Dragonkeeper

by Carole Wilkinson

  Suddenly her happiness turned to fear. One minute she’d been chuckling about the girl and the donkey, the next a wave of terror passed through her body and drowned her pleasure. Someone was arguing. Ping found the source of the argument at the cooked meat stall behind the musicians. A man was quibbling over the price of a few slices of beef. He wore clothes made from animal hides, which Ping could smell even from that distance. From his belt hung an axe, a short sword and a length of iron chain. The man stopped bargaining and turned around, as if he sensed someone was watching him. It was Diao, the dragon hunter. Ping forgot about the song. She turned and ran.

  • chapter ten •

  MAGIC AT MIDNIGHT

  The dragon hunter lunged forward and

  struck Danzi with his sword. Danzi

  screamed and fell to his knees.

  Ping breathed in the clean country air and listened to the birdsong.

  “Ping didn’t like Chang’an,” said Danzi.

  She shook her head. “No. I knew something bad awaited us there.”

  The dragon turned to her. He studied her face but said nothing.

  It had been two days since they’d left Chang’an. As soon as he’d heard that Diao was in the capital, the dragon had wanted to leave immediately. Ping and Danzi, in his old man shape, had been the only ones leaving the city, outnumbered a thousandfold by fresh crowds pouring in. Ping had fought her way towards the city’s eastern gate against this tide of people. She was sure that the dragon hunter hadn’t seen her in the market. Almost sure. At every second step she’d glanced over her shoulder, half expecting to see Diao behind them.

  “If there are so few dragons in the world,” Ping asked, “Why would anyone want to be a dragon hunter?”

  “Dragon hunting not profitable business,” Danzi replied. “But once hunter has killed dragon, craves more dragon kills. Often goes many years between kills.”

  “So how does a dragon hunter live until he catches the next dragon?”

  “Hunts other animals and sells them at markets. But is always craving for dragon kill.”

  Ping remembered the horrible dragon hunter and shivered.

  “When he does kill dragon, rewards are great. Blood and organs of dragon now rare, worth fortune to those who know their virtues.”

  Ping looked over her shoulder again and quickened her step.

  By the first afternoon they had got clear of the houses clustering around the capital. The wide road soon dwindled to a path snaking through fields being prepared for spring planting. Then they reached wooded land. The dark branches of the trees were speckled with new leaves. The leaves sprang from the branches in tufts, each one shaped like a tiny fan. The green of the new leaves was so bright, Ping couldn’t believe it was natural. Danzi told her the trees were called ginkgo.

  “An infusion of the leaves helps relieve a cough,” the dragon explained.

  Ping wasn’t interested in their medicinal value, she was just enjoying their beauty.

  “Are you sure a painter hasn’t coloured them all?” she asked.

  Danzi shook his head.

  They hadn’t passed anyone for hours, so Danzi was in his dragon shape. He looked stronger than he had when they’d entered Chang’an. He walked with a light step and his head held up. Ping had enjoyed their time at Wang Cao’s house, but she was glad to be away from the capital. She wasn’t sorry they’d missed the new Emperor’s celebrations. She’d seen enough wonders in Chang’an as it was. As they’d said farewell to Wang Cao, he had given Ping a small packet of tea leaves, some of the dark red ointment for the stone and a goatskin bag for carrying water. At the dragon’s request, he had also given them a little of the explosive mixture.

  Ping tried to get Danzi to talk about his years with Wang Cao, but the dragon wasn’t in the mood to talk about himself.

  ”Nature dislikes unnecessary chatter,” he said, and that was all she could get out of him.

  It didn’t spoil Ping’s good humour. Yellow and orange spring flowers, strongly perfumed, were pushing their way out of the cold earth. The weather was improving. The clouds thinned and the sun broke through, warming Ping’s face. She was glad to be moving again. Now that she was sure Diao wasn’t following them, she didn’t feel afraid. In the country, there were wild animals and bad weather, but the few people they met were kind and friendly or kept to themselves. There had been some friendly people in Chang’an, but there were unpleasant people as well. The capital was too big and it confused her. Before, she had thought that there were two types of people in the world—good and bad. Now she had learned that she wasn’t the only one who got too hungry to be good.

  On the afternoon of the fourth day after leaving Chang’an, they reached the top of a hill. Below them a small village clung to the hillside. All Ping could see was a cluster of wooden roofs huddled together like sleeping dogs. The houses seemed to grow out of the hillside. They were made of old, dark wood and built up on stilts or piles of stones to level them. Flights of stone steps led up to the front doors. Verandahs were hung with washing. As they got closer, dogs started to bark. Ping counted the number of houses in the village as they approached. There were ten and five. This was the sort of village she liked, small enough that everyone would know each other. If she ever got to choose where she lived, it would be in a small village like this one.

  Farmers with hoes over their shoulders were climbing back to the village from their fields in the valley below. The murmur of their conversation drifted up to Ping and the dragon as they walked down the hill towards the village. Cooking smells also reached them. The air around the dragon started to shimmer and Ping looked away as he transformed himself into his old man shape. A group of young women carrying baskets of melon gourds sang as they walked. Children, playing a game with a goatskin ball by the side of the path, laughed and waved as the travellers approached.

  “Welcome to Fengjing,” shouted one of the men.

  “What news do you have?” shouted another.

  A family invited them to stay the night and share a meal of pork and roast vegetables. Ping looked at Danzi. He nodded. Ping smiled. It was just as she’d hoped.

  Ping chatted to the villagers, enjoying this simple communication with other people. Then the smile drained from her face. She didn’t know what had changed her mood. One minute her mouth was watering at the thought of a hot meal, the next she felt a terrible dread in the pit of her stomach, as if food that refused to be digested was slowly decaying inside her.

  “Danzi,” she whispered to the dragon. “I don’t want to stay here.”

  “Why?” said the voice in her mind.

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Only one night,” the dragon replied as a farmer came up to walk alongside them.

  A few minutes ago all Ping had wanted was to climb the stone steps to one of the houses in the village, to sit down to a hot meal, to get off the endless road and rest. Now she would rather have been anywhere else.

  “Please come up!” shouted the farmer’s wife from her verandah.

  “We haven’t had visitors in our village since last autumn,” the farmer was saying. “And suddenly we have three travellers passing through in one day.”

  Ping was about to put her foot on the bottom step of the flight of stone stairs that led to the villager’s house. She felt the back of her neck prickle.

  A harsh voice rang out, drowning out the soft sounds of evening. “Find me somewhere to put my cart. It might rain.”

  Ping’s foot never reached the step. She spun round. Standing next to a cart full of sharp metal blades and ugly cages was a dark, dirty man dressed in stained animal hides. Weapons hung from his belt. The dragon beside her suddenly groaned and clutched at her arm.

  Ping, with a clean face, combed hair and a new gown, no longer looked like a grubby slave girl, but as Diao glared at her, his unpleasant face twisted into a half-smile. She knew he had recognised her. He looked at the old man with the greenish face and the long side whisker
s. His half-smile became whole.

  “That girl is an evil sorceress,” Diao shouted. “The old man is a shape-changing demon.”

  The villagers stared at him in surprise.

  “Don’t just stand there. Seize them!”

  The entire population of the village left their chores to see what the fuss was about.

  “I’ve come across them before,” Diao continued.

  The villagers looked from the young girl and her frail grandfather to the grimy man with the unpleasant voice. They gathered protectively around Ping and Danzi, blocking any chance of escape.

  “Don’t trust them because they look innocent.”

  Hua chose that moment to reposition himself in the folds of Ping’s gown.

  “See for yourselves,” said Diao. “The girl has creatures living in her gown.”

  The villagers’ eyes widened as they did indeed see something moving beneath the girl’s clothing. They took a step away from Ping and towards Diao.

  “And the old man can’t stand the touch of iron,” said the dragon hunter.

  One of the villagers picked up an iron scythe and held it up against the old man’s arm. Danzi groaned with pain. The villagers backed further away.

  “I know their ways,” said Diao. “I will protect you from these evil demons.”

  The dragon hunter lunged forward and struck Danzi with his sword. Danzi screamed and fell to his knees. His cry was like a screech of tearing metal.

  Diao strode over and grabbed Ping. The villagers shouted encouragement to the foul-smelling man.

  “We’ll give you all our money if you get rid of the demons,” they promised.

  Diao was trying not to look too pleased. His mouth had returned to its usual sneer, but his eyes glittered with pleasure.

  Instead of the comfortable house in which Ping had imagined they would spend the night, the villagers pushed them into a pigsty. It was a small round bamboo construction on stilts with a thatched roof. It was already crowded with four pigs. Diao came in himself to chain one of Danzi’s legs to a bamboo pole. Danzi cried out when the iron chain came into contact with his leg. Diao laughed. Ping wanted to launch at him and scratch his ugly, smiling face, but she didn’t. She’d only end up in chains herself.

  Compared to Diao the pigs were welcome companions. Ping had nothing against pigs. She knew that they were clean animals if given the chance, but people were in the habit of feeding them rubbish. She squatted ankle-deep in rotten vegetables and spoiled grain. The smell in the sty was unbearable. Danzi had returned to his dragon shape. His foreleg, where the chain was rubbing against it, looked as if it had been scalded with boiling water. Ping could have easily broken out of the flimsy pigsty, but Diao had set three villagers outside to guard them.

  “You have to reveal yourself to them, Danzi,” said Ping. “You said peasants are frightened of dragons.”

  Danzi was crouched awkwardly between two pigs. He shook his head. “Iron saps strength. Ping must think of way to escape.”

  “We need weapons to fight our way out,” Ping said, even though she had never used a weapon in her life.

  “Sharp weapons are not the tools of the sage,” replied the dragon.

  Ping sighed, wishing he had more to offer than riddles.

  “Can’t you use your qi to disarm the guards?” Ping asked.

  “Cannot focus qi near iron,” the dragon replied. “Ping try.”

  “I’ve only ever moved a leaf, Danzi. It’s not even worth trying.”

  She could hear Diao outside telling the villagers to put Danzi in one of the iron cages on his cart in the morning.

  ”Why doesn’t he kill you right away?” asked Ping.

  “Too far from Wucheng,” replied the dragon.

  “Wucheng?”

  “Town where sorcerers and necromancers gather. Many people interested in purchasing pieces of dragon flesh for its magical properties.”

  Ping shuddered at the idea of such gruesome people.

  “Diao wants Danzi alive. When reaches Wucheng, will sell parts fresh.”

  Images of that terrible night on Huangling returned to her—Master Lan’s blood-splattered face, the axe in the firelight, the congealed dragon blood in the snow. Danzi, despite the danger and discomfort, was so weary he was soon asleep.

  Ping squatted with the pigs until the village was in darkness and the guards outside had stopped talking among themselves. Through the slats of her prison, she watched the moon rise above the mountain like a slice of bright melon. She knew it must be nearly midnight. Ping was wide awake. The cold and discomfort had sharpened her wits. She remembered the dragon hunter’s smug expression—half-smile, half-scowl—as the villagers had pushed them into the pigsty. She had to think of a way to escape from him.

  She took stock of her situation. It did not take long. She had nothing. The guards had taken her pouch and her basket. Unless she could think of a way of fashioning rotten vegetables and chicken bones into a weapon, she had nothing to work with. She felt Hua stir. Since they’d left Chang’an, he had taken to sleeping in the pocket she’d sewn inside her gown. Hua crawled out and set to work enthusiastically on the pigs’ scraps. The rat had a way of turning a bad situation to his advantage. Ping had to do the same. She took stock again. She had two things to work with—a rat and a dragon. She took out the contents of her secret pocket. She had copper cash, a jade pendant in the shape of a child and a small amount of the explosive powder Wang Cao had given her. She had a needle and red silk thread. Her legs were aching from squatting. She stood up and sat on a snoring pig. How could she make use of what she had?

  The moon was high in the night sky when Ping prodded the sleeping dragon.

  “Wake up, Danzi,” she said. “I’ve got a plan.”

  The dragon groaned. His leg, which had only just healed from the chains at Huangling, was raw and bleeding again.

  Ping pulled out her bone needle and poked it into the lock holding the ends of the chain together. Picking locks was a skill she’d learned at Huangling. Master Lan had had a habit of locking away food he didn’t want her to get her teeth into. It didn’t take long. The dragon groaned with relief as the chain fell away. Ping kicked it as far away from the dragon as possible.

  ”What is Ping’s plan?” asked the dragon.

  Before Ping could answer, the door opened a chink. A terrified face appeared.

  “Don’t think you can escape!” said a timid voice. “There are three guards with knives outside ready to attack you if you do anything unnatural to me.”

  The face and the voice belonged to the boy who fed the pigs. He inched in holding a bucket of food scraps in front of him like a shield. He emptied the bucket and was about to run out when Ping grabbed his wrist. The boy made a terrified squeak and closed his eyes, waiting to be turned into a frog or disappear in a puff of smoke. He opened his eyes again and seemed surprised to find himself still in his usual form.

  “Would you like to earn a copper coin?” Ping whispered, holding out one of her coins to him.

  The boy shook his head.

  “I’m not a sorceress,” Ping reassured him, pressing the coin into his hand. “I’m just a child like you.”

  He wouldn’t look at Ping. Instead he peered into the darkness behind her and started at the black shape he saw hulking there.

  “My grandfather is asleep,” she said, trying to convince the boy that all he saw was a harmless old man.

  The boy relaxed his grip on the bucket.

  “I’m afraid of the dark and the moon has disappeared behind a cloud. Could you do one small thing for me?”

  Ping pleaded. “Could you put a lamp outside the pigsty, in a place where the guards won’t see it? You can leave it out of my reach. Just close enough so that a little light seeps through.”

  The boy chanced a nervous look at Ping. She smiled. Ping placed another coin in his hand.

  “Are you alright in there, boy?” one of the guards shouted from a safe distance.

&nb
sp; The boy opened his mouth as if he meant to cry out. Ping’s smile faded. She twisted his wrist tighter.

  “Okay. Do you see this?” Ping held out the jade pendant. The small figure was just visible in the faint moonlight. “This was the last person who refused to obey me.”

  The boy stared at the small green figure in the palm of Ping’s hand.

  “If you don’t do as I say, I’ll turn you into a piece of jade.”

  She let go of his wrist and the boy ran out, hurriedly latching the door behind him.

  “I’m okay,” she heard him tell the guards in a trembling voice.

  The guards settled down around their fire again. A few minutes later, Ping saw a lamp approach. The boy carried it round behind the pigsty and placed it more than an arm’s length away from the wall. His frightened eyes looked at Ping for a moment and then he disappeared.

  An hour or two later the guards’ fire had died down and the murmur of their conversation had stopped. Ping crept over to the door. She threaded a length of the silk thread through the jade pendant and tied the ends as if she meant to wear it around her neck. Then she pushed the pendant through a gap in the bamboo just above the door latch. She fed out the silk thread letting the weight of the pendant pull it down. When the loop of thread was below the latch, she hooked it under the latch and gently pulled the thread. The latch lifted. She pushed the door open just a crack.

  “Are you ready for the last part of my plan?” Ping asked the dragon.

  The dragon nodded slowly. She placed a small pile of Wang’s explosive powder in each of three melon rinds that she’d retrieved from the pigs’ dinner and set them on the floor. Then she climbed on the back of one of the sleeping pigs and pulled down a stalk of straw from the thatched roof. She pushed it through a gap in the bamboo wall. With her arm outstretched she could just reach the lamp outside with the end of the length of straw. The straw started to burn, but the lamp spluttered and went out. If this didn’t work, she would have no second chance. She crouched behind one of the pigs and set the flaming straw to the first melon rind.