The Pirate Empress

by Deborah Cannon

The boy shook his head.

  “You mustn’t tell His Majesty any of these things,” he warned.

  “Why not? My mother is his daughter. She told me I am the Emperor’s grandson.”

  The little fellow was smart for one so young. “You must keep it secret because he wants your mother dead. He will have your father killed if he knows of your existence. Your parents betrayed the Empire, and their punishment is death. What was your name again, boy?”

  The boy’s eyes grew as round as water chestnuts. “Wu, sir.”

  “Do you promise me, Wu? That you will keep this between us? I promise to protect you.”

  Wu stared at him, uncertain. That uncertainty told Zheng Min that although the boy spoke like an adult, he was only a child. Wu nodded.

  “Good. Now, come with me. You must earn your keep and His Majesty’s respect by keeping this secret and showing him how the Tiger’s Eye works.”

  They passed through the twin yellow pillars and their guardians, the stone Lion Dog statues, and knelt before their sovereign. The warlord touched his forehead to the floor, then raised it and waited for permission to speak. The Emperor gave it, and the Mongol removed the ring from around his neck by unlooping the string. He kept it clasped in his hands. “First, Your Majesty, I need your word that you will pay me my ransom for this gemstone and the boy.”

  “Impudent savage. What do I want with your Mongol boy?” the Emperor asked.

  Before he could answer, Zheng Min silenced Esen with a look. The military governor said, “The boy is of value because it is only for him that the stone speaks.”

  Esen’s mouth dropped open; he was shot another sharp look. Later, Zheng Min’s eyes warned. The boy’s identity is worth more to me than it could ever be to this old king. The warlord scrunched his eyes in suspicion; the exchange between them went unnoticed—His Majesty was fixated on the Tiger’s Eye.

  Wu looked to Zheng Min, and he asked the warlord to give the boy the gemstone. The boy held the ring in his fist then uncurled his hand. All eyes dropped to the Tiger’s Eye, but Zheng Min’s own suspicious mind noticed the black marks on the small boy’s palm. A tattoo? What could it mean? He wasted only a few seconds pondering it before the gemstone swirled and curdled in the boy’s hand. An image surfaced from the stone. A soldier in tattered uniform with the torn armband of yellow triangle and green dragon dragged in the wind; and beside him, seated by a fire, a general of great daring, in Manchu raiment, slurped liquor from a skin bladder. They shared hot steamed buns and passed the bladder from one to the other while smoke smouldered from their fire, obscuring the face of the rebel. Laughter cackled between them. The general reached for the rebel’s arm and ripped the remaining flap of armband, sending it fish-tailing into the dark. And the rebel threw back his head and roared.

  %%%

  A young captain stood before Quan recounting the grievances of the watchmen. He had unanswered requisitions and letters on ragged scraps of parchment; they didn’t even rate the official status of bamboo scrolls. “There is no rigid timetable for border service, no set schedule upon which guardsmen can anticipate. Look here. Names. Ranks. Time served. Four months, three months, ten days, nineteen months. How can these soldiers’ families survive when they don’t know if or when their fathers and sons will come home? Some have been here for years. They are entitled to Leave.”

  Service on the frontier was torture. But it was not in his hands to change it. The Mongols were nipping at their heels. With every fort they took that the Chinese reclaimed, the Mongols succeeded to another. They were wearing down the Imperial troops, like a river eroding its banks. Brigade General Chi Quan could not keep up with the demands of his men.

  “This is war, Captain,” Quan said. “We have work to do. The walls between Ganzhou and Lanzhou have been torn down to shoulder height. Our archers can only hold them back for so long. The barbarians will breach those ramparts if we don’t do something fast.”

  The captain bowed and returned to his unit while Quan stared at the mess around him. If only Zhu were here by his side. He could use his help, his trusty sword arm, and most of all he could use the sight of the Tiger’s Eye.

  Where would the enemy hit next? His troops were ever shrinking as he deployed them to outposts along the border wall. What were the Mongols plotting? Divide and conquer?

  Altan was a clever strategist, smarter than his brother. Esen never strategized, and merely drove his horses and bowmen headfirst to plough down his adversaries. But when hit came to crunch, Esen preferred to barter than fight. He would rather kowtow to the Emperor to receive gifts of silver and silk than clash swords for them. Altan on the other hand was taking advantage of the turmoil that was tearing the Middle Kingdom apart. Already there was talk of men deserting the outposts, trading with the barbarians for dried squirrel meat and a wolf’s pelt. Quan could not be everywhere at once. Where the devil was Master Yun?

  The old warlock was not here to advise him. He Zhu was not present to lend his crossbow. Quan decided that failing the help of the Tiger’s Eye he would risk contacting the yebushou. The yebushou were moles. They were slippery. They worked at night. They bolstered the defensive work on the wall, making night-time sorties into enemy turf disguised as Mongols. Their job? To detect and sabotage planned raids and rebellions, even to the point of turning assassin. Unfortunately, many failed to return, content to remain on the winning side.

  Quan walked several paces down the border wall to a place that was quiet and unmanned, threw off his fur hood to reveal his red-tasselled helmet and put two fingers in his mouth to whistle. The Mongol camp was below the rise; the wind was with him, carrying the sound. He listened, then took a bone flute from his furs and piped a haunting, not quite Mongol tune.

  He played for five minutes and waited. Then he blasted three short spurts.

  Fifteen minutes later a sound scrabbled at his feet, and Quan dropped below the rampart to admit the mole through a tunnel built into the rock. The yebushou was called Ma Low. He shook off a few flakes of snow from his fur cap, and lowered it to reveal his grim face.

  “What news?” Quan demanded. “Where will the Mongols hit next?”

  “Datong. In eleven days time.”

  “We can never get to Datong in time to warn the sentry there.”

  The mole shrugged. “I will do what I can to detain them.”

  “How many ride?”

  “Too many. Many thousands.”

  Quan swallowed. He must send His Majesty word that he needed more soldiers.

  %%%

  The Emperor snatched the gemstone from Wu, and the vision vanished. “Bring it back,” he demanded, and shook the ring, shoved it onto his finger and commanded it to reveal its secrets. Nothing happened. He tore it off his finger and threw it at Esen. “Make it work.”

  “Only the boy can open its eye,” the warlord said.

  “Then slice the boy, finger by finger, until he makes it work.”

  Military Governor Zheng Min stole the boy’s frightened gaze. “Best do what His Majesty desires, else you will suffer at his hand.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  The Imperial yellow silk sleeves flapped at the boy. “What do you mean you don’t know how? We all witnessed your sorcery!”

  Zheng Min threw Wu a warning glare, and the boy’s sharp eyes jerked askance for a second, before he lowered them to the marble floor without speaking.

  “Show me the face of the rebel who plots the downfall of my throne!”

  The gemstone in Wu’s hand remained a hard yellow-brown, as inert as a frozen pond.

  “The boy is frightened, Your Majesty,” Zheng Min said. “He needs to rest and eat. Later, I am sure he will show you what you ask to see.”

  Wu was led away by a palace eunuch, and when Esen started to follow, the Emperor detained him. “You are an enemy of the Middle Kingdom. I order your removal from my court by beheading.”

  That got a rise from Esen who jerked up from his complacent mood. “I’ve
brought you a gift much more valuable than the Tiger’s Eye. Don’t you wish to know who that boy is? I have knowledge that you have been seeking for many years, news concerning your daughter Lotus Lily—news that may change the course of this war. If the people know that you have an heir—”

  “Warlord,” the military governor cut in. “What gibberish do you speak? We have searched the mountain and plain for her. We all know that Lotus Lily is dead.” His apprehension as he pushed his lies went undetected by His Majesty—but not by Esen.

  “She is not dead,” the warlord said. “Merely corrupted by pirates.”

  Zheng Min’s brows shot up and His Majesty’s mouth dropped open. “Who was her rescuer?”

  The effect the news triggered bolstered the Mongol’s bravado. “What guarantee do I have that you will not kill me after I give you the information you seek?”

  “None. Do you think a mere barbarian can dictate to me conditions? You raise your bow to me and you are already dead.” The Emperor sent his eyes to the sentries posted at various spots around the room. Fully armed, they raised crossbows, all aimed at Esen.

  “Only I know how to make the boy open the eye of the gemstone,” Esen said.

  Was he telling the truth? Of one thing Zheng Min was certain, the barbarian had knowledge that might advance the military governor’s position. The boy was also a weapon that could be used against Brigade General Chi Quan—for the time would come when Quan must be removed from the picture.

  The Emperor exchanged concerned glances with Zheng Min, who bowed. “Your Majesty. You have far more important matters to attend to. I will deal with this barbarian. It is obvious that he has information that we need. I will torture him as I tortured the traitorous eunuch who defied you. I will get all of the information out of him. I promise.”

  “No!” Esen yelled, proving to all that he had degenerated into a coward after his long tenure away. The warlord kicked and thrashed as sentries seized him by the armpits and dragged him to the dungeons.

  “Do not trouble yourself with this trifle, Majesty,” Zheng Min said. “I will take care of it.” He bowed, and followed the prisoner out.

  The cold stone walls deflected the chill air back at him as he descended into the dark light of the dungeon. The click of heavy boots resounded on the stone floor. He ordered the guards to manacle the barbarian to the wall where he had once held Lotus Lily’s tutor, Tao. The snick and clank of metal clasps ensured Esen’s bondage, and he dismissed both of the guards.

  Fear gleamed in the Mongol’s black eyes.

  Cooperate or suffer torture. It was the warlord’s own choice.

  “Stop your snivelling, barbarian,” Zheng Min ordered. “If I didn’t know you in your heyday, I would think you were a woman. Get up. Stop slumping there like an ill-hung tapestry.”

  His wrists were shackled, but his feet were not, and the military governor stood just beyond kicking reach. Zheng Min picked up a length of chain and rolled it noisily on a stone table, feeling its weight. Not too heavy and not too light, just the right weight to tear the flesh and beat a man blue. Not heavy enough to crack bones. One smack with this would give him the Mongol’s undivided attention. Little blood would ensue, and most of the bleeding would occur under the skin. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

  “Now, I want the whole story,” he said crisply. “Where did you find the boy? How do you know his father is Brigade General, Chi Quan?”

  “Brigade General?” Esen echoed.

  The chain fell with a clatter to the stone table. “That’s right. You wouldn’t know about his latest promotion. You’ve been off in the bush on a wild goose chase… And, it seems, you have found the goose.” He paused for emphasis. “Tell me, where is Lotus Lily?”

  “I found her among the pirates off the coast of Fukien province.”

  All of the Emperor’s army and all of his men couldn’t find the slippery princess. But this savage of the steppe had. Zheng Min masked his disgust and resentment. He made his voice flat and noncommittal. “So, the strange warrior in ancient armour was Quan, and it was he that rescued her.”

  Esen shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Of that, I can’t be sure. I only know that Lotus Lily claims the boy is her son.”

  “And where there is a son, there is a sire. Of course, the father is Quan. The boy said so himself. Who else could it be?”

  “I saw four figures with her atop First Emperor’s tomb, but I was too far away to discern who they were. Only one was I certain of. And that was the warlock. I could see his grey robes billowing in the wind. I shot at him but killed another. If Quan lives, and is now Brigade General as you say, then the man I killed was not he.” The warlord rubbed his grimy chin on his shoulder, as he dug into his memory. “Who else went missing that day?”

  Zheng Min ravaged his own recollections of that day. Who else? He drummed his fingertips over the icy links of the chain lying on the stone table. Who else vanished without leave that day? Lieutenant He Zhu. Although the rescue was swift, the horseman who had swept Lotus Lily to safety must have been him. The rider was fast, a skilled swordsman, larger in build than most Ming soldiers, and he wore Imperial colours.

  Where had He Zhu been hiding himself all these years? Traitors, he thought—all of them. He had only to prove it. But all of the Middle Kingdom was in flux. Its borders were precarious, and now the Manchus had chosen the worst possible time to attack the crumbling walls of the Northeast. The worse case scenario was that the two barbarian empires would join forces, and if they won, who would rule? This must not happen. His Majesty was weak, unable to rally the peasants to fight. They would all rather run and hide, and wait for it to be over. And then, at the end of it, suffer the domination of their conqueror.

  Not acceptable.

  Zheng Min turned to the barbarian. “What is a piece of the Empire worth to you, warlord? Will you join the Ming against the Manchus? Will you fight against your own brother who has usurped you in your absence?”

  “The Manchus are no friends of mine,” Esen said.

  “And your brother? What of Altan? Are you content to go back to Mongolia, crawling on your hands and knees like a worm escaped from the crow’s beak, in the hopes that your brother will take you back and allow you to be one of his lieutenants?”

  Esen’s face reddened with rage, and he tried to slam a fist onto his thigh, but only succeeded in wrenching his wrist in the manacle, and wincing in pain. “I serve under no one. The Mongol empire is mine!”

  “No more, barbarian. Altan has the loyalty of your warriors. Has that magic gemstone not shown you the truth?”

  By the slump in his cheeks and the fire in his eyes, the military governor knew the warlord was fully aware of his nonexistent status. “Altan wreaks havoc on the Northwestern frontier. He tears the walls down as quickly as we repair them. His men fall to the Ming only to rise again as if by magic. And magic, I think, is involved. Where is the lady Jasmine?” Although Zheng Min hated to admit it, even to himself, he had no doubt that the fox faerie had deserted His Majesty and taken up with Altan. “Your brother has the magic of Huli Jing on his side. And as far as they are concerned, you are dead.”

  “I am not dead!”

  “Then fight with us. Even though Altan has mesmerized hundreds of thousands to his side, surely you can win back the faithful. That creature you ride—Fenghuang, the Chinese Phoenix—is a mount fit for an emperor. And yet, only you control her. Why is that, Esen? You have brought us many weapons, weapons of great power. But I will take them away from you if you do not comply with my design. We will find a way to use these weapons even without you. So what do you say? With your army, and the might of the Ming, we will crush the encroaching Manchus who menace the defenses around Beijing. When the capital is secure once more, the Imperial Army will help you defeat your brother and take back your horde. In addition, I promise you land in the north and luxuries beyond your most avaricious dreams.”

  Esen wasn’t stupid and Zheng Min could see the wheels
of his mind clicking over the offer. Thrusting himself forward from the dungeon’s frigid walls, he asked, “And how, pray to the gods, do you intend to convince the Emperor to parcel out his land to those he insults as savages and barbarians? I’ve just seen how faithful his sentries are in that gaudy yellow cage he calls a throne room. He will never agree to those conditions.”

  “Not your problem, warlord. I will take care of it.”

  Esen’s cold, black eyes grew as wide as those of a giant carp. His visibly dry lower lip cracked to emit a seep of blood. Thirst was almost as torturous as a beating. This man was close to breaking.

  “All this talk I hear concerning a rebel insurgence,” the Mongol uttered softly, eyes severely narrowing. “I believe I am witness to a plan.” His voice got loud as he spat out his accusation. “The Emperor wishes to see the face of the rebel? He has only to look at his right-hand man.”

  “Keep your mouth shut, warlord. His Majesty will never believe you.”

  Zheng Min paced the floor of the dungeon, his heels echoing on the stone like metal. Using the chain on the barbarian was utterly tempting, but he refrained. “Brigade General Chi Quan is the man who stole Lotus Lily from you. His demise and a golden future for yourself are my most sincere promises. You give me your word and I’ll give you mine. What do you say, warlord? I know the thirst you are feeling. Shall I send for a cup of rice wine so that we might drink on it?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The Pirate Truce

  After everything Li had done, the Imperial warship was returning to the pirate lair in the South China Sea. Admiral Fong intended to wipe them out. So his loyalties remained with the Emperor. But what would happen if the tide of war took a drastic turn? Does it mean that much to you for your son to be the new ruler of China? Not going to happen, Li thought. Not if she could help it. This child, this unborn boy in her womb, the Supreme Admiral’s own son, would save the pirate leader from his ruthless clutches.

  Li was six months pregnant. She was useless burdened like this, and she had to rid herself of the burden without harming him. She knew just how.