Taming Poison Dragons

by Tim Murgatroyd

  That peasant must have been an Immortal in disguise.

  He took one look at me and said, ‘Does it matter to you, sir?’

  So I proceeded up the hill to the monastery gate and begged an audience with the abbot. A crowd of monks followed curiously and I guessed they received few visitors. We bowed respectfully to each other.

  ‘Reverend Sir,’ I said. ‘I am a humble seeker after the Way. I beg that I should be allowed to stay in this holy place for a few weeks in order to contemplate and study.’

  He looked me over shrewdly. I sensed he was a grasping kind of fellow as his reply soon made plain:

  ‘Sir,’ he said. ‘We welcome any who wish to study the Way. Our doors lie open. But, of course, we cannot live on lofty thoughts alone.’

  A few hundred cash satisfied him. It represented almost the last of my wealth. I wished only to inhabit the moments flowing through me, and something about Five Gong Monastery encouraged lofty thoughts. Perhaps the view of the hills and mountains reminded me of my earli-est dreams.

  The monks led me to the main hall where candles cast dancing shadows, illuminating frescoes of the Seven Daoist Immortals. The five gongs of the monastery were sounded, each five times. As the last reverberation faded, I was washed with holy water poured from a sacred lacquer bucket once used by a hermit who had lived for two hundred and fifty-three years. The abbot intoned that I was now ‘spotless as from the first’, and indeed I felt cleansed.

  I believe this purifying of my essential breaths saved me during the weeks of trial and constant fear that followed.

  It might seem strange that I forgot the intrigues concerning Lord Xiao so easily. Of course, I did not. He hid beneath the surface of my thoughts, troubling my dreams.

  Often I deliberately emptied my mind, counting breaths to find the infinite doorway between each intake and expiration. Then I regained balance – for a while at least. Yet I could not stay there forever. And though I did not know it, events in the city were preparing to drag me back.

  The five gongs resounded at dawn, noon and dusk, echoing across the valley. When they called even birds paused in their endless tasks of feeding and mating. Dull, deep, sonorous tones, rich with vibration, perfect echoes of the Way. I could not listen to them forever. I was no Immortal, just a visitor.

  One afternoon the restless world summoned me back. I was fishing when a unit of horsemen wearing the uniform of the Imperial Guard galloped up the road and entered Five Gong Monastery. A few minutes later, the abbot appeared by the gate, and I could see him pointing to where I sat on a large boulder, fishing rod in hand. They trotted down the path to where I sat.

  ‘Yun Cai?’ called out a grizzled-looking sergeant. ‘Are you Yun Cai?’

  I lowered my fishing rod, and pulled in the line.

  ‘You are summoned to the capital at once,’ he said, curtly. ‘From henceforth, consider yourself under close arrest, on the orders of the Chief Censor.’

  I did not question his authority to cancel my freedom.

  When four guardsmen are glowering at you, silence is advisable.

  ‘There’s a spare mount waiting for you up at the monastery,’ the sergeant continued. ‘I’ll give you half an hour to pack, then we leave.’

  I nodded. The end was beginning. I anticipated a trumped-up charge from Lord Xiao, most likely a capital charge. There could be no escaping it.

  I threw the single fish I had caught back into the lake and washed my hands in the pure water. It floated belly side up, a bad omen. Then I turned. The sergeant stood before me on the lakeside, holding out a pair of iron manacles.

  eight

  ‘ . . . Your fragrance left my being

  so long ago.

  Yet scent lingers in dreams

  and each night I assure myself it means nothing.

  I shall forget, in time, surely as morning.

  Then your fragrance – honey, sweat-musk, elusive

  dew – revives

  a desire never wholly forsaken.

  When I clear my nose, this curtained room

  reeks of musty pain. . .’

  The rains are distressingly late. A fresh edict posted on the street corners of Chunming claims the monsoon has been delayed by a black alliance between the Emperor and demons. A strange document, I must say. It also states that anyone failing to refer to the Emperor as ‘The Vile Usurper’ is guilty of treason and liable for the Four Punishments ‘or other just measures’.

  The Empress-in-waiting issues edicts of this kind every few days. One struggles to remember them all, as dozens have found to their cost. Chunming has become a fine place for settling grudges by laying false charges. Each morning the square before the Prefect’s residence resounds with screams and a large pit has been dug beyond the ramparts to hold all the corpses.

  Of course, we have experienced late rains before. One year the monsoon never came at all and the famine was severe. In Chunming it is safer not to recollect awkward truths. Even thoughts fall under the new edicts; thus anyone capable of doubt becomes a traitor.

  A knock at the door, and a guard enters. He speaks respectfully, as all do, since the Empress-in-waiting showed me favour.

  ‘I have a message here, sir,’ he says. ‘A boy delivered it at the gate and went away.’

  ‘Lay it on the desk.’

  Once unfolded, the message is absurd. The characters are wild and flowing:

  I have seen Lord Yun Cai in the streets but he hasn’t seen me. Come to the house of Shih-kao in the Fourth Ward this afternoon to pray for rain.

  It is not signed. The paper is cheap and mottled by mould. The ink has been badly mixed. Such a summons should be ignored.

  I pace the room. Can it have come from the nightwarder, Golden Bells? But surely he is illiterate, and only my dream of freeing P’ei Ti makes me think of him. There is a single way to discover the truth. I must be bold for P’ei Ti’s sake.

  Someone is following me. I am sure of it. But when I glance back the street seems ordinary, full of guileless faces. I pause at a public well and look round for suspicious loiterers. No one. So why does my back itch?

  I press on, thinking only of P’ei Ti. Never mind the possibility of Eldest Son clutching the ‘heater’ or Three-Step-House burning. Duty is both ordained and indistinct.

  So I wander further into the Fourth Ward.

  A group of drunken officers are watching a troupe of acrobats who tumble and leap then walk around on their hands. The officers throw coins and the acrobats scrabble in the dirt to seize them before the street urchins. There are many orphans in Chunming these days, many stunted little bodies. I slip by unnoticed.

  ‘Where may one find the house of Shih-kao?’ I ask a passer by. ‘I am told it is in this district.’

  He looks at me curiously.

  ‘The house of Shih-kao?’ he says.

  ‘Yes.’

  He shrugs and points down a side street descending to the gorge where the river flows.

  ‘It is not exactly a house,’ he says. ‘But there you may find him, watching the waters.’

  I nod gratefully. As I enter the side street I glimpse movement from the corner of my eye. Someone behind me. When I turn, a young man and his wife are following.

  They ignore me as they pass. Chunming has always been a city lacking in courtesy. For a moment I pause. They enter a low doorway and disappear, the man glancing back sharply at me. What does that look mean? Nothing, probably. Just that I am a stranger.

  The street becomes a series of broad steps climbing down to the river. Here the gorge echoes with water voices. A boat slides past, carrying firewood and supplies to General An-Shu’s army further downstream.

  Now I am perplexed. There is no sign of a house. Foam gathers around rocks. Moss and dwarf ferns cling to the stone. Then I notice a small statue of an Immortal grinning at me from a narrow walkway over the river. Perhaps this is Shih-kao.

  I sidle over slippery boulders and find a hidden entrance. Darkness within. I clear
my throat noisily. No one invites me to enter. Feeling a way down clammy walls, I step into a cave lit feebly by such daylight as seeps through the entrance. My feet crunch gravel and sand.

  Slowly my eyes accustom themselves to the dark until I realise I am not alone.

  ‘You!’

  My voice echoes from wall to wall.

  ‘I hope you have an explanation for this,’ I say.

  For a moment I wonder if he will devour one of his ridiculous insects. He sounds almost sober when he replies.

  ‘Lord Yun Cai requires an explanation!’ he chuckles.

  ‘Not that so wise a gentleman will believe one like Thousand- li-drunk.’

  ‘Why should I? Since you always talk nonsense.’

  His face is in shadow. I cannot see if he is stung by my words.

  ‘No time for that now,’ he says. ‘You need to know that Thousand- li-drunk desires the same as you. He is here to free His Excellency P’ei Ti.’

  I start at the name.

  ‘Who?’ I ask.

  He chuckles again.

  ‘Very good to be cautious! What of another name, that of Ensign Tzi-Lu?’

  ‘Never heard of him,’ I declare, flatly.

  Does he mean to blackmail me? If I were young again, I could drown him in the river.

  ‘How strange,’ says Thousand- li-drunk. ‘The Ensign remembers you.’

  We wait for each other to speak. A drip falls. Then another.

  ‘I prefer you drunk to sober,’ I say.

  He bows and grins.

  ‘That way you feel superior?’ he suggests.

  I gain nothing from provoking him, so I ask: ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Content yourself with this: Thousand- li-drunk is a spy.

  But here in Chunming I must do more than spy. Tell me, what are you willing to do to save your friend? We know you have access to the Prefect’s residence. And we know that the Empress-in-waiting has honoured you with a commission.’

  I do not enquire how he has learned these things. Now is the moment of decision. Either I trust him or scurry back to my room.

  ‘Tell me what you know about P’ei Ti,’ I say.

  ‘Only that he is in the prison attached to the Prefect’s residence.’

  I hesitate for a moment. Everyone knows that. Once I have spoken my life is in his grimy hands.

  ‘Then you need to hear this,’ I say.

  I tell him of Golden Bells, his potential for bribery, and that if I had the money I would have propositioned him myself. I describe P’ei Ti’s prison, the unguarded side gate and how one might use it to enter and leave the gaol unobserved. Thousand- li-drunk’s eyes gleam in the dark.

  ‘Do you know where this gaoler lives?’ he asks.

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘No matter. That can be found out.’

  ‘Do you have the money to bribe him?’ I ask, doubtfully. ‘Assuming you are what you claim.’

  ‘It can be provided,’ he says.

  ‘And who will approach the fellow? Really, the matter is more complicated than you seem to imagine.’

  ‘You will approach him, Lord Yun Cai.’

  His confidence unnerves me. Never has he seemed more like an Immortal.

  ‘I would not know what to say,’ I protest.

  ‘Tell him, ten thousand in cash. That is what you will offer this Golden Bells.’

  I am taken aback by such a sum and begin to wonder if he is mad after all.

  ‘He will not believe me,’ I say.

  ‘He will when you give him this.’

  Thousand- li-drunk smiles without revealing his teeth.

  He reaches into the basket where he keeps his food.

  Several crickets try to escape. Cursing, he stuffs them back. Then he lifts a secret flap and pulls out a bar of glinting silver.

  ‘This will persuade him,’ he says.

  I shake my head.

  ‘But my family. . . You know quite well. . . No, I cannot risk it.’

  ‘Do you wish to save His Excellency P’ei Ti?’ he demands, angrily. ‘There is no other way. Remember, the Mandate of Heaven has not been withdrawn from His Imperial Highness. Hah! I told you that once before.

  General An-Shu will be crushed. That is his fate.’

  ‘If I do as you say, how will you learn whether Golden Bells has agreed?’

  He thinks for a moment.

  ‘Hang a white garment in your window. After that you must not contact him again. Tell Golden Bells that a stranger will approach him. We will do the rest.’

  I nod. All this is sensible.

  ‘I don’t trust you,’ I say, examining him closely. ‘You wear too many faces.’

  He nibbles his thumb but does not reply.

  ‘I agree,’ I say. ‘For P’ei Ti’s sake. But if you betray me, I will haunt you in this life and the next. I shall clutch your spirit and never let go.’

  An empty threat. I rise, hiding the bar of silver in my tunic. It is heavy and cold. We bow slowly to each other.

  Without blinking or removing his gaze from my own he reaches into his basket for a fluttering cricket and pops it in his mouth. I look away as he crunches. This cave reminds me of Wen Po’s tunnel into Pinang. The same stench of graves.

  When I return to the house by the ramparts a crowd has gathered. Wagon after wagon of wounded men, many groaning pitifully, rolls through the street. I search the wagons for Youngest Son’s face, but recognise no one.

  The fighting to the east must be severe and I feel a strange confusion, longing for the Son of Heaven’s victory yet hopeful my son will survive. I fear these desires are incompatible.

  Tomorrow or the next day I must seek out Golden Bells and, once I have spoken, I will be entirely in his power. I stand by the balcony-window. To the east, darkness fills the sky. The air is tense and hot. The very walls seem to sweat. Perhaps demons are indeed delaying the monsoon.

  At last, black clouds fill the horizon and the air shimmers with constant rain. We hurry into the garden, cooling ourselves in the downpour until water drips from nose and chin. Our clothes become wet rags and our spirits embrace the clouds. Even the guards do not hide their delight, all differences between us washed away.

  ‘May the wells be full for a thousand years!’ we cry.

  Perhaps the sky appreciates our gratitude. Thunderclaps echo round the hills, hearty and profound. For a whole day nothing but delightful rain forming streams and trickles, an opera of click, splash, sigh. Pools take shape in the street outside and urchins kick water at each other, laughing all the while.

  With the monsoon comes news from the front. I learn that the rains broke there three days before they reached Chunming, halting all fighting. A happy occurrence for General An-Shu. His forces have fought an inconclusive battle. Suffering dreadful losses, he has been obliged to stage a costly withdrawal.

  Any advantage the Son of Heaven may have gained has been washed away by the monsoon. Roads and rivers are impassable quagmires. Floods have broken a key bridge, allowing General An-Shu time to lick his wounds. Though I ask after the Winged Tigers Regiment, no one has reliable news. I am told only that many perished. Does that mean Youngest Son is dead or wounded? Or captured, which surely amounts to his death? No one knows. A true father might sense the truth without the need for words. I feel only trickling fear, just as the monsoon whispers and splashes, from dawn until dusk.

  It is said the Imperial forces are a mere ten days from Chunming. Of course, General An-Shu’s remaining troops block their way. History is full of generals who turned disadvantage to victory. He may yet drive back the Imperial army and re-commence his march on the capital.

  Chunming swirls with rumours that the city will go to the sword if General An-Shu fails, and that a plan exists to forestall this event by driving out the Lady Ta Chi and declaring Chunming loyal to the Emperor. It says much about her authority that such things are whispered openly.

  Now I must approach the night warder, Golden Bells, and seek to buy him
. Time is running short. I must act soon. If the Imperial army draws near, it is likely that all prisoners will be executed in a final act of revenge or despair. Yet I am paralysed by unease, full of plausible reasons for delaying another day, then another.

  When I lie on my bed the bar of silver reproaches me. It is hidden within my mattress and I feel its hard, rectangular shape pressing against my back.

  At sunrise I am woken by shouts and cries of alarm. I sit bolt upright in bed. The room is full of shadows. Heavy feet pound the stairs. Have they come for me so soon?

  Perhaps Thousand- li-drunk has betrayed me. I hear doors being kicked open, men protesting as they are dragged from their beds. Voices fill the tall, narrow house.

  ‘Quickly! Everyone outside! All prisoners outside!’

  I barely have time to dress before my own door is flung open by the sergeant, looking wild-eyed.

  ‘Outside!’ he barks. ‘Quickly!’

  I find myself in the water-logged street. Mud covers my shoes. Fortunately the rain has faltered. Between downpours the air grows humid and the puddles steam.

  The soldiers strut up and down, marshalling us into a column. In silence we march toward the South Gate. A short distance, yet the streets are clogged with soldiers and streams of prisoners. I can sense the guards’ fear. They are outnumbered by those they are supposed to hold captive, a dangerous, foolish occurrence. I wonder how it has come about.

  The explanation is revealed as soon as we leave the city gates and form up on a strip of levelled ground before the ramparts. There a strange sight awaits.

  The Empress-in-waiting sits stiffly on a platform twenty steps high, shaded by awnings of silk. Her painted throne is surrounded by smoking censers, scenting the air with perfume, to spare her nostrils from the reek of the prisoners. General An-Shu’s banners decorate the platform.

  Lines of troops and armed eunuchs protect her throne, weapons drawn, crossbows cocked. My eye is drawn to a rectangular pit, twenty paces long and a dozen wide.

  Burning coals and charcoal may be glimpsed within the pit, covered by a grid of iron bars. A heat haze rises, so that the Lady Ta Chi seems to float as she sits in state, her august presence distorted by veils of swirling air.