The Golden Rat Read online

  “We’re lost. There’s no way out,” muttered Zhou.

  “We’ll find a way,” said Linlin. The way descended into a deepening crevasse.

  “We have to stop.” Zhou huffed, but kept moving.

  The footing turned to mud. Baoliu inhaled humid, reeking air. A wave of nausea swept over him. He felt too sick, too weak to go on.

  “I have to stop.” he said, and sat down where he stood, and heard the others settling down around him.

  “It’s hopeless,” he said. He paused, and wearily hung his head. “There’s no way out.”

  “We’re going to die in here,” said Zhou solemnly.

  Baoliu sat back, hands flat to the cave floor. He looked up into the blackness, wondering at the flecks of light overhead. Only slowly did he realize he was gazing up into a patch of night sky. They had not looked up; during their dark wandering, night had come, and they were sitting in open air. As he blinked his eyes into focus, he could make out the silhouettes of trees and hills.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Linlin. “I’ve led you to your doom.”

  “It’s not your fault,” said Zhou.

  Baoliu laughed. “Look up!” he exclaimed. Following his own command, he gazed upward into a starry night sky.

  THEY PICKED THEIR way down a hillside through dark vegetation. And then they were hurrying along dikes, long, interconnecting pathways surrounded on all sides by rectangular patches of rice paddies.

  Baoliu looked back through the dark; no one seemed to be following them.

  “Where do we go?” asked Linlin. “What are we going to do?”

  “We should head south, to Jinwo,” said Baoliu. “I’ve been there. It’s down the coast.”

  “How far?” asked Zhou.

  “It’s less than a day trip by sea. But on land? I don’t know.”

  Ahead glowed a small village, five or six thatched huts, voices rising from them, magnified in the still, evening air. The three approached anxiously, following the only path, right through the village center. A farmer and his look-alike son; a group of children poking sticks into a cooking fire; a fat woman in the doorway of her shack—the people stared at them, wondering at the strangers passing through.

  “Where did you come from?” asked a little girl.

  “Back there,” said Linlin with a tired smile, turning as she walked, pointing back at the dark landscape.

  “Zaijian!” “Good-bye!” called the little girl as they hurried on.

  They crossed a road and then headed across a black field of soft grass. It grew colder, the air misty; they inhaled the scent of the sea, and began to hear the redundant roar of it.

  “Jinwo—it’s about twenty li,” said Baoliu as they made their way out onto soft sand, the sea looming black and glistening beyond. “We’ll go as far as we can tonight, and then—?” He shrugged.

  They hurried on, keeping to the hard sand between the water and the beach, breakers rumbling, white fans of foaming tide swirling toward them and then hissing away. Far out at sea, the lights of boats seemed stopped in blackness. Overhead, a full moon seemed to be following them.

  They continued on, each step getting harder than the last, their pace gradually slackening, and finally slowing to an exhausted walk.

  “We’re all right—we’ve lost them,” said Zhou, his voice a tired monotone. “We have to rest.”

  Above the beach they settled into a narrow cleft beneath a sagging canopy of vegetation. In dappled shadow, they looked at one another.

  “We’ll head out again in the morning,” said Baoliu. “We’re going to be fine.” He smiled faintly and then curled up on a pungent bed of damp leaves. He pillowed his head on a hand, and then felt the pleasure of sinking into the oblivion of sleep.

  SOMEONE WAS PUSHING on his arm. Baoliu blinked at sunlight streaming through the trees, and looked up at Linlin, framed in its glow. “Baoliu,” she whispered, her face rigid, worried.

  Zhou crawled past and aimed a finger through a fringe of sea grass.

  Baoliu peered out. On a distant curve of coastline, mounted constables trotted—four of them, coming in their direction.

  “Look.” Zhou’s voice was an angry hiss. “We led them right to us!”

  “What?” asked Baoliu. And then looked out at the beach and saw it—a long trail of overlapping impressions in the sand—their own footprints! The trail stopped just below.

  Zhou pulled his arm. “Let’s move!” he murmured, already pushing back through dense foliage, scrambling after Linlin.

  They broke through a screen of dead branches onto a broad ledge, leaped from it, and hit the ground running, racing after one another across an open field. They splashed through a shallow pond, and then were climbing, pushing their way up through thick underbrush.

  Linlin yelped, and wiped at a bloody scratch on her hand. “I’m all right,” she said.

  Baoliu blinked sweat from his eyes, and then scrabbled after her.

  Somewhere behind, a horse snorted.

  “Which way?” Baoliu asked, as they came to a stream.

  “Down.” Zhou panted, easing into the water.

  “They’re coming.” Baoliu motioned with his head in the direction of distant hoofbeats, then caught a glimpse of constables wending their way down a hillside. “Let’s go!”

  They moved fast, in silence, knee-deep water pushing them from behind. The stream branched, and then branched again, and turned to a green film of stagnant, foul-smelling water.

  “This way,” said Zhou.

  Single file, they made their way down a narrow pathway.

  “What’s that?”

  Baoliu swept aside tall grass and looked out as a cart rattled past on a roadway—and then gazed down at a ship-cluttered harbor and a city that seemed squeezed between two towering cliffs.

  “Jinwo,” he said.

  12

  “We have to keep away from the roads,” said Zhou, easing back into the foliage.

  Baoliu nodded, and then found himself following the other two back through the brush and then along a trail winding high above the city. It seemed to go on forever. Head bowed to a hot midday sun, he struggled to keep up, his legs rubbery, his clothes hot with sweat and plastered to his body.

  Linlin and Zhou, looking no better off, stopped ahead and waited for him to catch up.

  “Are you all right?” Linlin pushed back wet bangs.

  He nodded, too hot and tired to speak. He pushed on.

  The trail descended sharply, and a fragile breeze rose from somewhere below, cooling them. And carried on it were children’s voices. Up ahead, a little boy ran past, and then picked his way out onto a rocky ledge; he yelled happily, and jumped.

  Water exploded below, pluming upward.

  Baoliu peered over the ridge—and looked down at a lake, a basin of blue water girdled by rock. In bunches along the shoreline, on patches of sand between rocky escarpments, people were sunbathing or swimming.

  From a side trail, a little girl clambered up over a boulder, followed by an older boy.

  “Ni xian zou?” she asked. “Would you like to go first?”

  Baoliu patted the little girl on the head. “Yes,” he said—and then stepped to the edge and jumped—grabbing his knees midair and then slamming into icy water.

  He stroked to the surface and, treading water, watched as Linlin and Zhou jumped. He swam, feeling the sweat and filth washing off him. He gulped water, and then let himself sink; he dove underwater, and then rose back to the surface in an upwelling of bubbles. Looking back at Linlin and Zhou swimming toward him, he felt his foot touch bottom, and he walked backward in knee-deep water.

  Little boys splashed past, chasing each other.

  Linlin and Zhou sloshed up through the shallows.

  Baoliu took Linlin’s hand, helping her, and put a hand on Zhou’s shoulder as they slogged ashore.

  “Hao shuang.” Linlin smiled. “That felt wonderful.”

  “I feel like I just came back to life,” said
Baoliu, returning her smile.

  “Yeah, it was great,” said Zhou, looking around at the surrounding cliffs. “But we have to keep moving.” He started up a rocky escarpment, looking back to make sure Baoliu and Linlin were following.

  Beyond a tangle of fallen trees, they found a spot to rest, a grassy depression surrounded by trees and overlooking the lake.

  “I think they’ve lost our trail,” said Zhou, sitting down with the others. “Still, they’re going to figure out that Jinwo is probably the first place we’d head. We’ve got to decide what to do. Do we keep going or stay here? Once we get into the city, into Jinwo, we’re going to be hard to find. Still, like I said, it’s one place the constables are sure to look. But if we keep going, we’re going to be out in the open. We’ll be easy to spot.”

  “We’re probably better off in Jinwo, at least for a while,” said Baoliu. “Then we can move on, if and when we decide to.”

  “I don’t want to move at all,” said Linlin wearily. “I’m not sure I’m capable of it.”

  “We’ll rest,” said Baoliu. “For now, we’re probably as safe right here as anywhere else. Besides, we don’t even know if they’re still after us.” He looked at Linlin. “Are they that determined to get you?”

  “I’d be surprised if they weren’t.” She ran her fingers back through damp hair. “The constables who are after us are probably some of the magistrate’s private thugs, the ones he pays to do his dirty work. They’re killers, and they won’t give up easy.”

  “Didn’t you say you sent a letter—a petition—to the governor?” asked Baoliu.

  “Yes.”

  “What was in it? Was it that much of a threat to the magistrate?”

  “It was a long, long list. I wrote about everything he’s done—all the people he’s cheated, all the ones he’s had killed.”

  “Who’s he had killed?” asked Zhou.

  “Anyone who crosses him, anyone who speaks out against him.”

  “And you knew this when you wrote the letter?” he asked incredulously.

  Linlin shrugged. “I was too mad and disgusted to care. I know what the magistrate’s capable of, but somebody had to stand up to him.” She grimaced. “Now I wish I hadn’t—not because of what’s happened to me, but because of what’s happened to everyone else. The magistrate hurt a lot of people in Minkao trying to find me. And because of that letter—because of me—my grandfather is dead. He killed himself so that I could get away.”

  “It was what he wanted,” said Baoliu.

  “And I did the same thing to my father.” She looked up, her eyes wet with tears. “He died to save me, too.”

  “It’s not your fault,” said Baoliu.

  “No?”

  “No, none of it is.”

  “If it isn’t, then why does everyone I care for end up dead?” She looked from Zhou to Baoliu. “And the two of you—are you next? You saved me, just like my father and grandfather did. If you were smart, you’d leave me and head off on your own.”

  “We’re both sort of stupid,” said Baoliu with a half smile. “We’re not going anywhere without you.”

  “You’re stuck with us,” said Zhou. “That’s just the way it is. Sorry.”

  NOT UNTIL LATE the next morning did they start to rouse themselves. Waking up slowly, they sat together on a ledge, gazing down at the lake. A little boy walked along the shore, a dog trotting at his side. No one else was in sight.

  “Where is everyone?” Zhou yawned.

  No one answered.

  Linlin stood up and then headed down the rocky slope, Baoliu and Zhou picking their way along behind. They knelt beside the lake, splashing water on their faces.

  From somewhere below came the roar of a crowd.

  “Something’s going on,” said Baoliu.

  They headed down from the lake, following its winding shoreline, and then made their way along a well-traveled trail. Beyond a forest of reeds below, a sweep of tiled rooftops came into view. And then they heard a babble of voices.

  “What’s this?” said Zhou, as the path opened onto a busy street.

  “A Festival of Lights, I think,” said Linlin.

  Paper lanterns hung from trees and the eaves of houses, and every house was festooned with paper streamers. The streets teemed with people, many of them soldiers and sailors. The wealthy rode on horseback or in covered sedan chairs. A delicate hand parted the curtains of one; an expressionless, heavily made-up face peered out at them.

  Linlin grabbed Baoliu’s arm. He stared.

  A pair of constables trotted toward them—and then kept going.

  “It’s all right,” said Zhou. “They’re local. Their armor—the iron-ribbon tunics, the black helmets, the steel-toed boots—they’re Jinwo constables.”

  “Still, they could be trouble,” said Linlin.

  “Bikai!” “Out of the way!” cried a woman carrying an oversize basket, trying to get past as a crowd began to back up behind them.

  The three moved along with the others, all heading in the same direction.

  “The Pleasure Grounds,” said Linlin as they emerged into a noisy carnival world of tents and sideshows, food stands and taverns.

  A throng around a gaming arena parted; the three stepped back as litter bearers hurried past with an unconscious boxer, gloves of hardened leather on his hands.

  Overhead, an air-walker, a great long pole in hand, picked his way out onto a quivering stretch of rope. A contortionist walked on her hands, her legs wrapped around her back, her feet on her waist. A mime, his face painted white, walked up to Linlin and looked at her with wide eyes and a stretched smile; he pointed at her and then at himself, put his hands together prayerfully, and silently asked her to marry him.

  She giggled and blushed, and made a sad face and shook her head no.

  With an exaggerated pout on his face, the mime slumped away in slow motion.

  A horse snorted; leading it by the reins, a constable went past. He looked at the three without interest and continued on.

  “Sheren!” “The snake-man!” a little girl chortled, running with her friends to where a crowd was closing in a circle around a tall man.

  “What does he do?” asked Linlin as they pressed near.

  Wearing a dirty white robe, his long hair and beard hanging in greasy ringlets, the man plucked a fat, writhing snake from a basket. He stroked it and seemed to be whispering to it as it coiled around his arm. He kissed its flat head—and then held it aloft by the tail, and opening his mouth wide, swallowed the thing, whole and alive.

  “Eeew!” squealed a little girl in front of Baoliu, watching through her fingers.

  The man approached the crowd. He stopped, looked from face to face, and then, smiling, beat openhanded on his chest. The third time he struck himself, his chest began to heave and convulse. For a moment, he seemed to be choking. His mouth opened, and as the crowd groaned in revulsion and disbelief, the head of the snake appeared, its forked tongue flickering. More of the beast emerged as the man opened his mouth ever wider, and the whole of the thing slithered out into his waiting hands.

  The performance wasn’t over.

  The man reached into the basket again—and pulled out a wriggling handful of small white snakes. And then one by one he began swallowing them.

  “I think I’ve seen enough!” said Linlin, sticking her tongue out and then heading away.

  Baoliu and Zhou hurried to catch up to her.

  “That was so disgusting, wasn’t it?” she asked as they walked.

  “I sort of liked it,” said Zhou, grinning mischievously.

  Lin looked at Baoliu.

  “Me, too.” He laughed.

  “You’re both idiots!” She groaned, smiling in spite of herself. And then laughed out loud as a trained bear walked past, carrying a full-grown man in its shaggy arms.

  Baoliu inhaled; his mouth began to water. From stands and taverns ahead wafted the delicious aroma of food. “It’s been two days since we’ve eaten,�
� he said. “And we haven’t got a tongqian between us,” added Linlin.

  “We’ll find something,” said Zhou, scanning the way ahead. Baoliu took hold of Linlin’s wrist, following after Zhou as they wended their way through a moving maze of people.

  A man gnawed on a beef bone as he walked past. A woman had a spiced plum-on-a-stick, and so did a little girl trotting behind her. Baoliu wanted to grab the food from their hands. He swallowed hard and took Linlin’s hand, trying to keep up with Zhou.

  “Where is he going?” asked Linlin.

  “He knows what he’s doing,” said Baoliu as they picked their way between two food stands and then found Zhou behind a tavern, picking through garbage.

  “I’d rather steal—and get something decent,” said Zhou. “But it’s too dangerous. This will have to get us by.”

  It was repulsive, but Baoliu was too hungry to care. They ate as they went, stuffing themselves with whatever they could find—orange peels, soya beans, stale rolls, bits of meat and gristle from rabbit bones—anything that looked edible.

  “Here,” said Linlin. On her knees, she was gathering overripe peaches and filling a broken basket with them. “There’s a lot,” she said, getting up and showing Baoliu and Zhou her find—and then she froze, as a Jinwo constable trotted past, gave them a long, hard look, and continued on.

  “Don’t worry about him,” said Zhou, as the constable disappeared from view. “It’s not a crime to eat garbage!”

  Behind a gambling parlor, they feasted on the peaches. “Not bad!” Zhou murmured, as they finished the last of the fruit. He wiped sticky hands on his pants. “Better than what you get in prison. I’d rather eat garbage than that.”

  “When were you in prison?” asked Linlin.

  “Until last year.”

  “Where?”

  “Hangzhou.”

  “For what?”

  “Stealing. My brother and I stole a blanket—a stinking horse blanket.”

  “How long were you in prison?” asked Baoliu, realizing Zhou was finishing a story he’d begun long ago.

  “About eight months.”

  “How long have you been out?”