The Pirate Empress

by Deborah Cannon

  “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.

  “Quan!” Master Yun whispered. “Where is His Majesty?”

  Quan’s head jerked up from his thoughts. “I don’t know. I came up through the dungeons and headed straight here.”

  “I fear evil tidings. I looked in on the women’s chambers. The concubines are dead. He must have ordered their suicides.” Master Yun’s eyes rose to the door. “There is one place left to look. His bedchamber.”

  They hurried to the royal bedchamber, found it empty. His Majesty’s Imperial yellow robes were cast haphazardly onto the bed. A quill pen and inkstone sat freshly used on his table. There was nothing else to tell them of his whereabouts.

  One of the tapestries on the walls looked crooked. Could it be? Master Yun took the chance. He went to the offending piece of art and straightened the woven image of an azure and gold phoenix, feeling the texture of the wall through the luxurious carpet of silk threads. The wall had edges.

  He ripped the tapestry from the wall and stared at the frame that was barely visible. There was no handle. He pushed on the hard smooth surface inside the frame where he suspected the door to be, and, wonder of wonders, it moved! His Majesty had not bothered to lock it before he left. The door angled inward. “This way. Quickly.”

  Quan followed on Master Yun’s heels. They raced through the passageway, their footsteps pattering like fine sand on stone. The path led underground, behind the palace, to an outdoor garden. It was well after nightfall and lanterns lit their way. Master Yun stopped for only a moment to collect his bearings. Ahead was an opening between the shrubberies. They hurried past the twisted trees and flowered rock terrace, and through another gate to Coal Hill.

  Atop the manmade mound they soaked in the splendour that was Beijing, spectacularly alight with torches. The palaces and temples of the capital with its maze of grey-bricked alleyways sprawled between the Forbidden City and the blue-tiled roof of the Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests. South of the city walls, the circular edifice of the Temple of Heaven peaked like a mountain as it rose elegantly out of the surrounding parkland, and at the foot of the hill the citizens of Beijing panicked at the sight Zi Shicheng’s army.

  Master Yun looked to the ground and saw footsteps on the silvery grass, wet with dew. He ran to the red pavilion at the crest of the hill. What would he do if he were emperor?

  He rushed inside. No sound came from within. A strip of bamboo lay on the floor. Quan, who was close behind, went to the center of the floor and retrieved the bamboo strip, angled it into the starlight as overhead something flashed red and blue. Quan read aloud what was inscribed on the bamboo. “Tian zi.” Son of Heaven.

  Master Yun sought Quan’s eyes before they both looked up.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  The Black Carp Tavern

  The body swung like a wind chime above their heads, the blue and red silk scintillating in the starlight in shades of rich and deep silver. “The Ox and Horsehead Messenger has come for His Majesty’s soul. Look.”

  Quan could scarcely keep his bulging eyes from catapulting off his skull. The motion was brief and v
ague, but the ghostly flash of a two-headed man with the heads of ox and horse sailed through the air to the corpse.

  “A moment,” Master Yun thundered, and leaped upward, snatching at the Emperor’s dangling carcass, and landed back on the floor with an armful of blue and red silk.

  “Where is he?” Quan gasped. “What happened to His Majesty’s body?”

  “He has been taken to Feng Du for judgement.”

  “But Emperors don’t go to Hell. They go to Heaven. He is the Son of Heaven!”

  “He took his own life. He must be judged. And that leaves us in a fix. We cannot leave the throne unoccupied. Not all of the Imperial subjects have jumped ship. Huang holds an army, and you carry the trust of your men. When He Zhu returns, he too will rally the countryside to fight for its kingdom. But we need an emperor as symbol of our strength.” Master Yun’s expression was bleak. “I see only one solution, I must follow our dead ruler to the fire labyrinths of Feng Du Mountain and seek audience with the Hell Master.”

  “No,” Quan said. “NO!” he shouted louder. His voice evaporated to a hiss. “That would be suicide.”

  “Perhaps, but I see no other choice. The people of the Middle Kingdom will surrender without him. And we don’t want a Manchu invader on the throne.”

  “Wu is supposed to be the next ruler of China. It’s been prophesied.”

  Master Yun rubbed his temples where the silver hair streamed past his jawline. “Wu is still a boy. But, there is one other. Alas, his quest lies along a different road.” He hemmed and hawed, seeking enlightenment from his own sighs. “No, I think not. He Zhu is not meant to rule, and the people might receive him poorly. Moreover, his quest is too important to postpone.”

  Quan’s eyes bulged even rounder than when he had sighted the Ox and Horsehead Messenger of Hell. “Zhu? Why Zhu? You might just as well ask me to sit on the throne.”

  A deep chuckle gurgled in Master Yun’s throat. “That might not be such a terrible idea. But He Zhu is the correct choice because he is of royal blood. Have you never wondered who his parents were?”

  Quan’s voice came out in a croak. “You mean he’s His Majesty’s son?”

  “No. But he has the Empress Ling She’s blood in him. He is Lotus Lily’s brother.”

  “Brother!” Now it all made sense. Quan slapped a hand on his thigh. That day at the Yulin garrison, before the fall of Datong and Xuanfu, Zhu had prophesied a wedding and called him brother-in-law. Quan frowned. “Does Li know?”

  “I’m afraid not. I only made the discovery recently. But Zhu knows, and he is devoted to his nephew, your son.” Master Yun folded the blue silk tunic and red trousers, and formed them into a package, which he tucked under one arm. He took the bamboo strip and inserted it into his robes. “We must depart. You look dead on your feet, Chi Quan. When did you last feed?”

  They exited the red pavilion and hurried down Coal Hill to the center of town. All was chaos. People ran hither and thither in the gloom, too frightened to sleep. The foreign sentinels chased the truants back indoors, and ordered them to stay put. Master Yun and Quan were careful to avoid detection, and slunk down dark alleys and quiet side streets until they reached the black-roofed farmhouse where they had left their horses.

  “We dare not eat in town where we are known,” Master Yun said. “I know of a haunt on the riverside that stays open all night. It serves all manner of ungodly rogues and ruffians, but the food is good and the drink even better.”

  The Black Carp Tavern was little more than a large hut with a grass roof. When they entered the half-opened door, the thumps of wooden cups and bowls, and the clicking of chopsticks greeted them. Opium smoke, spilt liquor, and coarse speech assailed their weary senses. The folk frequenting this bar were the lowliest of the low, but then who else would come drinking after midnight?

  They gave their orders for noodles and pork dumplings, and the local ale. Then sat opposite one another on reed chairs at a greasy, stained table. Voices coming from the table next to them were loud and crude. Quan, who faced the clot of smoke they pistoned through flared nostrils, guessed them to be pirates. He started to rise. He had little patience for scoundrels such as these and knew they were here to take advantage of the chaos in the kingdom. But maybe someone would know something about Li.

  Master Yun’s hand shot out to drag Quan back to his seat. He touched a finger to his lips for silence, then moved his hand to cup his ear, indicating they eavesdrop instead. He spoke very softly. “We do not want to get involved with the likes of these cutthroats, unless we have no other choice.”

  They were the surliest, slimiest gang of blackguards Quan had seen since his encounter with Madam Choi’s husband on the Red Dragon.

  “They’ll pay a fine ransom for the boy,” one of the pirates said. His sneer creased a scar that cut across one cheek, and flattened his nearly lashless, lizard-like eyes. On his head was a shiny, purple turban that flickered every time he moved and that matched the colourful tunic topping his trousers. Quan perked up his ears, but tried to avoid eye contact, while Master Yun who was nearer could hear every word.

  “Where is the boy being held?” one of his fellow pirates asked. This one wore a red kerchief knotted around his head.

  “At Beijing, possibly at the palace. The Emperor doesn’t know that he’s his grandson. I say we nab the kid and demand three million ounces of silver.”

  Red Kerchief Pirate laughed. “Like he has a million ounces left after we looted that last shipment.”

  “Oh, he’ll pay,” Lizard Eyes carped. “If he doesn’t, we’ll kill the boy.”

  Quan glared across the table at the rogue who was obviously the leader.

  “What are you staring at, soldier?” Lizard Eyes demanded.

  Quan bulleted to his feet, and this time Master Yun allowed him to act. “Who are you?” Quan demanded through the thick, pipe smoke and reek of liquor.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “Brigade General Chi Quan of the Imperial Army.”

  The lizard-eyed, purple-turbaned lout stood up. “My name is Mo Kuan-fu. The Pirate King.”

  Quan held the ruffian’s glare with the steeliness of his own. “How do you know of the Emperor’s grandson? No one knows he exists, not even His Majesty himself.” He did not divulge that the Emperor had been recently whisked away to the Hell Master.

  Sly amusement crept over Mo Kuan-fu’s face, deepening his scar. “So, you are the father of Lotus Lily’s suckling.”

  Quan shoved his chair out of the way, knocking it over onto the floor. “What do you know of Lotus Lily?”

  “She was one of my crew. She goes by the name of Li now.”

  “I know what name she goes by. How did she come to be with you? I left her in the care of Madam Choi!”

  “P’raps she prefers the company of virile men rather than that of women and babies.”

  Quan gathered a fist. Then dropped it just as quickly. He would learn nothing by inciting a brawl. “I am her husband. I’m looking for her. Where is she?”

  Mo Kuan-fu’s eyes lit up like torches. “Her husband, did you say? You are her husband?”

  “Not yet in name. But soon.”

  “Hold your horses there, soldier.” The Pirate King laughed and licked his lips enjoying the taunt. “Li, aka Lotus Lily, is already married. I’m afraid you’ll have to pledge your heart somewhere else.” He hiked a thumb in the direction of some prostitutes prowling the bar. “One of the lovely ladies of the evening, p’raps?”

  Quan sucked up the insult, clenched his balled fist to his thigh. “What do you mean she is married? Who did she marry? She can’t be married. She wouldn’t marry anyone but me!”

  “Or so she would have you believe. Mayhap, the lady is a scamp?”

  Quan threw a punch, but Master Yun was already at his side, manacling the offending fist with one hand. “We don’t want any trouble here,” he said. “Sit down.”

  Quan glared, kicked the reed chair to a standing position and plopp
ed himself on his seat.

  Master Yun studied the Pirate King, whipped out his sabre. “We have met before Captain Ching. Many…many, many years back. Some things never change. So, now you are known as the Pirate King. Quite well-suited to you, I must say.”

  The pirate’s face took on a liver-like hue. “You’re the Emperor’s warlock!”

  “I am indeed. Do you remember our bargain, young Ching? Or should I say, Mo Kuan-fu? I may call you that, may I not? Do you remember what you promised?” The pirate shook like a batch of tealeaves laid out to dry and Master Yun banged his sabre on the table. “Answer the brigade general’s question, son. Who did Li marry?”

  The Pirate King looked like a wolf had eaten his tongue. It finally came out, a slimy pink tip that touched the corner of his crooked mouth as he said in a small voice, “The White Tiger.”

  “Admiral Fong?”

  Master Yun and Quan exchanged alarmed glances. Master Yun returned his sabre to the folds of his robes.

  “Yep. Li is married to Admiral Fong.” The pirate smirked, his fear turning to triumph.

  “That can’t be!” Quan shouted.

  “Sit, Chi Quan,” Master Yun ordered. “We will get to the bottom of this.”

  “I was present at her wedding. And so were Madam Choi, Po and the girls. The princess looked so pretty in her red wedding dress. Find them and ask them if you don’t believe me. In fact, ask Li herself. If she isn’t dead, she’ll have re-joined her pirate family.”

  Quan catapulted to his feet again. “Why would she be dead? What did you do to her?”

  The rogue lowered his eyes. “Forget it. Forget I said anything like that. She isn’t dead. Something protects her. So, yeah, find Madame Choi’s Red Squadron and ask Li herself. As surely as the sun sets in the west, they plague the Yellow Sea.”

  The ruffians quaffed their ale and scrambled out the door without so much as a ‘see you later,’ knocking each other over in their desperation to get outside, nearly inciting a brawl. Master Yun sat opposite Quan and stared at him intently.