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ladling water from an earthenware jar over her hot skin. In her camisole she lay back on her bed in the shuttered, darkened room. She began to think about the last two days since her arrival in Singapore, and then, within minutes, she was fast asleep.

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    By the time Zhen and Qian began descending the rope ladder, it was late afternoon. They were anchored in a large bay. Smudgy islands, dark and indistinct, lay like sleeping dragons along the horizon. Since dawn, the junk had been surrounded by boats, more arriving as the sun rose, giving the harbour the appearance of a floating fair. At each fathom the junk gained bulk until she slowly trailed into the bay surrounded by a dense mass of boats. The captain stood atop the quarter deck surveying the scene.
    For many of the coolies it was good to hear voices speaking their language, asking for news, calling out names. The merchant boats were haggling for trade, assuring the captain of best price, best quality. In addition to human cargo, the junk carried porcelain and earthenware, paper umbrellas, vermicelli, dried fruits, joss sticks and joss paper, raw silk and nankeens, medicine, tea and ornate roof tiles. The junk’s owner had ordered a return shipment of guns, opium, gambier, sapanwood, red sandalwood, saltpetre, dragon’s blood, elephant teeth, pepper and cloves.
    The captain, who had been many times to Si Lat Po, listened imperiously to the din but would deal with the only men he trusted: the biggest coolie agent in Singapore, Guan Soon, and Inchek Sang, the richest merchant. They had all known each other since Malacca days and had come to Singapore immediately after its founding, at the call of Raja Farquhar, the first resident of the new settlement and former governor of Malacca; Farquhar was a man they knew and trusted from long acquaintance.
    The attractions of Singapore were manifold, but first and foremost was its status as a duty-free port. No ship which docked paid port duty; no cargo which landed was taxed; no transaction attracted fees. Nothing stood in the way of the freedom and profit of trade. This made Singapore unique. As a consequence, honest and dishonest tradesmen, steely ship’s captains, pirates, cut-throats, wily country traders, fishermen and farmers, missionaries, ne’er do wells, the poor labouring masses of the surrounding lands and merchant princes all flocked to its verdant shores.
    The wide tongkangs bumped against the junk, and the captain watched the coolies being unloaded. He had been involved in the pig trade for years. Incheck Sang asked him to look out for likely candidates to work for him and made it worth his while. The rich merchant towkays needed a big force of docile labourers for their gambier and pepper plantations and tin mines, for the turnover was high, but occasionally they also needed smart, strong workers, and the captain kept his eye out during the voyage. He had noted Zhen and Qian from the beginning. They were two of only three who could read and write, and the third looked sickly. He would talk to Inchek Sang later, for now they would go, like all the rest, to the kang coolie houses in Gu Jia Chue, the Water Bullock Cart Chinese town. He was looking forward to some amusements in town, a good meal and maybe a visit to the women at the ah ku whorehouses, or some gambling.
    First, though, he would go to the new temple he could see on the beach side. A Hokkien temple. Better than the Fuk Tak Chi temple, which was built for bloody Hakkas and Cantonese. He spat a gob over the side. He would go to the temple of his own people and make offerings to Ma Chu, Goddess of Heaven, Goddess of the Sea, and give thanks for a safe journey. He had lit incense to her shrine on the poop deck of the junk and, throughout the morning, all his cargo had proceeded slowly past the shrine to make their thanks. Now he contemplated the lighters as, heavily laden, they made their way to shore. Over 200. Profits would be good.
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