“Can you fly over the wall?” Ping asked.
“Cannot,” he replied “Need height to take off. Must climb over.”
Ping looked at the sharp rocks that made up the wall. “Those rocks will cut me to shreds.”
“Cut human flesh,” the dragon said. “Not dragon scales.”
The necromancer was on his feet again. This time the force from Ping’s fingertips only made him stagger. She slung the reed basket over her shoulder and leapt onto the dragon’s back, clinging to his horns and clamping her knees around his neck. The jagged rocks provided plenty of footholds and the dragon laboriously climbed the wall, hauling himself and Ping up over the vicious rocks. They reached the top of the wall. The river, on the other side, was no more than a li away. Behind her, the necromancer was holding his chest, summoning the power to break the lock.
Ping felt flapping around her head. The two crows they’d seen when they first arrived at Wucheng were pecking at her. She held up her arms to protect her eyes from the stabbing black beaks. One punctured her arm, piercing deep into her flesh. She cried out in pain, but the angry rumbling roar of the dragon drowned her cry. The birds flapped away and Danzi opened his wings. Ping’s red stitches were still holding the shreds of the left wing in place. The crows returned, ignoring the dragon’s roaring this time. Danzi swiped a forepaw in the direction of the birds. Blood dripped from a wound ripped open in one crow’s chest by his talons. The bird fell to the ground. The other crow pecked at the red thread, out of reach of Danzi’s talons. Roused by the smell of blood, Hua emerged from Ping’s gown and ran along the dragon’s outstretched wing to where the crow was pulling apart Ping’s needlework. The bird saw the rat coming, flapped its wings and took off. Hua launched himself at the crow and clamped his teeth around the bird’s foot as it lifted into the air. The crow flapped off with the rat hanging on to its foot. Ping lost sight of Hua as Danzi leapt off the wall. The ground came up fast to meet them as he glided down on the other side. The dragon landed clumsily but safely. Ping looked up and saw the crow flapping higher in the air with Hua still dangling beneath it. The crow let out an agonised squawk and Hua was suddenly plummeting to the ground. Ping ran to catch him. She tripped on the hem of her gown. Hua was plunging towards the earth and Ping couldn’t get to her feet. A dragon paw reached out and caught Hua no more than two inches from the ground. Ping and the dragon ran towards the river.
When they reached the wharf, Ping was delighted to see Jiang Bing’s boat still tied up. The boatwoman looked up, surprised to see Ping running towards her with a dragon at her side.
“We must leave now,” said Ping as she scrambled aboard the boat. “There’s a necromancer after us. I’ll explain later.”
The dragon laboured down the ladder and collapsed exhausted on the deck. Ping glanced towards the town walls, but could see no sign of the necromancer.
“I was just about to leave anyway,” said Jiang Bing calmly.
She looked around the wharf. She didn’t call or whistle, but the ginger cat appeared from behind some sacks of grain and leapt aboard.
Jiang Bing untied the boat. Ping helped her push it away from the wharf. The boatwoman poled the boat until the current grabbed it, sucking them into the middle of the river. Wucheng began to shrink and Ping breathed in the air rushing past them with relief. Hua, who still had the crow’s foot in his mouth, scrambled out of Danzi’s grasp. The cat was between him and the safety of Ping’s gown. He ran up the dragon’s leg and disappeared behind one of the reversed scales beneath his chin.
“It’s wonderful to be back on the river,” Ping said. She was still clutching the reed basket to her. She turned to Jiang Bing with a smile.
The boatwoman’s face was grim. She was looking at the dragon.
“I’ll give you gold if you tell no one about this,” Ping said.
“I don’t want gold,” said the boatwoman in a harsh voice that Ping didn’t recognise.
“What do you want?” asked Ping.
“I want the dragon stone. It belongs to my master.”
Ping couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
The ginger cat strolled over to Jiang Bing. Ping noticed there was blood dripping from a wound in its belly. The air around the cat shimmered and flickered.
The animal twisted and contorted. Its fur transformed into flesh and cloth. Ping was mesmerised by the horrible transformation even though it made her feel sick. Before her eyes, the cat became a man. He was dressed in a dark cloak, but something beneath it caught the morning sun. He had a patch over one eye, a tattoo on one cheek and a ginger beard. It was the necromancer. Jiang Bing moved to stand next to him. She looked at him with admiration and then at Ping with scorn. Ping staggered to the side of the boat and vomited over the side.
“Give me the dragon stone,” said the necromancer as he moved towards Ping.
“Danzi!” Ping called out, clutching the stone to her. “Help me!”
The dragon staggered to his feet. He tried to summon his qi power, but he couldn’t. He was too weak.
The necromancer’s fingers reached out to the dragon stone. His long, black fingernails hooked into the weave of the reed basket. He pulled it from Ping’s grasp. She let the basket go but held on to the stone. The black fingernails reached out again and scratched the surface of the stone with a sound that set Ping’s teeth on edge. The necromancer’s hands grasped out to enclose the stone. The stone screamed. Ping knew that she could never let this man have her stone. She leapt over the side of the boat and into the foaming yellow water. The necromancer gave out a strangled, angry cry.
“Don’t let her go,” he ordered Jiang Bing.
The boatwoman didn’t hesitate. She plunged into the water after Ping.
Ping couldn’t swim. She felt the suffocating water all around her, eager to fill her nose and mouth and stop her from breathing. The swift current pulled at her, carrying her along as easily as if she were a leaf. She knew that she was going to drown. She didn’t care. She’d much rather die than allow the necromancer to get hold of the dragon stone. Ping wasn’t afraid of death. She felt a clear, strong emotion that she couldn’t put a name to. Instead of feeling cold, this feeling filled her with warmth. She smiled. The boatwoman swam up to her, struggling through the water. Ping’s smile faded. No one was going to have the stone but her. She pulled up her left leg and kicked out as hard as she could. Her foot struck the boatwoman on the nose. Jiang Bing cried out with pain as blood mingled with the yellow water. She spluttered and her arms seemed to forget how to swim. The boatwoman disappeared beneath the turbulent waters.
Holding on to the stone with a grip like a vice, Ping waited for its weight to drag her beneath the irresistible waters. She didn’t sink though. The stone was floating, bobbing along through the water like an apple, carrying Ping with it. Ping strained to keep her head above the water. She discovered that the less she resisted, the easier it was. She felt the cool hardness of the stone in her hands and let her body go loose. She was a leaf. She would let the river take her wherever it wanted.
She had been carried only a few li when she and the stone were washed into a side stream with other floating things—branches, fish entrails, rubbish from Wucheng. She crawled through the dirty yellow froth at the river’s edge and onto the riverbank. She wiped the scum from the stone. Its purple depths were still dull, but the brown blotches were fading. The red veins that ran through the grey swirls didn’t seem quite as thick. It would be alright. She would find arsenic and red cloud herb and heal it.
Ping lay stretched out on the river bank, holding the dragon stone close to her. She was alive and she still had the stone. She had defeated the necromancer and his accomplice. The sun was just above the horizon sending out shafts of orange light in her direction. The world was a beautiful place. She sat up and watched the sky turn from orange to pink. Then she realised she’d forgotten something. Something important. The dragon was still on board the boat with the necromancer. And so was Hua.
• chapter seventeen •
STRENGTH AND WEAKNESS
The sun disappeared, the light
faded. Finally a broken jetty loomed
out of the twilight.
Ping’s head was spinning. Danzi and Hua were more important than the stone. They were her friends. Without Danzi she would still be at Huangling. Without Hua she would have probably died of misery years ago. But something inside her was telling her that the dragon stone was more important. If she went back to rescue her friends, the dragon stone would be within reach of the necromancer again. She stared into the stone’s depths. She lay her cheek against its cool surface. She couldn’t bear to lose it. And yet she couldn’t leave her friends either. She would have to work out a way of saving them all.
She didn’t have the chance to think of even the beginnings of a plan before the necromancer’s boat came into view. He was standing at the stern holding on to the rudder and scanning the riverbank. The dragon was splayed out on the deck in full view of anyone who happened to pass. Each leg was tied to the side of the boat as if he were an ox ready for slaughter. The necromancer probably thought that Ping had drowned like Jiang Bing. He was looking for the dragon stone. Ping jumped to her feet.
“Over here,” she shouted, holding the stone above her head. “Is this what you’re looking for?”
The necromancer looked at her in astonishment. Not only was she still alive, she was also offering the dragon stone to him. He leaned on the rudder and steered the boat towards the river bank. The inlet into which Ping had floated with the rubbish from Wucheng was too shallow to moor the boat. The necromancer threw the anchor overboard. The boat was pulled up short. The current tugged at it, but the anchor held firm. The necromancer picked up the gangplank from the deck and lay it over the side. It was too short to reach the bank, but it reached the shallows. No sooner had it come to rest among the fish heads and melon rinds, than the necromancer was striding down it towards the river bank.
Ping didn’t know what to do. She had managed to take the necromancer by surprise in Wucheng and her anger had helped her focus her qi. Now she didn’t feel angry, she just felt scared. She had no skills to beat such a powerful sorcerer, no weapon except for her bronze knife. She tucked the stone into the crook of her right arm, took out her knife and held it firmly in her left hand.
The necromancer was standing in front of her. He laughed at her blade, which was no more than four inches long and designed for cutting vegetables. He drew a long, curved sword from a scabbard. Its edge glistened menacingly in the sunlight. The necromancer swung it in her direction. He was weak, she could tell. His tunic was soaked with blood. He had spent five days on the boat in the shape of a cat. She knew how shape-changing drained Danzi’s strength. No doubt raising the sentry spirits had also sapped strength from him. Ping might not have had sorcerer’s skills, but she was quick. She ducked out of the way. The blade dug deep into the muddy river bank. The necromancer grabbed the sword hilt with both hands to pull it out. Something small and grey streaked down the gangplank. It was Hua. When he got to the end of the plank he leapt into the air, trying to cross the shallows and the mud in one leap. It was too far. As he started to fall towards the muddy bank, he spread his legs wide and glided to one side, hooking his claws into the nearest thing. It was the back of the necromancer’s gown. The sorcerer turned and saw the rat running up his leg. He let go his hold on the sword and swatted behind him trying to dislodge Hua. Hua saw the waving fingers and latched on to one of them instead. The necromancer’s struggles had only embedded him further in the mud. His feet were buried up to the ankles. He tried to shake the rat off his finger. Hua wasn’t going to let go. He bit deeper into the necromancer’s flesh until blood flowed from the wound.
Ping remembered something that the dragon had said to her back in Chang’an. It had seemed meaningless at the time, but now it made perfect sense.
“Recognising one’s limitations is knowledge,” he had said.
Ping’s limitations were as clear as a mountain stream. She had no way of overcoming the skilled necromancer. He might have been weakened, but he was far from spent. He was refocusing his energies and would soon free himself from the mud and overpower her. He would have the dragon stone. She had to escape.
Ping ran to the gangplank.
“Come on, Hua!” she shouted as she raced up it to the boat.
The necromancer had pulled one foot and his sword from the mire. He tried again to shake the rat from his finger. This time he was successful. Hua sailed in a high arc, his legs scrabbling in the air. This time there was nothing for Hua to grab hold of. He landed in the water. The necromancer had now freed both his feet and was only three strides from the end of the gangplank. Ping placed the dragon stone gently in a coil of rope. She needed both hands. She lifted the boat end of the plank and threw it into the river. The sorcerer hesitated momentarily at the water’s edge, unwilling to wade into the water. Ping still had her bronze knife in her left hand. She hacked at the anchor rope. Hua was swimming towards the boat, his little legs paddling so fast they were a blur. Ping had kept her blade sharp. With three slashes she severed the rope. Hua was still an arm’s length from the prow. Ping leant over the side, but couldn’t reach him. The necromancer dived into the water trying to grab the end of the severed rope. Now it was released from the tugging anchor, the boat swept eagerly into the current. The rope, slippery with algae, slid out of the necromancer’s grasp. Hua bobbed helplessly as the boat passed him. The boat surged down the river. Ping ran to the stern, unable to do anything as Hua was engulfed by the boat’s wake. Then something long and green flopped out over the stern of the boat and into the water. It was the dragon’s tail. The tip landed close to where the spluttering rat surfaced. Hua hooked his claws under the green scales. The dragon pulled his tail onto the boat. It slapped onto the deck.
Hua lay next to it, wet and exhausted. The current whisked the boat away from the furious necromancer, still splashing in the shallows.
“Are you alright, Danzi?” Ping called out as she made her way to the dragon. The boat rocked and swayed. Ping was thrown to the deck. The dragon turned his head.
“Escape.”
Ping crawled to the stern and grabbed hold of the rudder. It took all of her strength to guide it away from the furious central current to a slower part of the river closer to the southern bank. Hua was not fond of water or of being hurled through the air. As soon as he had recovered his balance and shook off as much of the river water as he could, he clambered up Ping’s gown and burrowed into its folds.
Ping had to keep both hands firmly on the rudder. Her arms were aching after only an hour, but she didn’t dare stop to rest. She glanced back at the dragon, still tied onto the deck, stretched out like a sacrificial goat. She looked anxiously at the dragon stone nestled in the coil of rope.
“I can’t stop, Danzi,” she shouted. “We have to get as far away from the necromancer as possible.”
The dragon made a low sound. It was just the faintest tinkle, like wind chimes stirred by the merest whisper of a breeze.
“The sapling is small, but none can defeat it,” he whispered.
It wasn’t much, but Ping knew that the dragon, although weak, was okay.
It was the longest day of Ping’s life. The strength of the river’s current meant that she couldn’t let go of the rudder or she would lose control of the boat. In truth, the river had more control of the boat than she did. No matter how hard she tried to keep the boat close to the river bank, it kept finding its way back to the middle of the stream. In the end Ping let the river have its way, but she still needed all her strength to keep the boat coursing along the central current. It was dangerous, but Ping was glad of the extra speed. The faster they travelled, the less likely it would be that the necromancer would catch up with them.
Ping had to keep her eyes focused on the river ahead. She would have liked to watch the bamboo groves and the villages on the distant shores, bu
t she had to look out for rocks and other boats. She couldn’t rest. She was hot and thirsty. She was tired and hungry. But she couldn’t stop for food or water. Her arms ached with the strain of holding the boat to its course. She glanced at the motionless dragon, tethered to the boat. She couldn’t stop to free Danzi.
As the day wore on, the sun shone from a cloudless sky. It became harder for Ping to concentrate. She fell asleep where she sat at the rudder and was woken by the cries of men. She looked up and found that they were bearing down on another boat which was fighting its way upstream with the help of four men with poles, two oxen on the riverbank roped to the boat, and a tall sail angled to catch the breeze. Ping wrenched the rudder and steered away from the other boat and its dismayed boatmen. She had to stay awake. She practised counting up to a thousand. She sang aloud the only two songs she knew—a children’s rhyme that she had learned from Lao Ma and a drinking song that Master Lan had been fond of singing.
At last the sun was low in the sky behind them. Ping allowed herself to believe that they had left the necromancer behind.
“I think it’s safe to stop now,” she called out to the dragon, though she had heard no sound from him for several hours.
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