Taming Poison Dragons Read Free Page B

rise at cockcrow, tired of itchy blankets. The servants are confused to see me about the kitchens so early. They bow and call out, ‘Long live the lord!’
    ‘Lord Yun Cai will protect us always!’ declares the cook, no doubt intending to flatter. Perhaps he means to mock. By the look of him, half the food intended for my family reaches his belly.
    His comment reveals the servants’ fear. Rumours of Fouchow Village obsess them. Two hundred years ago, Wei itself was burnt by rebels and people round here forget nothing. One may still see the blackened foundation stones supporting many houses in the village.
    ‘Continue as usual,’ I say. ‘All will be well.’
    ‘What of Fouchow, Lord!’ a few cry.
    ‘A swarm of mosquitoes can sound like thunder,’ I reply.
    This old proverb seems to reassure them. Nervous smiles cross many faces. Now they have brave words to trade among themselves, courtesy of authority. I turn to find my son watching, his mother’s look of approval on his face. But then, she is another of whom I do not think.
    I withdraw to my room and find my youngest grandson, Little Sparrow, weeping in the corridor. For a moment I recall another child, her vanished tears, jade drops of sadness. At first Little Sparrow will not explain his upset, then the words rush out: ‘Middle Brother won’t give me my wooden ball back! He says it’s his because I lost it!’
    Here is the philosophy of General An-Shu. I lay my hand on his head.
    ‘You’ll get your ball back,’ I say. ‘Now go and play.’
    He dries his eyes and scampers away, passing from grief to elation in a moment. Not so my own feelings as I sit in my room, listening to the wind outside.
    Headman Wudi arrives and we share a flask. This is a great condescension on my part.
    ‘Lord Yun Cai,’ he says, laying his hands across his Buddha’s pot-belly. ‘I beg to report knowledge you already possess.’
    Meaning he knows something I don’t.
    ‘You are anxious concerning a high official, called P’ei Ti?’ he asks, cautiously.
    ‘Go on.’
    ‘My wife’s uncle is a fishmonger in Chunming,’ he says.
    ‘He has fled the town because of General An-Shu’s rebellion. It seems the rebels expect their trout for free. He heard a rumour that a great official, called P’ei Ti, has been captured.’
    I cry out, cannot stifle it. He waits silently.
    ‘Is this true?’ I ask, at last.
    ‘It’s what I heard.’
    I lower my head. I know my faithful, honest P’ei Ti too well to doubt his loyalty to the Son of Heaven, and the reward he must reap for it.
    Wudi hesitates.
    ‘Are you angry with me, Lord?’
    ‘No, no. . . You see, P’ei Ti meant to visit me. I am his host. And he is my dearest friend.’
    He is uncomfortable at such frankness. From me, at least.
    When he has gone I weep unashamedly. Only a brute would not understand my tears. It is hard for old men to cry, though they have more reason than the young.
    All day I stare blankly at the wall. Eldest Son and Daughter- in-law flutter round me like helpless moths, attracted not to a lamp, but to my darkness. They have heard Wudi’s news. Their anxiety is for themselves more than P’ei Ti, who is just a name to them. What if he tells General An-Shu of his destination in the hills? What if the General suspects our family of loyalty to the Emperor?
    What if he decides to make an example of us?
    These fears trouble me, too. Mostly I try to convince myself P’ei Ti is still alive, a prisoner or honoured hostage.
    That he has escaped or persuaded General An-Shu to send him back to the capital with a message for His Majesty.
    Anything except the executioner’s silken cord. His body flung into a ditch beneath the ramparts of dismal Chunming.
    Fresh rumours have reached the village. The General is conscripting all men under forty for his depleted army.
    Any day now I expect soldiers and officials to arrive in Wei, seizing conscripts and animals, anything of value which might aid his cause. But the