The Pirate Empress

The Pirate Empress

Deborah Cannon

©
Copyright 2014 Deborah Cannon

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

PROLOGUE

South China Waterworld, 15
th
Century AD

Captain Chi Quan of the Imperial Army peered through the spyglass to the jade-coloured sea. At the root of the cliff, a strange shadow landed among the houseboats and sampans flanking a lone junk. A few moments before, the shadow had appeared on the ground at his horse’s stamping feet. Now it hung over the pale figures of the sea gypsies. It vanished into the mist surrounding the bowsprit.

Frowning, Quan wiped the curling fog from his eyes. He shifted the spyglass to where a boy fished from a raft … and waited. All was quiet.

Then he ordered his army to make for the beach.

At the bottom of the limestone bluff Quan dismounted. He removed his peaked red-tasselled helmet, clinking it against his scalloped chest plate and tucked it under his arm. He signed at four of his men to detain the boy. Bamboo scraped gravel and a uniformed soldier at each corner of the raft pushed it to shore.

The boy sneered when Quan questioned him as to the sighting of a man and mule falling from the cliff. Quan was not amused. He returned his gleaming helmet to his head and ordered Lieutenant He Zhu to pay the boy for the loan of the raft.

Across the quiet water the red disk of the sun cast a reflection on the bay. In the Waterworld eyes peeked from every quay, firth and estuary. Here in the heart of the monkey country between the Cloud Forest and the eastern islands the poor inhabited the secluded coves and inlets on boats. Few were known to step foot on dry land. The fugitive had done so. The question was: to where had the rogue disappeared? Quan turned to seek the white stone bluff and the rocks that jutted from the sea. When he turned back he saw they neared the junk. It sported a fearsome figurehead.

They bobbed alongside the ragged junk until the two hulls met with a
thunk
. Lieutenant He Zhu secured the two craft together with a rope.

Aboard the junk, a woman on a reed mat beneath a torn bamboo sail squatted over a stone hearth stirring tiny red fish in an iron wok. Her head was bent and a braided loop of oily black hair obscured her features. Unlike the women at court her toes were not curled into the delicate shape of lotuses; in the north of the Middle Kingdom women bound their feet.

The pirate woman’s head rose, and with a half-lidded sneer she warned the army to make itself scarce. She had no patience for the Emperor’s tax collectors.

But it was obvious there was nothing for Quan to take even had he the mind to. What he had thought to be tiny red fish were not fish at all; they were caterpillars. And next to the wok were a few limp sea vegetables and a pot of watery rice gruel. Forming a half-circle around the food were five pirate brats.

He introduced himself and his companion, and then asked, “Where is their father?”

She snapped, “He is out fishing.”

He Zhu’s sabre spun out with the ring of steel. Quan slapped a hand against Zhu’s chest to prevent him from acting rashly. A movement in the hatchway had caught his eye, and at the opening to the cabin he detected a standing shadow. He was about to investigate when one of the pirate brats plucked a sizzling caterpillar from the wok, juggled it in her fingertips and offered it to him with a mocking smile.

He declined a taste and she popped the morsel into her mouth. He turned back as the shadow vanished.
Is that you, Choi?
he wondered. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he decided it was, but he was not about to kill the rogue in front of his children. He gestured for He Zhu to return them to shore.

Before they were a pole’s length away, the pirate woman screeched like a crow and hurled her cooking knife. The point sliced Zhu’s arm, collapsing him onto the raft. Quan squatted to restrain his lieutenant. He yanked the knife out, and bound the wound with a strip of cloth torn from the lieutenant’s shirtsleeve. He rinsed the blade in the sea as the blood seeped through the cloth bandage and wept between Zhu’s fingers. If Quan had not stopped him, the lieutenant would have hurtled himself overboard and slit his attacker’s throat from ear to ear. Grumbling, He Zhu squeezed the muscle where the cut had struck a major artery, and lowered himself to his haunches so that his tourniquet could be tightened.

“What were you thinking, Quan?” he demanded. “You can’t reason with these people. They are no better than beasts. Look at that thing carved on their prow.”

Indeed, Quan thought.

Before his eyes was Xiang Gong, the pirates’ hellish water god.

%%%

Late that night, eleven miles down shore, Quan ordered a small detachment of men to scout the beach. As a cargo junk broke the mist he doused the Imperial colours, and sent the banner with the Emperor’s green dragon rippling to the ground. He hastened out of his uniform, donned the guise of a merchant seaman, and had his soldiers do the same. They hid their horses and armour in the wooded bank among the mangrove trees and made their way to the dock.

All one hundred of his soldiers embarked on five longboats and set course for the
Red Dragon
. They boarded the carrier as daylight darkened and the white wheel of the moon rose in the sky.

Quan checked for the weapons at his armpits and his hip, and signalled to the ship’s captain to be ready. A number of small serpent boats had rounded an island, and now floated silently over the tops of the waves.

He Zhu cradled his injured arm frowning. Quan leaned forward. Where had they gone? They were there just a moment ago. Now he couldn’t see them.

A soft scrambling sound came from the ship’s hull. He drew one of his daggers and indicated for He Zhu and the junk’s captain to do the same. In a flying bound, he landed on the lower deck. A man with a knife in his teeth and a strangely demonic look in his eyes clung to the side of the junk. Before Quan could blink, the knife left the pirate’s teeth and collided with Quan’s dagger.

Immediately the ship was flooded with pirates, but his Majesty’s men were prepared. They clashed steel with the intruders and sent them flying. Just when it seemed like the skirmish was contained, twenty large pirate junks rounded the island and fired a barrage of flaming arrows. Men stationed all over the rigging and deck hoisted iron shields. It took forty gallons of seawater to douse out the flames. The
Red Dragon
shot a dozen iron cannon balls and sank six ships in a matter of minutes. A scoundrel shouting orders galloped to portside, halberd raised to the stars. Quan catapulted in his wake, grabbed him by the wrist and twisted an arm up his back, tucking him face-out against his chest. With his free hand, he relieved the ruffian of his halberd and shoved it point-end into the deck.

“Choi?” he asked, pressing a dagger to his throat. “Is that your name?”

“Who wants to know?” the pirate rasped out.

The pirate’s insolence was enough to inform Quan that he had custody of the pirate chief. He signalled to He Zhu who had returned to the bridge after slaying five men despite his wounded arm. The nearest sailors hoisted the Imperial colours.

Choi wrenched free, spat in Quan’s face and tried to make it to the rail. Quan retrieved his prisoner by the arm and slung him to a waiting soldier. Quan leaped over the rail and dropped below onto a waiting sampan to where a boy attempted to free it and a woman bailed out water.

They were sinking fast. Quan wasted no time forcing the duo aboard.

Was this the same tattered youth whose raft he had borrowed that afternoon? Awash in moonlight, his face had a familiar ghostly gauntness, and a nick bled on his forehead from a spear gone astray. The woman, filthy from the sea, had fire in her eyes just like the pirate (clearly her husband) and Quan recognized the sea gypsy who had tried to kill Zhu with her fish knife. She was going to fight or die; she would not go meekly to the hold.

Without warning, Choi booted his captor in the groin and swung to strike the next man who tried to restrain him, ending up with a dirk in his back put there by Zhu.

Quan turned back to the pirate family as the pirate chief fell dead. Quan grunted, and dragged the mother aft, ordering the wounded son to follow. He guided them past the hold to one of the
Red Dragon’s
rowboats. No matter that they were pirates, they had committed no crime.

He commanded them to flee as Zhu raced up and dug his fingernails into Quan’s shoulder. Quan shook him off. At He Zhu’s insistence, he looked to where the junk’s lanterns illuminated the night sky.

At the stern of the ship a long, warped shadow rose against the tattered sails and melted off the mast and into the sea.

It had nine yellow human heads and the blue body of a snake.

PART I: BLACK TORTOISE

CHAPTER ONE

The Forbidden City

In one of the flowered gardens of the inner courtyards of the palace, Lotus Lily was learning her craft, the craft of pleasing a man. She was raised among the palace women and named by her aunt, the lady Jasmine. What a ridiculous name, she thought. Was it so hard to decide what name the flower should take? After all, a lotus was just another type of lily. In her own mind Lotus Lily had renamed herself Li. She groaned at the walls of her Imperial prison. They seemed to go on forever, interspersed with the deep curved roofs and overhanging eaves of the palace buildings. The whole thing was pompous, like oversized hats on stout walls encasing white stone courtyards, raised audience halls, arched bridges and shallow staircases.

“Lotus Lily. Wake up, you foolish child. Always dreaming of fox faeries and talking to swallows, it’s no wonder that at fourteen years His Majesty still hasn’t asked for you. You’re a failure. You cannot make tea. You can’t pay enough attention to steep the leaves and serve it at its peak.”

Not my job, she wanted to say. But of course, she didn’t. She released the swallow that had landed on her finger and bowed meekly at the stupid eunuch who was scolding her. Ordinarily she would have defied him, but today she must be on her best behaviour if she was to sneak away later and fight with Master Yun’s young warriors.

“Come inside,” Tao said. “You’re irritable because your feet hurt crammed into those flowerpot shoes. Come inside and soak your feet.”

“No, my feet are fine.” She sat down at the white stone table in her flowered courtyard, and tucked her round-toed, flowerpot slippers under her long, silk gown.

“Soon you’ll stop growing and your feet will stop growing, too. Then you can relax. I only hope you stop growing so tall. You’re almost the height of some of the soldiers at court.”

“Well, I’m already taller than His Highness, so they say.”

And you think that’s a good thing? Lotus Lily, you are a lost cause.”

Good. Then maybe he will reject me.

A deep frown penetrated Tao’s forehead. How was it that the eunuch could read her thoughts?

“If His Majesty rejects you, you’ll be thrown out of court. Or worse, you’ll be executed. Don’t you realize how privileged you are? Beauty is a rare prize and you were given more than your share.” As Tao’s hands flew up in exasperation Li caught sight of a black and white tattoo on his left palm. A question formed in her mind, one that had nagged at her incessantly, but one he had instructed her never to ask. Feeling guilty, she shifted her eyes to the tea bowl with its loose leaves and white flower petals.

A hint of her face reflected back at her. A painted, rice paper parasol shaded her skin’s snowy whiteness. Her brows curved in soft twin arcs above clear, chestnut, almond-shaped eyes. Her lashes were straight and black and the lids lined with kohl; her lips and cheeks were pink with rouge. A jade circle hung at her throat over a gown of white and silver. Beauty was artificial, she decided. Otherwise, how was it that Master Yun failed to see she was a girl when she stripped herself of these garnishments?

“I’m bored,” Li said. “Can we do this another day?”

Tao sighed. “Your aunt will be displeased with you. And if your mother were alive she’d be appalled by your behaviour.”

How appalling was being bored? She decided it wasn’t worth getting the eunuch’s hackles up. “Tell me about my mother,” Li said.

No one ever spoke of her mother or father. So how came she to be at court? Her earliest memories were here.

“What about my father. Was he a great warrior?”

“Your father was indeed a great warrior, although he no longer fights worldly battles.”

“Where is he? Dead?”

“Enough. Go inside. Do what you want. We’re done for today.”

Rising, Li tilted her parasol over her head and remembered to totter as she left the courtyard to prevent suspicion of her unbound feet. The Lady Jasmine had experienced such excruciating misery and pain when her feet were bound at age seven that she had spared her niece the agony, and Li was forever grateful.

“Remind me tomorrow to teach you how to walk like a lady.”

She craned her head to look over her shoulder and nodded in mock respect.

After entering the concubine’s wing of the palace, she found Jasmine at her bedchamber door. “Lotus Lily, it is time you learned some of the arts of love.”

When she was younger and the concubines spoke of this Li had no idea what they were talking about. At age nine they had forced her to watch how a woman was made to receive a man’s jade spear. She remembered vomiting on the spot all over His Majesty’s yellow slippers. She had created such pandemonium that the concubines had decided she was too young to learn the arts of love. She was lucky she wasn’t executed then. All of the concubines agreed she was a slow bloomer, and she wasn’t getting any younger or any shorter. Very few things in life frightened Lotus Lily. She hated scorpions and she hated snakes, and for good reason; both bit and both could kill. But the idea of sleeping with the Emperor made her quake.

Jasmine frowned at Li’s expression and waved her into her bedchamber. “It’s not as bad as all that. It can even be good if you understand your body and you understand his.”

The last thing Li wanted was to understand the Emperor’s body. She already understood it. Ninety percent of it was made of fat. Not so much because he was overweight, but because he spent so much time sitting on his throne or lying in bed with his concubines. He was so lazy in fact that his toenails and fingernails were long enough to curl over on themselves.

“I don’t think you’ll believe me until you see it,” Jasmine remarked, watching Li pull a face.

See what? His Royal Highness’s toenails reminded her of the stone Lion Dog statues at the throne room entrance, with their curled balls for feet.

Jasmine lifted a yellow painted parasol and tottered toward the doorway. “You look green. Not a good colour for a concubine-to-be. I think you need some fresh air.”

“But I was just outside,” Li complained.

“Come, come. Stop your whining and bring your parasol.”

They had just left the building when a clangor by the palace gates brought soldiers and administrators running. The other concubines came to the windows and several tottered outside to see what was happening. Someone important was coming. Li could hear the clatter of horses. Through the gateway the yellow banner with the green dragon flew into the public square, succeeded by a convoy of the Imperial Army. Her heart drummed, her hands shook, and she balled her fingers into fists to still them. The regal brown and white stallion bearing the great Chi Quan, Captain of the First Regiment and Master of the Horses, clopped to a halt escorted by his lieutenant He Zhu.

“Lady,” he said, dipping his head slightly. “A beautiful day for a walk.”

Jasmine smiled, bowed low. “A beautiful day for your return, Captain. His Majesty is expecting you.”

“Then I mustn’t keep him waiting.”

Chi Quan raised his eyes from Jasmine and the steely gaze landed on Li. Li should have bowed. She should have lowered her gaze. But she didn’t. Jasmine elbowed her. Li woke from her bewitchment and dipped her eyelids. She hated to take her eyes off this beautiful man.

“And who are you?” Quan asked her.

No one ever addressed her directly. Only the eunuchs and Jasmine ever spoke to her like she was a person. Li opened her mouth to speak and to her horror no words emerged.

“My niece, Captain,” her aunt said. “It seems she’s a bit tongue-tied at the moment.”

Quan smiled provocatively. “A quiet woman is a woman of breeding.”

Li swallowed. Jasmine bowed again. The captain nodded and steered his horse toward the palace stables. Lieutenant He Zhu rode past them, but not before Li noticed her aunt and the lieutenant exchange looks.

“Lotus Lily,” Jasmine said when the soldiers left. “I must go and attend to things now that Captain Chi Quan and his army have returned from quelling the pirate uprising.”

“He’s so wonderful,” Li said, her dreamy gaze focused on the grand entrance to the throne room. “How old is he?”

Her aunt sent her an irritated frown, sighed. “He’s at least twenty-three. My age. Now go and make yourself useful. At the very least, learn to make a proper cup of tea.” She crushed Li with a glare when Li pursed her lips defiantly. “If ever anyone discovered how inept you are, no one would want you. Especially not His Majesty.” Jasmine headed indoors, throwing over her shoulder, “And that’s not the worse that would happen to you. Be good. I’ll be busy for a couple of hours.”

Li watched her aunt’s slim, feminine figure totter back inside their quarters. Chi Quan, she sighed, and stared in the direction of the treed and flowered enclosure where Tao had forced her to learn the tea ceremony.
Fox faeries.
She snorted. Little did that stupid eunuch know, she didn’t dream of fox faeries but of being a mighty warrior. She jumped as a swallow sailed low over her head, and then soared above the palace walls. What was she doing wasting time, dreaming of love? Now was her chance to escape.

Everyone had left the public square. She hurried back to her room forgetting to totter, and flung off her flowerpot shoes and her lady’s gown. She bound her chest with a girdle to flatten her breasts and covered herself with a boy’s shirt. She drew on thick cloth leggings and tied a black sash to her waist. Oh dear, her face. She couldn’t go outside all rouged and girly. She wiped off the makeup and twisted her hair into a topknot exactly like that of the boys of Master Yun’s martial arts class. Then she slipped out a back window and raced to the exercise yard.

%%%

On the grassy field a thousand lithe, strong boys practiced the ancient art of Kung Fu. They were graceful and powerful, and destined for careers in the Emperor’s great army. Master Yun bowed, and said nothing as Li joined the class. She took up her position in the front formation, made the Eagle Claw with her body, then the Lotus, the Sabre and finally the Dragon. Master Yun stopped her from showing off and ordered her to align herself with her classmates so that they could practice
Chi
. To be successful at the martial arts one must control all functions of the body, beginning with the breath.

“Practice your form like you were sparring and spar like it was a form,” he said. “But first master your breath.”

“When can we use weapons?” Li was always speaking out of turn.

“Not until you master your breathing.”

None of the students could progress to the more advanced stages of training without learning this very basic task. Without strong and flexible muscles including the management of
Chi
and proper body mechanics, the precise movements of the martial arts were impossible to achieve. Although Li had advanced beyond basic training, she reluctantly practiced the simple repetitions. She inhaled, exhaled and stretched. She repeated the exercises ten times before performing a few more stances. Now Master Yun asked them to meditate.

The last thing she wanted to do was meditate. She was wired. She had a fight inside her that was boiling to get out. She had trained for nearly a year. She excelled at kicking and punching. She wanted to learn combat applications, but her teacher insisted that she spar, drill and condition her body. He had taught them forms to build up their flexibility. She had mastered internal and external strength, supreme speed and stamina. But now she was itching to fight. Many styles of fighting contained forms using a range of weapons where a warrior fought with one or both hands. Some styles of combat focused on a certain type of weapon. She had already chosen hers: the sabre.

Li sat cross-legged on the ground, eyes closed. It was never safe for her to meditate in public. To protect her identity she had developed a heightened sensibility. She could feel the whistling wind on her skin, sense the heated bodies of her fellow students, hear the sounds of their breathing—and more.

She opened her eyes before anyone else. Master Yun slowly raised his eyelids. Someone was coming to the exercise yard dressed in Imperial colours. Master Yun rose from where he had been meditating at the head of the class. In the misty sunlight he stood firm, undaunted by age. How old
was
he? No one knew. His beard was straggly and grey and so he must be old. It was rumoured that he had trained many generations of warriors. Some even whispered that he had trained China’s first Imperial Army. Li shuddered. The soldiers of First Emperor Qin had been dead for more than a thousand years.
Ghost Catcher
, she thought.

Master Yun caught her eye and stared her down. He went to meet the distinguished visitor who was quickly nearing. By now all of the students had opened their eyes to watch the advancing soldier. “Practice,” he ordered over his shoulder.

The boys rose and began to do stances. Li did the Horse Rider, then the Bow, all the while watching Master Yun’s back.

“Stop that!” a young boy’s voice cried out.

A tall, very strong youth was bullying one of the students. He did practice kicks that were too close for comfort. The boy fought back, but his opponent was stronger and more experienced and dodged his attacks in such a way as to make the boy trip flat onto his face. The entire class laughed. Li scowled. She loathed this bully. His name Lok Yu literally meant ‘always raining.’ Lok Yu was a mean kid who thrived on fighting; he had trouble with discipline. His parents had gotten it right when they had given him his name.