Taming Poison Dragons (56 page)

‘Ah, sweet music!’ I remark.

He nods. To grin so steadily would hurt most men’s mouths.

‘Perhaps I will consider a purchase after I have consulted the Astrologer Mu,’ I say. ‘He is available for a consultation, I take it?’

He points to a curtained entrance at the rear of the shop.

‘Through here?’ I ask, determined to provoke a reply.

But he is back at his perch in the doorway, scanning the crowd for customers.

The curtain he indicated is tattered and made of the coarsest hemp. I step through and at once someone is beside me. A glitter of metal catches my eye. I cry out. A rough hand grips my arm. A blade forces up my chin.

There are two of them in the darkened room. One on a low bench: Thousand-
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-drunk, complete with his basket of crickets. The armed man is the Ensign Tzi-Lu. He appears to have recovered from his day beneath the privy in Three-Step-House and bows gracefully as he lowers his knife. I have no doubt he would have cut my throat quite as nimbly.

Thousand-
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-drunk motions that I should sit beside him on the bench. There is nowhere else to sit.

‘I take it you are the Astrologer Mu?’ I ask.

‘Sometimes,’ he admits.

‘Please remove your basket of insects,’ I say. ‘I would prefer it if you did not dine right now.’

His eyes widen a little.

‘Lord Yun Cai is displeased?’

‘How could I be otherwise? It seems strange you did not contact me earlier. A white cloth has hung from my window for several days. Considering the risks I have taken, I expected some word.’

‘About what?’ asks Thousand-
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-drunk.

‘Whether you have conversed with Golden Bells.’

‘Oh, we’ve done that.’

‘And?’

‘He is pliable,’ says Thousand-
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-drunk. ‘You did well.’

I settle back on the bench. The Ensign Tzi-Lu stands guard, listening by the door with the utmost attention.

‘So Golden Bells has been purchased?’ I remark.

‘Indeed he has,’ breaks in the gallant Ensign. ‘But that is nothing, unless we have a plan for freeing His Excellency P’ei Ti.’

‘Do not utter that name aloud!’ hisses Thousand-
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-drunk.

I glance between their taut faces.

‘Do you possess such a plan?’ I ask.

Thousand-
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-drunk glowers at his basket of crickets.

‘A delicate question,’ he says.

‘One may say that,’ snorts Ensign Tzi-Lu. ‘Days pass and still we are no nearer our goal. Who knows what they are doing to His Excellency? As for me, I do not like to think of it.’

I watch them shrewdly, reminded of debates between Wudi and Eldest Son about managing the estate. It is my habit to remain silent.

‘We should act at once,’ declares Ensign Tzi-Lu. ‘Delay plays into the hands of the enemy.’

‘You are too hot,’ replies Thousand-
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-drunk. ‘Even if we gain entry to the prison through the side door, kill the guards and release His Excellency from the cell; even if we escape through the same side door, where do we take him from there?’

The Ensign Tzi-Lu brushes aside this objection with a contemptuous hand.

‘We hide him in the city.’

‘But where? You are too hot, my young friend.’

I raise a finger. Both fall silent.

‘If one is to judge the harvest,’ I say. ‘One must consider the weather. How does the wind blow?’

‘His Majesty’s forces draw closer and closer,’ says Thousand-
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-drunk.

‘How close?’

‘From the word I receive, a few days at most.’

‘What of it?’ protests the Ensign. ‘One day or ten, we must brave the prison and I say sooner rather than later.’

I cough politely.

‘Let us consider this from General An-Shu’s position.

Or that of his advisers. Firstly, His Excellency P’ei Ti is a great prize. He must not be squandered. But how is one to use him? That is the question. How?’

The Ensign shrugs.

‘Who knows how traitors think?’ he says.

‘Young man, they think mostly like you and I. Now, His Excellency may be useful as a hostage,’ I continue. ‘But they will know very well that the Son of Heaven would sacrifice him if need be. Or he may be used for other purposes. What might those purposes be?’

Thousand-
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-drunk mops his brow. Certainly it is close in the room. He is out of his depth, and I sympathise.

Playing the madman is one thing, a desperate venture like this quite another.

‘We need confusion to aid us,’ he says. ‘Remember, while the snipe and mussel were fighting, the fisherman caught them both.’

‘You’ve lost your nerve, old man!’ jeers Ensign Tzi-Lu.

‘I say, we get him out and then see how things stand.’

I sigh. In so small a room, so hot and unpleasant a room, a sigh can be loud.

‘Why exactly have you summoned me here?’ I ask.

Thousand-
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-drunk examines me sharply.

‘We need to know whether anyone has questioned you concerning His Excellency.’

Then I understand. If P’ei Ti has mentioned my name, I might already have been interrogated. If they believe this, I will never leave the bird seller’s shop. It says much about their incompetence that they took the risk of drawing me here. After all, I now know their hiding place. And who is to say I did not bring spies with me.

‘No one has uttered P’ei Ti’s name in my presence,’ I say.

They regard me silently. For a moment Thousand-
li
-

drunk seems about to speak.

*

‘That at least is settled,’ breaks in the Ensign Tzi-Lu, evidently relieved. After all, he owes me his life. ‘Your loyalty was never doubted.’

My faith in them, hardly high, descends another rung.

The morning is passing; perhaps all hope of releasing P’ei Ti is passing. I rise and bow. They say nothing as I leave.

My disquiet can scarcely be expressed. Success lies beyond too many locked doors.

When I step into the market square, stallholders are frantically gathering their goods and everyone is in a hurry to leave. I chance upon the widow who sold me a handful of dumplings.

‘What is happening?’ I ask.

She replies with the whites of her eyes and I am none the wiser. Families bustle away. Two wheelbarrows collide and the merchants loudly abuse each other. I clutch a stranger’s arm.

‘What is happening?’

‘Get yourself home, old sir,’ he says. ‘The General is returning. Best not to be on the streets today.’

With the aid of my stick, I shuffle towards the house by the ramparts. Yet prudence must not always rule a man.

There are things I would know and that entails risk. Most of all I long to see Youngest Son’s face. So at the crossroad I turn toward the East Gate, joining a crowd of merchants and streetwalkers, beggars and urchins, eager to witness the entrance of the army. I arrive just as the first soldiers appear and take up position beneath a tattered awning, jostled by idlers.

The air fills with a triumphant blare of trumpets and drums. One might think General An-Shu was returning in glory rather than scuttling back to Chunming like a wounded fox to its lair. He rides at the head of his elite guard. The General’s back is straight, his face resolute. He is remorseless, a beacon of discipline. Others in the crowd sense it too and some even manage a ragged cheer.

General An-Shu only holds my attention for a moment.

I am drawn to the carriages that follow, filled by his closest advisers. Then I shrink back. The occupant of one carriage is familiar, yet strange with age. The years between our last meeting melt. Beneath his grizzled features lies a discarded face. I remember a young man consumed by purpose and ambition, dressed in an advocate’s gaudy silks. Over thirty years ago when he was the Lawyer Yuan Chu-Sou.

I hide, pretending to fuss over my shoes. Then the carriage has passed. I follow it with my gaze.

‘Who is that gentleman?’ I ask a fellow loiterer. ‘What relation does he bear to the General?’

The stranger narrows his eyes. Perhaps my question is too earnest. We are all afraid of uttering an unguarded word.

‘That is His Highness’s chief adviser. I do not know his name, sir.’

But I do. Or a name he once used. Given the disreputable court of the Emperor-in-waiting who can guess what he styles himself now?

The head of the column proceeds to the Prefect’s residence and the battalions that follow inspire less awe.

Ranks of exhausted, grimy, wounded men, half dead on their ill-shod feet. Hungry soldiers with little left to lose, yet surprisingly orderly.

*

The first regiment passes. I press to the front of the crowd, seeking a single face in the ranks of tramping men.

Then comes the second regiment, if that is not too grand a name for so depleted a force. Finally, the Winged Tigers enter Chunming. I can feel my breath labouring. A company marches past, then another. Suddenly I am limp with relief. Youngest Son rides at the head of his company, the same scum who troubled Wei. I almost cheer. He appears unwounded. He has no eyes for the crowd, lost in a bitter world of thought. My heart reaches out to him until he too has passed. I return wearily to the house by the ramparts and bolt the door of my room.

All the next day I sit waiting for word from Youngest Son.

Without doubt he has many pressing duties: ensuring his men are fed and the wounded are tended, that new weapons are found to replace those lost or broken. Does he not owe a duty to me? One might answer that question many ways.

I descend to the garden at dusk and sit a little apart from the other prisoners. We are much reduced. Every day one of our number is arrested and dragged off to face treason charges. Not one of the accused has returned. We live in constant anxiety, afraid to speak in case some spy reports it.

The sergeant appears. I rise in a flutter of spirits. Behind him stands Youngest Son.

‘Where is Lord Yun Cai?’ bellows the sergeant.

His eyes fall upon me.

‘You lot,’ he barks at the other prisoners. ‘Clear the garden. Lord Yun Cai’s visitor wishes to speak to him alone.’

So they leave, casting resentful looks at me. Youngest Son watches them go uncertainly. He is dressed in full armour, dented and scuffed. A sword hangs by his side and a plumed helmet rests on one arm. When we are alone he limps up to me, then bows low as an honest son should, his eyes downcast.

‘You had better rise,’ I say, at last. ‘And rest beside me on this bench.’

He does so. We sit side by side, reminding me of a morning when he was a boy. We sat just so, watched over by the gate gods of Three-Step-House.

‘How glad I am to see you,’ I say.

He looks at me sharply.

‘Are you, Father? I thought you would triumph to have been proved right.’

‘You refer to General An-Shu’s rebellion?’

For a moment I think he will repeat his familiar tirade about the new times, the glorious new dynasty.

‘It evidently pleases you to call it that,’ he says, resentfully.

‘No, it does not please me. It is simply best not to point at a deer and call it a horse.’

We fall silent. Night moths flit round the garden. I notice that the flower which found root in the city walls has drooped and faded. Soon the stars will come out.

‘Tell me what has happened since we last met,’ I say.

He tells a disreputable tale. General An-Shu’s army marched towards the capital for hundreds of
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then were met by a huge force. Step by step they retreated, fighting several battles on the way, each costlier than the last. It seems a miracle the General’s forces did not break.

Youngest Son says little of his own role in these affairs.

‘Why do you limp?’ I ask, when he finishes.

‘It is nothing. I took an arrow in my thigh, that is all.’

Shadows are lengthening. I can hear the sound of tramping feet beyond the city walls.

As though sensing my thoughts, Youngest Son says,

‘Our regiment has been ordered back to the front. We leave at dawn tomorrow with orders to slow the enemy advance at any cost. That is why I have come, Father, to say farewell.’

For a moment I am tempted to rail at the stubbornness of General An-Shu. Why does he not fall on his sword, or drink poison, instead of dragging thousands down with him?

‘You must become a deserter,’ I whisper. ‘Take your horse and ride far away.’

He shakes his head.

‘I cannot leave my men. I am their father. Surely you understand that?’

‘This rebellion is doomed!’

His head hangs as it did when he was a boy. He is ashamed.

‘I must be true to something!’ he protests. ‘Let it be my men if nothing else. Heaven knows I have failed everyone.

But they respect me, Father, they look up to me. And they need me.’

I take his hand.

‘You are young,’ I murmur. ‘Youth is folly. Do not feel bound by promises to a traitor.’

‘No, I must go.’

The shadows have crept right across us and into my heart. I sense that certain words can no longer be avoided.

Unpleasant words.

‘Youngest Son,’ I say, at last. ‘Things have not been as they should between you and I.’

A little of his old spirit returns.

‘Since you speak of it, Father,’ he replies, haughtily. ‘I cannot disagree. You always favoured Eldest Son from the day I was born.’

I shake my head.

‘He accuses me of favouring you! I treated you both fairly. Just the same.’

‘No, Father,’ he snaps. ‘This will not do! You were always harsh to me, never patient as you were with Eldest Son. Little wonder I was driven to bad companions.’

‘So that is your excuse?’

‘Because it is true!’

‘You made your own choices.’

‘I never had a choice, Father. I was always the wrong one, always the one who never learned his characters properly. . .’

‘Ha!’ I cry. ‘Eldest Son was as deficient and lazy as you in that regard! To think I hoped to make scholars of you!’

Then I realise what I have said. We subside. He tugs the plume of his helmet.

‘What did you expect?’ he demands, miserably. ‘That we would pour out verses as freely as you poured out your wine? We are different from you, Father. I am different.