The Pirate Empress (54 page)

The soldier nodded feebly. “Zi Shicheng,” he croaked.

That goes without saying,
Quan thought. But the man shook his head. “No, no. It’s not what you think.”

Quan tapped his hand. “How many?”

“Didn’t you see them on the road?” The man swallowed and shut his eyes.

Quan inspected the soldier’s uniform; he was an officer, a lieutenant. “Where are the others?” he asked. There were not enough bodies to account for a wholesale slaughter of the garrison. Only a quarter of the men who should have been present were among the scattered corpses. The officer sputtered.

“Speak, man!” But the man had no breath left. Exactly how long he had been in this condition was difficult to say. The soldier himself seemed not to know. Quan shook him but to no effect. He wanted to slap him to revive him, but what good would that do if he was dead? Quan sighed and left Huang with the man, and rose. He paced the garrison examining the dead soldiers. Most of them wore officer’s uniforms. Where were the rank and file? He turned to face Huang who had followed him.

“I got the dying soldier to speak a few more words,” the captain said. “This attack took place a week ago. But it wasn’t Zi Shicheng who left these bodies.”

Quan hesitated, and then said, “Not the Manchus?”

Captain Huang shook his head.

“Altan then,” he said, almost hopefully.

“Altan has not been seen or heard of in weeks. The rumour is that you made a pact with him. He awaits word of his daughter.”

So, there was only one possible explanation for this fiasco. Quan gulped, his throat dry, and turned from the captain, his worst fears realized. Days earlier, Changping’s unpaid garrison had mutinied. After weeks, maybe months of neglect, they had turned traitor and killed their own people. Those remaining had assigned new commanders and simply allowed the rebel forces to pass through. That was why there were no watchmen at the Juyong pass. Quan ordered the men to remount and march back to the palace. If what he had surmised was true, His Majesty was in danger.

“Is there another way inside the palace, Brigade General?” Huang asked sprightly. It was clear he had come to the same conclusion as Quan, and refused to allow the bad news to darken his spirits. If he remained stouthearted, so would his men. “We must sneak inside and rescue His Majesty. Zi Shicheng may think he is stealing the throne for himself, but his Manchu allies will not worship him as their leader. They will depose him before ever he plants his traitorous ass on the throne.”

“Is the palace well guarded?” Quan asked.

“Exceedingly well, but I fear the rebels and their barbarian allies are banging at Anding Gate as we speak.”

“Then we will not enter that way. We will seek another path inside. Fly to the capital, Captain. And take this ragtag army with you. I will meet you there.”

“Where are you going, Brigade General? We need you. The men will fight for
you
.”

“Don’t worry. I will be there. But we need reinforcements. Go!”

Huang set his horse to fly like a wolf of the steppe while Quan turned his own steed north and leaped the battered walls of Changping. The warlord no longer had a bargaining piece. If he wanted his daughter back, he would have to fight for the Emperor.

%%%

Quan raced like the wind, but the wind could not even begin to catch up with him. He traversed the ragged steppe, sending dust clouds boiling behind him. Altan’s encampment was not far. It was unlike the warlord to let a competitor take the prize. What was his game? Or did he really not know how close Zi Shicheng was to planting his seat on the throne? After all those years of war, was Altan really going to let the Chinese rebel and his Manchu allies rule the Middle Kingdom? In the distance a horseman was racing toward him. Was he a Mongol scout? No. The clothing was too loose, a long grey robe flying out like crow’s wings.

They met on the grassy plain and stared at one another. “What brings you this way?” Master Yun demanded, reining in his horse and causing Xingbar to stamp his feet.

Quan remained mounted and so did Master Yun. They both required haste and this digression must be speedy. “I am looking for Altan’s help.”

“The warlord won’t help you,” Master Yun answered.

“He might. He’s our best hope. Zi Shicheng pounds on Anding Gate.”

“Then what are you doing here? Come, His Majesty needs us!”

“But we need an army a million strong. Only Altan can provide us with that.”

“What makes you think he will help you? He has no love for the Chinese Emperor.”

“But apparently he loves his daughter. We have his daughter, don’t we? I was told that you and He Zhu have both children safe. He cannot hold Wu as hostage if he doesn’t have him. But I can hold Peng until he complies.”

Xingbar shuffled restlessly as Master Yun shook his head. “No, that won’t do. She is not his and if he learns the truth, his vengeance will be molten.”

“But Altan himself told me she was his daughter.”

Master Yun smiled grimly. “Peng’s father is not a Mongol. Only Jasmine knows for certain his identity. Time is running out. I must find the fox faerie. You on the other hand must hurry to the Forbidden City and keep His Majesty from taking drastic measures. He will see no other way out. He must save face.” Master Yun reached across his horse and seized Quan by the shoulder. “Do not argue with me this time, Chi Quan. I know the Emperor. I have seen his fate in the Moonstone. I have looked into the night sky and seen the Pole Star fall. I need no other sign. The future is not fixed if we act now. Only
you
can stop him.
My
voice is poison to him. Now I must find Jasmine and Dahlia before they bring us all to our doom.”

The screeching of birds overhead stopped both in their tracks. Simultaneously, they raised their eyes and saw the green-headed desert vultures circling the southeast sky. Quan shot a glance at Master Yun who shouted, “Hurry! To the citadel before all is lost!”

Neck to neck, the horses galloped across the plain, kicking loess into steaming pillows of dust. When they arrived at the fringes of the city, a frightened farmer warned that Zi Shicheng’s armed sentinels guarded every gate. They left their horses at the crossroad by the black-roofed farmhouse, went quietly on foot, skirting the posted rebel sentries until they reached the walls of the Forbidden City. Master Yun leaped into a nearby cypress tree. Quan climbed up beside him and they gazed in horror at what lay before them. Tens of thousands of soldiers filled the city streets leading up to the palace walls. Thousands more, in battle formation, flooded the public square like cockroaches outside Anding Gate.

Master Yun silently floated down, and stood in the shadow of the cypress almost invisible. Quan climbed down a little less gracefully, but equally silent. He stood with his back to the tree, his drab battle tunic blending in with the drabness of the bole.

“The citadel is surrounded. We will be seen if we try to scale the wall,” Quan said.

He eyed Master Yun solemnly. “You are a warlock. Surely you have some magical way of entering the palace without detection?”

“I do,” Master Yun said. “Can you find a way inside on your own if I create a distraction?”

“Absolutely.” Once inside the inner walls, if he could manage to reach the palace unseen, he could enter through the dungeon passageways.

“See you inside then.” Master Yun stepped into the sunshine, leaped into the air like a giant crow and flew to the Imperial roof. All eyes shot up at the giant bird-like creature, and Brigade General Chi Quan scaled the wall unnoticed. He flung himself over the other side and crabbed his way to the rear entrance of the dungeons. Meanwhile Master Yun slipped under the eaves of the top tier of the palace, and entered through a fresh air vent in the roof.

%%%

The gathered ministers gaped in shock. Tongtian, Heaven’s Pass, paced the stone floor in front of his throne. “My last hope has failed.  Brigade General Chi Quan has lost the Juyong pass. The end is here. Commit suicide as you like.”

There was a mumbling among the ministers, none of them knew what to say. The Emperor dismissed them. The more cowardly scurried off, mortified, and Zheng Min entered unannounced.

“I did not ask for you,” the Emperor said.

“No. But I’ve come to tell you that you yet have a chance. Zi Shicheng has made his demands. He won’t kill you if you meet these demands.”

“I told you before, I will not speak to the traitor.”

“But Majesty, be reasonable. Listen to what he has to say.”

“What? What could the treasonous son-of-a-goat possibly say? He wants the throne!”

Zheng Min shook his head. “I have spoken with him. He wants one million ounces of silver and a private kingdom in the northwest. For that, he will defeat the other rebel groups and betray the Manchus.”

“No,” the Emperor shouted. “Never. I will not go down in history as Tongtian, the Emperor, who capitulated to rebels!” He turned in fury and kicked over his throne.

Zheng Min gawked, then shrugged.

“What are you gaping at? Send in my eunuch. I want wine. Now!”

Zheng Min complied, and the eunuch brought in a medley of the court’s finest, which the Emperor drank until he felt little more than empty.

“Do you wish food, Majesty?” the eunuch asked, bowing.

“No. No food. Go away.”

He polished off another jar of wine and stumbled to the concubine’s quarters, lifted the silk curtain partitioning their bedchamber and demanded they approach him. One of them started forward, then clutched her satin dress to herself, sniffed, and said, “Majesty, are you drunk?”

“What does it matter if I am? Come here. I require your attention.”

The young woman dropped the fluffy little dog she had been cuddling onto the bed. The Shih Tzu leaped off the coverlet and pranced up to the Emperor who kicked it away with a satin-slippered foot, and the dog went yelping to hide under the bed. Originally, he’d had nine concubines. He had always had nine for good luck. But after Lotus Lily ran away and Jasmine disappeared, there were only seven. Seven was bad luck.

He withdrew a knife that was hidden beneath his satin robes. “The end is here,” he said. “Do the right thing.”

“Please, Majesty,” the young woman begged.

“It pleases me to see you do the right thing. I will not leave you to be the consorts of traitors.”

The girl hesitated, stared up at him with large plum-like eyes. She was Number Two Concubine, one of his favourites, and he refused to leave her behind to be tarnished by the rebel brutes. Her ivory skin glowed with youth and beauty against the magpie black of her hair. A silky tear formed along the rims of each of her kohl-lined eyes and spilled down her rouged cheeks, splashing the pale satin dress she wore.

She bowed, took the knife and stabbed herself in the chest. Number Four Concubine screamed. The Emperor seized her by the arm and grabbed the knife out of Number Two Concubine’s heart to threaten her. He was pissing drunk and had no idea what he was doing. She struggled and he swung, slicing off her left arm. She fell to the floor in a dead faint, blood pulsing out of the wound. When the Emperor saw what he had done, he clapped his hands to his face, dropped the knife and turned in anguish. Instantly sober, he ran out of the room, followed by the panicked screams of his surviving concubines and the howling of their dogs.

“Death has come to us all,” he moaned, and ran through the stone halls down the immaculate passageways until he entered his bedchamber. He removed his Imperial robes and stood helpless and naked in the middle of the floor. Nothing less than royal would do now. He dressed in a blue silk tunic and red trousers; took a slim strip of bamboo and dipped his quill pen into the inkstone and quickly scribbled. Then he placed the bamboo strip inside his sash.

He looked out the window, but all was chaos beyond his private courtyards. No way out if he took that path. He circled his room until he came to a secret door behind a silk tapestry. This door led underground, behind the palace, to a very private pleasure garden. He staggered past the twisted trees and rocks of the terrace, where the first shadows of night were beginning to fall. It led to another secret gate, which marked the path to Coal Hill.

Atop this manmade mound he could see the palaces and temples of the capital with its maze of grey-bricked alleyways sprawling between the Forbidden City, the blue-tiled roof of the Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests, and the circular structure of the Temple of Heaven, south of the city walls that peaked like a mountain out of the parkland. Below him, the citizens panicked and the rebel army clanged their weapons as they awaited the word of the Emperor.

The Emperor had spoken. What was Zheng Min waiting for?

The red wheel of the sun sank below the Black Mountains. He turned from admiring his magnificent city, and entered the red pavilion that stood on the crest of the hill. As the light faded he removed the sash from his waist, climbed the spiral staircase to the platform at the top of the tower, and looked outside the window that was at his eye level. The sky turned black. Stars sparkled. The bright celestial orb to which he, Tongtian, Emperor of the Ming dynasty, had aligned himself was gone.

%%%

Master Yun, who had seen all measure of despicable things, gagged at the sight of the seven dead girls splayed among the silk and satin cushions of their beds. Seven young Shih Tzus whimpered, sniffing at the blood, at once attracted and repelled by their mistresses’ deaths. His heart rattled like the armour of the invading soldiers outside the palace walls. He flitted in and out of the audience halls checking each shady movement. He listened, then entered the throne room, saw a dark shadow move. Someone was standing in the faint light, staring at the throne, which was lying on its side, cracked down the spine.