The Old Dragon's Head

by Justin Newland

  To Feng’s left was a row of sleeping beggars, lost, forlorn, their lives inert. In front of him, another beggar hobbled back and forth down the alley, his rag-strewn feet crunching the icy ground.

  “How long does it stay like this?” Feng muttered, getting up and pacing alongside him. The beggar wore a look so hollow, it could hold the seas of the world. Wearing that distinctive tattered black turban, Feng recognised him – it was Kong, the redoubtable Beggar King. He’d met him six days ago outside the Yamen. Six days? Six life times more like.

  The second night watch rang out, marking the middle of the night. The howl of a dog was met by the bark of a camel, meaning this was not the only strange conversation in town.

  Kong didn’t reply. Feng was convinced his fingers were going to fall off if he didn’t do something quick, so he tried thinking of a warm brazier. It didn’t help. He was still freezing. After another lengthy silence, punctuated by more nocturnal animal cries, Kong snarled at him, “Well, what do you want?”

  “My family,” he replied without hesitation.

  “Family?” Kong grunted, then added, more to himself than anyone else, “The Confucian ideal – what more can a man ask of Heaven than a good family?” Kong carried on pacing the night like a wounded tiger.

  Feng grunted in agreement.

  Kong reached out and rubbed Feng’s mud-splattered robe between his dirty fingers. “Mmm, fine material. Silk is it? Now you’re serving at my court, you’ve reached the bottom rung. From here, you can look up and contemplate the arse of the world and try and work out what you’ve done to upset your ancestors.”

  “I… I,” Feng stammered.

  Kong pointed a crooked finger at him and said, “I know you. You’re the son of the dead magistrate. The militia are chasing you. Stick by me, boy, I’ll protect you and I’ll make you rich beyond your wildest dreams. Me, I’ve got contacts in the Yamen – both the court and the military. It won’t be long before I land a big deal. In this time of war and uncertainty, there are plenty of them going down in the shadows of the Great Wall.”

  “Sounds interesting,” Feng said, although his real motive was to explore the vault beneath the Laolongtou. Come to think of it, perhaps Kong could help him.

  “I like you,” Kong decided. “Join me. You’ve got two things lacking in my associates here,” he added, waving a desultory hand at the knot of sleepers.

  “What are they?” Feng asked, showing his naivety.

  “You’ve got all your limbs and all your brains. I’ve got the contacts and the street wisdom. That’s a winning combination. Together, we’ll go far,” Kong fingered his dagger.

  One of the sleepers stirred from beneath a threadbare blanket – a young boy, with a dirt-encrusted face and a mucky hat. The lantern flared briefly. It was Qitong, hiding amongst the human detritus. Next to him slept a girl, about the same age. For a moment, they tussled over the ownership of a threadbare blanket, then fell back to sleep, warm in each other’s arms. Feng left them alone.

  A beggar loomed out of the misty night and came over to talk in animated tones to Kong.

  Kong turned to Feng and asked him, “Can you understand the Mongol tongue?”

  “Well, yes, I can,” Feng said, with wild suspicions running around his mind. Was this a trap – or a ruse?

  “Good, then come with me.”

  “What? Now? There’s a curfew, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Hah, don’t worry about that. Besides, I know the commandant,” Kong said with more than a tinge of arrogance.

  Did he now? Kong did have contacts in high places. Or was it bravado? The Beggar King kicked two of the sleepers in the back. They stumbled to their feet and seemed to know what was required of them, because without uttering a word, they stood yawning at either end of an open sedan chair. Fixed to the two poles was a chair with wonky armrests, a rickety seat and a backrest made of two vertical planks of wood of differing heights.

  Some throne that is, Feng thought. He confined himself to the question, “Where are we going… in the middle of the night?”

  “Magistrate Feng, for a man on the street, you ask too many questions,” Kong said, as they followed the messenger.

  How ironic; the one person who recognised Feng as a magistrate, albeit with a heavy scent of derision, was a lame, conniving, King of the Beggars.

  They headed for the seedy part of town where the brothels sat alongside wine bars featuring betting tables, cockfights, arm wrestling and even bear baiting. Every now and again, Feng would think about nipping down a dark alley and hiding amidst the barrels of wine, stacks of frost-laden firewood and bags of rice. At least some folks had it good.

  “Not thinking of leaving us, so soon?” Kong said, reaching out from his seat in the sedan chair and thwacking him in the belly. Feng doubled up in pain.

  “Me? Never!” Feng said, revelling in the sarcasm.

  “Good,” Kong said. “Put me down, we’re here.”

  They stopped outside the White Mulberry Inn, One Hand Zhou’s wine bar. Kong spoke to the messenger, who disappeared into it and came out moments later.

  “They’re still in there,” the messenger reported, cupping his hand and speaking quietly.

  Kong turned to Feng and said, “Follow me and take my lead.”

  Feng nodded.

  The wine bar smelt of a pungent mix of stale alcohol and urine, Feng couldn’t decide which was the greater. The bar boasted all of two lanterns, both with a flickering candle near the end of its wick; not unlike himself, Feng mused. The poor ambient light was no doubt to avoid any unwanted attention from the militia, who were conspicuous by their absence. One Hand Zhou served him and Kong. Feng held the beaker in both hands and sipped the mulled wine, letting it trickle down his gullet, warming his insides.

  The messenger led him and Kong to a secluded part of the bar. As soon as they sat down, Kong put his finger to his lips and then cupped his ear with his hand. “Listen,” he whispered and pointed to the cubicle behind him, separated from theirs by a thin wooden screen. Kong wanted him to overhear the conversation taking place behind it. Feng crooked his neck and soon picked up words in the Mongol tongue.

  “The attack is imminent,” he heard one man say. “That’s why I need the explosives.”

  Explosives? Attack? What are these Mongols plotting? Feng’s ears picked up.

  “Fine. It’ll be half now, half on delivery. Did you bring the extra cash?” the second man demanded.

  “Yes, I made some more sales. It’s all here,” the first one said.

  Feng did not recognise either of their voices. There was silence for a while until Feng heard the second man reply, “Good, that’s everything. Collect the goods at dawn. You know where.”

  “See you then. Don’t run away with my cash, or I’ll chase your through the halls of hell,” the first one snarled.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll get the merchandise – as long as you bring the other half.”

  The two men stopped talking and Feng assumed they were leaving. Then one of the men – a heavy-set, boulder of a man – passed his cubicle. My, it was Guanting. The carpet merchant shuffled by and appeared not to have noticed them. The other man must have slipped out the back way. Kong despatched the messenger to follow him. Kong’s role in this clandestine operation was intriguing, in that he seemed well practiced at the game.

  “Now tell me. What did they say?” Kong asked, his eyes glaring like liquid fire.

  This was an opportunity for Feng to use what little advantage he had. “I’ll tell you, but first I want to know why you are so interested? What’s in it for you?”

  “Oh, so you think I’m going to reveal my secrets?” Kong snarled. Then he added as an after-thought, “Haven’t you heard? There’s a huge reward for information leading to the arrest of any traitors. Don’t go claiming it before me – otherwise you�
�ll end up swimming with the fishes at the bottom of the Bohai Sea. Hear me?”

  Feng took a deep breath and told him the two men’s conversation.

  “I suspected as much,” Kong murmured. “Did they say where they were meeting at dawn?”

  “No, they didn’t,” he replied.

  “Pity. But you’re certain they spoke about explosives,” Kong repeated, pulling on his goatee beard. “Good, you’ve done well. We’ll catch the dog’s heads, you’ll see.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Feng said with an air of relief. Despite his personal distress, it didn’t stop him detesting the Mongols as much as the next man. “Now I’ve helped you, you can help me.”

  “All right. What do you want? Revenge on your mother’s servant, Precious?”

  “How did you know about that? No, Heaven will punish her disloyalty,” he murmured. “What I need is to set foot on the Laolongtou.”

  “That’s forbidden. Besides, the place is more heavily guarded than the Emperor’s treasury,” Kong said, adjusting his black turban.

  “You claimed to know the commandant. Then use your influence with him.”

  “Why do you want to go there?” Kong was the nosy kind.

  “I’ll tell you… but only after you’ve got me on there.”

  CHAPTER 35

  The Chrysanthemum

  Who knows but me about the Guard at the Gate,

  Or where the Magician of the River Bank is,

  Or how to find that magistrate, that poet,

  Who was as fond as I am of chrysanthemums and wine cups?

  A TANG DYNASTY POEM

  “Are we there yet, Daddy?” Ju asked, her breath steamy with the cold.

  “Soon, darling, soon,” Gang replied, pulling up his daughter’s collar. “Careful, you’ll catch cold,” he added, playing the concerned parent. He had reluctantly agreed to bring her along at the last moment.

  She wiped her nose with her sleeve.

  “Don’t do that, your mother would be annoyed if she saw.” His reprimand was as sweet as he could make it.

  She frowned and scrunched up her nose. Gang peered out of the curtains of the sedan chair, letting in a blast of freezing air. The first rays of dawn were splashed across the horizon, filling it with a glorious pink. He glanced across at Sheng and Big Qiang, who were along for protection.

  “Oh, Daddy, close them. Quick!” Ju moaned, burying herself under the blanket. He could have reminded her that it was she who had pestered him to come along, not the other way around, but he refrained. The early hours of the day were not a good time to challenge a strong-minded six-year-old.

  Outside the cushioned world of his sedan chair, he noticed a line of soldiers trudging along the street, their head bowed after a weary night’s patrol. The barracks must be near and he added with good cheer, “We’re nearly there.” She smiled and duly reported the good news to her doll.

  The porters stopped and lowered the sedan chair onto the ground. They were talking to a gatekeeper, who demanded to know, “Who goes there?”

  Gang got out of the sedan chair and was confronted by a large gated house.

  “County magistrate Gang,” he answered, with lashings of pomposity. He liked the sound of his new title.

  The young boy, the gatekeeper, made a deep reverence and asked, “Does my master expect you?”

  “Yes and no,” Gang replied. “Tell him the merchant couldn’t make it, so the magistrate came in his stead.”

  The boy ran up to the house with the message. When he returned, he pushed his back into the pair of gates, which creaked open with great reluctance.

  “Please, honourable magistrate, pass on through,” he said by way of a welcome.

  Gang’s daughter poked her nose out of the curtains.

  “Be a good girl and stay in the warm in the sedan chair while I talk to the nice gentleman,” he said to her and stepped into the open courtyard.

  A man in an officer’s uniform strode down the steps of the main house and greeted him with cordial warmth.

  “Welcome, magistrate, to my humble abode,” the man said. Then he whispered surreptitiously in Gang’s ear, “What happened to Guanting?”

  “After your meeting last night at the inn,” Gang replied, holding his hand to his mouth so only the man could hear him, “he was followed by the Jinyiwei. With the secret police on his trail, he was terrified, so he’s gone. He’s probably leaving town as we speak.”

  “And you came in his place,” the man said. “I hope they didn’t follow you?”

  “You don’t want to do business with me?” Gang scowled.

  “No… Yes… I mean, of course I do.”

  Ju opened the curtains of the sedan chair, poked out her tongue at him and closed the curtains.

  “Ju, you are being naughty,” Gang murmured.

  “You… brought… your daughter?” the man said, with unabashed surprise.

  “Yes? Why not?” He shrugged. It was a risk. She had complained – quite legitimately he felt – that she was confined to the Yamen and hadn’t been allowed out to see the town and meet other children. Daughters could be so persuasive. What was more, he had never intended to attend this meeting – until Guanting had placed him in this invidious position. And he calculated that the presence of an innocent child would deflect any unwanted suspicion of him for being out and about on the dawn watch. That was a good enough reason.

  As she stepped out of the sedan chair, he made the formal introduction. “Ju. This is Major Renshu.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Ju,” the major said, bowing low.

  “And you too,” Ju said, curtseying like a true lady. There, she could behave if she wanted.

  “Ju, I need to talk to the major. Big Qiang is going to look after you. Aren’t you, Qiang?”

  Given his bulk and the scars on his face, Big Qiang appeared more accustomed to drinking and whoring than baby-sitting. Little Ju was understandably circumspect about this arrangement.

  “Daddy, I want to stay with you,” she moaned, hanging on to his leg and glaring daggers at Qiang.

  “All right, go back in the sedan chair. Find some paper and play folding and making animal shapes.”

  “Oh, father, what a good idea, I love origami,” Ju replied. As if he didn’t know that, he chuckled to himself. Life was all about preparation. Ju ran to the sedan chair.

  “Shall we conclude our business then?” the major asked.

  “By all means,” Gang agreed. He pulled a brocade bag from his inner garments and dangled it in front of the major.

  “What’s the matter?” the major asked.

  “I want to verify the merchandise before parting with this,” he said, pointing to the bag. He had just received it from Guanting, who had awoken him in the middle of the night to tell him his predicament. Shoving the bag of money into Gang’s hand, the merchant had told him the time and place of the meeting and scuttled off into the night like a frightened rat.

  “Well, where is it?” Gang asked with growing impatience.

  “It’s over there,” the major said, pointing to an unattended litter a stone’s throw away in the corner of the courtyard. When he looked, someone was exploring the contents of the litter like they were clay toys. By Heavens, it was Ju.

  “What the—?” he shouted.

  He was interrupted by a furious cry from the major. “Wait! Stop! Get away from there.”

  Qiang hauled his great bulk over to her as fast as he could, his limp impeding him on every step. But the big man was soon next to the little girl and lifting her up high into the air and away from the litter and its explosive contents.

  “What’s the matter? What have I done?” the little girl cried, eyes filling with tears.

  “Don’t worry,” Gang said, running across to embrace her. “You haven’t done anything wrong. Has she
, Major?”

  “No, not much,” the major growled, his hands on his hips, standing defiantly between Ju and the litter, barring the girl from getting anywhere near it again.

  “I told you to stay in the sedan chair and you disobeyed me,” he said, smacking the child lightly on the hand. She started crying and her wails filled the morning air with waves of tears. Servants peered through the shutters to see what the fuss was about.

  Gang managed to ease his errant daughter back into the sedan chair, leaving her with Qiang and Sheng for company. She’d have to put up with them. What else could he do?

  “That was a close call,” the major said. “Why did you have to bring her along anyway? Are you mad?”

  “I’m going to ignore that remark,” Gang snapped.

  “We have to finish this,” the major was railing at him, “before you, or another member of your family, decide they want to play games with explosives. I have a family too you know and this is my house.”

  Gang shot him a glance of annoyance. “That’s enough,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

  The major bristled and took a deep breath. “Listen. Give me the money. I want this litter off my courtyard.”

  “I want the same but you are not making this easy,” he said. “Here it is. I hope you’re not going to count it out, tael by tael.”

  “No. Not now, anyway,” the major snarled. “And before someone calls the Jinyiwei, please leave my home. And make sure you treat the contents of that litter with extreme caution. Explosives are volatile. Your child could have blown us all to a thousand little pieces.”

  The return journey got easier with every step. Gang was more than relieved to have left the major’s home. Ju was too. Qiang led the way and the runners carried the litter full of explosives in front, Gang and Ju behind and Sheng in the rear.

  Ju was upset. He combed her doll’s hair and tried singing her a lullaby. He couldn’t sing in tune and anyway, she was not interested in the slightest. He wiped a tear from her eye and decided to try charm.