Dragonkeeper 2: Garden of the Purple Dragon (8 page)

“Good boy, Kai.”

Some of the guards searched the hut.

“There’s no dragon in there,” one of them said.

Ping felt the spears jab into her. “Let’s go then.”

She slung the bag over her shoulder. The guards pushed her forward with the points of their spears. As they marched her down the sloping meadow, Ping
turned to look at the shepherd’s hut. It looked so comfortable and welcoming her heart ached to be leaving it. All her peace and safety had evaporated like mist in the morning sun.

The wagon slowed. The leather cover was laced shut, so Ping couldn’t see what was happening. She could hear the low mumble of the guards’ conversation. It must be evening, she thought to herself. We’re stopping for the night at a village. That’s what had happened on the three previous nights. She imagined the scene outside the wagon. The entire village would be gathered to catch a glimpse of the prisoner who was being escorted by the imperial guards. A disappointed mumble would pass through the crowd when they saw that it was
only a young girl. One of the guards would whisper to someone.

“Sorceress,” he would say, and the word would hiss through the crowd like water spilt on a hot stove.

The imperial guards had marched Ping to the foot of Tai Shan where a two-wheeled wagon was waiting harnessed to a patient ox. It was made for transporting sacks of grain and vegetables, not people, and didn’t look sturdy enough to withstand bumping along a rocky mountain path. The guards had bound her hands and feet and pushed her into the wagon. The roof of the wagon was so low that Ping couldn’t sit up straight beneath it.

At least they hadn’t discovered Kai. Ping heard long, low notes. She looked down at the baby dragon in her lap.

“Ping, Ping, Ping,” Kai said.

It was like an accusation. Why had they left their pleasant mountain home? Why had she allowed them to be captured? What were those horrible metal things that made him feel bad? There was nothing she could say to reassure him. With her hands tied, she couldn’t even stroke him. She didn’t complain when he nipped her fingers.

The guards hadn’t been searching for Ping. That was why her second sight hadn’t told her they were near. They’d meant her no harm. She didn’t know why
they’d been wandering around Tai Shan. They’d all heard about the “dragon sorceress,” but once she was tied up, they weren’t so afraid of her. Hua was another matter. She’d heard them muttering about the unusual colouring of his fur in the sunlight, his exceptional size—and the fireballs he spat out. They would have put an end to this unnatural creature with a spear, but knew that Ping was right. The Emperor would want him brought back alive. They had tied the rat up so that he couldn’t escape, muzzled him with a leather thong so that he couldn’t launch any spitballs. After what had happened to their captain, they were all wary of the soup ladle, and no one dared take it from her.

Kai had been terrified and she had comforted him as best she could with her hands tied. She knew her reassurances that everything would be all right were not very convincing. One thing she had been able to do as they bumped along in the wagon was tell him stories. She always spoke to him with her mind not her mouth, but his vocabulary still hadn’t increased. The only word he said was “Ping”.

The little dragon whimpered.

“At least they haven’t found you,” she said.

It wasn’t much consolation.

Ping didn’t have to tell Kai to shape-change whenever the guards threw back the leather cover. It was his natural instinct when he was in danger. She’d been able to carry the ladle-shaped Kai with her whenever she was
allowed out of the wagon. These times were few and far between. The guards had kept her shut inside the covered wagon day and night, allowing her only a few minutes each day to get out and stretch her legs.

They fed her reasonably well, but stood with spears digging into her as she ate. She heard them grumbling about their ration of gruel. Ping’s meals on Tai Shan had been small and simple, and the goat-meat gruel was a welcome change from fish, but Kai couldn’t eat it. She’d hoped that Hua would be able to help her, but he was trussed up like a chicken ready for roasting and couldn’t escape.

Ping knew Liu Che would be furious. He had given her the position of Imperial Dragonkeeper. It was a great honour—and she had rejected it. He had treated her as a friend, confided in her. He had allowed her to call him by his personal name. No one else had that privilege but his closest family members. In return she had helped the last imperial dragon to escape. That was a crime punishable by death.

She had managed to collect a few worms and a snail or two in the brief times that she was allowed out. Kai had found some grubs in the rotten vegetables still in the bottom of the wagon. Ping had fished weevils out of her gruel for him, but he was still very hungry. And every time the guards came near, their iron blades made him weak and sick.

Ping tried to think, though her mind was as weary as
her body. The Emperor would be in Chang’an at this time of year. It would take the ox weeks to plod all the way to the capital city. Even if they travelled by river, it would be a slow journey as oarsmen would have to row against the strong current. She had to come up with a plan of escape quickly or Kai would starve to death.

When the wagon came to a halt, Ping heard footsteps approach.

“Kai,” she said. “It’s time to shape-change.”

The little dragon wrapped his tail around her arm and changed into a soup ladle. The leather flap was thrown back. Ping blinked and shaded her eyes. Her eyes grew accustomed to the light and she saw that they were not in a village, but in a courtyard with high walls on all sides. Large wooden gates were closing behind them. The gate was decorated with paintings of red bats and blue cranes—the symbols of good luck and long life. Her captors were talking to the guards at the gate, pointing at her.

“We caught the dragon sorceress,” one of them boasted. “She tried to cast spells on us. Did you hear what happened to our captain?”

The wagon started to move again. This time the guards didn’t retie the leather flap. They passed under another gateway. This one had three large characters painted on it in gold.

The wagon made its way across a many-arched,
curved bridge, which crossed a wide lake. A steep rocky island rose up out of the water. On top of the island was a pavilion. On the opposite shore of the lake, willow trees bent sadly, their boughs dipping into the water, falling leaves drifting down like tears.

This wasn’t the wild beauty of nature like on Tai Shan; every tree, flower and rock had been carefully placed. It was a huge garden. On the other side of the lake, the narrow road started to rise. The garden spread up the slopes of a small hill. The wagon passed a cluster of maple trees, their leaves just starting to turn red. Ping had seen these trees before. The road meandered between flower beds to a beautiful building halfway up the hill. Ping knew where she was. It was Ming Yang, the imperial hunting lodge where she had met the Emperor.

When the wagon reached Ming Yang Lodge, a nervous guard untied Ping’s hands and feet. The others pointed their spears at her as she stiffly climbed down. She stared up at Ming Yang Lodge. It looked different. The roofs were no longer black. Gleaming yellow tiles had replaced the gloomy black ones. The Emperor had gone ahead with his plan to change the imperial colour. Ping smiled—even though there were spear tips sticking in her back. She had suggested that Liu Che change the imperial colour from black to yellow.

The lodge seemed quiet. Two serving women hurried by, glancing fearfully at Ping, but there wasn’t the bustle
of servants and ministers that there had been the last time Ping was there. The smell of cooking wafted from the direction of the kitchens. She could smell garlic, ginger and plum sauce. Her stomach rumbled. They were the fragrant aromas of an imperial banquet. Her heart thudded. It could only mean one thing. The Emperor was at Ming Yang Lodge. She had thought she would have weeks to work out what she would say to Liu Che, how she would plead for her life. Now she had no time at all to think about it.

Ping felt a strange mixture of excitement and dread at the thought of seeing him again. In the brief time she had spent at Ming Yang before, she had enjoyed his company very much. Besides being the Emperor, he was also the only person she’d ever known who was close to her own age. The only boy. There had been young men working at Huangling Palace from time to time—sour-faced, scowling stable hands and gardeners—but they had all avoided her as if she was an ugly spider. The handsome young Emperor, despite his exalted position, had smiled at her and treated her with respect. He had taken notice of what she had to say, even though she was just a slave girl. She longed to renew her friendship with him, but she knew that would not happen. She had seen the look on Liu Che’s face as she had flown away with Danzi.

The guards didn’t take Ping before the Emperor or to the pretty chamber where she had slept on her
previous visit to Ming Yang Lodge. Instead they led her to a new building some distance from the lodge, hastily constructed of bamboo canes, roughly thatched with untidy bundles of twigs. Ping could hear strange sounds coming from it. Animal sounds—growls and screeches. Inside were bamboo cages. One contained a large black cat as big as a tiger. Another contained two sad-eyed monkeys. The guards kept away from the cage containing the black cat. One of them touched a deep scratch on his arm.

“I’ll be glad when it’s released into the Tiger Forest,” he muttered.

Ping remembered how Liu Che had decided to turn the Tiger Forest that lay beyond the gardens to the south into a wild animal reserve for creatures from all over the Empire.

“Where’s my rat?” she asked.

They ignored her and led her to an empty cage. The guard reached out to take the ladle from her arm.

“Don’t touch it!” Ping shouted.

But he took no notice. As he touched the ladle, a strange expression passed over his face before he collapsed to the floor and lay like a plank of wood. The other guards opened the door of the cage and shoved her in. A pile of dirty straw and a bucket were the only furnishings. They locked the door and left her with the animals. Any hopes Ping had that the Emperor might forgive her disappeared.

Ping shut her eyes as the ladle on her arm turned into a small dragon.

“Hungry,” said the sad voice in her head.

A few days earlier, nothing would have made her happier than hearing Kai say another word. But now she had much more serious concerns. She had to keep them both alive.

Ping sank into the straw. It smelt of horse manure.

“Good boy, Kai,” she said, scratching him around the bumps on his head, trying to sound pleased. “You did well today.”

The little dragon whimpered. Her cheerful words didn’t fool him at all.

Her own feelings were unimportant now. Kai was her first priority. He was thin and his scales were dull. He lay in the straw making soft, low sounds that only made her feel worse. She would have preferred it if he’d bitten her.

Sometime later, a guard came in and without a word pushed a bowl of gruel through the bars of her cage. Kai tried to eat the gruel but it just made him sick. He wasn’t able to digest meat yet. Ping ate a mouthful of the gruel, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat much with the hungry dragon watching her.

Ping had been imprisoned before. She had been cornered by strong enemies armed with weapons. She had always been able to think of a way to escape. But Danzi was with her then. Now she was on her own. She
didn’t even have Hua to help her. There seemed no way she could escape.

She lay down in the straw and curled around the little dragon to comfort him.

Eventually he went to sleep, but Ping lay awake. She could only think of one way to feed Kai. She remembered the day he had hatched from the dragon stone. He had needed milk then and there was none. Danzi had cut his chest and fed the baby with his own blood. She would have to do the same. She lay awake the whole night thinking of how she could get her hands on something sharp enough to cut her flesh.

Early morning light filtered through the bamboo walls. Ping had hoped that she would dream of Danzi and he would tell her what to do. But she hadn’t slept at all. She remembered the old dragon’s soft voice, the way his mouth sometimes looked like he was smiling, how he would point out things of interest with one of his talons.

“Hungry, hungry, hungry,” said a miserable dragon voice in her mind.

Ping stroked the little dragon, ashamed that his
second word only proved how much she had failed in her role as Dragonkeeper.

She felt around for something sharp. She broke off a long splinter from one of the bamboo canes and dug it into her arm, but it only scratched her. What she needed was a blade or a piece of broken pottery or a thorn from a rose bush. She wished the guards hadn’t taken her bag and her knife.

Then Ping realised she had the thing she needed at hand. The very same tool that Danzi had used to cut his flesh—a dragon’s talon. She sat Kai on her lap and held his left forepaw in her hand. Unlike cats, dragons didn’t tuck their claws away when they weren’t using them. They were always out, as Ping knew only too well. Kai’s talons were small, but very sharp. They had often made her bleed.

Ping examined the inside of her arm. Just beneath her skin, she could see the blue lines of the vessels that transported blood around her body. She chose the largest one, in the crook of her elbow, and placed the talon against the tender skin. She dug the talon deep into her arm, clamping her teeth together so that she didn’t cry out. Blood ran from the wound and she caught it in her cupped hand.