The Mandate of Heaven (22 page)

All day chains of men in grimy red headscarves carried baskets of earth and rubble from the rockslide at the end of the ravine, dumping it further down the hill. In the humid, midge-clouded air, sweat dripped from nose and chin. The pace of work was frantic, driven by a fat officer who kept glancing expectantly down the ravine.

‘Quicker!’ he berated a soldier stumbling with his heavy basket. ‘You’ll pay if you drop it, damn you!’

As bellowing in the midday heat is thirsty work, the officer withdrew to a canopied area away from the dusty rockslide. There he mopped his red face while a servant poured wine. Even in this oasis, his glance flicked back down the ravine.

Teng perched with Shensi in a shady nook on the hillside, observing the incessant motion below.

‘When Chao mentioned a few men were on their way to help us,’ he said, ‘did you expect this many? There’s at least a hundred.’

Shensi nodded but did not reply. Both watched Chao join the red-faced officer; both took turns shouting at a sergeant who bowed before them, evidently reporting bad news.

‘Oh ho!’ said Teng. ‘All is not as our dear comrade Chao would wish! Work is going too slowly, I suspect. I wonder why.’

They examined the rockslide below. Already tons of stone had been cleared and carted away. The larger limestone boulders were manoeuvred onto pine logs and rolled to one side, a back-breaking effort that had already resulted in a fatal crush and a severed arm. Shensi stirred uneasily and spat.

‘They’ve reached the door,’ he said, ‘that’s why.’

As the last few boulders of the rockslide were removed, a rectangular stone entrance emerged and Shensi leaned forward intently. Teng could imagine his companion’s pride and satisfaction. It seemed everyone was given a chance to achieve something, however unpromising their circumstances. Even his father had maintained a shadowy semblance of the Deng clan’s lost glory. What then of himself?

Teng longed to be far away from this ravine of reckless greed. Soon their mysterious patron would arrive: and he suspected the man’s identity promised terrible danger.

By dusk the tomb entrance was fully revealed. Still Chao and the officer drove their men to greater efforts, so that the narrow space rang with the chime of chisels on obdurate stone.

‘Ah!’ said Teng, uneasily. ‘Look.’

A column of soldiers was advancing up the ravine, guarding a throne covered by a striped yellow and black silk canopy and lashed to two long poles. A dozen men had borne it through the tortuous limestone country, and they moved quickly.

‘I believe,’ said Teng, ‘we behold our patron. A burly sort of fellow. One might almost mistake him for a villain. What do you say, Shensi?’

Shensi spat, only this time surreptitiously.

‘Didn’t you realise he was Hornets’ Nest?’ he asked.

‘Of course,’ said Teng, ‘I’m not a fool.’

‘Maybe we both are,’ muttered Shensi.

Up the ravine came Hornets’ Nest’s cavalcade.

‘Look!’ said Teng, pointing. ‘Just in time.’

None other than Hua scrambled from a steep pathway leading to Ou-Fang Village, rushing forward to greet his master.

Teng’s mouth tasted disconcertingly dry. To be so near the rebel chief who had beheaded hundreds only a month earlier. To be the hired servant of such a man! He dreaded what Father would say. For although Hornets’ Nest called himself a patriot in the mould of Teng’s noble ancestor, Hero-general Yueh Fei, one might as well compare tiger to rat.

After an extended period of fawning by Hua, Chao and the officer, Hornets’ Nest’s portable throne was carried to a canopy near the tomb entrance.

Though night came swiftly many guttering lamps and smoking torches were lit and the work continued at the same pace as before. Teng and Shensi maintained their station on the hillside, eating rations the tomb-finder carried. It seemed Chao and Hua had forgotten them.

‘I bet they haven’t mentioned our part in finding the tomb,’ said Teng. ‘Do you think we’ll see our share?’

The tomb-finder had been engaged on the same terms as himself: a tenth share of the profits. Shensi shook his grizzled head. But it seemed he might be wrong, for Hua came rushing over.

‘Hey, Ink Boy! You there!’

Teng pursed his lips and stared up at the constellations.

‘Ink Boy! I can see you hiding up there.’

Still Teng did not stir and the reason dawned on Hua.

‘Alright, Master Honourable Deng Teng, you know I mean you.’

Now the scholar acknowledged him with a curt nod.

‘You’re needed,’ said Hua, sullenly. ‘And don’t keep me waiting again.’

He was led across the rock-strewn floor of the ravine, straight to the tomb entrance. Shensi followed close behind. Quite a crowd had gathered in a semi-circle. There were officers and secretaries with scrolls and ink; Chao and Hua, of course; most notably, at the front, Hornets’ Nest.

Close up, Teng was surprised by the rebel leader’s ordinariness. He resembled a shopkeeper in silks, laden to the point of vulgarity with gold and jade ornaments. Yet the intensity on his cold, watchful face as he stared at the entrance was far from ordinary.

Certainly, the continued labours of his followers had uncovered an interesting sight. Once the stone was removed, another door blocked the way. Except this was made of solid grey metal. Characters had been inlaid onto the door, wrought in some shiny material that caught the red flickering torches and oil lamps.

Before the wonder of such a discovery, all living men were equals. Who could claim ownership of something so ancient and strange? Perhaps that was why Teng neglected to bow to the rebel chief or even acknowledge him. Instead, assuming his part as scholar without prompting, he approached the metal door and ran a hand over the surface. It felt dusty, oddly malleable. A murmur of alarm at his boldness rippled through the watchers. Many stepped back, including Hornets’ Nest.

‘The door is fashioned from lead,’ Teng announced.

He traced the characters with his fingers. The first two were known to him, though rendered in an obscure style, for the Deng family library contained many ancient documents describing the fall of emperors and dynasties, how cities with walls a hundred
li
in circumference burned until their ash blew away in the breeze.

‘What does it mean?’ called a deep, gravelly voice.

Turning, Teng realised it belonged to Hornets’ Nest himself.

‘It means
death
, Your Honour,’ he said.

Again those watching muttered fearfully.

‘Strange,’ he continued, thinking aloud, ‘for the character,
xiaowang
, means the death of a tradition or way of life. One would expect
siwang
, would one not?’

Hornets’ Nest nodded and a slow, scornful smile crossed his face.

‘A scholar!’ he chuckled. ‘Well then, what of the other characters?’

Teng could not answer with integrity. ‘They are familiar, but somehow contradictory. I need time to think.’

Silence in the ravine except for the crackle of pine torches.

‘Break open the doors!’ ordered Hornets’ Nest.

‘That is not wise!’ cried Teng.

All froze in amazement. No one outside his inner circle had contradicted the rebel leader so blatantly for years – much to the damage of his character.

‘We should wait until dawn,’ said Teng. ‘If there are angry ghosts within – and they will hardly relish Your Honour’s designs upon their valuables – they will be invisible at night. At least one may see them as vague shapes by day and so gain some warning.’

For a long moment Teng’s fate hung on an impulse, a whim. But Hornets’ Nest was a practical man by nature and knew better than to tangle with unseen spirits on their native ground. He had also not commenced that night’s drinking.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Break down the doors at dawn. The scholar goes in first.’

With that he withdrew to his canopy, where wine and sizzling, grilled meats of various kinds awaited him.

Towards dawn it began to rain. Teng woke to a wet trickle on his cheeks. He and Shensi crouched beneath a large umbrella – Deng Nan-shi’s only gift to aid his son in the wild, tiger-haunted mountains – while Teng mixed ink using raindrops. This he applied to paper scrounged from Hornets’ Nest’s secretary. After an hour’s work he possessed over a dozen spells and admonitions written in the oldest characters he could recollect. The most powerful he placed beneath his shirt as armour. Then Teng approached the tomb entrance and studied the inlaid characters:
death
, certainly, but what was the second set?

Dawn sowed brightness into the rolling clouds above. Now was the time to brave an entry: a meeting point between
yin
and
yang
. Teng took his spells and nailed them into the lead door until they completely obscured the characters for death. It was disquieting how easily the nails went in, as though some force tempted him onward. Shensi, who was breathing over his shoulder, grunted.

‘Lead doors are only good for keeping out water, not robbers,’ he said.

He called to one of the soldiers: ‘Bring an axe.’

The first blow left a shiny scar across the grey metal. Soon a man-size silver gash split the sealed entrance from top to bottom. A stout pole was applied to lever it wider so a man might slip through. Teng became aware of a fetid, vile odour beyond the gap – darkness, profound and undisturbed, a pool of night concealed by layers of stone, dust and brooding time.

‘Is it so easy to enter the past?’ he murmured, wonderingly.

The tomb-finder shrugged. ‘It’s getting out that’s hard.’

They were interrupted by Hua and Chao. Both were pale and dishevelled from last night’s carouse.

‘You two! What are you doing?’ Chao called angrily, grabbing Teng’s arm.

He tried to shake him off but Chao’s grip was strong.

‘Following orders,’ said Teng. ‘And you’re disobeying them. Remember,
the scholar goes in first
.’

A loud, grating voice made everyone jump. It belonged to Hornets’ Nest, and he sounded hungover. ‘Let him go, you fools! That’s why he’s here.’

Chao and Hua leapt away from Teng as though he burned. They bowed low to their red-faced chief. A glint in their eyes indicated who they blamed for Hornets’ Nest’s displeasure. And who they were unlikely to forgive.

‘I need a lamp,’ said Teng, addressing Hua. ‘Get it now.’

‘Two lamps,’ called a new voice. Shensi rubbed his stubbly chin and raised two fingers. ‘I go in with the scholar.’

‘Two lamps,’ ordered Teng. ‘Quickly!’

Under the impatient eye of his chief, Hua could only obey.

As Teng stepped through the oval rip in the lead sheet he thought, quite oddly, of a woman’s cinnabar passage. After all, he was entering a tunnel steeped in shadowy female
yin
-essence. To proceed further meant entering a kind of womb, gestating … what? The character on the entrance promised
death
. If he and Shensi were the seeds, what monstrous egg awaited them?

Shensi, however, had less fanciful matters on his mind. ‘Chao and Hua are turds,’ he muttered, ‘I can tell they’re angling for our share.’

‘Why did you offer to accompany me?’ asked Teng.

‘Because Hornets’ Nest is a bigger turd. I want to see what my tenth looks like.’

Both held up their lamps. A long corridor sloping downwards had been cut into the solid rock, an inconceivable labour, especially as the curved roof was taller than a man could reach. The lamp flames stirred slightly, bending back towards the entrance: an indication of air movement. Most notable was the smell. Teng sniffed repeatedly – earth-scents, incestuous generations of mould and something unfamiliar, perhaps dangerous. He touched the written spell guarding his chest. It was well known one might detect demons by their peculiar fragrance. Teng placed a warning hand on Shensi’s arm.

‘If we meet a beautiful lady who smells of warm jade, we must not trust her,’ he cautioned. ‘She will be a fox fairy.’

The tomb-finder shrugged. ‘If she’s carved from jade, I’ll sell her. Come on.’

He led the way down the corridor, tapping the floor in case of ancient pits. Darkness closed around them and soon the slit of daylight from the entrance faded. Their feet slithered on the uneven stone floor. Teng marvelled that once, millenia ago, a funeral cortege had followed this same road.