The Pirate Empress (35 page)

“Go back to your vessel,” Fong ordered. “I will see that the problem is solved.”

The merchant bowed and followed one of Fong’s sailors to the main deck and then to the escort boat that had brought him aboard the warship.

Li narrowed her eyes suspiciously, studied her husband whose thoughts were masked behind his stolid expression. “What do you plan to do? You promised Madam Choi you would not attack them.”

“I made no such promise. My promise was that I wouldn’t attack
her
. And so I won’t. I still need her for her doctoring skills, but I have no use for the one called Mo Kuan-fu, the Pirate King. Weigh anchor!” he shouted across the deck. “We set sail.”

It took less than three day’s voyage to negotiate the channel between the Lei-chou peninsula and Hainan Island. Once in the Gulf of Tonkin, an astonishing scene met their eyes: hundreds of armoured junks, their ragged bamboo sails raised against the morning sky and cannons cloaked on either side, crowded the harbour. Men stripped to the waist and faces shielded by wide straw hats, some with knotted kerchiefs around their necks, worked on the decks. Aboard one of the junks, a pirate lighted firecrackers to drive off evil spirits. This particular junk, Li could tell, had more than forty cannon, and was a large and splendid vessel, with a single black flag flying from its mainmast. It was one of the freight carriers of Kwangtung, stolen in the winter and converted into a pirate junk. Built of strong ironwood, it ran one hundred and fifty feet in length. Li knew it was of Kwangtung make because of the red bands in its hull, and now it was the flagship of the Black Flag fleet.

The pirates were obviously confident because of the size of the flotilla. No one was on watch, and Fong hove to and kept his warship out of sight. The Kwangtung junk, alone, was the size of his vessel. Capable of carrying four hundred men, it rode high in the water and would be difficult to board from sea. Fong ordered his Chief of Intelligence to the forecastle, paced the deck until the man arrived, then gave instructions for his people to infiltrate the pirates and learn exactly what target they intended to hit next.

“Let me go instead,” Li interrupted.

Fong sighed. He had, after all, married a woman whose spunk was as big as her bite. When they returned to his cabin, Li insisted again on being the scout sent out to spy on the pirates. “They know me. They won’t think I’m a spy. They know that Madam Choi is like a mother to me. I would never betray her.”

“And yet what you propose to do is exactly that. You will betray them. I told you once before, Lotus Lily, I don’t trust you.”

“I’ll betray
them
—for your sake, most honourable husband—but I won’t betray
her
. She’s not among them. We left her near Macao and only now will she realize that we are missing.” She paused before adding, “If you prefer, I won’t even allow them to see me. I’ll disguise myself as a pirate, infiltrate their lair and learn their plot. Then I’ll return to you my Supreme Lord Admiral.”

Fong’s Chief of Intelligence, a flat-eyed, yellow-faced man with large hands appeared at their opened doorway. He had overheard their disagreement and sided with Fong. “We cannot send your wife. She is one of them.”

“No longer,” Fong said. “She has vowed loyalty to me. I will take her at her word. She will blend in with the pirates. You on the other hand will stand out like a peeled lychee nut.”

The Chief of Intelligence scowled, threw a black look at Li. “Mark my words,” he began.

“Silence! I’ve made my decision.” Fong turned to Li before dismissing his Chief of Intelligence. “You may go. Disguised. But keep low. Do not reveal your identity. Mo Kuan-fu cannot be trusted. Stories tell of his brutal and ruthless backstabbing. He would feed you to the sharks and feast on the shark’s fin soup your body supplied before ever he placed another’s need above his own. And if you double-cross me, your punishment will not be swift. It will be slow and tortuous.”

Costumed in a torn jacket-like blouse and frayed black trousers made of a strong cheap fabric commonly used by the peasants for garments, Li roughened her face with grime and matted her hair into a lousy topknot. She kicked off her slippers and went barefoot, like the pirates of Madam Choi’s fleet, and then slipped into a rowboat and rowed herself into the midst of the rogues and hoped that Captain Ching, also known as Mo Kuan-fu, would welcome her and take her into their pack.

The Kwangtung vessel belonged to him and she made her way directly there. Around her the bulk of the flotilla consisted of smaller craft, twin-masted junks of two hundred tons that carried less than a hundred and fifty men. These junks had distinct black and white hulls with fishing nets and ox hides draped over the sides to prevent boarding and to repel spears. There was also a convoy of river junks, and swarms of small rowboats that accompanied the fleets and squadrons with one or two sails and fourteen to twenty oars, and crews of eighteen to thirty men. These boats were long dragons, serpent boats and sampans. The sampans were especially well suited for fighting in shallow water or for mounting an on-shore attack. They had unmasted hulls with raised sterns that formed a platform on which the pilot and helmsman rode, and with a mat roof in the middle of the deck for shelter. Crewmembers and women alternated sculling while keeping watch.

Li passed into their midst unchecked. What was their target? When did they plan to attack? She crouched in her rowboat, beneath the massive red-banded hull of the Black Flag ship, and heard the answers to her questions unexpectedly when Mo Kuan-fu himself spoke from the deck above her head: “The target is a shipment of opium. A large fleet will pass the channel tonight. But they won’t reach it if we have our way.”

Something bumped her boat, and a fish knife slashed across her vision. A hand circled her chest from behind and tightened like sun-dried leather. “Struggle and you die like a spring lamb, sliced at the throat until your body is bled dry.” Her assailant’s boat double-bumped hers as he angled her face to his. “What do we have, here? A woman? I’ve not seen you before. What d’you think you’re doing snooping on the Pirate King’s private conversation?”

“May I speak?” Li croaked, darting a glance at the glistening knife, slick with seawater and traces of fish slime.

Her interrogator grappled her boat’s gunwale with one hand while pinning her by the knife with the other. “Talk.”

“My name is Li of Madam Choi’s Red Flag Fleet. I’ve come with a proposition for your captain.”

“What is this mysterious proposition?”

“My words are for Mo Kuan-fu’s ears only.”

The pirate wiped his snotty nose on his sleeve. His front teeth were missing and what remained was yellow. “Is that so? What makes you think he wants to hear what you have to say?”

“He knows me. He’ll listen.”

The snotty-nosed pirate snorted and the sound flapped out of his mucous-filled nostrils like a floundering fish’s tail. A laugh from above them made Li snap her head up. “Captain Ching,” she said.

The Pirate King squinted down from his ship and gave her a smarmy grin of recognition. “I know that brazen poppet. Haul her up. I want to speak with Madam Choi’s adopted daughter.”

The disgusting pirate accosting her reluctantly let go and Li sloughed off the repulsion of his touch, climbed the rope ladder and planted herself in Mo Kuan-fu’s face. “Captain Ching,” she said and bowed, “I am so pleased to see you again.”

The pirate chief pursed his lips, studying her, but without returning the gesture or the sentiment. “I am called Mo Kuan-fu now,” he corrected her.

“As you like.” She bowed again.

His eyes slid up and down her raggedly dressed form, then landed on her dirt stained face. “Trouble in paradise?” he asked insolently.

She had to think quick, change tactics. “Admiral Fong is not involved with the mission I’m here to propose.”

The pirate chief marched up and down the deck to annoy her. He spun on his heel. “What exactly do you propose? It is my understanding that you are already engaged in blissful wedlock.” He smiled, but his eyes mocked. She could see his thoughts violating the sanctity of her marriage bed.

Li checked her disdain and the cutting insult that was itching to fly out of her mouth. “I am not looking for a pirate husband.”

“Then what exactly are you looking for? Does your admiral know you’re here?”

“He does. He sent me as a spy. Only he doesn’t know that I am about to betray him.”

Mo Kuan-fu’s expression creased with suspicion. “Go on.”

She glanced at his companion who had been silent all this while, and he dismissed her concern with a flippant wave of his hand. “Meet my second in command. Hu Gow.”

“Master Gow. This is a matter of confidentiality.”

Mo Kuan-fu guffawed. “Confidentiality. Ha. There’s no such thing among the water people. Now speak. Before I change my mind and feed you to the sharks.”

“Fine. I need a ship and a crew to take me to the Yellow Sea. I intend to voyage to the Grand Canal and return to the Forbidden City, where I will find my son, whom the barbarian Esen has abducted.” Before he could laugh at her or object, she continued, “You are a masterful rogue, a scourge of the seas. All who hear the name of the Pirate King tremble. The White Tiger has been brought to his knees by your rule over the South Coast waters. Even Madam Choi must concede to your greatness. But the barbarians are overrunning our country. Tell me, Mo Kuan-fu. Are you a traitor? Or are you Chinese?”

The pirate chief raised an eyebrow. “Are you calling me a traitor?”

“The boy I seek is the Emperor’s grandson.”

His eyes shot up. “That means you’re the fugitive princess, Lotus Lily. What are you worth to the Emperor, I wonder?”

Li sucked on her lip. Either way, if he kept her hostage, if he took her to the Forbidden City, at least she’d be there. She’d figure out how to escape from him afterwards. “He will either treat you like a prince for returning the mother of his grandson or he will treat you like a prince for capturing the elusive Pirate Empress. Either way, it is a princely reception you will receive. My fate is of no consequence, only my son’s matters. He must live to be the next ruler of China. If you help to rescue him, you’ll be greatly rewarded.”

Mo Kuan-fu frowned. “Haven’t you heard? Since you married your foreign admiral, I have reaped many riches already. What could the Emperor grant me that I don’t already have?”

“A pardon,” Li said. “Absolution from your crimes against the Empire. Freedom to live your life any way you wish without a bounty on your head.”

He smacked his lips like he had just tasted something delicious. “I like that, but just who is brave or skilled enough to capture the Pirate King?”

Li didn’t answer. Mo Kuan-fu, if he accepted this proposal, would be tagged a wanted man. Admiral Fong would turn his hunt for the Pirate King into a personal vendetta.

“Are you afraid of the White Tiger?” Li taunted.

“Are you?” Mo Kuan-fu echoed.

%%%

Admiral Fong shouted his accusation loud enough for the heathen gods of all the ships in the pirate seas to hear. Madam Choi kept her dagger at hands reach. Po watched from the rigging, a crossbow aimed at the raving admiral. “She has betrayed me! She did not return from her foray amongst the pirates!”

“You were a fool to let her go.”

The rage in Fong’s eyes changed from red to white. His hand went to slap the impudent pirate woman, but her fist shot up clutching a blade that winked in the morning light, and he turned and paced the deck, Po’s crossbow following his every step. Fong ordered his guards to stand down; he had no intention of harming Madam Choi or her children, but he would use them. For now he would let them go. He would send spies to follow her. Lotus Lily had abandoned her son—
his
son—and there was no forgiving that.

Fong sent a glance up to the rigging. Po had slackened his tension on the crossbow, but his wary eyes darted sharply.

“Your son will die without my medicines,” Madam Choi said.

Fong was at a critical juncture. The pirate woman had him cornered. He couldn’t travel the open seas with a sickly babe. He needed her and she knew it, and come hell or high water, she would never consent to travel with him and be his boy’s nurse. Unless… could he take one of her children, the boy with the itchy bowhand perhaps? But how? Madam Choi was not without brains; she had stationed her son in the rigging long before he approached her ship.

He could have blown them out of the water for not consenting to come aboard his own vessel, but what would that accomplish? His only tie to Lotus Lily would be gone.

There must be another way. These ruffians had to sleep. But since his last altercation with Madam Choi her fleet had quadrupled. They no longer raided alone. There was always a vast flotilla surrounding her. He must buy time. His Majesty was sending his entire fleet to crush the pirates, and before they arrived, his reputation must be restored. Already word was out that the White Tiger had met his match. Never! He would never lose to a pirate, no less a female pirate.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The Rift and the Sinkhole

Po quietly poled the raft between Madam Choi’s junk and the red-banded hull of Mo Kuan-fu. The sea sloshed over the bamboo logs, wetting his feet. He fastened a rope to the ladder running down from the deck, and clawed his way up from his raft. The knife between his teeth glinted in the moonlight. A haze surrounded the pale sphere of the moon, a thin funnel cloud dividing it into two. Po stuffed the knife into his boot. He wasn’t going to need it and looked down to see how much of a trail he was leaving. Faint toe and heel prints darkened the wooden planks. The wind blew softly and it was only a matter of seconds before the evidence vanished. Po continued his trek. He knew the Pirate King’s habits. The sloth was occupied with a woman after having stuffed himself with noodles and fried fish, and drunk himself stupid. Mo Kuan-fu would not be a hindrance tonight. The problem was: where to find Li?

Po suddenly caught sight of her. She was gambling with the best of them, seated on a crate in a circle of crates, and winning her share. A fight erupted between two drunkards, each accusing the other of cheating. Now was the time to attract her attention. Po slipped around behind the duelling twosome and nudged Li in the shoulder blade. She jerked up, her hands like cleavers ready to chop her assailant in half.

“It’s me,” he whispered from the shadows. “Don’t draw attention this way!”

Li gasped, let her hands fall, glanced at the skirmish on deck that had now become an out and out brawl, capturing the attention of the entire crew. One of the brawlers grabbed the other by the throat and threatened to rip out his voice. Li gestured to Po to come around behind the bulkhead of the captain’s cabin before she asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to ask you the same question. Admiral Fong is fit to explode. Why haven’t you come back?”

“I was recognized. I took advantage of the opportunity to make a deal.”

“The Pirate King’s word is as good as a serpent’s. He’ll sell you out.”

Li opened her mouth to object and Po shushed her by declaring, “Any bargain you made with him is worthless. Don’t bother to explain. I know what bargain you made. He will take you to the Forbidden City, but not to find your son. He will sell you to the Emperor for an evil price.”

“I know that,” Li said. “But at least I’ll be there.”

“And what about your husband? He’ll have your head if the Emperor doesn’t slice it off first.”

“That’s a chance I’ll have to take. I must find Wu … Oh, don’t give me that face, Po. Baby Lao is safe on board his father’s warship. Wu is
not
safe. I must find him.”

A sound came from inside the captain’s cabin. “Come, it’s not safe here. I have to get you off this junk before Mo Kuan-fu demands to know why you’ve come slinking aboard at night like a thief.”

Li escorted Po across the deck, keeping to the shadows until they reached the side where he had boarded. They tripped over something soft, a body, and Li shook her head in contempt. Not only did Mo Kuan-fu violate his own rules about keeping faithful to his wife, but his crew saw all life as expendable. She sank to her knees to examine the corpse’s face in the twilight and recognized it as one of the brawling crewmembers. Po touched the prone man’s throat and noted that he was quite, irretrievably, dead. The rest of the crew had returned to the lantern-lit center deck, gone back to their drinking and gambling. The body would be disposed of in the morning when the pirates were sober.

Po descended the ladder, whispering up to Li, “What message have you for Ma-ma?”

“No message. Except to flee Fong’s side before the Emperor’s fleet arrives to incarcerate you all.”

%%%

Quan shouted at the top of his lungs, waving a frantic hand as he barged his way through a throng of horses and men readying for battle just inside the gates of the Forbidden City. He stopped in front of the military governor, swung his leg off his horse and dropped to the ground with a clatter of boots. “Altan is right behind me. It is only a matter of days before he gallops through the Juyong pass and takes the capital!”

Zheng Min thrust his head up from attending his horse. “Then what are you doing here? You should be holding him at Datong. Can’t you see I have my hands full trying to muster reinforcements to drive Zi Shicheng and his rebels back from the northeast gates? He has joined forces with the Manchus and they are determined to breach the eastern wall.”

Quan forced the tense muscles in his face to relax. “Where is His Majesty? Why isn’t he out rallying the people himself?”

“He has called on the armies of Esen to help.”

“What!”

“They’ve sealed a bargain: Esen’s armies for the destruction of his brother and his forces. It will weaken the Mongol front. A house divided—”

Quan saw the logic instantly, but could they trust him? “Where is he?”

Zheng Min buckled his horse’s saddle straps, yanked down his helmet and swung a leg over his mount without replying. Quan followed suit. There was no time to argue. If Esen could be taken at his word he would show up at the battlefield. If not ... well, did Esen still have the power to recruit an army? And even if he did, how could he convince his warriors to destroy their own people? No, Quan would not gamble on the Mongol. He would rather bet on the courage of his own countrymen. The ragtag troops Zheng Min had managed to amass numbered in the tens of thousands, but would that be enough? He doubted it. He had seen the black tide of horsemen under Altan’s command.

The
clip-clop
of hooves followed his lead. Out through the gates of the Forbidden City, they trotted into the deserted city accompanied by the rattle of drumrolls. Although the terrified citizens hid in their homes, Imperial protocol required the army announce their presence as they marched through the streets of Beijing. Quan had no choice but to submit to the convention. Once out in the bleak countryside, they abandoned all ceremony and raced to the hills, drums silent, and sped onward to the Dragon Wall that stretched across the horizon—a monument to Chinese supremacy—which was now more symbol than obstacle.

They navigated the pass with its dungeon-like battlements, capped with winged eaves overlooking the ragged coast of the Yellow Sea and the northern range. Scattering through the gate on the north side, Zheng Min’s army came to a halt and assembled on the broad plain flanked by the illustrious mountain chain. In the distance Quan heard the clash of steel as the Manchus and the Chinese rebels ploughed through Ming soldiers.

Zheng Min stared in helpless disbelief as the idea of imminent defeat swamped him. “There is no hope. We are doomed.”

“There is always hope,” Quan retorted. “Steel yourself, man. Your men are watching.”

Fifty thousand pairs of eyes waited nervously at attention while half that number of horses shuffled restlessly. Zheng Min’s horse paced back and forth snorting puffs of frosty air, then rearing in protest, it whinnied and he reined it in. “You call these men?” he sneered. “They are farmers, labourers, merchants. Some of them are merely boys. They are not soldiers. A fortnight’s training is not enough. They will fall dead from fear before an arrow ever pierces their hearts.”

“Shut up,” Quan said, and spat the acrid taste of dust from his mouth. “You are Military Governor, the top ranking officer of the Imperial Army. Act like it!”

Zheng Min scowled. “I am getting sick of you throwing your weight around, barking out orders. You want my job; I know it! You have been plotting it from the day you convinced His Majesty to build this infernal wall.”

“Grapple your senses,” Quan ordered, “before they take you to oblivion.”

“Who are you to speak to me like that? Ever since you got your promotion you’ve been contradicting me in front of my men. I say we retreat. Blockade the walls of the city and, if worse comes to worse, seek sanctuary within the palace walls. We can fight them off from there.”

“If we retreat, we are lost,” Quan said.

“Then maybe it’s time we realize that we cannot win this war. The prophesy of the Black Warrior of the North is true. He is a Manchu!”

“NO. We fight.” Quan turned his back to the military governor, skimmed an eye over the dishevelled lines of Ming forces and shouted, “Charge!”

The ragtag army flung themselves, crossbows taut, into the fray. The Manchus were crack marksmen; they had swiftness and accuracy on their side. The untrained soldiers of the Ming army rode into a stream of arrows like sitting ducks. Overhead, and from the opposite side, the buzz of ten thousand projectiles flew into the midst of the battling warriors. Quan wheeled his horse at the exact moment as Zheng Min who had stayed behind. They exchanged startled looks and, although they failed to see each other’s eyes because of the distance, they knew the others’ thought. Quan gaped at the rampaging Mongols who flew past him and flung themselves, C-bows strung, against the Manchus. Were these Esen’s men? He darted a frantic glance around but failed to locate the aging warlord.

A Manchu arrow pierced a Mongol horseman. So it was true. There was no love between them. No alliance. The Manchus had severed their Mongol ties and fought as a separate people. The battle was chaotic. Quan drew back uncertain as to who was fighting whom. He only knew that when the Ming fell—no matter where Esen’s loyalties lay—the Mongols and the Manchus would battle it out to see who would gain the throne.

Quan had fought the Mongol invaders his entire military career. He refused to stand helplessly by while they claimed the Chinese throne. He wheeled his horse until he spotted the warlord Altan perched on his steppe horse, a fist in the air fitted with a falconer’s glove. The golden fox pranced at his feet and before his eyes she transformed into the beautiful, dark-haired Jasmine.

“Not yet, barbarian!” Quan shouted. “The day is not taken!”

He lunged, his knees gripping his horse’s flanks, his hands tight on his crossbow. He crossed the plain in a hare’s breath, sweeping past Zheng Min, leaving him in dust. Behind, he heard the shuffle of horses hooves as an animal wheeled to follow. Was it Zheng Min?
Have you finally found your balls and are riding to my aid?

An arrow bolt whistled past his ear just missing his back. Quan cranked his head sideways to get a look behind, and to spear the gutless Mongol. No Mongol was nearby. The barbarians had bypassed the Imperial Army, intending to take them out after destroying the Manchu threat. The only man within bow distance was Zheng Min, and he was aiming his crossbow at Quan’s head. With sudden comprehension, Quan turned his horse.
The first projectile was intentional, meant to kill!
He reared his mount and took aim at Zheng Min’s heart. He was about to let fly his arrow when a maelstrom of gold raced past him, whirling in ever decreasing circles.

In his confusion, Quan saw Zheng Min pause as the golden fox circled his horse as well. Faster and faster she flew in a dizzying figure eight, encompassing them both. Dust flew from her feet, her body transfigured into a red-gold projectile of soaring fur until a groundswell churned the earth into a gyro of spinning dirt. Zheng Min disappeared. The last thing Quan saw before his eyes blacked out was a shimmering tear in the atmosphere—that engulfed him.

%%%

“Where did they go?” Altan rode up to the fox as she cantered to a halt and blinked his eyes, but the two Ming champions were gone.

She stared into the settling dust filled with the pleasure and awe of her own power. Her long black hair flowed across her naked breasts as she resumed her human form, her snowy white gown flowing from her waist to the ground. She waved a hand in indifference and her sleeve flapped from her shoulder in the wind. “Where did they go?”

“Yes, woman. Where did they go?”

“I am not a woman. Don’t call me one.”

The veins in Altan’s neck stood out like purple worms and his throat bobbed slightly. He narrowed his eyes before softening his look just a mote.

“I’ll tell you where they went. One to the shadowland of Peng Lai and one to the Magpie Bridge called
Que Qiao
.”

“Are they dead?”

“No, they are merely imprisoned for a time.” Jasmine flashed her eyes at him, her annoyance abating, and blinked her lashes teasingly, lips curling into an impish smile. “They are gone, all right. But which went where?”

“Why did you do that? You should have let them kill each other. Then I could have taken the throne.”

“With that at your gate? I don’t think so.” Jasmine flung her hand in the direction of the frantic battle, and then looked sceptically at Altan. “Zi Shicheng has the Manchu army behind him. And rumours tell of Esen’s return and he means to wipe you out. The Emperor has recruited him and he might just have enough clout to command a following. No, My Lord Warrior, Military Governor Zheng Min and Brigade General Chi Quan cannot die just yet; we still need them. When they’ve cooled down a bit, I’ll return them to their posts.”

The dust had settled completely. She drew in lusty swallows of the cold, crisp air. There was no evidence of what had transpired. The battle on the plain continued and the Ming soldiers fell one by one.