Taming Poison Dragons

by Tim Murgatroyd

Then he smiled such a smile. One he had learned from his master. Later I came to know it well, and always longed to cut it from his face.

  ‘Lord Xiao,’ he said, softly. ‘Didn’t you guess?’

  I followed him through the dispersing crowd, men chattering as they will after a long period of enforced silence, until we reached the offices of the Finance Ministry.

  He led me through long rooms where clerks plied abacus and brush, to an inner courtyard brightened by a tinkling fountain. Lord Xiao sat upon a high-backed chair, issuing instructions regarding the collection of taxes, his words recorded by a scribe. I waited at the side until his business was complete, then presented myself, bowing low. Lord Xiao regarded me from his chair. I kept my eye on the earth.

  ‘Why, if it is not Yun Cai of. . . I forget where. Some little place or other.’

  The officials who sat around him laughed heartily.

  Clearly I was destined for rough treatment.

  ‘So good of you to come,’ he said. ‘I take it I am not interrupting any of your fine poems?’

  I lifted my head a little.

  ‘My Lord is too gracious to enquire,’ I said. ‘But I am rarely inspired in the morning. My best time is evening.’

  I could sense a dozen cold eyes upon me. No one laughed now.

  ‘That is fortunate,’ said Lord Xiao, in his high-pitched way. ‘I would hate to interrupt your. . . flow.’

  I waited. Indeed I had no other choice.

  ‘You may be wondering why I have summoned you here,’ he said. ‘Of course, it is because I wish to promote you.’

  Still I said nothing.

  ‘Have you no reply to that?’ he asked, sharply.

  ‘Gratitude has left me speechless, Lord,’ I said. ‘Forgive me.’

  He lolled back in his chair.

  ‘Oh, I forgive you. But I am a busy man and this is not important. I might say, you are not important, so I’ll come to the point.’

  Yet he settled comfortably in his chair and watched me, as a cat might examine a tasty snack it has pinned to the ground with its claws.

  ‘I’ve arranged a special job for you, Yun Cai. You are to be transferred. And I have no doubt you’ll be pleased. You see, Yun Cai, I have considered your talents well. I resent those who I raise up meddling in my affairs, but surely that does not apply to you? Does it?’

  I pretended to consider this.

  ‘Not that I’m aware of, Lord.’

  ‘A good reply! I take it you are skilful at adding up,’ he said. ‘Of course you are! That is why I have chosen you for a vital mission. In fact, I would entrust it to no one else. You are aware of His Imperial Highness’s campaign against the rebels in the city of Pinang? Well, I have a little posting for you.’

  If I had any doubts he was enjoying himself, the slow smile which spread across his face settled them.

  ‘I am my Lord’s grateful servant,’ I replied.

  ‘That is well. You are to join the Army of the Left Hand and there your duties will commence. I have arranged that you will hold a truly honourable position. Do you want to know what it is?’

  ‘If my Lord wishes to tell me,’ I said.

  ‘But I do! You see, I require a detailed list of every man who perishes on that campaign, their name, place of birth, where and how they fell. As well as, let me see – age, yes, why not their age. In order to achieve this, you must accompany the troops at the front line. Think how exciting it will be! The sound of bows twanging and swords clashing! How stirring to the blood! And, after all, it is in your blood. Wasn’t your father a common soldier?’

  ‘Indeed, he was, Lord. And an uncommonly brave one.’

  ‘Well, there you go! You can be brave just like him. You may take one servant with you, and I have assigned some clerks to assist you. You must leave the city at dawn tomorrow. Failure to leave at that time will result in a severe penalty.’

  ‘Tomorrow, Lord? At dawn?’ I asked, aghast.

  ‘No delay is possible,’ he replied. ‘Do you like the sound of it, Yun Cai?’

  I did not know how to reply.

  ‘You seem at a loss for words,’ he said. ‘How very unusual.’

  ‘It is simply I am overwhelmed by my Lord’s generous nature,’ I said, lifting my head so that I met his eye, for I had been provoked beyond caution. ‘All men will say when they hear about my posting, that His Imperial Majesty’s trust in Lord Xiao is not misguided.’

  He glared at me.

  ‘For one who is speechless, you have much to say. Do you know, I have a feeling you will never return from the frontier. And that grieves me, truly it does.’

  If my mouth was dusty before, now it felt like a desert.

  ‘Shoo!’ he said, smiling. ‘A hearty goodbye to you.’

  His intimate followers, who had been silent before, slapped their thighs with mirth, a few of them even applauded. I left with the sound ringing in my ears. In truth, I can hear it now.

  Eighteen hours were all I had before the Western Road must swallow me up. Eighteen hours to pack away a life

  – inform friends, write to my parents and relatives, quit my tenure of Goose Pavilion. Eighteen hours to say farewell to everything known and loved. My one comfort was that I had no time to be afraid.

  Mi Feng met me outside the house, where he was chopping wood. Despite the bitter wind, he worked bare-chested.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded, on seeing my sickly face.

  ‘Mi Feng,’ I said. ‘It is time for you to find a new master.’

  Then I told him the exact details of my conversation with Lord Xiao. By the end, tears were in my eyes. Mi Feng listened, his axe cradled in his arms.

  ‘So, you don’t want me to come with you?’ he said.

  I looked at him as though he had uttered a bad joke.

  ‘Well, don’t you?’ he repeated.

  ‘Do you mean this?’ I asked.

  ‘If you like, sir.’

  ‘But why?’ I cried. ‘Are you mad?’

  It was hardly a courteous reply to so noble an offer. He laughed sardonically.

  ‘You did me the best turn a man can do when I was sold for target practice,’ he said. ‘Fine gentlemen aren’t the only ones who know about honour.’

  ‘What of the danger?’

  ‘What of it? You’ll find I’m full of surprises, sir. And anyway, I reckon you need someone to watch your back.

  You know what this Lord Xiao meant when he said he doesn’t expect you to come back, don’t you?’

  I understood only too well. But Mi Feng hadn’t finished.

  ‘If this Lord Xiao was a man, he’d sort it out sword to sword! And the man left standing would enjoy the girl that very night, any way he fancied!’

  I was taken aback by his vehemence. His time among the barbarians had entered his soul more than I realised.

  ‘No, I’ll come along,’ he continued. ‘This city’s pleasant enough but there are other places to live.’

  And die, I thought.

  We spent frantic hours. Above all I needed ready cash, as much as I could muster. I sold all my furniture and spare clothes to a wily merchant for a quarter of their value. My scrolls and books I could not bring myself to trade, for they seemed the best part of me, so I sent them to Cousin Hong. Mi Feng requested that I give him the money to buy horses. Naturally, I hesitated. What was to stop him disappearing into the city with all my wealth?

  Yet we needed horses badly, and other equipment.

  ‘What do you know about horses?’ I asked.

  He didn’t look up from fastening a bundle.

  ‘More than you,’ he said.

  I couldn’t deny that. And why not trust him? My situation could hardly be worse, even if he robbed me. I had a dozen letters to write, so I handed over the money with a sigh.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’ll come back.’

  Alone in the house, I packed forlornly for a while, then set about my letters. I was disturbed by tramping feet and hurried to th
e door. A sedan carried by four sweating men arrived, and even before it had touched the ground its occupant leapt out, looking round wildly. When he saw me he rushed forward, almost tripping on his long official’s robe.

  ‘I have heard the most absurd rumour!’ cried P’ei Ti.

  ‘Everyone has heard! Can it be true?’

  I led him inside. Fortunately the merchant had not removed the furniture, so we still had somewhere to sit.

  ‘It is true,’ I said, gesturing at the small pile of bags on the floor, for we were intending to travel light.

  P’ei Ti frowned, shook his head, then seemed to regain his calmness. He resembled the pictures of a stern judge one sometimes sees.

  ‘Lord Xiao dishonours himself through this,’ he said, stiffly. ‘He abuses his official position for the sake of petty jealousy. He proves himself unworthy of high office.’

  ‘Right now that is small comfort,’ I replied.

  ‘Have you told her?’

  I shook my head sadly. In fact, it seemed better that Su Lin only discovered my fall once I had gone. I knew how she would blame herself, for she was tender, at least when it came to me. I had composed a long letter, urging her to forget me and get on with her life. Our best revenge, I had written, would be her continuing happiness and prosperity. I urged her not to abandon her dreams, and that I only asked she think of me fondly. Above all, I wrote confidently of my return, and that she should neither wait for me nor worry, for we would always be like the golden carp in the Garden of Ineffable Solace. No malice could ever change that.

  ‘No, I have not told her,’ I said. ‘Please take this letter to her.’

  ‘I shall,’ he said.

  We sat in miserable silence.

  ‘Of course Lord Xiao’s game is obvious,’ he said, at last.

  ‘He intends that you won’t come back. You must be constantly vigilant.’

  I was growing tired of this particular warning. My friends seemed to consider me an unworldly fool, his head buried up the backside of a lotus! Perhaps they were right.

  I could scarcely imagine what was to come.

  ‘You must remember your father’s example,’ he urged.

  ‘You must be ready to defend yourself when the blow falls. I have brought gifts which might help.’

  He went outside and returned bearing a bundle wrapped in cloth. From it he took a sword with a plain hilt and scabbard.

  ‘Oh, P’ei Ti!’ I said, laughing. ‘You are all kindness.’

  ‘Do not be a fool!’ he said. ‘Look at the sword.’

  I took it from his trembling hands, and drew it from the scabbard. It shone in the pale afternoon light. A wonderful, deadly sword, if one knew how to use it.

  ‘This must have cost six months’ wages,’ I stammered.

  P’ei Ti nodded.

  ‘I asked the sword smith to put a cheap-looking hilt on it. No one should know its value unless you have to use it, or they might try to steal it.’

  ‘You are thoughtful,’ I said.

  ‘I am serious. The only way you can repay me for this gift is by practising with it every day. Then, should the time come, you may strike back.’

  ‘I promise to practise,’ I said.

  ‘And another thing.’

  He withdrew a large bag from his belt, heavy with thousands of cash. Though I argued, he insisted that I accept it, claiming it was merely a loan.

  As dusk faded to night, he helped me to write a dozen needful letters, assuring me that my parents would be informed of my posting. The hours of night tolled one by one, and I began to grow anxious for Mi Feng. If he fleeced me in so ignoble a way, I would make sure P’ei Ti hunted him down without mercy. He was good at anything which required persistence. So we waited, drinking the last of my wine, laughing too heartily and loudly at memories of happier times.

  At midnight, both of us started to our feet. Horses were cantering towards us. We rushed outside and saw Mi Feng riding a shaggy steppe pony, a second horse following behind, both saddled and equipped. He reined in at the last minute. His skill amazed us both: leaping from the saddle over the head of his horse to land squarely, still clutching the reins.

  ‘Can this be your servant, Mi Feng?’ asked P’ei Ti, in wonder.

  Indeed he looked more like a barbarian than ever. It was then I understood that I did not know him at all.

  At sunrise we rode through the city, followed by P’ei Ti’s litter. Never had the broad streets and palaces, the markets and alleyways, the canals and lofty bridges, seemed more marvellous. People stared to see us pass, Mi Feng so nimble on his mount, while I struggled to retain my seat.

  Finally we reached the Gate of Eternal Rectitude, leading to the Western Road. There, I was not to be spared a most sorrowful parting. For waiting by the gate with her maid, was Su Lin.

  Mi Feng coughed.

  ‘I happened to send a message what time we were leaving,’ he said.

  I should have been angry with him for ruining my plan; secretly, I was pleased. I nearly fell off my horse as I struggled to dismount.

  She had dressed simply, without make-up, and her downcast face tore at my heart. I gently lifted her chin so she could meet my eye.

  ‘Why did you not tell me?’ she whispered.

  ‘Because I wished to spare you,’ I said. ‘P’ei Ti will give you a letter which explains everything.’

  ‘All this is because of me,’ she said.

  ‘No, no, that is a lie! It is because of Lord Xiao. He is to blame for his jealousy, no one else.’

  ‘Let me go with you,’ she begged.

  I smiled.

  ‘Do you think I would take my sweet flower, my sweet, delicate orchid, where she might be trampled? Come now.’

  She began to weep silently. Then her eyes flashed.

  ‘I’ll get him for this,’ she whispered.

  ‘That is foolish talk.’

  She took a small knife from her belt and, to my horror, before I could stop her, made a deep cut on the palm of her hand. She did not cry out as the bright, crimson blood dripped onto the road. In the mountains this gesture marked the commencement of a feud, for every time one saw or felt the scar, one would be reminded.

  ‘Do not be so foolish!’ I cried. ‘You act as if you were a man.’

  ‘I have the spirit of a man,’ she said. ‘It is only with you I feel like a woman, and that has been stolen from me.’

  If I had not known better, I would have feared for Lord Xiao then. But she was only a singing girl. What could she do?

  ‘That was a stupid thing,’ I said, kissing her wounded hand. ‘So beautiful a hand should be treasured with gentleness. You hurt yourself for no reason. Go home, my love. Read my letter. Make me proud of you, by being happy.’

  I turned to P’ei Ti.

  ‘Oh, my friend, watch out for her until I return!’

  He bowed in grave assent. That bow reassured me more than a thousand words.

  When I tried to mount my horse, the beast at once sensed who was master, and threw me to the dusty ground. A crowd of on-lookers had gathered, and they roared with laughter. Among them, watching with his usual small smile, stood Secretary Wen.

  Mi Feng helped me into the saddle and we rode away. I glanced back only once. Su Lin and P’ei Ti were watching until I could be seen no more. Both were weeping. No magic potion of powdered jade and gold and dragon bones was needed to read their thoughts. It was strange to be considered already dead, when young and full of life.

  five

  ‘. . . The sly pheasant boasts six raw talons.

  Our mulberry tree has countless roots.

  The general’s chariot tinkles with pendants of jade.

  Rocks are our jewels, green bamboo our brocade. . .’

  I am woken from my memories by a scraping noise, and peer round in confusion. I try to rise from the couch. The floor is no longer dappled by afternoon light, as it was when I began to doze. Hours have passed. Now dusk seeps shadow across the room. It takes a mo
ment to locate the source of the scraping sound. When I do, it seems best not to move at all.

  A tousled head slowly pokes through the window, pushing aside the paper curtain. The man’s cheeks are grimy and pinched, starved of rations. Dark eyes glitter, searching the shadows. Then he spots me, where I lie on the couch.

  The fellow is a third my age, and four times as desperate.

  *

  I should stand up, shout for help, but I’m paralysed. His eyes flick anxiously round the room, falling on my three bronze-bound chests. Then with a slow, crab-like movement, he starts to clamber in through the window.

  Beneath his cloak I recognise a uniform – one of Youngest Son’s rabble – and the hilt of a sword. At last, I find the courage to act.

  ‘Eldest Son!’ I bellow. ‘Help! Come quickly!’

  The looter hesitates. Once again he glances desperately at the chests. Perhaps he imagines they are crammed with gold and precious things, enough for him to flee into the mountains and set up as a landowner, far from the Winged Tigers Regiment and General An Shu’s rebellion.

  Enough to purchase a wife and home. Enough to make him a proper man.

  ‘Father! What is it?’

  Feet can be heard in the corridor. Exclamations of surprise. For a moment the young soldier hesitates, casting a final, longing look at the chests. Then he slides back over the window-sill, jumping to the ground. I stumble after him, but all I can see when I reach the window is a bounding form, vanishing into the stands of bamboo beside Three-Step-House. I turn to find Eldest Son beside me, his face full of concern.

  ‘Your brother cannot control his own men,’ I say, feebly. ‘Order the servants to bar all the shutters and doors.’

  I am disconsolate over my dinner, and eat alone. This third day of occupation has been the most terrible – and still it is not over. First the Four Punishments in the village square, then the alarm of a desperate intruder. In addition, Wudi tells me that the girl who vanished from the village two nights ago, when the soldiers had their fun, has still not been found. We all fear the worst.

  Eldest Son requested permission to retire early. The day’s events have wounded him more than he possesses eloquence to express. He always counted it a blessing to dote on Youngest Son. Thus good becomes its opposite.