The Emperor's Prey

by Jeremy Han

  “Yes. Some monks joined us today. They will leave to join the Treasure Fleet when it sails.”

  “Where are they from?”

  “I don’t know Sir. Monks from all over the empire sail with the fleet. This place is designated by the governor to host them until they sail.”

  An image flashed across Ma Hun’s mind. “Were there lay people following the monks?”

  “Occasionally there are. They are pre-ordained disciples.” The boy’s bland face showed that the monk did not suspect anything.

  Ma Hun’s mind raced. The question came back flashing in his mind. Where do you hide a monk?

  In plain sight.

  His heart skipped a beat. “Thank you Holiness.” He dipped his head to thank the monk. “Amitabha Buddha.” The monk responded and returned to the temple. Ma Hun turned and walked away, his mind spinning. The commander made a mistake and he, Ma Hun had discovered it. Ji assumed that Jian Wen would hide in the mosque because Zheng He was a Muslim and only trusted his own kind. But Ji Gang was not from these parts and lacked the local knowledge that Ma Hun had developed over the months based here. He was sure he was correct. He had been watching the wrong place because of the bastard Ji’s orders. He clenched his fists excitedly. This was dizzying; he was getting even one step ahead of his commander. It was something that he never thought he could achieve. This was his chance to prove himself. He thought about his next step. Should he inform Ji Gang now?

  He decided against it. What if he was wrong? The rest would never let him forget he made a monumental mistake. He thought of An Deli’s snide look. He pictured an image of Yong Ju’s face. The young agent won’t say anything, but his eyes revealed what he really thought of Ma. No. He would not say anything. If his guess was wrong, none would be wiser. If he was right, he was not going to share the glory with his critics. Better to wait and see, he thought. If he was correct, he wanted all the credit to himself. He would show them. A smile curled his lips into a wicked grin. They would regret pissing on him. Instead, they would have wished they had worked with him more closely. Yes, he had been relegated to sentry duty at the mosque. It was boring and tedious, but it had taught him to be patient. And now, he had learnt that patience was a virtue that paid off. Yes, he would be patient and figure this out.

  When Ma Hun got back to his command post, he summoned the commander of the platoon assigned to him, “Take ten men and have them disguised as peasants and hawkers. Deploy them around Kaiyuan Si and keep the surveillance on all movements in and out of the temple. I will be with the team there. You will remain here to guard the mosque. At all times, keep the standby squad ready for action.”

  “Sir, this will mean that none of the men will get to rest.” The officer replied him. Ten on duty with Ma at the temple, ten at the mosque and ten on standby: it would be almost continuous duty for everyone.

  Ma slapped the man. Hard. It resounded across the room.

  “I don’t care. If we fail in our mission, I will personally cut your throat. If I don’t sleep, no one will.” He growled at the man.

  The man retreated with his head bowed like a beaten dog. Ma could hear him giving the unpopular order. He did not care. He really could not care less even if he had to work all of them to death. He was an imperial agent, not a common officer so issues of morale and popularity did not matter to him. He would handle any lack of discipline his way. All he cared was the prey. He did not care how many of these soldiers he must sacrifice. Ma turned and looked at the sky just in time to see a streak of lightning flash across the darkness. Then it started to rain. Another streak of lightning illuminated the cold, steely look of determination on his face.

  SEVENTY ONE

  Zheng He heard the rolling thunder spread its aura throughout the city. It was deep and solid. As a mariner, he was very sensitive to sounds that hinted at the mood swings of the Celestial Spouse. Better she threw her tantrums while he was still on solid ground than when his fleet was sailing with no sight of land. Until today, the fear of drowning caused him to shudder. In his career as a soldier, he had faced death before. In land combat, he knew he had a fair chance against another well-armed, well-trained warrior but against the forces of nature, he had none. He had witnessed how a ship was there and gone the next moment, swallowed by a wave as tall as a mountain. He knew how deceptive water was. All the lives, all the ship were consumed in less than a heartbeat. That to him was truly frightening. Dying without a chance to fight back and never to be found again; he had a healthy fear of the seas. However, he could not deny that there was also great satisfaction from overcoming such a foe through careful planning, plain skill, strength, guts and luck. Those who faced death knew that the greatest kick came from cheating it.

  As he surveyed his staff working feverishly to fulfil his orders to sail the day after, he could not help but think of what he was doing. He tried not to think of it. In a way, he did not have to know. Everything had been done by the hidden network that supported Jian Wen. Whether the emperor got onto his fleet or not, he did not have to know until he was safely out at sea. He was protected; there was no way he could know every single one of the twenty thousand people who sailed with him. He could always feign ignorance and at this stage, if Jian Wen missed the boat, there was nothing he could do.

  He bristled at the thought of not being to do more than this. He had already sent Khun, who paid with his life. He sighed. He knew the imperial agents were watching him and his fleet. It was a cat-and-mouse game. They would not apprehend him unless they saw him with them, which was unlikely. But he knew that they had a dragnet on the city itself. Anywhere on land was unsafe. He wished he could set sail immediately, but he had to continue this charade for another two more days. Then the storm broke and covered the city with gray sheets of rain. The roof sounded like it was hit by a thousand stones, and servants rushed to lower the bamboo blinds so that the admiral’s chamber would remain dry. He thought again that it was better to be wet here than on the high seas. He silently prayed that the Celestial Spouse would exhaust her tears quickly.

  The next morning, the Farmer squatted as a foreman plunked a sack full of grain onto his shoulders. He grunted and then stood, before joining the stream of workers like ants heading toward the grain ship docked at the harbour. The heavyset foreman stood on top of the sacks of grain shouting a stream of vulgarities at the workers, cursing their slowness. Coolies endured abuse all the time, there was nothing unusual about that. After awhile they were deaf to it. Despite his small frame, his legs were steady and he could manage the dead weight on his shoulders as well as the younger and bigger workers. The rain came and he adjusted his straw coolie hat. Streams of water ran off the conical hat like a waterfall. He thought the rain was a blessing: it would make it harder for anyone to recognise him. Someone directed the workers to collect the straw rain coats so that the labour would not stop; they were operating under an extremely tight timeline. He donned the coat and dipped his hat. Instantly, he became indistinguishable from the hundreds of coolies at the pier. He overheard that some of them would eventually join the voyage as labourers to do the manual work wherever the ship docked. He tried not to slip and fall as he walked up the gang plank and handed the sack over to another labourer. Then he came back the way he started to repeat the whole process. All the while, his eyes were scanning for the ship with the green flag or banner. That day, he hadn’t seen it, but then again, there were hundreds of ships. Tomorrow, he had to go to another sector. And if he still could not find it...he did not contemplate the consequences as he heaved another sack onto his shoulder. The loud invectives were drowned out by his inner thoughts. It was nothing to him. Even his father hurled abuses at him in the past for feeding the chickens too slowly.

  At the end of the day, he stood in line to collect his wages. He hunched his shoulders like all labourers do at the end of the day, weighed down more by low esteem than by fatigue. The line snaked. Extra hands were recruited to hasten the loading so that the grand admiral could sa
il on time. Excessive security interference slowed the work down until Zheng He came and stared the Dong Chang down. The port operations continued at an increased pace to make up for lost time. Zhao sent the farmer for this reason: he looked like a peasant and could perform like one. That was why no questions were asked when he came to the docks asking if a spare pair of hands was needed. The foreman just pointed him to the line of coolies waiting for the grain sack to be loaded onto their shoulders. He did not have the martial look commonly associated with warriors. Even the guards did not bother to scrutinize him; they gave him a cursory glance and waved him through. No way could this guy be an imperial bodyguard. He was unassuming and could be trusted to keep quiet. He was cool under hostile circumstances and intelligent. Zhao sent him out each day to find out where were the sentries and patrols, how they could slip through unseen and find the ship with the green flag. As the sun set, he left with the other coolies. He passed through security check points manned by Zheng He’s marines and then through the thick security screens set up by the governor’s men; he had no doubt they were under the Dong Chang’s orders to find him. With the rain still pouring, the guards were not in the mood to check every single one so they waved him off when it came to his turn. After all, they were trying to prevent a monk from entering the docks, not coolies leaving it. He walked away, shuffling like the rest until the group came to the main street then he broke away to continue his reconnaissance. He walked like a labourer trying to find his way home after work even though he did not really know where he was going. The city was alien to him and he was trying to piece the place together in his mind. At the same time, he mentally noted the road blocks and how to avoid them. After circling aimlessly for some time, he took his bearings by looking for the two towering pagodas; they led him back like beacons. Ma Hun saw a hunched figure enter the temple but assumed that it was a menial worker of some kind. He ignored the man; after all he could hardly make out who it was because of the failing light and the unceasing rain.

  Back at the temple, the Farmer briefed his audience. The soft candle light covered his face in an orange glow as he spoke. He looked like a story teller enchanting a night time crowd that was gathered around him. Briefly, he outlined the way to the docks. He sketched the road blocks and the guarded areas that made movement difficult and how to get around them. Zhao contemplated the idea of letting Jian Wen leave with the group of monks while the rest of them become labourers to find a way to slip onto the boats, but they were not told when the monks would leave the temple. They were on their own. Moreover, he knew the Acrobat would object because where would that leave Li Po? After eating, the Farmer got up again. He had his orders to reconnoitre the city at night now to see whether the guards and road blocks change after sun down. He had to find out when the best time for the group to move was, and how he could gain access to the docks at night. As the rest settled for another sleepless night, the Farmer slipped out into the dark again. He had one more day to find a way.

  SEVENTY TWO

  “Tomorrow the ship would leave. All these would end tomorrow either way. Either we find our freedom or we die in this land as fugitives.” The Farmer thought of Zhao’s words as he stepped out of the temple gate for his last day of reconnoitre. It was still dark, but the morning was no longer rainy. He looked around him and saw no one, not even a monk. Still, he felt the cold grip of fear as the consequence of failure sank into him. He had suffered moving from city to city making himself invisible and forgettable. He did not enjoy it. He had longed to return to his home town and to his beloved chicken farms, but he knew that would be the first place the Eastern Depot would look for him. In fact, he knew that anywhere he sank his roots, they would find him eventually. Maybe it took time, but the imperial agents always got their man. He knew because he was an elite warrior like them. He had the same tenacity as they, except that he used it to keep their prey out of their hands. It was a cat-and-mouse game that he wagered with his life. Suddenly he felt an anger; the outrage of being denied a normal life. He had endured this for so many years; he must make tomorrow a success. For his master, for all his friends, for himself – he would not fail. He could not fail. He did not want to die a fugitive. By hook or by crook, he must find the ship with the green flag today.

  When the sun came up, Ma Hun got a report. A soldier disguised as a hawker came to him and reported that before the break of dawn, a coolie left the temple. They followed him to the docks where he reported for work, then the soldier came back to report to the imperial agent. The soldier looked haggard due to the lack of sleep but Ma did not care. He dismissed the man and started to wonder if there was any significance to it.

  Everything is significant. The words of Ji Gang echoed in his head. The commander had taught him well. He would pay attention to this later. He too was suffering from the effects of not sleeping. To fight off the drowsiness, he decided to do an inspection. May heaven protect the man found sleeping! He washed his face to clear the fog in his brain and set off. He would go to the mosque first, then the temple. He would make sure that not even a humming bird could fly out of his trap. He would also inform them to watch out for a small man with a coolie hat.

  When the sun was directly over their heads, the foreman called for a halt. The coolies all knew what to do. They shuffled over to the meal shack and collected their ball of rice lined with some salted anchovies – the food of the poor along coastal cities of the empire. They squatted in groups to eat and the Farmer heard a variety of dialects and accents. Naturally, he tried to find someone from his home town before he reminded himself he had something important to do - find the ship with the green flag. He pretended to go to the loo then he slipped away. All along the pier there were groups of coolies and foremen eating their midday meal. He blended in. He walked along the pier searching for the ship he was looking for, eating his rice ball at the same time. He stopped and joined a queue where some men drank water from a pail. Then he resumed his search; no one paid him any attention. He heard a gong being sounded; lunch time was over. Workers dragged their feet and the never-ending line of human ants started again. The Farmer had not found his ship yet. Should he continue his search or should he go back to work? He made a snap decision. After dark, there was no way he could find the ship. He had to take the risk so he continued walking.

  “Hey!” “HEY!”

  The Farmer pretended not to hear. He continued to walk.

  “Are you deaf!” The question was followed by a stream of obscenities. Then he heard clearly angry footsteps storming up behind him, but he consciously ignored it. He was yanked violently on the shoulder and he had to control his well-honed instincts from striking at the unseen foe behind. Instead he allowed himself to be wheeled about and slapped. The foreman struck him hard, thinking he was trying to skive. He bent his waist and lowered his head like a servant.

  “Where the hell do you think you are going?” The man screamed at him.

  “Ah.....ah.......ahhhhh.....” The Farmer muttered. At the same time, he pointed to his ears and his mouth, indicating he was a deaf mute. It was not difficult to convince the man because he really looked pathetic. Then the Farmer pointed to the other side of the pier, indicating that he had some duties there. Of course the foreman did not know whether he was telling the truth, but there was no way one could interrogate a deaf mute so he frustratingly waved him away.

  “Ahh...ahh...” The Farmer bowed humbly before he made his way off, head lowered. As he shuffled away, he could hear the man mumbling loudly to himself, “What a bloody nuisance, these useless deaf mutes!”

  The Farmer was glad that he had made a point not to engage anyone in conversation although he might have gathered some information on where the ship was. Then he continued his search. After some more turns, he noticed a crowd. In itself, there was nothing surprising about that; docks were busy places. Then he realised that the coolies at that particular dock were struggling with horses. It was an equestrian vessel that carried the Ming cavalry. The a
nimals resisted going up the gang plank and had to be dragged up. It was dangerous as the beasts kicked and reared. These were war horses and their temperaments reflected their purpose. Some horses were more edgy than others and they kicked the workers into the water. There was a lot of shouting as foremen and horse keepers competed with each other at cursing the coolies for not working fast enough, and for not taking adequate care when coaxing the horses up the ramp. His eyes were drawn to a grey mare being dragged up the plank and then it was forced into the hold. It struggled all the way. He knew Zheng He’s fleet had a cavalry arm. This was to ensure that if he had to conduct land battles against wayward foreign kings, he would be adequately prepared. Zheng He’s men were able to fight on ships against pirates, and on land, they knew cavalry manoeuvres and siege techniques. On his previous voyages, the admiral had arrested and executed pirate kings on the high seas as well as capturing rebellious kings on land. He knew another pair of hands would be useful so he ran over to help, joining the coolies that were trying to pull a black stallion to the ramp. More importantly, he spotted a green flag tied to the mast next to the fluttering Ming insignia.

  SEVENTY THREE

  Ji Gang called for a meeting and his men streamed into his office. They looked worn out. He stood leaning over his table with hands on the sides waiting for them. He gripped the edges tightly as the stress of the hunt crushed him -- one more day before the fleet sailed. Ma Hun looked as though he had not slept for days. Ji thought to himself, Let the conceited bastard suffer so that he would know that being an imperial agent was more than being a glorified policeman. There were consequences if they failed the emperor – fatal ones. When everyone was gathered, he asked in a loud booming voice that reflected none of his fatigue and tension. He had to lead by example.