The Mysterious Alexandra Tarasova-Yusupov Read online

  “What’s troubling you, Jamie?” Alexandra asked.

  “Probably nothing,” he said. “There have been an increasing number of reports of pirates attacking commercial ships in the south, and East China Seas region. One of the worst problems is that the pirates are not so much interested in stealing the merchandise, but they take hostages for ransom. We lost one ship and crew to the Red Flag Fleet and have had to go to the expense of outfitting all our hundreds of ships with security measures and an armed force of former British marines to counter any attacks. I’m not really worried; but, still, we need to be cautious. Don’t worry your pretty little head over it.”

  He laughed as he saw the young girl’s mock angry face.

  “Sorry,” he said, “you know I marvel about your accomplishments at such a young age. I fear that you will be an opponent to me when my father, Hugh, dies. Maybe even earlier when Uncle James passes on.”

  Alexandra laughed and stuck out her tongue.

  She became serious and asked, “Tell me, Jamie, what do we know about the woman pirate, Zheng Shi, and her Red Flag Fleet?

  “You know, Alexandra, she’s more of a threat than the Chinese government, the British, and everyone in Jardine-Matheson lets on in public. Our spies tell us that she has a thousand ships carrying out her piracy all throughout the Chinese, Indian, and Philippine Seas. She is probably the richest person in China; and no one, and I mean no one, will turn state’s evidence against her. That would be certain suicide. She has bribed, coerced, and blackmailed, dozens of police officials and government people who protect her from legal consequences of her criminal enterprise. No ship–and certainly not this one–is safe from her pirates. I have begged for greater security, but our skin-flint parents think that they are saving money by taking chances that our ships will not be hit. The idea is—really–that even if we get attacked and lose a ship and cargo or two or three, it won’t add up to what the extra security will cost. It’s worth the risk.”

  Zheng Shi sat on the foredeck looking through the best telescope money can buy. Her fondest desire was to find one of Jardine-Matheson-Tarasova’s heavily laden treasure ships and to force the smug owners to pay a king’s ransom to get the crew and any passengers back. She would make them grovel and snivel—to humble their arrogance kneeling in front of her to beg for mercy. She laughed to herself at the thought of forcing them to make her a legitimate partner in their hugely successful capitalist gang.

  Zheng Shi thought about how far she had come in a man’s world. She started her adult life at age twelve as a prostitute and learned early how to manipulate men. She inveigled them into alliances that eventually benefitted only her. When sugar and spice failed to work, she used deadly threats and blackmail. When–in the rare instances–when that did not work, she was quick to resort to torture and murder—even of innocent wives and children—if that is what it took. Now–at age thirty-five–Shi had an extensive and well-organized criminal business which functioned smoothly. One of the reasons for her success was that she paid loyal underlings well, promoted them when they proved themselves, and never broke her word. On the other side of the coin, she made mutilated and horrifying examples of those who failed her, cheated her, or attempted to usurp her command; men and women alike lost their ears and noses, were flogged mercilessly, or were keel-hauled as reminders of the cost of violating the code of the Red Flag Fleet.

  She was philosophical about her own role in her criminal enterprise. She admitted—only to herself—that she was at fault for the current decline in the profits of the Red Flag Fleet. She had overextended when she financed heavily to build four hundred more and faster ships. The principal reason she needed to take some of the Jardine-Matheson-Tarasova’s treasure laden ships was to keep her creditors from uniting against her and getting the East India Company, the Chinese government, and the British and Portuguese governments, to join in a witch hunt to take down all she had worked so hard for.

  Alexandra and James II sat drowsily in the captain’s cabin discussing ways to circumvent increasing controls by the Chinese and British governments, to limit the vexing successes of the East India Company, to counteract the seemingly unstoppable hemorrhage of silver from Hong Kong, Shanghai, and Macao, and how to get a better grip on the opium trade that was being threatened by misguided officials of the Chinese empress’s shaky government. As the two young hubristic entrepreneurs set about solving the problems of the world, Zheng Shi set eyes on their ship through her beautiful telescope.

  Shi carefully scrutinized the mast head of the ship in the distance: “The Indo-China S.N. Co., Ltd at the top of a large grey rectangular sign mounted on the ship’s port side bow. At the bottom it read, in larger print, JARDINE, MATHESON & CO., LTD, Jardine House, HongKong, 575 Nathan Road, Kowloon. In the middle of the plaque was painted a flag with a white cross on a blue background. From the flag rays pointed to captions indicating the countries served: Japan, Hong Kong, Australia, Tasmania, and New Zealand. There was no doubting the ownership or the undoubtedly princely valuable cargo.

  Although, Zheng Shi owned nearly 2,000 junks and 50,000 pirates and could attack major cities successfully, today she was alone in the calm South China Sea with a prize almost beyond calculation, she had none of great fleet and fleet marine at her command at the moment. She paused to assess the odds of risk versus failure, and greed overcame caution.

  “Take down the red flag,” she ordered. “Set a course directly for the Jardine-Matheson ship off the port side bow. All Chinese below decks and put men and women in western dress on the decks. Keep weapons out of sight. Keep quiet; prepare to board the ship. Spare as many as possible for ransom. Now, look alive!”

  Shi quickly raced to her cabin below decks and changed into a European man’s suit which she hoped would fool the silly Europeans long enough to allow her junk to get close. Anyone who looked at Zheng Shi from as great as fifty meters away–even on a galloping horse–would get a laugh out of seeing the beautiful pirate admiral trying to pass as a man. She was tall for a Han Chinese and wore her shiny black hair down to her knees when working at seduction and up in a tight, neat bun with side curls when she went into action. Unlike her Han sisters, Shi had a slender high-cheek boned face—none of the moon shape of the girls around her. The bun and curls were held tightly in place by combs, pearl headed hat pins, and a roguish red bonnet as her signature appearance. The man’s costume she wore was ludicrous up close because it did nothing to hide her ample and alluring bosom, and it overemphasized the womanly curves of her hour-glass figure throughout. She wore a white shirt, black tie, and a deep black suit with pants fitted to her long strong legs. She returned to the foredeck and laid her wide pirate’s belt with its daggers, pistols, and sword against the bulkhead near the wheel, ready for battle.

  The sleek pirate junk caught a good wind and began to race towards the prey ship. All hands felt the excitement of battle and booty approaching. The ship’s crew would receive twenty percent of the take with the remaining eighty percent going to Zheng Shi and the community coffers. No one complained about the disparity in the dispersal of the treasure; everyone would be rich as Croesus as soon as their day’s work was over.

  The experienced seaman atop the crow’s nest on the mains’ll mast of the square-rigged three-masted Jardine-Matheson-Tarasova brigantine caught a glimpse of the pursuing Chinese junk. He waited for a few minutes to determine if the junk was flying any colors of the various pirate fleets or if there were men dressed in the raggedy disheveled clothes of the roguish pirate types. He could not see anything specifically suspicious, but there was no good reason for a large junk to be this far north or to having so much sail yardage. He acted on the instinct for a high index of suspicion.

  “Junk, ho,” he yelled and pointed towards the starboard afterdeck.

  James II leaped from his chair, ran out out of the cabin and up onto the foredeck. It took Alexandra a minute to clear her brain from the mind-numbing stupor she had settled into. She raced up to the
deck to join James, the captain, and the first officer. They were all squinting at the sails of the junk and trying to see anything that would identify the ship as friend or foe.

  “Naught to be seen there,” the captain said and continued to stare through his telescope.

  “That’s just the thing,” Alexandra said, “there’re no company or government markings, no indication of nationality, and no one on deck except a few men dressed as gentlemen on a day’s outing. Doesn’t fit.”

  James II nodded in agreement, “but it does have closed cannon port holes. Now why would any peaceful junk have need for so many cannon?”

  Captain Brilinskov listened to the young man and woman for a moment then made his decisions.

  “Full sails, all hands on deck and armed, prime the cannons. Full speed ahead. I think we can outrun ‘em.”

  Alexandra did not think so, but she kept that feeling to herself. The junk seemed to be gaining on the brigantine gradually but surely. A pang of fear ran down her back.

  “Let us get the young miss below decks in case trouble gets a brewin’”, the first mate said and gallantly took Alexandra’s arm.

  “No, man. I will stay above decks and know what is going on. I have serious responsibility for the partnership’s investment in this ship and cargo. I will want a say when or if the time comes.”

  Her resolute face dissuaded the first mate, the captain, and Jamie from further intervention. If she demanded to stay, then let her stay.

  The pirate junk continued to gain on the company ship. As the sun began to set in a red ball sinking into the ocean to the west, the junk was gaining distance enough that now, Alexandra could see the captain of the ship standing in plain sight on the foredeck. She came to the realization that she was looking at a woman masquerading as a man, and she could even make out a supply of small arms stacked discretely against the bow rails.

  “I think the captain of that ship is a woman, and I think that ship is one of the Red Flag Fleet,” she said.

  “Gorblimey,” the bosun’s mate said, “I think the young lassie may be right.”

  The captain swore.

  “Get yer bleedin’ weapons to the ready. All hands prepare to be boarded. Know that you will fight to the death, or you will meet a fate worse than death if that ilk takes us. Fight for yerselves, yer company, and yer country, mates. Let’s show ‘em what we’re made of!”

  The first mate and the chief bosun’s mate raced around the deck getting further rigging and sail yardage headed aloft. The speed of the company ship picked up, and they began to move slowly ahead of the oncoming junk.

  As the distance between the two ships began to increase, Zheng Shi knew that the Europeans had guessed what her ship was up to, and she shouted at the men on the deck, “All hands on deck in full combat and boarding gear. Open the portholes for the cannon and prime every last gun. Gunners ready the first fusillade.”

  The chief gunner yelled, “Fire number one gun to test for range!”

  On the brigantine Far East Transporter, the crew watched in fascination as they saw a starboard porthole open and a cannon roll into view. There was a puff of smoke, but no sound for a few seconds. Then, the sound of the cannon’s fire could be heard, and the on-racing fireball could be seen and followed with the naked eye.

  “Hit the deck and cover up, men!” shouted the security sergeant.

  Alexandra and Jamie disobeyed and watched the cannon ball approach their ship with a deadly compulsion holding their breath. The ball fell harmlessly into the wake of the company ship causing only a small splash. It was off by more than fifty yards.

  The sun sunk into the western horizon, and the sea began to mount as clouds closed in. The junk drew back further and further until it could barely be seen, and then it was lost in the clouds.

  “Hard to port!” the captain yelled at the steersman.

  “Aye, aye, Sir!”

  And slowly the large brigantine began to heel to the left.

  “Trim the sails to starboard and keep the port sails full rigged!” the captain ordered.

  The turn to port increased, and they began to disappear into the gathering clouds and the gloaming.

  Zheng Shi stared until her eyes hurt, but finally she had to admit that she could no longer see any trace of the ship that had looked like such easy pickings.

  “They’re out of sight,” she muttered to her first mate. “I know that they aren’t that far ahead, but the darkness and the clouds are our enemies. I don’t know if they are going to port, to starboard, or straight ahead.”

  “Or coming about to attack,” the first mate said cautiously.

  Zheng Shi hated to admit it, but that was a real possibility.

  “We’ll go straight ahead for two hours; and, then, if we can’t find them, we’ll turn about and head back to Hainan Island for security.”

  It galled her to say it.

  In two hours, the brigantine Far East Transporter was in complete darkness, and they were sailing with instruments alone. Orders for all lights out made for inconvenience and even a low grade chance that they might plow right into something in the night. All hands knew it was the best course, and no one whined or complained. By morning, the growing storm clouds dissipated; and there was no sight of the Chinese pirate junk. The crew and the company officials heaved a collective shy of relief.

  Two days later they pulled into Shanghai harbor, off loaded their entire cargo, and watched as the stevedores loaded up a massive cargo of furs, machine parts, and bundles of packed rice. Alexandra reported to her father by telegram, and James went directly to his uncle’s mansion and told him about the encounter with the pirates.

  “Och, laddie, ‘tis a bowfin day when the likes of that gingin hoore takes ta ship; but we canna be feart o’ hier. Thankee fer the guid work and the bad news. Leave it to me, Ae’ll see tha’ ‘tis rightly handled.”

  “More security and guns aboard our ships, then, Uncle? She may be a disgusting whore; but she is smart as a whip; and she has a fleet as large as England’s to fight her battles.”

  “Ya goat tha’ right, and we’ll be atakin’ the fight to them blighters. They’ll know wha’ ‘tis lak to rile up a Scotsman!”

  Abram Tarasova’s first response when Alexandra got home was, “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you weren’t hurt or worse. No more ship’s adventures for you, Princess. I hate to admit it, but your mother is right again—as usual.”

  “I am fine, Father. Don’t make a big thing out of this. It is good that we got waked up and can prepare against the next time. And—incidentally– I will be sailing regularly. Just see to it that security is secure.”

  The Far East Transporter set sail two days hence and made its way against stormy seas and pouring rain—a right dreich trip, as the taipan would say. Alexandra chose only to remember what she had learned about commerce, pirates, and sailing ships and to ignore the drab and gray weather that was common in the South and East Chinese seas at that time of year.

  With Jamie’s and the captain’s help, Alexandra began to learn the finer nuances of haggling with world-wise and greedy foreigners. There was more at stake that when she negotiated over a bundle or two of furs. The profits, the friendships, the respect, that came from those tedious bargaining sessions were of intrinsic value; and she and James did well. Alexandra learned turns of phrase in several languages that were utilitarian in the haggling process, and also that she could be fooled and out bargained, a painful, but educating lesson. She determined that she would not repeat her mistakes in future voyages. She was so determined that she kept a journal chronicling what she had learned—both the uplifting and the unflattering.

  She looked for special items that she and her father could sell to the visitors from all around the world to the Port of Vladivostok. In Japan, she bought muskets with ornate conch shell inlaid stocks, hundred-year-old Samurai swords worth a small fortune, vividly embroidered kimonos and obis, and cartons of paper celebration lanterns. In Chosŏn, An
drea had crates filled with special foods, kimchi, bibimbap and tangpyungchae, and hundred-year-old eggs, musical instruments that were becoming popular in Vladivostock—saxophones introduced from America, and Chosŏn stringed musical instruments including traditional six-stringed zithers, twelve stringed gayageum zithers, haegum single stringed fiddles and ajaengs. Because she enjoyed the peculiar high-pitched sounds, she included a crate full of daegeum and piri flutes.

  Alexandra had a great day visiting silk factories and bought directly from the manufacturer. They were excited to accommodate the young Russian girl, especially after she demonstrated a knowledge of good silks, a real skill in negotiating, and excellent facility with their difficult language. The men of the families who sold her the silks carted shipping crates full of the best bolts of fine silk with exotic and complex designs, pre-made Joseon period brides robes, exquisite Kisaeng/Gisaeng art images for wall hangings, elaborate silk wall paper—enough for one hundred rooms. A telegram would be all that was required to obtain another shipment. It was a heady experience for Alexandra to sign her name to invoices for tens of thousands of Chosŏn yen.

  The voyage home took four weeks because the Far East Transporter encountered a strong taepung storm halfway between Tokyo and Vladivostok. The first week of the passage from Seoul saw the ship in calm waters and sunny skies with a friendly wind which portended a comfortable, swift, and safe journey. As it turned out, the voyage was none of those things.

  On the ninth day out, the skies became leaden; and the winds began to kick up the waves. In eight hours, rains began to hit the Far East Transporter like millions of tiny needles. Soon the torrential rain did not fall so much as it came at them horizontally. The wind’s direction changed every few minutes. For a while it would come from abaft, then aport, then astarboard. The storm controlled the ship and determined whether or not the men and one girl would live or die.