Taming Poison Dragons

by Tim Murgatroyd

  When I lay on the bed the ceiling spun. I clutched Su Lin on silken sheets, sinking my head on her breast, and never thought who had nestled there before me.

  The next dawn I ignored Su Lin’s plea to rest. I was like a stringed instrument unable to stop vibrating. If only painful duties would let me be! As I dressed hurriedly, Su Lin watched from the bed.

  ‘I am surprised you rush away as soon as you have arrived,’ she said, pouting. ‘Dearest, you must have new clothes. It makes a poor impression to be seen in rags.’

  I was barely listening. Dare I strap P’ei Ti’s sword to my belt? I felt vulnerable without it. But for a civilian to carry weapons was illegal.

  ‘Do you think a man’s duty should be determined by his tailor?’ I snapped.

  She looked at me timidly.

  ‘Your voice has grown so harsh,’ she muttered. ‘I suppose it is to be expected.’

  I might have countered that courtesy is flimsy. What was it anyway, except a mask? I frowned, unable to remember how I spoke before Pinang. Less angrily, for sure. Rudeness was always a horror of mine. Now I could imagine more fundamental failings.

  I sat beside her on the bed and took her soft, languid hand. My own fingers were callused, grained with dirt.

  Once I had been fastidious about cleanliness, too. What had happened to me?

  ‘Forgive me if I speak a little roughly,’ I said. ‘But this obligation cannot be delayed. It is a family matter. I must tell Cousin Hong about his brother.’

  Su Lin’s fingers entwined with my own. Her warmth crept through my veins, touching my heart.

  ‘You must not expect me to be as I was,’ I said, confused. Then I added, for a glance at her face told me exactly what she expected: ‘Not yet, at least.’

  ‘Return soon,’ she said, resting her head on my chest.

  I embraced her tightly, all the while glancing at the door. On the way out I found Mi Feng beneath a pile of blankets in the courtyard, a broken wine cup beside his head. Two of the servants were hovering in distress, broom in hand. I could tell they wished to sweep him up, ragged clothes and all. At first, I intended to wake him, for I had grown as dependent on his presence as on my sword. Mastering myself, I walked into the city.

  An hour later, I found myself in the vicinity of the Pig Market, off the broad Imperial Way. Down a narrow side street, full of wheelbarrows and butcher-boys carrying sides of pork, I reached a medium-sized wine shop adjoining the pavement. A jug festooned with gay ribbons hung above the gate. There was a sharp reek as a barrow of night soil trundled past, otherwise the district smelt pervasively of dead animals and smoke. A child played by the gate and, at the sight of me, he screamed and dashed inside. A moment later Cousin Hong appeared. His expression of amazed joy, so out of character, made me smile.

  ‘Little General! It is you! Why are you waiting in the street? Come inside!’

  He rushed forward and led me into the courtyard.

  Despite the early hour, or perhaps because of it, dozens of men sat drinking and breakfasting on bowls of rice fried with onions, spices and pork. The aroma of ginger and garlic made me hungry. I looked round in a daze. My sister-in-law had appeared from the kitchen where she was supervising the servants. She bowed humbly. The customers on the benches watched but did not cease to dip and scoop their chopsticks.

  ‘Little General!’ crowed Cousin Hong. ‘They said you were a dead man!’

  He chuckled as he hugged me, roaring for the best wine in the house. I felt tearful, for it is no small thing to re-join one’s family. He was all I had left, apart from my parents and sisters in far off Wei. Separation ached in my heart like a rebuke.

  ‘How fat you’ve grown!’ I cried. ‘I can hardly get my arms round you.’

  ‘And how thin you are, Little General. Wife, bring food with the wine. Not another word until you’ve eaten. No, I won’t hear a single word!’

  While I swallowed strips of fatty pork and rice, slurping cups of warm wine, Cousin Hong addressed his customers:

  ‘See here, good sirs! Didn’t I tell you about my famous cousin, the poet? And not one of you believed me. He’s just back from trouncing the rebels up north. Don’t be fooled by his campaigning gear, this man is a gentleman.

  A cup of free wine for everyone to celebrate the return of the Honourable Yun Cai!’

  To my surprise, a butcher wearing a blood-spattered smock began to sing one of my verses. Half the words were wrong but for the first time in months I felt elation.

  We could have had quite a celebration, until I remembered why I had come.

  ‘Cousin Hong,’ I said, setting aside my cup, afraid of drinking too much. ‘This is not seemly behaviour, given the circumstances, though I know you mean well. I must speak with you alone.’

  He lowered his own drink, for he knew when I was serious.

  Sitting before the ancestral shrine in his living room where Uncle Ming’s spirit and ashes resided, I told him the sad story of his brother Zhi and how he had fallen fighting the barbarous Kin. At least, I told him a story. It concerned quite a different fellow from Cousin Zhi. One who always strived for the welfare of the conscripted peasants under his care so that they nicknamed him Beloved Father. How he had heroically fought off a Jurchen warrior using a borrowed spear, enabling his men to reach the safety of the pass. Then I stopped, tears in my eyes. So strongly did I wish these things to be true that I had half-convinced myself.

  Cousin Hong watched shrewdly. He seemed oddly unaffected by my tale. He stood up and re-arranged a bowl of chrysanthemum petals on the ancestral shrine, straightening the tablet bearing his father’s name.

  ‘It wasn’t quite like that, Little General,’ he said. ‘Was it?’

  I did not know how to reply.

  ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘That is how we shall tell it to the children.’

  He cleared his throat hoarsely, wiping his forehead.

  ‘No,’ I insisted. ‘He died well.’

  ‘Good!’ cried Cousin Hong. ‘Then at least he did something well! If he had passed the examinations – and heaven knows how many tens of thousands were spent to ensure he would! If he had achieved half of what Mother and Father hoped of him, do you think I’d be running a wine shop by the Pig Market? Don’t tell me he died well.’

  I shrugged helplessly.

  ‘I’m sure he tried his best,’ I said.

  ‘Do you think my wife expected to be overseeing a load of butchers’ breakfasts when she married me?’ he continued. ‘Her family own half a million in property, not that a single string of cash comes our way. So Zhi has gone.

  Then I am alone, apart from you, Little General. Who’d have thought it when I escorted you here from Wei, all those years ago? Who’d have thought it?’

  He turned his face away from me.

  ‘Life is strange,’ he sighed. ‘I’m sure you think me cold and unbrotherly. Maybe I am.’

  ‘You are a fine brother,’ I protested. ‘What nonsense you speak!’

  Cousin Hong snorted.

  ‘To be a fine brother you need a fine brother. Otherwise it’s like throwing gold into a well. You get nothing back.’

  ‘Oh, Hong, I’m certain he loved you.’

  ‘Did he? Well, I’ll take your word for it. All I know is that when we were ruined, you were the only one to help us out. The only one.’

  I could not meet his eye.

  His response had disheartened me. I was shocked he took the loss of a brother so lightly. All my life I had longed for a brother. Indeed, I found one wherever I could, especially in P’ei Ti – and Cousin Hong himself, to a certain extent – and even, in extremity, Mi Feng. We value most what we lack. Or what we imagine we lack.

  ‘The proper formalities of mourning must be observed,’

  I said.

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Hong, dismissively. ‘My wife will tell me what rites are expected. She’s good at that sort of thing. Still, I’m glad to see you back. I’ll close the shop today and w
e can celebrate your return, and drink to poor Zhi’s soul.’

  So we did, sitting on a bench in his courtyard beneath a clear blue sky, reminiscing about Uncle Ming’s absurd wealth, until it became something comical. Cousin Hong paraded each of his children before me, boasting of his sons’ cleverness and strength, his daughters’ obedience and comeliness. A longing gripped my heart to become a father, too. Nothing else made sense in such a world of change.

  All afternoon I felt an invisible presence, as though Cousin Zhi’s spirit fluttered in distress around us, longing to join the conversation, wondering why we did not mourn him. His opportunity for affection had scattered, like the shadow of a hungry bird, across eternity.

  When I returned to Su Lin’s house, she was out on an engagement. In her letter to me at the frontier, she had promised to clothe me in her limbs. That night, though she returned late from a wedding, the pledge was fulfilled.

  Even as I hungered for her, a stubborn corner of my spirit could not open.

  The next morning P’ei Ti appeared wearing a grave face. He whispered to Su Lin and this time she made no protest about me leaving.

  His carriage waited outside, the horse munching handfuls of corn fed by the coachman. I nearly insisted on riding my shaggy pony so I could gallop away at the first sign of danger, then I climbed in beside him. By now Su Lin had procured me a splendid suit of silken clothes. She watched with approval from the gatehouse as we jolted down the road, two gentlemen together.

  P’ei Ti smiled and laid his hand on my arm. His touch made me uncomfortable. In a rush, I told him the tale of Cousin Zhi and my meeting with Hong.

  ‘I was sure Zhi’s ghost watched us and wept,’ I concluded. ‘But I do not sense him here.’

  ‘Of course,’ said P’ei Ti. ‘You are safe now.’

  I sat in silence, watching the city pass. Each familiar sight somehow larger than itself, and unreal.

  ‘You are no soldier,’ said P’ei Ti. ‘And you were thrust into that life entirely unprepared. Little wonder it has affected you deeply.’

  I bridled, suspecting a slur on my character.

  ‘Father would have been proud of me,’ I said. ‘I did my best.’

  ‘That is not in doubt. You are a hero, Yun Cai. We all honour you.’

  But I did not honour myself. I could not say why, yet felt it.

  We travelled right across the city, passing many eyes, and I succumbed to nervousness. Sensing this, P’ei Ti tried to distract me with amusing gossip.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I asked, at last.

  ‘I wondered when you would come to that,’ he said.

  ‘We are to meet a friend of yours, though you do not know him. He is a notable lawyer, and will help you in your troubles with Lord Xiao.’

  The name fell on my ears dully. Lord Xiao bore me ill-will. It seemed the determining fact of my life.

  ‘You must answer his questions frankly,’ said P’ei Ti.

  ‘This is a delicate time. That is why we are meeting in secrecy.’

  We reached the Altar for the Sacrifices of the Southern Suburbs, which lay beyond the ramparts on a hill overlooking the River Che, where numerous barges and junks came and went, bringing all that was necessary to sustain the city. I climbed out of the carriage in a daze. The high pyramid of the Altar climbed towards Heaven. Plumed guardsmen stood like statues at the foot of the steps.

  ‘Look, P’ei Ti,’ I said. ‘The river is covered with floating gulls. There must be a storm out to sea. They remind me of floating blossom on a stream. Perhaps this is a good omen.’

  He peered at the Che.

  ‘Use that in a poem,’ he advised. ‘Indeed, you must.’

  He looked as though he wished to say something different, but asked patiently: ‘What could you make the gulls represent?’

  ‘Souls,’ I said. ‘See how they ride the tidal river, restless to take flight, to return to their natural elements, sky and wave.’

  ‘Quite so. Now let us sacrifice at the Altar. I have brought flowers and wine.’

  ‘Yes, old friend,’ I said. ‘Let us petition for peace.’

  We poured our libation in the prescribed manner. I presented my wish to Heaven with all the fervour of my young heart. I felt obscure hurts begin to heal, as when tears force themselves out. Hard, glittering gifts, harbin-gers of reconciliation. If earnestness might catch the Jade Emperor’s attention then I’m sure he looked down from his audience chamber, startled by my desire. I did not pray alone. The wishes of ten thousand families mourned alongside me. Never should the loss of a son be in vain.

  Afterwards, I took P’ei Ti’s hand. I could not believe our prayers were not heard, at least in part. He nodded sombrely, though I spoke no words.

  ‘I’m glad you feel reassurance,’ he said. ‘But that is not why I brought you here.’

  I followed him down the slope to a street where caves had been dug in the hillside. He walked moodily along until we reached a doorway. The cave houses were home to hermits and wise men. Wealthy eunuchs and gentlemen of the court often went there to seek divinations.

  ‘P’ei Ti,’ I said. ‘I am confused. You mentioned a lawyer.’

  ‘This way,’ he said, gruffly.

  We passed beneath a rough hemp curtain and found ourselves in a long cave-room. Niches in the walls contained skulls and bones. On a low stool, beside a table covered with neatly arranged writing materials, sat a man in sky blue silks. A lamp flickered, illuminating his lower face, otherwise the cave was dark.

  The man barely blinked as he regarded us. Everything about him seemed orderly, oddly so. The way he sat still and straight, his fine clothes without a single crease.

  Although no more than ten years older than us, his hair was iron-grey and scrupulously combed. His saturnine face a mask of seriousness. It would have been a surprise to hear him laugh, except at someone’s expense. The only animation lay in his brooding eyes, behind which one might glimpse deep calculation. In short, I didn’t take to the man. P’ei Ti seemed uneasy, too.

  ‘Yun Cai,’ he said. ‘I have the honour of introducing you to the Lawyer Yuan Chu-Sou.’

  Our host bowed stiffly, but did not rise. As there were no seats in the cave, we were forced to stand like underlings before him.

  ‘I must apologise for this rude setting,’ he said. ‘Yet I am sure you understand the need for secrecy.’

  ‘Sir,’ I said. ‘I understand nothing of this.’

  P’ei Ti coughed beside me, then addressed Yuan Chu-Sou.

  ‘I thought it best not to explain until we could talk properly.’

  Yuan Chu-Sou nodded like a crane slowly dipping its head.

  ‘A wise precaution,’ he said. ‘Then it behoves me to explain everything. Please listen carefully, for I have much to tell you.’

  I scratched my chin. The air in the cave was dusty. I had acquired an aversion to the reek of earth. It reminded me of Wen Po’s tunnel into Pinang.

  ‘Then, sir,’ I replied. ‘I must sit down. As you may discern from my sling, I have suffered a wound.’

  The corners of Yuan Chu-Sou’s mouth twitched.

  Whether in annoyance or amusement, I could not say.

  Nevertheless, he retired to the back of the cave and found two stools like his own.

  ‘To business,’ he said, once we were seated. ‘First I require your undertaking that not a single word of what I say will be revealed to a third party without my express permission.’

  ‘That is a large undertaking,’ I said. ‘But if honour and the law are not compromised, I may make it.’

  ‘Good. Then first be informed who I represent.’

  On hearing the name, I started, jolting my injured shoulder.

  ‘Why, I am. . . flattered by his notice.’

  His August Excellency Lu Sha was a great man indeed.

  He oversaw several ministries and met the Son of Heaven daily to discuss the great affairs of our Empire. If Lord Xiao had gained so formidable an enemy he would do we
ll to look around him. Yet I was disappointed. His August Excellency had a reputation for ruthless ambition – little better than Lord Xiao. Impossible such a man would interest himself in a nobody like me, unless he sensed personal profit.

  ‘I am at a loss,’ I said, cautiously. ‘How can I be of use to one so powerful and illustrious.’

  Yuan Chu-Sou examined me.

  ‘That is a pertinent point. I will explain. His August Excellency is concerned that Lord Xiao’s depredations and incompetence are a danger to public safety. As you will know, there are great debates at court. Should we maintain peace with the Kin Emperor through the payment of tribute, or should we wage war? Hence His August Excellency finds himself in opposition to Lord Xiao.’

  ‘I still do not see how I matter.’

  ‘Of course, you do not matter,’ said Yaun Chu-Sou, frankly. ‘Except that the circumstances of your posting to Pinang brought a surprising discredit to Lord Xiao, solely due to the popularity of your poetry. He has lost face. But, as you imply, that is hardly fatal to Lord Xiao’s influence in the court. Nevertheless, His August Excellency believes a minor case could be made against Lord Xiao for abusing his position. Now is not the time to make that case, yet it might be a useful addition to more serious charges.’

  ‘What exactly are these charges?’ I asked.

  So I was to be like the cabbage leaves one finds shred-ded on a rich dish of meat. They hoped to poison Lord Xiao and I was to be the garnish.

  ‘I am hardly likely to tell you that,’ he replied.

  I met P’ei Ti’s eye. He had remained uncharacteristically silent.

  ‘My only worry is for the Honourable Yun Cai’s welfare,’ broke in P’ei Ti.

  He turned to me.

  ‘That’s the main thing, Yun Cai. We believe you should resign your official post at once, citing ill-health. That way you would no longer be directly employed by Lord Xiao’s ministry, and his immediate power over you would cease. Yuan Chu-Sou has offered to take care of this, if you agree. But you must agree soon because Lord Xiao may already have heard about your return to the city.’

  I laughed.