Rembrandt's Ghost by Paul Christopher Read Free Book Online Page B

epaulettes. His skin was dark, burned to the color of old leather by the sun after years of exposure. The man’s hard features were Chinese. His name was Fu Sheng and he was Khan’s second in command. The two men had known each other for almost twenty years.
    Khan’s old friend clambered onto the porch.
    “
Apa kabar
, Dapu Sheng?” Khan asked in Tanjong, an ancient dialect spoken by fewer than a hundred people, most of them members of his own Rejang River clan. “What news?” Dapu was Fu Sheng’s nickname: Big Gun.
    “Kaba baik, tuan,”
replied Fu Sheng, bowing slightly. “The news is good, master.” He continued. “I have spoken with our people at the shipping company. They have confirmed the situation. The ship is some way south of us still.”
    “And the business in London?”
    “It proceeds,” said Fu Sheng. He shrugged. London was only a place he’d heard of, never seen, and matters there did not really concern him.
    “Follow the ship but do nothing yet. As to London, keep me informed.”
    “Yes,
tuan
. Will you remain here?”
    “Three days, only, then come for me. Those clowns from the Maritime Enforcement Agency are due for one of their patrols. Let them find nothing.”
    “I don’t know why you go to such lengths to hide,
tuan
,” said Fu Sheng. “Their pencil has no point,” he scoffed. “We have more ships than they do, and more guns.”
    “I don’t want to make war, Dapu Sheng. I want to make money. We pay bribes for that reason— to keep their pencil dull.”
    “It isn’t the honorable thing,
tuan
,” growled Fu Sheng, refusing to give in, his voice tinged with anger and regret.
    “Perhaps not, old friend, but it is the prudent thing. We live in a world that holds honor in no esteem. It is extinct, just like the words we speak.” He reached out and laid his hand on Fu Sheng’s broad shoulder. “It is not the time.”
    “Will the time ever come?”
    “Perhaps sooner than you think, Fu Sheng. Our ancestors are calling. If we heed them we shall have our day.”
    “You speak in riddles,
tuan
.”
    “Perhaps.” Khan smiled. “But then again, what are riddles except mysteries waiting to be solved?”
     
     
     

Chapter

6

     
    “Very mysterious,” said Billy Pilgrim, staring at the painting on its tabletop easel. He and Finn Ryan were standing with James Tulkinghorn in his small, book-lined conference room. The table the easel sat on was oak, dark and very old. It looked as though it belonged in a monastery, and Finn could just imagine silent hooded monks eating their simple meals around it.
    The painting itself was small, no more than a foot square. It showed an almost comical little ship, full sailed and high decked, running through stormy seas. In the background was a clearly defined reef with crashing surf and behind that a jungle landscape. The sky was painted in vivid sunset colors. The famous signature appeared in thick, almost italic letters in the lower right-hand corner:
Rembrandt
.
    “According to information given to me by the Boegart archives, the painting is a commissioned portrait of the
Vleigende Draeack
, or
Flying Dragon
— the ship with which Willem Van Boegart made his original fortune in the East Indies. It was painted in 1671. The painting disappeared just after the beginning of World War Two and was recently discovered in a Swiss bank vault.”
    “It’s a ‘jacht,’ the first of the types of ship used by the Dutch East India Company. It’s where we get the term ‘yacht,’ ” Billy supplied.
    Tulkinghorn nodded. “Quite so.”
    “It might be a yacht,” said Finn, “but it isn’t a Rembrandt.”
    “I beg your pardon?” Tulkinghorn said, sounding a little offended. “It’s signed.”
    “That doesn’t mean very much,” responded Finn. “Rembrandt had a workshop and employed dozens of apprentices, all of whom were authorized to sign his name. It’s almost like a rubber stamp. On top of that Rembrandt was well known for signing his