The Stone Road

by G R Matthews

  It wasn’t long before, at the base of the wall, Zhou could make out a collection of tents. Then, before he’d had a chance to work out why they were here, he was amongst them. Far from the pristine white they had seemed from a distance, the tents were dirty and grey. Many had holes in the fabric and some attempts had been made to patch or stitch these up, evidence that the inhabitants were determined to stay.

  But it was the smell that Zhou found hardest to deal with. Unwashed bodies, rotting food and faeces, all baked in the warm sun. Zhou raised a handkerchief to his face and tried to take shallow breaths. A few drops from his small store of perfume had little impact on the pervading stench.

  The faces of women and children poked out from the entrances of some tents. They darted back under cover when they saw the soldiers and wagons. Zhou felt a tug on his leg and, looking down, saw a small child. So ragged and dirty was the urchin that it was impossible to guess whether it was a boy or girl.

  “Food, Master,” said the child. “Any food, Master, please.”

  “Get away.” Zhou shook his leg clear and shoved the grubby child.

  From up ahead there was the clatter of hooves and all the tent flaps snapped closed, every face vanishing from them.

  “Hold.” The command was loud and officious.

  Zhou rode forward through the soldiers to see who had issued the command. Blocking the road was a troop of Yaart soldiers each riding a white horse and wearing full armour. Zhou looked around for the Captain and beckoned for him to follow.

  “Diplomat Zhou, responding to the Duke of Yaart’s request,” Zhou said to the Captain of the Yaart soldiers. He presented the documents to substantiate the claim.

  “Captain Ylem,” the soldier said by way of introduction. “You are expected. Have your troop fall in and follow us. Do not deviate from the path or get left behind.”

  With that the soldier turned his horse and rode away. Zhou nodded to his own Captain who issued the orders to follow.

  CHAPTER 4

  Haung nodded as he watched the large wagon and troop of tired looking soldiers enter through the city gates. The late summer sun was beginning to dip and the drawn out evening was just beginning. He looked over the battlements of the city wall and below those the slum of tent-town. The odour crawled up the walls like an invading army and assaulted his nostrils.

  He gagged, spat out the sour taste the smell had left in his mouth and turned away from the beauty of the sunset and the ugliness of poverty. Tonight he had a mission to accomplish for the Commander and it would not pay to fail. He had prepared a ruse in the lodgings set aside for the diplomats and soldiers from Wubei. They had not been permitted to stay inside the castle. It was not prudent to let trained enemy soldiers inside your defenses. However, it was the diplomats who were the true concern. Like civil servants the empire over, diplomats had had martial training and would be a match for most of the soldiers. Physical prowess was not their most dangerous weapons, that honour went to their brains and observant eyes. Those weapons though, could be turned against them with the right strategy.

  Huang climbed down the steps from the walls to the streets below and took off at a brisk pace in the opposite direction to the Wubei troop. They would take a longer, slower route to their destination and that would give him enough time to get there ahead of them. He wanted to observe their entrance into the city to determine who was in charge and get an impression of their demeanour. The Yaart soldiers had not insisted the inhabitant of the wagon come out and avoided the diplomatic trap laid out for them. The file on Hsin the Commander had directed him to read contained a lot of detail, but seeing the man’s face would have told him more.

  As he dodged through the late-afternoon crowds, Haung considered his options. He had several roles in mind, and the costumes to go along with them. One way in was to play the part of a servant but he dismissed it in short order. Servants in their own country would be ignored. Folk would talk around them as if they did not exist, but in a foreign country, a country you were at war with, servants would be, as matter of routine, assumed to be spies or informers. No, he needed a role that the soldiers were comfortable with and could ignore whilst they talked. Hostler, blacksmith, beggar, waiter, tradesman, he had considered and dismissed them all.

  ‘I know just the part to play,’ he thought.

  Haung avoided the main door of the tavern and slipped, instead, in through the servants’ door. Hanging on the pegs, next to the door, was the costume he wanted. He changed from quality silks into a shabby cloth tunic, held in at the waist with a soft rope belt, and rough trousers. The silks he placed in the sacks along with his shoes. He pulled on the weather beaten, cracked and patched leather boots wincing as he crammed his toes into the too small. The last touch, pour a little cheap ale over his hands and run these through his dark hair. No longer the short crop of a trainee but now grown out thick and straight. The beer wash made it appear greasy and unkempt with the added bonus of creating the perfume he needed for the role. Slapping ale wetted hands over his new clothes added another layer to the illusion. He would need a good wash before he carried out part two of tonight’s tasks.

  Rolling and staggering into the bar, he spied an empty table with a good view of the taproom and slumped into one of the wooden chairs. The waiter brought over a cup of cheap wine which Haung sipped and swished around his mouth before swallowing. He slopped half of the remaining wine on the floor next to him. He let his eyes relax and lose focus, settling into his role and the chair for the evening.

  Before too long, the soldiers from Wubei came in via the back door and ordered drinks. They were staying in the inn’s outer building. The diplomats and the Captain would have much richer rooms upstairs. The soldiers took their drinks to a table on the opposite side of the room. There was no chance of Haung hearing their discussions from his seat, but moving closer might make them suspicious.

  After a slow glance around the room to make sure he was not being observed, Haung dipped a finger into the wine and traced a small symbol on the wooden table. The writing flared briefly as he whispered a small chant and a tiny wisp of steam rose from the surface. Now he could hear every word that the soldiers were saying. Much of it was usual barrack room talk; what they would do with a girl if they saw one, how much they could drink, how much they missed their wife or did not miss them. He took another sip of wine and waited, biding his time.

  “That Hsin, he’s a miserable git,” Haung heard one of the soldiers say.

  “Yeah, never leaves that wagon. You see inside it? Bloody palace on wheels. Comfy bed, little fire, cushioned floor. What do we get? Sleep on the cold ground and freeze the night through,” said another.

  “Don’t think the Captain likes him much either. He spent all his time on horseback out in the open with us,” responded the first.

  “Don’t think his assistant Zhou is much better. You see the way he kicked that little beggar child outside the city?” chimed in a third voice.

  “Only a bloody beggar,” the first again.

  “No call to kick a kid though, eh?” the second soldier re-joined the conversation. “Zhou always gives me that look. You know the one, like a ‘who are you to even think you can look at me’ kinda look. Thinks he’s better than us,” said the third soldier.

  “He’s better than you, for sure,” laughed the first and they all joined in.

  Soon the conversation returned to alcohol, girls and how hard life was for a soldier. Haung waited as long as he could for the three ranking Wubei to make an appearance. He had a good idea who the Captain was, and could remember the face of Zhou, easy to pick out by his lack of soldier’s uniform, but he still wanted to see Hsin. They still had not come down from their rooms when he decided he could not wait any longer and still be on time for his next meeting. Haung lurched upright and stumbled his way out of the front door, round the side of the inn and picked up the sack containing his original clothes.

  Once he had turned a few street corners, still in the
guise of a worker who had spent all his day’s wages on alcohol, Haung turned the stagger into a fast run through the dark streets back to the castle. In his own rooms he stripped and washed the disguise off of his skin and out of his hair. He pulled on his Jiin-Wei uniform of dark grey and black silk tunic and trousers, belted a dagger to his waist and picked up the scabbarded sword. It felt right in his hands, much better quality than his old sword and the balance was perfect.

  He opened the door to his small room and placed the stinking disguise into the laundry pile. Servants would come along later and move it, either to wash or destroy depending on its condition. Bloody clothes were always destroyed, burnt to ash and thrown to the winds. Haung settled the dagger into a more comfortable position on his hip and made his way through dim corridors towards his second appointment.

  “Haung?” it was a girl’s voice. He stopped and turned.

  “Do I know you?” He asked of the young, small, serving girl who had been walking along the corridor in the opposite direction to him.

  “You should do, you knocked the jar out of my hands last time I saw you. Cost me a day’s wages because the cook said it was my fault.” The girl stepped into the glow of one of the few lanterns in the corridor, put her hands on her hips and gave him a stern stare, “And before that, you’d promised to take me walking one night.”

  “Jiao? Is that you?” Haung asked.

  “Of course it is, you great ox. How come you don’t come and visit the kitchen anymore? Why don’t you... oh.” She caught her breath when he stepped forward into better light. “My apologies, Jiin-Wei. Please forgive my questions.” She bowed low, then turned and fled along the corridor.

  “Jiao,” Haung called as she bolted away from him, and then shook his head a little before resuming his own journey.

  After a few more twists and turns he reached his goal, a thick wooden door with symbols carved into it. His hand tightened around the scabbard, stretching and whitening the skin of his knuckles and he forced himself to relax and remain calm. He traced two of the symbols which glowed faintly as the fingertip passed over. The door swung open on silent hinges and he stepped through.

  The staircase beyond was cut from solid rock and descended as far as he could see. Regular spaced small nooks in the wall housed the glowing orange orbs that lit the way. Behind him, the door closed as silently as it opened and he began to descend, step by step, into the earth. The further down, the hotter it became. At the top, the staircase was wide enough for three broad-shouldered men to walk side by side but it narrowed soon after. The rock walls and ceiling were getting closer and sweat began to drip down his brow.

  An eternity later and the stairs ended, opening out into a circular room with three further exits. Choosing one, he continued walking. Faint at first, then increasing in volume, Haung began to discern the pattern of a regular chant. The echoes in the corridor confused the words but drove and enhanced the rhythm. It surged and ebbed like the tide against his mind. He passed doorways that opened out into rooms, some small and others large but none were the source of the chanting. That was still washing down the corridor in front of him. A few moments later, Haung could see the corridor’s end, an archway and beyond that, in the red glow and flickering light was the source of the chant.

  There was a multitude of sudden shrieks and sword half-drawn by instinct, Haung crouched, balanced, tense. His quivering sword arm wanted to complete the draw but his mind, shocked by the pain, anguish and utter fear contained in those screams, had frozen. The high-pitched cries continued for an age and then, at last, faded away. Haung took a shaky breath, still crouched and still ready to fight. A shadow filled the open arch, growing larger and larger. It flowed along the floor towards the terrified Jiin-Wei.

  “Ah, Haung,” said the shadow, “you are on time. Good. Put that sword away, it will do you no good here.” The shadow chuckled, a hollow, rattling, empty sound. “Come with me, your lessons continue and you have much to learn.”

  Haung took a deep breath which whistled out between tight, pursed lips. He pushed the sword back into the scabbard with a cleansing click and followed the Fang-shi sorcerer.

  “Can you cope with more noise, Haung?” said the sorcerer. “We still have much more work to do on our grand plan. You cannot be weak to this. Magic comes from an understanding of the universe and it is cold, dark, and unforgiving. Fear will only get you killed, young Haung. Let it go, accept the darkness and cold of the universe into your heart. Harden it to the screams of others, they are nothing to the universe. It does not care for us or our plans and struggles.” The Fang-shi stopped and stabbed Haung with a penetrating stare from his shimmering golden eyes. “Accept, understand and use that knowledge. Become like the universe, Haung, do not care for the screams of others.”

  CHAPTER 5

  The negotiations were slow and heavy going. Already a week in and the only agreements reached were the order in which they would speak and the basic agenda. After the fifth day, Zhou was irritable and impatient for progress to be made. By the seventh, the frustration was giving him headaches.

  Zhou stomped through the door of the inn. Apart from a few Wubei soldiers sat at one table playing cards and drinking cups of wine, the tap room was empty. Zhou narrowed his eyes, with them was a man who he did not recognise. He walked to the bar and beckoned over the Innkeeper.

  “Who is that man?” Zhou asked whilst nodding his head towards the soldiers’ table.

  “That’s Donny Yuen, Sir. He runs an import house in the traders’ quarter. Comes here quite often after work.” The Innkeeper spoke quickly, “Can I get you some wine?”

  Zhou looked from the table to the Innkeeper and back again, “Hmmm… what, no thanks.”

  He walked past the table, giving the guards a stern stare. They ignored him and carried on playing their game. Gripping the stair bannister rail he paused to glance back at the guards, shook his head, and then climbed the stairs.

  At the top, he went straight to the Captain’s door and knocked twice. His soft soled boot tapped a staccato rhythm on the wooden floorboards as he waited for a response from inside. Eventually, the door opened.

  “Captain.” Zhou gave the briefest of bows and brushed past the Captain and into the room. There was a tidy bed, and short cupboard, a bare writing desk, a chest with the stamp of Wubei on its lid and a great padlock sealing it shut. The Captain wore his dagger and there was a sword resting against the chair.

  “Diplomat Zhou, how can I help you?” The Captain returned the bow to the exact angle that Zhou had delivered. “I am very busy.”

  Zhou gave the desk a pointed look, “Captain, are you aware that your men are, as we speak, downstairs playing cards and drinking with the enemy?”

  “Enemy? I thought we were here to make peace.” The Captain responded.

  “Until there is peace, they remain the enemy. Who knows what secrets your men are giving away in their cups.” Zhou said in clipped tones.

  “My men are trustworthy and know their jobs, Diplomat.” The Captain took a step towards Zhou, “If you would care to look properly, you’ll note that though they are playing cards they are drinking heavily watered wine that they take slowly for appearance sake. Also, the man they are playing, Yuen, we have checked out. Two of my men followed him back to his house and business last night. They spoke with the neighbours and other businesses, enquiring after goods and trade opportunities. There is nothing suspicious about Yuen, nor are we giving our secrets away. Indeed, we checked with the Venerable Hsin and our factors within the city to ascertain that Yuen’s import house has, in the past, been a trustworthy trading partner.”

  “So you say.” He saw the look in the Captain’s eyes. “So your men say, but we must be careful. I want you to order your men not to speak to the locals.”

  “Diplomat,” and Zhou was sure that it was meant as an insult rather than an honour, “you do your job and I will see to my men and their work.”

  “Captain,” Zhou tried to mimic t
he Captain’s tone, “I think that you...”

  He was stopped by the Captain’s raised hand, “I think and I follow orders. Perhaps you should consider that before you come to me with demands again. Now, as long as we understand each other, I will bid you good night.”

  The Captain placed a firm hand on Zhou’s elbow and another in the small of his back guiding Zhou out of the room and closing the door. Zhou raised his hand to knock again but instead let it fall back to his side. He spun about and headed further down the corridor to the Senior Diplomat’s room. Swallowing his anger, he knocked on Hsin’s door and entered when the weedy voice from inside gave him permission.

  “Senior Hsin,” he began. “Are you aware that our soldiers are downstairs, drinking and speaking with a local tradesman?”

  “Yes,” said Hsin without looking up from the paper he was reading.

  “Aren’t you going to stop it?” Zhou asked.

  “No.”

  “Why?” Zhou moved across the room to stand before the Senior Diplomat.

  “You are in my light,” Hsin hissed and Zhou shifted a little, letting more light from the window reach the beady-eyed old man. “Am I to answer all your questions? Am I to do as you say? Is that what you teach at the Academy?”

  “No, but…” Zhou began.

  “Good,” Hsin interrupted. “For a moment, I thought the teaching was not to the standard it should be. You understand your role here?”

  “Yes, but…” he tried again.

  “Good. Then you’ll be aware that I am in charge of this negotiation and all the factors that pertain to it.” Hsin turned the page and continued reading.

  “Yes.” Zhou let some of his frustration seep into his voice.

  “Do not,” Hsin’s voice rose above its usual sibilant whisper to a tone of command, “let your next word be a ‘but’.”