The Eleventh Tiger Read Online Free PDF Page B

conical helmet with a pagri wrapped around it, and no plume in the space for one. There was a fist-sized dent in it.
    ‘It looks like I feel,’ the major said, cracking a slight smile.
    It stung to do so. He decided to carry the helmet under his arm, doubting that it would fit well on his head anyway.
    A nice soft pillow would fit him better, but he had no idea how many miles it was back to his quarters in Kwantung.
     
    Even before the major and Captain Logan entered the town they could hear the wails of women and children, who were pawing frantically at the rums, over the sound of the fires.
    The major had to stop to fashion a rough mask out of cloth and tie it round his mouth and nose. He had no illusions that it would keep the smell of smoke and charred flesh out of his nostrils, but with any luck it should prevent his throat being scorched into uselessness.
    The town gates were off their hinges and lying askew on the road. Flames cast enough light for the major to see his way by, but at the same time created dancing shadows among the debris that constantly strove to trick and beguile him into taking a tumble.
    A chain of men, women and children was hauling pails of water through the streets to the buildings where the fires still burnt brightest. Some of the men wore the robes and basket-like hats of the town’s militia. They glared at the two British officers as if blaming them. The looks were forceful enough for the major to start feeling guilty, even though he knew his troops hadn’t done anything.
    They also hadn’t arrived in time to prevent this happening.
    ‘It looks as if we didn’t do much good here today, Captain.’
    Logan looked uncomfortable. In fact, he looked very much as the major felt. ‘We did drive off the bandits, sir.’
    ‘Too late.’
     
    ‘The town has a militia. One has to wonder where they were.’
    ‘Protecting their families, like any sensible men,’ the major theorised.
    A militiaman wearing a slightly finer uniform than the other men was directing operations, and the major went over to him.
    ‘Excuse me,’ he began, in the Chinese he’d been learning since he was posted here. He got no further.
    ‘Where were your troops when these barbarians were burning my town?’
    ‘We were engaging the bandits outside. This is very much an internal Chinese matter -’
    ‘Pah,’ the officer spat. ‘ Gwailo lies and excuses as usual. If you’re going to colonise a country, you might at least make a show of instilling order.’
    ‘Look, Captain -’ Logan began, but the major cut him off with a gesture.
    ‘We only want to help,’ he said to the militiaman. ‘We’ve lost some horses, and will need replacements. I have fifty men coming who can help fight these fires in exchange.’
    The officer grimaced. He clearly wanted to spurn the offer of help, but was not stupid enough to risk his people’s lives by doing so. ‘All right. There are horses in a corral at the end of that street.’ He pointed. ‘Their stable has burnt down, so we can’t look after them anyway You can take them. Ride them, bury them, eat them, do what you like.’
    ‘Thank you.’ The major turned to Logan. ‘Get the men fallen in: fire-fighting parties. It’s going to be a long night.’ The moon crossed the sky at its usual stately pace, the stars shifting around it. As it sank lower, so did the flames in Qiang-Ling. The smoke cleared from the air and the major was able to find a sheltered spot in which to rest, in the hope that his head would stop feeling like a gong that had just been struck.
    As he looked up at the rising glow in the east for one last time before closing his eyes, he felt a peculiar sensation. It was a shiver under the skin, and a tingle in the bones -
     
    someone walking over his grave. He felt for a confused moment as if he had seen this dawn before, and was doomed to repeat it.
    Then his thoughts broke up, and dissolved into the soft oblivion of sleep.
     
    Ian Chesterton stood in