The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 4 - Chapter 20

Chapter 20: The Ambush

These guys had to be crazy, Lihaku thought.

In front of him, Shishou’s private troops cowered, overwhelmed by the intruders. They’d grabbed spears in a hurry when the attackers had appeared, but they were no match for Lihaku and his men, who had prepared thoroughly.

Lihaku was here to take the treacherous Shi clan into custody. It had to be treason: how else were they supposed to interpret the rebuilding of an abandoned fortress sixty li north of the capital? The presence of actual soldiers? It was as good as open rebellion.

Despite the size of the stronghold, to plot rebellion with nothing but this was the height of foolishness. The Shi clan leader, Shishou, was a person of considerable influence at court. He held so much sway over the Emperor that he had even been able to chase out one of the former high consorts and have his own daughter installed in her place.

Lihaku tilted his head in puzzlement as he swung his club. Had Shishou gone mad with greed, or just plain mad? Cornered though he might have felt, disappearing from the capital and holing up in a place like this was as good as asking to be treated as a rebel. Lihaku wondered if the man known all over court as “the old tanuki” would really do something so stupid.

But in any case, Lihaku was a military official. He could leave the pondering to others; he simply had to do his job.

He brought his club down on an enemy soldier’s foot, then swept the man’s legs out from under him. Behind him, subordinates in white cloaks tied up the overpowered enemies. Lihaku had been wearing a white cloak like theirs, but he’d tossed it off a few minutes ago because it kept getting in the way. Anyway, blood spatter showed up all too conspicuously on white. It wasn’t really an appropriate thing to be wearing into battle.

It did, however, allow them to blend in with the snow. Perfect for hiding in plain sight. Especially on a moonless night.

Lihaku and his troops advanced without torches. The squadron itself had split into two as they approached the fortress: one forward infantry unit, full of men who knew how to handle themselves in the snow and were confident of their abilities; and a second group, several li back.

It went something like this: the stronghold guards noticed the lights of the rear group, but completely missed the closer unit creeping forward in the dark. They believed the enemy was much farther away than they were.

Lihaku and his troops had a problem too, though. For several li, they had to cross an open, empty field. It might have been doable with some stars out, but with the sky black, it would be all too easy to lose their sense of direction.

Lihaku finished tying up an enemy and let out a breath. Something dropped from his collar.

“Neat idea, these things,” he remarked, picking up the fish-shaped wooden object where it had fallen in the snow. It would allow him to ascertain the location of the fortress.

The little fish contained a magnet. Put it in a bucket of water and it would help you determine which direction you were going. It was a common implement on ships. The surface of the fish had been dusted with strange glowing particles, so it could be read even in the dark of night. The particles supposedly came from some mushroom that glowed in the dark.

There was another aspect to the ambush as well. Lihaku looked at the avalanche that had come down from the cliffside with no small amazement. “Whoever came up with this plan must have been crazy... Crazy like a fox.”

This was one reason this stronghold had been abandoned: areas in the vicinity of hot springs tended to experience a lot of earthquakes. There had been a major one a few decades before, big enough to alter the local geography. It had shaved off part of the mountain, so that now avalanches sometimes occurred during winter. They weren’t large and they weren’t very frequent, but it was not a promising feature for a defensive position.

This avalanche just happened to be human-made. It was colder than usual this year, and the snow was deep. Several of the most experienced mountaineers among the vanguard had moved off, carrying fire lances. Lihaku had wondered why—this must have been the reason.

He was just crunching his way over the filthy snow when he spotted someone entering the fortress. A man, his white cloak and long black hair lovely in the night. Lihaku, who had never expected to think of any man as “lovely”—let alone in the middle of a battle—smiled wryly to himself.

One would never have expected to see this man on the battlefield at all. With his flawless features, he was at once the groundskeeper of the garden that was the rear palace and, arguably, one of its flowers. But with him, “flower” might be taken to refer to something else: the meaning of the name Ka. The man’s hair, partially tied up, was held in place with a silver hair stick. Anyone who saw the design would have thrown themselves flat on the ground.

The name of their country, Li, was written by repeating the character for sword three times. But above those swords was a symbol meaning grass—or flower. In the whole country, there were only two people with the name Ka. And he was one of them.

He should never have been here, not normally. He shouldn’t have been on a night march, walking several li in complete silence. Even this group of men chosen specifically for their physical strength were showing the strain by the end. But that man, the possessor of a face as beautiful and delicate as a celestial nymph’s, clutched a willow-leaf saber and wore bluish-purple armor to indicate to those around him who he was.

It was the eunuch Jinshi who stood there, in what should have been a man’s position. The young eunuch with the emperor’s favor, so handsome that sometimes unsavory rumors began to circulate. There must have been more than a few slack jaws when he had stepped forward to take command, and several officials had gone positively pale. The young master was popular with both sexes, so much so that even men occasionally tried to talk him up.

Lihaku had been as shocked as anybody. Recently Gaoshun, who always served closely with Jinshi, had made a series of requests of him. One of them had been to select men from among his subordinates and colleagues who had plenty of stamina and coped particularly well with the cold. Now he knew what it had been about.

The young man no longer used the name Jinshi, but Lihaku couldn’t speak the name Ka. One might write it, yes, but those who could actually say it aloud were few indeed.

Jinshi entered the stronghold, and Lihaku came up behind him so as not to be left behind. Gaoshun was nowhere to be seen, but in his place a stern-looking young warrior stuck close to Jinshi. Lihaku followed them both inside.

The interior of the fortress was pervaded by a nose-prickling smell, something like rotten eggs. Lihaku was just wondering what it could be when he saw men carrying armloads of snow downstairs. Had there been a fire on the lower level? He quickly inquired with one of the men, who confirmed that was exactly what had happened: there had been an explosion.

“I-If we don’t handle this quickly, th-the mistress will...” The man trembled uncontrollably, unable to meet Lihaku’s eyes. Lihaku let him go. Was it the smoke that made the man’s color look so bad, or fear of this “mistress”? Maybe it was that unexpected turn that had left the stronghold defended by fewer soldiers than the attackers had expected.

Lihaku, covering his mouth, came up to Jinshi and knelt respectfully.

“You have counsel?” Jinshi asked; Lihaku was grateful that he had initiated the conversation. “Speak freely.”

“As you command, sir.” It was at times like this that Lihaku always wished he had learned more proper diction. “I don’t believe we can stay here long with all this smoke. And I expect those inside will be in a hurry to get out.”

“I realize that,” Jinshi said. Lihaku cursed himself for, apparently, only stating the obvious. “However, there may be someone inside who cannot be allowed to escape.”

“Then, sir, I’ll have all my troops look for them. Please head outside.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Lihaku resisted the impulse to frown, glad he was looking down toward the ground. It would not be good for Lihaku if Jinshi was injured. He wanted nothing more than to get the young man out of there, to where he could watch the operation from somewhere safe.

At the same time, though, this was the Forbidden Army, and that meant that Jinshi’s place was at its head. The fact that they were essentially launching an ambush seemed to make him even less interested in relinquishing his position.

To stand proudly at the front of this force was to throw away his identity as the eunuch Jinshi—and that would shatter the balance that had reigned at court. The Shi clan, which had been one part of that balance, was already in shambles; Lihaku could see it himself. Members of the family might be hiding amongst the captured enemy soldiers. And capturing them was all well and good, but their guilt was already clear. Those who conspired against the Emperor could expect the extermination of their entire families at best. The sovereign’s personal mercy might temper the outcome to some extent, but the Shi clan had little hope to cling to.

“Grand Commandant Kan’s daughter is a prisoner here,” Jinshi said.

“Sir...”

Kan was a very, very common name. But only one official in the land bore it: the eccentric strategist. Before the mission, Lihaku had been informed about her—first, that she existed (one more surprise on a day full of them), and second, that no one knew why she had been abducted.

“Can you abandon her?” Jinshi asked.

He could not. That much, at least, was certain.

“It would make me a new political enemy...” Lihaku said without meaning to.

For a second, he thought he saw something mingle with Jinshi’s hard expression. “Yes, I believe you’re right.” He looked agonized, as if he was going to be torn apart—but he moved forward.

Lihaku stood up, pulling at his hair. But the only thing he could do under the circumstances was to complete his assigned task as quickly as possible.

○●○

Along with the blast there came a great rush of snow. She knew intellectually that this was called an avalanche. But it was like a snow dragon descending upon them from the cliff at their backs. It didn’t reach Maomao, but a building she took to be some kind of storehouse was obscured by a haze of white.

She observed all this from the balcony. The explosions had scared off most of the workers from the basement, and the few remaining were attempting to fight the fires. They would have to split their efforts once again to deal with the avalanche. She saw soldiers come leaping over the outer wall and stare in amazement at the scene before them.

Then there were those who couldn’t escape. Something white came flashing over the now thinly defended walls; the color blended in and she couldn’t see very well at this distance what it was. But she saw some panicked soldiers confront it, and then a flash of red erupting through the night.

Blood landing on the pure, white snow.

The white thing was an intruder. He cast aside his white cloak to reveal a full set of armor.

Come to bring the rebels to heel?

For an upper consort to flee the rear palace was as good as rebellion. And with her family making their stand in a fortress like this—well, there would be no excuses.

Am I safe here? Maomao wondered. She stopped when she saw the invaders in the distant light of their torches. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she knew: she was sure she had seen him. A man whose nymph-like beauty hardly seemed fit for a battlefield. Clothed in armor of an expensive color, he cut a dashing figure, like a real soldier.

Could he possibly be here to rescue her?

No way. Even he doesn’t have that kind of time to kill.

Her eyes must have deceived her. Anyway, the form soon vanished as the invading forces continued to flood into the stronghold. They would be here soon, and Maomao had no idea how they would treat her.

The smell of sulfur was everywhere—from the explosion? She pressed the sleeve of her robe to her mouth so that it wouldn’t poison her.

I really should just run...

One thing was for sure: she wouldn’t have a leg to stand on when it came to criticizing Shisui after this.

What was she, some kind of idiot? She must be an idiot, she thought as she stopped in place.

She could hear footsteps coming closer. Her heart was pounding. They wouldn’t finish her off right then and there... Would they?

Whoever it is, I hope they’ll at least hear me out.

At that moment, someone kicked down the door. A soldier wearing bluish-purple armor stood in the entryway.

He didn’t say anything. She didn’t say anything. Neither of them said anything. After a long moment, it was Maomao who spoke first: “I’m sorry, but might I ask you to protect me, Master Jinshi?”

“Are you hurt?” the soldier—Jinshi—asked. He could see the blood on Maomao’s clothes.

“I’m all right. It’s just spatter.”

“That’s not all right!”

“It’s snake blood.”

Jinshi didn’t look like he thought this was any better, but Maomao found his exasperated expression oddly reassuring. It was so familiar. She felt the corners of her own mouth softening into a smile.

“Hey, is that—” Jinshi stepped closer and was about to say something, but they were interrupted by another set of approaching footsteps, and his expression changed abruptly. The look on his face was neither that of the eunuch with his delicate, nymph-like smile, nor the somehow childish young man.

“Milord heir,” a rough-looking man said as he entered the room.

Heir?

“That title no longer belongs to me,” Jinshi said. “A royal son has been born.”

So Consort Gyokuyou had safely delivered her child—and it was a boy.

So that’s who he really is, Maomao thought. For a man who wasn’t a eunuch to enter the rear palace was a serious crime. Only those who shared blood with the Emperor, or who had his specific orders, could do so.

“You seem to have aged a good deal, Master Jinshi.” She spoke rather softly, yet he glanced in her direction with what she took to be annoyance.

“Is Lihaku here?” Jinshi asked the soldier. The big, doglike man soon bounded into the room. “I’m leaving this in your hands,” Jinshi said, and then he left.

Lihaku tilted his head, crossed his arms, and furrowed his brow. “Forgive me, but you look an awful lot like a young lady named Maomao who works in the palace.”

“That would be because I am.”

Lihaku might be making silly remarks, but instead of his usual robe of military office he was dressed in proper armor and carried a club.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I seem to have been kidnapped.”

The angle of the tilt of Lihaku’s head increased further, until it was practically horizontal. “Say, your, uh, dad...”

“...is probably exactly who you’re thinking, so please, don’t say his name. Just call him ‘the old fart’ or something; I’ll know what you mean.”

Bowing to Maomao’s wishes, Lihaku didn’t go on, but he did tremble visibly, after which he smacked his fist into his palm as if everything made sense. Maomao didn’t know exactly which dots he thought he was connecting, but she wasn’t sure she liked it.

Lihaku pointed to Maomao and said, “Her! It’s her!” A subordinate of his gave him a dubious look, but pulled a whistle out of the folds of his robe and blew on it. Lihaku said to Maomao, “Hey, I’m sorry about that. If you say so, I’m sure it’s true. Boy, you look a fright, though! You’re covered in blood. You hurt?”

“It’s spatter.”

Lihaku was as rude as ever, but he looked at her with genuine concern. The worst of Maomao’s injuries consisted of a scar where Shenmei had hit her with her fan. The soldier—whom Maomao couldn’t really bring herself to dislike despite his manner—must have gotten some blood on himself too, for when she got near him, she smelled iron.

“Well, please don’t be hurt,” Lihaku said. “The old fart insisted on coming along even though he can barely move, and wouldn’t you know it...now he can’t move.”

The old fart. He’d said it. He’d actually said it. The fart was probably the one who had dreamed up this whole ambush, Maomao thought. Probably found some way to start the avalanche too.

Lihaku didn’t look too worried, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t taking his job seriously. “What’s this? Sleeping children?”

He clomped over, but Maomao threw out her hands to block his way. “They aren’t breathing. They were given poison.”

Lihaku grimaced, probably registering what a terrible thing he was seeing. But if the kids had survived, the only thing waiting for them would have been the gallows. Even an attempt on the life of a single high consort could lead to the conspirator being hanged and their family’s assets being confiscated—if not worse. And the crime afoot here was far, far more grave. Everyone could expect to be punished, including women and children.

Maomao studied Lihaku’s agonized expression. “What happens to those who are executed?” she ventured. “Are they simply abandoned?”

“No, no. They’re laid to rest in a special cemetery. But they’ll be cremated.”

“Can’t they at least be buried with their mothers?”

Lihaku gave her an inarticulate look, but scratched his head and groaned painfully. “I’m afraid I don’t really know. That stuff isn’t my job.” Nonetheless, Lihaku approached and took one of the children in his arms. He took the covers and tore them in two, wrapping the child with them as if in swaddling clothes. “It’s almost like they’re just asleep. Thought maybe I could carry all of them at once, but this kid’s pretty heavy.”

He wrapped the next child in the remainder of the torn covers. Then he tore the sheets as well and continued swaddling children. Just as they were thinking there wouldn’t be enough to carry the last child, the soldier standing guard at the door took off his cloak and brought it over.

“Somebody call a couple more men,” Lihaku commanded, and then he hefted one child in each arm.

“Master Lihaku?”

“We can’t bury them together, but I’d feel a little sick just leaving them here. We could at least bury them somewhere close to the graveyard. Quietly.” He smiled, showing white teeth.

“You don’t think you’d be charged with a crime for that?”

“Don’t know. If I am, you’ll just have to figure out a way to save my skin.”

“Yes, I’m sure it’ll be just that easy.” Maomao folded her arms, somewhat annoyed, but then Lihaku looked as if he’d had a flash of inspiration.

“That’s it! That’s a great idea!” he said, grinning.

“What is, sir?”

“If you called the old fart ‘Daddy,’ he’d do anything you asked, right?”

We need hardly say how Maomao responded to that suggestion.

“Uh... Sorry, pretend I never said anything,” Lihaku said, averting his eyes. Apparently her face had been just that terrible.