The smith didn’t see Wu come in, but he was aware when the farmer’s body blocked the light through the door, which was open for the breeze. He quenched the sickle blade he’d been hammering, making the water hiss, then wiped sweat with a forearm, and turned.
“Ah! Wu! It is you! I was afraid it was that worthless son-in-law of mine!”
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Chen had only one daughter, and therefore only one son-in-law. Wu told himself that to call the bailiff worthless, even privately, was foolish. Someday, unless events intervened, Chen would offend the official one time too many. One day a squad of the bailiffs hoodlums would come in with their cudgels and swords and beat him, put chains on him and take him away. The smith’s well-known strength would avail him nothing; they’d cut off his head if he fought them. And the common people needed him, for who else would make cane knives with thick, strong, sword-like backs—swords shaped like cane knives really—or broad-axes suitable for fighting when the time came? Many farmers had one of those, with a long handle he could fit to it.
Wu stepped close to the smith and spoke in an undertone. “A barbarian has wandered onto my farm. Speaking what sounds like the Mongol tongue. He is wary of being seen by people. I left him in the woods outside of town, at the Pine Point.”
Chen also spoke quietly. “What is your interest in this barbarian?”
“He is a giant.” The farmer gestured, indicating height and shoulders. “Very big and strong, and wears scars. He must be good for something beyond more ordinary men.” Wu’s eyebrows suggested the rest of it. The district was not far short of armed revolt. Meanwhile he said nothing about the barbarian’s eyes. “But I cannot understand what he says,” he added, “nor he I. Perhaps I can bring him in tonight and …” He shrugged.
“Hmm!” Chen examined Wu as if looking for something that wasn’t plain to see. “Well.” He thought for a moment. “You can’t bring him here. My son-in-law distrusts me. Lately he has someone watching my shop when I’m here, and my home when I’m there.” He paused. “A big Mongol who is a fugitive, you say. Is he armed?”
“With the biggest sword I ever saw. He is the biggest man I ever saw.
Chen pursed scarred lips. “Such a one might indeed
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be useful.” He stepped to a comer, and from a shelf took a jar,- removed the lid and drank a long swig of whatever it held. He was thinking. The bailiffs most important duty was to collect the emperor’s taxes, and the taxes continually grew. There was nothing to be done about that. But the bailiffs collection fee also grew. Now it added one-third to the taxes. His wealth was said to exceed that of everyone else’s in the village—everyone’s combined.
Even as a boy, grandson of the old bailiff, Lo Pu-Pang had been greedy, and boastful of his possessions, displaying them. They had to be the best, and everyone must know it—the best kite, the finest pony . . . And at last the most beautiful wife.
Lo knew he was deeply hated, and kept an ever increasing company of mercenaries to protect him and enforce his demands. These armed men had become a law onto themselves, doing whatever pleased them. They abused both villagers and farmers, and the cost of their pay and maintenance—”district defense cost”—was added to the taxes and his fee. Another story—and this from Kwong the grain merchant, who did much business in the capital—was that Lo recruited his mercenaries from the prison at Miyun. It was easy to believe.
But if there was an armed revolt, a successful one, the army would be sent. Heads would roll then, no doubt including his. Though it might be worth it, depending on what kind of man the new bailiff was.
He also remembered how daring and reckless some young Mongols could be, and what fighters! Surely one that had gotten this far from home, and had so offended the authorities that they might follow him into the hills, must be reckless indeed. If he could somehow get him inside the bailiffs fortress, perhaps into the same room with him . . .