End of Chapter 2 of "Emma and the Great Race"

(When we last left our heroine, Emma Davies was trapped on the dingy wharfs of 1934 Hong Kong, about to be sold at an impromptu salve auction...)

You squirm impotently, now reduced to a lot in an underground slave auction. You fight the ropes and chains that bind you inextricably to the post in the decrepit shack of Pinkins and his infernal associates. “Why me?” you think to yourself, bemoaning your cruel fate at the hands of these hateful kidnappers. Little do you know that there is a sinister answer to your very question.

Pinkins harsh, guttural voice brings you back to the desperate here-and-now. “Say, gents, where shall ‘e biddin’ start? Do I 'ear 10 000 pounds sterlin’?” Several of the attendees are clearly put off by Pinkins’s enjoyment of his power over you; the room is silent.

“Come now, ‘ere ‘ere, it’s a high price but this one’s a stark ravin’ beauty! An English rose if ever I seen one,” Perkins says. “Oh, now I fink I know why you are so reluctant to bid – you ‘aven’t seen all o’ ‘er yet!” He mounts the crude auction stage on which you have been placed. He gathers your hair in one fist and roughly grabs the collar of your white silk dress roughly in the other. He yanks back your head uncomfortably, exposing your neck. “Nice white neck, she ‘as…” he grunts. “Annat’s no’ aw!” he says with his tongue anging out of his mouth. You cringe in horror and shock as he appears about to rip the dress to expose your body to these…these outlaws!

“No need for that Pinkins-san,: says the Japanese bidder. “We can see her virtues well enough. Be so kind, do not spoil the merchandise!”

“All right, I’ll bid 10 000 pounds,” says the emissary from Johor. “Only please leave her alone. Your behavior is quite uncalled for.”

Your eyes well up and you try to say “thank you” to the Johor bidder for even this small mercy in your degrading helplessness. Pinkins’s face degenerates into a snarl as he looks at you, then roughly lets go of your dress, robbed of his chance to violate your dignity again.

“11 000,” says the man from Mao’s camp.

You notice that Pinkin’s rough treatment of you has slightly loosened your stifling gag. You try to work on it more, pushing with your tongue and moving your head as best you can to try to force it out from between your now dry lips.

“12 000,” the Japanese aide-de-camp says.

Pinkins turns to the Westerner. “You know she’s worth a lo’ more, don’t you, sir? Aren’t you going to place a bid, too?”

“In a moment,” the Westerner says in a soft Welsh lilt but without betraying any emotion in his face.

“15 000,” the man from Johor bids.

You finally succeed in pushing the gag out of your mouth! The wad drops from your mouth as you gasp out your last plea for mercy to the bidders. You can expect no clemency from the vicious Pinkins. “Please, please, what are you doing? You can’t buy a person! It’s….it’s…”

“Uncivilized?” the Welshman interrupts.

“Cruel!” you reply. “Horribly, unspeakably cruel!”

“Eh, missie, ‘oo said you were allowed to speak?” Pinkins says, as he walks up the auction stage again.

“I beg you, tell this fiend Pinkins to let me go! He can’t get away with this! There will be an inquiry into my disappearance! Please I beg yo –mmphhfff!” Your last plea is truncated as Pinkins stuffs the wad, now moist from your spit and dirty from being on the floor, back in your mouth. You start to cry again, miserable as your last bid for freedom has failed!

The Welshman, at the rear of the audience, pulls out a large pistol from inside his jacket, raises his voice, and says, “The lady is quite right. You won’t get away with this!”

You look up, eyes wide with amazement and joy at the sudden possibility of salvation after all hope had gone!

Everyone turns around and freezes. “Please disarm yourselves, and place any weapons on the floor right now,” the Welshman says. “My name is Norris. I represent a very special client – HM George V! And he is quite possessive about all his subjects, even in the most remote of his dominions.”

Pinkins tries to play his last card. He speaks to the others. “Now, gents, I fink you oughta let this taffy know who’s boss ‘round ‘ere? You wanna do porridge for an honest transaction? You wanna rot in the bucket and pail an' explain ‘at to your bosses when you get out?”

The Welshman looks straight at Pinkins and smiles. “No, these dignitaries may not be aware of British law, and I am sure –“ he smiles at the other bidders for a moment – “that none of them is aware that this ‘merchandise’ is in fact the victim of a kidnapping! So I think they should just leave quietly and we can consider the matter closed for them.”

The other three bidders start to slink out of the shack, relieved not to be under arrest. "As for you, Mr Pinkins,” the Welshman continues, “you are fully aware of the law and penalties for illegal auctions, kidnapping, fraud, and a host of other offences connected with this sordid affair.” He turns to face the two Chinese assistants of Pinkins, but it seems they too have slipped away from the shack. “All right, Pinkins, untie her – now!”

Pinkins, his head low in defeat and suppressed rage, does as he is told, unchaining you from the pole, then untying your hands from behind your back. You rip off your gag and then start to rub your sore, red wrists. “Thank you, thank you,” you say to your rescuer.

“Keep your hands up please,” says Norris to your abductor. Pinkins scowls as he stands next to you. You are overcome with indignant fury as you recover from your ordeal. You stand before Pinkins and slap him across the face. “Shame on you!” is all you can say.

Pinkins glowers. Norris says, “I believe the appropriate East End phrase is ‘It’s a fair cop, guv!’ But what would a Taffy know?” He walks up to the auction stage, handcuffs Pinkins, and turns to you. “I have to take this man in for questioning. The police station is a short walk from here , and I can arrange to take you home from there if tht will be all right.”

“Yes, and thank you. I shudder to think what would have happened to me if you had not been here!” you say.

You accompany Norris to the police station and then are escorted back to the Mandarin Hotel. This time there is no one waiting to jump you in your suite, and you can enjoy a luxurious bath in your room. You are still unsettled by the day’s events, but you still want to continue with the adventure Uncle Ned suggested in the documents he left with his lawyer, Osgoode. After all, it’s not as if Uncle Ned’s eccentric ideas could subject you to more peril than you have already been through, could they?

You lounge in the hotel’s bathrobe on your bed, refreshed and cleaned up, ready to look over the packet from Uncle Ned left on a table in the sitting room. There is a single sheet of paper on it, in Uncle Ned’s handwriting.

“Your aeroplane is waiting at the airfield. Maps are in the cockpit seat. First trip is a relatively short one – a warm up. You have to make your way to the city of Hue , south west of Hong Kong , in French Indochina. One of my colleagues, Serge Hainault, will greet you there and escort you. You must collect a special token that belongs to me that I have placed at the tomb of Khai Dihn, who passed away in 1925. The challenge is this: you will have to retrieve my pocket watch from the mouth of a lion! I am sure you are equal to the task. You will like Hue – it is the Venice of Asia. Good luck! Affectionately, your Uncle Ned.”

“My goodness!” you think to yourself. “After today I am not sure I want to tangle with lions!” But you know Uncle Ned – there has to be a trick – that is the point of his eccentric puzzles. When you get there, you feel confident, you will know what to do!

You lapse into a well deserved slumber. The next morning, you rise, wondering what you may have packed for an adventure. Luckily, you brought clothes for flying, so proud you are of your pilots’ licence. Finally a girl gets to do something they usually let only boys do! You think of your upcoming adventure as a way of showing that women should have their freedom, too – or else it’s all too easy to be treated like chattel, as you were yesterday!

You don the crisp white blouse, tight white jodhpurs, and form fitting brown leather jacket, that make up your flying kit. You pull on the snug black boots that go with the ensemble, then throw a brown cashmere scarf around your neck with flair. Finally you sweep your hair up under a leather flying cap and perch the goggles on your forehead. You are ready for adventure!