by G R Matthews
“That is good news. When will they reach us here?” Chung asked, crunching on the rest of the vegetable.
“Tomorrow,” Peng said simply and the resulting silence sucked the air from Zhou’s lungs.
“Surely this calls for another toast, Honoured Peng,” and Chung raised his wine bowl to the other man. They both laughed. A laughter which spread to the rest of the table and Zhou did his best to join in as the wine started flowing in earnest.
# # #
Zhou woke the next morning with a headache that began somewhere in the region of his toes and sped up through his legs, body, shoulders and neck to pound into his skull again and again like a battering ram against a city gate. The back of his throat was dry and his tongue felt swollen in his mouth. He worked his gums and lips, trying to summon enough moisture to lubricate his throat. His belly was turning somersaults and he could feel gas building up in the pit of his stomach. There was no point fighting it and he let his muscles relax, the resulting smell was sulphurous and sent his stomach into more gymnastic flips.
He turned on his side and swung his legs over the edge of his bed. A few minutes of sitting very still gave him the confidence to stand and shamble over to the chest. He dipped his hands into the bowl of cold water and washed his face and neck. Using a small towel he dried himself and wondered why the water was cold. Always before, his servant had brought him warm water for his morning ablutions. Creeping in silently and going about his business without waking Zhou. He shrugged, probably hung over like me, he thought. The camp was still celebrating the completion of the road when he had curled up under his covers last night. Just this once, Zhou would forgive him.
Zhou dragged out his fourth-best set of clothes, stripped off his sleeping trousers and dressed himself. He picked up his leather bag and shoved a telescope into it, wanting to get the first glimpse of the cattle and their guard. Though the treaty had cost him and his family dear, he couldn’t help but feel that today was special.
He threw the tent flap back and strode out into the misty morning. The camp was quiet and there was evidence of last night’s revelry to be seen everywhere. Bones from meat, broken bowls, chopsticks and other detritus littered the floor that Zhou stumbled over. Moving through the camp, he cast looks left and right, expecting to see others moving towards the mess tent in search of a breakfast meal to settle their stomachs but no one else seemed to be stirring. The mist obscured the sun and though he peered upward, seeking any clue of the time, he couldn’t be more exact than it was still morning. Probably.
As he closed in on the mess tent, he could hear the first voices of the morning and gave a sigh of relief. The mess tent flap was closed, and he fancied he could hear the sounds of cooking, the clinking and clanking of metal, hisses of steam, from inside. His belly rolled again at the thought of food but he steeled himself, reached out a hand, lifted the flap, and stepped inside.
The inside was empty of life but it was full of death. Bodies of Wubei men lay where they had collapsed dotted all around the interior. The smell of loosened bowels and vomit violated the sanctity of Zhou’s nose causing him to heave and retch. When he had regained control he forced himself to examine the scene, to make sense of it. There was food still on the table and open barrels of wine around the place but no sign of blood or struggle.
Turning over a body, he was confronted by the face of the troop corporal. The body flopped and the compression of its ribs, as it turned, forced a wheeze of air to escape its lips which flapped in response. Zhou stumbled backwards in disgust and then, after a calming breath, gingerly returned to run his hands over the body seeking a stab wound, bruise, something, anything that would give a reason for the corporal's death. There was nothing.
“What killed you all?” Zhou breathed in despair. He looked into the corporal’s sightless eyes but there was no response. Then he looked closer, around the corpse's pupils was a ring of red. Blood. He checked the poor man's temples and skin around the eyes but there were no tears or wounds. Peering closer he could only surmise that the blood vessels had burst. Zhou forced open the mouth and saw a similar pattern in the gums. Checking one man and then another, he discovered that they all showed the same injuries. Disease or poison, Zhou’s panicked thoughts examined both possibilities and settled on the latter. No disease could kill this quickly.
Then he heard voices and footsteps coming towards the tent. He rushed towards the tent flap and opened his mouth to shout for help but held back the call. Through the flap he could make out soldiers, in the uniform of Yaart, moving through the mist obscured camp. The lead solider looked familiar but Zhou could not place him. They were too close for him to dart out and make a run for it. He scanned the tent, looking for a way out or a place to hide.
Stepping over the bodies of his recent comrades, he moved into the centre of the room and lay down, pulling the limbs of the closest murdered over him. He turned his face down into the earthen floor and held his breath. The material of the tent swished and footsteps entered the tent.
“Many of them died here, Captain. The poison was fast acting. We kept the first barrels clean so that they would feel confident but the later ones all contained enough to kill a regiment of soldiers. Once activated by the Fang-shi apprentices it swept through the camp like a plague of locusts,” one voice was saying.
“You’ve checked all the tents, even those of the guests last night?” said another. Likely the Captain, Zhou thought as he let the held breath seep out between his lips.
“Yes, Sir. We only have a few to go but, so far, we have found no one alive,” said a third voice, “Made me wary of them damn Fang-shi’s though. Look what they did with just a bit of preparation and a few words. Scary.”
“Bring more men back here, gather the bodies up and burn them. Burn the wine, the food, the tables and chairs, anything you can find. Show me the Wubei soldiers quarters, there might be some useful documents. Also, the bureaucrat-in-charge’s tent too. Do we have a name for him?”
“Yes, Sir. Chung was the chief bureaucrat. We’ve recovered his body and documents already. The forward crew was led by a man named...” There was a pause and Zhou could hear the rustling of paper. It sounded incredibly loud in his ears as did his heartbeat and every shallow breath he took. “Name was Zhou, Captain.”
“Zhou, really?” the Captain said. “That is a coincidence. Take me to his tent first.”
The Yaart soldiers left and Zhou didn't move. For a few minutes he lay still and listened. There were no more footsteps or voices and he decided to move, not wanting to wait too long and run into the Yaart clean-up crew. It was clear that he had to get away and back to Wubei, similarly it was clear that Yaart were not on their way with gifts of peace. You don't murder a whole crew and just say sorry, he thought.
He pushed off the arms and legs of the dead he had used as his disguise so that he could stand and in doing so looked down at the bodies of his countrymen. He looked down and met Wang’s blank stare.
“Thank you,” were the only words he could find.
Chapter 14
Haung ducked into the tent owned by the forward crew chief but there was no body there. There should have been a body, either in the bed or close by. He let his eyes take in the interior of the tent trying to sense if anything was missing or discover a clue to the location of the crew chief. The first thing he noticed was the bed; it was unmade and looked slept in. The covers were thrown back, there was a depression in the centre of the pillow and the sheets were ruffled. Near the chest there were spots of damp, and the hook on the centre pole had a smooth surface indicating it was well used but nothing was hanging there. The chest was open and it looked like something, clothes probably, had been roughly pulled out disturbing the things on top.
“Tell me, did you find the body?” Haung asked as his eyes continued to pan around.
“No, Captain. Not yet,” replied one of the guards.
“You are sure you haven’t missed it in the search? You know what he looks lik
e?”
“Yes, Sir. Jiin-Wei Peng made sure that all the assigned searchers got a good look at the Wubei officers. We wouldn’t have missed him,” the guard assured him.
“Then, I would guess, he is alive and confused. Search the camp again, check all the bodies again, make sure he is not hiding amongst them or in another's tent,” Haung ordered one guard and then turned to the other. “Round up a small number of scout trained troops and complete a spiral search out from the camp, about a mile or so for now. Send a rider once you find his tracks.”
Both guards bowed to Haung and left to complete their tasks. Haung moved to the stove and rested his hand upon it, the metal was still warm enough to feel through his thin gloves. His other hand absently rubbed the smooth surface of the central pole’s hook as his eyes drifted once again around the room. Suddenly, he took a step and crouched down to pick up a long box from the floor. Flipping the lid open he looked at the hollow in the velvet inlay. It was long, thin and had a rounded base. A telescope, he thought, as he turned and stalked out of the tent, back towards the Yaart camp.
At the entrance he summoned a servant, “Find Fang-shi Biao and Jiin-Wei Peng, ask them to join me in my tent.”
Inside his own tent, he stripped off the gloves he had worn, despite the warmth of the spring morning, to keep a distance between the poisoned dead and his own flesh. He set a small, black iron kettle onto the stove to heat up the water for tea. He looked at the hook on his central tent pole. From this hung a shoulder strap pack, it was not big but had room enough to hold a telescope and a few other daily necessities.
“Haung, what is the problem?” Peng asked as he entered the tent closely followed by Biao.
“We have a missing Wubei officer,” Haung said as he picked up the water and poured it into three separate bowls, each had a few tea leaves in the bottom. The rising steam carried with it the smell of life and home. Haung breathed in deeply, cleansing his lungs of the smell of death.
“Probably got missed in the search,” Peng said. “Not much to worry about, surely.”
“The guards assure me they didn’t miss him.” Haung gave each bowl a single stir with a wooden spoon. “I have ordered a re-check and also detailed a few scouts to search the surrounding area to see if they pick up any traces.”
“One officer, even if he is alive, cannot damage us,” Biao joined the conversation.
“I’m not so sure,” Haung said as he offered each man a bowl of tea. “The missing officer is Zhou, one of the original negotiators. He is something of an arrogant fool but he was against the treaty for the cattle and the road. I understand his stance cost him, and his family, dearly. Commander Weyl had the Jiin-Wei do some more digging into his background, just in case. He comes from an important family in Wubei and, though he is in disgrace, some may listen. And that might jeopardise the plan. He’s a loose end that I want tied up.”
“If he is in the camp, alive or dead, I can find him. If he is outside of the camp, then I might be able to find him, as long as he isn’t too far away. You have something of his I can use,” Biao said as he sipped his tea.
They cleared a small place on Haung’s table and Biao set his bowl of tea down in the empty area. Haung stood back as Biao took paper and a small stick of charcoal from his pockets. Placing them down next to the bowl, Biao then extracted a metal pin from another pocket and set this floating on the surface of the tea. Haung and Peng took a further step away, it was always best to give a sorcerer room to work.
“Give me the object of his,” Biao said.
Haung put the telescope case in Biao’s outstretched hand and backed away again. Focusing on the floating pin, Haung could, from the corner of his eyes, see Biao scribbling words and symbols on the paper. The pin began to spin as Biao chanted. The paper caught aflame and was slowly consumed as the chanting continued. The pin made several slow revolutions before coming to rest pointing, as far as Haung could guess, towards the city of Yaart.
“Hrmm...” Biao pondered, “I don’t think the case was enough. Not personal enough, I mean. Either that or he is out of my range which, at least, tells us he isn’t in the camp but somewhere else.”
“Dammit. So, it’s down to the scouts now,” Haung cursed.
“One man. That’s all, Haung,” Peng said. “The poison is untried on numbers like this. Bound to be one or two that got away, we knew that.”
“Yes, but why this man? Any other could have been dismissed as a deserter or lunatic.” Haung started to pace the small tent.
“We’ll deal with it should any problems come. For now, we carry on as planned. The men are changing into the Wubei uniforms and we have sent a rider to their city with the good news that Chung is bringing the cattle, in triumph and fulfilment of the treaty. It goes to plan.”
“Perhaps,” Haung answered Peng. “I’m glad they knew about our imminent arrival though, it means that part worked perfectly. No reason the next bit of that strand shouldn’t.”
“That’s better,” Biao said as he finished his tea and smacked his lips. Haung, and Peng, looked at him, “Sorry? I wasn’t listening much. The plan goes ahead. My apprentices are gathering objects from each of the Wubei dead to fashion the masks the troops will wear alongside the uniforms.”
“Then we’d best get moving. Peng, make sure the men get changed and stow their gear properly. Biao, I’ll ask the other Captains to organise the troops, ready for the illusion. First though, I have to look to the cattle. We’ll be moving by the morning.”
The three left the tent and went their separate ways. Haung headed to the edge of the camp and the cattle enclosure there. They had learnt, early on the road, that it was best to keep the cattle away from the rowdy men. The cattle were unsettled by the noise and the flickering of so many camp fires and torches. The last thing they wanted was one of the heavy beasts getting terrified and stampeding out onto the plains. They might move slowly, but they would be difficult to recapture. Keep them calm and docile.
The sun rose higher into the sky and the morning mist burnt off, giving clear views across the rolling hills of the plains. In the short distance, he could see the Wubei camp and above it a circling column of carrion birds. Haung spat on the floor, his lips curled in disgust and his hand closed about the hilt of the dagger at his waist. It was not just the birds that disgusted him but the use of poison to kill the Wubei men. Not honourable, he thought and shook his head. He took a deep breath and resumed his walk.
“Feng,” he called as he neared the enclosure.
“Hello, Haung. Glad you could come. We have a problem with one of the cattle,” Feng, once a fake-guard but always a Jiin-Wei, said.
“Please, no more problems today.” Haung clapped his friend on the shoulder.
“This one is serious. You need to come and have a look. The Fang-shi isn’t sure what is wrong. He’s been casting spells and reading his books all morning. But all the cattle does is lie down on its side and moan,” Feng said as he led Haung to the Sorcerer.
In the enclosure, the scene was much as Feng had described. Two cattle were standing, sharing a bale of hay, but the third was on its side, unmoving.
“What’s wrong with it?” Haung asked the Fang-shi, who looked up at him from his study of books.
“I’m not really sure,” was the reply.
“Well, if you’re not, who can be?” Haung asked and raised an eyebrow.
“I think the march is more arduous than we expected. For all their size and weight they are a lot more fragile than you could know. And, once they were outside the aura we maintain around Yaart, their link to the source was stretched. That's why we have set further beacons of the source up along the road, and why we carry more with us.”
“But two are fine, why that one?” Haung pointed to the downed beast.
“They’re all different. Fang-shi Long explained all this to you, I’m sure. The Qi used to maintain them and keep them satisfied is being used up at varying rates. We constantly need to rebalance their Qi.”
“So, what has changed with that one?” Haung asked again.
“Near as I can guess, the activation spell used last night wasn’t directional. It went everywhere, like the ripple from a stone. Out over our camp to cover the Wubei one. So it would have flowed over, and through, the beasts.” The sorcerer pointed to a diagram in the book he was studying. “I’m guessing it had an impact on that one but I don’t know why.”
“Can they still produce gold?” Haung asked.
“If we feed them, yes, I believe so,” the Fang-shi answered. “We are keeping them fuelled up with hay and the other minerals contained in the guide. There is no reason to suspect that they are unable to function.”
Suddenly, there was a loud crack from the enclosure and they all turned to see where it had come from. The downed cattle’s skin was pulsing and rippling. There were several more cracks as the skin split. Red and purple light spilled out.
“Get the other cattle away,” screamed the Fang-shi at the herders and servants. He ran into help them.
“Haung...” Feng began but the rest of his words were drowned out by the shouting of the men and increasing number of bangs, crackles and cracks coming from the stricken cattle.
As the second and third beasts were pushed out of the enclosure, the first began to come apart. The light increased in intensity forcing Haung to shield his eyes. The dying beast began to melt, twist and contort into a variety of forms before settling into four vaguely man-shaped lumps of glowing and rippling light. The man-shapes writhed in agony, mouths open impossibly wide, more intense light spewing forth. Their arms were raised to clasp heads or wrap around bellies.
There was a sudden, further increase in the red and purple light. Haung’s eyes stung and began to tear, he had to turn away. In the distance, through stinging eyes he could see a star twinkling at ground level. He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, more sparks and stars spiralled across the inside of his eyelids. The light dimmed and he turned back to the beast. Four jet black man-shaped statues now decorated the enclosure’s grass.