Dragonwall (10 page)

The bureaucrat frowned. “They haven’t arrived?”

Batu studied the shadows inside the compound. “No.”

As if the general’s word were suspect, the chamberlain stepped through the gate and looked to both sides. “They should have been here. My apologies.”

“Think nothing of it,” Batu replied. Knowing that he would soon see his family, he was in a generous mood.

Promising to send the guards immediately, the chamberlain bowed and left. Normally, Batu would have had a detail of his own men guard his home, but personal troops were not allowed inside the walls of the summer palace. He had no choice but to use those provided by the emperor.

The general paused at the gate to study his new home and to prepare himself for seeing his family. Like most Shou “houses,” this one was actually an arrangement of several one-story buildings inside a walled compound. Twenty feet ahead sat the main hall, a simple rectangular structure with a clay-tile roof. Its exaggerated, upturned eaves were supported by parallel rows of wooden pillars.

Though Batu could not see the building’s color in the dim light, he guessed the roof would be traditional green-blue and the pillars would be some earthy red tone. The walls were no more than rice-paper panels that fit between the pillars. Inside the west end of the building, an oil lamp sat on a low table, casting a soft white glow through the translucent walls.

Panels on the southern and northern walls had been moved aside to allow the evening breeze to blow through the building. Through this opening, Batu saw the outer courtyard. It was a small, stone-paved atrium. A large, oddly shaped rock of black pumice sat in the middle of a shallow lotus pool. In Shou homes, it was customary to make the courtyard seem more natural by displaying a strangely shaped boulder.

Buildings identical to the main hall surrounded the courtyard on its other three sides. The room to the west, Batu knew, would be the kitchen, while the children would be sleeping or playing in the one to the east. The building on the other side of the courtyard would be reserved for guests.

Beyond the guest quarters would be a courtyard similar to the first, also surrounded by one-story buildings. The parents of the household would sleep in the northernmost building. The servants would occupy the halls flanking this second, private courtyard.

The house was silent, so silent that Batu could hear an infant crying down the lane, crickets chirping in the surrounding houses, and the lamp sputtering in the main hall. Listening for the sound of his children’s laughter or the shuffle of Wu’s slippers, Batu went to the entrance.

Inside, the silhouettes of three elegant couches sat on the eastern end of the room. On the western end, the sputtering oil lamp rested upon the edge of a stone-walled pool. Two marble dolphins rose out of the center of the basin, their mouths upturned and spouting small jets of water. Elaborately sculpted stone benches surrounded the fountain.

The hall’s opulence amazed Batu, but not as much as its emptiness concerned him. Someone had occupied the building earlier that evening, or the oil lamp would not still be burning. Yet, there were no cloaks on the benches, no silk slippers left by the doors, no signs of habitation whatsoever.

Of course, there would not be, the general realized. He walked over to the pool and picked up the burning lamp, shining its yellow light into the lavish corners of the room. His family could not have arrived more than half an hour ahead of him. Undoubtedly, the children had been exhausted and Wu had put them straight to bed. She had probably left the lit oil lamp so the general could negotiate his way into their chamber without disturbing the children. The absence of servants was easily explained by the unexpected summons to the new home. No doubt, Batu thought, they would follow tomorrow with the family’s personal items.

Then the silence of the house struck the general again. Even if the children and Wu were in bed, he should have heard something—chirping crickets, Wu’s rhythmic breathing, his son talking in his sleep. Instead, Batu heard nothing inside the house.

He extinguished the lamp and drew his dagger. If the crickets were quiet, it was because someone was skulking about the compound. He started to call for his wife, but thought better of it and remained silent. Wu was hardly the typical helpless wife of a Shou patrician. If she were in the house with the intruder, it would be the intruder who was in danger.

After allowing his eyes to readjust to the darkness, Batu peered out the door leading into the first courtyard. Again, there was no sign of violence or habitation. The other halls remained dark, and the paving stones of the courtyard looked as cold and as lifeless as the ruins of some long-forgotten citadel.

Batu stayed in the hall for nearly a minute, studying the shadows in the courtyard. The general was doing more than just watching for movement and listening for sound. He was attempting to reach into the dark corners with his ki, his life energy, and feel what was there. Wu called this intangible looking ki-touch, and she had tried to teach it to Batu many times.

Unfortunately, he had not learned it very well. He was what Wu playfully called a “one way man,” a man whose feelings, as well as his thoughts, were ruled by his mind. Even at his best, Batu had barely been able to feel the presence of six servants Wu had sent to hide in a dark room. Right now, he felt nothing save his own nagging fear that something terrible had happened to his family.

Taking care to remain in the shadow of the buildings’ eaves, the general circled around the first courtyard. He stopped at the guest hall. When he heard nothing from inside, he slid one of the paper panels aside.

A chill crept down the back of Batu’s neck, and he felt with absolute certainty that someone awaited him in the second courtyard. A mixture of emotions—determination, anger, even fear—washed over him. He saw a barely perceptible silhouette standing outlined against the opposite wall, and he wondered if he had finally experienced Wu’s ki-touch.

Without taking his eyes off the silhouette, Batu silently crawled onto the guest hall’s polished wooden floor. Against the dark paper wall, he could barely distinguish the shadow from the darkness surrounding it. He feared that if he turned away, the silhouette would disappear.

It was still there when he reached the other side of the building. Batu curled his knees beneath his body, then reached forward and began to slide the door panel aside. Through the narrow opening, he saw a figure dressed in a dark maitung. The man remained motionless.

In the same instant, the general heard a silk slipper whisper across the floor a few feet to his right. Realizing he was about to be ambushed, he rolled left, raising his dagger to defend himself. A sharp pain shot through his forearm, then his fingers went numb and the dagger dropped from his hand. The interior of the hall was so dark that Batu could not see his attacker.

The general rolled toward the assailant, hoping to entangle his adversary’s legs. He found nothing but hard empty floor, then two feet settled behind him with feline grace. Something struck him on the shoulderblade with a blow that felt like a hammer strike. His back erupted into agony.

The blow caused terrible pain, but Batu recognized the attack’s true intention and knew he had been lucky. His opponent had been trying to drive a toe under his shoulder blade, striking for a vulnerable line of nerves kung-fu artists knew as the bladder meridian. Though the general did not practice the Way of the Empty Hand, he had learned enough of the art to recognize its debilitating techniques.

Ignoring his pain, Batu pushed off the floor and sprang to his feet. His assailant had already struck twice. If the general allowed another blow to land, it might be the last he ever felt.

As Batu stood, the attacker’s silhouette withdrew in a twisted, bent-knee stance characteristic of kung fu. The assailant was no taller than Batu, but slight of stature and quite small. To camouflage himself in the night, he wore a set of black pajamalike clothes known as a samfu. He had wrapped a black scarf around his head to keep his face hidden as well. So complete was the effect that Batu felt as though he were fighting a shadow.

Unexpectedly, the silhouette relaxed. Realizing this might be his only chance to survive the battle, the general reached for his sword.

With one swift motion, the shadow shifted into the white crane stance and kicked. The sharp clack of teeth cracked through Batu’s head, and he felt himself lifted off his feet. His eyes rolled back in their sockets, his vision went white, and he sank into the numb world of emptiness.

Batu plummeted through the black sphere of nothingness for an eternity. I’m dead, he thought. There can be no doubt of that. If the kick didn’t smash my skull, the assassin finished the job while I lay unconscious—and even if the assassin didn’t kill me, my body has withered and rotted away in all the dark years I’ve been falling.

Batu was angry and sorrowful. The assassin, undoubtedly sent by Kwan, had robbed him of his chance to fight the illustrious battle.

The fate of his family also pressed on his mind. He feared the assassin had killed them, too. Fortunately, if they had survived, he had no need to worry. Wu knew where the gold was hidden, and she was quite capable of defending the family alone. Batu’s confidence in her intelligence and competence was why he had never worried about dying in battle. No matter what happened, Wu would manage.

Batu stopped falling and came to a rest on floating black clouds. How long he lay there, he could not tell. He wondered if this eternal lonely darkness was what every man found in the afterworld, or if it was some special torment reserved for generals who died without fulfilling their destinies.

An eon later, Batu heard a shy titter. Everything remained black, but the familiar smell of a woman’s perfume filled his nostrils. Soft hands stroked his chest, and he was cradled in a warm lap. With a deep sense of relief, Batu realized he had at last reached the Land of Extreme Felicity.

He was surprised to find that it was a region of sensual pleasure. Like most Shou, he had imagined it to be a place of strict bureaucratic order, where all beings abided in perfect harmony and every affair proceeded according to the perfect plan of the Celestial Emperor. It was a revelation he did not find at all disagreeable. Somehow, the thought of occupying an obscure post in the infinite bureaucracy paled beside the prospect of spending eternity cradled in the lap of a beautiful woman.

A second titter reached Batu’s ears, then he felt himself being dragged across a floor—a solid floor.

“Breathe, my husband.” The sultry voice belonged to his wife, Wu. He felt her strong hands massaging his chest.

“Wu?” Batu asked. Her name came out in a strangled gasp, and a wave of agony shot through his jaw. Ignoring the pain and stiffness in his face, he asked, “Are you dead, too?”

A pair of giggles sounded from Batu’s feet.

“No, husband. Neither are you.”

Batu frowned, then shook his head. The motion caused his face to ache from the nose down, and the general knew that his spirit remained attached to his body. He opened his eyes, then slowly made out his wife’s face. She was cradling his head in her lap. Her silky hair hung draped over her shoulder in a long loose tail, and the delicate features of her slender face were tense with apprehension. She wore a black samfu, and a black scarf was wrapped around her throat.

“The assassin—you?” he asked.

Before Wu could respond, another pair of giggles came from Batu’s feet. The general looked down and saw his two children kneeling there. “How dare you laugh at your father!” he said harshly. “Begone!”

Both Ji and Yo scrambled to their feet, but before they turned to leave, Batu said, “Wait—I guess your father looks silly, doesn’t he? Come here and give me my hug.”

In the dim light, Batu could see his children’s broad grins, but that was all. They rushed to his side—the five-year-old boy, Ji, to the left, and the four-year-old girl, Yo, to the right.

As they embraced him, they were far from careful to avoid the bruises their mother had just inflicted, but Batu did not care. He simply did not feel the pain.

After a moment, the children stood. Wu ordered them to find their grandfather and have him put them to bed. Batu tried to free himself from Wu’s grasp, but found his body too sore to move.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“Angry goose nerve kick,” she replied. “You were reaching for your sword. My only other choice was to break your arm.”

Batu touched his sorest spot, the soft pit just beneath the cleft of his chin. A fresh wave of agony rolled through his entire body. “How long am I going to feel like this?”

“No more than an hour,” Wu replied. “I am truly sorry. In the dark, all I could see was your chia.” She tugged at his tattered armor. “It was so shabby that I thought you were an intruder.”

Batu chuckled. “I should have been so lucky. You would have killed an intruder.”

At that moment, a tall man carrying a lit lamp entered the hall. “I put the children in the next hall,” he said.

The man’s long, graying hair was tied in the warrior’s topknot, and he wore the brocaded hai-waitao of a Shou nobleman. When the tall man saw that Batu was awake, he stopped and bowed. As always, the nobleman’s firm face was unreadable.

Batu tried to stand and found it too difficult. He merely inclined his head for a long moment. “Tzu Hsuang, please forgive me for not rising. I fear your daughter has incapacitated me.”

Hsuang acknowledged Batu’s apology with a stiff nod, then said, “Yes, so I see. If the damage is permanent, perhaps we should make her the General of the Northern Marches.”

His father-in-law’s sarcasm was not lost on Batu. Hsuang, the general suspected, had been the silhouette that served to bait Wu’s trap. Had Batu fallen for such a textbook ambush on the battlefield, he would have resigned his commission out of shame. “The trap was well laid,” Batu acknowledged. “What, besides your modest son-in-law, were you trying to capture?”

“Vagabonds,” Wu responded, using the Shou slang for hired assassins.

Placing the lamp on a low table, Tzu Hsuang seated himself on a couch and continued the explanation. “This afternoon, a friend’s messenger arrived at my camp to report rumors that you would soon be appointed General of the Northern Marches,” Hsuang said. “Needless to say, we were skeptical.”