Free Taming Poison Dragons by Tim Murgatroyd Page A

speak.
    Honoured Aunty stared at me, for once confused.
    ‘Enough!’ she cried in a shrill voice, clapping her hands.
    ‘Tell the servants to bring your Cousin Zhi to me at once.’
    I scurried off gladly.
    After that Honoured Aunty ignored me except for sideways glances when I entered the room. This was something I avoided at all costs. Yet I had only just begun to make her acquaintance.
    Uncle Ming reminded me of Father, in that they differed in almost every way. In those days Uncle was at the height of his wealth. Fat hung in folds from his body. His pale, round face resembled the moon; especially his benign, empty smile. Honoured Aunty chose his clothes, so naturally they were extravagant and as ill-fitting as her own.
    This aspect of Uncle’s appearance often worked to his advantage, particularly among the nobility, who at once felt superior to him, and at ease.
    His appetites were tremendous, both for food and drink, but also singing girls. He maintained a pavilion full of such beauties beyond the city walls. It was rumoured some of these girls had died or disappeared suddenly, as soon as they gained a hold on Uncle’s affections.
    Naturally, Honoured Aunty was blamed. Perhaps she circulated these rumours as a way of saving face.
    Even though I lived beneath his eaves, Uncle Ming remained a mystery. Having discharged his duty to Father by arranging for my education, he ignored me apart from beaming with goodwill. But then he smiled like that to everyone. At last, a week after my arrival, he summoned me. It was dusk, his office full of shadows. The room smelt of spirits and he had a coarse, earthenware wine cooler by his side. His eyes were over-bright, and his smile somehow too fixed.
    ‘Ah, Nephew! Come! Come!’
    I kneeled, touching the dusty floorboards with my forehead, aware he was watching. At last Uncle Ming leaned forward.
    ‘When your father asked me to take you in, I could hardly refuse,’ he said. ‘You will find me quite generous, Nephew. Quite generous. But let us understand one another. You are here to pass examinations. Nothing else.
    That is what I promised your Father. Do not shame me by failing, or, Little Nephew, you shall find me far from amiable.’
    I crawled out like a cowed puppy.
    Another time our paths crossed in a way which made him notice me. It was a year after my arrival in the capital. I was wandering the streets and passed an alley notorious for a certain restaurant. It served an unusual, though by no means illegal, type of meat, cooked in the manner of lamb. All varieties of two-legged mutton could be bought there, from old to younger flesh, and each dish had a special name. In times of famine such restaurants did a brisk trade, but during plenty they were frequented only by connoisseurs. A banner hung above the entrance, bearing the words ‘Lucky Bowl’.
    As I hurried past a familiar figure emerged, bowed out by several waiters. He had a singing girl on each arm.
    Both girls were garlanded with pink lotus blossom. Uncle Ming took one look at me and his customary smile lapsed.
    *

    He summoned me over and sent the singing girls on ahead. I flinched.
    ‘Nephew,’ he demanded. ‘What are you doing here?
    Why are you not studying for your examinations?’
    ‘Just walking, Uncle.’
    He surveyed me unsteadily.
    ‘I take it you have already forgotten my dining companions?’
    For a moment I was confused. Did he mean the people he had dined with or on?
    ‘You are alone, Uncle,’ I said, quickly. ‘I do not understand.’
    His usual smile reappeared. Extracting a string of cash from his belt, he took hold of my hand and deposited the coins there. Then he slowly closed my fingers round the money, and patted my arm. His own fingers were greasy.
    As he leant forward, his breath fascinated and appalled me.
    ‘Buy yourself something to eat!’ he winked. ‘I can recommend the Lucky Bowl, but don’t tell Honoured Aunty.
    She might get strange ideas about who should be on the