Dragonkeeper 2: Garden of the Purple Dragon (9 page)

“Here, Kai,” she said. “Drink this.”

The little dragon blinked at her uncertainly.

“It’s okay, it doesn’t hurt,” she lied. “It will make you strong.”

He lapped at the pool of blood, cautiously at first, but then faster. He drank until the wound started to congeal.

There was nothing Ping could use to bandage the cut. She felt dizzy. She lay down in the straw and slept.

Ping woke when the outer door was thrown open. It was full daylight. She just had time to hide Kai under her gown before an imperial guard came and stood in front of her cage. Her eyes focused on misshapen toes bulging through holes in a pair of shabby slippers.

“Ah ha!” said a cheerful voice.

She looked up. It wasn’t a guard at all, but a fat man wearing the gown and ribbons of an imperial minister. He was out of breath.

“So!” he said. “This is the terrifying sorceress I’ve been hearing so much about.”

Ping tried to stand up, but the cage started to spin, so she settled for getting to her knees.

The man was nothing like the slim, stern-faced government ministers she had seen before. He had a big smile on his face and bright, twinkling eyes beneath eyebrows that reminded Ping of Kai’s favourite tufty caterpillars. His ears were the longest she’d ever seen. His beard was tangled and he had a mouth that couldn’t help smiling, even when he was trying hard to be serious.

“I am Dong Fang Suo,” he said. “The Imperial Magician.”

“A magician?” Ping said.

Dong Fang Suo chuckled to himself as if he had just remembered something very funny. “Not the sort of magician who turns people into toads,” he laughed. “I am a scientist. We have met before.”

Ping looked at the jolly old man. His ministerial cap was askew. His gown was creased except where it was stretched tight over his large, round belly. His ribbons of office were twisted in a knot. She didn’t recognise him at all.

“I was among the scientists summoned by the Emperor that memorable day when you escaped with the imperial dragon.” Dong Fang Suo laughed.

“I don’t remember you,” said Ping.

“My position was much humbler then. His Imperial Majesty has since honoured me with a higher position.” He sucked air into his chest and stood a little straighter. “I am now His Imperial Majesty’s Privy Counsellor, Imperial Magician,
and
Head of the Longevity Council.”

Ping tried to look impressed though she had no idea what the Longevity Council was.

Dong Fang Suo looked at Ping.

“I remember
you
,” he chuckled. “And your dragon. You must tell me about your adventures—when we have time.”

He waved one of the guards over to unlock the cage door. Ping stood up. She was relieved to see a soup ladle
lying in the straw and not a small purple dragon.

“Where is my rat?” Ping asked.

The Imperial Magician’s smile narrowed slightly. “It is being held … elsewhere.”

“You’re not going to hurt him are you?”

Dong Fang Suo ignored her question. “Your presence is awaited in the Chamber of Spreading Clouds.”

Ping got to her feet, steadying herself on the bars of the cage.

“You look a little pale,” Dong Fang Suo said cheerfully.

“We’ve been shut in a wagon for three days, then thrown into prison,” Ping replied.

“We?” asked the Imperial Magician.

“I mean I,” Ping stammered. “I can’t think straight. I need some fresh air.”

It wasn’t the first time Ping had been inside the Chamber of Spreading Clouds. The silk wall hangings, the dragons painted on the ceiling rafters, the carved shutters were just as beautiful as she remembered. Dong Fang Suo led Ping to the centre of the room. Imperial guards were positioned all around the chamber. Every guard had his eyes fixed on her and a spear pointed in her direction. The captain of the guards stepped forward and pushed her to her knees. He was the one who had fallen into a swoon on Tai Shan. In spite of the rough way he treated her, Ping was glad to see he had recovered.

Ping’s heart was beating faster than usual. She took some deep breaths to control it. She waited for the Emperor to appear, but he didn’t. Instead, four ministers entered the room and formed a circle around her, examining her just as they might have examined the black cat or the monkeys. They wore the winged headdresses of imperial ministers, but in every other respect they were nothing like any government ministers she had seen before. One had a beard divided into five plaits with dead flowers woven through them; another was very small, no higher than Ping’s waist, with a tiger’s tail tied around his waist; the third was barefoot and his hair hung past his shoulders in matted clumps as if he had never combed it; the last one carried a carved staff and appeared to be blind. The ministers began questioning her.

“Where did the dragon go?” asked the tiny minister. “Do you expect him to return?”

“He flew away to a place where people like you can’t bother him,” Ping replied. “And I don’t think he has the strength to return.”

“After he was wounded, did you keep any of the dragon’s blood?” inquired the blind minister.

“No!”

“What gives you magic powers?” asked the barefoot one.

“Why did the guards become entranced?” asked the one with the flowers in his beard.

“I don’t have any magic powers. I’m not a sorceress,” she said truthfully. “And I don’t know why the guards fainted,” she added—less truthfully.

They whispered to each other and then left the chamber.

“Who are those men?” Ping asked Dong Fang Suo.

“They are the other members of the Longevity Council,” the Imperial Magician replied. “His Imperial Majesty has given the council the task of discovering a way to make him live an exceptionally long life, so that the Empire can benefit from his rule for many generations.”

“The last time I was in the Chamber of Spreading Clouds, the Emperor had gathered scientists and alchemists together to make an elixir that would keep him young forever,” Ping said. “Didn’t they succeed?”

It had seemed to Ping like the whim of a spoilt boy at the time.

“They concluded that such an elixir was impossible. The Emperor sent them away and formed the Longevity Council.”

Dong Fang Suo told the guards to take her back to her prison. On the way back to the animal cages, they passed by the gardeners’ sheds. There were heaps of leaves and dead plants that would be spread on the garden beds when they had rotted down. Ping pretended to stumble over a rake and fell to her knees.

She scrabbled among the pile of leaves. The guards
jabbed her with their spears, but she ignored them, collecting the worms that she found among the rotting plants.

“Get up!” one of the guards shouted.

Ping stuffed the worms into her pouch and got to her feet again.

The guards were whispering about her, debating whether she was going to eat the worms or use them in a spell. They hurried her back to her cage.

Among the sounds of the garden—the birds, the hum of insects, the rustle of leaves—Ping could hear another faint sound. She stopped to listen. It sounded like someone crying. The guards jabbed her with their spears.

She waited until the guards had locked the cage door and taken up their post outside, then she pulled the worms from her pouch.

“I have something for you, Kai,” she said.

The little dragon ate the worms hungrily. She reopened the wound on her arm and gave him another drink of her blood, wondering how many more times she could do so without risking her life. She felt herself drifting off to sleep, when two unsmiling guards came to the cage door.

“Dong Fang Suo says you’re allowed to walk in the garden,” one of them said. He had a short beard and squinty eyes.

The other guard was younger and was unsuccessfully
trying to grow a moustache. He glared at Ping. He clearly didn’t approve of the prisoner having such freedom.

Two seasons had passed since Ping had walked in the gardens of Ming Yang Lodge. It had been in the full bloom of spring then. Now autumn was colouring the leaves of the trees. The fan-shaped leaves of the gingko trees were turning yellow. A few fallen leaves swirled around her feet in a gentle breeze. Maples, ashes and other trees whose names Ping didn’t know were turning orange and red. Dogwood trees and holly bushes bore red berries. The tiny white flowers of the sweet olive tree filled the air with fragrance. A grove of cypress trees stood apart from all this autumn colour, dark and green as ever.

Ping knelt down to take a closer look at the wilting chrysanthemums, though she was really more interested in the fruit that had fallen from a crab-apple tree. She picked through the bruised fruit and found snails and slugs.

“I’d like to visit the Garden of Secluded Harmony,” she said to the guards as she stood up.

They looked at each other.

“I’m not sure about that,” said the bearded guard.

“Did Minister Dong say I couldn’t go there?”

She could see him going through his orders in his head.

“Not exactly.”

“I just want to admire the view,” Ping said.

The guards both gripped their spears firmly.

“Just remember we’re watching you,” said the guard with the unsuccessful moustache.

Ping followed the path up the hill as it curved between strangely shaped rocks that twisted and contorted as if they were in pain. She knew each rock had been carefully chosen for its resemblance to a lion or a dragon and placed in the garden to be admired like statues.

The Garden of Secluded Harmony was at the top of the hill. As she approached, Ping knew it had changed before she reached it. A tower soared up from the top of the hill.

“What’s that?” Ping asked.

“It’s called the Touching Heaven Tower,” one of the guards replied. “The Emperor ordered it to be constructed. Stonemasons have only just finished building it.”

Ping walked faster up the path. She could hear faint music—clear ringing notes—that grew louder as she climbed. At last the hill flattened out and the Garden of Secluded Harmony was spread before her. She remembered the morning she had walked around it with the Emperor, crossing the Precious Jade Lake on the zigzag bridge, peering into the lake’s depths looking for turtles, sitting in the Watching Magnolia Buds Open Pavilion. Ping remembered the exact spot where the Emperor had insisted she call him by his personal name.
A wave of sadness wiped away her happy memories, like an ocean wave washing footprints from a beach. Danzi had been with them that day.

There were no daffodils now, no magnolia flowers, no cherry blossoms. Autumn flowers were in bloom— anemones, day lilies, wind flowers. But even if the daffodils and magnolias had been in flower, they wouldn’t have held her attention.

The last time she had been in the Garden of Secluded Harmony, there had been a small pavilion halfway across the zigzag bridge. The pavilion had disappeared and in its place stood the tower. In the imperial capital of Chang’an, the gate towers were four storeys high. This tower was more than twice that height. It was built of large blocks of stone that were alternately painted red and white, like a board for playing checkers. The cornerstones were painted with swirling cloud patterns. A wooden pavilion with carved eaves and balconies was perched on top of the stone tower. How anyone could climb up to reach it, Ping had no idea. A yellow-tiled roof, like a miniature version of the lodge roofs, topped the structure. Bells hung from the edges of the balconies, under the eaves and from the corners of the roof. They were the source of the music she had heard. The lower bells were large and made a deep ringing sound. The bells under the eaves were smaller and had a higher chime. Those hanging from the corners of the roof were smaller still and made just a faint tinkle. Each
breath of wind created a different melody—pretty but sad. On the top of the tower, a statue of an Immortal glittered in the sunlight.

“Is that gold?” asked Ping.

“Yes,” said the guard in a hushed voice. “Solid gold.”

Ping shaded her eyes so that she could see the details in the sunlight. The Immortal’s hands were raised above his head. In them he held a green jade dish.

“But why did the Emperor build this tower?”

“To catch the pure dew of Heaven that drips from the stars,” the bearded guard replied, proud of his knowledge.

Not to be outdone, the other guard continued. “The Longevity Council believes that if the Emperor drinks star dew every day, he will live for a thousand years.”

“Is it your job to collect the dew?” Ping asked.

The guards looked horrified.

“No! Not us,” exclaimed the guard with the failing moustache. “Spilling even a drop is punishable by death. That’s a shaman’s job.”

Ping gazed up at the tower. She wondered how the shaman could climb up it to get the dew without risking plunging to his death, but she didn’t ask the guards. Now she had them at their ease, she had another question, one she’d been wanting to ask ever since she’d arrived.

“Is the Emperor at Ming Yang Lodge?”

“No,” they replied together. “His Imperial Majesty is in Chang’an.”

Ping didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

As she walked back from the Garden of Secluded Harmony, Ping saw a plant whose leaves she knew would help heal her wounded arm. It grew along a path that lead to a dense ring of bamboo plants. The bamboo canes were three times Ping’s height and grew so close together that it was impossible to find a way through them. She could hear a soft sound coming from behind the bamboo. It sounded like the crying she had heard before.

Ping found a place where the bamboo canes were not quite as dense. Pretending to be interested in the healing plant, she peered through. She could see a small square pavilion that was walled in on all but one side. Ping could just make out a dim figure inside. It was a woman. Her head was bent low. She was sobbing softly. It was the sound of someone who had completely given up hope of happiness. It was the saddest sound Ping had ever heard. The bamboo canes formed a living prison. It seemed that she wasn’t the only prisoner at Ming Yang Lodge.

The woman’s hands lay palm up on the bench beside her. Small ornaments hung from her ears and trembled
as she sobbed. She allowed the tears to drip from her face. There were so many tears, her pale blue silk gown must have been soaked. From her fine clothing she looked like a woman of position and wealth. How could someone so privileged be so unhappy?