Taming Poison Dragons (44 page)

Those were years when, for many, not enough was eaten. The capital thronged with peasants driven by ruin in the countryside to try their chances in the city. Rickety buildings several stories high might contain a dozen families, three generations in every room, countless more if you included the dead lurking in the tablets of their ancestral shrines. All this I observed with a mixture of guilt and anger. To see a child begging, her eager, hopeful face already lined by hunger and humiliation. Oh, then you begin to doubt whether the Mandate of Heaven truly belongs to those in authority.

By now almost a year had passed since I last took up brush and ink to compose. That gift – for it is a gift, though nourished by intense labour – had withered within me. One evening, subdued by care, I retreated to my room, listening to sounds of merriment in Cousin Hong’s courtyard.

The lamp flickered on the table. I lay on the bed, watching a moth’s fluttering progress round the room. Then I rose and ladled myself a cup of cheap wine from one of the storage jars in my chamber. Opening the back door, I sat on the steps, sipping and noting patterns of shadow on the dark waters of Jewel Cloud Canal. Stars glittered.

Voices scented the night with sound. Within the radius of a single
li
, a thousand feelings and perceptions contended in as many breasts, fleeting streams of life. And the dark canal slowly drifted beneath me, its waters speckled with disappointment and joy, all flowing in accordance with the Way.

I remembered moments of friendship, shifting terrains of mind, until the world is freshly perceived. One longs to hold onto what is good, just for a while, aware of hours seeping like wind through your fingers. The rich must endure this ceaseless transience as well as the poor.

Then I knew I must write again, if only to hold still a floating life, my words already fading as soon as set down. Just thoughts. And thoughts re-shape themselves with each succeeding generation.

Without fuss, as though undertaking the most natural thing in the world, I mixed ink, poured another cup of wine and wrote poem after poem until dawn shone through the open doorway. That night was among the best of my life.

I wrote of slipping love, tears filling my eyes. Then satires questioning the abuses endured by the poor. Again of how feelings find an hour and drift away, though one clutches to hold them. Finally, for I had begun to think of breakfast, a poem entitled ‘Fish Caught in the Jewel Cloud Canal’:
Thin, bony fish caught from brick steps.

Do not say they are less than carp.

Lure and hook whatever swims your way,
Hold slippery, drowning mouths,

Scales crusting hands like moonshine.

Finest foods are a matter of taste.

Once eaten, any fish becomes you.

*

I received a summons in the form of a letter delivered by one of P’ei Ti’s servants. It read simply:
Be on the brick
steps you told me about at the back of your cousin’s shop
when the second bell of night is sounded. Tell no one of
this. I anticipate a meeting to your advantage.

Why he chose such a rendezvous, I had no idea, but I sensed unpleasantness. The evening passed slowly. I debated whether to take my sword, or even Mi Feng along, all the while considering P’ei Ti’s injunction to tell no one. At last the watchmen could be heard on the street, beating their wooden drums and calling the second hour.

I opened the back door and stepped outside.

All was in darkness, even the stars obscured by sluggish clouds. A scent of rain and earth in the air. Drips broke the silence at irregular intervals. I could hear rats scurrying in the eaves of the opposite house. Somewhere a man bellowed in anguish. Rowdy voices sang, then dwindled.

Once my eyes had accustomed themselves to the night, I sat on the steps, staring at faint tendrils of mist as they curled across the canal. Minutes passed. The night was cool and I would have found it pleasant if not for the anxious fluttering in my heart. I flexed my shoulder muscles.

They were gaining strength and might be needed that night.

A gentle splash of oars made me alert. The sound grew steadily. A long, narrow boat appeared through the fog and I rose. The boat paused at the foot of the steps, a white face peering up at me. I caught a flash of eyes.

‘Yun Cai!’ whispered a familiar voice.

I relaxed, and climbed gingerly on board. P’ei Ti was out of uniform for once, dressed in a merchant’s plain robes. I sat heavily beside him so that the boat wobbled.

‘Why have you brought that damn sword?’ he hissed.

I could hardly admit that fear had armed me.

‘Where are we going?’ I whispered back.

‘Shhh!’

He lay his hand on my arm.

‘It will become clear.’

The boatman pushed off and propelled us forward, working the oar at the back with his feet. We moved quietly through a maze of canals. Most of the houses we passed were silent. A few showed lights behind bamboo curtains. We drifted under high, hump-backed bridges where impoverished peasants sheltered. Often there were watchtowers, containing soldiers of the City Guard.

‘Hide your sword at the bottom of the boat,’ muttered P’ei Ti. ‘You will bring ruin on us all.’

I took his point. Armed men arrested at night were automatically guilty. A few guardsmen watched us paddle by, but we received no challenge. Finally I recognised the North Eastern Ramparts rising on our right. In that district, wealthy courtiers and officials, especially the Son of Heaven’s eunuchs, had constructed stone warehouses, surrounded by a network of canals. Merchants hired space within them at exorbitant prices, safe in the knowledge that the frequent fires vexing the city could not destroy their goods. I thought of Uncle Ming then. He would have done well to store his wine in such a warehouse. The Great Fire would not have ruined him.

I turned to P’ei Ti.

‘Who are we meeting?’ I asked.

He glanced at the boatman.

‘Someone you once met in a cave,’ he said.

So it was the Lawyer Yuan Chu-Sou. I should have guessed. Such secrecy implied grave interests.

The boatman guided us to a jetty beside a towering warehouse. A watchman waited on the steps, holding a pole from which hung a lamp. He seemed to be expecting us.

‘What is the colour?’ he asked.

The clouds above parted for a moment and I glimpsed stars.

‘Vermilion is the colour,’ said P’ei Ti.

The watchman grunted.

‘Then follow me, sirs.’

As we climbed ashore, leaving the boatman to wait for us, I said to P’ei Ti: ‘I take it this warehouse belongs to a certain August Excellency?’

‘Of course,’ he replied.

I had rarely seen him so tense.

We were led to a heavy wooden door, studded with iron. Another watchman waited. Both looked us over suspiciously.

‘No sword!’ called out the eldest.

I had concealed it under my cloak as we left the boat.

At once I sensed danger.

‘We are entering a trap!’ I whispered in P’ei Ti’s ear. ‘We must not go in there!’

He shook himself free.

‘I beg you to trust me,’ he said.

‘I will not leave my sword!’

P’ei Ti turned to the eldest watchman.

‘I have told you the password,’ he said, harshly. ‘Now let us in!’

The man glanced uncertainly at his colleague, then shrugged. We were led into a huge, darkened space, filled with bales and boxes and casks. The tramp of our feet echoed on the earth floor. A glow of lamps lit one corner of the warehouse. As we approached, I saw two men whispering together at a long table. Papers and writing materials covered the boards, including the scrolls I had recovered from Pinang. The first man was the Lawyer Yuan Chu-Sou, but the second had his back to me. When he turned, I gasped.

In a moment, my sword was drawn. The watchmen leapt back, fumbling for weapons.

That second man was Lord Xiao’s secretary, complete with his customary, supercilious smile.

‘What treachery is this?’ I cried. ‘P’ei Ti, stand behind me! I will protect you.’

Surely it is something when a peaceable man like myself is enraged.

The watchmen hung back, staring at my sword. Even P’ei Ti was looking round for a means of escape. If I was to die here, I had already determined that Lord Xiao’s secretary would perish with me.

Yuan Chu-Sou stepped forward, unruffled as ever, yet his brooding eyes suggested darker feelings.

‘Gentlemen!’ he said. ‘Honourable Yun Cai, do put away that sword! You are in no danger, sir.’

‘What is
he
doing here?’ I said, reluctant to lower my weapon. Part of me wished to use it. The contempt I felt for Secretary Wen can scarcely be imagined. He had been party to every humiliation I had suffered at Lord Xiao’s hands. To me, at that moment, he was Lord Xiao. I noted with relish that his smile had vanished.

He looked nervously to the Lawyer Yuan Chu-Sou for protection.

‘Enough of this,’ said the latter. ‘If we desired your life, Yun Cai, I’m sure a simpler means could be found than this. Do you not think?’

P’ei Ti turned to me eagerly. I did not like to witness his loss of nerve. Such moods are infectious.

‘That is true, Yun Cai. I beg you, put it away.’

So I did, glaring at my enemy. The secretary’s smile returned, except now it was less certain.

‘You have certainly changed,’ he muttered.

Then he added: ‘After all the wrongs you have suffered.’

Yuan Chu-Sou stepped between us.

‘It is natural you should be suspicious,’ he said. ‘But I would prefer it if we got straight to business.’

So I found myself at the table, P’ei Ti by my side. Yuan Chu-Sou stiff in his chair, like a merciless judge.

‘I wish this meeting to be brief,’ he said. ‘I have gone to great lengths to ensure its privacy. First of all, Yun Cai deserves an explanation for Secretary Wen’s presence. You need know only this: he is working for His August Excellency now.’

I met Secretary Wen’s eye.

‘I take it Lord Xiao is unaware of your shifting loyalties? How filial!’

The Lawyer Yuan Chu-Sou answered for him.

‘Quite so. The good secretary is demonstrating his filial loyalty to the Son of Heaven, by acting as a kind of. . . a kind of. . .’

‘Spy?’ I suggested.

‘Quite so. For which His August Excellency will proffer an inestimable reward.’

Secretary Wen wasn’t grinning now. I could not help goading the man.

‘Lord Xiao will be offended,’ I said. ‘And understandably.’

‘Never mind that,’ said Yuan Chu-Sou, sharply. ‘Time is short. Now, Yun Cai, to the matter of the scrolls you provided. They made most interesting reading. Indeed, they prove conclusively that Lord Xiao has been transferring large sums from the public exchequer for his personal use.

As such they are evidence. Secretary Wen here can provide further evidence, to corroborate your own. In short, it transpires there is a strong case against Lord Xiao. It seems that his tastes are extravagant, as are those of his wife, and that he has resorted to peculation in order to satisfy them.’

‘Such practices are generally winked at,’ I said, mildly.

P’ei Ti fluttered beside me.

‘Not so, Yun Cai. I speak as an official of the Bureau of Censors and, believe me, if this can be proved Lord Xiao has committed a capital crime.’

‘My point,’ I said. ‘Is that it is unusual for anyone to bother to prove it.’

The Lawyer Yuan Chu-Sou gestured airily.

‘That is true. But it is our intention to prosecute this case.’

I sat back. So Lord Xiao’s enemies had decided to act.

Certainly the time was favourable. He had always been among those advocating war against the Kin barbarians instead of the payment of tribute, perhaps because his wife’s family not only held several generalships but had important interests when it came to military supplies. A few years ago such a policy had attracted His Imperial Highness. It seemed that, given recent reverses, the Son of Heaven now thought differently and was happy to buy peace. If His August Excellency wished to bring Lord Xiao down, he had to be bold. After all, his old rival might declare himself a convert to the peace party at any time and then the opportunity would be lost.

‘How does this involve me?’ I asked.

The Lawyer Yuan Chu-Sou leant forward.

‘That is obvious. You are our sole witness to the provenance of the scrolls confirming Lord Xiao’s corruption.

You, Yun Cai, can prove that you found them in Pinang and that they belonged to an official, unfortunately deceased, who was privy to all Lord Xiao’s tricks. In short, you can testify to the scrolls’ authenticity. I should say you represent one element of the case I am preparing.

That is how you are involved.’

‘I see.’

‘Witnesses can be decisive in these affairs,’ declared the Lawyer Yuan Chu-Sou, airily. ‘For example, it seems one of the clerks from your mission in Pinang managed to survive the debacle there. I should tell you that I have arranged for him to be imprisoned on various charges, so he is out of the way. It would not do for an employee of Lord Xiao’s ministry, however humble, to contradict our evidence.’

‘Do you mean he has been imprisoned on false charges?’

Yuan Chu-Sou raised an eyebrow.

‘When one’s case hangs in the balance, such measures are sometimes necessary.’

I did not like this. I had been my clerks’ protector and father. Was I to betray that trust now?

‘He is guilty of no crime!’ I protested.

‘That is irrelevant,’ snapped Yuan Chu-Sou. ‘I want him out of the way.’

I looked from face to face. Ruthless men. They would stop at nothing. At last I understood my role as pawn.

‘It is my intention to return to my family in Chunming Province,’ I declared, dully.

I turned to P’ei Ti, showing my distress. His expression hardened.

Yuan Chu-Sou leant forward.

‘As I have had occasion to mention before, that would be a most unfortunate event for you. There is no avoiding one’s destiny.’

P’ei Ti nodded.

‘Now is not the right moment to visit your family,’ he said.