One was long and thin, the other small and squat as a toad.
‘Take these,’ he said. ‘The bag contains two thousand in cash. Use it to bribe the guards if you must. The other, well, it is an old ally. I collected it from your room in Cousin Hong’s wine shop. He asks after you, by the way.
Your old servant, Mi Feng, also urges you to remember him. He said you must not hesitate to call on him if you require a certain kind of help.’
No need to explain the kind of help he had in mind.
I loosened the hemp wrappings of the package. It contained my sword, the same weapon I had used to kill a man.
‘So that is how things stand,’ I said, dully.
‘Forgive me,’ he muttered.
‘What nonsense! Forgive you for what?’
The temple doors opened again. I made sure the guards caught no glimpse of my sword. P’ei Ti was obliged to leave under their watchful gaze. When he had gone, I sat for a long while, the sword across my lap. The old monk shuffled from his private chambers and shook his head.
Somewhere in the palace, across the Imperial Deer Park, a gong tolled out the hour.
That night, I begged ink and paper from the monk and wrote a short poem. Its characters have never left me: To the tune of ‘Wind-Washed Sand’
Climb pagoda steps, gaze across the lands.
Stars hang motionless, night is numb.
Old friends offer what comfort they can.
Lonely shadow, do not imagine
Daybreak will scatter you forever.
Do not forget kind words said in parting.
In pools of darkness, jade faces glow.
*
I was granted another day before the assassins came.
Another day of pacing and pointless misery.
At last, evening chill settled on the Temple of Flying Petals. My dinner had not arrived by dusk and perhaps that saved me. Perhaps that was why, though hungry, I climbed the pagoda and lolled on a step half-way up, P’ei Ti’s sword across my lap, and fell into a doze.
When I descended, a strange scent filled the air. The temple was full of delicious aromas. Ginger, certainly, and aniseed, as well as something cloying. I stepped into the temple and sensed an unnatural stillness. I made my way warily to the altar of the Blossom God.
There I found a reason to pause. The old monk slumped on the steps, beside a basket of coloured rice and spiced meat. Two chopsticks lay by his lifeless hand, oily with sauce. We had got into the habit of sharing our rations, which in any case came from the same kitchen. Now I bitterly reproached myself for not warning him that I feared poison. His head was twisted in a strange angle. Foam flecked his mouth. The whites of his eyes stared into nothingness.
‘Father!’ I cried.
Though I shook him vigorously he gave no sign of life.
Gently, I let his grizzled head fall back.
The temple doors were customarily locked by my guards at night, but when I tried them they opened easily.
I intended to summon the soldiers and tell them the guardian of the temple had been taken ill.
‘Guards!’ I shouted into the dusk. ‘Come quickly!’
My voice echoed round the courtyard. No one replied.
I had been abandoned. The temple lay open to any who would enter.
Of course I should have fled at once and hidden in the darkness of the Deer Park undergrowth. Or ran to the nearest building and sought the protection of whoever lived or served there. More guards could have been summoned. It would have been sensible. Instead I hurried back to the old monk and slapped his face. To my relief he stirred. I realised that the poison must not be lethal, merely enough to cause unconsciousness. But why drug a man into sleep when you can silence him for, good with something stronger?
Oh, I should have run like a deer that has heard distant hounds and knows what to expect when they burst into view! Instead I went to the old monk’s quarters and fetched a bowl of water. Using a small cup, I dribbled some onto his wrinkled lips. Then I opened his mouth gently and was relieved to see his tongue take a drop. I was about to try again when I heard someone testing the temple door.
At once I understood why the poisoned food brought sleep rather than death. Men had been sent for me at a time when the guards had conveniently disappeared.
Perhaps they wished to question me before I died, as had happened to Secretary Wen. Perhaps they would torture me as they had him. I was certain no one would hear my screams or cries for help. The Temple of Flying Petals stood well away from the nearest dwelling. And even if someone did hear, those who dwelt in the Son of Heaven’s palace were accustomed to minding their own business.
The door creaked. The temple was dark, except for a small lamp on the Blossom God’s altar. I retreated to the stairwell at the bottom of the pagoda and waited, concealed by deep shadows. With a clawing sensation, I realised that P’ei Ti’s sword remained in its hemp wrappings beside the old monk. I was defenceless.
As the temple door opened, I almost darted forward to snatch up my sword. If I had, they would have seen me at once. No doubt I would have fought. Perhaps I might even have managed to wound one of them until they cut me down, like a hero from an old story. Thankfully, I hesitated. My true nature saved me for, despite Father’s trade, I was no soldier.
Three men dressed in black robes glided into the temple. I hardly dared breathe, let alone move. They looked around wordlessly. Each carried a drawn sword in his hand. One of them held a lamp.
Yet they could not see me peering from the stairwell. In a strange way, though unarmed, I had an advantage. I had grown used to wandering round the temple at night, whereas for them it was a strange place. Yet I hardly doubted those black-clad men would end my life quite efficiently, perhaps even courteously, within moments of finding me.
So I made no noise as I climbed the pagoda stairs. Half way up I paused.
‘This isn’t him,’ came a distant voice.
How confident the man sounded! He spoke as though there was no need for caution. Perhaps he wanted me to hear so I might panic and betray my presence. I heard the thud of a boot. A faint groan.
‘Leave him,’ commanded the first voice.
‘We were told he would be asleep!’
This second was as nervous as the first was nonchalant.
‘It does not matter.’
After that they did not speak. The hunt had commenced and I was the quarry. Every scrape of my feet on the stairs as I ascended brought terror.
Was I weak? Was I less than a true man to offer no resistance?
Perhaps. Perhaps.
My one refuge lay further up the stairs. It was not long before I heard them below. After all, the temple was small and could be searched quickly. At last I saw a faint glow from their lamp. I climbed further. Did they hear me? No shout broke the silence. Now I was at the top. The stairs had run out. I was trapped.
They say one’s life passes before one’s eyes in the moment before death. If so, I must have possessed a peculiar mind. For I did not glimpse my whole life but an hour of it. Long ago, when I was eight years old, Little Wudi beside me, hunting a fat, noisy cricket. It had retreated to the roof of Three-Step-House and, in a rush of bravado, I had climbed after it, clinging like a spider to the roof tiles. . .
Now I could hear them on the stairs quite clearly. I knew what I must do. I dared not. If I hesitated a moment longer they would catch me. Trembling, I climbed onto the window frame and seized the roof tiles. Some instinct kept me from looking down. Now I was outside and the cold night wind ruffled my hair. Then, taking a firm hold of the wooden frame, I hauled myself up.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by the rolling, mournful echo of a great ceremonial gong from within the palace: Deng deng deng deng. . . So loud and entirely unexpected that I almost lost my grip. Somehow I held on and managed to swing my legs onto the sloping roof, while the gong beat repeatedly. I believe that gong saved my life for it covered the sound of my passage.
&
nbsp; I lay face down, gripping the tiles with a desperate strength. Every portion of my body except my breath froze. I glanced once at the sky beyond the roof-ridge, then squeezed my eyes shut. I willed myself into thoughtlessness. Hold on, that was all, that was everything, hold on lest they discover me, seize my ankles and drag me off the roof, hold on lest my slow, twisting fall ended in a dull crump as I hit the ground.
How long did it take them to reach the top of the pagoda? When they arrived I could hear their conversation clearly for the tolling of the great gong had died away.
‘Did you hear a noise?’
‘Apart from the bell?’
‘Yes. Hush, you fools!’
Hush. The sound of the wind.
‘He’s not in the temple.’
‘Where is he?’
‘I swear I heard something.’
‘It must have been the bell.’
‘He has been warned. That’s why he’s not here.’
‘I’m not giving up so quickly.’
‘Hush, you fools!’
Hush. Somewhere far away, a faint wisp of music.
‘He must still be in the temple.’
‘But we’ve searched there.’
‘We will search again.’
*
The quiet padding of feet. They were descending. I clung on, eyes closed, gripping the roof tiles. At last I heard the temple doors slam. Still I dared not move.
Hours passed and dawn brought colour to the sky. I had to assume the assassins had gone; it was impossible to hold on any longer. Hand by hand, I lowered myself down the roof and swung my legs inside the pagoda. I landed with a heavy crash on the floor and lay gasping and shivering. There was no one to hear. My murderers had gone.
I had survived.
At daybreak I heard marching feet. The guards were returning. A fierce, perverse desire took hold and, exhausted though I was, hungry and thirsty though I was, I stumbled down the pagoda steps to the temple doors, passing the old monk as he clutched his stomach. Flinging open the golden doors, I blinked in the light of a new day.
The guards’ faces froze.
Then it occurred to me that they might finish the assassins’ work in order to conceal their treacherous negligence. So I slammed the doors shut and retreated to my friend, the old monk. Now they would have to do away with both of us. Who knew what the guards had been paid to allow the murderers access? No one will ever know. Yet they had fulfilled their part of the bargain, whether I lived or died. It happened that I lived.
After I had given the monk a cup of water he retched out the poison. His drugged sleep of the previous night had been replaced by nothing worse than a griping belly.
I knelt before the altar and prayed to the Blossom God, whispering: ‘I have been reborn as blossom, which is to say, a cloud.’
And I meant it with a whole heart.
So when the official from the Censor’s Bureau arrived that same morning I floated to Lord Xiao’s trial. I was still a cloud. A dark cloud for him. Purity lit my soul, the purity of one who has survived improbable odds. I feared nothing because I had out-lived fear. Drunk on unexpected life, I made my way across the Deer Park to the palace and forgot the trial before me. Each nuance of sky a delight, the chorus of birds, the sheen of dew on bladed grass. . .
All strengthened me.
I was escorted through towering gatehouses, wide courtyards lined with shrines and statues, into the heart of the palace. A fitting place for Lord Xiao’s trial.
All his life he had fluttered like a moth round the Son of Heaven. A gorgeous, powerful moth, his wings purest vermilion, his appetites intense. Here he had advocated a hundred policies, whispering and cajoling, tempting fate in order to fashion fate. He was a man who came alive among the great and barely noticed his inferiors at all, for they did not matter.
No doubt I oversimplify him. It was said that he was tender and indulgent to his children. The rest of mankind were a passing show of utility. One might stand in a field of flowers and be pleased by what one smells and sees. He considered only what he chose to pluck. In that, for all his dreams of power, he was a type.
And I was another type. One who stared in awe as I entered the inner precincts of His Majesty, while part of me remained aloof. So you might call me as arrogant as Lord Xiao, merely in a different way.
Finally we reached an inner courtyard and my escort presented arms before a surly officer.
‘I’ll conduct him from here,’ he said.
Evidently I was anticipated. He led me to an antechamber before a pair of ebony doors carved with phoenixes.
There I found the Lawyer Yuan Chu-Sou, attired in a splendid court uniform. He did not look happy.
‘Sit down.’
I did so with relief. My night on the pagoda-roof had exhausted me.
‘Are you unwell?’ he asked, sharply.
I laughed mirthlessly.
‘You might say that.’
Then I whispered how the previous evening had gone.
He retained a fixed, unnatural grin as he listened.
‘You are lucky to be alive,’ he said. ‘Though right now I would trade you for Secretary Wen. His testimony is dearly missed.’
This impudence revived my pride. Perhaps I should have thanked him for that, seeing what followed.
‘You won’t even have me,’ I said, loudly. ‘Unless I get something to eat. It is likely I’ll faint in front of the judges.’
The clerks and hangers-on in the antechamber looked up in surprise. Everyone was whispering in that long room. Yuan Chu-Sou glanced round nervously. No doubt he feared I would let slip an indiscretion.
‘Very well.’
He set about it and I slumped against the wall, listening to voices droning in the courtroom beyond the double doors. At last he led a serving eunuch to me who carried a tray of steamed buns.
‘I hope you realise that meal cost three-hundred cash in bribes.’
I ignored him and ate my fill. When I looked up again, I felt more myself.
‘What am I to expect?’ I asked.
He re-arranged his silks.
‘Questions. Simply answer as I have taught you.’
A hundred questions of my own concerning the prosperity of our case crowded my mind, yet I dared not ask them in this room full of spies. I suspected Yuan Chu-Sou’s grim face answered them anyway. We subsided into silence.
‘You had better spend a few more strings of cash on some water,’ I said, finally. ‘For I am parched.’
Then I fell into a restless doze.
Hours later the double doors opened and an official, dressed more like a peacock than a man, bellowed: ‘The Most Ineffable Judges require Yun Cai of Wei District!’
The Lawyer Yuan Chu-Sou was on his feet in a flash.
‘None of your insolence now. Make sure you show the proper respect or they might decide to use the implements on you.’
We were led into an octagonal chamber lined with stone benches. High windows filled every angle of the room so that a circle in the centre was brightly lit. Officials in uniform sat patiently on the benches, for this was a very public trial. Of Lord Xiao himself there was no sign.
Three carved chairs on a platform filled one end of the room. Here the judges sat in grey robes, undecided between the black of happiness and white of death. I advanced slowly, copying the Lawyer Yuan Chu-Sou’s dif-fident shuffle, then prostrated myself before the judges as he did. So nervous was I that I struggled with the need to pass wind. That would have been fatal to our case. I clenched my buttocks tightly and the effort helped me forget some of the peril I faced.
‘I see you have another witness,’ said the Chief Judge, in a bored tone. ‘Both of you may look up. We need to read your faces.’
I did so, and almost met his eye.
‘Explain your propositions,’ commanded the judge.
I waited while Yuan Chu-Sou recommended the scrolls I had found in Pinang, reminding everyone present that they had already been sc
rutinised by the court. It became obvious those scrolls were the beating heart of the case against Lord Xiao. Yet I sensed that heart was weakening.
‘You have claimed the scrolls reveal Lord Xiao’s corruption,’ said the judge. ‘And indeed, if one accepts they are genuine, matters stand badly for the accused. The question is, are they genuine?’
Yuan Chu-Sou was instantly voluble.
‘Ten thousand times genuine!’ he cried. ‘As I will prove.’
‘Then prove it,’ said another of the judges.
I realised the judges liked this trial even less than I.
What could they gain from it, after all? Nothing but enemies. And Lord Xiao had powerful friends.
‘Yun Cai is the gentleman who discovered the scrolls,’ replied Yuan Chu-Sou. ‘As he will be glad to attest.’
All eyes in the court were upon me.
‘Stand up,’ barked the judge.
I did so.
‘Well then, tell your story.’
So I told it in simple terms, for indeed there wasn’t much to say, explaining how I found the scrolls, preserved them, then gave them to the Lawyer Yuan Chu-Sou without understanding their contents.
‘Do you claim not to know what the scrolls allege?’ asked the third judge.
‘Ineffable Sir, they seem to be written in some kind of code. I must confess that I have had too many things on my mind to wish to decipher that code.’
The court rippled with amusement. I heard Yuan Chu-Sou wince beside me.
‘Too many things on your mind! What arrogance is this?’ demanded the judge.
‘Not arrogance, sir, just honesty.’
‘Yet you thought it worth your while to preserve them and pass them to one who wished to make use of them?’
‘Ineffable Sir,’ I said. ‘That is merely because I sensed they might be important. But, as I say, even now I have no detailed knowledge what they contain.’
‘Ah, you are like an innocent child,’ said the judge, sarcastically. ‘Who finds a murderer’s dagger in a dead man’s robes, without understanding a thing about it! As the proverb says: When the map is unrolled the dagger is revealed!’
His colleagues chuckled at his wit.
‘Come now,’ he added. ‘Admit you bear Lord Xiao a deep-seated grudge.’
Taming Poison Dragons Page 40