Taming Poison Dragons (6 page)

‘Yes, Father.’

‘Let them drink, too.’

At this Youngest Son bridles. I must take care with him.

‘If that is your will,’ I add.

The two officers dismount and Wudi brings their wine.

We stand awkwardly together. The officers bow in a per-functory way. A breeze is picking up in Wei Valley, making the awning flap. The leaves of the mulberry trees shimmer and murmur. Birds twitter and sing.

The wine has refreshed Youngest Son in more ways than one. His bearing carries authority. He strokes his fine, curling sideburns and beard in a way designed to draw attention. Yet I am not a susceptible lady. To me, his whiskers seem absurd and common, far from the clean-shaven dignity of an examined scholar.

‘You are evidently here on an important mission,’ I say.

‘If it is within your discretion, perhaps you could share its purpose with me, so I may be of assistance.’

Youngest Son raises an eyebrow. I can read his thought.

Father still speaks in the same flowery, annoying way
.

‘I have been sent by His Highness to hunt rebels. That is all you need to know, Father.’

His Highness! General An-Shu is aiming higher than I expected. I refrain from correcting his confusion of titles.

‘Ah,’ I say.

The soldiers in the square are looking round. It takes no great wisdom to guess their thoughts.

‘I have here an inventory of all the available grain in the village,’ I say. ‘Naturally, we expect your men will require feeding.’

One of the officers snorts. Youngest Son quells him with a glance.

‘We shall only take what is needed,’ he announces in a loud voice. ‘Any who transgress this shall answer to me.

General An-Shu protects the welfare of all obedient subjects.’

Subjects now! So the peasants are to be robbed of their food. Even Youngest Son looks uncomfortable. After all, he knows half the villagers by name, and is aware of their poverty. There’s no helping it, for either of us.

‘The General’s kindness is well-known,’ I say. ‘We are grateful.’

Youngest Son is beginning to flush round the cheeks, always a dangerous sign with him. I have extracted what promises I can.

‘Father should retire to Three-Step-House,’ says Youngest Son. ‘He will understand I must arrange bivouacs for my men.’

I nod.

‘Perhaps Honoured Father needs a jar of wine after his exertions?’ he asks, smiling slyly. ‘I’m sure he does.’

Already the boy grows impudent. His officers chuckle, indicating that words have passed concerning my weakness.

‘Naturally, you shall join us to dine?’ I enquire. ‘You and your esteemed officers.’

He grunts, barely able to hide his satisfaction. I have traded my renunciation of him for the village’s safety.

*

Youngest Son lolls like a lord in Father’s ebony chair,
my
chair. Though I cannot see his expression, there is exhilaration and pride in the way he grasps the chair’s arms, surveying his men as they scurry like ants. Anger is an emotion I can ill afford.

‘Did it go well, Wudi?’ I ask.

He scratches his chin.

‘No one’s drawn a sword yet,’ he says. ‘Not yet.’

He is right. I have bought only a little time.

‘Did you discover where the Imperial cavalry are hiding?’ I whisper, though there is no one to hear us except the crickets.

‘In the side valley beyond Shady Wood,’ he says, quietly.

‘A good place. They are clearly well-led. But Youngest Son will be aware of it. General An-Shu must want these men badly. He has sent an officer who knows the district and at least two companies of his best men. Why are the Imperial cavalry so important to him? I still do not see why they came to Wei at all.’

Wudi shrugs, as if to say,
If you don’t know, how
should I?

‘Wudi,’ I say. ‘Are you prepared to risk another son?’

‘I only have two left,’ he says, dryly.

‘If you are, send one of them to warn the cavalry.

Tell them they should hide their traces and let their horses loose. Tell them to conceal themselves in the caves behind Heron Waterfall and not to come out under any circumstances, until they are told it is safe. Your son must show them the little entrance. The caves were discovered after Youngest Son’s banishment, so he will not search there.’

Wudi scowls.

‘Is it wise to get involved, Lord?’

‘I believe so, in the long term.’

‘It shall be done as you wish,’ he says, reluctantly.

By the Goddess of Wei Valley, I hope I act wisely.

Certainly she must be angered to have her wells and streams polluted by such a rabble. Yet my actions, perilous to everyone around me, are based on the words of Thousand-
li
-drunk, a notorious madman:
General An-Shu will never become the Son of Heaven. Remember that
in your dealings with the cavalry who escaped.
Yet stranger changes of dynasty have occurred.

If my judgement is right, then my son, for all his fine uniform and whiskers, is to be pitied. If I am wrong, he is to be pitied a hundred times more.

As I enter the gate of Three-Step House, a solitary scream rises from the village below.

Three-Step-House is subdued. Even the sounds of chopping from the kitchen lack their usual vigour. The maidservants who did not accompany Daughter-in-law to Whale Rocks Monastery go about their work as if they have already been dishonoured, unmarriageable without a huge dowry to tempt future parents-in-law.

Eldest Son comes to my room. At once it is clear he has been drinking. Well, we are all acting out of character. If I’m sober, why shouldn’t he be drunk? Perhaps wine might discover hidden courage in him. Yet I am ashamed for him. Some are fired by wine, others made ignoble.

‘Did you see him, Father?’ he asks, miserably. ‘What did he say?’

‘Only that he is hunting rebels and deserters.’

‘Did he mention me, Father?’

‘No. You must be calm! Drink as much water as possible and sleep for an hour. All will be well if you follow my instructions.’

He wrings his hands. A pitiful sight. And worrying.

‘He’s angry with me,’ he says. ‘Though it is not I who took away his inheritance.’

I realise then, he is not to be relied upon. His brother always had too much influence over him. Above all, Eldest Son must not hear of my dealings with the Imperial cavalry. I must remember to warn Wudi of this.

‘He is not even angry with
me
,’ I protest, gently. ‘So this is my advice. Act like a simple-minded country lord’s son.

Talk only of the harvest and how lazy the peasants are and your favourite places to fish. Let his officers make fun of you as a simple type, and if they laugh at your expense, laugh with them. Above all, keep Youngest Son talking about himself without offering any opinions of your own.’

Eldest Son blinks at me stupidly. Will he recall any of this when it matters?

‘Remember, our best defence lies in being agreeable,’ I add. ‘Personally, I am prepared to act the fool if it keeps us safe. You should do the same.’

He giggles hysterically.

‘Everyone likes to feel superior,’ I say. ‘Why shouldn’t we bumpkins oblige?’

‘Father is wise,’ he mumbles, though he doesn’t sound sure.

‘Go to your room,’ I say. ‘Remember you are my heir.

And no more wine!’

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Thank you, Father.’

I’m left to examine shadows in the room. Finally, I take my own advice and lie down on the couch. Images of angry faces and Eldest Son’s panic shimmer across my mind. But I am old and cannot help dozing, exhausted by my trial with Youngest Son. I listen to a cricket chirping insistently outside. A thin, clear, rhythmic sound. Then the past awakens, half-dream, half-memory. They say an old man’s past is more real than his present. If the Lord Buddha is to be believed, both are illusions.

The cricket’s chirp opens the door to this house, as it was, when I was a boy.

At that age I had many interests, but my great passion was crickets. The noble art of cricket-fighting was revered just as highly in our village as in the capital. Though I could not have guessed it then, those restless insects set in motion my long journey to the Imperial examinations –and all the fear and exhilaration which later haunted my ambitions.

Three-Step-House nourished many kinds of cricket, as a city sustains all sorts of people. I recall a sunny morning in the seventh or eighth month. Waking soon after dawn to birdsong and the chirrup of insects. My tiny bedroom lay in the corner of the highest building. Its window faced mountains capped with snow even in summer. A stand of bamboo nestled in the terraced field at the side of the house. I heard servants chattering in the courtyard below and cockerels crowing up and down the valley. Sweet scents in the air: dew drying, wood smoke, the summer pungency of plants.

I dressed quickly and padded down the central corridor, eyes and ears sharp for the slightest rustle of papery wings. By the front entrance I found Little Wudi, the bailiff’s son, waiting for our daily hunt. In his hands a clay pot with a wooden lid and rope handle.

We skipped down the brick-lined stairs to the lowest building, for it was there we always began. The kitchen maids bowed, but I ignored them, my business more pressing than a palace eunuch’s. At the faintest chirp or click we froze, searching like famished cats after mice.

In the courtyard dwelt a type of cricket which, though unattractive, was dogged and resilient. Because it fed upon household waste and chicken droppings it was often mean-spirited. The villagers called this plain, ordinary type Straight-Backbone-Wings.

Then Little Wudi and I made our way to the pigsty. It was built, as in most houses, beneath the privy so the pigs might benefit from their masters’ waste. I was afraid of the pigsty, though I tried hard not to let Little Wudi see, on account of a story Mother had told me about the First Wife of the Emperor Goazu.

Empress Lu struggled for many years with her husband’s favourite concubine, Lady Qi. Both women wished to have their sons proclaimed heir to the throne and for a long time the succession hung in the balance. Then came Goazu’s sudden death – some whispered his First Wife had a hand in it – and Empress Lu’s son ascended to the Heavenly Throne. At once the Empress poisoned Lady Qi’s children and any other girl Goazu had favoured. She ordered the dismemberment of Lady Qi’s hands and feet, gouged out her eyes, scorched her ears with red-hot tongs and crushed her tongue so that her old rival could only grunt. Then Lady Qi, once so exquisite, was thrown into the pigsty beneath the Imperial privy. The entire court was encouraged to demonstrate their loyalty by defecating on the half-mad woman crawling among the pigs. Empress Lu even invited ambassadors to view ‘the human pig’, as she named Lady Qi.

This story taught me bad dreams, and each time I visited the privy I peered nervously through the hole for Lady Qi.

Nevertheless the privy was home to a kind of cricket whose piercing chirps were like mournful gongs on a foggy evening, echoing from afar. One could only listen in wonder.

Leaving the courtyard, we climbed back to the Middle House. Here Mother and my sisters were already at work, embroidering gowns and coats so we might appear finer than our neighbours. A long, clean room where they laboured in silence, save for murmured instructions or rebukes. When I arrived Mother would brighten. She always favoured me over my two sisters, who were older and on the cusp of marriage. That was natural. There’s a saying in Wei: one son worth a dozen daughters. Unless, of course, your son turns out to be a feckless, disobedient wastrel.

Mother summoned me to the stool where she worked, brocade spread across her knees, and stroked the small tuft at the top of my shaven head. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Have the servants laid out a proper breakfast?’ ‘How much did you eat?’ I was too impatient to answer, my business too important. At last she released me with a sigh.

Little Wudi and I scampered to the store chambers at the side of Middle House. Here might be found a white, bloodless kind of cricket living in the dark spaces beneath the eaves, known as Pale-Fragrant-Forehead, on account of its clammy body. A morose creature, it seemed too gentle to make a good fighter, but as they say, beware silent ones. I saw it leap upon green field crickets and crush them after a short struggle. Pale-Fragrant-Forehead detested any intruder in its territory, where it laid numerous sticky white eggs, like tiny beads. These it tended with fierce devotion. So to get the best from it, one had to collect a few eggs for it to guard.

The lumber rooms were mostly empty, although with each year more clutter filled the bare spaces. Our family owned little when Father first came here after his elevation. Mother put it about that our numerous ancestral possessions were lost on a boat which caught fire. Father always looked embarrassed when she recounted this tale to visitors, and rapidly changed the subject.

The truth was far more wonderful.

Father and his brother, Uncle Ming, were both self-made men. Of their parentage I know little. It was a subject everyone avoided. Sadly, none of our ancestors’

bones lie in the family tomb that Father constructed at great expense. We are much weakened by this misfortune.

He became Lord of Wei as a reward for his service in the wars. Most notably, he leapt to the defence of General Yueh Fei when the latter had been unhorsed during the Battle of T’su Hu Pass, and found himself alone, surrounded by barbarians. At this desperate moment a humble lieutenant of the Glorious Destiny Regiment appeared by his side. He instantly slew two Kin warriors with his halberd and decapitated a third. Then he drew his sword. Bellowing like a frenzied bull, he swept away another four barbarians. By this time other soldiers of the Glorious Destiny Regiment had formed a protective ring around General Yueh Fei and my father had sustained enough wounds to kill a dragon, let alone a man. The proof was written across his body in deep scars until the day he died.