Rise of the Dragon Page 8

  He was most in his element on this battlefield: alone and against the world. He’d fought with these men; they knew each other's tells and tactics intimately, a bond that surpassed even that of lovers. Each blocked strike, each accepted hit, all calculated risks as he waited for an opening to seize. And seize it he did — one stepped forward too far and slipped in the mud. He grabbed the man’s lapels and hoisted him with the force of his own momentum, one hand under an armpit, the other fisted in the lapel, and threw him into another before they could back away.

  With two of them out of the fight, Big Wei had space to come back swinging. The scimitar whistled, not all that different from the chain Fang had borrowed before. Now he wished he’d kept something. Fang leapt back, only to be caught by one of the brothers, who linked arms into Fang’s armpits to try to keep him still. Big Wei laughed, face twisted with rage. The rain haze framed them all in the mouth of the alley, two men down and starting to stir, one trapping Fang, Big Wei about to charge, and a third looking on.

  Fang roared and lurched forward, blood, mud, and rain dripping through his eyes, dragging his captor toward Big Wei to meet the swordsman’s charge. He bent forward, all his effort driving his feet deep into the muck. The brother let go and he shot forward. Big Wei’s roar rose to meet his.

  Fang met him in a flying tackle, grabbing him around the waist. Big Wei’s elbows struck him in the back, sending spikes of pain through his abused ribs. The scimitar’s momentum was arrested; the shallow bite hurt, but wasn’t immediately life-threatening. Fang plowed Big Wei into the corner of the building with a crunch. Big Wei’s agonized scream quickly transmuted into rage. Fang grabbed at his wrist and dug in with his fingers. They struggled over the sword, but Big Wei was fresh and had allies, and Fang was alone, wounded, and fatigued. He crushed his slippered foot on Big Wei’s insole, but Big Wei’s boot absorbed most of the blow without Fang’s weight behind it.

  He heard the telltale sound of steel whispering against leather. He was about to get stabbed in the back. Fang wrenched himself sideways, unbalancing the three-way dance and sending them all sprawling into the mud. Big Wei lost his grip on the scimitar and it slid a short distance away. Fang frantically crabbed toward it and kicked it farther away. Big Wei got to his knees.

  “Get my sword!” he yelled at his subordinates. His fist smashed into Fang’s upraised arm as he shielded his face. Big Wei straddled him and grabbed his throat and squeezed. Rain fell in Fang’s open eyes. His lungs burned; Big Wei’s hands were ice cold.

  Fang grabbed at Big Wei's fingers to try to pry them free, the panicked reflex taking over even as Fang knew it was a failing proposition. He didn’t have the strength left. He flung one hand out and tried to gouge Big Wei’s eye; Big Wei batted it away. His fingers fell on the edge of a loose cobble mostly buried in the mud. He pried at it desperately as black spots blotted his vision. His fingers closed around it and he swung with all his might even as the strength drained from his arm.

  Big Wei keeled over like a sack of charcoal and Fang rolled over onto all fours, gagging for air. The brother who’d restrained him stood staring with his mouth agape and scimitar raised, but too far to hit Fang with a swing. Fang rose to his feet and pointed at him, rock in hand.

  “Get lost,” he gasped, “and I won’t have you killed. That goes for all of you. Get out of here! Don’t let me see your faces again!”

  Big Wei groaned, face down in the mud. Fang aimed a vicious kick in his side and held his throat, enjoying sweet, sweet air.

  A dart thudded into the mud a finger’s width from hitting him. Fang stumbled back into the cover of the alley and looked up. The mist from the rain provided a lot of cover. It was too wet for a crossbowman or archer.

  A body slammed into the road, thrown from a roof. Birch hopped down onto an awning and then down into the street. He nudged the body once, but whoever it was seemed dead.

  In the alley, Birch grabbed a fistful of his coat. Fang jolted, blood too high to easily accept sudden proximity, but Birch didn’t back off. “I’ll kill them,” Birch said, gray-faced and flat, the promise in his dark eyes a hundred times more lethal than Big Wei. “Did they get you anywhere?”

  Fang shook his head and pushed past Birch, prying his hand free from the overcoat’s fabric. “Don’t get caught with me here,” he croaked. “I can take care of this.”

  “Then finish him off,” Birch said.

  Fang kept walking.

  “You really have changed,” Birch said to his back. “They own you now, don’t they?”

  Chapter 5

  Fang licked his wounds alone for a week. He returned to the compound and reported to Red Hand right away; there was no chance the old man wouldn’t find out about the scuffle at the Pearl or his encounter with Big Wei. The best thing to do was to control what version of the story he heard first. Bedraggled, dutiful, and most importantly, victorious, Fang offered a carefully revised story and hinted that he thought the Knives who’d attacked him were actually bought off by Big Wei. He had left Big Wei alive, which was a point in his favor — he’d shown mercy to a defeated opponent and overcome assassins. That his opponent and would-be murderer was another of Red Hand’s godsons made it even more critical that he didn’t kill him while he was down.

  For Big Wei, though, survival meant ongoing humiliation. Fang’s elder brother didn’t show his face at the compound. He’d certainly survived — other brothers reported seeing him. Two Coins Ranu offered his congratulations, but Jun, as usual, was unmoved and didn’t react to Big Wei’s absence or any of the rumors about his self-imposed exile.

  For his part, Red Hand issued no general orders about what to do with Big Wei. At least, not any orders Fang was privy to. Fang had other concerns: the ship and its precious cargo.

  Runners alerted Fang to the riverboat’s arrival where he waited by the docks, his handpicked subordinates flanking him. They climbed into a rowboat, painted dark to make it harder to detect them on the night water. The conditions that night favored them — the rain and fog had hardly let up since Big Wei’s ambush, but now the veil of fog shrouded Fang’s approach.

  The metal fittings of the boat had been muffled with cloth. The oarsmen rowed them out into the dark, circling the riverboats until they were aft of the right ship. Carefully, slowly, they poled the boat the rest of the way to avoid attention-grabbing splashes. Fang and his crew kept their heads down to maintain a low profile.

  Finally they were right at the edge. The oarsmen carefully pulled them in with rope and hook, muffled thumps the only sign of anything untoward. A few torches burned on the top deck. The captain had obviously decided to make this look like an ordinary stop, as there wasn’t a big guard detail up top. That would’ve certainly called attention, but Fang’s presence demonstrated that it wasn’t necessarily the right choice. He shimmied up the riverboat’s side, using the decorative woodwork as handholds. He cast down a rope behind him. With a knife in his teeth, he felt like a real river pirate. He just had to ensure he didn’t end the same way most pirates did, too - dangling from his own length of rope by the neck.

  Goat and two junior brothers, Li and Diem, climbed up after. Fang crouched near the ship’s rudder, partly concealed by a massive coil of rope. It seemed the crewmen on watch weren’t patrolling the deck. They probably had one man looking toward the docks and the other searching the river, but a small craft like Fang’s, with no lights or noise, was harder to detect.

  Most of the permanent crew was probably ashore on liberty, enjoying the celebration of Ten Gates’ fall. He wondered what it was like, seeing the sacked city. Maybe the governor’s forces had shown mercy. The ordinary citizens of that place couldn’t be held accountable for someone else’s rebellion.

  But Fang knew better than to ever expect justice from the authorities.

  With his subordinates aboard, they snuck around the deck, remaining close to the railing in case they had to make a swift getaway. Failing to retrieve the artifact was better than all of t
hem being caught stealing aboard. Only Fang had to do this to keep his head. They reached the port cabin door. The lock was a simple latch mechanism, something any street child could defeat. The gentle rolling of the river current didn’t even manage to make it tricky. Fang slipped in and hurried the rest in, then latched the door behind them.

  They’d found the galley. Fang frowned. That was supposed to be on the other side of the ship. The cook dozed in his cot at the other end, blocking the exit and a door Fang was certain was the ship’s pantry — items too precious to be left in the hold. Probably sugar. It didn’t matter. Goat and the rest squeezed gingerly through the very narrow gap between the snoring cook’s cot and the cabinets, each visibly terrified of making even the slightest sound. The cook turned and even Fang froze, watching the man’s lumpy face in a sliver of moonlight as he turned. Damp, rotten breath warmed his knee. He closed his eyes and prayed to the hundred petty gods that the cook wouldn’t suddenly wake, and then scooted the rest of the way into the passage belowdecks.

  A hooded lantern was lit at the far end of the passage, closer to the ship’s bow. As the riverboat dipped and rolled, the lamplight sometimes caught the shadow of someone sitting there, just out of sight. There was a second set of stairs down, leading to the rowing deck. Fang led his team down into the dark.

  A little light shone through the oarholes, as not all had been shuttered. Hammocks and cots filled the deck. This was where the ship’s rowers and most of the crew slept. Another flight led down into the hold. Safely out of sight, Fang hissed to Goat to light their own lamp. There were a few false starts as they stood in the damp hold, then a small flame caught on the wick.

  The hold was packed with crates, too many for them to possibly open all in one night. Fang’s heart fell, but he kept his expression stern as he ordered them to start searching. Out came the pry bars. The crates were stuffed with goods ranging from bolts of silk to books, some of which were already damp. Fang sifted through a crate of fine chain that had obviously been imported; it had a foreign look about it, and the wrong smell. A chain shirt like one of those appealed, though. He left it anyway; there was no way for him to smuggle it overboard.

  “Big bro,” Goat said, bumping into him. Fang steadied him and scowled. “I don’t think it’s gonna be down here. It’s something precious, right? They don’t have any gold or jewels down here either.”

  Fang looked at the other two as they diligently cracked and searched crates. “Just keep looking,” he said. “Go check closer to the prow. We haven’t even checked half of these crates yet, I’m not ready to give up that fast.”

  The whispered conversation had caught the others’ attention, but Fang nodded to them and returned to searching within the cone of light from Goat’s lantern. The walls of the hold were slightly damp; Fang wondered about the bilge. Riverboats had shallow drafts, unlike the mightier seafaring ships he’d seen ink paintings of. They tended to last longer than seafaring ships, too – freshwater was less punishing than salt. But it seemed some river captains took that to mean that they could neglect their craft.

  One crate was full of mother-of-pearl and tortoiseshell and ivory things obviously looted from well-off wives or some extremely unlucky merchant. Fang closed the lid just as a crate crashed down behind him. Goat bit off a high-pitched curse and bumped into him again. They all froze, listening to see if anyone had heard up above.

  For a breathless second, it seemed like they’d gotten lucky. Then Fang heard footsteps from the rowing deck and the almost inaudible sound of men’s voices in worried conversation. Fang whispered a curse and cuffed the back of Goat’s head. Goat shuttered the lantern and they all crouched in the dark.

  “Toward the stairs,” Fang muttered. “Take ‘em by surprise.” They all scuttled toward the stairs as the bulkhead opened above. Light cascaded down the steps, but all his men were hidden in the shadows of crates. The sailors descended slowly. Fang eyed the clubs in their hands with worry. Those were men who knew how to fight together on a ship. He ducked down as one of the lamp-bearers swung his lamp in Fang’s direction. He held his breath. Beside him, Goat cringed back into the deeper dark. The sailors slowed at the bottom of the stairs. It felt like an eternity. Maybe they’d go back up.

  The lead cursed at the fallen crate. It had splintered, spilling straw and figurines underfoot. He turned back to the others. “Spread out! Check for stowaways.”

  Fang bit back a curse. He held a hand toward Goat to signal him to wait. But he also had to count on the others’ good judgment, always a key weakness in any plan.

  The sailors didn’t waste any more time. Light spilled over Fang and Goat’s poor hiding spot. There was no chance of them silencing everyone quickly. They had to rely on speed and surprise. Fang launched himself forward just as the man saw him, and tackled him back into the crates. “Go!” Goat scrambled up the stairs. Fang grabbed the lamp from the sailor he’d downed and hurled it at the one making his way back from the spilled crate. Li and Diem barreled up the steps through the other sailors.

  Fang followed, hoisting Goat forward by the waist of his pants. The other men were waking; fortunately everyone wasn’t aboard, but there were more than enough. They rushed for the far stairs in a running battle. The groggy sailors rapidly gained their feet. Some ran for the other stairs. As Fang and his men made it to the cabin, a bell rang out above deck and the night watchmen howled about thieves.

  He didn’t have any breath to spare for another curse. The man whose presence had barred the stairs down waited at the top. His subordinates charged while he and Goat held off the sailors following them. A knife darted past Fang’s guard and split the flesh under his ribs, but it hardly even stung.

  One watchman wasn’t a match for Li and Diem; they gained the cabin deck in time to see men advancing on them from the aft hatch. The cook was awake now and had knives bared, blocking escape through the galley. He laughed with delight.

  Fang didn’t want to tangle with him. He still needed the artifact. The captain’s door was just behind them, the very thing the watchman had been guarding.

  “Hold them off,” Fang said, and rammed the door with his uninjured shoulder. It squealed partway open before he met resistance. Behind him were the very close sounds of combat. He hadn’t gotten this far to get himself and his men killed with empty hands.

  He spied a partly raised wooden bar in the gap. The captain was trying to bar the door. Fang braced himself and fit his foot into the gap, making the best of his weight as the riverboat rocked. Diem slammed into his back. For a second, Fang thought it was a desperate attempt to help, but Diem fell, and Fang caught a glimpse of a split skull. The door opened a little more, enough for Fang to shove his way inside.

  “Fall back!” he howled. Diem’s loss was like a punch to the gut, but Fang couldn’t stop now.

  The captain gave up the door; he had his short sword out, aimed at Fang’s gut. Fang couldn’t spare a look back, or he risked gaining a new hole. He circled warily, knife bared. The captain had superior reach and likely better footing.

  Li slammed the door shut as Goat tumbled in. Fang feinted at the captain to keep him away from the doorway, and Li smashed the bar into place. Now the door to the cabin was secure, and Fang, Goat, and Li were all locked in with the captain. Li scrambled to slam the locks in place next.

  The captain lunged past Fang’s off-hand. Li cried out and the captain’s bloodstained sword whipped back, now pointed between Fang and Goat. Li sank to the floor, now nothing more than a doorstop.

  Goat looked sick in the swinging lamplight, as sick as Fang felt. Two men had died for nothing. Soon it would be four. But Goat hadn’t given up yet, and Fang had more to do. He wouldn’t waste his men’s deaths.

  They’d each fought enough armed men to know how to work together. They separated. Goat’s hooded lamp cast eerie shadows against the far wall. His long knife glinted, black and sticky. Fang darted forward, trying to get into the captain’s guard. He swung. Goat didn’t miss a bea
t; he aimed a kick while the captain’s attention was on Fang, and hooked the man behind the knee. The captain stumbled from the unexpected blow. Fang caught his sword arm and smashed the knife pommel into his wrist, disarming him. After a painful second of wrestling, he had his arm around the captain’s chest, and his knife to the man’s throat.

  “Call your men off,” he growled.

  The captain hesitated, but a little pressure made him bellow, “Stand down!” The rattling of the door stopped immediately.

  Fang’s dying subordinate moaned. Goat almost dropped his lamp in his haste to roll him over.

  “Stop,” Fang said.

  “But he’s—”

  “It’s too late. Search the cabin. If we get what we came for, then his sacrifice won’t be wasted.”

  Goat was slow to leave their brother, but he quickly rifled through the captain’s writing desk and started piling scrolls into his sack.

  The captain had gone still, obviously planning something. Fang jostled him. “Cooperate, and you get to keep sailing your rowboat up and down the Silver,” he warned.

  “You think you’re getting off this ship alive?” the captain asked, and laughed. “Doesn’t matter what I say, the boys won’t allow it.”

  “In that case, you won’t have a problem telling me where the prize is,” Fang said. “Since we won’t get very far.”

  The captain went quiet.

  “We’ll skip the song and dance. Where’s the rock?”

  Goat was tearing through the cabin with an unholy ruckus. Uncertain voices from outside asked their captain if he was all right, clearly not sure the man was even alive.

  “Tell them,” Fang said in his ear.

  “We’re fine in here, just a regular tea party,” the captain snarled.