Taming Poison Dragons (48 page)

‘This is not the Mandate of Heaven!’ he cries.

That old monk is the spark igniting the crowd. The punishment meant to cow those who defy the Empress-in-waiting becomes its opposite. In moments all is chaos.

Prisoners grapple with their guards. The loud click and rattle of many crossbows being discharged reaches us through the screams and curses. Bolts darken the sky in front of the Lady Ta Chi’s throne then fall upon us in a shower. One lands near my feet and I grow stiff with fear, unable to stir or save myself.

A group of unarmed prisoners wrestle a tall guardsman to the ground, tearing at his armour, pummelling, biting, kicking, until dust rises and he lies still. Others rush back and forth waving weapons captured from the soldiers.

The air is thick with the noise of battle. I lurch as a prisoner clutching a crossbow bolt in his belly careers into me then staggers away, shrieking for relief. At last my limbs unfreeze and I join a stream of men fleeing toward the city walls. All around us groups of soldiers from the Penal Battalion hack indiscriminately with broad-bladed halberds, desperate to quell the mob. Too late to intimidate men provoked beyond all forbearance, they must depend on superior weaponry and discipline now.

I am swept by the crowd into the city and stumble back to the dubious safety of the house by the ramparts. Some of the rioters are gathering on street corners, knives and bamboo staves in their hands. Once in my room I cower, the door bolted and wedged, until night falls. All day sounds of fighting drift through the window, mingled with the steady whisper of a fresh downpour. Thankfully the monsoon has resumed, dousing those buildings set alight by the rioters.

In the midst of fear I discover the resolve needed to free P’ei Ti. Such rulers as General An-Shu and his queen do not warrant the Mandate of Heaven. My thoughts gather round a young man’s face: Golden Bells.

I acquire an umbrella and before dawn I walk out, telling the guards I cannot sleep and that I desire a morning stroll. My destination is the square before the Prefect’s residence. Truly, I must make an odd sight, occasionally pausing as though contemplating my poetic labours. Yet even the most outlandish can become familiar and the guards are used to my morning walks; they allow me entry without comment.

As I totter about, exaggerating the need for my stick, I pause outside the prison where Golden Bells can invariably be found awaiting his replacement. There are half a dozen other night warders but they drink their morning tea in the guardroom while he is banished to the entrance.

Today, after polite greetings, I mention yesterday’s riot and the fighting in the east. Each day more wagonloads of wounded return from the front. I tell him General An-Shu is said to have retreated to higher ground, bringing the Imperial army another day closer. Golden Bells watches me shrewdly. I sense he is waiting, as I am waiting, for a sign that we might unravel our intentions.

‘Golden Bells,’ I say. ‘I had a dream last night that the Vile Usurper’s forces were camped outside Chunming.

Does that seem likely to come about?’

He drinks his cup of cheap, bitter tea.

‘From what I hear, sir,’ he says. ‘Yes.’

We assess each other’s reaction then glance round the square. We have both said much.

‘It also seems likely to me,’ I say. ‘When it happens, a wise man would prefer to be snug in the mountains, his pouch weighed down with
cash
.’

My heart is fluttering. A servant boy walks from the Prefect’s residence and relieves himself against a pillar.

Red strands of dawn pierce the dark clouds.

‘A man must be loyal to himself and his family,’ I declare. ‘It is said that danger brings silver. Have you ever heard that, Golden Bells?’

‘No, sir, I haven’t.’

‘Do you have the courage to take an opportunity? One which might set you up for life, so you could drink wine and eat the best rice every day? Would you have the courage for that?’

The strain of not speaking openly is unbearable. I sense that now is the time, or never. The bar of silver in my pouch weighs heavy.

‘I’m just a simple man,’ he says, evidently distressed. ‘If Lord Yun Cai has something to offer, speak it quickly before the next watch arrives.’

‘Golden Bells,’ I say, quietly. ‘I have a bar of silver in my pouch worth a thousand
cash
. If, when the time is right, you can help me, you’ll receive ten times that amount.’

He licks his lips.

‘What help would you want?’

‘That a certain prisoner should escape.’

It is done. Or I am. I wait, my life hanging on his next word.

‘What proof do I have of your goodwill?’ he asks, breathing heavily.

‘Give me your word, then comes the silver.’

He squeezes his empty cup.

‘I’d do pretty much anything for the sum you mention,’

he says. ‘If the plan was right.’

‘It will be right. First hear the name of the prisoner.’

I whisper and pretend to fuss over my drink. His breath hisses.

‘Now I see why you offer so much.’

His glance flickers fearfully round the square, as does my own.

‘You agree?’

‘Yes, but how do I know. . .’

‘That I am serious? When you take back the empty cup, I shall pass the silver. Take it quickly and hide it in your sleeve.’

His eyes signify agreement.

‘Golden Bells, you won’t see me again. A stranger will contact you with further proof of your reward.’

Somewhere within the prison a door slams.

‘Take the cup,’ I say. ‘And do not be so foolish as to sell the silver. Patience will make you a great man. Impatience will bring you a bad end.’

I slip the silver from my pouch and pass it over. It disappears into his sleeve.

‘Remember this,’ I say, nodding agreeably, as though thanking him for his tea. ‘The Son of Heaven’s army is only a few days away. Do what you’re told.’

He bows, and turns without a word, carrying the cup inside. It is over. I hobble round the square, greeting the guards as I leave. They do not seem to notice my anxiety.

There are countless agonies of mind and over a long life I have endured many. But the hour after my conversation with Golden Bells is among the worst. This is the decisive time. If he has chosen to betray me, to forego his bar of silver and a promised reward for immediate gain, then disaster is certain.

I pace the narrow room. Another hour passes. Still I am not secure. Perhaps the Head Eunuch is merely debating the best way to apprehend me so that I will lead him to my fellow conspirators. I lie on the bed and strive to meditate. Time flows slowly. I cannot clear my mind.

The watchman in the street announces the third hour after dawn. Still no vengeful feet pound on the stairs. For a terrible while I imagine the disgrace and agony of the

‘heater’, clasping a burning ingot of iron until my fingers are withered to stumps. Perhaps they will heat the bar of silver instead. That might be considered a fitting punishment. How I love my fingers. Once they played the lute with delicate fluency and balanced a writing brush, my calligraphy delighting every eye. I listen to the rain outside and count ten breaths at a time.

A fourth hour passes, then a fifth. I dare not descend to collect my ration of steamed vegetables and rice, all appetite lost.

By the seventh hour I fall into a distressed doze. When I awake it has grown dark. So I have survived. Golden Bells has evidently decided to profit by me – unless he loses his nerve and makes a late confession. Though I am steeped in fear, this seems unlikely. The authorities would enquire why he delayed and their style of questioning would deter anyone.

I take a pitcher of water and pour it into a bowl. Then I wash my white shirt and hang it from the window-balcony. Rain fills the night with whispers and chuckles.

At dawn, Thousand-
li
-drunk will see my sign. I have done all I can for P’ei Ti.

At last I fall into an exhausted sleep, haunted by the thought that on the morrow I must compose more poems praising the Lady Ta Chi. She enters my dreams, leading a huge tiger by a silken leash. The beast snarls as it advances towards me. Then the dream changes and I gaze at my wife’s patient face. She shakes her head sadly, saying,

‘Why do you never think of me?’ I am filled with a desire to justify myself until she fades too. And sleep becomes oblivion.

Distraction arrives in the shape of a palace servant. He appears in my doorway with a letter, an ornate box and a large jar. My nostrils twitch. The jar contains wine.

I greet him in the doorway. The stairwell behind is dark but I hear the voices of my fellow prisoners, joking as they dress.

‘Who may I thank?’ I ask.

‘Why, the Empress-in-waiting,’ replies the servant.

He bows once more and leaves.

The letter reads:
I would summon you before me but I
am at present indisposed. Ensure the poems owed to me
are delivered at sunset.

So she wants the poems a dozen days before they fall due. One may read her command in several ways. Perhaps her illness is related to the riot sparked by ‘roasting’ the Abbot Ssu-Ma – certainly there have been no more oppressive edicts since then.

But her haste also intrigues me. She requires these poems as a present for General An-Shu and it is reported he is eight or nine days’ march from Chunming. A swift rider could accomplish the journey in a quarter of that time. Does that mean she expects him imminently and wishes to have her gift ready? With such a woman it is unwise to assume anything.

The lacquered box contains a thick wad of paper and several ink cakes. Such paper! When I rub it between finger and thumb, it is thick as bean curd and as porously smooth. A delight to write upon, pure and unspoilt as a young woman’s thighs. The ink is finer than anything I have possessed since my banishment from the capital. The kind of ink one uses to write missives to distant kingdoms.

A magisterial ink for impressing one’s enemies or friends.

Capable of subtlety, yet imbued with force. My calligrapher’s instinct revels in such ink, and such paper.

All day I copy out my praise-poems, improving them as I go along. By late afternoon I have finished. May she appreciate them! They do her more honour than she deserves. Indeed, I am proud. I have excelled myself.

Exhausted, I carry them in the box, step by step, down the narrow wooden stairs to the guardroom.

‘Sergeant,’ I say. ‘This must be delivered to the palace at once!’

Back in my room, I pace about, circling the wine jar like a stalking cat. Anticipation is a pleasure in itself. Never mind that I have been sent this gift while plotting to betray its giver. When I pour the first cup, its very smell intoxicates me and I raise it with shaking hands. The taste lingers on lip and tongue. I drain the cup in one.

A few hours later I’m on my back. The low ceiling of the room swirls. I cannot marshal my thoughts. One moment I’m old and tired, my mind swarming with a lifetime of failure. Then I’m young again, back in the darkest hour, drunk on remembered youth, beating off a hundred blows.

*

I laugh senselessly. A drunkard’s loud, inconsolable laugh. My arrest outside Five Gong Monastery nearly ended my life! Cold, heavy, remorseless manacles round my wrists. Those iron manacles chafed my soul.

A wise man lives his whole life trying to avoid judicial proceedings. Accusations are dangerous. Who knows which way the judge will lean? The accuser may become the accused in a moment. If nothing else, he is guilty of disturbing the judge’s equanimity.

It took a single day to reach the capital from Five Gong Monastery, for we rode hard. My wrists were bleeding from the manacles, but the worst pain I suffered was loss of face. To travel like a common criminal, exposed to every eye, shamed me indelibly.

On arrival in the city I was taken straight to the Palace, and thence to the Prison of the High Censor. Only then did I realise the gravity of my situation.

The Censor’s gaol was reserved for officials in disgrace.

Common criminals rotted elsewhere. Though not a large building it was dismal, as befitted its purpose. I was led through the courtyard and flung into a lightless cell, so small I could touch all four walls and ceiling when I stood in the middle. The door clanged with a grinding of bolts.

Within the space of a few minutes I passed from incredulity at my situation to outrage, then numb dread.

By groping in the dark on all fours like an animal I discovered my prison’s only amenity: a chipped bowl half full of decaying human waste. The stench made me retch uncontrollably. There was not even a jug of water, though I was parched. I slumped on the cool earthen floor and trembled.

Hours passed. Perhaps many hours. Without light it is hard to measure time. Then a tiny glow, no longer than a finger, appeared in the wall above the door. By this means I knew it must be day. Only with the proof that light still existed, out there beyond my reach, did I find the hope required for sleep.

A scraping of bolts woke me from my slumber. At once I was alert. With consciousness came thirst, and terrible hunger. The door creaked and I shielded my eyes. Two figures were silhouetted by the brightness of day. One was a gaoler, keys hanging from his belt, a leaden cudgel in his hand. The other’s silks glinted as they caught the light. His expression was grim. Implacable. Yet I cried out for sheer joy at the sight of him. It was the Lawyer Yuan Chu-Sou.

He regarded me silently for a moment, then gestured to the gaoler.

‘Release him,’ he said, curtly.

Tears filled my eyes.

‘Say nothing!’ he cautioned. ‘Follow me.’

I would have followed him to hell itself as long as he took me away from that noxious hole.

They led me past door after door, beyond which I could hear men muttering or screaming pitiful self-justifications at imagined accusers. Some sang strange, keening melodies to comfort themselves. Most doors were silent.

One could only speculate what misery they contained. But I was free. Temporarily at least. I strove to control the hysterical laughter rising from my soul.