Barry Hughart - Eight Skilled Gentlemen

“That’s the Miao-chia,” said Master Li.

The nobleman screamed with rage and lunged with a swipe that was meant to remove the puppeteer’s head, but Yen Shih casually flicked the handle of the broom and sent the blade flying harmlessly aside so that it chopped a candle in half and knocked a tin bowl from a table.

“Indeed yes,” the puppeteer said sadly. “The swine clung together, laughing and giggling in drunken disarray, pointing greasy fingers at Lord Yen Yu. Then they sent their cook.”

The nobleman screamed and swung again, and the broom handle sharply rapped his wrist. Yen Shih appeared not to see the fellow dive to the floor and scramble to pick up his sword.

“The cook was a rather large woman,” he said mournfully. “Fat mottled arms and the evil eye. ‘I’ll not fight a female!’ roared gallant Lord Yu Yen, and the bitch grabbed his lustrous locks and jerked his head forward and bit off his noble nose.”

“That’s the Miao-chia,” said Master Li.

The nobleman tried a thrust to the heart. The parry spun him around, and then a small amount of blood sprayed into the air as the broom handle rapped his nose.

“Lord Yu Yen,” said Yen Shih, “decided to unsheathe his sword—a bit late, some might say—and the harridan treated his fingers most foully in the process of taking it from him. Then she hacked off his aristocratic arms at the elbows.”

“That’s the Miao-chia,” said Master Li.

The nobleman’s savage swipe swung him around in a circle when Yen Shih leaned back. The blade swished harmlessly through the air and then the broom handle flicked out and the nobleman yelped and grabbed both elbows, and his sword again hit the floor.

“Valiant Lord Yu Yen was somewhat handicapped, but still undaunted!” the puppeteer said proudly. “He stepped forward and attempted quite a savage kick, and might even have essayed another had not the hag chopped off both legs at the noble knees.”

“That’s the Miao-chia,” said Master Li.

The nobleman straightened up and tried to fend off the broom handle with his sword, and then he hopped around the floor clutching both aching knees.

“What a champion was Lord Yu Yen!” Yen Shih said emotionally. “He magnificently managed to wriggle forward on his stomach and inflict a very painful bite upon the lady’s left ankle, and would surely have wounded the right one as well were it not for the slattern’s total disregard for the rules of civilized warfare, which became apparent during the process by which she removed his lordship’s teeth.”

“That’s the Miao-chia,” said Master Li.

The nobleman wasn’t a complete idiot. When the broom handle pointed at his head he jumped four feet backward, raising his left arm protectively in front of his mouth.

Yen Shih wiped a tear from his eye. “Although deprived of teeth, legs, arms, and nose, gallant Lord Yu Yen was still magnificent in battle. He went on the offensive with some genuinely harsh language, and was even contemplating spitting when the hussy made such action academic. I regret to report that details of her subsequent behavior are quite unsuitable for circulation in any country other than Tibet.”

“That,” said Master Li, “is the Miao-chia.”

The nobleman raised his sword again, and then paused to think it over.

“We scoured the field of battle, searching for a piece of our hero large enough to place in a sacristy at the Military Academy, from which valiant Lord Yu Yen could inspire generations yet unborn. Alas! All that remained was a greasy spot on the grass,” Yen Shih said mournfully. Then his eyes lit up. “But wait! Possibly a twin would suffice, and all we need is a piece!”

His teeth bared in a small tight smile, and he twitched the broom back and forth like a cobra’s head as he stepped forward, and the nobleman uttered a small shrill shriek and ran out the door and disappeared, leaving his sword behind him.

The minor noblemen of the hunting party had remained absolutely still throughout this. The puppeteer turned and looked them over, and then he growled. That’s all. Just the low snarling growl of a bear about to lose its temper, and in less than five seconds there wasn’t a nobleman to be seen. I was paralyzed, but Master Li was not.

“Ox, pack up. We’re leaving fast,” he said. Then he turned to the puppeteer, and his voice was sharp and hard. “Pretty, but self-indulgent. I sincerely hope you wouldn’t have done that yesterday, and we had better be where I assume we are.”

Yen Shih’s eyes slowly changed as the dancing, leaping light died down. He took a deep breath and bowed his head in apology that seemed to be half mock and half real.

“You’re right, of course, and I’m not quite enough of an idiot to have done that yesterday,” he said. “We’re at the border of bandit country, and inside of two hours no nobleman would dare follow us with his private army.”

Master Li grunted, and the affair was never mentioned again, but I would be less than truthful if I didn’t admit that when I gathered firewood I spent part of the time swinging a stick in my hand, fencing imaginary noblemen.

The third scene is not so tidy and not so triumphant, and I wouldn’t describe it at all were it not for the fact that it turned out to be important.

We had no trouble at all going through bandit territory, just as Master Li had predicted. Everybody welcomes a puppeteer, and in addition there is superstitious awe in outlaws where magic-makers are concerned, and that includes beautiful young shamankas. I soon learned not to worry about Yu Lan, and certainly her father never showed that he did. On the fifth day through the bandits’ domain (which officially doesn’t exist) we ran straight into one of those coincidences that people who know nothing about life insist happen only in books. The guest of honor at the camp of the bandit chief we were to perform for turned out to be the man we were traveling to see, the Grand Warden of Goose Gate (Yen-men).

We soon learned he had every reason to be there, because he had recently wed the bandit chief’s daughter, which showed intelligence, according to Master Li, and we also learned that the bride, who was back at Yen-men, was suffering from a mysterious illness that no physician had been able to cure. We were able to split up and enter the camp as two separate groups traveling together for companionship: Yen Shih and Number Ten Ox as puppeteer and assistant, Master Li and Yu Lan as shaman and shamanka who specialized in healing. They had no trouble impressing the grand warden, and it was arranged that they should try their hands at treating his young wife.

The scene I want to describe is very humiliating. I had to warm up the audience without the help of Master Li and Yu Lan, so I pretended to be on the verge of defeat a couple of times, and then pretended I was losing both temper and judgment when I doubled the wager, and the crowd got quite excited. The noise drew distinguished visitors. I looked up to see the Grand Warden of Yen-men sneering at me, with a party of noblemen and one fellow dressed as a commoner.

“Professional wrestler, eh?” the warden said jovially. “Bill yourself as Muck-Muck the Mule, or some such, eh? Buddha, look at all those bulging things! Muck-Muck the Muscle-bound Mule, eh?”

His entourage treated that as the apex of humor, but I happened to notice that the warden’s shifty little eyes didn’t laugh when his mouth did, and there was something cowardly and cruel in his voice when he volunteered to provide a friend of his as my next opponent. The friend turned out to be the commoner, and a minute later I reached two decisions. The first was that the commoner’s familiar manner suggested a relationship with the grand warden that was far more than friendly, and the second was that he wasn’t human.