by Mark Morris
After a few seconds a waft of warm air barreled down the corridor and rolled over him, causing the lantern flames to shiver again. He caught a faint odor of charred wood. He felt dread seeping through him, curdling his insides.
Oh no, he thought, and began to sprint back the way he had come, homing in on the sound of the explosion and the still lingering smell of burning. He had an awful suspicion, though, that no matter how fast he ran, he was going to be too late.
* * *
Peng Yong was frozen to the spot, his mind churning. Should he investigate the explosion, confront the foreigner—if that was who had caused it? But what if the foreigner was armed? In fact, there was every likelihood that the foreigner would be armed. He was a soldier, after all, and a good one at that. He would doubtless think twice about cutting Peng Yong’s throat if his plans were compromised.
But what were his plans? What could he be blowing up inside the fortress? Surely he couldn’t secretly be working to undermine the Nameless Order? The Tao Tei were a threat not only to Bianliang and the rest of China, but to the entire world. No matter how ruthless the foreigners were, Peng Yong couldn’t believe they would be so foolhardy as to aid the Tao Tei, not even for their own gain. Then again foreigners were inscrutable, unpredictable. Who knew what dark and twisted thoughts went through their minds?
If it was unwise then to confront the foreigner directly, Peng Yong must inform the Order what was happening. But would they listen to him after his previous misdemeanors? He scrunched the bottom of his wet, filthy apron in his hand. He would make them listen. And who knew, if he acted quickly enough and thus helped prevent the foreigners from committing whatever heinous activities they were currently engaged upon, he might even be reinstated as a Bear Corps soldier. He might even be honored with—
The foreigner ran past the doorway again—and in the same direction he had been heading last time. Which meant, as far as Peng Yong could tell, that he was heading towards the explosion, not away from it. Which further meant that he couldn’t have caused it—unless, of course, he had used a very long fuse.
But where had the foreigner been since Peng Yong had last seen him? Had he been running in circles? For what purpose?
Curiosity getting the better of him, he hurried across the kitchen floor and found himself turning not right, towards the route that would lead him up through the fortress, but left, after the foreigner. If he was careful, and kept out of sight, he might be able to ascertain the foreigner’s plans. It would be better to give General Lin Mae as much information as he could when the time came.
* * *
“What is this?” Pero asked, peering over Ballard’s shoulder at what lay behind the door. He’d hoped it would be an escape route out of the fortress, perhaps a secret passage to the stables, but in fact it appeared to be nothing more than a huge cupboard containing many shelves, each of which were packed with a cornucopia of objects: weaponry, scrolls, tablets, notebooks, various instruments whose use Pero couldn’t even begin to guess at…
Granted, there were jars of black powder here too, but surely it would not be too difficult to work out the correct proportions of each ingredient from the powder they already had in their possession, and therefore to make more?
“It’s a treasure trove,” Ballard said. “Contained here are the fruits of Strategist Wang’s studies. It’s an invaluable resource. And all for the taking.”
Pero shrugged. He wasn’t much of a one for learning—though he couldn’t deny that some of the weapons Wang had collected over the years looked interesting, and would no doubt prove useful. At Ballard’s bidding, he opened the sack he’d been carrying and withdrew the folded-up saddlebags he’d crushed into it. As Ballard began to ransack the shelves, taking what he needed, Pero held the saddlebags open so that Ballard could fill them. Moving between the cupboard and the opened saddlebags, Ballard outlined his plan to Pero. One saddlebag was full and the second beginning to bulge when Pero heard the scuff of a footstep on the gritty dust behind him. He spun round—then smiled.
“Compadre.”
His greeting caused Ballard to turn too.
William was standing there, his body, mostly in silhouette, wreathed in dust. He stared at Pero, saying nothing.
Impatiently Ballard said, “So you’ve come to your senses at last, eh?”
When William still failed to reply, Ballard flapped a hand in irritation. “Well, good God, man, come on, make haste! Grab a bag!”
But William ignored him. He kept his eyes locked on Pero.
Smiling, Pero said, “Ballard has explained it all. He’s planned well. The horses are strong. Getting out will be easy. There’s a gate twenty miles west. We take that and we can dodge the hill tribes. We can make it, amigo.”
Still William said nothing.
Glancing at him, Ballard said, “Where’s your bow?” Then to Pero, “Where’s his bow?”
But Pero didn’t reply, didn’t even look Ballard’s way. Instead his welcoming smile was fading, becoming a frown. Almost wistfully he said, “Last chance, amigo.”
William spoke for the first time. His voice was blunt. “They need us here.”
Pero threw back his head and laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “Oh, they need more than us. These people are doomed.”
Still crouched in the doorway of Wang’s secret cupboard, Ballard backed up Pero’s words. “Don’t be a fool, man!”
For the first time, William registered Ballard’s presence. He swung round on the little man in his stolen Bear Corps armour, his eyes blazing.
“I’ve been a fool!” he thundered, causing Ballard to recoil. “And I’m done with it!”
Pero raised his hands. “Brother, please…”
“Bouchard called it,” William snapped. “We’ve been fighting for nothing. Fighting for greed and gods, and all for shit! This is the first war I’ve ever seen that was worth it.”
“Nothing?” sneered Pero. “Nothing is what we leave behind when we die.” He took a breath, made one last appeal. “Come on, let’s take our prize and whore away the days we have left. Together.”
William shook his head. “I can’t do that now.”
Pero looked at him a moment, as if trying to find the man he had once known. Spreading his hands expansively, he cried, “William! My filthy bastard friend! Think of it! What wall, what city, what land could we not take with black powder in our saddlebags? Who would dare to stop us?” He had tears in his eyes now. For him, this was the culmination of a long, hard journey, the fulfillment of his wildest dreams. “We win, amigo. After all the pain and cold and blood and shit, we win!”
He looked at William hopefully. Had he persuaded him? Had he managed to bring him to his senses? William looked as though he was pondering Pero’s words. But so intent on each other were the two men that neither of them noticed Ballard slip into Wang’s cupboard and grab a knife from the shelf. Neither of them noticed him creep across to a rope that was stretched taut, holding upright a huge bookcase that was standing directly behind William. Pero only noticed him, as a flash of movement in his peripheral vision, when Ballard suddenly slashed down with the knife.
But by then it was too late. Too late to find out what William’s decision might have been. Too late to attempt to persuade him further should he still say no.
Because the bookcase was falling, scrolls and bronze instruments already sliding out of it, raining down on William as he half-turned. Pero saw William’s eyes widen, saw him half-raise a hand…
…then the bookcase crashed down, smashing William down with it, pinning him to the floor.
Once again, dust rose in a great cloud, the crash reverberating through the length and breadth of the high-ceilinged room. Shielding his mouth and nose with his raised arm, Pero moved forward. He felt regret, but also relief that the problem had been taken out of his hands. He saw blood on William’s forehead, his closed eyes.
“Is he dead?” asked Ballard.
Pero didn’t know, but he blu
ffed, “It’ll take a lot more than that to kill him.”
He looked at Ballard, whose eyes were glinting, and who was still holding the knife in his hand. He knew what the skinny man was thinking, and although Pero was disappointed that his friend had proven himself a weak and lovesick fool, even now he couldn’t bear the thought of William being finished off in his sleep by this cowardly weasel of a man.
Dismissively he said, “Leave him. Let them kill him.”
Ballard gave him a long, hard stare. Then he nodded and threw away the knife.
18
As the dawn sun smeared its light across the top of the distant hills, Lin Mae once again stood at the mouth of the vast tunnel that the Tao Tei had bored through the base of the Wall, staring broodingly into its depths. She hadn’t slept, but she didn’t feel tired. There was so much at stake, so much anger and fear coursing through her system that rest was the last thing on her mind.
To her right stood Wang, who had changed out of the grime-smeared clothes he had been wearing during his exploration of the tunnel the previous evening, and who now looked as dapper and composed as ever, despite the desperate situation. To her left were Commanders Deng and Wu, their capes flapping in the wind. Deng looked shell-shocked, as if he could barely process the horrifying magnitude of the situation, whereas Wu wore a deep scowl, as though incensed at the sheer insolence of their enemy.
Wang was speaking, his voice clipped, with an almost admonishing tone to it. “As I have been trying to tell you, the Tao Tei change constantly. They evolve. All of the attacks up to now have been a diversion while they created this tunnel.”
He glanced at Lin Mae and her commanders, but they had nothing to say. They simply continued to stare into the tunnel’s black depths, as if unable to believe what they were seeing. He knew what they were thinking, though, because it was what he was thinking too. It was what everyone who knew about the tunnel was thinking. He sighed and decided to vocalize it, if only to bring it into the open.
“If the Tao Tei reach Bianliang, they will have unlimited food. There will be no containing them then.”
Wu scowled at him, as if he had unveiled a dirty secret—or raised a problem to which there was no solution.
“It will take our army two days to reach Bianliang, even if we sprint all the way,” Deng said miserably. “The Tao Tei run twice our speed. If that’s where they’re heading, we’ll never catch them.”
Lin Mae looked half-way between frustration and despair. Wang felt sorry for her. This was not the best way to start her tenure as General—not that this situation was her fault. Thoughtfully he eyed the way the capes of the General and her two commanders were curling and snapping at their backs.
“The wind is strong,” he said.
All three soldiers turned to look at him. Lin Mae’s eyes widened. She knew what he was thinking.
“It blows south, and it will continue to do so all day tomorrow.” He shrugged, as though apologizing. “We have to use the balloons. It is our only hope.”
There was a tense, heavy silence. Then Lin Mae sighed. “If it worked, how long would it take to reach Bianliang?”
She was looking at Wang, so she didn’t see the incredulous looks that flashed in her direction from her two commanders. They couldn’t believe she was humoring him, and he didn’t blame them. He’d have felt the same in their shoes. On the other hand, he didn’t blame Lin Mae for clutching at straws either. After all, as he had already pointed out, what other plan did they have?
“With a wind like this?” he said, raising a finger to test it. “Six hours?”
Commander Wu could contain himself no longer. “Yes!” he snapped. “For those who manage to stay alive.” Turning to Lin Mae, he said, “Commander… they have never been tested.”
Lin Mae looked at him for a long time. Her gaze was steady and her voice like steel when she spoke. “Then we will test them when we use them. Make it so!”
* * *
When William woke up, his first thought was to wonder whether he was still asleep and dreaming. The last thing he remembered was speaking to Pero in the Hall of Knowledge, before hearing an almighty crash and everything going black.
Now, though, he appeared to be in the Great Hall, chained to a bench, his body aching and the taste of blood in his mouth. Moreover the room seemed to be a hive of activity, though what the Tiger Corps soldiers on the other side of the vast space were doing he had no idea. As far as he could tell, they appeared to be stitching together giant masses of pig or sheep skin. Feeling something trickling into his eyes—blood or sweat; it stung at any rate—William closed them, hoping that when he opened them again he’d be able to shake himself free of the odd dreams he was having and remember what had happened. But when he next came round it was to the clank of something heavy dropping or stamping down next to him. He opened his bleary eyes, squinted against the light, and through the haze saw something both strange and ominous. Beside his prone body was what appeared to be a guillotine, but one whose blade was in the shape of a snarling, elaborately molded tiger’s head with jagged teeth.
Was it real? Or was this part of his dream too? He reached out to touch it, wondering whether he’d feel cold, solid metal or whether his hand would pass straight through.
But neither of these things occurred. Because he had barely moved his arm when he felt a sharp tugging at his wrist, and heard the tinkling of metal. He turned his head, and saw that either the dream he’d had earlier was still ongoing, or it hadn’t been a dream, after all. There were manacles attached to chains around both his wrists.
As he shook his head, trying to order his thoughts, he heard the pounding of a drum, fast and frenzied, and the next moment his vision became a whirling mass of color as soldiers streamed into the Great Hall, hundreds of them, forming into well-drilled platoons.
William looked at them, wondering why they were here. Was it because of him? Had he done something wrong?
How he wished he could wake up.
* * *
Three horses raced across the desert, moving as fast as the sand and the hot sun would allow.
On the first horse sat Pero, face grim, bent down low over the neck of his steed.
On the second, smaller horse was Ballard, clinging on for dear life, his backside bouncing up and down in the saddle.
On the third horse, which was the biggest and strongest of the lot, sat no one, yet it was this horse that was carrying the heaviest weight. Attached via a long line to Pero’s saddle, the riderless horse’s sweat-lathered body was laden down with a dozen bulging saddlebags.
* * *
William looked up dazedly as someone entered the room—and all at once, as if her very presence had kick-started his system, he felt his senses returning to him.
Hands still chained, he shuffled upright into a sitting position, as Lin Mae first spotted him, and then stalked across the room towards him. She looked furious. She looked like an approaching storm. The clamor of activity from a few moments before suddenly ceased as everyone stood, motionless and silent, watching her stride across the room towards him.
She halted about six feet away, as though she had hit an invisible wall. Her face was thunderous with rage and betrayal. Such a rage that she seemed unable to find the words to express it.
The memories were coming back to William now. The Hall of Knowledge. His conversation with Pero. Ballard slashing the rope to bring the bookcase crashing down on him.
“I tried to stop them,” he croaked.
Lin Mae’s eyes widened. “You dare speak to me?”
William looked around. On every face that was staring at him he saw disapproval, hatred, disgust.
“It’s true,” he said, pleading with them to believe him. “I went there to try and stop them.”
“Yes,” said Lin Mae, her voice raw and cold, “and you came here to trade. And you knew nothing of black powder. And you fought for honor. What a fool you must think I am.”
Her words were like a knif
e to his heart. He shook his head desperately. “No. I didn’t do this. If I was with them, why would I be here? I tried to stop them.”
“Liar!” she screamed at him, lunging forward. Then she seemed to remember her position, and that all eyes were on her, and with a supreme effort she brought herself under control.
Turning to Wu, who was standing behind her right shoulder, she gave a sharp nod. He marched forward, grabbed William by the left arm and yanked him to his feet.
William glanced at the guillotine to his left. Now that he had recovered his senses, he could see that it was indeed real—very much so. Was this to be his fate then? Was his life to be ended so ignominiously in front of all these people he had tried to help, these people who he admired and respected as he had never admired or respected anyone before? His blood boiled to think he was to be punished for the vile and cowardly actions of a man he had mistakenly regarded as a friend and his snake of an accomplice. It was so unjust.
But life often was unjust. He had learned that the hard way.
Lin Mae began speaking again, the full extent of her bitterness clearly not yet expelled from her system.
“I need only think of you from now on to know how ugly the world can be,” she said. “You will die as you have lived. For nothing.”
Her words again struck home. William felt a dull, heavy sickness in his heart, his soul. He was not afraid to die, but he couldn’t bear the thought that Lin Mae would live out the rest of her life harboring these thoughts of him.
Looking her in the eyes, willing her to believe, he said, “Some part of you must know that’s not true.”
But she was unmoved and seemingly immovable. Contemptuously she said, “If I were not the General, I would kill you myself.”
William bowed his head, all hope, all energy, draining out of him. That was it then. The sum total of his life. The first time he had tried to do something good, the first time he had found a cause worth fighting for, and it had all blown up in his face.
