Taming Poison Dragons

by Tim Murgatroyd

  I was distracted from further speculation by Mi Feng.

  He returned with pickled vegetables and steamed buns, all he had been able to buy for a sum which would have hired an entire banqueting hall in the capital. I did not care to speculate what meat the buns contained. Yet we feasted as best we could, toasting the New Year with cups of water from our trickling spring. For an hour all was gaiety – a little food is like a barrel of wine to a hungry man – and then we lolled around the hearth, where a few scraps of scavenged wood and dried horse dung smouldered. All the time I was waiting for a summons. His Excellency Wen Po had taught me what the New Year festival would bring.

  My waiting ended early in the evening, with a loud knock on the wooden door.

  ‘Yun Cai! Message for Yun Cai!’

  I rose and turned to the clerks.

  ‘Stay here until I return,’ I said. ‘And if I do not come back, then carry on as you have been taught.’

  Before they could reply, I stepped out into the night, buckling P’ei Ti’s sword to my belt. I was in no mood to explain myself. In any case, I had sworn not to mention Wen Po’s secret tunnel to a living soul.

  A single rider waited in the gloom, his horse’s breath steaming.

  ‘You must accompany me to the Glorious Dragon Encampment at once,’ he said. ‘That is all my message.’

  I nodded. Before I could depart, a rough hand held my arm.

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Mi Feng.

  ‘I have promised not to reveal that,’ I said. ‘Go back inside, Mi Feng. Sleep well and wish me luck. You have been more than a servant to me.’

  I hesitated.

  ‘Mi Feng, despite the gulf between us, and without doubt it is considerable, I have come to trust you as a friend.’

  He hand stayed on my arm.

  ‘I will go with you,’ he said.

  ‘But you have done enough,’ I protested. ‘No, I would not have your death on my conscience.’

  The messenger rattled his bridle impatiently.

  ‘You are in danger,’ said Mi Feng, accusingly. ‘And you wish to leave me behind!’

  ‘Believe me, it is for your own good.’

  ‘My own good!’ he replied. ‘It is I, Mi Feng, who decides what is for my own good! You are in danger, and that is enough for one like me.’

  Honour takes many forms. Always its weakness is wounded pride. He disappeared inside the hut and I motioned to the messenger to wait. In a moment Mi Feng reappeared, carrying his long knife and bow.

  So I did not go alone to the Glorious Dragon Encampment. Within a few short hours I was glad of it.

  We travelled right round the besieged city, past camps where soldiers celebrated New Year with wrestling matches and mournful songs, or capered in the flickering red light of bonfires to the solemn beat of war-drums, the shrill encouragement of flutes. Flags fluttered in the cold night air; artillery companies used precious gunpowder for firecrackers.

  The Glorious Dragon Encampment was especially festive. Frantic lion dances were cheered by hordes of troops.

  Acrobats performed dazzling leaps, musicians played at full pelt – for even common soldiers possess talents their betters can only hire. But I noticed neat piles of weapons marked out by banners bearing the colours of particular companies, guarded by officers and sergeants. Within minutes the revelling soldiers could be marshalled for battle, and this was clearly Wen Po’s intention.

  Pinang, despite the New Year, lay in darkness. Only round the Prefect’s residence, where Wang Tse had set up his court, might one glimpse light and fireworks. What he and his followers had to celebrate, I could not imagine. It was hardly likely our forces would melt away with the New Year and the coming of spring. Unless the rumours were true of an infernal alliance between Wang Tse and the Kin barbarians to the north, the rebellion seemed doomed. Yet those who are advised by demons think differently from ordinary men. They have an eye on their own glory, their place in history, and seldom hesitate to let others bear the cost.

  Our guide led us to a fenced enclosure at the back of the encampment, concealed by earthworks. Here no lights burned, and our noise was masked by revelry from the camp. Guards dressed in black waved us through to a hidden courtyard within the earthen walls. Hundreds of men sat in eerie silence on the ground, swords across their knees. Many had long ropes coiled round their bodies.

  ‘Over there,’ whispered our guide.

  We picked a way through the waiting troops to a small group of officers. I bowed respectfully, for among them were several of Wen Po’s highest commanders. And someone else, too, dressed in a tight suit of black silk: Cousin Zhi. He waved me over, and said in a low voice:

  ‘Well, Cousin, this is a little different from our last meeting.’

  ‘Thankfully,’ I replied.

  His eyes glittered in the darkness.

  ‘You have been assigned a bodyguard of two men,’ he said. ‘But such is my regard for you, I’ve added another pair from my own Penal Battalion.’

  I said nothing.

  ‘Who is that rough-looking fellow with you?’ he asked, sharply.

  ‘Just a servant.’

  ‘You will not need a servant where you are going,’ he said.

  ‘Where exactly is that?’ I asked.

  Cousin Zhi smiled and pointed down at the earth. The scent of sandalwood and musk from his perfume filled my nostrils.

  ‘You will see soon enough – and marvel! I have presented a miracle of engineering to His Excellency, and before the New Year is out, I shall be rewarded with the title of Sub-prefect. Think of that while you can, Yun Cai.

  You should have accepted my offer of help.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘When the King of the Infernal Regions comes to weigh our souls,’ I said. ‘It is you who will remember this night.

  And then you will howl with despair.’

  He sniffed contemptuously.

  ‘Foolish old stories to scare children into obedience!

  Farewell, Cousin.’

  He motioned to four burly figures beside him. We were led away and curtly ordered to sit with our ‘bodyguard’

  around us. I could see Mi Feng examining them closely.

  He bent forward and murmured, like a breath of wind in my ear: ‘These men are the danger you fear?’

  I nodded. A salvo of firecrackers in the neighbouring camp allowed him to whisper unheard.

  ‘When the time comes, do exactly as I say.’

  He settled back on his haunches and began to hum a low tune. Above us the moon danced between flowing clouds. At last an order circulated among the men.

  ‘Gags! Gag your neighbour!’

  Crude hands took hold of my head. In a moment, a stick of bamboo wrapped in cloth stopped the possibility of speech. I gasped to breathe. More whispered commands from the officers: Now! Now!

  Squad after squad of men were lining up to creep into a black hole in the earth. We followed and found ourselves in a narrow earthen tunnel, without light of any sort. My only way forward was to clutch the back of the man in front, and be clutched in my turn by the man behind. My head reeled. I struggled with a desire to snatch the gag from my mouth and moan or scream, to fight a way back through the river of men behind me, out to the clean air.

  The tunnel was foul. Those who had dug it had abandoned their faeces where it lay. I could hardly breathe. I closed my eyes, useless in the dark, and shuffled along, almost bent double, spine and legs aching. Yet one could not pause to rest.

  The tunnel gradually descended, then levelled out, and now small guttering candles appeared every dozen or so yards, like glow worms guiding us forward. Timber props held up the roof, and I dared not consider the tons of earth pressing down. Every so often a hand or leg stuck out from the earthen wall, proof that many miners had perished to dig this hell.

  How long may a nightmare last? As long as its terror grips you. So it might be said that particular nightmare has never ended, for whenever my breath is sh
ort, or I feel trapped in a narrow space, I am back in Wen Po’s tunnel.

  Yet somehow it came to an end and I stumbled out, covered in dirt and filth, into a well-tended garden.

  I sucked in huge lungfuls of air, too dazed to look around. When I could take in my surroundings, I discovered we had emerged ten feet or so inside the city walls.

  No sounds of fighting. Dark figures swarmed along the battlements, taking up positions and lowering ropes. We had achieved complete surprise, the few guards on the wall having been quickly dispatched. Officers stood round the entrance to the tunnel, directing men to their positions. When they saw myself and Mi Feng emerge, evidently civilians, followed by our ruffianly bodyguards, they were taken aback.

  ‘Over there,’ whispered a young officer. ‘By the wall.

  And if you get in the way or make a noise, you’ll pay with your tongues.’

  We hurried to do as directed. For the first time I got a proper glimpse of the men Lord Xiao and Cousin Zhi had assigned to take care of us. They seemed ordinary enough.

  Each was armed with a sword and knife. If they were frightened, they showed no sign. I wanted to pretend to myself they might be what they seemed, allies, protectors, but only for a moment. I noticed that Mi Feng had boldly positioned himself so they did not surround us, and I copied his example.

  Moments crawled. I examined the abacus strapped across my chest, the satchel of paper and ink hanging from my belt. Foolish talismans. Yet the touch of paper gave me a kind of strength. Mi Feng crouched beside me, his hand on the hilt of his knife. He seemed to think we were safe here, sheltered by the city walls, dozens of soldiers all around us. Any attack against us would have many witnesses. Then a cry went up. Our troops had been discovered. At once the sound of clashing swords echoed through the night air. Within minutes trumpets were sounding the alarm all around Pinang. The battle had commenced.

  How soon Wang Tse mustered his forces! The fighting in the district by the wall continued through the long hours of the night. More and more of our troops were scaling the ramparts, fanning out into the streets, until a wide bridge had been formed into the heart of Pinang. Still we waited in the garden by the ramparts.

  My bodyguard sat patiently. Their stillness filled me with dread. These were not inexperienced men. When they decided the time was right, I would join a long, secret list. The man nearest to me chewed continuously on a dark root I did not recognise, his eyelids fluttering. I became aware Mi Feng was watching him from the corner of his eyes. He nudged me as a commotion broke out to our left. A small group of Wang Tse’s rebels were being pursued by our troops into the garden. He leapt to his feet and drew his long knife.

  ‘Rebels!’ he bellowed.

  Instinctively, our bodyguards also rose, turning in the direction of the fight. Mi Feng shoved the root-chewer so hard he fell across his comrades, throwing them in confusion.

  ‘Run!’ he cried, streaking off towards the dark opening of an alleyway.

  I followed with a fleetness I scarcely imagined possible.

  There was no pursuit. The rebels had run straight into our bodyguards. I heard the sound of clashing swords and cries behind us.

  The alleyway terminated in a flimsy wooden door, for this was a poor area of town. The sickle moon lit the sky between the houses. Mi Feng applied a sharp boot and the door broke inwards. Inside the single room, illuminated by a small fire and a few coloured lanterns to celebrate the New Year, a family cowered.

  In a fluid motion, Mi Feng sank to one knee and drew back an arrow. For a long moment we waited, the family whimpering behind us, then our pursuers charged into the alley. Straight away he loosed. One arrow, then another.

  There was a high-pitched scream, the sound of something heavy falling.

  ‘Quickly!’ he hissed, slamming shut the door and barricading it with a table.

  He ran to the front door, for we had entered by the rear, and cautiously opened it.

  ‘Draw your sword like a man!’ he spat.

  I hastily obeyed, feeling foolish with the weapon in my hand. Mi Feng peered out of the front door. A narrow, silent street lay before us.

  ‘Get out!’ he commanded the family, who were still cowering.

  They scrambled past us into the street, the children wailing pitifully. A loud crash shook the barricaded back door.

  ‘We’ll do the last thing they expect,’ he whispered in my ear.

  He was so calm! And furious at the same time. It lent me courage.

  ‘What shall we do?’ I stuttered.

  He grasped my arm and met my eye.

  ‘Fight,’ he said.

  He must have seen my fear, for he laughed.

  ‘Fight, like your father,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll gather their heads.’

  The back door splintered open and the first of our enemies rushed through. He was met by a twang from Mi Feng’s bow. For a second the man carried on, clutching the shaft in his throat, then fell with a gurgle and rolled on the floor, scrabbling at the broken arrow shaft. The two remaining men charged through, towards the front entrance, where we waited.

  Mi Feng’s plan was obvious. Only one of our opponents could emerge at a time. But they were not fools. Instead of rushing onto our swords, everything went still inside the house. I could hear the sound of fighting in nearby streets, screaming children, the panting of our breath.

  Finally a chair flew through the doorway, making us duck aside, and they surged after it onto the street.

  Instantly, we were fighting, Mi Feng with his long curved knife, me with P’ei Ti’s sword. I had no time to think of my servant. My entire self was concentrated on the opponent before me. Time slows at such crises. Your life like a spinning mirror, ready to fall one way or the other, to break or remain intact. Thought is no longer a virtue, what matters is cutting and parrying.

  At once it became obvious I was outmatched. I faced the root-chewer, and he beat back my sword effortlessly, taunting me as he did so. He found me a kind of sport.

  Then he struck at my chest and I leapt back. The blade struck the abacus strapped across my breast and by some miracle, some absurd chance of war, the tip of his sword caught in the rows of beads. I was merely buffeted by the blow, my skin scratched not pierced. He tried to withdraw his sword but it had stuck.

  With a desperate scream, I lunged P’ei Ti’s sword. I’m sure I aimed for his stomach. Instead the blow fell on his groin. It didn’t matter. His startled grunt tore the night air.

  He staggered back with a high-pitched whine, dropping his sword and clutching his wound. I stepped towards him and hesitated. Enough had been done. He could hardly harm me now. He was gasping, staring at me through wide eyes, begging wordlessly for mercy. I lowered my sword. Then, gripped by fury, I struck him with all my strength across the neck so that he crumpled, his head at a strange angle.

  When I finally took my eyes from his corpse, I saw Mi Feng bending over the body of his opponent.

  ‘No!’ I cried.

  For he was in the process of removing the man’s head.

  Mi Feng rose reluctantly.

  ‘Better make sure of the others,’ he muttered, disappearing back through the house. When he came back his long knife glistened.

  All night the fighting continued. A hundred small battles fought in the dark. Capture a house, kill its defenders, then be driven back in your turn, and capture the house once again. Wang Tse’s rebels fought with the desperation of doomed men. The streets filled with the fallen. Near dawn it seemed we might be forced out of the city when the sorcerer broke our ranks with a charge of horses and bullocks maddened by firecrackers tied to their tails.

  Finally superior numbers told, the beasts were cut down amidst scores of crumpled men, and a desperate charge of our spearmen drove the rebels back.

  Somehow we found our way back to the garden by the ramparts. I set up my shattered abacus and a sheet of paper, P’ei Ti’s sword thrust in the earth beside me. By this means I hoped to prove my official status, a
nd perhaps it worked, for we remained unmolested until the first rays of a red dawn lit the eastern horizon.

  I slept for an hour, my head on Mi Feng’s shoulder. We were like two weary brothers propped against each other.

  He, at least, seemed proud. Killing three enemies in a single night proved him a formidable man.

  I, too, should have felt only relief. Yet how my heart fluttered and ached! The man I had once been lay among the dead assassins. On my hands and clothes, droplets of blood. I felt unclean. If I was to die then and there, I had no doubt my rebirth would take the form of a wolf or an ever-hungry stoat or cold-eyed bear.

  By late morning, Pinang had been subdued. Our entire army thronged the city.

  One may justify what followed, I suppose. Perhaps one could cite the anger and excitement of troops crazed by months of defeat, suddenly drunk on victory. Or one could argue Heaven was taking its just revenge on the rebels for trafficking with demons. Perhaps one might shrug and say: well, such things happen in war. I cannot justify what I saw. Families dragged from their houses, crying out for mercy.

  Naturally the women and girls received special treatment, yet all ended up the same way, littering the streets.

  Blood has a peculiar, pervasive stench, oddly reminiscent of iron. Many have commented that the officers lost control of their men. That was true in some cases. But I witnessed officers engaged in foul acts, little better than Jurchen or Mongols off the leash. By midday the slaughter abated and we were left to behold the consequences of victory. It is little wonder the phrase, Pinanging a town, has entered our language.

  I left the Western Gate with Mi Feng by my side and climbed wearily up the hillside to our hut. It was deserted, the clerks having descended to the city, no doubt hoping for a share of the loot. The encampments around us, once so crowded, were also empty. Everyone was in the city.

  Yet we found a horseman waiting outside our hut, splendidly attired and equipped. Both mount and rider seemed exhausted. He came alive at the sight of me and stepped forward eagerly.