Free The Tapestries by Kien Nguyen Page A

not worry, Father,” Master Long said. “He will soon cool from his temper. Then, I shall provide him with the evidence he needs in exchange for these profits in our hands. Be merry, because tonight we have stumbled upon a great fortune.”
    From where Dan sat, he could not see Magistrate Toan's face, but he clearly heard the sound of his laughter. He wondered if this could be just a nightmare. The things he had witnessed seemed outrageous. Yet Ven's hand against his mouth assured him that he was not dreaming.
    Dan's legs grew numb from staying in the same position for too long. He stirred, but Ven held him tighter. He tried to peel her fingers off and at the same time kicked the bamboo basket with his feet. Ven would not yield. Though her silent strength dominated him, the boy would not be still. The bottom of the basket scratched against the sand beneath it.
    “Who's there?” Magistrate Toan called out to the dark garden from his vantage point on the veranda. Dan saw the old man's face, looking straight at him.
    The boy froze. Magistrate Toan's sharp eyes seemed to hypnotize him, making him weak with fear. Several torches pointed toward the wooden walk. Unfortunately for the refugees, the combined lights were strong enough to reach their hiding place. However, as they remained unmoving, the soldiers were unable to make out their cowering figures under the floorboards.
    “Who's there?” Magistrate Toan repeated. When dealing with the villagers, he always used his most intimidating voice, and its tone played a crucial role in implementing his power.
    The Frenchman pulled out a pistol from inside his jacket. Without a word, he cocked the gun and aimed at the garden. Dan was hypnotized by the dark, round opening of the gun. He felt helpless, like a chicken waiting for an ax to fall on its neck.
    Song touched Ven's hand. Her voice was barely audible above the rustling wind. “Listen to me, madam. Move away quickly from this place after I surrender. Take care of the young master. If you want him to stay alive, don't let them capture him.”
    Without waiting for Ven's reply, Song ran out from her hiding place. She raised her hands over her head and cried, “Please don't shoot me. I am just a lowly servant. Have pity on me.”
    Master Long whispered something in the foreigner's ear, and the man placed his gun in its case, which hung around his waist under his jacket. At the same time, Magistrate Toan waved his fingers in Song's direction, and two soldiers ran to seize her. Together they dragged her across the yard to face the old man. She pulled against their grasp, but they twisted her arms behind her shoulders, forcing her legs to bend. Beneath the swirl of hair, her face was as white as her shirt. Her head fell to her shoulder, and she swooned.
    “I heard talking,” Magistrate Toan shouted at Song, waking the girl up. “Who else was out there with you?”
    “I was alone,” Song whispered. “What you heard might have been my prayer to Heaven, sir.”
    Ven crept from under the wooden path, pulling Dan and the basket deeper into the darkness of the shrubbery. She muttered in his ear, “Did you see what trouble you have caused Song? Please stay still from now on, I beg you, Master.” But her voice contained more sorrow than reprimand.
    Her pleas were unnecessary. Dan would not dare to move even a muscle after what had happened. Nevertheless, he could not tear his eyes from the spectacle that was occurring thirty paces away.
    Despite his age, Magistrate Toan jumped closer to Song with the ease of a panther. He snatched a burning torch from a soldier. With his other hand, he grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head backward, so that he could look down at her. The torch came down near her face as their eyes locked. The magistrate's nose was only inches from hers.
    “Speak to me, slave,” he shouted. “Who else is hiding out there? Say it before I scar your face with this torch.”
    “Nobody is here but me,