Chapter Fifteen: Macau

Martinez came to them late into the night. Matt, seated against the wall with his wrists chained through a bar, woke when the door opened. Luiz, curled at his feet, did not. Martinez carried a lantern. He settled himself on one of the chests and looked at his captives. It was a while before he spoke.

"The letter – that was a bad idea, Cicatriz," he said. "The boy will have to pay for it."

Dillon remained silent.

"I thought," Martinez said eventually, "That you cared about the boy."

"I do." Matt replied.

"You may not believe this, Scarface, but I also care about the boy."

"You beat him." Matt said.

Martinez shrugged. "He is a boy. Sometimes he needs a beating. I let him live. I would like to let him live a while longer, but I can no longer keep him on this ship."

"What will you do with us?" Matt asked.

"I am not sure. Perhaps it depends on you. I could kill you both. No one else cares much. The captain has his money."

"Or?" Dillon prompted.

"Or I can put you on another ship. There are two ships here now that would take you. One is good, one is not so good. Both are going to Macau. You know Macau, Scarface?" Martinez asked.

Matt shook his head.

"It is a Portuguese city – far from here."

"In Europe?" Matt asked.

"In China." Martinez told him.

Dillon's mind reeled. Brazil was incredible. China. China was impossible. This could not be happening. Perhaps he had actually died, and this was hell. That made as much sense to his staggered mind as being put on a ship to China. He shook his head, trying to clear it. "China? A Portuguese city in China?"

"The Portuguese, once they had an empire," Martinez said, "Some of them like to remember that once they were a proud people. The captain of the Rainha Negra – the Black Queen – he is like that. He runs a good ship. The Constanza now that is not such a good ship, but the captain, he will pay me for a big man like yourself, and the boy, well, he will take the boy. He likes boys, but they do not live too long."

Matt looked down at Luiz. The child was awake now, understanding enough of what was said to leave his eyes wide with fear. Matt turned to Martinez. "You said it might depend on me?"

Martinez met his eyes. "In my home, in Mexico, they say that some of the men of Texas have honor. This has not been my experience, but then, on this ship there is no longer any honor. Are you a man of honor, Cicatriz?"

Matt nodded slowly, "I have… tried to be."

"That is a good answer. Come, I will explain it to you. The captain, he does not know about the letter, but wants you gone. Dead, gone, he does not care, but it must be quiet and it must be tonight. You are a big man, Cicatriz, a strong man. I cannot carry you, as the men did who brought you to us. From the Constanza, I can bring men who will knock you on the head and carry you to their ship. If I do that, then I will give you a choice. I can kill the boy – perhaps a better choice – or he can go with you. Or…" Martinez stopped.

"Or?" Matt said again.

"Or I can take you both to the Rainha Negra. But for that ship, you must sign the ship's articles – and since the boy is too young, you must sign for him as well – perhaps he is your son, it does not matter. But you must go willingly. You must sign and swear. I cannot force you to do this, Scarface. Perhaps, though, you can convince me that you would do it."

They sat there, the three of them, in silence for some time. I have to go home, Matt thought, I have to get back to Kitty. To the baby. I cannot make this choice. But is there really a choice at all? He thought again of Doc's imagined advice – could almost hear the old man's voice -"Take care of yourself, Matt. Don't waste yourself on battles you can't win. Wait for the chances that will come."

Matt cleared his throat. "I can give you my word, Martinez. It's the only thing I have."

Martinez nodded slowly. "I will try to believe you, Cicatriz, but know that I have a pistol, and that if you fail me, I will shoot the boy. Venha."

Taking a small gun out of his pocket, Martinez motioned for Luiz to hold the lantern while he unlocked the chains around Dillon's wrists. Luiz fell to his knees before the officer, imploring him, "Minha caixa . Por favor, senhor! Preciso minha caixa!"

"Get it." Martinez said, motioning towards the door with his gun. The boy ran quietly into the outer room.

"Caixa? His… his box?" Matt asked, puzzled.

"It belonged to his parents. It is all he has of them. It cannot hurt for him to take it now." Martinez replied as Luiz returned with a small leather bound box, carrying it by a handle on the side. He stuffed it into the sea bag that still lay on the floor and then picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulder.

OoOoO

In his letter, Matt had said that the work on the Lupinho was like a trail drive. Being on the Black Queen was more like being back in the army. Everything was organized. Everything was done to the chime of bells struck in the officers' mess. The Rainha Negra was a larger ship – three masts – and held a larger crew, divided by shift and tasks to hang their hammocks in two separate holds for sleeping. Big, strong, and relatively unskilled, Matt found himself hauling lines, moving boxes, and manning the pumps. No one was about to let a man his size into the rigging, but his solid strength and willingness to learn soon earned him a place.

Luiz was disgusted to find himself not cabin boy, a post already taken, but cook's boy, and worked harder and longer than he had on the Lupinho. However, he also got more to eat and he made the most of that compensation. Matt found the food better prepared, but the quantity still too small to satisfy. The bigger ship did serve coffee in the mornings, however, although only one cup, and a grog ration twice a week that Matt was able to trade to one or another of the men for additional food. Sundays, if sunny, were declared wash days. Matt gratefully learned to pull up buckets of sea water to clean himself, his clothes, and Luiz – something the man insisted on and the boy resented, to the amusement of the rest of the crew.

"How old are you, Luiz?" he asked one Sunday, handing the boy the soap and moving to the rail to throw the bucket over for more water.

Luiz scrubbed at himself with vigor but without enthusiasm. Washing was bad enough, having Matt wash him was worse. "I think I am thirteen. Perhaps fourteen. I am not sure."

Matt looked speculatively at the slim, childish body as he dumped water over him. "I would have said more like eleven."

"No, padrinho, that is not possible. I was almost ten when we came on board the Lupinho, and since then, I have been twice to Macau, many times to Africa, to Mexico, and to America. I think fourteen."

Matt sluiced himself off with another bucket of water. "We? Who came with you onto Lupinho?"

Luiz dried himself with his shirt and began pulling on his pants. "My mother, my father, my sister," he said casually, "They have been dead, oh, many years now."

Matt let the subject drop, but he wondered, suddenly, what exactly was contained in Luiz's precious caixa. That would have to be a question for another day.

The crossing of the Atlantic was swift, with fair weather and following winds. A little more than three weeks after the night they left Rio, the Black Queen sailed into the African port of Sao Paulo de Loanda. Expecting a village of grass huts, Matt found a bustling city that reminded him more of St. Louis than Dodge. For the first time he was allowed on shore and, with money from the paymaster in his pocket, he and Luiz searched out both food and additional clothing that might be adapted to fit his oversized body. Matt looked for American ships, but found none. He saw Mexican, Portuguese, and Brazilian flags, and a variety of flags he didn't know, but nowhere was there a ship flying the stars and stripes. Pushing the second letter that he had written back into the depths of his pocket, Matt tried to satisfy himself with three days of all the food he could eat, the purchase of a knife, and, to Luiz's great disgust, more soap.

"Why must I wash, chefe?" he asked as they sat eating hot stew at a dockside tavern. "Wash, wash, and always wash. To stand naked while you throw water on me." He looked up sideways at the big man, "It is not good for me to be naked on the ship."

Matt thought about that. "Is that why you didn't wash on the Lupinho?"

"Sim, chefe," the boy acknowledged.

"Does that happen on the Rainha Negra?" Matt asked evenly. "Has someone hurt you?"

Luiz shrugged this off. "Not on this ship. I have asked Carlos, the other boy. O Capitão, he flogged a man just for trying to fuck Carlos. This ship is better." He regarded Matt darkly, "But I do not like the soap."

Matt laughed. It was the first time he remembered laughing since he'd been taken. He wasn't sure if he liked that or not.

Matt had, of course, considered running for it, but it didn't take him long to figure there wasn't much place to run. He talked with mates and crewmen from different ships, and learned that he would need papers from his current ship – or the recommendation of an officer – in order to find a berth on one of the better ships. Those that might have taken him without these things didn't seem worth the risk, and although a few ships were headed for Europe or back towards Rio, most seemed, like the Black Queen, to be taking on cargo for the Far East.

OoOoO

The outward leg around the southern tip of Africa was the worst weather that Matt had yet seen, and he spent hour upon hour manning the pumps far below deck. It was December now, and day by day he wondered, his arms moving the wooden handles, what Kitty was doing and if she'd had the baby yet – if even that moment, as he worked the big bars up and down while the ship rolled and wallowed, she was laying in her bed above the Long Branch birthing their child. He wondered who she had married, although it almost always came down to Frank, and what would go through his friend's mind when Doc handed him Matt's child. He thought about how Frank's own child, and wife, had died not that long ago, and there was no good way to deal with those thoughts.

On the fifteenth of December, the day that Kitty had thought the baby would be due, Matt was so preoccupied with these ideas that he didn't notice the water creeping up towards his knees in the dark hold, or that he was now alone on one side of the four man pump, keeping pace with the two men facing him. A dipper of water appeared in front of his face, and he was startled to see Luiz holding it. He drank, and came back to the reality of the dark room lit by a single lantern, the heaving ship, the roar of the wind, and the sound of timbers creaking, or possibly breaking. Luiz sat huddled on the top of a barrel that was half drowned in the rising water, his arms wrapped around his raised knees.

"Go back up, Luiz," Matt told him in Portugee, "You don't need to be here."

"If I die, padrinho," the boy replied in English, "I do not want to die alone."

We all die alone, Matt wanted to tell him, but he didn't. "Stay close, son," he said instead, "We'll make it through."

Amazingly, they did. Dawn found the seas stilled, and the three men who had pumped through the night relieved by a gang of four. As they approached the serving hatch, Matt's muscles burning and cramping with the hours of strain, one of the men who'd worked across from him through the night picked up a double portion of their breakfast porridge and handed it to him. "Two men's work, two men's food," the sailor told him. Matt looked around for objections, and finding none, dug into the warm stuff with his fingers. It filled his belly satisfyingly, and he made his way back to the upper hold to hang his hammock and sleep.

OoOoO

Dillon had thought, riding across the empty plains of the Dakotas, or the deserts of Arizona, that the world was big and man was small. Sailing the Pacific, with no idea how long it would take to reach Macau, to reach China, his own insignificance astounded him. The ship was a self-contained little world full of work, food, sun, an occasional storm, and the relentless indifference of the universe. He spoke little, except with Luiz, and tried to hide his lack of Portuguese behind a simple lack of talk. He understood most of what was said to him by this time, and made a point to remember words and phrases he didn't know to get explanations from Luiz. Weeks turned to months, and it was with crippling disappointment that Matt learned that the port they were approaching was not Macau, but Goa on the west coast of India.

Again, it was a Portuguese port, filled with Portuguese ships, and the Black Queen stopped only long enough to unload cargo and take on more. The heat and humidity were sweltering, and Matt thought of the board buildings in a small Kansas town covered in snow. He thought of Festus feeding wood into the little stove in his brick office and wondered if Frank were there, protecting his town. He thought of Kitty holding a baby to her full round breast. He began to walk the deck again at night after Luiz was asleep.

There were green specks of islands scattered all about them now as they sailed east and north towards the coast of China and the Portuguese city of Macau. The winter months turned to spring amid unchanging tropical heat. They stopped overnight in a tiny harbor at one of the islands to take on fresh food and trade with the natives. It was the next day that circumstances broke him out of his reverie and pulled him back into the world around him.

Matt was coiling rope on the deck when he heard Luiz's yell. He headed for the hatch only to see one of the men erupt from it dragging Luiz with him by the arm. The man dropped the boy in front of Matt and spit out a curse. "The boy is a thief." One look at Luiz told him the accusation was true, and without further thought Matt upended him and leveled a dozen hard, bruising slaps onto his bottom. After his first yelp of surprise and pain, Luiz closed his mouth and suffered in silence.

"Peço desculpas por meu filho" Matt said. I ask forgiveness for my son. "Ele não vai fazer isso de novo." He will not do it again. And then, still in Portuguese, so that the man as well as the boy would understand him, "Nossa família não roubar." Our family does not steal. It was more speech at one time than Matt had managed in all his time on the Black Queen. The crewman looked him hard in the eye, nodded once, and walked away.

Matt knelt on the deck, bringing his head down to Luiz's level, and cupped a big hand behind his neck, shaking him gently. "Our family does not steal, Luiz," he repeated, "Never."

"I am your son, padrinho?" Luiz asked without raising his eyes, "You will not leave me behind?"

"You are my son, meu filho," Matt answered him. "I will not leave you behind."

Luiz nodded. "Nossa família não roubar. Our family does not steal." He said it in Portuguese and then in English. Then looking at Matt from under his half-closed lashes he said, "You hurt me, padrinho."

"I meant to," Matt told him, then, "Go back to work, Luiz."

"Sim, padrinho."

OoOoO

April was flowering on the Kansas prairie when the Black Queen finally sailed into port in Macau. As the last crew to sign articles in Rio, Matt and Luiz stood at the far end of the line on deck, and moved slowly forward toward the table where the first mate was passing out pay, and occasionally, papers. Matt listened closely to the conversations around him, learning what to expect. Most of the men were staying with the ship. They would take their week on shore to eat, drink, and whore, and at low tide next Monday they would wend their way back to the ship and prepare to leave Macau. When their turn finally came, the mate looked up at Dillon with some curiosity. "Ficar ou sair? Staying or leaving?" he asked, as he had asked each man.

"Leaving," Matt replied in Portuguese. "Both of us."

The mate began counting out their pay, but as he handed it to Matt he asked, "You will allow some advice, Cicatriz?"

"I would welcome it." Matt said, following the conversation without trouble.

"You will not find many American ships in China, and probably none in Macau."

Matt kept his face unmoved and asked, "Why?" then followed it with, "Sir."

The man smiled. "Is it so hard for you, Cicatriz, to use that word? The Chinese are not happy with foreigners these days. Americans do not come often to Macau, and rarely to Hong Kong. I suggest you look for a British flag – that ship will be either English or Australian."

Matt nodded, not letting his sinking heart show in his steady eyes. The mate wrote on his papers and handed them to him. "Can you read that?"

Matt shook his head. "The boy can read it to me."

"I will tell you," the man replied, smiling. "It says you are strong, a good worker, honest, and that you speak Portugee and English." Matt let his confusion show and the mate continued. "We are not fools, Cicatriz. We hear you talking to the boy." The man tilted his head slightly and raised his eyes, "Also, I know Martinez. I was surprised when he brought you to me. And surprised when I found the quality of what he had given me."

"Thank you, sir." Matt replied, folding the papers and tucking them in his pocket.

"One last thing, Cicatriz," the mate said, "Do you know there is an American consulate here in Macau?"

Before they left the ship, Matt tried to split the pay with Luiz, who objected. "Mine is much less than yours, padrinho. And it is better for you to hold the money – you are strong and I am not." Matt saw the sense in that and picked out a number of small coins for the boy then divided the rest into various pockets he had sewn into his pants and shirt. Pulling the strap of their seabag, with Luiz's caixa tucked carefully inside, over his shoulder Matt walked down the plank of the Rainha Negra followed by his boy.

OoOoO

With Luiz asking directions, they made their way through the largest city Matt had ever seen. There were far more Chinese than whites, and most signs were in the little stick figures of Chinese rather than in regular letters. It took them nearly two hours to walk from the port to the wide, western-style street filled with stone and brick buildings that housed the foreign embassies. Matt recognized a British flag, and then, atop the much smaller building next to it, the American flag.

Matt walked up and knocked on the door. It was opened, eventually, by a Chinese servant who tried to immediately close it when he saw the huge, bearded man standing in front of him. Matt didn't allow that, and as the servant began screeching, a neatly dressed American man came to the door, shoved the Chinaman out of the way, and yelled behind him for a guard.

"I'm a United States Marshal," Dillon said quickly as the door began to close, "And I need your help."

The man looked at him steadily, but waited until a man in military uniform stepped up behind him before opening the door. "I doubt that sincerely, but at least you seem to be an American. I'll give you five minutes." The well-dressed man turned and walked through a door on the left of the front hall. Matt moved to follow him, but the guard wouldn't let Luiz in the door. "Wait for me here, Luiz," Matt said in English. "Don't leave the steps. I'll be back." He didn't like the scared look in the boy's eyes, but didn't see much else to do. The door closed between them and Dillon followed into the room where his host had led.

The man was sitting comfortably behind a large desk. There were bookcases on the walls and oriental carpets on the floors. The guard had followed Dillon and stood formally at-ease just inside the doorway. "My name is Oliver VanHaes and I am the attaché to the American consul here in Macau. Who are you?"

Matt walked forward and offered his hand, "My name is Matt Dillon and I'm the U S Marshal out of Dodge City, Kansas. I was kidnapped and put on a Portuguese ship in Galveston about nine months ago."

VanHaes neither rose, nor took the Marshal's hand. He steepled his fingers together and looked at the man in front of him. "Why not just say you're Wild Bill Hickok and be done with it?" he asked.

Matt kept his temper and let himself smile. "Bill died up in the Dakotas a dozen years ago, Mr. VanHaes, and I assure you I am exactly who I say I am."

"Do you have any identification?"

"Just my word. I was sold onto a Portuguese ship sailing from Galveston to Brazil. From there I was put on another ship sailing to Macau by way of Loanda and Goa. I need help from the government to find an American ship that will take me home."

VanHaes yawned. "Interesting story, but I doubt it's true. I'm sure you do want to go home. We all want to go home, but you can't just come walking in here with no evidence and expect the government to help you."

"Why not?" Dillon asked. "I've worked for the government for more than fifteen years. It's time they did something for me. I need to go home, Mr. VanHaes. I have family waiting for me that doesn't know I'm alive."

Sitting back in his seat, VanHaes picked up a pen and toyed with it. "Well, that's exactly the point. Matt Dillon was killed last July out in Kansas. It made the papers in San Francisco before I took ship for Macau. So you see, Mister Whoever-You-Are, I know you can't be Dillon, and I'm afraid I haven't any more time for you." His voice rose sharply, "Barker, see him out and see he doesn't come back."

Dillon stood square in front of the attaché's desk. "I think you'll find you regret this day's work, Mr. VanHaes. Believe me, I will get home." He spoke intently, but without threat, and he looked the man in front of him over, committing him to memory. "I expected more from a member of the United States government. I guess I was mistaken." Allowing the guard to take his arm, Matt turned and left. VanHaes, despite his confidence in turning down the big sailor's ridiculous story, felt just a little uneasy, and decided that the visit was likely not worth mentioning to the consul when he returned.

The guard stopped with Dillon just outside the front door. "I'm sorry 'bout that, fella. Mr. VanHaes is from New York. Not used to gents from out west."

"Texas?" Matt asked, taking in the man's accent.

"Yes, sir. Austin," the soldier replied, "Look, you need some money?"

Dillon shook his head. "I just got paid for five months' work. All I need is to find a ship to take me home."

The man shook his head. "Haven't seen an American ship here in a couple of months. Some of the British ships, mostly Australians, head out for Hawaii or San Francisco. I'd say that's your best chance." He held out his hand to Matt. "I'd advise you not to come back here, though. Mr. VanHaes, he wouldn't like it, and I work for him. Nothin' I could do."

Matt grasped the man's hand firmly. "You got a name, mister?"

"Corporal Michael Barker."

"I'll remember that, corporal." Dillon said, "Just like I'll remember Oliver VanHaes."

Picking up Luiz with a glance, Matt settled the bag over his shoulder and turned to walk away. He'd taken about ten steps when there was a shout behind him, and a voice cried out sharply, "Dillon!"

His gut taking over from his head, Matt whirled, dropping the bag and his right hand reaching for a gun that wasn't there. His knees bent into a slight crouch, he faced back towards the guard, his hand still held at his right hip. The soldier looked at him keenly, then nodded once, and went back through the door of the consulate.

OoOoO

"He will not help us, chefe?" Luiz asked, skipping along to keep up with the tall man beside him.

"He will not help us, Luiz." Matt agreed, "We'll just have to help ourselves."

"Yes, chefe." Luiz replied. "What is it we want to help ourselves to do?"

"We need a ship going to America. Probably San Francisco. Maybe Seattle."

"Then we must to go back to the docks. We need food, chefe. And we will need a place to stay." Luiz said.

They made the long walk back to the wharf before choosing a place to eat. The food was odd but satisfying - plates of spicy noodles with small pieces of meat and unfamiliar vegetables. Sausages wrapped in what looked like more noodles. Hot tea served in tiny handle-less cups that were constantly refilled. "So you've been to Macau before, Luiz?" Matt asked when his hunger was finally assuaged.

"Twice, chefe, on the Lupinho. I can find us a good place to stay." He looked across at Matt, "Do you need a woman, chefe?"

A little surprised, Matt shook his head. "I have a woman, Luiz."

"Here in Macau? You have a woman in Macau?" the boy asked in surprise.

"No. At home. I have a woman. I don't need another." Matt said.

"But, chefe, your home is a long way from here. A man, he needs a woman. I can find us a room, and a woman for you as well. To cook, and for your bed."

"No, Luiz." Matt repeated.

The boy drank more tea, and filled his cup again. "Your woman. She is sua esposa? She has your children? Your house?"

Matt sighed. In all the months they'd been together, he'd never talked about Kitty. "Ela não é minha esposa. She is not my wife. But yes, she has my child. She is my lady."

Luiz nodded, understanding the tone and the longing on the man's face, if not all that was behind them. "Sim, padrinho. Sua dama. Your lady. Sua amada. The one you love. We will go to America and find her."

The two of them had just risen, leaving coins on the table, when screams and a couple of gunshots drew Matt's focused attention to the street. Pandemonium reigned as they stepped outside the door. People were running madly towards them, pushing, shoving, and knocking each other down. At the end of the street a black horse, no possible doubt about it being a stallion, rose on its hind legs and bugled. "Stay back, Luiz." Matt said and stepped into the center of the narrow street, setting himself in front of a bleeding man who lay where he had fallen. The horse, eyes showing white, came straight at him.