Taming Poison Dragons Read Free Page A

out their hands as they run. They do not even bother to draw their weapons. And that is what saves me.
    For round a bend in the path I collide with Wudi and his sons. They clutch me as I slip in the mire, crying out fearfully. We fall silent. The deserters have stopped in confusion, a few paces away. They are outnumbered, and by burly, well-fed men. For a long moment both sides weigh their chances. It is fortunate Wudi’s sons brought their staves; and the path is narrow, a bad place for swords.
    The leader drags back one of his companions and runs for it. The other joins their flight. For a while we see reed heads waving, hear frantic crashing. They are gone. The lakeside resumes its calm.
    All afternoon I wait anxiously for P’ei Ti, but the Western Highway remains empty. Not a single traveller passes, which is unusual even in the coldest weeks of winter. We see nothing more of the deserters. The way from Chunming is blocked. No one may reach through.
    It is as though P’ei Ti has been swallowed whole. I withdraw to my room and read sheaves of poems we composed together during a hundred drinking parties, jousting with brush and ink. In this, at least, I was always victor. His faded calligraphy summons the man himself, the older brother I never had.
    I read the letter announcing his visit to Wei until I know it by heart. There is no indication of his chosen route, except that he meant to travel through Chunming. That is bad enough. Worse are rumours of more fighting, a reverse for General An-Shu, who has retreated to Chunming so he may gather his forces.
    I try to recall what I know of this General An-Shu. By repute, he is not a man for tepid measures. In Hunan Province he earned the title ‘Butcher’ An-Shu. Certainly, burying a thousand rebels alive might be viewed as an excessive punishment. And now, for all his previous zeal in the Emperor’s cause, he has turned traitor. His soldiers are said to be the most disciplined in the army; such discipline stems from harsh inducements.
    Where P’ei Ti might hide in such disorder, I dare not think. One thing is certain: the Son of Heaven’s Second Chancellor would make a plump prize for General An-Shu, for he is familiar with His Majesty’s most intimate affairs – and weaknesses. A shrewd rebel might make much of such knowledge.
    Eldest Son comes to my room. He looks graver than usual, an achievement for him.
    ‘Father, I have just returned from the village,’ he says.
    ‘Horsemen rode through this afternoon on the way to Hsia Pass. They looked like messengers.’
    ‘Did they stop?’
    ‘No, they rode in haste.’
    ‘That is a pity. Did they wear the colours of General An-Shu?’
    At that name, my son hesitates. His round face crinkles into an anxious frown. I know he wishes to mention Youngest Son. Inseparable as boys, he could never be angry with Little Brother, even after his disgrace. Now the troubled times offer a chance to relent. I could bend like the willows outside, but I have made my wishes plain.
    ‘These are bad days,’ I say.
    He looks at me resentfully.
    ‘What should we do?’ he asks. ‘Sit and wait like fattening pigs? More and more deserters have joined the bandits higher up the valley.’
    ‘What would you have us do?’
    ‘I do not know, Father,’ he says. ‘The whole family is afraid. My wife, the maids. . . They say soldiers looted Fouchow Village and dishonoured the headman’s daughters. That is only thirty li away.’
    Wudi won’t like that last piece of news. Everyone with a position hopes it will protect them.
    ‘A mountain lies between us and Fouchow,’ I reply.
    He nods and leaves. I am left helpless. It is no pleasant thing to disappoint your son. What does he expect of me?
    Am I some prince with an army to defend Wei Valley? It is written that the First Emperor buried a hundred thousand clay warriors in his tomb to fight again in the Immortal Land. I possess a few dozen earthenware storage jars to preserve us.

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