “He’s scarcely a politician,” I pointed out. “Besides, it wouldn’t matter who he was. He holds all the cards—save the one I’m playing now.”

  “Goodnight, Mr Bastable,” said Una Persson, stroking her father’s head. “I think you mean well. Thank you.” Embarrassed I backed out of the cabin and returned to the bridge.

  By morning we had reached Wuchang and Shaw was evidently much more relaxed than he had been during the night. He went so far as to offer me a pipe of opium which I instantly refused. In those days opium seemed pretty disgusting stuff—it shows you how much I’ve changed, eh?

  Wuchang was quite a large city, but we passed it before it was properly awake, flying over terraced roofs, pagodas, little blue-roofed houses, while Shaw got his bearings and pointed out the direction in which we should go.