Taming Poison Dragons (60 page)

How could he? He is ten years old. Copying them so neatly is a triumph in itself. He bows shame-facedly, then runs from the room. I am left alone with the paper in my hand.

‘They are hard words to understand!’ I call out after him.

But it is too late. He has gone.

‘Father,’ says Youngest Son as we sit over dinner, plying our chopsticks in gloomy silence. Perhaps I am recollecting Fragrant Dawn. Or Su Lin. Or nothing at all.

‘Father!’ he tries again, eager for my attention. ‘Today I climbed the cliff at the back of the village all by myself.

My companions said that even a monkey could not do that!’

Eldest Son shoots a warning glance at his brother. I regard them both.

‘It is a steep cliff,’ I concede.

I have no idea who these companions are. It is the kind of thing a father should know. Soon enough I will come to learn about them, when it is too late.

‘Never let anyone compare you to an ape,’ I say, at last.

‘Remember you are a man. After all, one should not insult monkeys.’

I smile at my own wit. He does not know how to reply.

He is ten years old. Our chopsticks click and click.

Everyone is relieved when the meal ends.

‘Father, I have good news!’

Eldest Son is twenty-one now and already the father of a toddling boy.

‘You know that piece of wasteland above Swallow Rocks,’ he says, proudly. ‘Wudi and I have arranged that it should be cleared. Actually, it was my idea. And I have ordered that the Widow Shu’s sons should be allowed to till half of it. I know how strongly you feel that widows should receive access to land.’

He beams, expecting praise. Instead I frown.

‘Who is this Widow Shu?’ I ask, amazed such a person exists.

‘Why, Old Shu’s wife,’ he says.

‘That much is obvious,’ I remark.

Eldest Son hovers.

‘Father, did I not do well?’

Perhaps he thinks I am displeased. It is worse than that.

*

I am indifferent to almost everything he does. He leaves, and another lonely afternoon drags towards dusk. . .

P’ei Ti has woken. He stretches, and manages a faint smile. I glimpse his yellow teeth in the starlight.

‘We are still alive!’ he exclaims.

‘Apparently so.’

‘I can feel my strength returning,’ he says. ‘Is there no food?’

‘Nothing.’

Further down the corridor, a prisoner bellows for his mother. We huddle together.

‘Yun Cai, I cannot believe my good fortune in finding you,’ he says.

‘You call this good fortune?’

He manages a dry laugh.

‘Given the circumstances, I suppose I do.’

I stare into the dark. It is as though years of separation have never existed, such is our ease with each other.

‘There is a question I must ask,’ I say. ‘Why did you come to Chunming Province? I can hardly believe it was to visit me.’

‘No, I was ordered here,’ he says. ‘I have requested leave of absence to visit you many times, Yun Cai, and always His Majesty could not spare me. But at last it was granted.’

‘To accomplish what?’

‘Our spies reported that General An-Shu was gaining in ambition under the influence of his concubine and advisers. I was instructed to ensure Chunming Province remained steady and, if need be, execute General An-Shu.

By the time I arrived the rebellion was well-advanced. My escort was massacred and I was thrown in this prison. Of course I intended to visit you in Wei. Indeed, that is why I persuaded the Privy Council to assign me this mission. I wanted to see you again before I died.’

We sit without words. Now the dread of execution begins to clutch. P’ei Ti stirs.

‘Didn’t you hear?’ he whispers. ‘Movement in the prison.’

I listen. There is some kind of noise. It no longer seems important. I close my weary eyes and my spirit leaves me, flitting through the narrow window, flying high into the night sky. Now I see everything: General An-Shu’s army resting on hillsides before tomorrow’s battle; the Emperor’s forces illuminated by countless campfires. Then I feel my soul being dragged back to the dark streets of Chunming, back through the window, back to this prison, this narrow cell.

‘Just a dream,’ I murmur. ‘Just a dream.’

If so, I wake with a start. The bolts of our cell are scraping. The time has come. I close my eyes, and wait.

The cell door, swollen by damp and age, opens with a jolt.

A lantern bobs, blinding us. Dark silhouettes peer inside.

We cannot see faces, just shapes.

‘Preserve our dignity,’ whispers P’ei Ti.

I sense his deepest fear. To lose face and betray the Son of Heaven, as he did in the Phoenix Chamber. The figure in the doorway raises the lantern.

‘Is this the right cell?’ he whispers. ‘I see no one.’

He steps in and shines the lantern, revealing us crouched in a corner. We blink like startled cats.

‘Your Excellency!’

In a flash the man is on his knees. I look in confusion at P’ei Ti. Then I recognise the voice and struggle to my feet.

‘Get up!’ I say, filled with wild hope. ‘This is no time for ceremony.’

For the man is Ensign Tzi-Lu. And behind him, holding the lantern, stands Golden Bells.

‘What?’ croaks P’ei Ti.

‘Quick, Your Excellency!’ hisses Ensign Tzi-Lu. ‘Follow us!’

We find ourselves in a miserable corridor lined with closed doors. The prison is silent, its inmates asleep or too frightened to draw attention to themselves. Golden Bells’ lantern casts strange shadows on the walls. He leads us to a small courtyard in the centre of the prison. Here are more lights and I gasp a lungful of cool, night air.

A scene frozen by menace awaits us. Thousand-
li
-drunk stands by the entrance, complete with his basket. Four warders kneel, guarded by half a dozen armed men, holding swords to their throats. Other warders lie dead on the floor. The Ensign Tzi-Lu looks around and listens.

Stillness. No alarm has been raised. His own sword is in his hand, glittering faintly in the starlight.

‘Kill them all,’ he says.

At once there is a flurry of blows. One of the warders manages a thin scream – but that is hardly unusual in this place. Within moments they lie crumpled on the earth.

The Ensign raises his hand for silence. Again, no sound.

Golden Bells walks over to the corpse of the Chief Warder and spits on it. I glance away.

‘Hide them in that cell,’ murmurs the Ensign. ‘Then follow us.’

He leads us to a side entrance. We wait as he unbolts it.

No one speaks. I can hear P’ei Ti’s laboured breath and steady his arm. Yet his eyes are bright.

The Ensign opens the door a crack. It creaks ominously.

Slowly, he pokes his head outside. Whatever he sees reassures him.

‘Quick!’ he murmurs.

We file out into a narrow alleyway at the rear of the prison. The path smells of ordure and we soon pass a walled dung heap. I cry out involuntarily. A corpse lies on the manure, his arms and legs splayed, eyes glinting dully at the sky. Three large pigs snuffle around him.

We shuffle through the darkness to a postern gate in the wall of the Prefect’s enclosure. Beyond lies a dark road lined by mulberry trees and low houses. We are free! Can it be so easy? The Ensign barely hides his triumph. We follow him into the street and he closes the door behind him. Then my misgivings begin, for there is no sign of horses. The Ensign sheathes his sword and I turn to Thousand-
li
-drunk.

‘Where now?’ I whisper. ‘Where are the horses?’

Thousand-
li
-drunk flaps his hands. His face is pale as mourning clothes. He is shaking. I have never seen him truly afraid before. It is hardly a sight to inspire confidence. What he lacks in courage the Ensign Tzi-Lu offers in abundance.

‘Follow me, Your Excellency,’ he murmurs.

It seems I exist merely as P’ei Ti’s shadow.

P’ei Ti nods stiffly.

‘We are wholly reliant on you,’ he says.

*

Now begins a journey across Chunming fit for bad dreams. Every corner might conceal enemies. With each moment that passes I expect shouts of pursuit. I am filled with a strange certainty that I will meet Youngest Son somewhere in this darkness, that he will join our motley band. Under a son’s protection I might feel safe. But he is far away. Or dead.

Finally, we halt in sight of the Western Ramparts, hiding in the shadow of a derelict temple. We wait expectantly.

The Ensign Tzi-Lu bows to P’ei Ti and offers us food and drink. It is strange to see a great man gobble like a beggar. I’m sure I look no better.

‘We have not been able to get horses, Your Excellency,’

he whispers. ‘The rebels have taken every last one in the city. But I’ve got a ladder hidden by the walls. We’ll climb it, then lower ourselves by rope. No one will know how we have left Chunming.’

P’ei Ti nods solemnly.

‘Get on with it, young man.’

Our party hastens to the shadowy foot of the ramparts.

A dog barks further up the alleyway. The Ensign seems to be casting about for something. We wait anxiously as he walks up and down, evidently agitated. In one of the hovels behind us, I hear a querulous voice. When the Ensign returns his head is bowed.

‘Forgive me, Your Excellency,’ he mutters. ‘The ladder is missing. And the ropes. Perhaps they have been stolen.’

We glance uncertainly among each other. P’ei Ti’s breath hisses with frustration. As for me, I sense only inevitability. For a long moment we huddle in the alley, eight armed men and Thousand-
li
-drunk, not to mention two decrepit fellows useless in a fight.

‘Your Excellency,’ says Ensign Tzi-Lu. ‘I have a plan.

We shall march up to the West Gate, pretending that you are our prisoners. Once there we shall bluff our way through and escape. If need be, we shall dispatch the guards.’

P’ei Ti and I regard him in amazement.

‘That is a crazy plan,’ I say.

‘Yes,’ says Thousand-
li
-drunk. ‘Insane folly.’

‘What choice do we have?’ demands the Ensign. ‘At any moment the warders may be discovered and a general alarm raised. Consider, General An-Shu has emptied the city of all available men. There will only be a skeleton guard on the West Gate for the Imperial army is attacking from the east.’

He sounds eager to convince himself.

‘We can hide at the bird-seller’s shop,’ protests Thousand-
li
-drunk.

‘That is not practicable,’ counters the Ensign. ‘We will never make it there without being seen.’

If our situation weren’t so desperate, I might laugh. Our saviours look absurdly like brigands. Yet they have already proved themselves capable of daring. The question is settled unexpectedly.

‘We shall do as this officer thinks best,’ announces P’ei Ti. ‘I have faith in his judgement.’

The Ensign Tzi-Lu puffs with pride.

It is only a little way to the West Gate. We make hasty plans. Thousand-
li
-drunk produces a tattered document which I recognise as a licence to beg. Clearly, we must pray the guards are not only imbeciles but illiterate.

Starlight and lanterns illumine our way as we approach the gate, marching in strict military style. P’ei Ti, Thousand-
li
-drunk and myself shuffle along, pretending to have bound hands. As we draw near, guards pour out of their quarters wearing the tatty uniform of the Penal Battalion. Five, six, then eight and nine, including a sergeant. Who would have expected so many?

‘Halt!’ calls the sergeant, one hand on his sword.

We do so.

‘Special prisoners!’ replies the Ensign. ‘We must be allowed instant passage. Open the gate!’

The sergeant frowns.

‘I have orders not to open the gate for anyone.’

‘His Highness wants these prisoners removed from the city,’ says the Ensign, stepping closer.

‘Where is your pass?’ demands the sergeant.

‘I have it here.’

The Ensign walks boldly up to the sergeant. There is a sudden movement. His knife protrudes from the sergeant’s throat. Blood spatters on the ground in a thin spray. Then the sergeant collapses. For a long moment the guards watch in horror. Suddenly the gateway is full of fighting men. The clank of iron on iron fills the air. P’ei Ti and I shrink against a wall. The fight seems to last many minutes. Four of our escort are dying or grievously wounded, amidst half a dozen of our enemies. The rest have fled.

The Ensign summons us over, gasping. He has taken a wound to his chest.

‘The gates!’ he croaks.

As his men open them, we hear pounding feet on the rampart above us, shouted orders.

‘Now!’ he cries. ‘Now! Or rot here forever!’

*

We need no encouragement. P’ei Ti, Thousand-
li
-drunk, Golden Bells and myself stumble through the gateway onto the exposed road beyond. The pitiful remainder of our escort follows. It is dark, yet there is enough starlight to shoot by. Crossbow bolts land among us. The last of our remaining soldiers fall. A shaft pierces Thousand-
li
-drunk’s basket. He slows to taunt the man who fired it, then another bolt appears in his exposed chest. With a short scream, he crumples. More missiles descend, they have found the range now. Yet by Heaven’s will we are unscathed. Darkness conceals us. We have escaped Chunming!

The Ensign Tzi-Lu leads us into a field and we hobble over the sticky earth and hide in a stand of bamboo.

Escaping Chunming is one thing. Preserving our liberty quite another. We are a pitiful remnant.

Thousand-
li
-drunk’s loss affects me deeply. I always suspected he might be an Immortal, and now he lies pierced by a crossbow bolt. His arrival in Wei every spring coincided with the plum blossom. His cryptic utterances over decades of my life have come to just this: a mouthful of dusty road.

There is no time to mourn. I survey our forces. The Ensign Tzi-Lu staunching the wound on his chest with a strip of torn cloth. Golden Bells squatting on the ground, dazed by violence. And P’ei Ti slumped against a gnarled root, evidently exhausted. As for myself, I might despair if not for one certainty. Somehow I must frustrate the horsemen riding to destroy my family. An insane restlessness grips me. To an onlooker it might seem resolution.