The Book of Crows Read online

  ‘If you bothered listening to our guests yesterday, you will be aware of the rumours of an official of the middle kingdom’s emperor travelling through the desert. Since the cook has informed me that he has seen a most regal caravan moving in this direction, I suggest we do our best to prepare ourselves.’

  ‘And knock me over if it doesn’t look longer than the bloody desert itself! Coming right this way, it is!’ The cook grinned, showing his withered gums.

  The Empress cleared her throat then continued. ‘I would advise you all to start getting this place cleaned up. All of you wash, no excuses. I want your best dresses, your best smiles, and if I see a single yawn or frown I will line up everyone tomorrow morning and make each one of you pay. Understand?’

  We understood. Within a few moments the whole place was in chaos. Even Claws – who usually went out of her way to maintain an image of unflappability – could not keep still, and was soon threatening to scratch Homely’s pretty eyes out if he didn’t back away from the quickly disappearing buckets of scented water the cook had heated for us. Tiger must have tugged out about a hundred of my hairs as she frantically ran the comb through the knots, and I had trouble stopping myself from cursing her.

  ‘So what are officials?’ I asked her between gritted teeth as she began to plait my hair tightly.

  ‘My uncle was once an official in a country far from here,’ she replied. ‘In your language it means someone sent on a mission by a king or an emperor. Perhaps we will meet these officials. They are men who have stared into the face of a living god and survived.’

  ‘And they really want to stop here?’

  ‘Who knows? Maybe they’re lost. Perhaps the Empress has bribed the local guides and shepherds to divert them this way. We will soon see.’

  ‘Wait. What do you mean “in my language”? What’s your language, then?’

  Tiger clucked her tongue against her teeth. ‘My old language is one of fire and ice. When I was brought up in my uncle’s home I could speak three different languages, but there was always something special about my home tongue. It is the oldest language on earth, and one word of it spoken aloud can level mountains or cause rivers to change their course.’

  ‘If it can do such great things, why don’t you speak it now?’ I asked.

  ‘Some words are too powerful. Sometimes words show us how things really are and sometimes they disguise the world and wrap us in illusions. I do not dare speak my old language now. I no longer deserve it. Your second-hand tongue will do just fine.’

  She had wound the plait along the top of my head as if it were a kind of crown. Without another word she stood up and made towards our shared room, where the four of us gathered and spent the next couple of hours painting our faces and practising our smiles and winks and knotting ourselves into the tightest robes we had. As ever, we competed to see who could do the best job of transforming themselves.

  Tiger was shimmering in light silk that set off her fierce dark eyes, Silk had tied bright ribbons in her many plaits and Claws seemed to have managed to push her breasts even higher and further out than usual. Even the boys had gone all out, for when we emerged into the courtyard we saw Homely decked out in his brightest robe, while Tall had obviously stolen some of Silk’s coloured dust in order to show off his sharp cheekbones and slanted sneer. I cursed them all under my breath. You see, no matter how much we all hated our work, we still wanted to be wanted. No one could bear the thought of being picked last, of having to go with the ugliest man or the lowliest of the group, of having to endure the other girls’ pity or teasing the next day. Of course, the first men to pick were also always the ones in charge, the ones with more money or gifts to leave if you did well. But it went deeper than that. I know it sounds strange, but if you were picked first, above everyone else, well, that gave you a sort of power. It made you special, if only for a few seconds. Besides, no one wanted to feel that they were the last scraps, the leftovers.

  Now, usually when we had a big party of men who wanted a bit of entertainment with their food, the cook sat in a corner and warbled along to his four-string hushtar. So we knew these officials were special when they brought along their own musicians. It was those two men carrying long stringed instruments who entered first, and we were all so nervous and excited we almost kowtowed to them before they started setting up in the corner of the courtyard. With them was the party’s desert guide, a short mousy man who stuttered when the musicians asked him questions. I recognised him from a visit only a couple of moons before. No doubt he would be getting favours from us in the future for this brief diversion of the official, I thought to myself, and the looks that passed between him and the Empress seemed to confirm this. By the time he had settled the musicians, stationed four guards at the gate and ducked back out towards the main party, his face was puffy and slick with sweat.

  The musicians began to play as the guide returned, following a few anxious paces behind a short man wearing a coat of armour made up of hundreds of tiny plates of scuffed metal that made him look, to me at least, like a giant fish with rattling scales. The official – his status was made obvious by the fact that the other three men and the guide were careful never to overtake him – had a long moustache and pointy beard, both bothered by stray sprigs of grey. On closer inspection (though we hardly dared look directly at him for more than a few seconds at a time), it was clear he was pretty old. Far older than my father had been when I last saw him. His armour struggled to contain his potbelly, and as he looked around his nose began to twitch as if he had smelt something rotten.

  ‘It is my recollection that you assured us of a venerable palace of delights. This ragtag assemblage, however, looks better suited for slaves than one of his celestial majesty’s most trusted servants. It seems we have left more persons at the foot of this hill than await us at its paltry summit.’

  He spoke in the same rich language Claws had taught us, and I was happy to find that for the most part her lessons seemed to have paid off.

  The guide wiped his sleeve across his damp forehead. ‘Er … well, my lord … it’s, erm, it’s exclusive. But if it displeases you then, er, we could always take another route. I know of a place —’

  ‘No. We are here now. If it were to take you as long to lead us to another reputable inn as it does for you to finish a sentence then we would not arrive till the day after the morrow!’

  The three men were quick to chuckle at the official’s joke – their laughs louder and more exaggerated than seemed necessary – and the guide nodded his head and cast his eyes to the floor. The old man sank down on the cushions at the head of the table and called for one of his servants to unfasten his armour. His three companions sat down beside him while the rest of us began to fetch the liquor and first dishes, since it seemed clear that they wished to fill their stomachs before they took their fill of us. For the first time, the Empress joined in, setting down steaming bowls of broth. As we trotted to and fro between the cook’s fire and the long table, we were able to steal glances at our distinguished visitors. Though one of the men was at least as old as the official, with white hair and bushy eyebrows, the other two were closer to Claws’ age. The guards at the gate and the front of the courtyard looked on enviously as the four men began to tear strips from the legs of mutton and pick at the sun-dried fruits. When we had finished bringing the feast, we were invited to sit beside them.

  One of the younger men lifted his cup and the music quickly rushed to an improvised finish. Everyone sat silently, waiting.

  ‘Gentlemen, might I be permitted to give the first toast? Then let us drink to our most noble benefactor, the burning celestial ruler and the very centre of the earth. To our mighty father, who has deigned to grant us a mission that we might prove ourselves. Gentlemen, to the most glorious and beneficent emperor.’

  They knocked the clay cups together and downed the liquor. I wondered what the cook would think when these men finished all of the bottles he had been saving. He had told me that
he had a special batch of the spirit he had fermented from the camels’ milk and then buried in the earth to mature, and I was sure it was this that the gentlemen were carelessly knocking back. Nonetheless, despite not really knowing who this emperor was or why he was so important, I bowed my head when they spoke of him and clinked their cups. After a few jokes and anecdotes about their journey so far through ‘these damned barbarous lands’, which we all smiled and laughed at no matter how boring or hard to understand they were, the white-haired man lifted his cup, determined to follow suit.

  ‘May I have the honour of proposing the second toast? I thank you all for humouring an old man and for giving him a chance to see the lands he had only heard about. I know well enough that this may be my last journey. So it is fitting that for my toast I should look not forward, but to the past. My brothers, let us drink to our brave predecessor, General Zhang Qian. Many autumns ago he made this same journey, so that others might follow. We are all familiar, I am sure, with his story: how the emperor charged him with exploring the wilderness of the west in order to forge alliances against the vicious Xiongnu tribes who pick like vultures at the borders of our kingdom. How he was captured and held prisoner by these same uncivilised Xiongnu for ten winters, and finally returned to his ruler with only a single one of his army of a hundred soldiers still alive. How he was sent again to bring back the wondrous horses he had seen, horses that sweat blood and that have made our kingdom invincible. How the subsequent invasions, treaties and trading alliances that have strengthened our nation were enabled by him. How we, following in his footsteps, owe him a great debt. Brothers, to Zhang Qian.’

  Once again the clay cups were banged together and the liquor sloshed back. The younger men’s eyes were beginning to redden along with their cheeks. It was clear from the twitching corner of the first man’s forced smile that the white-haired man had outdone him. Now, I had no idea who this Zhang Qian was, but he sounded like the kind of man I would also happily drink to. Travelling far from his family and home town only to be taken prisoner by strange foreigners for many summers on end – I knew how he must have felt.

  Though his words were flecked with spittle and he occasionally knocked over some of the bowls with his shaky hand, the old man was by far the liveliest of the bunch. He would often forget himself and turn to speak to us girls instead of to his superior and his companions, and the sparks of the drink danced in this eyes. He told us the stories he had heard of the neighbouring tribes and kingdoms: of jugglers and acrobats who could throw things into the air and keep them suspended motionless above the crowd, of birds whose call told of your deepest secret, of men who could throw ropes straight up and climb into the clouds, of trees on which laughing human heads grew, of medicines that could make a man live for a thousand springs and of beasts that fed on sand and rain-clouds. Eventually he broke off his long, rambling stories when the second of the young men raised his cup.

  ‘I humbly beg you to allow me to make the last of the toasts. My brothers have spoken eloquently of our celestial master and of our noble kinsman who set out a trail that we have followed. Yet I wish to break with convention, if my most gracious master will allow it, and dedicate this toast not to a person but to the history of our motherland and the most mighty of countries. Not for us the histories commissioned by bumbling rich men who censor any mention of misdoings and pay the historian well to exaggerate their achievements and belittle those of their enemy. Not for us the histories which dwell only on a single place, or a single epoch. Not for us those histories of conjecture and guesswork. Not for us those histories that confine themselves to the past. My brother, to our quest and its assured success: to the Book.’

  He grinned as his toast reached its peak and he raised his cup even higher, thinking he had outshone the others. To tell the truth, I was thinking the same. He had spoken the most eloquently and managed to put his companions down as he did so. So none of us, least of all the speaker, was expecting it when the official suddenly slapped him. The cup flew from his hands and smashed on the ground, the liquor dribbling out among the broken shards. The young man reached to his stinging face and began to stutter.

  ‘Do you ever stop and think before your ignorant tongue gabbles out our secrets?’ the official barked at him. ‘Don’t you remember our orders? Your tongue is so loose I’m surprised it hasn’t slipped from your throat!’

  ‘But who’s going to hear us? We’re alone on a mountain top at a cheap hideout with just a couple of dumb tarts for company.’

  So much for being a gentleman, I thought.

  ‘So you didn’t consider that our party may have been tracked and followed, that there may be spies among our guards or hiding in places such as these? Anyway, fool, an order is an order. Remember that. Ladies, please forgive us. If you would bring some more cups and forget my foolish companion’s rash words, we would be much obliged. Our mission is one of trade and trade alone, and there will be silver to help everyone remember that. Let the music start up again, and please join me in the final toast: to friends, wherever we might find them.’

  I was impressed to be given a cup myself, even though the liquor was fiery and burned my throat. When I coughed and spluttered after a single tentative sip, everyone began to laugh and tease me, and the argument was soon forgotten. It all seemed pretty silly to me anyway. I mean, I wasn’t ignorant, I knew what a book was – I knew some merchants and important people scratched drawings on strips of bamboo, then bound them together and took them along on their travels so they didn’t forget where they were going. But these travellers were having a laugh if they really thought we’d care about a jumble of pictures on a few mouldy old bamboo slats – why would any of us want that? In any case, the four people in front of me were the only people I’d ever met who could read.

  When the dishes had dwindled away to licked-clean bones and the soggy dregs of the cook’s best soup, and the musicians began to complain of blisters and sore fingers, the official nodded and held up his hand. We all knew what this meant, and the four of us girls tried not to tense up. It was time. Although the official told the white-haired man to take first pick, the old man shook his head and insisted that his superior have that honour. The official slowly rose to his feet, and we all did the same.

  As his eyes studied each of the six of us in turn, I felt that familiar blush rising up from my toes to my cheeks. It was the same every time we went through this. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Claws toying with her long plait. She must have been as anxious as I was. Being picked by the emperor’s own official would give us something to boast about for ages.

  ‘I think I shall retire with this wonderfully plump young boy,’ he said, raising a hand to Homely, who grinned in return. I tried hard not to show my disappointment, to remain smiling, and I knew that the other girls would be doing the same. The second young man laughed and muttered something to the others, but the official only smiled.

  ‘I have seven wives at home. I will relish the chance to enjoy such fine alabaster skin, a worthy dessert for such a hearty meal. I bid you goodnight, my friends, and entrust you will be ready to depart at first light in the morrow.’

  As the fat young boy and the elderly statesman disappeared into a room on the other side of the courtyard, all heads turned towards the white-haired man, who was licking his lips. Though he was obviously next in rank, the idea of entertaining someone so old was one that I’m sure none of us relished. Granted, some of his stories had been pretty funny, but there is always so much extra work involved in getting old men ready before the damned thing can even get under way that I for one was hoping he wouldn’t pick me almost as much as I had been hoping his master would.

  ‘Would the fair lady from the west care to accompany me?’ he said, holding his hand out towards Silk, who, of course, could not refuse it. ‘Forgive me if I embarrass you, but your fine pale cheeks and great height lead me to conjecture that you are from that tribe of master horsemen the Scythians, a people of which I have heard
much but have never before had the opportunity to meet.’

  Silk nodded before taking his arm and leading him round the cushions towards one of the guestrooms, while he prattled on into her ear. Although I had assumed the young man who had made the first toast would be the next to make his choice, it was instead the rude young man who had offended his master who opened his mouth to speak before the other had a chance.

  ‘I’ll take darkie here. I want to see whether the rest of her body is truly as black as her face and hands. Goodnight, all.’

  He grabbed Tiger and pulled her away without noticing the look of hatred that briefly lit up her usually impassive face. Just one more man now, and I noticed Claws glance at me fiercely as she thrust out her chest and ran her tongue over her lips. On the other side of me Tall pushed his fingers through his short crop of hair and winked. This was an all-out battle, with everything at stake. I fluttered my eyelids and did my best to pout. The young man looked at the three of us nervously before stretching out his hand.

  ‘May I have the pleasure of your company, young lady?’ he said to me, and I had to work hard to stop myself from shouting out in celebration. I nodded slowly and took his hand. I had beaten them. I had been picked. My heart thumped about like a trapped bird in my chest as we made our way to the last of the guestrooms on our side of the courtyard. The last thing I saw before I slipped inside was Tall storming away and a red-faced Claws slapping one of the musicians who had obviously forgotten his place.