The Stone Road (20 page)

Chapter 25

“Wake up.” It was an order, not a request.

Zhou struggled to open his eyes. He rubbed his eyelids, wiping away the dry and gritty rheum.

“Here.” A wet cloth was shoved into hand and he used it wipe both eyes and hands. The blurry world settled into focus. Zhou looked towards the source of the voice. It was Boqin, the mountain man of the village. The one he had tried to kill. Zhou’s heart skipped beats and he could taste the fear swell in his throat. He tried to rise.

“No. Rest. If I'd wanted you dead, I could have done it a thousand times in a thousand different ways by now.” Boqin’s face was impassive, no smile accompanied the truth of his words. “I haven’t spent this past week looking after you just to kill you now, either.”

“Why not?” Zhou mumbled, the dustiness of his tongue garbling the words.

“Because you are a puzzle.” Boqin turned his head to one side, listening to something that Zhou could not hear. He nodded slightly and turned back to Zhou. “A puzzle indeed and I have been a long time without a puzzle. There is warm meat broth on the table over there. You need to eat and regain your strength. If you can make it there, you can eat. If you can’t, then you will go hungry until you can. I will be back later.”

Boqin stood, pointed to the table on which the steaming bowl rested, and walked to the door. His strong arms were left uncovered, a black wrap-around tunic, belted at the waist with a sash of knotted silk, clothed his torso. Zhou watched him leave the room and close the door. The room itself was bare except for a bed and the table. A window in the far wall let light in but Zhou, from his position on the bed, could not see anything but sky through it.

“Food,” Zhou, determined, flipped the bed cover back and swung his legs around to clamber out of bed. At least, that had been his intention. The cover moved sluggishly under the power of his weakened arms and his legs trembled.  With a struggle, he managed to get both legs out of the bed but by then he was panting and covered in sweat.

“Food,” Zhou repeated and rolled his body off the bed, collapsing to the floor. His head hit the wooden floorboards and he lay dazed, face down, for a few minutes.

“Food,” the word becoming a mantra. Forcing his rebellious limbs to obey his commands he rose up onto all fours and dragged himself, slowly, over to the table.

Unlike the refined dining tables of the city that were set low surrounded by silk cushions to sit on, this table towered over him. There was a chair, roughly constructed from wood and stained with oil, charming in the rustic sense but at present just another obstacle to Zhou reaching the broth. Resting his back against the chair, he reached up for the bowl of broth. Fumbling fingers sought the bowl's rim and he made a clumsy grab for it. Hot brown liquid flowed over the top and down his arm, scalding the flesh as it meandered its way towards his chest. He did not let go, gritting his teeth against the pain, and dragged the bowl to the edge where he could take a better hold with both hands.

Lowering the bowl to his lap, he breathed in the meaty aroma as he let the warmth seep into his legs and his arms, recover from the scalding they had received. Securing his grip, he raised the broth to his lips and drank. First, a little warm dribble across his lips and tongue which then slid down his throat, heating him from the inside out. When it reached his belly, he suddenly realised just how ravenous he was. The rest of the broth he gulped noisily, some spilling down his chin and onto his bare chest, like a heavy drinker finishing their final ale in rush. The chunks of meat, stringy and chewy, he left till last, picking them out of the bowl and savouring each bite.

Hunger sated for the moment, he considered going to the door and finding out what was going on but it seemed a very long way away. The bed was closer and he crawled back over to it. Using every ounce of muscle power he had, he climbed back into bed and pulled the cover over his head, blocking the sunlight. He closed his eyes and fell asleep immediately.

# # #

“Wake up.”

Zhou’s eyes snapped open and he took a deep breath, followed by a yawn.

“Now, get up. Three days since you first awakened and it is time to go outside,” Boqin said. “You’ll find clothes on the chair. Once you're dressed, meet me downstairs.”

As soon as the door closed, Zhou went to the chair and began changing into clothes similar to the ones his self-appointed carer wore. He had to tie the sash tightly around the tops of his trousers and tunic to keep them from falling down or exposing too much flesh. Zhou had never been a fat man, or even over-weight, but what belly a comfortable life had bestowed on him was now gone. He lifted his arms and examined them, no ounce of fat or spare skin on them. Muscles and blood vessels stood out clearly under the stretched covering of olive skin.

Moving to the door, legs trembling with the fatigue of under use, he opened it and stepped out into the small corridor beyond. To the left, a window looked out onto the mountains and to the right, the corridor ended in the promised stairs. The door opposite his own was closed and the walls were undecorated plaster. Sparse and functional, just like the owner, Zhou thought.

The wooden stairs did not register his weight by creaking or a giving underfoot, too used to Boqin’s mass, he guessed. At the bottom, he opened another door and entered a wide, open room. In the longest wall, either side of a stone fire place, two brown furred skins hung on the wall. The door to the outside was located in the short wall furthest away. A table and three chairs, one of them occupied by Boqin, formed part of the sparse decoration in the big room. Only a few rough cupboards and an expensive, seeming out of place by this feature, looking writing desk made up the rest of the room.

“Sit, eat.” Boqin indicated the chair opposite his.

Zhou obeyed and found a plate of bread and fruit laid out already for him.

“Thank you.” Zhou tore into a chunk of bread, chewing it carefully before swallowing.

“Meat is good, but you need other things too.” Boqin bit into a red fruit and then licked the juices from his fingers.

“How long have I been here?” Zhou asked in between bites.

“Wondered about that have you?”

“Well, this the first time I’ve had a chance to speak to you much past getting food,” Zhou said.

“This will be your second week here. You slept the first one through.” Boqin popped the last of the fruit into his mouth and chewed.

“A week,” Zhou stuttered. “I slept a whole week?”

“Yes, I helped with that, of course. You needed to rest and your body needed to recover some energy.” Boqin looked up and met Zhou’s eyes. “You’ve been bloody stupid. Didn’t you realise what you were doing to yourself?”

“What? I've been surviving. That's what I was doing to myself.” Zhou stared back, but had to look away from the challenge he faced in the other man's gaze. Boqin’s eyes were strange. A large, round, brown iris covered almost all of his eyes with only the barest hint of the normal white around the outside. Zhou shuddered.

“It is always a mistake to look away,” Boqin said, somewhat mysteriously Zhou felt. “You’ve been running yourself down for a long time, it seems, using up every last scrap of energy you have. Your attack on me almost killed you before I even had to lift a hand. Bloody stupid.”

“What? Why?” Zhou knew he was missing something.

“What?” Boqin shook his head then began speaking, addressing Zhou as if he were a child, “You’ve been using up your
Ki
, you know what that is?”

Zhou nodded, “The weapon masters spoke of it when I was going through my civil exams.”

“Good. Well, for you,
Ki
is much more important than a mere exam question. Your whole life depends on it. Surely your master explained this to you when you began your training?” Boqin’s eyes narrowed as he waited for an answer.

“Which master? I trained under many masters to become a diplomat.” Zhou was unsure what the right answer was but, by the way Boqin suddenly sat back with a satisfied smirk on his face, he guessed that he had given it.

“Interesting. Very interesting.” Boqin stroked his chin as he contemplated Zhou’s face for an uncomfortable length of time.

“Why?” Zhou cracked first. The other man’s eyes never left his face and he had to say something to distract that forceful stare.

“Hrmm?” Boqin looked like he had been dragged out of a dream as he blinked a few times and refocused his gaze. “Hasn’t been a wild one, like you, for a long time. I mean, a few of us knew it could still happen, but these days, especially in cities and the like, it needs a master to bring it out.”

“Bring what out?” Zhou asked in a quiet voice.

“The spirit, of course.” Boqin’s look was like that of a parent to a particularly dim child, “You have released the spirit within you. It will live off of your
Ki
now and if it dies, so do you. If it lives, so will you, for a long time.”

“What spirit?” Zhou had forgotten all about the food on the plate before him.

“That is the question isn’t it?” Boqin gave him another appraising look, “And I don’t know the answer yet. We’ll have to work to hard find out. Of course, I’ll train you to care for, and use, the spirit.”

“What if I don’t want training?” Zhou said, “I didn’t ask for this. I just wanted food and rest. I have something I must do.”

“Well, if you want to go off and die within a week or two that is up to you. But, if you want to survive, then you’ll need training. Once the Spirit is out, you can’t return it or lock it away. It is you and you are it, bound together forever. Accept it and learn from it.”

“No.” Zhou slammed his hands down on the table and shot to his feet, the chair falling over in a clatter of noise behind him. “I have something to do. It cannot wait, and I will not wait. Now, give me my clothes and sword.”

Zhou turned away and stalked over to the fire.

“They are in the cupboard here,” Boqin said calmly.

“Good.” Zhou opened the cupboard, pulled out his possessions, then paused and grudgingly said, “Thank you for looking after me.”

“You’ll be dead within a week in your current state,” Boqin stated. “The Spirit will consume your
Ki
and you will die. It has to, if it wants to live. It doesn’t understand that it will be killing itself too. It hasn’t learnt yet, just like you.”

Zhou shoved his belongings in a travelling pack, drew the bedroll cloak around his shoulders and belted on his sword. He knew he was still weak, but there was a gnawing anger in his belly alongside the hunger.

“I don’t know how you released it, but I’ll bet that you don’t want to talk about it. It was something painful, some trauma.” Boqin had not moved from his seat and spoke calmly as Zhou continued to get ready to depart, “You came from the direction of Wubei and we know the city is lost. But if all it took was a battle then there would many more of you around after each battle and there are not. No, it was something much more personal than your own life and death.”

“Shut up,” Zhou snarled.

“Ah, can you feel it there. The anger of the Spirit alongside your own,” Boqin’s voice probed. “How does the world look when the Spirit comes? Black and white, I’d wager. The Spirit is in control of you, not you of it.”

Zhou stopped packing as he felt a cold blow to his heart, “How do you know that?”

“It acts with instinct to its nature - it attacks what it does not understand. It kills where it feels threatened, where your anger is focused. No, you do not control it with thought, use it do your will, to make you stronger, or quicker, or anything else it might do. It kills and consumes your
Ki
, it feeds off you though it does not understand. You want to die, I think. Something had to have happened to release it. It wasn’t brought forth under control.”

“Why are doing this?” Zhou knelt on the floor as images of his wife’s smiling face, of his son’s beautiful eyes filled his vision.

“You lost someone, more than one. People so close to you that they were part of you,” Boqin drove the points home into Zhou’s heart.

“Stop.” Tears started to fall from his eyes.

“A child, a wife. Many must have been lost in the battle, but you blame yourself, you are angry at yourself. That anger is deep and directed at your very soul.” Boqin paused, “Yes, that could be enough. If it was great enough.”

Zhou was crying, heaving sobs of grief and pain.

“When you’ve finished, put the stuff back in the cupboard and meet me outside. If you want to fulfil your great task, you will need to learn to live with the Spirit. You are a
Wu
now, you can’t escape it but you can be trained and accept it. It may even help you.”

Zhou heard the floorboards creak under Boqin’s great weight as he walked out of the house. The tears fell in a waterfall of loss.

Chapter 26

“Which room is he in?” the Duke asked.

“Room 3, my Lord,” Haung responded.

“Is he awake yet?”

“Not yet, but soon. The
Fang-shi
have looked him over and there is no permanent damage,” Haung assured his lord.

“Yet,” the duke snarled, and Haung felt his barriers absorb the anger. “We dug a poison dart out of the chair leg. If you hadn’t pulled me out of the way, I would be dead now. You have my thanks, Captain Haung.”

Haung bowed, “My duty, my Lord.”

“Of course, but that does not negate my thanks. I have sent a note to your wife, to assure her of your safety and some jewellery too, as a thank you. A reward for her, is one for you too, I hope.” Haung bowed again, as the duke continued, “I want answers, Captain, and I want them quickly. I have sent for Marbu, he is an expert in this field. When he arrives, you can begin.”

The duke walked away, down the stone corridor. A few moments later, Marbu arrived.

“Let’s get this over with,” the secretary said and, without sparing Haung a glance, he flung the door to the cell open and stalked in.

The room was bare except for the prisoner who sat, securely bound, in a stout wooden chair. Haung closed the door and ensured it was latched. Interruptions would not be welcomed right now. He watched as Marbu circled the unconscious prisoner.

“Wake up,” Marbu commanded.

There was no response from the prisoner. Haung waited and observed. The tangle of curled hair which covered the prisoner’s chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm.

“Wake up,” Marbu spoke again.

This time there was a small grunt and the prisoner’s head moved a little. Straggles of lank brown hair waved like seaweed.

“Wake up,” Marbu cuffed the bound prisoner about the head.

“Kill me and have done.” A dark voice that fit the dark robes, hair and art the assassin practised.

“Not yet,” Marbu smirked, “there are some things you need to tell us first. Then you will die in the utmost pain and torment. An example to others. I tell you this truthfully so that you can understand the situation. I will not lie to you and I expect you to tell me the truth.”

“You’ll get nothing from me.” The assassin raised his head seeking the secretary.

“I tell you this truthfully too. I have heard it all before. Many times,” Marbu stopped circling and stood behind the assassin. “And every time they believed they were telling me the truth. I made liars of them all. You will be no different.”

The assassin moved his head left then right trying to follow Marbu’s voice. With no way of seeing him, the prisoner stared at Haung, a burning recognition in those dark eyes.

“You were lucky. Next time, I’ll kill you.” The prisoner spat at Haung’s feet.

Haung was about to respond when he caught sight of Marbu’s upraised palm.

“You know, when I was young, my father taught me how to shape wood. He was a carpenter but his life wasn’t for me. I grew up and joined the duke’s staff. But I never forgot the lessons of my father. How to make something so rigid and solid seem to flow and follow any shape. The carpenter’s tools are varied and specialised, you know. Before you die in front of the assembled crowd you will come to know some of these tools quite intimately. You will tell me everything I want to know.” Marbu resumed his circling. “The first, I think we’ll try, is one of my favourites. It is called a Plane. Quite a simple tool, a bit like a beard razor, it is designed to take even strokes and cut nice, neat slices until the surface is uniform and smooth.”

Marbu took the tool from his bag. It was smaller than Haung had expected, barely the size of his hand.

“The cutting surface is on the bottom and carpenters would simply run it over the wood, shaving thin layers off with each stroke. Of course, we'll be substituting your flesh for wood but you get the idea, I'm sure. The trick, as my father said, is to apply an even pressure to ensure the surface planed becomes smooth. Too much pressure can cause the blade to snag. You really don't want that to happen. This one is particularly sharp so it should cause very little pain when it cuts. Here, let me show you.”

Marbu moved forward and placed the plane on the prisoner’s arm, near the ropes that bound the prisoner’s arm to the chair. “Now, remember that the tool is designed to give a nice even surface. After several strokes of the plane the wood should be levelled off and the only evidence of the carpenter's art would be the fine shavings left on the floor.”

Marbu slid the plane forward, up the prisoner’s arm and then lifted the plane away. He plucked the thin layer of translucent skin from the blade and held it up in front of the prisoner’s face.

“You see. So sharp, it may take a few moments for you...” Marbu paused as the assassin’s face suddenly went white and a small trail of blood dribbled from the man’s clenched mouth. “You see. Even that chair you're sat in was made by a carpenter who probably smoothed it down with a tool very similar to this one. You begin to appreciate their art, don't you.”

Haung looked from the skin, to the face, and then to the arm on which a strip of red raw flesh that was beginning to bead with little gem-like droplets of blood. He rubbed his own arm.

“Will you tell me what I need to know?” Marbu tilted his head to one side as he looked at the assassin. “Or do I need to persuade you some more?”

The assassin spat a globule of blood that landed at Marbu’s feet.

“Good. It would be a shame not to continue your education in the tools of carpentry so early on in our time together.” Marbu reached into the bag again and withdrew a thick needle of metal. “Now this is called an Awl. Never the most subtle of tools, carpenters use it to make holes in the wood they are working on. You see how the tip is sharp but it widens quickly into this thick cylinder.”

He held the Awl up in front of the prisoner’s eyes so that he could get a good look at the tool. “My father explained that this was so the carpenter could get the most penetration possible by applying all of his force to just one sharp point. It would lead the way, he said, and the body of the Awl would follow along. I have found his words to be true, and it can be used so many ways. Here, let me show you.”

Marbu approached the prisoner’s arm once more and clamped his free hand down on the bound man’s wrist.  “You’d think that just placing it on a sensitive spot and pushing slowly forward would do the trick, wouldn’t you?” Marbu held the Awl up to the sparse flickers of light and examined it carefully. “Perhaps the eyes, the ears or the groin? But you’d be wrong. They all hurt, of course they do, and everyone is rightly protective of those areas but they come later on. Something to look forward to, you might say. I prefer to start with the hand and fingers. That way you can see what is happening to you, appreciate the effort I am going to on your behalf.”

Haung forced himself to stand still and watch as Marbu placed the tip of the Awl against the soft web of flesh between the assassins’s spread fingers. Then, as Marbu lent forward, the tip sank into the skin and pushed on beyond and into the hand. The assassin squirmed and bucked trying to pull his hand away but the bindings and the stout wood of the chair permitted no movement. As Marbu continued to push, it was possible to track the point of tool as it passed between the knuckles and the thicker body of the Awl began to split them further and further apart, accompanied by cracks and pops as sinew, flesh and bone were torn away from each other. The assassin screamed in agony and Haung saw a smile appear on the secretary’s face.

“I have many more tools, Assassin, and you will tell me everything. Sooner or later. The choice is yours.”

# # #

“The musician?”

“Yes, my Lord Duke. That is what the assassin revealed to us and I see no reason to doubt his words.” Marbu’s grin was mirrored by the duke’s.

“Even so. I am confused to why a successful musician, whose art is in much demand, should seek to have me killed.” The duke turned his gaze to Haung.

“The
Jiin-Wei
have checked the information we have on Xi Jiang but there is nothing to indicate that he has, or had, any dealings, or even sympathy, with groups that seek to overthrow your rule,” Haung answered.

“Then something must have changed and I would like to know what.” The duke paced back and forth, “I can’t just arrest Xi Jiang. He is too well known and too well connected to the houses of nobles and guilds. Even the emperor has called on him to play in the capital over the years. No, without something a little more solid to go on, a lot could be lost by acting too rashly.”

“We are watching him closely, my Lord. Three teams of
Jiin-Wei
observers are following his every move,” Haung said.

“Good, but more needs to be done and quickly. He will know we captured his assassin and will be on his guard. We need to keep him off balance and uncertain. If acting rashly is not to be desired then, perhaps, acting boldly is the path to take.” The duke stopped pacing and gave Haung a look that he could not read, “You liked his music?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Haung answered even though he knew the question was rhetorical.

“And I know you have a strong mind and my best interests at heart.” Haung nodded his agreement whilst he ran a quick check on the mental barriers he maintained whilst around the duke and was satisfied they were in place. “I would like you to talk to Xi Jiang. Find out what he knows.”

“My Lord, forgive me, but he knows who I am. He saw me at your shoulder during the meal and will have seen me running after his assassin. I cannot see that he will tell me anything,” Haung said.

“That is the point. A trusted
Jiin-Wei
asking lots of questions and one who is interested in the music as well. Perhaps, he will be thinking that we do not know as much as we do. Perhaps, it will be enough to unbalance him. Do not reveal that we have his name from the assassin, but ask lots of questions. In short, be a
Jiin-Wei
and investigate.”

“And don't trust a word he says,” Marbu added. “Most of it will be lies. You would be astounded how often people lie to those that they should trust.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Haung bowed and then left Marbu and the duke to further planning.

# # #

Haung knocked on the door of the elaborate town house and waited. As he raised his hand to knock again, a panel in the door slid back and Haung could see two dark eyes staring back at him.

“Good afternoon,” he said, “I am Haung. I wish to see Master Xi Jiang.”

“He’s not seeing anyone. Go away,” and the panel slid shut.

Haung sighed and knocked again on the door.

“What?” The panel slid open again.

“I wish to see Master Xi Jiang,” Haung stated.

“And I told you to go away.”

“Perhaps you misunderstand me,” Haung said as the panel began to slide closed once more. “I am
Jiin-Wei
Haung and I will see Master Xi Jiang.”

The panel slid closed again but this time it was followed by the sounds of bolts being drawn on the other side of the door. The heavy wooden door swung open revealing the inner courtyard and a servant, dressed in a plain white robe.

“My apologies.” The servant bowed low then straightened though not enough to look into Haung’s eyes. “Master Xi Jiang has many visitors but few come with an appointment or any desire but to have him play for them. He prefers his solitude. However, a
Jiin-Wei
needs no invitation. I will take you to the tea room and inform the Master that you are here. I am sure he will be down directly.”

The servant beckoned for Haung to follow him up the steps to the walkway and guided him to a room that overlooked the small pond in the corner of the courtyard. Haung removed his shoes, entered the luxuriously decorated room and sat on the silk cushions near the low table.

“Tea will be served in a moment. I will go and tell the Master you are here.” The servant bowed again then left, sliding the door closed and leaving Haung on his own in the room.

Without moving from his comfortable position, Haung surveyed the room with a professional and appreciative eye. The decorations were on par with those of the duke’s richest rooms. Silk cushions, tropical hardwood table with fine inlays and carvings. The wall scrolls were exquisite depictions of landscapes and delicate pictures of figures, of all stations, going on with their lives. He stared at them, drinking in their beauty and appreciating the skill of the artist.

“My favourite is Juran’s rolling hills. It reminds me of my homeland and he has a careful style with the brush. I find Guo Xi’s mountain landscapes a little too rigid for my taste, though his skill with the brush is unmatched. I suppose that says more about me than the artist. But then, that is the purpose of art is it not
Jiin-Wei
Haung?”

Haung turned his head sharply, surprised that he had not detected the man’s approach. He quickly stilled his features.

“Master Xi Jiang, you move quietly for a musician,” Haung said.

“What is music but the control of sound? Understand a sound and you can do whatever you want with it,” he replied as he placed his slippers down by the door and entered, sitting down opposite Haung. “That was my Master’s first lesson, and his last. If you understand something, you can control it.”