by Mark Morris
Maybe Pero had been right all along. Maybe he shouldn’t have become involved.
But he didn’t regret it. Not for one moment.
“So be it,” he murmured. “If you’re going to do it, make it quick.”
* * *
Lin Mae was trying her hardest to hold it together. She was the General now, and she had to set an example, had to project an air of strength and authority. The breach of the Wall by the Tao Tei was the very worst thing that could have happened. Not only could it signal the end of everything she believed in and held dear, but far more seriously, it could ultimately lead to the end of everything that ever was, or would be.
In relative terms, therefore, William’s betrayal on top of this far greater crisis was a minor concern, something that General Shao would have dealt with quickly and efficiently. But she was not General Shao. She had grown to trust the foreign soldier, even to like him. She had begun to believe he possessed integrity, honor.
General Shao had told her she was ready to lead the Nameless Order, but what sort of leader would make such an error of judgment? Clearly she was not fit to lead. She had been betrayed, played for a fool, and as a result she had let down all those who relied on her. Trying not to show weakness in front of all those who fought in her name, she nodded curtly to a pair of Bear Corps warriors, who moved either side of William to hold him while Wu removed his shackles. She watched, face set, as they dragged him towards the guillotine, forced him to his knees…
Suddenly a cry rang out, sharp and shrill in the high-ceilinged room: “He tried to stop them!”
Everyone in the room first froze, and then turned, Lin Mae included. At first she saw nothing. Then she noticed movement over by the door, saw a Bear Corps warrior moving forward, pushing through the ranks.
She felt a flash of anger. Who was this? How dare he—
And then she recognized the young man’s face. This was Peng Yong, who had been disgraced and assigned to kitchen duties.
Before anyone could respond, Peng Yong piped up again. “He did. I saw it with my own eyes!”
Lin Mae glanced at William, who, although he didn’t speak Mandarin, had raised his head and was looking at Peng Yong with interest. She knew General Shao would not have tolerated such insolence as that shown by this already disgraced young man—but, as she had already established within her own mind, she was not General Shao. To the evident disapproval of some of her commanders, she snapped, “Come forward! Speak up!”
Peng Yong scurried nervously past the ordered and motionless ranks of soldiers until he was standing before her. Bowing he said, “The prisoner speaks the truth. I was there when it happened. I saw him try to stop them.”
Lin Mae regarded him for a moment. Then she glanced again at William.
“And you did nothing?” she asked.
Peng Yong brought a trembling hand to his forehead. He looked on the verge of tears. “I was afraid… and I am shamed. But I… I cannot let a man be killed for this.”
“Are you sure he tried to stop them?” Lin Mae asked.
Commander Wu, who was one of those who had shot her a disapproving look when she had given Peng Yong leave to speak, strode forward and grabbed the young man by the collar of his overalls.
“If you’re lying I’ll have your head first!” he snarled.
Peng Yong looked terrified, but he said, “I swear on the blood of the Nameless Order that I speak the truth.”
The room was silent. William was now looking around, baffled but with something like hope on his face. Lin Mae stared at Peng Yong for a long moment, her thoughts churning. Then she again turned her attention to William. What should she do? What was the strong thing to do? What was the right thing to do?
At last she barked, “Lock him up! Send the cavalry after the two that got away!”
Wu narrowed his eyes, then turned and relayed an order to the two Bear Corps warriors, who hauled William back to his feet.
Aware that all eyes were still on her, Lin Mae shouted, “Back to work!” Then she turned and marched out of the room.
* * *
Despite everything that’s happened, William thought, I find myself back here.
Last time, of course, he and Pero had not actually entered the stockade, because the young man who had just apparently saved his life had misplaced or forgotten the key. On this occasion, however, there was no such oversight. One of the two huge and silent Bear Corps warriors who had been assigned to escort him produced a key from a loop on his belt, unlocked the door and shoved it open.
It was not an easy task. He had to put his shoulder to the wood and push as hard as he could before the door started to grate inwards over a floor strewn with rubble. Evidently the cells had not been used for a long time. As William was shoved inside, he found himself choking in a cloud of upraised dust, which reminded him of how the air had been in the Hall of Knowledge after the explosion. He was still coughing when the door was slammed shut and locked behind him.
Once his lungs had settled and his eyes had stopped smarting he looked around. The walls and floor were made of rough stone, a slit of a window gave access to a narrow column of sunlight, and on the floor was a thin, rat-chewed mattress leaking filthy straw.
A real home from home, he thought ruefully. Still, he had slept in worse places. And being here was infinitely better than having his head separated from his body. He thought again of the young man, and what he must have said to persuade Lin Mae to stay his execution.
William knew the young man had seen him the first time he had passed the kitchen entrance. He could only suppose, then, that he had seen him the second time too, and had been curious enough about William’s presence or the explosion, or both, to follow him. He must have hidden in the shadows and observed William’s encounter with Pero and Ballard in the Hall of Knowledge. He wouldn’t have understood what was being said, of course, but he must have seen enough to realize that William had not been part of Pero and Ballard’s plot.
William wondered where Pero and Ballard were now, whether Lin Mae would send men to pursue them and bring them back. If they had black powder with them it was possible. She had already made it clear how terrible she thought it would be if the secret of black powder were ever to reach the wider world.
How would he feel if Pero were captured? William didn’t know. He and his friend had been through a lot together, and he certainly wouldn’t rejoice in his inevitable execution.
* * *
Pero wondered how much longer it would be before he ended up cutting Ballard’s throat and taking the black powder for himself. He wasn’t normally so ruthless—in fact, loyalty was his greatest strength (and also, perhaps, his biggest weakness)—but the man was starting to drive him crazy. He had lived a cossetted life among the Nameless Order for so long that he was no longer suited to hardship—if, that is, he ever had been. Almost from the outset he had started complaining—about the heat, the dust, the discomfort of being perched atop a horse, and every other little thing he could think of.
Now, several hours after fleeing the Wall, and with the sun high in the sky, Ballard was falling further and further behind. Eyes rolling and his breath wheezing in his chest, he was slumped over his horse like a man who had had no sustenance for days, his bag-of-bones body sliding about in the saddle as though under constant threat of being dislodged.
They were ascending the side of a canyon in the Painted Mountains, Pero leading the riderless horse laden down with their saddlebags. It was hard going, there was no doubt about that. The horses were panting, their bodies lathered with foamy sweat, and Pero himself had aching shoulders and a throbbing back.
But pain was a given, and something to be endured. You didn’t give in to it, especially not out here. In such a hostile environment it was imperative to stay alert and in control. This was bandit country, added to which they weren’t yet far enough away from the Wall for Pero to feel safe. Under normal circumstances he would have ridden for at least another three or four h
ours before stopping for a rest and a sip of water. Ballard, though, was simply not up to the task. Already his horse, some way behind, was starting to wander off to one side.
“Vamanos!” Pero called angrily.
Ballard looked up, whining something about his sore ass.
“It will be more than your ass that hurts if we don’t move,” Pero replied, wishing he had William with him; wishing it was the two of them riding across the desert with the black powder, whooping and laughing as they went.
He felt bad about William. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if he had been unable to persuade his friend to join them, but even so he felt bad about leaving him injured and unconscious to face the consequences of his and Ballard’s actions. He hoped the Nameless Order would go easy on his friend, but it was odd to think he might never know, might never see or hear from William again. They had been through a lot together, had saved one another’s lives more than once.
He glanced back again at Ballard, and his mood darkened. He couldn’t imagine Ballard ever saving his life. As far as he was concerned, the sooner the two of them went their separate ways the better.
It took a few more choice insults from Pero before Ballard was shamed into sitting up straighter in his saddle, and getting his horse to at least trot in the right direction. Pero waited impatiently for the older man to catch him up, and then the two of them went on, side by side, in a simmering silence.
After ten minutes, however, Ballard started to fall behind again. If he hadn’t claimed to know the quickest and safest route through the Painted Mountains, Pero might have simply gone on and left him to it. Coming to a fork in the canyon trail, he turned back.
“Which way?” he shouted.
Ballard meandered up to him, his eyes narrowing as he tried to focus. With trembling hands he reached into his saddlebag for his canteen.
Pero jabbed at the choice of routes ahead. “Left or right?”
Ballard fumbled the top off his canteen and took a long, desperate pull of water. From the way it sloshed when he lowered it from his mouth, Pero could tell there wasn’t much left, that he had drunk far more than he should have done by this stage of their journey.
“Which way?” Pero asked again.
Ballard peered at him, as if he didn’t understand the question, then he muttered, “What do you think?”
Pero rolled his eyes and spat on the ground in disgust. “What I think is that you should save your water.” Suddenly, losing his patience, he shouted, “Izquierda!” and slapped Ballard’s horse hard on the rump.
With a whinny of pain and surprise, it leaped forward, almost dislodging its rider, and began to gallop up the left hand path. Pero watched it go, then gave a satisfied nod.
“The left,” he muttered.
19
It was a massive operation, and incredibly risky. At five staging areas along the Wall, Strategist Wang’s desperate plan was coming to fruition.
Lin Mae stood with Wang at the main staging area, watching as a brazier was set above an airbox with a plunger on the side. As the brazier was ignited, the plunger was slowly pulled out, causing a measured amount of black powder to be blown up into the brazier. This in turn caused flames to surge up from the brazier, generating a large quantity of shimmering hot air.
Taking care not to burn themselves, a number of Tiger Corps soldiers, communicating in sharp, staccato phrases, manipulated a huge bag of stitched-together silk and canvas and sheep skin. Lin Mae knew that if they had had more time and more materials the bags would have been more meticulously crafted, the materials more carefully selected, and tests would have been carried out on the resulting constructions. But time had been very much of the essence, and so they had had to utilize what knowledge and materials they could. All she hoped was that the materials used would be good enough to do the job required of them, and that Wang’s theories would work in practice.
As the huge bag began to fill with hot air, so it began to bulge and rise, and to tug on the shroud ropes connecting it to the woven basket gondola below. The gondola contained four soldiers, and was equipped with weapons from the black powder armory, which were lashed to the sides.
When the bag was fat enough and round enough with hot air, it launched itself from the Wall and became airborne, tugging the gondola with its human cargo behind it. Just as the gondola began to lift itself from the ground, more Tiger Corps soldiers rushed forward, clipping nets containing yet more weapons to the base of the rising basket. The gondola, Wang had explained to Lin Mae, was equipped with a simple propulsion motor, which acted as a crude tiller. This, he said, would enable the occupants of the craft to steer it in the direction they wanted to go.
Lin Mae watched the first of Wang’s hot air balloons lift sedately into the sky, and then looked up and down the line, where more and more balloons were inflating, rising, launching themselves into the air. Propelled by fire and black powder and wind, her army was sailing forth. It was like watching the paper lanterns that had been launched to commemorate General Shao’s life, albeit on a massive scale.
She only hoped that the balloons, like the lanterns, would not burn out and die before they reached their destination.
* * *
Taking the left-hand fork may not have been the correct decision, after all. Pero and Ballard had followed the trail for a while, but it hadn’t seemed to lead to anywhere in particular, except deeper into the mountains.
Now the sun was going down, and the air was getting cooler, and they needed somewhere to camp for the night. With Ballard all but falling asleep on his horse, Pero had called a reluctant halt to their day’s progress, and had told Ballard that if he remained below and looked after the horses, he would trudge up the steep ridge on their right and try to work out where they were. Ballard had agreed with a tired waft of his hand and Pero had set off. Now he was nearing the crest of the ridge and his thighs were aching with exertion. Close to the top he paused and looked back.
Ballard and the horses were nothing but a group of dark smudges far below. From here the Painted Mountains looked spectacular, striped in vibrant colors. Pero took a swig from his canteen and saw Ballard’s stick-like figure doing the same at the foot of the valley. He felt a flash of irritation. Why did the idiot need yet more water when he was only sitting there, not doing anything? He’d regret it tomorrow when his canteen ran dry and there was no more water to be had. Putting his own canteen away, Pero ascended the last steep stretch of slope. When he got to the top he sighed.
The view, though spectacular, was not exactly encouraging. To the north were more mountains, marching away into the distance. To their south, beyond the great desert plain glowing gold and red in the light of the setting sun, was the seemingly never-ending black thread of the Great Wall, miles behind them now, but still not far enough away for Pero to feel entirely safe.
Squinting, he saw dozens of black dots in the sky above the Wall. What the hell were they? He couldn’t quite make them out. He shrugged. Ah well, they weren’t his concern. As long as they didn’t interfere with his business, he didn’t—
A sound from below cut in on his thoughts. He wasn’t sure what it was—movement of some kind—but it set alarm bells ringing in his head all the same. He spun quickly, looking down, half-expecting to see bandits converging on Ballard and the horses. But what he did see was even worse—and utterly unbelievable.
Ballard and the horses were riding away. Riding away fast. A great cloud of dust kicking up into the air behind them as they disappeared into the canyon.
“No!” Pero yelled, and started to scramble down the steep slope of the ridge, knowing it was already hopeless. Had Ballard played him along all this time? Pretended to be exhausted when in fact…
“No!” he shouted again as Ballard, the horses and the precious black powder disappeared from view. He raised his head to the sky and howled into the approaching night.
“Noooo!”
* * *
William, dozing, was woken by t
he sound of cheers rising from the top of the Wall. The stockade was located in one of the high towers of the fortress, which meant that the cheering was coming from somewhere below him.
Curious, he scrambled to his feet and crossed to the slit of a window, which overlooked the Wall, hoping to see what was going on. Had the Nameless Order achieved a major victory of some kind? But if the Tao Tei had launched another attack, surely he would have heard it?
His cell was darker than it had been when he’d entered it earlier, the thin beam of light now a deep reddish amber, which meant that the sun was going down. Soon he’d have nothing but the vague flicker of torchlight from outside to puncture the darkness. To all intents and purposes, it would be like being sealed inside a tomb.
For now, though, there was enough illumination to see by, though the window was so narrow, and set at such an angle, that he couldn’t see very much. He strained forward, pushing his head into the gap, hoping that it wouldn’t get stuck.
And then he lurched backward, scraping his ear and cheek on the rock. A giant had just thrust its face against his window blocking out the light!
That was his first thought. When he looked again, the billowing, rounded head was swinging by. All at once he realized it was made of stitched-together pieces of silk and canvas. And suddenly it occurred to him what it really was. A balloon! An impossibly vast balloon! And below it, rising now, was what appeared to be a basket in the shape of a small boat, containing people.
William laughed. The thing was crazy! Impossible! And yet here it was.
Then there was an enormous BOOOM! and the balloon became a huge ball of flame. As William threw himself backward, the heat of the explosion washing across his face, he heard awful screams that instantly faded, became distant, and he imagined the boat-shaped basket with its human cargo plummeting to the earth at the base of the Wall, far, far below.
