by G R Matthews
The innkeeper handed over the key with the promise that the stable boy would bring their packs up in moment. Food would be a little time after and the water would need heating for the bath, but a servant would deliver the actual bath to the room alongside the food. Zhou led Xióngmāo back through the crowds to the staircase.
“Why did you haggle? I gave you enough to cover the cost,” she asked.
“Everyone haggles, it would have seemed strange not to. He might have remembered us more if I had not,” Zhou defended himself.
Xióngmāo gave him an appraising glance at the bottom of the stairs. “Maybe you are learning after all.”
# # #
Zhou spent an uncomfortable hour downstairs in the bar whilst Xióngmāo bathed. There was little room to sit unless he wished to join strangers at a table and that would mean interacting, facing questions and having no good answers. He ordered a jug of wine, grabbed the rough clay cup, and sidled over to a spot by the door. There he leaned, and waited in the thin shadow between two torches.
Three times he was approached by a guest trying to spark up a conversation. They were loners like him, looking for a place to stand, someone to talk to, scared of the large tables and raucous laughter or dangerous scowls. Each time he stayed silent, sipping at his wine, the sharp, acidic, throat burning liquid scalding its way down to his belly. The ignored talkers would give up and walk away, seeking someone a little more forthcoming.
The door was forever in motion, opening and closing, admitting more guests and disgorging very few into the darkness beyond. Once you entered the inn, it seemed, you stayed. It made a certain sense, Zhou thought, there was nowhere else to go. The inn was set on a slight hill and, apart from a few homes, a few buildings, the stable and some stores, there was nothing else around. It did not mean that a day away, or even half, there was not something, some other inn, waystation, or farm. To the west, towards the Empire, that was more likely, but to the east, Xióngmāo had assured him, there was little. The desert, the road and the traders.
Great caravans travelled the route. Those that could afford it, hired guards. Some of the large trading companies had their own small, private armies that travelled with their caravans. Smaller companies hired on mercenaries and, judging by the looks of the people who sat at the tables, a fair number were ready to be employed. A few of the tables had given him measuring stares, was he competition or looking to join a band? Zhou did his best to avoid the looks, to keep his head down.
The jug was half-empty when he judged enough time had passed and she would be finished with her bath.
# # #
The door was standard military, thick wood, bronze studded and hurt his knuckles. The muted sound of the locking bar being lifted was followed by the door opening and Xióngmāo standing there, dressed, and waving him in.
Zhou stepped through the doorway, waving the wine jug and cups as an offering and a cover for his embarrassment. All the way up the stairs and along the corridor he had worried that she had not finished, that he would be interrupting her, forcing her to cut short her bath. He had been concerned she would be still be drying herself, half-dressed, hair damp and hanging down straight, over her smooth shoulders and bare arms. Raising his hands to knock on the door, he had to take a deep breath and force his thoughts elsewhere. Now he was sure she could read all of that on his face.
“Drink?” he said. The room was warm and humid, but the smell was of perfume and cleanliness, not the sweat and horse odours of the bar.
“How awful is it?” she said, picking up her comb and sweeping it through her long dark hair in smooth strokes.
“Very,” he put the cups down on the small chest near the bed, “but it was either this or something called Kumis.”
“They have Kumis?” Her brushing stopped. “It has been a long time since I had any.”
“Do you want me to go and get you some?” Zhou started towards the door.
“No, but thank you.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“Kumis?” When he nodded, she smiled and said, “It is something of an acquired taste. Fermented mare’s milk.”
“Horse milk?” He spluttered and knew his face had taken on a look of disgust.
“It’s quite nice, once you get used to the idea. Not as strong as wine, lighter and has this slightly sour taste on your tongue. The Mongols drink a lot of it. Some of them think it can cure all sorts of ailments.”
“Can it?” he said.
“Not as far as I know, but after a few cups you certainly feel happier.” Xióngmāo took up the small cup of wine Zhou had poured and took a sip. “You’re right, that is awful.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, both perched on the edge of the only bed in the room. A bed simply built with four short legs, a solid frame, a few thin layers of cloth overlaying a hard bamboo mattress and wide enough for two.
“I have given the owner the list of supplies,” Zhou said.
“And he is sure he can fill the order?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Xióngmāo said, taking another drink from her wine.
“The horses will be well fed too.” Zhou looked down, into his empty cup and considered refilling it.
“I should hope so. We will need those to cover the desert. Our destination is a week away at least,” she said.
“We leave tomorrow?” He reached over and picked up the jug. It still had a little wine in the bottom and he poured some into his cup and the last into Xióngmāo’s.
“As early as we can.” She lifted the cup to her lips and he watched her lips part to accept the rough clay surface.
He caught himself and looked away, towards the door. “The Mongols?”
“That and we are under something of a deadline,” she answered.
“We are?”
“Yes. We have somewhere to be at a certain time.”
“Where?” He stood from the bed, feeling the heat of alcohol and embarrassment on his face.
“That is what we are going to find out in the Kunlun mountains, when we find the person we are looking for.”
Zhou took the few steps to the door and checked that the locking bar was in place. It was and he had nothing else to do there. “When do we have to be there?”
“That is what we are going to find out also.”
Zhou swallowed the last of his wine and looked around. Apart from the bed and chest, which contained their meagre supplies, there was nothing else in the room to occupy his time. “Why are we going there?”
“Because the Emperor told me to.” She replaced her cup on the chest, next to the jug.
“You have spoken to him?”
“Not since I rescued you from the Mongol camp. Unless a meeting in the Spirit is pre-arranged there are very few ways of getting message to anyone and those ways can be tiring. Once we find the person we have to find, we will know the answers.”
Zhou placed his own cup down on the chest. “Well then,” he began and then ran out of words.
“We should sleep,” she said.
“Right,” he answered, moving the two cups and jug into a tidier, neater arrangement.
“Zhou,” Xióngmāo said, “I am not going to bite you and I trust you will not bite me. We need sleep. We have a long, dry, cold journey ahead of us.”
“Good. I mean, I was not worrying. I was,” and he decided that anything else he might say would only increase his embarrassment so stayed quiet.
There was a rustle of cloth and clothing behind him and Xióngmāo told him to blow out all but two of the oil lamps, which he did, before climbing into bed. The mattress was hard, the sleeping block upon which he rested his head a little too low for his tastes. He had grown used to sleeping outside under the clouds. He was very aware of the warm body in the bed next to him and sleep took a long time to find him.
His dreams were haunted by the faces of his wife and child and the burnt ruin of his home.
Chapter 26
Jiao had not c
ried when Haung explained that he had to leave again. Shifu merely nodded, but Enlai, he corrected himself, Jing Ke was nowhere to be seen. His teacher seemed unwilling to discuss the man’s whereabouts and Haung was unable to push the point without appearing rude. It was something between father and son, Jiao had said to him, one day you will be having similar conversations. Still it niggled away at him. The man he had brought back to the Holy City was an assassin, a terrorist, a rebel, and the Emperor did not seem to mind.
Gongliang’s wife had cried. She knew that her husband was dead before Haung arrived at her door, but to hear it from someone who had been there at the time was different. He had let her cry and told her of her husband’s bravery, of his ingenuity and of his friendship. Haung told her how much Gongliang had spoken of her and how much he wanted to return home. After explaining the Emperor’s decree, he placed the scroll on the table for her to read later. None of his words stopped her crying or, he suspected, made her feel any better. Jiao had come with him, she had insisted and when she wrapped her arms around the woman’s shaking shoulders he understood why. There were no words that could make Gongliang’s wife feel better, time would not heal the wound, there would just be a scab to be picked at until it became a scar.
The striking of iron horseshoes on rock echoed in the gateway, dragging him from his thoughts. Above his head, the precise brickwork rose into a graceful arch and around him people walked back and forth. Those leaving the city were let past with hardly a glance from the guards. However, the people coming in were searched thoroughly and those with carts were redirected to the gates on the Eastern wall where the tax on goods would be levied.
“Another adventure then, Haung?” Gang said in his normal deep and loud voice. The people walking past turned to stare, to shake their heads at the man’s lack of propriety and uncouth accent. Gang responded by waving at the gawkers.
“A simple task, Gang,” Haung said when most folks had turned away and gone about their own business.
“A simple task?” Liu said, his quiet voice and tall stature the opposite of Gang’s. “The Emperor sends the hero of the Wall, a Taiji, and two Masters on a simple errand? I don’t think so. For a simple task, you send a few soldiers. Maybe a Captain and a patrol if you want to give it an air of respect and authenticity. You send us if it needs doing quietly and without drawing too much attention.”
Haung gave Gang a pointed look. “Are you sure?”
“Gang’s obviousness is as big a disguise as any other,” Liu said. “The fact that all his stories are the same and people, once they get over their awe at the amount he can drink, get bored quickly. It is all they can remember about him.”
“Hey,” Gang said.
“If you did it on purpose, I would say you were very clever.” Liu passed his gaze over the scruffy warriors clothes. “But I think it’s just natural talent. Your horse has more intelligence.”
“Shall we get moving?” Haung interrupted. “You two can argue all the way to our destination if you wish to. Myself, I want to get there and get back while we still have the chance to.”
“You are in a grumpy mood this morning, my friend,” Gang said. “Perhaps you need a little sip of this? It’ll lift your spirits, put a smile on your face and fire in your belly.”
Haung raised an eyebrow at the proffered clay jug. “What time did you stop drinking last night?”
“I didn’t,” Gang laughed and took a swig from the jug. “Let’s go.”
The large man dug his heels into his horses flanks and set off at a gallop. The people and guards jumped out of his way. A selection of curses and threats followed the warrior out of the capital and down the road.
“Look on the bright side,” Haung said to Liu, “he’ll be asleep in the saddle by this afternoon.”
“Always hope, Haung.” Liu shook his head. “Always hope.”
# # #
“Don’t wake him,” Liu said.
“It is tempting to let him sleep, but the inn is just ahead. We’ll need rooms for the night, the horses fed and an early start in the morning if we are going to reach Zhigu by tomorrow evening.”
“And there is no guarantee that the one we are to meet will be there,” Liu said.
“No, but we’ll get an inn there too and wait till the following morning. Better to be waiting than late,” Haung replied.
“You know the owner of this inn would be wise to pay us to let Gang sleep through. We could just stable his horse with him on it?” Liu patted the neck of his own horse and a cloud of dust rose.
“The owner will make a lot more money if Gang is awake and drinking,” Haung said.
“Drink?” said Gang, his voice sleep filled and dull.
“The one word guaranteed to wake him up,” Liu said. “Yes, Gang, we are near the overnight stop. Time to wake up and impress the locals with all your stories. There might even be some folks here that haven’t heard them all yet.”
“Food,” Gang mumbled.
“That too,” Liu said, shaking his head and clucking his horse to a faster pace.
Haung drew alongside the tall man. “How long have you known him?”
“Gang? Years. First of all by reputation and then, once we met, we started to travel together. The Emperor thinks we are a good mix, opposites that work well together. Sadly, I think he is right in that.”
“You do much work for the Emperor?” Haung leaned forward in his saddle, interested.
“Time and again. When something needs doing that does not need the secrecy of a Jiin-Wei or that could be traced back to him,” Liu said. “You know how some people see a puzzle and straight away think of a conspiracy. That the people in power have done something illegal and will get away with it? Questions left behind can create problems and people have long memories. Well, Gang is a little too obvious about everything and most people think him a fool, he is most of the time, but I told you this morning it could be quite a clever cover. I just go along to keep him out of as much trouble as possible.”
Outside the inn, a two storey building situated on the south side of the main road between the capital and Zhigu, the stable boy gathered the reins of their horses. All three dismounted and lifted their weapons from the packs.
“Brush and feed,” Gang said to the boy. “Make sure they get enough water.”
“Yes, honoured elder,” the young lad bowed and led the horses around the side of the inn.
“Elder?” Gang looked to Haung and Liu.
“You are looking a little travel worn,” Haung said.
“There is more grey in your hair,” Liu added.
“Elder?” Gang shook his head and stomped to the door, swinging it open and looking inside before turning back to them. “Three rooms?”
“Definitely,” Liu said. “I’ve heard enough of your snoring to last a lifetime.”
“I did wonder why you requested your own room when we arrived at the Wall,” Haung said.
“Long years of experience,” Liu answered.
“Very funny,” Gang grumbled. “I need a drink.”
The large man did not wait for the Haung or Liu, but pushed his way through the door, almost crushing another patron, who had chosen the wrong moment to try and leave, against the frame. Haung followed, patting the poor customer on the shoulder in an apology as he did so.
The downstairs was set up like many of the inns in the capital. Square tables, each surrounded by four chairs, were carefully arranged on the main floor to give customers enough room to move between them and also to maximise the number of places to sit. On the right hand side was a raised balcony with painted and decorated screens that gave privacy to those who wished to pay a little more. The entirety of the back wall was a staircase leading up to the second floor, and those leading down to the basement. On the left, the bar and the cooking area.
Gang was already at the bar.
“Have the bags sent up when your boy brings them in,” he was saying as Haung joined him. “And we’ll need a table and three
jugs of rice wine.”
“Of course, honoured guest,” the member of staff was saying, giving Gang a careful, measuring look. “You will need to pay for the rooms before you eat.”
“Why you...” Gang began, but stopped when Haung put a hand on his arm.
“Of course,” Haung said and drew a scroll with the wax seal of the Emperor embossed upon it. “If you would write the charges on here and add your own seal, the Emperor’s staff will see that you are paid in full.”
“My Lords,” said the man, bowing low, “welcome to my humble inn. Your rooms will be prepared straight away and I will have a waiter,” he clicked his fingers and gestured to another member of staff in hurried, jerky movements, “show you to your table. I will have the wine sent over right away. You bless my inn with your presence.”
The waiter arrived and after a whispered set of instructions they were shown to a table on the raised balcony.
“This is the kind of service I could get used to,” Gang said, leaning back in his chair and resting his hands on his large belly.
Chapter 27
He saw his hands, ash covered, nails split and blood dripping from cuts and scratches, dig through the charred wood and bricks split by the heat of an inferno. Around him the wooden supports and fallen rafters of his home still smouldered. Somewhere, underneath the remnants of his home, his wife and child.
Tears of frustration and anger tracked through the dirt on his face. With every brick he lifted and threw, the anger grew. Every burn he took increased the desperate worry that churned and twisted in his heart. Somewhere, underneath it all, his wife and child.
The rafter was heavy. Too heavy to lift, but that did not stop him. Jamming both hands into the too small gap between the wood and tiled floor, ignoring the pain of the sharp edges slicing deeper into his flesh, he braced his legs and lifted. Every muscle strained. His back screeched at him, it threatened to break under the weight of his attempt. He screamed alongside it.