Taming Poison Dragons (50 page)

‘So long as, through doing so, we please ourselves,’ I said, doggedly. ‘You must beware that man. He is no better than Lord Xiao!’

‘Oh, Yun Cai, I am not a fool!’

She subsided in confusion. It was hard to read her true thoughts, masked by layers of white powder, like an actress in a play. I pored over that face for a sign of tenderness, as one studies a beloved book. All I craved was a simple sign of affection. Then my trial would seem bearable.

‘Do you ever look out over the West Lake and remember how we sailed there?’ I said, softly. ‘Every time I dipped the oar silver and gold droplets scattered behind us.’

She looked at me, perplexed and helpless.

‘I do,’ she said.

‘And when we embraced,’ I continued, eagerly. ‘You filled more than my arms. You filled every part of me that is good.’

She laughed, dabbing her eyes.

‘I liked that,’ she said.

And I could not help laughing, too.

‘That is what matters,’ I said.

Abruptly her smile became strained.

‘It is Lord Xiao who took that from us,’ she said. ‘I could tear out his heart!’

‘Let us not talk of him,’ I said.

‘How can we not? Yun Cai, you must fix your mind on your situation. It is hardly pleasant.’

I chuckled.

‘It seems pleasant as I gaze at you.’

She squeezed my hand so that her long nails dug in and I recoiled in surprise.

‘You must stop this!’ she cried, in distress. ‘Vengeance against your enemy, only that will save you! Have you not heard about Secretary Wen?’

P’ei Ti appeared at my elbow. His intention was clear.

We had conversed too long. Yet nothing had been said. At least, not the words I desired. He fluttered his hands at her, evidently a pre-arranged signal, for she withdrew tearfully into the carriage.

‘Ride on!’ he barked at the coachman, who at once twitched his reins.

The wheels of the carriage crunched over the gravel path. Then it was turning, crossing the Deer Park at speed. I watched helplessly, consumed by grief. In her frustration she had not even said farewell. P’ei Ti’s hand clasped my elbow and I shook it off.

‘Come inside the temple,’ he said. ‘I too have little time.

We must talk frankly.’

I allowed him to lead me inside. We sat upon the altar steps. P’ei Ti tugged at his collar. He was sweating, despite the coolness of the temple. As always it was my weakness to sympathise with others better than myself. Or what is more dangerous, believe I did. Despite the extremity of my position I wished to comfort him, with lies if necessary.

‘The Lawyer Yuan Chu-Sou has visited me and says all goes well,’ I said, brightly.

‘Then he speaks a shameful untruth,’ said P’ei Ti.

I patted his arm. His gravity and barely concealed fear began to infect me.

‘Tell me what is on your mind,’ I said. ‘Then my dear friend will feel better.’

He pushed me aside and rose quivering. ‘Why must you be so infuriating?’

I watched him in alarm.

‘Yun Cai,’ he said, carefully. ‘I beg you to listen. I am at fault. I am at grave fault. I am like a father who has advised his child badly.’

‘Do you mean to call me a child?’ I said, smiling.

‘In these matters, yes! Yes! The prosecution against Lord Xiao is flawed. Terribly flawed. They have allowed their chief witness to be murdered, an astonishing over-sight. I placed too much trust in the Lawyer Yuan Chu-Sou and taught you to do the same. But I begin to fear the man is a leaking cup. I am to blame.’

We were disturbed by one of the guards peering in through the temple doors.

‘Get out!’ bellowed P’ei Ti.

The door closed.

‘Damn those guards,’ he said. ‘Who knows what bribes they receive. Now listen, Yun Cai, you must keep a steady nerve. Soon you will stand before the judges. I am assured it will be soon. Of the hearing itself and how you should behave I shall not speak, for your honest heart must convince them, if nothing else does. This is what I have come to say. As soon as the trial is adjourned, or you regain even a little liberty, you must flee the capital. I have a horse prepared, and money. As soon as you are able you must go.’

‘Are things so bad?’ I asked, reluctant to believe him.

‘They are.’

I sighed. Squeezed my own hands for comfort.

‘What of the Imperial examinations?’ I asked, defiantly.

‘They fall due in a few weeks’ time. You know how I have studied for them.’

It was his turn to sigh. ‘You must forget the examinations.’

Suddenly I flushed.

‘You intend to sit them, don’t you?’ I demanded. ‘Why should I not take my chance? Am I so accursed?’

He held out his hands miserably.

‘You must preserve your life. That is your true duty now.’

I shrank into myself. Yet a corner of my soul felt no distress. That corner was a door through which the Way poured, teaching acceptance. Through that doorway I glimpsed an eternity free from vile pettiness.

‘Where is this horse you speak of?’ I asked.

‘At my parents’ house. Yun Cai, wait here one moment.’

He went to his carriage and returned with two parcels.

One was long and thin, the other small and squat as a toad.

‘Take these,’ he said. ‘The bag contains two thousand in 
cash
. Use it to bribe the guards if you must. The other, well, it is an old ally. I collected it from your room in Cousin Hong’s wine shop. He asks after you, by the way.

Your old servant, Mi Feng, also urges you to remember him. He said you must not hesitate to call on him if you require a certain kind of help.’

No need to explain the kind of help he had in mind.

I loosened the hemp wrappings of the package. It contained my sword, the same weapon I had used to kill a man.

‘So that is how things stand,’ I said, dully.

‘Forgive me,’ he muttered.

‘What nonsense! Forgive you for what?’

The temple doors opened again. I made sure the guards caught no glimpse of my sword. P’ei Ti was obliged to leave under their watchful gaze. When he had gone, I sat for a long while, the sword across my lap. The old monk shuffled from his private chambers and shook his head.

Somewhere in the palace, across the Imperial Deer Park, a gong tolled out the hour.

That night, I begged ink and paper from the monk and wrote a short poem. Its characters have never left me:
To the tune of ‘Wind-Washed Sand’

Climb pagoda steps, gaze across the lands.

Stars hang motionless, night is numb.

Old friends offer what comfort they can.

Lonely shadow, do not imagine

Daybreak will scatter you forever.

Do not forget kind words said in parting.

In pools of darkness, jade faces glow.

*

I was granted another day before the assassins came.

Another day of pacing and pointless misery.

At last, evening chill settled on the Temple of Flying Petals. My dinner had not arrived by dusk and perhaps that saved me. Perhaps that was why, though hungry, I climbed the pagoda and lolled on a step half-way up, P’ei Ti’s sword across my lap, and fell into a doze.

When I descended, a strange scent filled the air. The temple was full of delicious aromas. Ginger, certainly, and aniseed, as well as something cloying. I stepped into the temple and sensed an unnatural stillness. I made my way warily to the altar of the Blossom God.

There I found a reason to pause. The old monk slumped on the steps, beside a basket of coloured rice and spiced meat. Two chopsticks lay by his lifeless hand, oily with sauce. We had got into the habit of sharing our rations, which in any case came from the same kitchen. Now I bitterly reproached myself for not warning him that I feared poison. His head was twisted in a strange angle. Foam flecked his mouth. The whites of his eyes stared into nothingness.

‘Father!’ I cried.

Though I shook him vigorously he gave no sign of life.

Gently, I let his grizzled head fall back.

The temple doors were customarily locked by my guards at night, but when I tried them they opened easily.

I intended to summon the soldiers and tell them the guardian of the temple had been taken ill.

‘Guards!’ I shouted into the dusk. ‘Come quickly!’

My voice echoed round the courtyard. No one replied.

I had been abandoned. The temple lay open to any who would enter.

Of course I should have fled at once and hidden in the darkness of the Deer Park undergrowth. Or ran to the nearest building and sought the protection of whoever lived or served there. More guards could have been summoned. It would have been sensible. Instead I hurried back to the old monk and slapped his face. To my relief he stirred. I realised that the poison must not be lethal, merely enough to cause unconsciousness. But why drug a man into sleep when you can silence him for, good with something stronger?

Oh, I should have run like a deer that has heard distant hounds and knows what to expect when they burst into view! Instead I went to the old monk’s quarters and fetched a bowl of water. Using a small cup, I dribbled some onto his wrinkled lips. Then I opened his mouth gently and was relieved to see his tongue take a drop. I was about to try again when I heard someone testing the temple door.

At once I understood why the poisoned food brought sleep rather than death. Men had been sent for me at a time when the guards had conveniently disappeared.

Perhaps they wished to question me before I died, as had happened to Secretary Wen. Perhaps they would torture me as they had him. I was certain no one would hear my screams or cries for help. The Temple of Flying Petals stood well away from the nearest dwelling. And even if someone did hear, those who dwelt in the Son of Heaven’s palace were accustomed to minding their own business.

The door creaked. The temple was dark, except for a small lamp on the Blossom God’s altar. I retreated to the stairwell at the bottom of the pagoda and waited, concealed by deep shadows. With a clawing sensation, I realised that P’ei Ti’s sword remained in its hemp wrappings beside the old monk. I was defenceless.

As the temple door opened, I almost darted forward to snatch up my sword. If I had, they would have seen me at once. No doubt I would have fought. Perhaps I might even have managed to wound one of them until they cut me down, like a hero from an old story. Thankfully, I hesitated. My true nature saved me for, despite Father’s trade, I was no soldier.

Three men dressed in black robes glided into the temple. I hardly dared breathe, let alone move. They looked around wordlessly. Each carried a drawn sword in his hand. One of them held a lamp.

Yet they could not see me peering from the stairwell. In a strange way, though unarmed, I had an advantage. I had grown used to wandering round the temple at night, whereas for them it was a strange place. Yet I hardly doubted those black-clad men would end my life quite efficiently, perhaps even courteously, within moments of finding me.

So I made no noise as I climbed the pagoda stairs. Half way up I paused.

‘This isn’t him,’ came a distant voice.

How confident the man sounded! He spoke as though there was no need for caution. Perhaps he wanted me to hear so I might panic and betray my presence. I heard the thud of a boot. A faint groan.

‘Leave him,’ commanded the first voice.

‘We were told he would be asleep!’

This second was as nervous as the first was nonchalant.

‘It does not matter.’

After that they did not speak. The hunt had commenced and I was the quarry. Every scrape of my feet on the stairs as I ascended brought terror.

Was I weak? Was I less than a true man to offer no resistance?

Perhaps. Perhaps.

My one refuge lay further up the stairs. It was not long before I heard them below. After all, the temple was small and could be searched quickly. At last I saw a faint glow from their lamp. I climbed further. Did they hear me? No shout broke the silence. Now I was at the top. The stairs had run out. I was trapped.

They say one’s life passes before one’s eyes in the moment before death. If so, I must have possessed a peculiar mind. For I did not glimpse my whole life but an hour of it. Long ago, when I was eight years old, Little Wudi beside me, hunting a fat, noisy cricket. It had retreated to the roof of Three-Step-House and, in a rush of bravado, I had climbed after it, clinging like a spider to the roof tiles. . .

Now I could hear them on the stairs quite clearly. I knew what I must do. I dared not. If I hesitated a moment longer they would catch me. Trembling, I climbed onto the window frame and seized the roof tiles. Some instinct kept me from looking down. Now I was outside and the cold night wind ruffled my hair. Then, taking a firm hold of the wooden frame, I hauled myself up.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by the rolling, mournful echo of a great ceremonial gong from within the palace:
Deng deng deng deng
. . . So loud and entirely unexpected that I almost lost my grip. Somehow I held on and managed to swing my legs onto the sloping roof, while the gong beat repeatedly. I believe that gong saved my life for it covered the sound of my passage.

I lay face down, gripping the tiles with a desperate strength. Every portion of my body except my breath froze. I glanced once at the sky beyond the roof-ridge, then squeezed my eyes shut. I willed myself into thoughtlessness. Hold on, that was all, that was everything, hold on lest they discover me, seize my ankles and drag me off the roof, hold on lest my slow, twisting fall ended in a dull crump as I hit the ground.

How long did it take them to reach the top of the pagoda? When they arrived I could hear their conversation clearly for the tolling of the great gong had died away.

‘Did you hear a noise?’

‘Apart from the bell?’

‘Yes. Hush, you fools!’

Hush
. The sound of the wind.

‘He’s not in the temple.’

‘Where is he?’

‘I swear I heard something.’

‘It must have been the bell.’

‘He has been warned. That’s why he’s not here.’

‘I’m not giving up so quickly.’

‘Hush, you fools!’