Where The Stars Rise: Asian Science Fiction and Fantasy

by Law, Lucas K.

  As the advocate considered the clerk, who was dressed in a modest robe of dark grey, he realized that there were other people in the office. Three elderly men in peasant attire knelt on the floor, speaking to the clerk in a quiet and plaintive manner. The advocate could not make out every word they were saying, but it was apparent that the visitors were pleading for intervention in some matter. When it came to minor financial issues, the clerk acted as an intermediary between the masters and the peasants. Those making a request or seeking some relief from the manor had to go through him, which gave him significant power over the lowliest dependents of the estate.

  As the advocate continued to watch, the elderly peasants finished making their case. One of them produced some copper standard coins, strung up with a string through the square holes in the middle. He offered them to the clerk with his arms raised high and his head bowed down low. The clerk took the coins and weighed them in his hand, but he did not utter a word. After a long moment, the peasants looked at one another, whispered, and produced another string of coins that they handed over in the same submissive manner. The clerk took it also and weighed it as well. Silence. The peasants handed over a third string of coins. The clerk finally nodded, much to the relief of the peasants.

  The scene confirmed what the advocate had heard since his return to the village ten days ago. On more than a few occasions, peasants had told him how they missed his father who had always been fair and honest in his dealings with them. After the new clerk had taken over the post, following the sudden death of the advocate’s father, he had revealed himself to be a greedy and venal man, taking every opportunity to squeeze the people for money. He had apparently decided to allay his discontent as a disinherited son by accumulating his own wealth through his position at the estate. The advocate realized that because he had been able to advance himself in the wider world, the peasants of the village had fallen into clutches of a thoroughly corrupt man.

  “When do you have to return to your base?” the advocate asked the officer as they sat drinking cheap but sweet wine at their favourite inn, a modest establishment just outside the village.

  “They gave me leave for the full mourning period,” the officer said, finishing off the liquor in his cup. “I think I will go to the North Capital first, enjoy myself a little before I go back. Why do you ask?”

  “I have an idea,” the advocate, pouring his friend a new drink.

  “What idea?”

  “Well, let me ask you this. How much money do you have? You must still have some of the reward for your meritorious action.”

  “I spent a lot of it celebrating with the comrades of my unit, as I was expected to. But I still have enough to put to good use. I was thinking of buying a small house. Somewhere I can go home to when I’m demobilized.”

  “I have something better for you to spend it on. It’s a bit of a gamble, but it might turn out to be worthwhile in the end.”

  “How much of a gamble?”

  “It’s hard to know right now. But I wouldn’t expect you to risk it alone. I’ll put all my money in it as well.”

  “Truly? Then you must be certain of its outcome.”

  “I am not certain at all.”

  “Then why do it?”

  The advocate finished his drink and waited for the officer to fill his cup for him. He took a small sip before answering him. “When you go into battle, even if you know that your men are strong and disciplined, your strategy is sound, and your enemy is in disarray, is it not still a gamble?”

  “In war, always.”

  “That’s it then,” the advocate said. “I propose we go to war.”

  The estate clerk hated the advocate, resenting him for having attended the Hall of Great Learning at the North Capital and earning his legal license. He would have wanted to pursue that ambition if he had not been born the last son of an unsuccessful merchant. So the advocate’s unexpected appearance at his home in the middle of the night vexed him greatly. As the visitor greeted him with utmost politeness, the clerk could not think of a way to get rid of him without being rude. He had to invite him in, but he was determined to be curt and not offer him any refreshments until the advocate got the hint and left.

  After they sat down in his outer chamber, the advocate produced a black lacquered box and set it at the side of his sitting mat. When he opened it up, the clerk was astonished to see an enormous golden toad with precious black stones for its eyes. Before he could ask him about it, the advocate spoke.

  “Master clerk, since I have committed the unforgiveable impertinence of coming to your home without advance notice and interrupting your rest so late in the night, I will reveal quickly the purpose of my visit. As you may have heard, I have returned here to settle my affairs. After that, I will move to the North Capital. In the course of going through my family’s papers, I found a few documents missing. None of great importance, but some involving matters of personal nature. I know my father was scrupulous about making copies of every document, however trivial, and keeping them at the grand estate’s household archive. So I have come to beg you the favour of allowing me into the archive for a few hours to look for the papers. I would be most grateful if you would indulge me in the matter.”

  He then gently pushed the golden toad forward a little.

  “Well, I can’t let anyone into the household archive for a frivolous reason,” the clerk said, his lustful eyes fixed on the shining toad.

  “Of course not, master clerk,” the advocate said. “For it is one of your highest duties to safeguard the papers there. It is my hope that you will not consider my reason frivolous.” He pushed the frog forward a little further. “Just a few hours, to look for documents pertaining only to my family’s affairs.”

  “I can give you one hour,” the clerk said, barely restraining himself from reaching for the toad. “After the work day is over. I won’t have people thinking that I casually allow outsiders into the archive.”

  “That would be wise, master clerk. I will come tomorrow at the time of the evening meal, when no one will be around. I thank you most sincerely for this great favour you are granting me.”

  And he pushed the golden toad all the way to the clerk, into his greedy, grasping hands.

  The lady of the estate became furious when her offer for the officer’s land was rejected and the advocate requested an official hearing with the imperial magistrates. She ordered her advocate to flood the court with documents, many of them fabricated by expert hands, to make what paltry papers the advocate would present seem inconsequential. As she had all the advantage in the matter, she was certain that the magistrates would decide in her favour. She would then take over that troublesome bit of land, have everything standing on it eradicated, and the remains in the officer’s family gravesite dug up and dumped somewhere. With the great circle of the garden complete, she would then build the grand retreat of myriad white and pink flowers that she had seen in a springtime dream, a place where she could while away her winter years in peace. And those impertinent sons of a tanner and a clerk would not see a single copper standard for it.

  In the first days of the hearing at the Hall of Judgment, everything proceeded as she had expected. Her advocates presented one bundle of documents after another to the massively obese magistrates sitting behind their long table, their enormous bodies wrapped in layers of bright red radiant fabric. Upon the vast expanses of their shimmering robes, countless embroidered cranes of gold flew gracefully about. Behind them, the great dragon insignia of His Imperial Majesty, the Serene Ruler, was hung up in all its magnificent grandeur.

  The great estate’s advocates argued that the officer’s family may have owned the land at one time, although even that was open to question, but their neglect of the property and failure to properly update their claim at the administration centre caused it to fall into abandoned status. Consequently, the estate, as the central tax-enumerating entity in the district, not only had the right but indeed the responsibility to take o
ver the land and do something useful with it.

  The lady of the estate was gratified to see the magistrates nod their great dome-like heads in apparent agreement, the bulbous flesh under their chins jiggling. She was only a little disconcerted by the calm expression on the face of the advocate as he sat listening without making a single protest. He did not even bring the officer with him to the court, as if his presence was unnecessary to the case. But she chose to interpret his equanimity as resignation in the face of impending defeat. She speculated that he was carefully masking his regret at not having taken the ten silver standards that she had so generously offered.

  After two full days of testimony on behalf of the grand estate finally came to an end, the magistrates dismissed the court for the day, informing the advocate that he may present his argument the following morning. The next day, the advocate came with a modest bundle of his own documents.

  “Your Imperial Excellencies,” he began, “my advocacy for the true owner of the land in question is based on a single contention, that the current master of the grand estate has no standing in this court.”

  “No standing?” the chief magistrate, the fattest of the three, asked. “Upon what basis do you make the claim?”

  “Upon the basis of treason, Your Imperial Excellency. A traitor to the empire has no right of advocacy in a court presided over by imperial magistrates.”

  “Treason?” one of the assistant magistrates asked, giving voice to the general astonishment in the court. “What treason? What act of treason was committed here?”

  “If I may, Your Imperial Excellencies,” the advocate said and quickly organized his papers into three stacks. He then handed each over to a magistrate.

  “What you see there, Your Imperial Excellencies,” the advocate said, “is the original and copies I have made of a poem entitled ‘The Follies of the Three Lofty Hogs, One Who Snores, One Who Slobbers, and One Who Farts.’ Also, copies I have made of some correspondences among several people who comment on the work.”

  The lady of the estate let out a gasp.

  “As you will see, the three lofty hogs are clear references to Your Imperial Excellencies. Please note the physical descriptions of the animals, their attire, and the words they utter during court hearings. They have obviously been taken from actual cases that were recently argued before you. The poem was manifestly composed to ridicule Your Imperial Excellencies personally as well as to question your wisdom in the judgments you have rendered. It all amounts to an attack on your authority. Imperial law stipulates that any denigration of your position is a denigration of the Serene Ruler himself, since your authority emanates from His Imperial Majesty. The composition as well as the possession of this poem, therefore, is nothing less than an act of treason.”

  “Where did these papers come from?” the chief magistrate asked, his face turning crimson with rage.

  “In the household archive of the grand estate, Your Imperial Excellencies.”

  “No! That is a lie.” the lady of the estate screamed out.

  “It is unclear, Your Imperial Excellencies,” the advocate pressed on, “who composed the treasonous poem in the first place, but what the correspondences reveal is the indisputable fact that the lady of the estate made copies of it and sent it to various acquaintances. Subsequently, they made much merry in ridiculing Your Imperial Excellencies. It is the long-standing practice of the grand estate to make copies of all received and sent letters for the household archive. The estate clerk takes care of that. If Your Imperial Excellencies would expeditiously send your agents there, they are certain to find them. And I suppose that right now the lady of the estate is giving instructions to her advocates to go to the archive and destroy the incriminating papers.”

  The magistrates looked up and saw her talking frantically with her advocates.

  “Marshall of the Court!” the chief magistrate called out.

  “Yes, Your Imperial Excellency.” An armoured officer in the imperial uniform of red and gold came forward and bowed his head.

  “Arrest the lady and her advocates and send men to secure the household archive of the grand estate. Do it immediately, before anyone has the chance to tamper with the papers.”

  “I obey, Your Imperial Excellency.”

  The lady of the estate yelled out in despair as soldiers came for her.

  “Unfortunately, Your Imperial Excellencies,” the advocate went on, “the matter of treason extends even further.”

  “Proceed,” the chief magistrate said.

  “I am a recent graduate of the Hall of Great Learning at the North Capital. During my time there, I have heard disturbing rumours about the heir to the estate, a current student there.”

  “No!” the lady of the estate said.

  “What rumours?” an assistant magistrate asked.

  “That the heir to the estate belongs to a group of literary students known to compose subversive poems. They call themselves the Serene Donkeys, obviously to ridicule the imperial reign. Given the style of their writings, which they post on the walls of the Hall of Great Learning in the middle of the night, ‘The Follies of the Three Hogs’ probably originated from them.”

  “You think the heir to the estate wrote this treasonous filth?” the chief magistrate asked.

  “I cannot know for certain, Your Imperial Excellency, but I think it likely that the lady of the estate made fun of you and complained about some of your judgments in her letters to her son. He, in turn, either composed the poem himself or had one of his Serene Donkey friends do so, after which he sent it to his mother for her amusement.”

  “No, none of that is true, Your Imperial Excellencies!” the lady of the estate yelled.

  “Be quiet, you,” the chief magistrate said, “or I will have you taken out and whipped for insolence. It is true what they say, this is an age of insolence.”

  “And from a former courtesan as well,” an assistant magistrate said.

  When the lady of the estate heard those words, she looked aghast before fainting into the arms of a soldier who restrained her.

  The advocate went on. “The connection to the heir to the estate and to the Serene Donkeys is merely a suspicion on my part, but is it not a matter worth investigating?”

  “It certainly is,” the chief magistrate said. “And we had better send someone to the North Capital quickly, before those subversives at the Hall of Great Learning have an opportunity to destroy evidence of their treason.”

  The assistant magistrates nodded in agreement, their chins jiggling in affronted assent.

  “How did you know you would find something incriminating in the household archive?” the officer asked the advocate as they sat drinking at their favourite inn. They had ordered the best wine in the establishment, and a dozen small plates of sweet and spicy delicacies covered their table.

  “I didn’t,” the advocate answered as he munched on a piece of marinated squid tentacle. “But I thought I would find something. These rural aristocrats, they think that they are above the law as long as they are on friendly terms with the imperial magistrates. They are not scrutinized like the nobles in the cities and are left to their own devices as long as they pay their taxes and take care of local matters. The agents of the Censorate don’t go through their correspondences, so they write freely among themselves without worrying about getting into trouble. They resent the authority of the officials sent from the capital, so they amuse themselves by making fun of them. And their idiot sons go to the Hall of Great Learning and do stupid things, like forming a secret literary society like the Serene Donkeys and writing satirical poems about the powerful. So I wasn’t surprised when I came across ‘The Follies of the Three Hogs,’ which was perfect for our purpose.”

  “The Serene Donkeys,” the officer said with a snort. “They won’t be writing any more poems, now that they have all been rounded up.”

  “The masters of the Hall of Great Learning protect even the most wayward of their students, turning a blind
eye to their antics. But once the Office for the Deliberation of Forbidden Affairs becomes involved, there is nothing they can do.”

  They drank their wine and poured for each other.

  “But what would you have done if you had found nothing of use in the archive?” the officer asked.

  “I prepared a document that I would have planted there. It turned out to be unnecessary.”

  “And no one asked how you got hold of those letters?”

  “I suppose the magistrates are too busy dismantling the grand estate and punishing its former masters to wonder about that. If they question me, I had a legitimate reason to be at the archive, looking for my family papers. I came across the treasonous letters by accident, and I had the duty to report them. They’ll never find out that I gained access to the place by bribing the estate clerk. When the clerk found out that he was going to be investigated, he hung himself.”

  The officer nodded in wonder before he finished his drink.

  “There will be reward money for exposing the treason,” the advocate said. “It will be substantial. We can live comfortably for a while, or use the money to advance our careers. You can buy a house like you wanted, a big one in the North Capital.”

  “Ha! When you told me you were going to spend all our money on a golden toad, I didn’t think I would see any of it back. But you know something, even if I had lost it all, it would have been worth it just to send the heir to the estate to the torture hall at the Office for the Deliberation of Forbidden Affairs. I hope that goat prick really suffers before they break him.”

  “He is not the heir to the estate anymore. He’s not a student at the Hall of Great Learning. He is nothing.”