[continuing chapter 4]
The ship on which Wen and the demon traveled was ancient, so simple it was essentially a raft. After untold centuries at the bottom of the sea it should not have floated—and in fact it did not float; it was carried above and through the waves on the backs of several dozens of the dragon's shrimp-soldiers. Wen stared, fascinated and appalled, as the sun turned spray into diamonds against the blades of the soldiers' spears. Are they here to help me, he wondered, or kill me once I've pointed out the virtuous man?
When they found the Jade Maiden, it was a sight that gladdened Wen's heart: she was grappled to a medium-sized fuchuan cargo ship and her crew was nowhere to be seen. That meant the rebels were swarming across the deck and into the fuchuan's crew. Wen's heart rang with joy at the thought, and he gripped the hilt of his sword and broadened his stance on the smooth-worn, ancient deck of his raft. A fight meant chaos, confusion: things he could exploit; he was unlikely to be able to claim his target in a fair fight. "I may be busy for a few minutes once we reach that ship," he told the demon, grinning.
"First we have to reach the ship," grumbled the demon. "This raft is nowhere near as tall in the water as that vessel. How will we board?"
"I don't know about you, demon, but I intend to board the Jade Maiden first and take one of the ropes across."
"I was afraid you would say that," said the
demon. Wen ignored the complaint, making
a running jump to the Maiden.
In his eagerness to find his target once he'd crossed to the fuchuan, Wen lost sight of the demon. The crew of the cargo ship were a dispirited lot and few were fighting. But there was a company of government soldiers aboard—Chin was no doubt going after rice again—and the soldiers had been fighting; there were bodies and blood in evidence all over the deck. There was one knot of fighting remaining, twisting and turning around the central of the ship's three masts, and Wen angled toward that, his gaze fixed on the target standing head and shoulders above his opponents, and with the dragon's splendid sword beautifully balanced in his right hand.
He had just raised the sword to make a surprise disarming strike when he realized that the fighting had stopped. Everyone was staring at him, his erstwhile shipmates in wide-eyed shock. From somewhere a voice mumbled, "No, no, no, no..."
Wen lowered his sword and set it point-down into the deck. Planting his feet shoulder-width apart, he stood, left hand on his hip and right resting on the sword's pommel. "It's good to see you again, too," he said.
"Wen Xia," Farmer Yu said in a tremulous voice, "are you a ghost?" Wen couldn't see One-Eyed Lum, but he heard his laughter.
"That is no ghost," Chin said, forcing his way through the stunned fighters, "and I will prove it." The general lunged at Wen, raising his huge dadao sword. He had telegraphed the attack, though, and Wen flipped his own sword point-up. To his pleased surprise, Wen easily deflected Chin's first blow, sliding back and to the side as he did.
As Chin moved past, Wen kicked him in the pants, spreading his hands in order to keep his balance. Someone laughed, and one of the soldiers said, "I never saw a ghost do that."
Chin's embarrassment burst from him in an angry howl, and he whirled to another attack. He didn't attempt style or subtlety or even draw from his small bag of Daoist tricks, but instead hammered at Wen with his heavy, broad-bladed dadao. Wen had never really seen Chin fight to his fullest extent, and the strength and viciousness of the blows—to say nothing of their sheer number—came as an unpleasant surprise. It was easy enough to dodge or parry Chin's strikes, at first; Wen found himself thanking Mah the Knife for the way the man's lessons had apparently stuck. But before long Wen realized that the volume and weight of the blows, however inaccurate and clumsy they might be, would soon overwhelm him. Wen, meantime, was constrained in his responses: he couldn't kill Chin and expect to save his own life.
As Chin forced him from mast to mast—the rebels, soldiers and sailors clearing a path, having forgotten their own fight to watch this one—Wen began to wonder just how clever he'd been. "I might have to hurt you after all," he gasped, momentarily putting a mast between himself and Chin's blade.
Where in the hells are you, he silently asked Number One Grandfather. You were more than willing to use Chin Gwai to help me escape Magistrate Li; why won't you help me use Chin Gwai to escape this dragon?
"This is your plan?" Wen spared a glance; the demon, looking somewhat the worse for wear, was just visible behind and to his right. "You're going to let him kill you? Somehow I'd expected more of you." The demon really did seem disappointed, too. That was odd. A lot about the demon was odd, Wen realized. He found himself almost looking forward to Number One Grandfather's reappearance, just so the old man could explain things to him.
"You could help me, you know." Wen dodged back hurriedly, as Chin charged around the mast. "Change back into that distracting shape you had earlier; show your true form. Ah!" The tip of the dadao sliced through the top of Wen's tunic and pricked his right shoulder. "Do something!" he shouted. "What sort of demon are you, anyway?" As the words were leaving his mouth, Wen understood the truth of what he'd just said. The audacity was such that he'd have swooned if he'd had the luxury. "Help me!" he shouted. "Do it and I'll help you!" He lunged at Chin, hacked at his sword and forced his own blade along the curved back of the dadao blade in the hope it would skip over the wings of the guard and stab the general just a little.
Instead the tip caught in the guard and the shock transmitted itself up to his wounded shoulder. Wen bit down on the pain but, with the surreal awareness of time and place that always seemed to happen when something was going very badly, he could tell he would be at Chin's mercy for a few seconds at least.
No killing blow came.
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