Read Online The Mandate of Heaven by Tim Murgatroyd - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tim Murgatroyd
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‘And my father is called Hsiung! I have a clan and my father is alive!’
Now their visitor grew solemn.
‘Young man,’ he said, ‘the Salt Pans is a terrible, terrible place! No one leaves easily or survives for long. My dear boy, I fear you should not expect to see your father. Enough that he ensured you would be protected by the most honourable family in the province.’
‘I will find my father,’ said Hsiung, fiercely, ‘I will set him free!’
The two men exchanged sad glances.
‘I hope it has done no harm to tell you the truth. At least, what we can of it,’ said Deng Nan-shi, laying a hand on the lad’s shoulder. Hsiung flinched and pulled away.
‘I know he is not dead!’ he said.
‘Be comforted your father disappeared for a just cause,’ advised the fat man. ‘If he was alive today that cause would be his life’s work. And if it turns out he is not dead, perhaps your father will reveal himself when it is safe. Perhaps he is a wanted man and does not wish to endanger his son.’
‘I will find my father!’ cried Hsiung, his voice retreating down the dark corridor. ‘You’ll see!’
For a long while Hsiung wept on his bed, unable to sleep. Then he rose, wearing his blanket as a cloak, and left the house by a side door. Soon he reached the mound shaped in imitation of Holy Mount Chang and ascended to the moon-gazing pavilion. The night sky had cleared to reveal dazzling webs of stars. Hsiung stared south, looking for signs of flickering flames – the fires of the Salt Pans that were rumoured to never go out. But that dismal place was too far away to be seen except by Immortal eyes.
Inside, Deng Nan-shi and the fat man talked deep into the night. Often the names of Yueh Fei and Hornets’ Nest entered their conversation.
Seven
The next morning Teng woke to an air of intrigue in Deng Mansions. New things were happening in the abandoned chambers and corridors. Who, for example, was the fat man in silks lurking in a secluded room at the centre of the house? And why did two tall strangers lounge near his chamber, swords discreetly concealed in cloth wrappings?
Above all – and here Teng could not suppress jealousy – what had inspired Father to spend a whole hour with Hsiung last night? Teng held little hope of finding out from Hsiung himself. His old friend had ignored his greeting and hurried out of the courtyard and down the lanes to the city below. He seemed in a great bustle, like a high official on secret business.
Teng waited at the crossroads below Deng Mansions for his return, perched on the back of the giant stone tortoise. The beast was company of sorts and Teng pretended to ride it all the way to the Western Mountains as Lao Tzu had ridden his ox. Next he played at being a xia on a magic turtle, sweeping away hordes of Mongols to preserve the honour of … what? The Empire? A lady? Yun Shu came to mind, her name trailing guilt. Let it not be Yun Shu but Hsiung. Saving him would renew their friendship forever.
The afternoon passed slowly on Monkey Hat Hill. A few bird-trappers went by, bound for the bamboo groves with nets and sacks. Families filled the road briefly, seeking Cloud Abode Monastery where they would sacrifice to their ancestors. Otherwise, silence and opaqueness in the chilly air.
Teng’s loneliness, his frustration and hidden grief, welled up. He remembered Mother’s ghost when he was five years old. How he had cried out, half in fear, half relief, and hid behind a doorframe so only his shaven head with its tufty topknot was exposed. She had not noticed him as he watched her shuffle down cracked marble steps to the garden; down to an ornamental pond guarded by stone dragons. Even then, so close to her lost life, she had been a shadow.
‘Mother!’ he had called, high-pitched and eager. ‘I’m here! I’m here!’
The dark shadow peered in his direction. Teng had stifled a sob and run forward, so intent on embracing her that he misjudged the marble stairs
Now their visitor grew solemn.
‘Young man,’ he said, ‘the Salt Pans is a terrible, terrible place! No one leaves easily or survives for long. My dear boy, I fear you should not expect to see your father. Enough that he ensured you would be protected by the most honourable family in the province.’
‘I will find my father,’ said Hsiung, fiercely, ‘I will set him free!’
The two men exchanged sad glances.
‘I hope it has done no harm to tell you the truth. At least, what we can of it,’ said Deng Nan-shi, laying a hand on the lad’s shoulder. Hsiung flinched and pulled away.
‘I know he is not dead!’ he said.
‘Be comforted your father disappeared for a just cause,’ advised the fat man. ‘If he was alive today that cause would be his life’s work. And if it turns out he is not dead, perhaps your father will reveal himself when it is safe. Perhaps he is a wanted man and does not wish to endanger his son.’
‘I will find my father!’ cried Hsiung, his voice retreating down the dark corridor. ‘You’ll see!’
For a long while Hsiung wept on his bed, unable to sleep. Then he rose, wearing his blanket as a cloak, and left the house by a side door. Soon he reached the mound shaped in imitation of Holy Mount Chang and ascended to the moon-gazing pavilion. The night sky had cleared to reveal dazzling webs of stars. Hsiung stared south, looking for signs of flickering flames – the fires of the Salt Pans that were rumoured to never go out. But that dismal place was too far away to be seen except by Immortal eyes.
Inside, Deng Nan-shi and the fat man talked deep into the night. Often the names of Yueh Fei and Hornets’ Nest entered their conversation.
Seven
The next morning Teng woke to an air of intrigue in Deng Mansions. New things were happening in the abandoned chambers and corridors. Who, for example, was the fat man in silks lurking in a secluded room at the centre of the house? And why did two tall strangers lounge near his chamber, swords discreetly concealed in cloth wrappings?
Above all – and here Teng could not suppress jealousy – what had inspired Father to spend a whole hour with Hsiung last night? Teng held little hope of finding out from Hsiung himself. His old friend had ignored his greeting and hurried out of the courtyard and down the lanes to the city below. He seemed in a great bustle, like a high official on secret business.
Teng waited at the crossroads below Deng Mansions for his return, perched on the back of the giant stone tortoise. The beast was company of sorts and Teng pretended to ride it all the way to the Western Mountains as Lao Tzu had ridden his ox. Next he played at being a xia on a magic turtle, sweeping away hordes of Mongols to preserve the honour of … what? The Empire? A lady? Yun Shu came to mind, her name trailing guilt. Let it not be Yun Shu but Hsiung. Saving him would renew their friendship forever.
The afternoon passed slowly on Monkey Hat Hill. A few bird-trappers went by, bound for the bamboo groves with nets and sacks. Families filled the road briefly, seeking Cloud Abode Monastery where they would sacrifice to their ancestors. Otherwise, silence and opaqueness in the chilly air.
Teng’s loneliness, his frustration and hidden grief, welled up. He remembered Mother’s ghost when he was five years old. How he had cried out, half in fear, half relief, and hid behind a doorframe so only his shaven head with its tufty topknot was exposed. She had not noticed him as he watched her shuffle down cracked marble steps to the garden; down to an ornamental pond guarded by stone dragons. Even then, so close to her lost life, she had been a shadow.
‘Mother!’ he had called, high-pitched and eager. ‘I’m here! I’m here!’
The dark shadow peered in his direction. Teng had stifled a sob and run forward, so intent on embracing her that he misjudged the marble stairs
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