Taming Poison Dragons (36 page)

He was so calm! And furious at the same time. It lent me courage.

‘What shall we do?’ I stuttered.

He grasped my arm and met my eye.

‘Fight,’ he said.

He must have seen my fear, for he laughed.

‘Fight, like your father,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll gather their heads.’

The back door splintered open and the first of our enemies rushed through. He was met by a twang from Mi Feng’s bow. For a second the man carried on, clutching the shaft in his throat, then fell with a gurgle and rolled on the floor, scrabbling at the broken arrow shaft. The two remaining men charged through, towards the front entrance, where we waited.

Mi Feng’s plan was obvious. Only one of our opponents could emerge at a time. But they were not fools. Instead of rushing onto our swords, everything went still inside the house. I could hear the sound of fighting in nearby streets, screaming children, the panting of our breath.

Finally a chair flew through the doorway, making us duck aside, and they surged after it onto the street.

Instantly, we were fighting, Mi Feng with his long curved knife, me with P’ei Ti’s sword. I had no time to think of my servant. My entire self was concentrated on the opponent before me. Time slows at such crises. Your life like a spinning mirror, ready to fall one way or the other, to break or remain intact. Thought is no longer a virtue, what matters is cutting and parrying.

At once it became obvious I was outmatched. I faced the root-chewer, and he beat back my sword effortlessly, taunting me as he did so. He found me a kind of sport.

Then he struck at my chest and I leapt back. The blade struck the abacus strapped across my breast and by some miracle, some absurd chance of war, the tip of his sword caught in the rows of beads. I was merely buffeted by the blow, my skin scratched not pierced. He tried to withdraw his sword but it had stuck.

With a desperate scream, I lunged P’ei Ti’s sword. I’m sure I aimed for his stomach. Instead the blow fell on his groin. It didn’t matter. His startled grunt tore the night air.

He staggered back with a high-pitched whine, dropping his sword and clutching his wound. I stepped towards him and hesitated. Enough had been done. He could hardly harm me now. He was gasping, staring at me through wide eyes, begging wordlessly for mercy. I lowered my sword. Then, gripped by fury, I struck him with all my strength across the neck so that he crumpled, his head at a strange angle.

When I finally took my eyes from his corpse, I saw Mi Feng bending over the body of his opponent.

‘No!’ I cried.

For he was in the process of removing the man’s head.

Mi Feng rose reluctantly.

‘Better make sure of the others,’ he muttered, disappearing back through the house. When he came back his long knife glistened.

All night the fighting continued. A hundred small battles fought in the dark. Capture a house, kill its defenders, then be driven back in your turn, and capture the house once again. Wang Tse’s rebels fought with the desperation of doomed men. The streets filled with the fallen. Near dawn it seemed we might be forced out of the city when the sorcerer broke our ranks with a charge of horses and bullocks maddened by firecrackers tied to their tails.

Finally superior numbers told, the beasts were cut down amidst scores of crumpled men, and a desperate charge of our spearmen drove the rebels back.

Somehow we found our way back to the garden by the ramparts. I set up my shattered abacus and a sheet of paper, P’ei Ti’s sword thrust in the earth beside me. By this means I hoped to prove my official status, and perhaps it worked, for we remained unmolested until the first rays of a red dawn lit the eastern horizon.

I slept for an hour, my head on Mi Feng’s shoulder. We were like two weary brothers propped against each other.

He, at least, seemed proud. Killing three enemies in a single night proved him a formidable man.

I, too, should have felt only relief. Yet how my heart fluttered and ached! The man I had once been lay among the dead assassins. On my hands and clothes, droplets of blood. I felt unclean. If I was to die then and there, I had no doubt my rebirth would take the form of a wolf or an ever-hungry stoat or cold-eyed bear.

By late morning, Pinang had been subdued. Our entire army thronged the city.

One may justify what followed, I suppose. Perhaps one could cite the anger and excitement of troops crazed by months of defeat, suddenly drunk on victory. Or one could argue Heaven was taking its just revenge on the rebels for trafficking with demons. Perhaps one might shrug and say: well, such things happen in war. I cannot justify what I saw. Families dragged from their houses, crying out for mercy.

Naturally the women and girls received special treatment, yet all ended up the same way, littering the streets.

Blood has a peculiar, pervasive stench, oddly reminiscent of iron. Many have commented that the officers lost control of their men. That was true in some cases. But I witnessed officers engaged in foul acts, little better than Jurchen or Mongols off the leash. By midday the slaughter abated and we were left to behold the consequences of victory. It is little wonder the phrase,
Pinanging a town
, has entered our language.

I left the Western Gate with Mi Feng by my side and climbed wearily up the hillside to our hut. It was deserted, the clerks having descended to the city, no doubt hoping for a share of the loot. The encampments around us, once so crowded, were also empty. Everyone was in the city.

Yet we found a horseman waiting outside our hut, splendidly attired and equipped. Both mount and rider seemed exhausted. He came alive at the sight of me and stepped forward eagerly.

‘Where may I find Yun Cai?’ he demanded. ‘I have been told he dwells here.’

I could not blame him for mistaking what I was. I doubted that question myself.

‘Is Yun Cai in the city?’ he asked.

Mi Feng and I regarded him silently.

‘I have ridden all the way from the capital with an urgent message for the Honourable Yun Cai! Where may I find that gentleman?’ he asked, desperately. ‘My message cannot be delayed.’

‘You have found him,’ I said.

He looked at me suspiciously.

‘Are
you
Yun Cai?’

‘I am what’s left of him.’

Something in my tone must have held authority. He advanced towards me, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Mi Feng and I reached for our own.

Then he sank on one knee and extracted a scroll from his messenger’s satchel, and presented it. He seemed quite moved by the moment. Heaven knows what he had travelled through to deliver this message.

‘Who is it from?’ I asked, harshly. ‘Of course! Lord Xiao has fresh duties for me! Well, my friend, you can ride back the way you came and tell him I resign my position.

My government service is at an end.’

He looked up at me, puzzled.

‘My message is not from Lord Xiao,’ he said.

I waited, looking past him to the hut. Nothing seemed important. I simply longed to sleep. Again he proffered the scroll. I turned away in disgust.

‘You ought to read it, sir,’ said Mi Feng.

‘I don’t care to,’ I replied.

‘Come now, sir,’ Mi Feng said, as though to a child.

‘You are just weary.’

‘I don’t want to read it,’ I replied, peevishly. ‘And I won’t!’

My servant frowned, stepped forward and plucked the scroll from the messenger’s hands. Then he placed it in my own and stalked off to the hut. The door rattled on its hinges behind him. There seemed no point in refusing a second scroll the messenger also offered.

I studied the first letter, perched on a rock. It read as follows:

Dearest,

I write in the same room as another dear friend of
yours. Though you are far away, you are not forgotten. Who is that friend? Of course, you can
guess. It is none other than P’ei Ti, who has
laboured ceaselessly on your behalf since the cruel
hour of your exile. I will say no more about him,
for I know he wishes to send a message himself.

Dearest Love, how I have thought of you each
day since you went away! Morning finds me desolate. And so it is at evening. I cannot forget what
you have sacrificed for me. The memory of your
affection makes me feel constantly ashamed. I am
afraid to be unworthy of it. Yet, as you shall hear, I
have used the little power at my disposal to hasten
the day of your return. If I was a man, your enemies would soon regret what they have done!

My poor head is all a flurry. I have been assured
I can write as much as I like, and that it shall be
delivered into your own hands. Naturally, there is a
price to pay. Yet I am willing to pay anything for
your dear sake, and when the time comes you must
try to understand.

None of this probably makes sense. I have chosen
to write as I think. As though I could talk to you in
the same room. Are you not proud of the way my
writing has improved? I have hired a tutor and
spend an hour each day copying out difficult characters.

But I must be sensible. I have important news
and do not know how to begin. Since you left the
capital a great deal has occurred.

Are you aware how many secret friends you possess? I suspect not. Soon after you left a great,
important man – P’ei Ti tells me I must not write
down his name in case this letter falls into bad
hands – has taken up your case, accusing Lord
Xiao of abusing his power. P’ei Ti assures me it is
safe to mention Lord Xiao’s name, so do not be
alarmed, because all this is well-known. This great
man, who I cannot name, asked for all the details
and, for your dear sake, I held nothing back. It was
a great honour for me, as you can imagine. I
received many engagements from this great man’s
friends as a result.

His complaint is that Lord Xiao is misusing the
Emperor’s funds to pay for a petty revenge. You
would be amazed to hear that even common people
are offended by your exile because of your poems,
which they love. So you may see that Lord Xiao’s
reputation has suffered. I am told there is much
more to this than meets the eye. P’ei Ti comprehends it all. Perhaps he will explain when he writes.

We are not entirely without news of you, dearest
Yun Cai! The great man I have mentioned receives
regular reports of the siege against the sorcerer.

Through him I heard how you took barrels of
water to slake the thirst of the wounded. You
cannot imagine my pride. I long to prove it to you.

How is your health? I can scarcely imagine your
sufferings. This pains me whenever I think of you.

When you return I shall hire a dozen cooks to make
you fat again, and twenty tailors to dress you in the
finest silks so you may be warm, and a hundred
 
musicians to heal your spirit. I shall dress in any
way which delights you and learn every song you
care to hear. At night I shall wrap you in my arms
beneath the thickest quilts so you may never feel
cold again. Do you think these promises mere talk?

Only come back and you’ll find out.

Just come back, and do not let the enemy scratch
your sweet body. How I hate them! Yet I know you
are always brave.

Before I finish my letter, I have strange news. I
would hesitate to mention it, except I know you
have shown your servant, Mi Feng, great trust. I
must tell you that my maid is bearing his child. Will
it displease you to hear that I have not dismissed
her? I believe you would want that, for you are
always kind and generous. I long to know if you
think I have done wrong.

So, my dear one, I must finish. P’ei Ti tells me
the messenger waits, ready to depart at once. I do
not wish to stop writing these words. I could talk
to you all afternoon, and never stop! That blessed
hour will come. You must believe that, beloved Yun
Cai.

Your Doting Friend, Su Lin.

Such a letter should have brought tears to my eyes. Yet I read it dully, incapable of feeling. Then I opened the second scroll, which was much briefer and more elegantly written:

Yun Cai,

It is unsafe for me to say much. When you return,
 
you shall find conditions more favourable than you
imagined possible on that wretched morning when
you departed through the Gate of Eternal
Rectitude. If I was a hero of old I would resign my
office and gallop north to aid you. But my oldest
friend knows what I am – and what I am not. Rest
assured I strive on your behalf using the means I
know best. The capital is a dull place without you.

Your old friend, P’ei Ti.

I staggered to my bed and lay down, the scrolls clutched to my chest, as though they might cancel out all previous misfortune. It was too late for that. Yet their words countered hellish images of Pinang, commencing the process by which all men reconcile themselves to terrible things. On the other side of the room Mi Feng was already snoring.

‘Wake up! You must not sleep any longer.’

I moaned pitifully in the hope he would go away.

‘Sir! Wake up! This is no time to sleep.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I mumbled. ‘Nothing matters.’

I was shaken vigorously and my eyes jerked open.

Naturally, it was Mi Feng, showing scant regard for my person. Any protest was stilled by the look of pure alarm on his face.

‘You must see this,’ he said, and hurried out of the hut.

The pale light seeping through the door spoke of dawn.

Outside I could hear voices raised in argument. Their tone infected me with fear. I scrambled from my pile of blankets and stepped outside.