Doctor Who_ The Eleventh Tiger Part 11

'Enter,' he said.

Logan went into the major's office with all its souvenirs of India. The major looked drawn and haggard, which Logan took to be the result of a painful and sleepless night. Though he didn't say a word, the major gave him a mirthless smile and a nod.

'That bad, am I?'

'I'm afraid so, sir.'

'I've had worse. I think.'

'It was a pretty bad fall, sir. Are you sure you don't want the MO to look at it?'

'I'm sure.' The major turned his head, pointing to an area behind and above his ear. 'It's just a b.u.mp, you see?'

Logan looked at the b.u.mp. Even through the hair he could see that the scalp was swollen and darkening like smoke from a funeral pyre. When the major turned back, Logan could see the tension in his jaw and the spectre of pain that haunted his eyes. At that moment, if he had had the power to take the injury himself and in the process liberate the major from it, he would have. Better that than to see the look in the major's eyes.

'I see, sir,' he said at last.

Much as he would rather the major saw a doctor, Logan decided he ought to honour the man's desire to carry on as normal despite the b.u.mp. 'There are more reports from Peking,' he said, 'and from the Kwantung militia commandant.'

The major was relieved that Logan was getting straight to business. He didn't think he was up to thinking too hard about things today, but making the effort was better than letting some quack take the company away from him, even for a few days.

'More bandit attacks?'

'I don't think we can call it that for much longer, sir. The brigadier general in Peking is of the opinion that these attacks on towns have already reached the level of outright armed insurrection against the emperor. He thinks what we're seeing are the first engagements in a civil war.'

The major shook his head, and immediately regretted it as the pain washed like a tide, breaking against first one side and then the other. He waited a moment for the waves to subside, then said, 'And who does his nibs blame for this?'

'The Black Flag, of course,' Logan answered in a surprised tone. 'Much Black Flag activity centres on this province, and he suggests we co-operate with the Kwantung militia to stamp it out.'

'I see,' the major said, rather than admit that he had no idea who the Black Flag were. Clearly Logan thought he did, which suggested he was more injured than he thought after that fall.

The major tried to remember where he had been going when he had the fall, and felt the blood drain from his face when he realised he had no idea. He could remember his agonising impact with the ground, and he knew who he was, but everything before the fall was a blank.

'Are you all right, sir?' Logan looked slightly panicked. 'I'll fetch a doctor 'No!' The major forced himself to appear calm, so as not to upset Logan any further. 'No, that's all right. What do you think of the brigadier general's theory?'

'I think n.o.body has pointed out to him that the Kwantung militia are largely Black Flag themselves,' Logan said. 'The Black Flag are a nuisance, but they're more concerned with getting their own people into government positions, and getting the Manchus out. I can't really see them being responsible for wholesale slaughter of Chinese citizens. It's not really their kind of thing, sir.'

'Then that would suggest someone else is responsible, don't you think?'

'Yes, sir.'

The major thought for a moment. The present and future were more important than his own forgotten past. 'We'll go along with the idea of co-operating with the Kwantung militia, but I don't think we need to make it an operation against the Black Flag specifically. Whoever is doing this must be making them pretty angry too, I should think. With any luck they'll want to put a stop to it as much as we do.'

Logan smiled brightly and warmly. 'I think so, too. I'll get on with it right away.'

'Good. Carry on.'

The major returned Logan's parting salute, and was then alone in his office. Alone except for an ident.i.ty that was a stranger to him, and a past that was as hidden from his memory as the future.

A quick root through the desk drawers told him what he needed to know about his current duties, and who the major figures and factions in Kwantung were. The logbooks and reports in question were all in his own handwriting. The major decided he agreed with Logan's a.s.sessment of the Black Flag, and that it was unlikely they'd be behind these attacks on towns.

Finally, in the bottom right-hand drawer, he found a folded double picture frame. When he opened it he found that one oval contained a picture of himself, rather younger and cleanshaven. The other picture was of the face of a lady of about the same age. She was dark-haired and rather striking. Her image stirred a feeling of comfort and peaceful warmth that, just for an instant, smoothed out the turbulent waves in the maelstrom that was his wounded head.

It was both rea.s.suring and strangely disappointing that his life so far could be summed up by a few items in an office. A girl, his service record, and images and souvenirs of places to which he had been posted. It wasn't much to show for the distances he'd travelled, or the hundreds of people he must have met, or the thousands - millions, probably - of words spoken.

It was as if he had simply chosen one day to reinvent himself as a character for a novel or the stage, except that he had no choice in the matter. The chaplain would be horrified at the idea, but the major decided that his Maker had a twisted sense of humour.

Logan was about to take a patrol across to the sh.o.r.e when he saw a commotion at the gate of the garrison. Two guards were remonstrating with a local and he walked over to see what was going on.

The visitor was a Chinaman with s.h.a.ggy hair and an equally disreputable moustache. Despite this, his clothes were the finest available from Kwantung's silk markets and he carried himself like an athlete. Logan recognised his bearing at once, as that of a master from one of the city's Chinese boxing schools. He also looked vaguely familiar, and Logan was sure he had seen the man before as a member of the part-time Kwantung militia.

'It's Captain Jiang, isn't it?' he asked.

Jiang nodded. 'Yes, sir.'

He seemed excited about something, in a smarmy sort of way that made Logan uneasy.

'It's in that capacity that I have come.' His English was slow and stilted, and heavily accented. 'I have information of a crime against an Englishman.'

Logan was immediately interested and alert. 'Well, out with it, man!'

'As you know, I am deputy at the Po Chi Lam surgery and gungfu gungfu school. My school. My sifu, sifu, Wong Kei-Ying, is holding English travellers hostage. One of them, a young man, has been tortured, and there may be women in the group.' Wong Kei-Ying, is holding English travellers hostage. One of them, a young man, has been tortured, and there may be women in the group.'

'Tortured?' Logan exploded. He knew immediately that he'd need to mount a punitive raid, and had no doubt the major would agree.

'Beaten severely by several experts,' Jiang specified.

'And this man, he's still there?'

'Yes.' Jiang frowned. 'At least, I think so. The travellers may have been killed already.'

'Then there's no time to lose. Sergeant Major!'

Anderson appeared in a doorway immediately.

'I want ten men. Captain Jiang of the militia here will tell you where you'll be going with them. I'll fetch the major.'

'Aye sir,' Anderson rapped and was gone, Jiang with him.

Logan dashed across the parade ground into the main company building, and hurried along to the major's office. He knocked and was called in immediately.

'You look as though you've seen a ghost,' the major said, looking up from the reports he was reading.

'If we're not quick we might see a new one, sir. An English one, at that.'

'What do you mean?'

'I've just been given a pretty queer story by one of our liaisons in the militia. He says that a group of English travellers is being held hostage at Po Chi Lam. At least one has already been beaten within an inch of his life.'

The major looked startled. 'I'll come at once.'

Outside the office window the giant, Pang, was unloading crates from a wagon. Gla.s.s clinked tellingly within them.

Pang's understanding of English was limited, to say the least, but the words Po Chi Lam' tripped all manner of alarm bells in his head.

Without finis.h.i.+ng the unloading he hopped back on the wagon, and made for the bridge back to the sh.o.r.e.

Kei-Ying was taking morning tea in his hall, and greeted the Doctor with a polite 'Good morning' when he walked in.

'What? Yes, I suppose it's as best as can be expected,' the Doctor said.

Kei-Ying smiled to himself. Some people were not morning people, and he found no shame in that.

'My son and your friends will be back soon.'

'I sincerely hope so. I must confess to a certain impatience to see Chesterfield, er, that is, young Chesterton there, back on his feet.'

'He is important to you?'

'Everyone is important to me, young man.'

Kei-Ying was a little bemused at being called 'young man'

for the first time in over a decade.

'Who did those ruffians think he is?' the Doctor continued.

'Neither Chesterton nor myself have been in China for several cen-for a very long time.'

'There's a Chesterton with the British garrison here. He looks very much like your friend, and I suppose the people who attacked him must have thought they were one and the same. Then when they heard that your friend's name is Chesterton...'

'I see.'

'I myself thought they were the same man, but if you and he have only just arrived, then it cannot be so. The man they wanted to hurt has been here for two years.'

'The same man,' the Doctor said thoughtfully. He looked troubled. 'Is it possible?'

Kei-Ying thought better than to ask what he was talking about.

The Doctor looked into the distance. 'Perhaps if we knew when he had first arrived, and where he was before,' he said.

He pursed his lips and looked out through the gates at a figure running through the street. 'It's that one-eyed fellow from the inn where we were set upon.'

'Cheng?'

Kei-Ying turned, thinking the Doctor must have exceptional eyesight by anyone's standards, let alone someone of his generous years. It was indeed Cheng, running, dodging basket-laden merchants and almost slipping on fallen fruit.

'Wong-sifu,' he gasped, out of breath. 'Pang just told me.

The English are coming for you.'

'What?'

Kei-Ying wondered why on earth they would be looking for him. He and his son helped to train the Guangzhou militia, who collaborated with the foreign soldiers.

'They think you've kidnapped, or killed, someone.'

'That's ridiculous.' Kei-Ying s.h.i.+vered.

'I know, but they're coming.'

Kei-Ying turned to the Doctor. 'If they see you and your injured friend here, it -'

'I understand. It might make them think we are your prisoners, or that your people mistreated Ian. But, on the other hand, perhaps I can help you by putting in a good word.'

'They'd only arrest you too,' Cheng prophesied. 'Say you're a traitor or something.'

'There is that, I suppose,' the Doctor admitted.

Kei-Ying put a hand on his shoulder. 'I think the best thing would be for you to keep watch over Ian until my son and the women return. His recovery is the most important thing at the moment.'