by G R Matthews
“Zhou,” the rough force came from behind him, “you got us any more men yet. This road is never going to get done in time if you don’t. It can't build itself.”
The bench shook as the heavy and scruffy looking foreman sat down. He had his own bowl of foul food in front of him which he tucked into with relish. Zhou watched him shovel the food into his mouth and chew it with twisted, black and broken teeth. Regarding his own empty bowl, Zhou felt his stomach roil and he pushed it away.
“Wang,” a name that just didn’t fit the foreman, there was nothing kingly about him, “we have no choices left to us. We are not getting any more men but it is clear from all my communications that the road must be finished on time.”
Wang snorted, little bullets of juice-soaked rice flew out from between the gaps in his teeth, “Can’t be done. Won’t be done. My boys are working their guts out to get the foundations properly set but there ain’t no more they can do.”
“They’re paid a good wage to do more. The illnesses will pass and we’ll be back at full strength soon. Good food and hard work will bolster their strength.”
“Yeah, well, we certainly got one out of the two sorted ain’t we.” Wang shovelled another heap of rice into his mouth. Zhou looked away, disgusted by the man and his manners.
“Wang, we do what we are expected to do. We have peace and most of your boys will have a chance to get married and have a family. A little more effort now won’t kill them.” He cursed his choice of words as they left his mouth.
“Tell that to the nineteen we lost bolstering the mountain path. They won’t be having no kids now will they.” Wang spat the words out along with more rice.
Zhou knew the number who had died changing the mountain track into a road wide enough and strong enough to take the weight of what was coming. The accident with the black powder had been investigated by junior bureaucrats sent down by Hsin. Zhou had submitted himself to their insulting questions, their prying and probing into every inch of the camp and the storage of the powder. There was nothing to find or discover apart from simple human stupidity. Anyone who smokes a tobacco pipe when handling the powder deserves to get blown to pieces, Zhou thought, it was just a shame he had to take the other eighteen with him. Once the investigation was complete, the report written and submitted, Zhou had sat down for a day and written individually to the families, as tradition demanded. Also, for tradition’s sake, he included a full three months’ wages in the letters, though he was not convinced it would make it past the mail checkers in the main camp.
“Wang, we have to face facts. We are not getting any more men to complete this job. The track has to be cleared and the foundations laid. That is our duty and we are expected to perform it. No excuses will be granted or accepted. You think anything else and you’re wrong. So,” Zhou paused and gathered his courage, “you will push the men as hard as you can to get it done. As soon as a man recovers enough to work, I want them out there with the others. I want the tally of workers brought to me every day. I want to know of any man who is off work for more than three days, on the fourth day I will stop their pay until they're back out there putting their full strength into it. I hope this is clear to you.”
Zhou watched the blood rush into Wang’s face. The veins on the big man’s neck pulsed and his eyelids twitched but Zhou refused to look away or back down. The stare lasted until Wang broke it, smashing his chopsticks down on the table.
“You ever wonder why you eat alone every night?” Wang asked as he stood and loomed over Zhou, “It’s because you’re an arsehole.”
Zhou watched the overweight giant stomp out of the tent then turned back to the other men in the tent, all of whom had stopped eating to stare.
“Can I help you at all?” Zhou asked them and getting no responses continued, “Then I suggest you finish your food and get to bed. I expect you all to be back on the line at sun up, no excuses.”
Zhou picked up his bowl and went for a second helping, forcing the food past his lips. He was the last one out of the tent and to bed.
Chapter 10
“Again.”
Haung watched as the trainee soldier raised his sword and then swung it in one smooth motion at his sparring partner. The stroke was met with parry and the two moved into a fast moving and fluid dance. It lasted for almost a full minute before the first soldier scored a decisive hit on his partner. They parted and bowed respectfully to each other.
“Well,” Haung began, “it was very pretty. I’ll grant you that, but not much use on the battle field. You, try that again but against me this time.”
The second soldier moved out of the sparring ring. Haung took the padded wooden sword off of him and placed himself in the centre of the ring. He bowed to his opponent who returned the gesture of respect. Raising their swords, they stared into each other’s eyes, the battle of wills before that of the swords.
Then, with only a slight flicker of his eyes betraying his intention, the soldier struck with a high, looping, overhand attack. It was beautiful to watch the sword rise into the air, slicing the sun in two, and then descend in its graceful arc to strike where Haung had stood less than a second before. The soldier stumbled forward when the expected, and trained for, parry didn’t come. Instead, Haung’s sword thumped, hard, into his ribs and sent him crashing down to the floor, struggling for breath. Haung threw his borrowed sword back to its original owner.
“Sword fighting is not a dance, not in battle. You save all that showing off for the duels if you want to. In battle, when you kill, kill quickly, and be ready for the next enemy to come at you. One strike should be all it takes. It’s all you’ll get,” Haung spoke harshly to both trainee soldiers. The one still standing sketched out a quick, shaky bow. The one on the floor was still gasping like a fish fresh from the river.
Haung walked away from the fallen soldier in search of a drink. The training yard was still warm, even in a Yaart winter. Through the halls and corridors he passed servants who all moved out of his way, some giving a short bow. He paid them no mind. In the soldiers’ mess hall, he dipped a bowl into the dark red soup that was bubbling over the fire pit and took a deep drink.
“Since when have you been in a proper battle?” a laughing voice asked.
Haung looked around to see a fellow Jiin-Wei enter the hall and he returned a smile, “But they don’t know that do they? And, if it keeps them alive when it comes, they never need to know.”
“True,” his friend said as he took his own bowl and filled it with soup, “still I’ll never understand why you go back to the yard. Once I was made Jiin-Wei, I never wanted to see that place again.”
“Spent my whole youth there and it still feels a bit like home. I can see myself in a lot of those trainees. Hell, they aren’t more than a year or three younger than me.” Haung finished his soup, dipped his bowl in the warm water near the fire to clean it and placed it back on the pile.
“That crack you gave him, I remember getting a lot of those when I started out. They can ache for weeks. He won’t thank you, you know.”
“He’ll get over it and perhaps he’ll stop that fancy sword work. I'd bet a private tutor taught him that a few years back when his family were rich.” Haung dismissed the comment.
“Probably,” agreed the other Jiin-Wei. “Anyway, I didn’t come here for idle chatter about training soldiers. The Commander wants to see you right away.”
“And you wait this long to tell me?” Haung gasped. Two weeks without an assignment was a long time for a Jiin-Wei but keeping the Commander waiting was not a good thing to do.
# # #
The Commander’s office was almost unchanged since his first visit, the central room with three doors leading off from it. He had never found out where they led to. Curiosity and questioning were good traits for a Jiin-Wei but it had to be appropriate.
“Haung, the time has come for us to move forward with our plan.” The Commander was bent over the central table, tracing his finger around the map. “Re
ports show that the road builders of Wubei are bogged down in the foothills of their mountain home. Our own builders have already completed the first section of the road. Come the spring, we should be at the agreed meeting point in the plains. The number of refugees from the north is increasing as the winter deepens there. All the able bodied men who have turned up at the gate have been drafted into the army or into the road crews.”
“I have seen some of their training today, Sir. To be honest, there are some good men in amongst them but very many who barely recognise which end of the sword to hold,” Haung said.
“To be expected. The northern towns have never been rich and we have worked hard to keep them in their place. In times past, rebellions have been known to start in those towns. We have a permanent garrison there to keep the locals in line. They’re farmers mostly, a few noblemen’s sons, and the occasional miner searching the rivers for specks of gold, usually in vain. However, as I said, it remains a problem area. They are easily excitable and prone to rash actions.”
“We do need troops to bolster our army, and the men can send their wages back to their families. You’d think they’d be grateful,” Haung responded.
“Yes, well, perhaps some are. However, it leaves us with a problem. Not only are there likely to be a few disruptive elements amongst the recruits but I fully expect Wubei to try and sneak a few spies into the groups. Just to check up on us.” The Commander looked up from his contemplation of the map. “Which is where you come in. I want you to take charge of the training of the new troops. You’ll work with the Fang-shi apprentices to search out any spies, and you can deal with the malcontents in whatever way you see fit.”
“Yes, Sir,” Haung said, relishing the idea of getting back to the comfort of regular training for a while. “Am I to report to you?”
“No. Fang-shi Long will be in charge of the apprentices and take over should any spies be discovered. The troops are yours, though. Here,” Commander Weyl handed Haung a rolled up parchment sealed with a red ribbon and a blob of wax, “this is your letter of promotion to Captain in the Duke of Yaart’s army. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Haung bowed as he accepted the parchment.
“Now, just because you are back in the army for a bit, don’t forget where your true loyalty lies. Long will be reporting to me on a regular basis. Captain you are, but Jiin-Wei you will always remain. Draw your uniform from the stores. Dismissed.”
Haung bowed again and left the office.
Three days later, dressed in a comfortable cotton robe over the silk shirt of his Captain’s uniform, Haung stood in front of the latest one hundred men pressed into the army by the promise of good pay, food, and more than likely some threats of physical violence. Beside him stood an apprentice Fang-shi who carried a short staff in his hands and a satchel, hanging by its strap from his shoulders.
“Right, this is how it is going to work. In single file, you will approach the quartermaster,” Haung indicated the apprentice by his side, “and receive your coin of commission. You will sign your name, or make you mark, on the paper he provides as a record of your oath to the Duke of Yaart. Be warned, the ink you use is magical and your oath will be binding. If you carry falsehoods in your heart, the ink will know and it will signal us. The punishment for a false oath will be harsh, I assure you.”
Haung paused to give the troops a hard stare and then he waved the first one forward, watching as the man approached the sorcerer's apprentice who stood behind the desk. The apprentice placed a pre-prepared sheet of paper in front of the man and handed him the brush pen. With a trembling hand, the man dipped the brush into the ink bowl and shakily signed his name. The ink stayed as ink and there was an audible sigh, echoed by the other recruits, from the man.
Four more times this happened. When the fifth shaking and nervous man approached, he took the brush, dipped it into the ink and drew the character for his name. As he handed the brush back the ink on the page hissed and bubbled giving off an acrid blue smoke. Guards grabbed the man and dragged him, kicking, screaming and pleading his innocence into the dark room behind the desk. There was more shouted pleading and then a chilling, bone grating, scream erupted from the doorway followed by silence. The guards re-appeared, wiping their daggers with sword-cloth and replacing them in their belt scabbards.
Haung inspected the recruits from behind an impassive face. Three or four were retching and at least one had painted the training yard floor with their meagre breakfast. He stood there watching as man after man approached the ink with dread, white faces and shaking limbs. By the time they were halfway through a soldier, dressed in the uniform of a corporal approached Haung and bowed.
“How was I, Captain?” The soldier smiled at Haung.
“Four were sick at least. The scream was very well done,” Haung smiled at his fellow Jiin-Wei. “Very convincing.”
“Good. The bloody make up was tough to get off. Things we do, eh?” the fake corporal said.
“True. Did you pick up anything whilst you’ve been amongst them?” Haung asked.
“Not too much. Certainly they like to complain about their lot and why they should train to fight when they have come here just to survive. But, that’s pretty normal for soldiers. I don’t think that any have true intentions of causing any difficulty beyond the normal trainee stuff. However, there is one amongst them who's a little bit quiet for my liking. He turned up in tent-town on his own. One morning he was just there. I couldn’t find out much about him from the others but he seems to get along with them all. You know, he joins in the complaining but never goes too far, talks about his family but never very much about them. More a listener than a talker and, as far as I can gauge, that isn’t the way the northerners do things.”
“A Wubei spy?” Haung asked.
“I’m not sure, it’s possible. I’ll keep an eye on him through the training. None of the men I spoke to are trained to the sword so, if he is better than he should be, I think we can safely say he is a spy.”
“Well, I suppose that might be one give away,” Haung said. “Has he been through yet?”
The corporal scanned the fifty or so men still left to go through, “That’s him, right down near the end, about four in from the last man.”
Haung took a careful look at the possible spy. “You think he has had any special training in the art?”
“If he is anything like us, then probably. Much as I hate the arrogant bastards of Wubei, I can’t see any good reason not to pick and train their own Jiin-Wei the way we do.”
“I was thinking the same. Tell the apprentice to be careful of that one, use enough to make him feel it, if he can, but don’t push it. If we have him marked, perhaps we can use him at a later date.” Haung rolled his shoulders and gave a little chuckle, “I thought that a little soldiering would be a relief from the intrigue and secrets.”
“Haung, if you were just a soldier you’d be safe from it but you’re not. You’re a Jiin-Wei and an officer. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get on with it, you know you enjoy it. Now, I’d better see to this apprentice before he blows someone up.” The corporal gave the appropriate bow to a superior and then moved over to speak to the Fang-shi.
Haung did not move or relax his stern visage as the last of the men went through the signing process. The suspect spy confidently made his mark on the paper and moved off to collect his kit along with the other trainees. Haung rubbed his chin with his right hand, his left thumb tucked into his belt close to his sword, and pondered the situation. Was he too confident when he signed or was he just unconcerned because he had nothing to hide. In the end, he couldn’t decide which one it was so settled for keeping a very close eye on the man as the training progressed.
He turned away from the kitting out process and headed off the training field to get some food and rest. A flicker of motion seen from the corner of his eye caused him to turn his head sharply. On the balcony above the yard he could see the long dark hair of a girl moving away and t
hough he couldn’t see her face, he knew she had been watching him. He shook his head, more secrets and intrigue. More things he didn’t need and, worst of all, he had a good idea who had been watching him and it was a distraction that could lead to disaster.
Chapter 11
“I assure you, the road is coming through here. Now, it can be with your assistance and you’ll be recompensed for the land you've lost. Or it can be the other way and they will see the smoke for miles.” Zhou forced his voice to stay cold and purposeful though every word tasted rotten in his mouth.
The village leader, a tall scrawny man with a rather too large mouth, stared back into Zhou’s eyes, “Your surveyors had prettier words but we understood them all the same and we’ll give you the same answer as we gave them. This is our land, it’s been fought over more times than even the oldest of us can recall. We’ve always farmed it. You won’t be no different, but we are not moving. This is our village.”
“I wish you would see it differently. The road is our route to peace and after thirty years of war neither side is going to let a small village get in the way. This is the last chance to choose your own destiny. The road will be here within three weeks and either you will have moved aside or you will be swept away. For what it is worth, I am sorry it must be this way.”
“You can shove your sorry’s right up your...” the wide mouthed leader began.
“Yes, I thought you would see it that way.” Zhou gave the villager a sad smile then raised his voice to address the other villagers, “You have three weeks to gather up your belongings, and be gone. Do this and you will receive compensation to start anew elsewhere. It is your choice, just don’t let others make the wrong one for you.”
