The Skin Map be-1 Read online

  When the first pass was finished, Chen Hu carefully wiped away the ink and the ooze of blood his needling had drawn, then gathered up four more of his sharp instruments. Holding them in a cluster, he dipped them in the ink pot. When the threads of each were well soaked, he began again, this time using a small wooden paddle to drive the tightly gathered points into the skin. Soon the hot summer air was fairly humming with the rapid clickity-clickity-click of the wooden paddle in the artist’s hands.

  Arthur Flinders-Petrie lay with his eyes closed, accepting the punishment like the willing victim that he was.

  The second phase of the work was much the more painful and longer in duration. Eventually, Chen Hu rose, bowed, and went to imbibe a cup of cha, leaving Arthur to recover himself. Many of the House of Wu’s clients, if insufficiently drunk to be insensitive to the pain, required a moment to gather their fortitude for the final push. Arthur, however, required neither alcohol nor recuperation; a true veteran of over sixty sessions, he had long ago grown accustomed to the pain. In any case, it was a small price to pay for the peace of mind the procedure brought in the end.

  Still, he welcomed the respite from the needles and was relaxing with his eyes closed and was on the verge of sleep when he felt a shadow pass over his face. Thinking Chen Hu had returned, he opened his eyes and raised his head to see not the smooth, round countenance of his Chinese tattooist, but the long, angular features of a dark-haired Caucasian. “Oh!” He sat up.

  “Sorry!” said the man. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Pray, forgive the intrusion. I thought you were asleep.”

  “I very nearly was,” replied Arthur. He cast a quick glance over the imposing fellow. The stranger was a large, rangy man with dark eyes; a long, somewhat narrow head; and broad features that, when taken together, gave the strong suggestion of the equine. This horsey impression was only strengthened by the stranger’s bushy sideburns and extravagant moustache. “Look here,” said Arthur, finding himself as much an item of scrutiny as the interloper. “Do I know you, sir?”

  “I should think not,” said the man. “But I do know you.”

  “Sir?”

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” replied the dark man genially. “I am Lord Archelaeus Burleigh, Earl of Sutherland, at your service.” The fellow gave a slight bow and clicked his heels smartly. “I welcome this meeting. It is most fortuitous. For several years now I have been coming to Macau on business, and I have recently begun hearing of your exploits.”

  “Indeed?” wondered Arthur. “I was not aware that any of my trivial doings were public knowledge. In fact, to be blunt, sir, I have made rather strenuous efforts the other way.”

  “Oh, I am certain of it,” agreed Burleigh. “Otherwise, I have no doubt our paths would have crossed far sooner.”

  “Is there something I can do for you?” asked Arthur politely, all the while thinking how he might rid himself of the stranger’s unwelcome intrusion.

  “Quite the contrary,” said the earl. “I am here to offer my services in your very interesting endeavours.”

  Arthur realized then that the man had been intently studying the symbols etched on his skin. He quickly pulled his shirt over his chest. “Forgive me,” he said. “I fear your offer, generous as it undoubtedly is, would be of little use to either of us. I require no assistance just now. You have my thanks all the same.”

  “Let us not be too hasty,” replied the earl. “Dine with me tonight, and allow me to convince you of my sincerity of purpose.” He paused, the light glinting in his keen glance. “I promise to make it worth your while.”

  Chen Hu entered the room just then and, as Burleigh turned to greet him, froze in midstep. A silent sign of recognition seemed to flit across the Oriental’s visage-there and gone again before anyone saw it. “Please, be so kind as to wait outside,” said Chen Hu. He held out a hand to indicate the doorway. “We are soon finished.”

  “But of course, forgive me,” replied the earl. He moved toward the entrance. “You will find me at the waterfront inn, sir,” he said to Arthur. He gave another little bow. “Until this evening, then.”

  Arthur watched from the open window as the stranger disappeared down the street. “Extraordinary fellow,” he said. “Have you ever seen him before?”

  “Maybe once,” replied Chen Hu, lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug. “Maybe twice.”

  “There is something about him that sits uneasily.” He glanced to Chen Hu, who gazed back without expression or emotion. “I wonder what he wants, eh?”

  “This you will discover tonight, not so?”

  CHAPTER 13

  In Which Respectability Suffers a Serious Setback

  The Portuguese trading house, Martins, maintained a rough-and-ready inn down in the docklands. It had been built to serve the few foreign worthies allowed to stay ashore during the trading season. Despite its name, A Casa de Paz was anything but a peaceful house. A notorious centre for gambling, drinking, whoring, and the inevitable fisticuffs that served as entertainment for the guests-none of which appealed to Arthur-he stayed well away from the place, preferring instead the safe and snug confines of his shipboard cabin whenever he came to Macau.

  Curiosity, however, exerted an attractive force, and as a flaming orange sun began to lower over the Mirror Sea, Arthur’s feet found their way to the door of the House of Peace Inn. One whiff of the muddy yard and he was of a mind to turn around and head the other way. Indeed, he was about to do just that when he heard his name called from within the cavern-dark interior. “Flinders, my good man! I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Arthur turned, and Lord Burleigh appeared in the low doorway. “I am so glad to see you. I have ordered refreshments for us. Do you drink sherry?”

  “Don’t we all?” he replied stiffly.

  “Then please come join me, my friend.” Burleigh extended his hand and ushered his reluctant guest inside. The interior of the inn was a murky fug of smoke and stale air mingled with the stink of rancid fat and sour beer and other things too vulgar for a man of gentle breeding to dwell upon. But a table had been placed under the only open window, and it had been set with a range of dishes, with bread, meat, goat cheese, pewter goblets, and a heavy black bottle of the sweet Portuguese wine called sherry.

  Two chairs were drawn to the table, and Burleigh offered one to his guest. “I hope you don’t mind my saying that I have been looking forward to this meeting for some considerable time.” He smiled. “You are a most difficult man to locate.”

  “I was unaware that anyone should wish to, as you say, locate me. I simply go about my business.”

  “Yes,” agreed his smiling companion; reaching for the bottle, he began pouring the cups. “I am certain that you do.” Putting aside the flask, he lifted the goblets and handed one to his guest. “Let us drink to friendship and mutual profit.”

  “As you say,” echoed Arthur. He put the cool pewter to his lips and sipped the sweet liquid, which warmed his mouth agreeably. They drank for a time in silence, and Arthur felt the pain of his new tattoo begin to ease under the balm of the sweet wine. He finished his cup and put it down. “Perhaps we might begin our discussion with an explanation,” he suggested.

  “Why not?” said Burleigh, pouring more sherry. “What would you like to know?”

  “For a start, I’d like to know why you have been following me.”

  “Nothing could be simpler,” replied the earl lightly. “As it happens, we have a mutual friend-Fatheringay Thomas. I have lately been helping him establish the Oxford library. I believe he serves as a consultant for your various expeditions, yes?”

  “I speak to him about them sometimes, it is true. We have been friends for many years. Friends talk, as I’m sure you will appreciate.” Arthur smiled stiffly. “Although he has never mentioned you in any of our conversations.”

  “Has he not? Oh, well. Nevertheless, he has told me of you, and your amazing exploits.”

  “Hardly that, sir,” asserted Arthur, rebuffing the s
uggestion that his affairs were in any way adventurous. “Hardly that.”

  “Pray, don’t be modest. I know a great deal more about this than you may suspect, and I know a true explorer when I meet one.”

  Arthur offered a noncommittal shrug and changed the subject. “And what, may I ask, brings you to this part of the world? There is only one Englishman for every five Portuguese in Macau.”

  “I am a partner in a mercantile establishment that wishes to make friends in this part of the world. I travel to advance my affairs and investments-although it takes little enough to get me out of London these days. I adore travelling. It makes a man quick on his feet and clear in his thoughts, I find. This is my third sojourn in the Orient-China, the Japans, India… and what have you.” He gave the list a diffident wave of his hand. “The sun rises in the East, as they say. The future is here.”

  “Do you have family in England?” Arthur sipped more sherry, his mood mellowing with every swallow.

  “I never married. Sadly. I should like to, of course, but I could not in good conscience inflict my wanderlust on anyone who looked to me for that kind of close companionship. Perhaps one day-when the urge to see new worlds under new skies has abated somewhat. Who knows?” He rolled his cup between his palms. “And yourself?” He smiled again quickly. “If you don’t mind my asking?”

  Arthur hesitated, then offered, “I am a widower. It was several years ago now-she died in childbirth.”

  “My sincere condolences.”

  Arthur accepted the sympathy with a nod and a sip of sherry.

  Burleigh indicated a tattoo on Arthur’s forearm. “Was that her name?”

  Arthur glanced down, then covered the tattoo protectively. “Yes-Petranella Livingstone.”

  “Of the Staffordshire Livingstones?”

  “The same. Do you know them?”

  “Only by name. I’ve never had the privilege of their acquaintance. Her loss must have been devastating for you.”

  “My work keeps me busy.” Arthur knew he was saying too much to this stranger, revealing too much of himself. But the sherry had begun to loosen his tongue and lower his defences.

  Burleigh filled their cups again. “We are men of the world, you and I,” announced the earl confidently. “We are survivors. More, sir-we are conquerors. I have no doubt you could have the pick of any genteel young lady in England… if that was what you wanted.”

  “Once, perhaps,” allowed Arthur. “I fear I’ve grown too crusty and set in my ways to entertain any hopes in that direction now. Besides, I have my work.”

  “And what important work it is, too, I must say.”

  Even in his relaxed state, he sensed a warning in the words. “Again, I fear you have me at a disadvantage, my lord earl-”

  “Burleigh, if you please-just Burleigh.” He spread a bit of soft cheese on a chunk of bread and raised it to his mouth. “You will find that I am not one to put on airs.”

  “An admirable trait,” granted Arthur. “Still, I greatly fear that our mutual friend has misled you. I am not an adventurer of any sort. I merely travel for my own amusement and the few business interests that keep me in coin.”

  “I believe you are disingenuous, sir,” countered Lord Burleigh quickly. “Thomas was most emphatic that we should meet.”

  “I can hardly think why,” protested Arthur. “Really, there is very little to say of interest to anyone-”

  “Stop! I simply will not permit it.” Burleigh raised a hand. “If we are to get on together you must resist this false modesty. It does not become you in the least.” His tone was light, but his meaning sharp as a dagger in the ribs. Placing his hands flat on the table, he straightened in his chair. “Let us speak frankly. You have a most rare and peculiar gift, Mr. Flinders-Petrie. It is no use trying to deny it. I have seen it in operation for myself.”

  “I must protest,” said Arthur, sobered somewhat by the man’s abrupt change in manner. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “These travels you speak of-they are not always by way of common transportation, are they?” His tone had become accusatory. “In point of fact, they are not on the physical plane of this earth at all. They are, in fact, otherworldly.”

  “Really!” said Arthur, shooting up unsteadily from his chair. “How dare you presume-”

  Lord Burleigh waved aside the objection. “Please, do sit down. We are not finished yet.”

  Against all his instinct and better judgement, Arthur sat.

  Burleigh poured more sherry into the cups and pushed his companion’s nearer to him. “I have gone to some considerable trouble to arrange this meeting, and it is my sincerest hope that you will hear me out.” The earl gave him a sly smile. “We are two Englishmen far from home. We can at least listen to one another.”

  “As you say,” Arthur allowed, but did not reach for the cup again.

  “Now then,” the Earl of Sutherland continued, “you have borne the burden of your gift alone until now. You have had to guard it jealously. I understand. Indeed, I respect you the more for it. There are not many men who, put in your place, could have resisted the impulses to power, wealth, and who knows what all else-but you have, and I commend you.” The dark man leaned forward, narrowing the distance between them. “But it seems to me that you could use a partner.”

  Arthur stared at the man before him. “What sort of partnership do you have in mind?”

  “I propose to supply a ship and crew to sail at your express command wherever you wish to go for as long as you have need of it. Further, I am ready to outfit an expeditionary force of any practicable size, and this also to be placed at your command. In short, any and all material assistance for the advancement of your work is to be extended to you-along with a generous stipend for your personal use, of course. All decisions concerning the disposition of support staff and use of resources would be yours and yours alone.” He seemed to be about to add something more, but paused and concluded simply, “What do you say?”

  Fatigued by the sherry, the conversation, and his ordeal with the tattoo needles, Arthur felt himself to be very much at a disadvantage. “Well, sir,” he replied after a moment, “I hardly know what to say.”

  “Then say me a simple ‘yes,’ and let us join forces at once and without delay.”

  “You haven’t told me what you hope to receive in return for such largess.”

  “Only this,” replied the earl with a modesty that had not been much in evidence before this moment, “that I may be allowed to follow in your footsteps; to walk, as it were, in your shadow; to nurture in my own small way your fabulous work.”

  “I see,” said Arthur doubtfully.

  “I am a very wealthy man,” Burleigh continued, parting company with his modesty. “I make no bones about it. Why should I? I am as rich as few men can ever hope to be in this lifetime. But riches of themselves bring no lasting fulfilment, a curious fact which I am certain you can appreciate. In the time I have left on this earth, I hope to use my material means to further the reach of my fellows-fellows such as Thomas and his colleagues at Mr. Bodley’s library-in the acquisition of knowledge for the improvement of our race. Nothing less.”

  Arthur gazed at his host silently, considering how best to respond. “Well,” he began slowly, “I am flattered you would consider me of sufficient worth to aid you in your noble quest. However, I cannot help but think you have made rather more of me and my peculiar endeavours than is warranted. You praise me too highly. My work may one day find a practical application, but try as I might-and I have tried, mind-I cannot think what it might be. Moreover, I have no need of ships or expeditionary forces. My own wealth, though certainly less than your own, is sufficient to my needs. Add to that the fact that what I do is best done alone, and you will see that the partnership you suggest is of very little use to me.” He pushed his chair back slowly and stood. “In short, I am sorry, but I must decline your exceedingly generous offer of assistance.” Stepping away from the table, he bowed
slightly. “Thank you for the excellent sherry. I will wish you a good night, and a pleasant sojourn in Macau.”

  “I understand,” sighed Lord Burleigh heavily. “Yet, I must ask-is there no chance you might be persuaded to change your mind?”

  “I think not,” replied Arthur, looking for the door. “Farewell, my lord earl.”

  Burleigh rose then, as if to shake the hand of his departing companion, but instead he made a furtive gesture and clicked his fingers.

  Out of the shadows appeared two heavy-shouldered, rough dockworkers. One carried a short, thick cudgel, and the other a long, thin knife.

  “Take him!” commanded the earl, on his feet now and moving swiftly towards a shocked and alarmed Arthur Flinders-Petrie. “If he gives you any trouble, you know what to do.”

  PART THREE

  Black Mixen Tump

  CHAPTER 14

  In Which the Intrepid Travellers Are Nobbled

  The road into Oxford was busy, and busier still as it dropped down Headington Hill, through the East Gate, and into the town. Draymen and their heavy horses clogged the narrow road, their great wagons heaped high with barrels, casks, and nets filled with coal, dung, and in one instance, cabbages. Around and amongst them, like small fish swimming in the protection of larger beasts, darted pushcarts and barrows and men toting wicker baskets from the ends of wooden yokes across their shoulders.

  Approaching the centre of town, they passed the newly finished facade of Queens College, now recast in Cotswold limestone. The sun was low and soft, setting the honey-coloured stone alight with a warm, buttery glow. The clear autumnal air held the dry scent of falling leaves. Sir Henry directed his driver to the Golden Cross, a coaching inn off Cornmarket Street, and there he booked in for the night. Kit was relieved to learn that he would be allowed to explore the city, provided he remained in the company of either Sir Henry or his great-grandfather.