The Doctor stared at the maps for a moment before looking up. “Yes, hello, Mr. Drake, please sit down.” He motioned to a chair.
Edgar sat and watched the Doctor flip earnestly through the maps, one hand tracing lines on the paper, the other raised and massaging the back of his neck. Suddenly he looked up and pulled the pince-nez from his nose. “Mr. Drake, my apologies for waking you so early.”
“It is all right, I—”
“This is rather urgent,” the Doctor interrupted. “I just returned several hours ago from Mongpan. We raced to get here.” His voice seemed different, distracted, formal, the timbre of confidence now gone. Only then did Edgar notice that he was still dressed in riding clothes, still splashed with mud. He wore a pistol in his belt. Edgar felt a sudden sense of guilt, This is not about Khin Myo.
“Mr. Drake, it is best that I approach this bluntly.”
“Of course, but—”
“Mae Lwin is going to be attacked.”
Edgar leaned forward, as if to hear him better. “I am sorry, I don’t understand. Attacked?”
“Perhaps tonight.”
There was silence. For a moment, Edgar thought it was a jest, or one of Carroll’s projects, that there was more, which the Doctor would explain. He looked again at the pistol, the muddy shirt, Carroll’s eyes, lined and exhausted. “You are serious,” he said as if to himself. “But I thought we signed a treaty. You told me—”
“The treaty still stands. It is not the Limbin Confederacy.”
“Who then?”
“Others. I have enemies. Perhaps shifting alliances, men I once thought were friends, but whose loyalty I now question.” He stared back down at the map. “I wish I could tell you more, but we must prepare…” He paused before looking up again. “I can tell you only this. A month before you arrived, we were attacked—you know this, you were detained in Mandalay. Several of the attackers were later captured, but they refused to reveal who had employed them, even under the pain of torture. Some say they were petty thieves, but I have never seen petty thieves armed so well. What’s more, some of the rifles they carried were British, which meant they had been stolen. Or the men were former allies turned traitors.”
“And now?”
“Two days ago, I traveled to Mongpan, to discuss building a road to Mae Lwin. Only hours after I had arrived, a Shan boy ran into the Prince’s quarters. He had been fishing on one of the small Salween tributaries where he saw a group of men camped in the forest, crept up on them, and listened to their conversations. He couldn’t understand everything, but heard the men talking of a plan to attack Mongpan and then Mae Lwin. Again, they carried British rifles, and this time the group was much larger. If the boy is correct, I am confused about why any dacoits would venture this far onto the Plateau to attack us. There are many possibilities, but I don’t have time to discuss them with you now. If they are in Mongpan already, they may be here as soon as tonight.”
Edgar waited for the Doctor to say more, but he was silent. “And now what will you do?” he ventured.
“From what was described to me, the group is too large for us to defend the site. I have called for reinforcements. I have sent riders out on horseback. Tribes loyal to me will send men, if they can get here soon enough. From Mongpan, from Monghang, from…” He turned again to the map, listing villages, but Edgar was not listening. He thought only of the image of riders descending on Mae Lwin from the hills. He saw the men riding swiftly through the passages of karst, across the Plateau, the banners flying, the ponies’ tails dyed red, of the armies gathering in camp, of the women seeking shelter, of Khin Myo. He thought now of the meeting of the Confederacy of Princes. Now the Doctor wore the same uniform, the same distant stare. Edgar began to speak. “And I—”
“I need your help, Mr. Drake.”
“How? I will do anything. I am not good with a rifle, but—”
“No, more important. Even with reinforcements, Mae Lwin may fall, and even if we are able to repel an attack, it will only be with much damage. It is only a small village.”
“But with more men—”
“Perhaps, or perhaps they will burn the camp. I must think about this. I cannot risk everything I have spent twelve years working for. The army will rebuild Mae Lwin, but I cannot expect more. I have already arranged for my medical equipment, my microscopes, my plant collections, to be moved and hidden. But then—”
“The Erard.”
“I don’t trust my men to carry it out alone. They don’t understand its fragility.”
“But where?”
“Downriver. You will float out this morning. It is only several days to British forts in Karen country. There you will be met by troops who can escort you back to Rangoon.”
“Rangoon?”
“Until we know what is happening. But Mae Lwin is no longer safe for a civilian. The time for that is past.”
Edgar shook his head. “This is all happening too fast, Doctor. Perhaps I can stay…or I can take the piano into the mountains. I cannot bear this…” His voice drifted off. “What about Khin Myo?” he asked, suddenly. I can ask this now, she is part of this, inextricably so, She is no longer in my thoughts only.
The Doctor looked up and his voice grew suddenly stern. “She will stay with me.”
“I only asked because—”
“She is safer here, Mr. Drake.”
“But Doctor—”
“I am sorry, Mr. Drake, but I cannot talk longer. We must make preparations to leave.”
“There must be a way I can stay, now.” Edgar tried to control the panic in his voice.
“Mr. Drake,” said the Doctor slowly, “I do not have time for this. I am not giving you a choice.”
Edgar stared at him. “And I am not one of your soldiers.”
There was a long silence. The Doctor massaged the back of his neck again and stared down at the maps. When he looked up again, his face had softened. “Mr. Drake,” he said, “I am sorry that this had to happen. I know what this means to you, I know more than you think I know. But I have no choice now. I think one day you will understand.”
Edgar stumbled out into the sun.
He stood still and tried to calm himself. Around him, the camp spun with dizzying activity. Men arranged sandbags or ran to the river with rifles and ammunition. Others cut and tied bamboo into sharp ramparts. A line of women and children worked as a fire brigade, filling buckets, clay vessels, cooking pots with water.
“Mr. Drake.” These words from behind him. A small boy held his bag. “I am taking this to the river, sir.” The piano tuner only nodded.
His eyes followed a line of activity up the mountain, where the front wall of the piano room had been completely removed. He could see men working inside, shirtless bodies toiling at a bamboo-and-rope pulley. A crowd had gathered below to watch, buckets of water and rifles still in their hands. Above he heard shouting. Further up the trail, a group of men strained at a rope. He saw the piano lurch into the air, uneasy at first, but in the room the men steadied it, pushing it onto a slide made of long pieces of bamboo that had been lashed together. The men at the rope groaned, the piano swung out on the pulley, flying now, slowly, down, and Edgar heard a ringing as they let it drop, the rope burning their hands. For a long time the piano remained suspended, inching slowly down the bamboo, until at last it touched the ground, and another group of men rushed to catch it, and Edgar took his first breath since he had looked up.
The piano stood on a dry patch of earth. It seemed very small in the light, against the backdrop of the camp.
More shouts and running, bodies moved about him in a blur. He remembered the afternoon he left London on the steamer, how the fog swirled, how all became silent, and he was left alone. He felt a presence beside him.
“You are leaving,” she said.
“Yes.” He looked at her. “You know?”
“He told me.”
“I want to stay, but—”
“You should go. It isn’t safe.” She looked at the ground. She was standing so close to him that he could see the top of her head, the stem of a single purple flower twisting itself into the darkness of her hair.