The Great Wall - The Official Movie Novelization

18

As the dawn sun smeared its light across the top of the distant hills, Lin Mae once again stood at the mouth of the vast tunnel that the Tao Tei had bored through the base of the Wall, staring broodingly into its depths. She hadn’t slept, but she didn’t feel tired. There was so much at stake, so much anger and fear coursing through her system that rest was the last thing on her mind.

To her right stood Wang, who had changed out of the grime-smeared clothes he had been wearing during his exploration of the tunnel the previous evening, and who now looked as dapper and composed as ever, despite the desperate situation. To her left were Commanders Deng and Wu, their capes flapping in the wind. Deng looked shell-shocked, as if he could barely process the horrifying magnitude of the situation, whereas Wu wore a deep scowl, as though incensed at the sheer insolence of their enemy.

Wang was speaking, his voice clipped, with an almost admonishing tone to it. “As I have been trying to tell you, the Tao Tei change constantly. They evolve. All of the attacks up to now have been a diversion while they created this tunnel.”

He glanced at Lin Mae and her commanders, but they had nothing to say. They simply continued to stare into the tunnel’s black depths, as if unable to believe what they were seeing. He knew what they were thinking, though, because it was what he was thinking too. It was what everyone who knew about the tunnel was thinking. He sighed and decided to vocalize it, if only to bring it into the open.

“If the Tao Tei reach Bianliang, they will have unlimited food. There will be no containing them then.”

Wu scowled at him, as if he had unveiled a dirty secret—or raised a problem to which there was no solution.

“It will take our army two days to reach Bianliang, even if we sprint all the way,” Deng said miserably. “The Tao Tei run twice our speed. If that’s where they’re heading, we’ll never catch them.”

Lin Mae looked half-way between frustration and despair. Wang felt sorry for her. This was not the best way to start her tenure as General—not that this situation was her fault. Thoughtfully he eyed the way the capes of the General and her two commanders were curling and snapping at their backs.

“The wind is strong,” he said.

All three soldiers turned to look at him. Lin Mae’s eyes widened. She knew what he was thinking.

“It blows south, and it will continue to do so all day tomorrow.” He shrugged, as though apologizing. “We have to use the balloons. It is our only hope.”

There was a tense, heavy silence. Then Lin Mae sighed. “If it worked, how long would it take to reach Bianliang?”

She was looking at Wang, so she didn’t see the incredulous looks that flashed in her direction from her two commanders. They couldn’t believe she was humoring him, and he didn’t blame them. He’d have felt the same in their shoes. On the other hand, he didn’t blame Lin Mae for clutching at straws either. After all, as he had already pointed out, what other plan did they have?

“With a wind like this?” he said, raising a finger to test it. “Six hours?”

Commander Wu could contain himself no longer. “Yes!” he snapped. “For those who manage to stay alive.” Turning to Lin Mae, he said, “Commander… they have never been tested.”

Lin Mae looked at him for a long time. Her gaze was steady and her voice like steel when she spoke. “Then we will test them when we use them. Make it so!”

When William woke up, his first thought was to wonder whether he was still asleep and dreaming. The last thing he remembered was speaking to Pero in the Hall of Knowledge, before hearing an almighty crash and everything going black.

Now, though, he appeared to be in the Great Hall, chained to a bench, his body aching and the taste of blood in his mouth. Moreover the room seemed to be a hive of activity, though what the Tiger Corps soldiers on the other side of the vast space were doing he had no idea. As far as he could tell, they appeared to be stitching together giant masses of pig or sheep skin. Feeling something trickling into his eyes—blood or sweat; it stung at any rate—William closed them, hoping that when he opened them again he’d be able to shake himself free of the odd dreams he was having and remember what had happened. But when he next came round it was to the clank of something heavy dropping or stamping down next to him. He opened his bleary eyes, squinted against the light, and through the haze saw something both strange and ominous. Beside his prone body was what appeared to be a guillotine, but one whose blade was in the shape of a snarling, elaborately molded tiger’s head with jagged teeth.

Was it real? Or was this part of his dream too? He reached out to touch it, wondering whether he’d feel cold, solid metal or whether his hand would pass straight through.

But neither of these things occurred. Because he had barely moved his arm when he felt a sharp tugging at his wrist, and heard the tinkling of metal. He turned his head, and saw that either the dream he’d had earlier was still ongoing, or it hadn’t been a dream, after all. There were manacles attached to chains around both his wrists.

As he shook his head, trying to order his thoughts, he heard the pounding of a drum, fast and frenzied, and the next moment his vision became a whirling mass of color as soldiers streamed into the Great Hall, hundreds of them, forming into well-drilled platoons.

William looked at them, wondering why they were here. Was it because of him? Had he done something wrong?

How he wished he could wake up.

Three horses raced across the desert, moving as fast as the sand and the hot sun would allow.

On the first horse sat Pero, face grim, bent down low over the neck of his steed.

On the second, smaller horse was Ballard, clinging on for dear life, his backside bouncing up and down in the saddle.

On the third horse, which was the biggest and strongest of the lot, sat no one, yet it was this horse that was carrying the heaviest weight. Attached via a long line to Pero’s saddle, the riderless horse’s sweat-lathered body was laden down with a dozen bulging saddlebags.

William looked up dazedly as someone entered the room—and all at once, as if her very presence had kick-started his system, he felt his senses returning to him.

Hands still chained, he shuffled upright into a sitting position, as Lin Mae first spotted him, and then stalked across the room towards him. She looked furious. She looked like an approaching storm. The clamor of activity from a few moments before suddenly ceased as everyone stood, motionless and silent, watching her stride across the room towards him.

She halted about six feet away, as though she had hit an invisible wall. Her face was thunderous with rage and betrayal. Such a rage that she seemed unable to find the words to express it.

The memories were coming back to William now. The Hall of Knowledge. His conversation with Pero. Ballard slashing the rope to bring the bookcase crashing down on him.

“I tried to stop them,” he croaked.

Lin Mae’s eyes widened. “You dare speak to me?”

William looked around. On every face that was staring at him he saw disapproval, hatred, disgust.

“It’s true,” he said, pleading with them to believe him. “I went there to try and stop them.”

“Yes,” said Lin Mae, her voice raw and cold, “and you came here to trade. And you knew nothing of black powder. And you fought for honor. What a fool you must think I am.”

Her words were like a knife to his heart. He shook his head desperately. “No. I didn’t do this. If I was with them, why would I be here? I tried to stop them.”

“Liar!” she screamed at him, lunging forward. Then she seemed to remember her position, and that all eyes were on her, and with a supreme effort she brought herself under control.

Turning to Wu, who was standing behind her right shoulder, she gave a sharp nod. He marched forward, grabbed William by the left arm and yanked him to his feet.

William glanced at the guillotine to his left. Now that he had recovered his senses, he could see that it was indeed real—very much so. Was this to be his fate then? Was his life to be ended so ignominiously in front of all these people he had tried to help, these people who he admired and respected as he had never admired or respected anyone before? His blood boiled to think he was to be punished for the vile and cowardly actions of a man he had mistakenly regarded as a friend and his snake of an accomplice. It was so unjust.

But life often was unjust. He had learned that the hard way.

Lin Mae began speaking again, the full extent of her bitterness clearly not yet expelled from her system.

“I need only think of you from now on to know how ugly the world can be,” she said. “You will die as you have lived. For nothing.”

Her words again struck home. William felt a dull, heavy sickness in his heart, his soul. He was not afraid to die, but he couldn’t bear the thought that Lin Mae would live out the rest of her life harboring these thoughts of him.

Looking her in the eyes, willing her to believe, he said, “Some part of you must know that’s not true.”

But she was unmoved and seemingly immovable. Contemptuously she said, “If I were not the General, I would kill you myself.”

William bowed his head, all hope, all energy, draining out of him. That was it then. The sum total of his life. The first time he had tried to do something good, the first time he had found a cause worth fighting for, and it had all blown up in his face.

Maybe Pero had been right all along. Maybe he shouldn’t have become involved.

But he didn’t regret it. Not for one moment.

“So be it,” he murmured. “If you’re going to do it, make it quick.”

Lin Mae was trying her hardest to hold it together. She was the General now, and she had to set an example, had to project an air of strength and authority. The breach of the Wall by the Tao Tei was the very worst thing that could have happened. Not only could it signal the end of everything she believed in and held dear, but far more seriously, it could ultimately lead to the end of everything that ever was, or would be.

In relative terms, therefore, William’s betrayal on top of this far greater crisis was a minor concern, something that General Shao would have dealt with quickly and efficiently. But she was not General Shao. She had grown to trust the foreign soldier, even to like him. She had begun to believe he possessed integrity, honor.

General Shao had told her she was ready to lead the Nameless Order, but what sort of leader would make such an error of judgment? Clearly she was not fit to lead. She had been betrayed, played for a fool, and as a result she had let down all those who relied on her. Trying not to show weakness in front of all those who fought in her name, she nodded curtly to a pair of Bear Corps warriors, who moved either side of William to hold him while Wu removed his shackles. She watched, face set, as they dragged him towards the guillotine, forced him to his knees…

Suddenly a cry rang out, sharp and shrill in the high-ceilinged room: “He tried to stop them!”

Everyone in the room first froze, and then turned, Lin Mae included. At first she saw nothing. Then she noticed movement over by the door, saw a Bear Corps warrior moving forward, pushing through the ranks.

She felt a flash of anger. Who was this? How dare he—

And then she recognized the young man’s face. This was Peng Yong, who had been disgraced and assigned to kitchen duties.

Before anyone could respond, Peng Yong piped up again. “He did. I saw it with my own eyes!”

Lin Mae glanced at William, who, although he didn’t speak Mandarin, had raised his head and was looking at Peng Yong with interest. She knew General Shao would not have tolerated such insolence as that shown by this already disgraced young man—but, as she had already established within her own mind, she was not General Shao. To the evident disapproval of some of her commanders, she snapped, “Come forward! Speak up!”

Peng Yong scurried nervously past the ordered and motionless ranks of soldiers until he was standing before her. Bowing he said, “The prisoner speaks the truth. I was there when it happened. I saw him try to stop them.”

Lin Mae regarded him for a moment. Then she glanced again at William.

“And you did nothing?” she asked.

Peng Yong brought a trembling hand to his forehead. He looked on the verge of tears. “I was afraid… and I am shamed. But I… I cannot let a man be killed for this.”

“Are you sure he tried to stop them?” Lin Mae asked.

Commander Wu, who was one of those who had shot her a disapproving look when she had given Peng Yong leave to speak, strode forward and grabbed the young man by the collar of his overalls.

“If you’re lying I’ll have your head first!” he snarled.

Peng Yong looked terrified, but he said, “I swear on the blood of the Nameless Order that I speak the truth.”

The room was silent. William was now looking around, baffled but with something like hope on his face. Lin Mae stared at Peng Yong for a long moment, her thoughts churning. Then she again turned her attention to William. What should she do? What was the strong thing to do? What was the right thing to do?

At last she barked, “Lock him up! Send the cavalry after the two that got away!”

Wu narrowed his eyes, then turned and relayed an order to the two Bear Corps warriors, who hauled William back to his feet.

Aware that all eyes were still on her, Lin Mae shouted, “Back to work!” Then she turned and marched out of the room.

Despite everything that’s happened, William thought, I find myself back here.

Last time, of course, he and Pero had not actually entered the stockade, because the young man who had just apparently saved his life had misplaced or forgotten the key. On this occasion, however, there was no such oversight. One of the two huge and silent Bear Corps warriors who had been assigned to escort him produced a key from a loop on his belt, unlocked the door and shoved it open.

It was not an easy task. He had to put his shoulder to the wood and push as hard as he could before the door started to grate inwards over a floor strewn with rubble. Evidently the cells had not been used for a long time. As William was shoved inside, he found himself choking in a cloud of upraised dust, which reminded him of how the air had been in the Hall of Knowledge after the explosion. He was still coughing when the door was slammed shut and locked behind him.

Once his lungs had settled and his eyes had stopped smarting he looked around. The walls and floor were made of rough stone, a slit of a window gave access to a narrow column of sunlight, and on the floor was a thin, rat-chewed mattress leaking filthy straw.

A real home from home, he thought ruefully. Still, he had slept in worse places. And being here was infinitely better than having his head separated from his body. He thought again of the young man, and what he must have said to persuade Lin Mae to stay his execution.

William knew the young man had seen him the first time he had passed the kitchen entrance. He could only suppose, then, that he had seen him the second time too, and had been curious enough about William’s presence or the explosion, or both, to follow him. He must have hidden in the shadows and observed William’s encounter with Pero and Ballard in the Hall of Knowledge. He wouldn’t have understood what was being said, of course, but he must have seen enough to realize that William had not been part of Pero and Ballard’s plot.

William wondered where Pero and Ballard were now, whether Lin Mae would send men to pursue them and bring them back. If they had black powder with them it was possible. She had already made it clear how terrible she thought it would be if the secret of black powder were ever to reach the wider world.

How would he feel if Pero were captured? William didn’t know. He and his friend had been through a lot together, and he certainly wouldn’t rejoice in his inevitable execution.

Pero wondered how much longer it would be before he ended up cutting Ballard’s throat and taking the black powder for himself. He wasn’t normally so ruthless—in fact, loyalty was his greatest strength (and also, perhaps, his biggest weakness)—but the man was starting to drive him crazy. He had lived a cossetted life among the Nameless Order for so long that he was no longer suited to hardship—if, that is, he ever had been. Almost from the outset he had started complaining—about the heat, the dust, the discomfort of being perched atop a horse, and every other little thing he could think of.

Now, several hours after fleeing the Wall, and with the sun high in the sky, Ballard was falling further and further behind. Eyes rolling and his breath wheezing in his chest, he was slumped over his horse like a man who had had no sustenance for days, his bag-of-bones body sliding about in the saddle as though under constant threat of being dislodged.

They were ascending the side of a canyon in the Painted Mountains, Pero leading the riderless horse laden down with their saddlebags. It was hard going, there was no doubt about that. The horses were panting, their bodies lathered with foamy sweat, and Pero himself had aching shoulders and a throbbing back.

But pain was a given, and something to be endured. You didn’t give in to it, especially not out here. In such a hostile environment it was imperative to stay alert and in control. This was bandit country, added to which they weren’t yet far enough away from the Wall for Pero to feel safe. Under normal circumstances he would have ridden for at least another three or four hours before stopping for a rest and a sip of water. Ballard, though, was simply not up to the task. Already his horse, some way behind, was starting to wander off to one side.

“Vamanos!” Pero called angrily.

Ballard looked up, whining something about his sore ass.

“It will be more than your ass that hurts if we don’t move,” Pero replied, wishing he had William with him; wishing it was the two of them riding across the desert with the black powder, whooping and laughing as they went.

He felt bad about William. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if he had been unable to persuade his friend to join them, but even so he felt bad about leaving him injured and unconscious to face the consequences of his and Ballard’s actions. He hoped the Nameless Order would go easy on his friend, but it was odd to think he might never know, might never see or hear from William again. They had been through a lot together, had saved one another’s lives more than once.

He glanced back again at Ballard, and his mood darkened. He couldn’t imagine Ballard ever saving his life. As far as he was concerned, the sooner the two of them went their separate ways the better.

It took a few more choice insults from Pero before Ballard was shamed into sitting up straighter in his saddle, and getting his horse to at least trot in the right direction. Pero waited impatiently for the older man to catch him up, and then the two of them went on, side by side, in a simmering silence.

After ten minutes, however, Ballard started to fall behind again. If he hadn’t claimed to know the quickest and safest route through the Painted Mountains, Pero might have simply gone on and left him to it. Coming to a fork in the canyon trail, he turned back.

“Which way?” he shouted.

Ballard meandered up to him, his eyes narrowing as he tried to focus. With trembling hands he reached into his saddlebag for his canteen.

Pero jabbed at the choice of routes ahead. “Left or right?”

Ballard fumbled the top off his canteen and took a long, desperate pull of water. From the way it sloshed when he lowered it from his mouth, Pero could tell there wasn’t much left, that he had drunk far more than he should have done by this stage of their journey.

“Which way?” Pero asked again.

Ballard peered at him, as if he didn’t understand the question, then he muttered, “What do you think?”

Pero rolled his eyes and spat on the ground in disgust. “What I think is that you should save your water.” Suddenly, losing his patience, he shouted, “Izquierda!” and slapped Ballard’s horse hard on the rump.

With a whinny of pain and surprise, it leaped forward, almost dislodging its rider, and began to gallop up the left hand path. Pero watched it go, then gave a satisfied nod.

“The left,” he muttered.