The Stone Road

by G R Matthews

  The sun climbed high towards midday and he began to sweat underneath the layers of mountain clothes. He took a long drink of water from the skin hanging by a cord from his pack. Shrugging off the straps of his shoulders, he let the pack fall to the ground and stretched his back, hearing the bones pop and feeling the muscles complain about the new direction of movement. Shading his eyes with one hand he looked back the way he had come.

  The mountains towered above him. Jagged rents in the skyline whose snow covered peaks shone bright in the sun. Below the peaks, the dark brown of fir blended into the green of broad-leaf trees then to the verdancy of well-tended farm fields. The track he had followed was a darker smudge that wound its way back up between the patchwork farms and vanished into the tree line.

  He took a deep breath, tasting the warmth of the earth and smelling the aroma of green plants, a contrast to the dusty flavour of stone of his last home. The air was thicker too. Breathing was more of an effort than it had been at altitude in the village but the air was much more satisfying and filling. Using a cloth, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and began to remove some of the outer layers. Folding them with great care, he put them into the pack and then re-shouldered the burden.

  Taking another deep breath, he set off again.

  # # #

  The next morning, he looked down on to the river that, over thousands of years of erosion, had formed and still flowed through the valley. It meandered through green fields that were dotted with large houses. All of them surrounded by the traditional high walls and having a central courtyard. Following the course of the river, he could see the town on the far horizon.

  Taking the telescope that Boqin had included in the pack he took a closer look at his intended route. The track widened and joined the main road that led towards the town. The road itself ran parallel to the river. According to the map this was the town of Harbin and there was no way around it. This was one of the few towns along the route to the mountain that he could not avoid.

  If I cannot avoid it, I might as well use it, he thought.

  He dipped the water skin into the river and small bubbles rose from the spout. They fled towards the surface only to perish with a tiny pop of air, each perfect semi-circle of stretched, thin water unable to restrain the air it had captured. The ripples calmed and the surface of the river revealed the changes to his face. He inspected each new line and crease. With thumb and forefinger he tugged at the ragged beard that had grown on the trail. Zhou stared deep into his own eyes seeking the memories of the man he had been, memories of life, of wife and children, of success and failure. Each was written plain across his face and in the lines around his eyes. He splashed a hand into the water, disrupting and erasing the reflection of his new face. Droplets arced into the air and fell in a short patter of rain.

  The gates of the city were open to the farmers’ carts and the trudge of weary travellers. The hard cobbles beneath his feet lacked the spring of the forest track or the solidity of the mountain stone. They raised his feet above the earth, separating him from it and making him uneasy, suffering a loss which he puzzled over as he approached.

  Two guards were taking a keen interest in the entrants to the city. Zhou watched as they pulled over a poor farmer and ransacked his cart. The produce cascaded down to the ground as the farmer looked on, impotent. Zhou could see him pleading with the two armoured guardians but all his protestations seemed to be falling on deaf ears. His feet carried him closer and he saw the farmer reach into his belt pouch and offer some of its contents to the guards. They took it and returned to their posts, watching the farmer as he picked up every stray part of his cargo and placed it back on the cart. Zhou fought the urge to go and help but that would just bring him to the guard’s attention.

  He let his back bow a little more under the weight of the pack and began to drag his left foot, just a little, in an attempt to look older, weaker and poorer than he was. The last one was more difficult than the others, he had very little money to spend and none to spare for a bribe. The guards were occupied with another farmer’s cart as he passed between the heavy planked gates.

  The city could not be favourably compared to his home of Wubei. Where Wubei had streets wide and beyond counting, here the cramped roads had a patchwork of cobbles and dirt. Wubei, at midday, hummed with the language of business and war, but in Harbin all talk was of farms and weather. At home, if it still existed in any form other than memory, ladies walked the streets with careful steps and servants trailed behind with arms laden down by silk and perfumes. In Harbin, farmers pushed carts and soldiers stood at every corner. Where in Wubei there was the scent of happiness, in Harbin there was only the odour of fear.

  “Hey,” came an authoritative shout, “you. Yes, you.”

  Zhou turned towards the shout as the traffic on the road came to standstill. The owner of the voice was a soldier who, with leather armour creaking and hand resting on a scabbarded sword, was stomping through the unmoving crowd towards him.

  “Sir?” Zhou let his voice assume a whisper as the soldier came closer, not slowing.

  “Out of the way, vagrant.” The soldier pushed Zhou out of the way and he let himself stagger and fall, barking a knee on the cobbles that peeked through the dirt here. “I told you the next time you came down my street that you’d better have the cash to pay your debt.”

  The soldier was raising a fist to one of the ragged farmers who was trying to unload his goods at one of the shops that lined the opposite side of the road.

  “Leave him alone.” The storekeeper had come out from the back to argue with the soldier and Zhou took the opportunity to climb back to his feet and move on.

  “Stay out of this,” the soldier was shouting. “He owes me money.”

  “I need these farmers to provide the produce that I sell. You can’t keep scaring them away,” the storekeeper replied. “I’ll go out of business.”

  “Then he’d better pay up, or,” Zhou continued to move away as the argument continued, “you can pay for him and all the rest. Either that or we close you down. Your choice, shopkeeper.”

  “What?” Zhou heard the change in the owner’s tone, “Now, hang on, you can’t do that. How will I feed my family?”

  The voices faded as he turned the corner and into another street. Further ahead, he could see the sign for a restaurant and he made his way towards it.

  A bowl of rice, some meat and then I can be on my way, he thought.

  The place was busy. Most tables were full of people eating, drinking and talking. The threshold seemed to be a barrier to the fear that pervaded the streets outside. Zhou looked carefully at each group, letting all his senses wash over them. He was satisfied that they were what they seemed, simple customers, so he took a seat at a small table near the back of the establishment. The grain of the wooden table was sunken and stained with the weight of years of use. The chair creaked under him but it felt sturdy enough. He ran his fingers across the wood. Traces of memories and sparks of emotion caressed his mind. There was something else there, on the edge of his perception, a heat, a tingle, a something that felt, he struggled to find the word, right.

  “What can I get for you,” the words pulled him away from his contemplations and he looked up into the round face of a serving girl, “Sir?”

  Zhou smiled at her. She did not smile back. “Just some rice and whatever dish the cook has on the stove.”

  “Dumplings?”

  “No, thank you,” he replied.

  “I have to see your money before you get the food.” Her voice contained a note of resignation as she spelled out the cost. It was steep. More than he had expected to pay but his fingers dipped into the belt pouch and, by touch, felt out the right coins which he placed on the table. She reached for them but he covered the coins with his own hand first.

  “When I have the food,” he smiled again, this time at her retreating back.

  A few minutes later he was holding the bowl up to his face and shovelling r
ice into his mouth with the chopsticks. The oily sauce which disguised the meat was not unpleasant but given the choice he would have passed on the meal. Right now though, he did not have the choice. He sipped at the small cup of water the serving girl had brought with his meal.

  The restaurant door swung open and a quiet invaded the restaurant. At every table conversation petered out and faces turned to look at the newcomers. Soldiers marched into the restaurant and then parted, forming two lines, to let their officer through.

  “Thank you for your attention.” The officer’s groomed moustache and beard parted to reveal a sardonic smile. His leather helmet was chased with silver bands and Zhou could see a dangling red tassel on the hilt of the officer’s sword, the mark of a master swordsman. “The Duke of Yaart would like to offer a substantial reward for the capture of, dead or alive, Zhou of Wubei. This man, a dangerous criminal and threat to the safety of any town or village, is believed to be at large in this area. Any information leading to the capture of this criminal will be rewarded.”

  The officer handed one of his subordinates a piece of paper. The soldier scurried to the pillar in the centre of the restaurant and placing the paper against the stout timber smeared it liberally with water from a customer’s cup, sticking it to the wood.

  “Any man found harbouring or assisting this man will be similarly punished. Posters will be placed in each common establishment in every town and village in the province. Mark the face well and serve your Duke. I expect no less.” The officer swept his gaze across the room. Zhou felt the shock as his eyes met those of the officer. He held his breath as the stare lingered and then let a sigh of relief escape his lips as it moved on. The soldiers clicked their heels to attention as the officer swept his cloak around and marched out.

  As soon as the troop had left, the customers rushed to crowd round the poster. Zhou sat back in his chair. His left hand remained on the table holding the water cup. His right hand he let fall to his side and, keeping an eye on the crowd, he edged it closer to the hilt of the knife hidden at the small of his back, trying to make it look as natural as he could, the act of scratching at an itch. He watched the gaggle of customers as they examined the drawn picture and gesticulated towards each other and the now closed door. None of them looked his way and he began to relax.

  “If you want to get away, we have a way out of the city.” The voice in his ear brought a scream to his throat which he choked down. He turned with deliberate care towards the voice as his hand sidled back towards the knife.

  “You won’t need the knife, I promise,” the serving girl said.

  Chapter 30

  “I have checked the guards. The castle is secure,” Haung said.

  The last light of day was fading from the windows of Weyl’s office. The commander carried a small taper to each of the lanterns that hung on the walls. Yellow flickers of light climbed the walls. Haung stayed still and watched the commander’s progress without turning his head.

  “What do you know of the various groups of rebels who threaten the duke and the emperor?” the commander asked.

  “A little of those who concern this city, Commander.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Firstly, the Yellow Scarves, though their presence in Yaart is limited, are a band whose base of operations is far to the west. We are on the very edge of their influence. The White Lotus are a much larger concern for us. They have staged raids on outlying villages to the north, and south, in the past and the coming of the refugees has made them bolder. I suspect they recruit quite heavily from them.” Haung paused. “Is this the information you wished?”

  “In part. But, tell me, of all the groups large and small, which would you consider to be the greatest threat to the duke? Which one would be ready and willing to help this Forbidden Man murder our duke, if he comes?” The commander blew out the taper and wisps of smoke snaked upwards toward the ceiling.

  “Since the refugee crisis it is much harder to get solid information about the groups operating in the city, however, my best guess would be the Blue Dragons. They have been finding ways to hurt the duke for more years than I have been alive. Their operations are small scale, but constant. Worse, from our point of view, they operate in cells,” Haung explained.

  “So, we catch one, put him to the question and get three more names and then the trail runs into a canyon with no exits,” Weyl sat down in the chair behind his desk. “The castle guards are one line of defence but, as the emperor said, we are not dealing with normal men. I have asked the Fang-shi to prepare another layer and your bodyguard will provide the third. However, all of these exist within the confines of the castle. Much better to neutralise a threat before it becomes a danger.”

  “You have a task for me?” Haung asked.

  “The musician has left. I had sent orders for him to be picked up and questioned but he, along with his belongings and staff are gone. The factor who rented him the house said that the musician had gone to see the capital and play for the emperor before retiring. I’d hoped he would be a lead for us.” Weyl picked up a report from his desk.

  “You would like me to go after him?”

  “No, that would be a waste of time and talent. I want you to go into the city and root out any cells of the Blue Dragon you can uncover. I do not know how long we have before the Forbidden Man gets here but I want to make life as hard for him as I can. You can pick two other men to help you. Funds can be drawn from Marbu to cover expenses and equipment. I expect daily reports on your progress.” Weyl looked up from the report. “Dismissed.”

  # # #

  Haung paused outside the wooden door and took a deep breath. He checked he still had the signed scroll and then pushed open the door and strode in.

  “Again, Haung?” Marbu peered upwards from the scattering of scrolls and open books on his large desk. “Do you think I have an endless supply of money to be spent at your every whim and wish?”

  “I have the requisition order, signed by Commander Weyl,” Haung said, struggling to keep his tone level, as he stared back at the secretary. “Everything is in order.”

  “Oh, I have no doubts about that. I have read the reports you’ve handed in over these past few weeks.” Marbu sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers before him. “I would have expected much more progress by now, considering the expense. At least one cell identified and contained. Perhaps, the distraction of your family means you are paying less than needed attention to your duties?”

  “My wife understands my duties. They are not a distraction. Will you honour the signature on this requisition?” Haung said.

  “Of course I will.” Marbu snatched the scroll from Haung’s outstretched hand and read it quickly.

  Haung watched the secretary dip his hand into the leather bound chest at the side of his chair and count the money out, placing it into a small pouch which he weighed carefully in his hand. Tying the drawstrings, Marbu pitched it over the desk towards Haung.

  “Jiin-Wei, I do not like you. I do not trust you,” Marbu said.

  “Have I done something to offend you, Secretary Marbu,” Haung replied.

  “There is something different in you. You do not act as the other Jiin-Wei do for the duke,” Marbu said.

  “I saved his life.” Haung guarded his expression whilst recollections of the touch of the duke’s mind whirled through his head.

  “That is your job, your duty. No, there is something else I do not trust about you. The duke gives you too much, keeps you too close.” Marbu stood from his chair and came round to the side of the desk. “I have spoken with the commander about my concerns though the duke seems happy with your service. Be assured, Jiin-Wei, you are being watched.”

  “I serve the duke and commander out of honour and duty, Marbu. That I have been rewarded is by their choice not mine of asking.” Haung forced his hand to stay away from the hilt of his sword.

  “As do I, Haung. But, still I do not trust you. You should know this; if you fail in your dutie
s towards the duke then I have left orders that the life of your wife and son be forfeit.” Marbu smiled, but his eyes burned into Haung’s. “I hope that this gives you added incentives to stay loyal and perform well.”

  “Marbu,” Haung took a step forward, his left hand tilted the scabbarded sword at his waist forward, into the drawing position, and whispered, “if anything happens to my wife or my son then the first person to die will be you. I hope that this gives you an added incentive to keep them well.”

  Haung took another step forward, then another, coming so close to the secretary that he could smell spices on the other man’s breath. He stood still, staring straight into Marbu’s eyes and letting the depth of his anger show in his own. The room faded from his vision, only the secretary existed at that moment. The secretary with the prominent throbbing vein in his neck that a simple cut or slice could not miss. “I trust we understand each other.”

  “We do,” Marbu whispered back, matching Haung’s tone.

  Haung smiled, walling the anger back up behind the shields in his mind, feeling the room brighten as he did so.

  “Good.” Haung turned his back to the secretary and left.

  # # #

  Haung strode along the corridors towards his quarters, nodding to the guards at their stations. At the door to his apartment he slowed down, steadied his breathing and calmed his mind. Only when he was sure that he was completely in control did he open the door and step in.

  The smell of soiled diapers and warm milk drifted up his nose. The outer room had ceased to be a place of relaxation and had instead become festooned with drying clothes and baby toys. In the centre, on the floor, his little boy lay on a blanket, gurgling up at the ceiling. Jiao sat on a small pile of cushions nearby. She looked as beautiful as the day he had married her but even he could admit she had an air of exhaustion about her.