Taming Poison Dragons (40 page)

‘However, it does describe the situation rather well,’ she continues. ‘But I want more, well,
detail
about me. My eyes, my face, everything about me in fact.’

‘To do you justice, Your Highness, I humbly implore you for the privacy I have requested. Every worker in jade must have a space to polish. . .’

She yawns.

‘Very well, it shall be so. I suppose you are the only poet available in this pitiful hole. You need not stay in the palace. Only don’t disappoint me, Yun Cai! I do not like to be disappointed.’

I take this as my cue to leave and retreat in the same manner as the Head Eunuch. Back in the corridor, I can hear her playing with the tiger cub once more. Ssu-Ba-Loh grins at me conspiratorially. I’m in the same leaky ship as him now.

A small room. Bed and desk and stool. A lantern and box of tallow candles. On the desk, dusky ink and plentiful brushes, a grinding stone and blue porcelain water jug, decorated with peonies. Sufficient paper to write a thousand commentaries on General An Shu’s reign. The Lady Ta Chi has been as good as her word. Within a day of my audience with her, my room-fellows were banished to other quarters in the house.

No describing the relief of privacy. It is root-space and water for a wilting spirit. Yet I sense the other prisoners’

resentment, and their fear. No one, including the guards, wants to get on the wrong side of a man who has the goodwill of the Empress- in-waiting. They cannot guess its fragility.

Every night I blow out my lantern and sit by the balcony-window, looking out over Chunming. The faintest breath of air cools my moist forehead. Otherwise I fan myself with a poem praising Lady Ta Chi’s hair. Chunming lies silent beneath its curfew. Occasionally I hear soldiers talking as they patrol the streets. Stray night sounds: an infant crying, the ululation of owls, then silence, deep, patient silence, thick as blackest ink. Except, that is, when merriment from the Prefect’s residence disturbs the city’s rest.

I watch, still as a heron, shrouded by the darkness of my room, hardly daring to move in case I reveal myself.

Strange things go on in the courtyard before the Prefect’s residence in the dead hours of night. I witness dances scarcely decent when the General is away at the wars. One night there is a series of bare-fist boxing matches where contestants lie senseless on the ground, oblivion aided by drunken courtiers kicking their prostrate bodies to punish them for losing a bet. Perhaps they merely punish their own fears of defeat. I could tell them, fear will never be mastered by more fear.

Another time, a frantic masque where robed figures act out the roles of Immortals beneath tall, guttering candles, circling round the courtyard to the solemn beat of a drum, mournful tunes on the flute. I watch prisoners dragged from the prison into the centre of the square and set upon by youths dressed in gorgeous silks, their mistress looking on from a high-backed chair. Would she like me to write a poem about that?

Dawn comes. Its light penetrates my closed eyelids and slowly I blink myself awake. Today must not be wasted on dubious verses. The time has come for desperate risks. I dress quickly and stuff the passport Lady Ta Chi provided into my pouch. Then I ask the guard to unbar the gate, and step out into the waking city, drawn by thoughts of P’ei Ti to the courtyard before the Prefect’s residence.

I show my pass to sleepy soldiers at the gate, then wander round the square as though taking my morning exercise until I reach the prison block. A folly not to be contemplated. Unreason has driven me here, but then loyalty and affection are seldom rational. The cocks are crowing all over Chunming, summoning the light of another summer dawn. Outside the prison, I stop. Should I stare at the walls, will myself into the cell where P’ei Ti languishes?

A feeble plan presents itself. I walk over to the prison gates where a night-warder drinks tea while awaiting his replacement.

‘Another hot day on its way,’ I grumble.

He looks at me suspiciously.

‘What’s your business here, sir?’ asks the night-warder.

He is young and, for all his tiredness, sharp-eyed.

‘No business,’ I say. ‘Except walking somewhere safe.

Best for an old man to be up early. This heat makes me swell like a melon.’

He laughs at my joke.

Encouraged, I say, ‘Hey, young fellow, where are your manners? Have you no tea for an old man?’

He brings a cup out. It steams in the cool air and I sip.

His accent intrigues me.

‘You’re not from Chunming,’ I say.

He grunts.

‘Not me, sir, I’m from the mountains.’

He names a valley adjoining Wei.

‘What brings you here?’

‘My father sold me to a tanner in Chunming, and when my bond was up my master decided to die. A shame he couldn’t do it seven years earlier! So I found myself penniless and came upon this job.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘People call me Golden Bells because I’m a good singer at weddings.’

I hesitate. Yet I must try. For P’ei Ti’s sake, I must try.

‘Would you prefer to be back home, Golden Bells?’

He looks at me sadly.

‘If I could afford some land, I’d be home tomorrow.’

I sip my tea.

‘Are you always the night guard?’ I ask. ‘They should pay you more for that. Perhaps you could save up a bit.’

‘Yes, I am. The Chief Warder doesn’t like me because I’m not from Chunming. He pays me less than the others.

*

The Chief Warder says its easier when the prisoners are asleep.’

So he has a grievance. I shake my head sympathetically.

‘A man like you should have his own bit of land up in the hills. A house and wife. You could make a bit extra by your singing. You could grow whatever you liked and sell it at the market.’

He lowers his steaming cup of tea. Looks at me closely.

‘I’d give a lot for that.’

But I have neither money to bribe him, nor a plan.

‘Let’s see what will happen,’ I say. ‘The Jade Emperor is full of surprises.’

He reaches out for my empty cup.

‘I’ve got a cousin who lives in Wei Village, sir,’ he says.

‘I won’t mention his name, but I’ve visited him a few times. You might even be a bit familiar, sir. Not that it’s anyone’s business but our own.’

I feel a sudden, anxious thrill.

‘Who knows what will happen?’ I say. ‘I’ll remember you, Golden Bells. One good turn deserves another.’

I leave, shuffling across the wide courtyard feeling strangely exposed. A few of the servants are awake and about their business. After so debauched a night the Empress-in-waiting’s courtiers sleep late. But as I pass through the gate I glance back and see the Head Eunuch, yawning on the terrace, and watching me. Did he observe my conversation with Golden Bells or has he just emerged to examine the sky? My hands are oily with sweat.

I am not suited to intrigue. It disturbs my essential breaths. My audacity with Golden Bells amazes me. Will he report our conversation in the hope of a reward? P’ei Ti himself may have sought to appease his torturers by betraying my name and the reason for his intended visit to Wei Valley. It is painful to suspect one’s friends.

I have acted out of character, like a sparrow mas-querading as an eagle, and must pay the price. The boldest thing about me is a taste for unconventional rhymes! Do I underestimate myself? Though old and weak, I am still Father’s son. Was I not brave when assisting the Ensign Tzi Lu to hide behind Heron Waterfall? Did I not kill a man when I was young?

I am still to be reckoned with.

Let me just find the courage to turn my conversation with Golden Bells to P’ei Ti’s advantage! If only I was rich, the man drools for bribes. But I must not let desire become rashness. Every action runs the risk of confounding itself. Even if we helped P’ei Ti leave the prison block, there is nowhere to hide, no horses or other means to escape Chunming, assuming the torturers have left him capable of walking. I am learning to wait, as though patience is a weapon in itself.

Still, intrigue does not suit me. I learned this long ago when I returned to the capital from Pinang. Some say we are lucky to dwell in a floating world, for one may gather wisdom from past errors and guard against similar errors in the future. Perhaps if I think back to that time I may remember lessons to assist me now.

It is dark tonight. No moon. I close my eyes, remember a billowing cloud, a bright spring sky, drawing me to the greatest city under Heaven. That cloud was no creature of my imagination. It summoned me like a joyful voice. . .

‘See, sir! See!’

I was hunched over my horse, watching the road for ruts and potholes, careful because my left arm still hung from a sling. Luckily, it was a kindly beast. I believe it sensed my weakness and tried to plod evenly. I looked up, glad to be distracted from gloomy thoughts.

Mi Feng reared his own mount, making it dance on its hind legs in a tight circle, and waved his cap in the air.

What excited him? A longed-for, improbable sight. We had crested a hill and caught our first glimpse of the capital.

Mi Feng galloped around me, whooping at some peasants who were pushing wheelbarrows of cabbage to market. They scattered like frightened birds.

‘Did I not say we would come back!’ he cried.

I was gazing at a cloud. Golden edges round plump silver sails. My eyes descended to the jumbled rooftops and ramparts of the capital, ten thousand kite-strings of smoke from which the blue sky hung. The wind felt fresh and cool on my cheeks. I laughed uncertainly, not quite believing what I saw.

‘You did,’ I said.

Mi Feng reined in beside me, frowning.

‘Are you not pleased?’ he said.

‘I feel contradictory things at once, that is all.’

‘You think too much,’ he muttered. ‘Sometimes it is best to be simple, sir.’

I clapped him on the shoulder with my good arm, and nearly unseated myself. He steadied me.

‘Mi Feng,’ I said. ‘Do not call me
sir
any longer. You have saved my life too often for that. Your debt to me was long ago paid off. Though we can never be equals, from now on consider yourself my free companion. No gentleman could ask for a better.’

To my amazement, he began to cry, brushing angrily at the tears as though they were troublesome flies.

‘If you say so,’ he grumbled.

‘That is settled,’ I said, wiping the corner of my own eyes.

So we rode the last twenty
li
to the capital, drawing few glances on so crowded a highway. Wise to be inconspicuous, though I had little enough idea what, or who, awaited us.

Our journey across the Middle Kingdom had been an uncertain one. At first we limped through the mountains with hordes of survivors from Wen Po’s army, and every step was misery. I was in a daze of pain from my wound.

Mi Feng trudged beside me, urging me on with pleas and jibes concerning my manhood. At last we reached the nearest fortified city and found an Imperial Inn, where I waved Wen Po’s letter of passport and so secured a bed. I did not move from it for a month.

Feverish days and nights. The wound became poisoned, rheumy with pus, and I was fortunate not to lose my arm to a country surgeon’s cleaver. Then the sickness abated.

One morning I awoke in a small room to the sound of some travelling official snoring in the cot beside me. I laughed, scarcely able to believe myself alive.

We continued on our way, trusting to the vigour of youth and the kindness of strangers. Once we begged a ride from a high official sailing through the marsh regions of Lake T’ung, known as the Desert of a Hundred
Li
, for it was infested with brigands. Everyone on the boat feared for their life. The moon was so bright it might have been day. The soldiers protecting us called out from one boat to another, bows and crossbows ready to fire at the slightest danger. As we paddled along they beat continuously on drums and small bells and at last we reached more civilised districts.

A week later we could progress by water no longer and found ourselves marooned in a wretched town so poor it did not bother to protect itself with ramparts. Mi Feng suggested I wait by the river while he ‘had a nose about’.

When he returned it was with two sorry-looking horses.

‘Where did you get
those
?’ I demanded, certain he had stolen them, possibly through violence.

‘Do not ask, sir,’ he said, guiltily. ‘The truth is, I kept back a lot of the
cash
you gave me for food in Pinang.

Don’t judge me too harshly, sir. I couldn’t see the sense in ruining yourself for worthless cowards like those clerks. I thought you’d need some money later on.’

Though I could hardly reproach his intentions, by any standards he had robbed me.

‘Some of that was government funds,’ I chided.

He shrugged. Naturally, I insisted he surrender the rest of the
cash
, fully intending to pay back the Exchequer in full. I never did. So you might call me an embezzler.

Li
by
li
, village by village, we journeyed south then east.

It is a miracle no bandits troubled us. After so much ill-fortune the spirits of the highway must have decided we had suffered enough. Wherever we could we joined other groups of travellers and perhaps that kept us safe.

At last we caught sight of the capital. Four whole months had passed since our flight from Pinang. Blossoms unfurled from gnarled branches. Grass sprouted green shoots, drinking sunlight. And always my left shoulder ached.

We passed through the Gate of Elegant Rectitude at sunset. I halted my horse and Mi Feng waited alongside.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘Unless we sell something, there’ll be no food tonight.’

We were penniless but not friendless. Indeed, one might call it proof of a life well-lived that I had several to approach. By any natural instinct I should have sought out Cousin Hong, for he was family. Or P’ei Ti, for he was my oldest companion. But a harsh, self-punishing desire took hold. I wished to test the woman who had caused me so much misery. If I found her wrapped in another’s arms, I would know love was dark folly, illusion like everything else. Then, perhaps, I might be cured.