They reach the top of the building. The sun-drenched expanse of the city spreads before them. The gold spires of the Grand Palace where the Child Queen holds court and the Somdet Chaopraya pulls the strings, the
"It's a good view, isn't it, yellow card?"
Across the wide roof, a white pavilion has been erected. It rustles gently in salt breezes. Under its shade, in a rattan chair, the Dung Lord sprawls. The man is fat. Fatter than anyone Hock Seng has seen since Pearl Koh in Malaya cornered the market on blister rust-resistant durian. Perhaps not as fat as Ah Deng who ran a sweet stand in Penang, but still, the man is astonishingly fat, given the privations of the calorie economy.
Hock Seng approaches slowly, wais, lowering his head until his chin touches his chest and his pressed palms are nearly above his head with the respect he shows the man.
The fat man regards Hock Seng. "You wish to treat with me?"
Hock Seng's throat catches. He nods. The man waits, patient. A servant brings cold sweet coffee and offers it to the Dung Lord. He takes a sip. "Are you thirsty?" he asks.
Hock Seng has the presence of mind to shake his head. The Dung Lord shrugs. Sips again. Says nothing. Four servants in white suits shuffle over, carrying a linen draped table. They set the table before him. The Dung Lord nods to Hock Seng.
"Come now, don't worry about being polite. Eat. Drink."
A chair is produced for him. The Dung Lord offers Hock Seng wide fried U-Tex noodles, a crab and green papaya salad, along with
"How-?"
"We burn any trees that show the disease and those around them as well. Also, we have widened our buffer perimeter to five kilometers. With UV sterilization, it seems to be enough."
"Ah."
The Dung Lord nods at the small kink-spring, sitting on the table. "A gigajoule?"
Hock Seng nods.
"And you have them to sell?"
Hock Seng shakes his head. "The way of making them."
"What makes you think I am a buyer?"
Hock Seng shrugs, forcing himself to hide his nervousness. There was a time when this sort of bargaining was easy for him. Second nature. But he wasn't desperate then. "If you are not, then there are others."
The Dung Lord nods. Finishes his coffee. A servant pours more. "And why do you come to me?"
"Because you are rich."
The Dung Lord laughs at that. He nearly spits out his coffee. His belly rolls and his body shakes. The servants freeze, watchful. When the Dung Lord finally controls his laughter, he wipes his mouth and shakes his head. "A fair answer, that." His smile disappears. "But I am also dangerous."
Hock Seng buries his nervousness and speaks directly. "When the rest of the Kingdom would have rejected our kind, you took us in. Not even our own people, the Thai-Chinese, were so generous. Her Royal Majesty the Queen showed mercy, allowing us to come across the border, but it was you who provided safe haven."
The Dung Lord shrugs. "No one uses these towers anyway."
"And yet you are the only one who showed compassion. An entire country full of good Buddhist people, and only you gave shelter, instead of forcing us back across the border. I would be dead by now if not for you."
The Dung Lord studies Hock Seng a moment longer. "My advisors thought it was foolish. That it would put me in opposition with the white shirts. Set me at odds with General Pracha. Maybe even threaten my methane deals."
Hock Seng nods. "Only you had enough influence to risk it."
"And what do you want for this wondrous bit of technology?"
Hock Seng readies himself. "A ship."
The Dung Lord looks up, surprised. "Not money? Not jade? Not opium?"
Hock Seng shakes his head. "A ship. A fast clipper. Mishimoto-designed. Registered and approved to transport cargo to the Kingdom and throughout the South China Sea. Under the protection of her Majesty the Queen…" He waits a beat. "And your patronage."
"Ah. Clever yellow card." The Dung Lord smiles. "And I thought you were truly grateful."
Hock Seng shrugs. "You are the only person who has the influence to provide such permits and guarantees."
"The only one who can make a yellow card truly legitimate, you mean. The only one who could convince white shirts to allow a yellow card shipping king to develop."
Hock Seng doesn't blink. "Your union lights the city. Your influence is unparalleled."
Unexpectedly, the Dung Lord forces himself out of his seat, stands. "Yes. Well. So it is." He turns and shambles across the patio to the edge of his terrace, hands behind his back, surveying the city below. "Yes. I suppose I still have strings I can pull. Ministers I can influence." He turns back. "You're asking for a lot."
