Patrick O’Brian 3-Book Adventure Collection: The Road to Samarcand, The Golden Ocean, The Unknown Shore
them, he saw Li Han standing on a box of ammunition, holding up his lumps of sugar. He saw Derrick, gave him an imperceptible nod, and looked significantly towards a stone house in the middle of the camp.
Derrick made no motion of reply, but slipped backwards out of the crowd, and walked in an oblique direction towards the middle of the camp. There were many soldiers about, but they took no notice of him: he looked for all the world like a Mongolian horse-boy, not a rare object in those parts. Only his face was out of character, for he could not put on the high, jutting cheek-bones or the wide-set, slit-like eyes of a Mongol; but there was little of that to be seen under the grease and his pulled-down hood. He walked with his legs stiffened and bowed, rolling in his gait; he chewed a piece of straw, and appeared to take little interest in anything around him. Slowly he approached the stone house and took its bearings: it was at the far end of the horse-lines, and there were a dozen ponies tethered to rings in its outer wall. On the side of the ponies there was a small square window, but none on the other sides. In the front of the house, on the side away from the window, there was the iron-studded door, and in front of that several armed guards lounged in the sunshine, smoking and playing dice. It seemed that the place had once been a shrine to one of the local deities, but Shun Chi had strengthened it out of all recognition.
Derrick went twice round it, getting the geography of the camp well into his mind; then he strolled along under the window. He waited until no one was by, and leaning against the wall he whistled the first tune that came into his mind, whistling very softly. It was Annie Laurie that he chanced upon, and he had hardly drawn breath before the answering song came back in a loud Scots voice. ‘I’ll lay me doon and dee,’ sang Ross inside the stone house, ‘I’ll lay me doon and dee – if you don’t come very soon, I’ll lay me doon and dee.’ He sang with very little melody, but with immense conviction.
With a quick glance round, Derrick vaulted on to the saddle of one of the tethered horses: standing on tip-toe on its back he could just see through the window. His uncle and Ross lay on the ground, tied hand and foot, and one of the guards was busy checking the song with his rifle-butt.
The horse moved uneasily, but just before Derrick fell he thought he saw Sullivan wink at him. It was fortunate that he fell when he did, for just then a party of soldiers came round the corner of the house. Derrick walked away: it would not do to arouse suspicions by staying there. The window was too small to get through, he reflected, even if it had no bars; but at least he knew that they were alive, and he felt very much happier. He went round the camp and then wandered to the place where the Professor was engaged with Shun Chi and the Russians. On his way he passed Li Han, who gave him a faint nod to show that all was well, but went by quickly without a word: Li Han’s face was a queer, greenish colour.
Derrick went on and squatted in the shade outside the hut: he looked quite natural there, and nobody took any notice of him. From where he sat he could see the line of tanks and lorries. The soldiers were busy round their petrol tanks, unscrewing the caps and putting in the inscribed charms. And inside the hut Derrick could hear the Professor’s voice, strong, firm, and apparently quite confident: he felt happy that the Professor had everything well in hand.
But if he could have understood what they were saying, Derrick would have been far less cheerful. The Russians would keep talking about the machine-guns, their rates of fire, their cooling-systems, their spare parts – all things of which the Professor knew nothing whatsoever. He was as non-committal as possible, but he was dreading the moment when they would ask him a direct question that could not be evaded. He tried desperately to turn the conversation; he talked of the weather, of some recent archaeological discoveries near Kiev, of the museums in Moscow, of anything except machine-guns and mortar bombs.
‘Tell me, Ivan Petrovitch,’ said one of the Russians to him, ‘what is the news from Aksenova?’
‘Quite inconclusive so far,’ replied the Professor warily, wondering whether Aksenova were a person or a place. ‘Very inconclusive indeed.’
‘Still? I thought it would have been settled long ago. But speaking of Aksenova reminds me, Tovarich, we have a present from there, have we not, comrades?’
‘Ha, ha,’ replied the comrades, while the Professor sweated with apprehension, ‘indeed we have.’
‘And here it is, Ivan Petrovitch,’ cried the first man, rising from the box on which he had been sitting and opening the lid. ‘Vodka, little brother! This will make you feel at home, I believe, comrade.’
‘Yes, I suppose it will,’ replied the Professor unhappily, watching him pour it into the tea-bowls.
‘To the brotherhood of man!’ cried the Russian.
‘To bigger and better bombs,’ answered the Professor, raising the bowl. The fiery spirit nearly made him choke, but he got it down, gasping like a stranded fish.
‘Why, one would think you had never drunk vodka before, little uncle,’ said one of the Russians, and they all laughed heartily. The Professor laughed too, but rather later than the others. He felt the vodka burning inside him, and he wondered how his digestion, always a troublesome creature, would care for it. After a few minutes he began to feel better, much better. He grasped the bottle and poured himself another stiff drink. He tossed it off in one gulp, to the toast of ‘Confusion to evil men,’ which they all repeated.
His brain seemed to be working excellently now, running on oiled wheels. ‘Now, comrades,’ he said, in a loud, firm voice, ringing with authority, ‘I have something to say to you. I have been sent here with two missions. One you know. But there is another. It is believed that one of you here, one at least, has been acting in a subversive manner, and I am going to investigate the matter,’ he cried, banging the table with his fist so suddenly that they all jerked in their seats. ‘I shall make a confidential report. And you all know where that will go.’ He paused for a moment, hoping that they did know, for he certainly did not. The Russians looked thoroughly ill at ease. He continued, after an ominous silence, ‘My report will, of course, depend upon what I see of your behaviour while I am here. And there is another matter which a man whose name I need not mention has asked me to look into. Two Europeans have been captured. I wish to interrogate them.’
‘Certainly, Ivan Petrovitch,’ said one of the men placatingly. ‘If you will come with me, Ivan Petrovitch, I will show you the way. This way, comrade.’
The Russian led the way to the stone house: his manner had suddenly changed; he spoke fawningly and humbly. The other three watched them go in a downcast silence. ‘Dimitri Mihailovitch will try to put him against us,’ muttered one of them.
‘I can assure you, comrade,’ said Dimitri, putting his hand on the Professor’s sleeve, ‘that my conduct has been most conscientious, whatever faults the others may have committed. If you could see your way to mentioning my name favourably, I have a little money …’
The Professor directed a stern and impressive look upon the wretched Dimitri Mihailovitch, who wilted as he stood, and wished that his tongue had been cut out before he had tried to bribe one of the incorruptible higher authorities.
‘What nationality are these prisoners?’ asked the Professor, without any reference to the Russian’s last remark.
‘One American and one British, comrade. They are very violent, and –’
‘Do you speak English, Dimitri Mihailovitch?’
‘No, comrade.’
‘What ignorance!’
‘But nor do the others, comrade. They do not know a single word, Ivan Petrovitch, little father. Shun Chi knows a little, but he could get no information out of them. They are very worthless prisoners, Ivan Petrovitch. He is going to execute them this afternoon before we move off to attack Hsien Lu tomorrow morning.’
‘I see. Just what is the position of Shun Chi as regards authority?’
‘He is under our thumb, Ivan Petrovitch. Under our thumb, comrade. Without our help he is like a pricked balloon – pouf!’
‘You mean that he takes his