The Faith and Salt

A heavy silence settled over the cellar before the iron door swung open.

A Chinese gentleman stepped inside, clad in a simple dark robe offset by the crisp white collar of a Christian catechist.

In that suffocating hole, the sight of him was the closest thing to salvation David could hope for.

He was followed closely by the head jailer, who stepped with an exaggerated, cringing humility that made his earlier brutality seem almost comical.

"My apologies for the rough handling and the confusion," the catechist said in clear English.

The captive sailors exchanged bewildered glances, scanning the dim room to confirm who had actually spoken.

The catechist walked straight toward the British captain, his eyes flicking over the man's faded blue frock coat and frayed gold-laced cap.

"There have been numerous Westerners smuggling opium into these waters lately. I believe the squadron commander mistook your vessel for a smuggler's craft and treated you accordingly. We seem to have made a mistake."

He paused, his polite diplomacy hardening into firm authority. "However, a thorough search remains entirely necessary."

The man's sharp gaze swept across the room, lingering on David just long enough to make his stomach knot.

David shifted his weight against the damp wall, his jaw aching from keeping the three silver shillings clamped tightly beneath his tongue.

"On behalf of Viceroy Lin Zexu," the catechist continued, "I assure you that once we have confirmed you are carrying no contraband, all your personal belongings will be returned."

Hearing this, David finally allowed his shoulders to drop. He turned his head and discreetly spat the three shillings into his palm, careful to shield the motion from the guards.

"I won't give you this," he said to the nearest guard.

"Was that pittance o' silver genuinely worth riskin' yer bloody life, parson?" Archie muttered from the shadows.

David ignored him completely. He had absolutely no intention of discussing his desperation with a tiresome Scottish sailor.

Stepping back toward the center of the cellar, the catechist consulted a small notebook. "Among you, is there a missionary by the name of David... Loo—Loo-eh-lin?"

"That would be me," David said, raising a hand.

"Very well." The Chinese gentleman approached him, making a slight, instinctive motion as if to offer a handshake.

However, after one swift glance at David's hand, coated in a vile mixture of spit and sea salt. He promptly aborted the gesture, dropping his arm back to his side.

"Gather your belongings and come with me. We have far more urgent matters to attend to."

"Actually," David rasped, his throat dry and raw, "there is something I must do first, if I may."

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"Please, go on."

"Could I trouble you for a cup of water? I have been tasting copper and sea salt for two days."

Passing through the heavy iron gate of the cellar, the two men emerged onto a bustling thoroughfare.

The sudden glare of daylight and the deafening noise of the street hit David like a physical blow.

The catechist introduced himself as Liang Fa, a figure who carried himself with quiet dignity.

As they navigated the crowded streets, he pointed out various aspects of the city, noting dryly that the avenues of Canton were far cleaner and more structured than those of Peking. "A fact you shall soon appreciate for yourself," Liang Fa added.

"What?" David stopped walking. "Are we bound for Peking?"

Liang Fa smiled faintly, offering no reassurance. "No. The time has not yet come."

This was exactly what frustrated David most about the man.

Liang Fa spoke in agonizingly brief fragments, cutting himself off halfway through a thought as if a few extra words would cost him his life.

"A decade ago, foreigners were strictly forbidden from setting foot inside the walls of Canton," Liang Fa said, resuming his pace. "You are among the first to enjoy this privilege."

David offered a bitter smile, rubbing his chafed wrists. "If being thrown headfirst into a dungeon counts as a privilege."

They traversed narrow, winding stone alleys, bypassing towering city walls and fortified gates, until they finally arrived outside the city proper at the Five Immortals Gate.

Here stood the chapel and mission house.

In truth, it was merely a cluster of ordinary residential buildings, and by no means the most well-maintained among them.

The place looked poor compared to the commercial district he had just walked through, where arcaded buildings straddled the streets with Western-style pillars and Chinese plaques above their lintels.

He had not expected the London Missionary Society’s station to look so utterly impoverished.

To hell with it, he thought, adjusting his dirty collar.

A drowning man cannot choose his plank. He pushed the thought aside and kept walking.

The mission house was arranged in a traditional Chinese courtyard compound, a layout consisting of grey tiles and timber frames entirely foreign to David.

Yet, its lime-washed walls were heavily decorated with Western religious engravings and scripture scrolls written in blocky black characters.

Inside the main room, a white man sat bent over a heavy wooden table, idly nursing a cup of tea.

He felt his shoulders loosen at the sight of a fellow Westerner.

"This is Dr. Parker. He has been in China since 1835," Liang Fa said, introducing the two men. "And this is David, the new missionary sent by the London Society."

"Good day, sir," David said.

"How do you do," Dr. Parker replied, offering a brief nod without standing.

"Are you American?" David asked, instantly catching the distinct flat vowels of his accent.

"Yes. I trust that isn’t going to be a problem?"

"Of course not," David said smoothly, pulling out a chair. "I am merely surprised to find a non-conformist running an Anglican station. I was wondering when you switched denominations."

"I haven't switched anything." Dr. Parker gestured with his chin toward a heavy, leather-bound volume of American Board reports resting near his teacup.

Noticing the young British missionary’s lingering confusion, Dr. Parker offered a dry, pragmatic smile.

"In the eyes of the Chinese, there is absolutely no difference between us. I strongly suggest we learn to cooperate."

"It makes no difference to me either," David replied, leaning back. "Though I suppose it is best if I leave this particular detail out of my official reports to the Bishop."

"That would be wise," Dr. Parker agreed, taking another slow sip of his tea.

"Now, let us speak of your mission," Liang Fa interjected, sitting down and leaning forward. "For which I must once again express my deepest gratitude and respect."

David felt a sudden prickle. He forced a modest wave of his hand. "You give me too much credit."

"On the contrary, my thanks are barely sufficient," Liang Fa countered, his expression turning dead serious. "For you are bound for the most volatile and perilous region in the entire empire."

David froze. "I beg your pardon?"

"The dispatch from London informed me of your unique qualifications," Liang Fa said, tapping a folded letter on the table.

"It noted that you not only purchased your own firearm for protection, but that your command of the Chinese tongue is exceptionally brilliant. I have no doubt you will survive perfectly well out there."

David went very still. The back of his neck turned damp.

The muscles in his face went completely slack. He had bought the shotgun for hunting birds or defending himself on the voyage.

What do you mean by most dangerous?

He was completely undone.