Black Powder

~HAN ZHENG~

Zheng stepped into the chemist's dim shop from the brightly-lit street. The morning sun was so pleasant. The crooked streets of Old Xichon - so romantic. Life was glorious! Everything, absolutely everything, pleased and amused him right now, even the sight of the slouching, pale man hiding inside like a slug on the bottom of a rock. Zheng had never met the chemist, just this ghoul, his apprentice.

"Muck, my good man!" Zheng exclaimed, "believe it or not, I need a refill!" He unhooked the filigreed powder horn from his ornamental belt and tossed it to the man at the counter. "What a night, what a night!"

Won, called the Muck, dropped the pestle he used to grind something odorous in the mortar, and deftly caught the horn out of the air. For such a pathetic creature his reflexes weren't half-bad. "Did you enjoy the festivities, Master Zha Yao?"

Zheng introduced himself as Zha Yao, the Black Powder, when he went among the commoners. It was a part of his growing legend as a sharpshooter, a duelist, and a perfect gentleman. People needed heroes like him, and by tomorrow the whole of Xichon City would be singing songs about Zha Yao. After all, he left generous honorariums with no less than three storytellers on his way to the chemist.

"Ha!" he settled in a chair nestled in the corner of the shop. "Your best black powder, Muck."

Zheng almost giggled saying the apprentice's name. Those commoners! If a kid was born to shovel cow's dung, that's what they'd name him. There was no escaping the name. Zheng beamed at the wretch benevolently. This visit was sure to brighten Muck's sorry existence. Now, he just had to wait till Muck mustered his bravery to speak up, to ask... and there it was.

"Have you had an... adventure, Master?" Won the Muck lowered his face to open a jar with a tightly fitted lid. His ears turned red from the effort.

Zheng enjoyed keeping Muck in suspense. "Maybe I did." He fidgeted in the chair, gave up on sitting, jumped, and paced restlessly, patting two pistols holstered in a new bandolier across his chest.

Won finally got the lid off, and started measuring the powder out. "Is that why you are out of black powder, Master Zha Yao?" he ventured.

"Precisely!" Torturing the wretch was just cruel now: the story would be the highlight of Muck's day, maybe of his whole week. "When you happen to hear the rumors about Thirty Claws' demise, take it from me, it is all true."

Muck gasped: "Thirty Claws, you don't say! The Pirate Admiral from Port Sutao?"

"The very same. He should have stayed in Port Sutao, not ride into Xichon and start throwing gold around like dirt. Or wave a piece of paper that granted him nobility under our noses. The ink was so fresh on it, I was afraid it would smudge his fingers."

"Would be nice to throw gold around like dirt," Won whispered wistfully, then added quickly: "Please, tell me more, Master Yao!"

Zheng felt magnanimous, so he obliged: "Personally, I was as impressed as the Celebrated Emperor by his help in the last campaign. I can't hand out titles, but I did what I could to make our folk hero feel welcome. Why, I practically felt obliged to introduce him to our fine customs. Dueling, for example."

"Oh!" was all Muck could say. "A duel! But... how did the Admiral offend you, Master?"

"There was a lady involved, Muck, a wholesome peach from the tallest branch of the noblest tree. I cannot go into more details, you understand?"

Muck nodded: "Of course, Master."

"She was only sixteen or seventeen, a pearl untouched by a man. Face like a pearl. She played music and a rather grand piece too. Tiny hands, so pale, so exquisite, like... erm..."

"Like pearls?" Muck supplied.

Zheng grunted. The kid had no imagination at all. "Like white jade made into a living blossom by a Celestial."

Who knew that the hours of copying the poems by the stack might come in handy? With the lady's complexion described in precise words, Zheng could return to the important thing, "The pirate dared to say in front of everyone that he wants her for his sons. This gazelle was meant to be hunted by someone more refined. Ah, once the word of her offender's death at my hands reaches her...."

He closed his eyes and waved a hand slowly through the air alluding to many pleasant things that will come to pass once the songs---

Won coughed, interrupting his daydreams: "Clearly, the Lady you speak of was born with a demons' luck, Master! So, you won the duel in her name? With a pirate?"

"Of course I won! I am here, aren't I?"

"You've killed him then, Master? Killed him dead?" Muck insisted with the abominable thick-headedness of a lowborn.

Zheng smirked: "An honest duel, Muck, is nothing like a tavern brawl or whatever you have seen. It's not about killing. It is about the honor."

Muck opened his mouth, but Zheng headed him off, "First, I made the promise to the Lady. Her eyes begged me to save her from the awful destiny her father and the Admiral were arranging for her. I swore on my honor that I would do it!"

Zheng furrowed his brow. "You see, my good fellow, it was important, because Zha Yao is not my real name. The Lady needed to know who it really was that faced the pirate."

"That's a very clever trick, Master!"

"I secreted myself on the street by her mansion and stepped out of the darkness right in front of the pirate." In actuality, Zheng had kept a careful distance while shadowing the Admiral, so that the bodyguard wouldn't cut him down in the dark. But why spoil a good tale with an insignificant detail like that?

"I told him: 'Sir! You have made a grave injury to the honor of Gracious Lady Tien Lyn! If you have any honor, answer me on the field of honor!'" Ancestors, her name just kept slipping off his tongue. Alas, it could not be helped now.

He straightened up, right foot forward, toes pointed, one hand tucked behind him, the other pointing accusingly at his imaginary opponent.

"The pirate went for his sword, cursing me in words that belittled his noble title, but I gallantly offered him my pistol. Muck, the distance was then measured precisely on his command. Thirty paces it was. To his credit, the scoundrel had at least heard of the noble ways! As we stood facing each other, one of his men counted down from five. We started walking to close the gap, and---"

"But what of the Admiral's bodyguards? Didn't they try to kill you?"

"What?" Zheng could not stand being interrupted any more and for no good reason. "Why would the commoners interfere between the two gentlemen? I am not a lowlife robber. They did what they were told and stood to the side watching their betters."

"Oh," said Muck. "Oh. Of course...."

Zheng grinned from ear to ear, the thrill suffusing him all over again at reliving the memory, "Oh, to see your opponent approach in clear view! And to take a shot when you feel ready. That's not something a pirate would be any good at."

He pulled the pistol out of the bandolier in a lightning-quick motion, flourished it and mimicked shooting: "Boom! The pirate is dead!"

Muck lifted his eyes from the powder-horn and stared at the pistol's handle. It was tastefully inlaid with white jade and silver, "Didn't you once say that these pistols cost you two annual harvests, Master Zha Yao?"

"I did?! I forgot, but... yes, yes, I had to pay that madman smith a fortune."

He shook off the unpleasant memory and returned to the glorious present, "With these, I can hit as true at thirty paces, as with another pistol from ten. I shot straight away, while the doofus thought he'd improve his odds by holding his shot while closing in. Ha!"

"And your aim was true!" Muck exclaimed in admiration.

"I've got the wretch right in the chest, fair and square! The funniest thing - his pistol was exactly the same as mine," He chuckled and stroked the pistols affectionately before putting them away. "Ah, what a night!"

Muck licked his lips and said shyly: "Master Zha Yao, here is your powder. And, if I may... you are the most deserving customer of ours. I wish... I wish..."

Zheng took the horn and asked magnanimously: "What do you wish for, Won?"

"That I could offer you a powder that is as superior to all other black powders, as these pistols are superior to all others," Won sighed.

"A powder made with sheep's dung instead of cows'?" Zheng chuckled. "Ah, kid, sometimes I wonder if the mages use the same mundane ingredients for their potions and spells as you apothecaries do for the black powder. Dung soaked in urine, charcoal, sulfur... the results are as flashy as their ingredients. And just as smelly."

"Master!" Muck interrupted. "Surely, as informed as you are, you know that they mix in secret ingredients to make the explosions red, or green, or purple?"

"Well, yes! Of course, I do!" Zheng retorted with impatience. "That's what the powder was invented for after all."

"I believe I came upon the special ingredients to make the bullets fly faster. You see, berries of the weeping tree, and ground ash pearl, and then an enchanted scroll---" Muck tried.

"Oh, who cares! Bullets fly fast enough, Muck. Now, good day to you." If he tarried here, someone might see him in this part of Xichon. Of course, if it was someone of importance, it would beg the question what they were doing here, but---

"When you toss a rock gently, it's not going to hit very hard," Won spoke so fast, it sounded funny. "You throw it hard, to give it a lot of speed, and it can crack a skull."

Zheng scoffed. "Street urchins toss rocks at each other."

"But if the bullet, like that rock, flies faster---" Muck let it hang between them.

Ancestors, the man was a bore. At least now he was back to bullets. "Wait, Muck! The faster bullets will hit harder?"

Muck nodded vigorously. "I'd tell Master Apothecary Vasoun, but he beat me a few times for wasting the ingredients on my experiments. If he catches me again, he'll send me back home."

The chemist hung his head. Funnily, Muck's dejected look when he spoke of being sent home reminded Zheng about his own pending exile to Quantong Province. It was amazing how a man of his station could empathize with the poor.

Muck sighed wistfully: "All I need is a pistol to test my secret formula. But I could never afford one."

"Of course you can't. Only the wealthiest men can. Well, look at the bright side. You can't test it anyway. Not even a mage can measure the speed of a flying bullet."

"A mage? Good Heavens, no! Of course not! I can't afford a mage!" Muck laughed nervously.

"Well, that's that then. Good --"

Muck paid no heed to him. He looked at the ceiling, and murmured, barely audible. The whispering made Zheng listen in. "Now, if I put a couple of old jars the same distance away, and two men should load two pistols, one - with a regular powder, and another – with my new powder... and then we shoot on the same count...."

Muck's eyes opened really wide and his voice went up to almost screaming: "Master Zha Yao! We'll be able to see which jar the bullet hits first!"

Zheng was surprised. It was a clever plan. If that powder worked, if the bullet could fly faster and hit harder, well, then the pistols will become a deadlier thing than spells and swords. If a certain someone could finance the production on a sufficient scale and at a reasonable expense... let's just say the Quantong Province could weep icicles without Han Zheng.

"Listen, Won," he said in a friendly manner. "Nobody, not even a weaponsmith will let someone like you touch a pistol, let alone two."

Muck scratched his backside. "Maybe if I saved my wages---"

"Phew, for how long? Fifty years?" Zheng mocked.

Muck had nothing to say to that.

"I will help you test your powder."

Muck inhaled sharply, clearly still at a loss for words. He looked like he was about to cry.

"On one condition though..."

"Anything, Master Zha Yao! Anything!"

"If the test is successful, you will go into my employ to produce the substance exclusively for me."

Muck dropped to his knees in front of his sudden benefactor with breathless thanks. It was almost embarrassing but pleasant.

"Enough, enough!" Zheng said at long last.

"I'll prepare a test site in the bamboo grove outside of the Eastern Gates," Muck said, "you just need to join me at sunrise—"

"Sunrise?!" he stepped back horrified. "Two days in a row?"

"We need light, Master," Muck pleaded with him. "And secrecy."

"Oh, very well," Zheng conceded with a martyred sigh. "Sunrise it is. 'til the morrow then, Muck."

"Yes, Master Zha Yao, yes, see you on the morrow..." Won bobbed a dozen polite bows while walking his valuable customer to the door. It shut behind Zheng's back and he was alone again, on the street. It was empty. Everyone was still sleeping, and the morning was glorious!

Zheng loaded the pistol, patted its muzzle lovingly, and discharged it into the air. A surprising number of chickens ran amok or flapped up onto the mudbrick walls. The guards shouted from a nearby square, an alarm bell rang, and Zheng took off, grinning from ear to ear. Tomorrow would be a glorious day.

***

The air was just as clear and crisp the next morning. The pre-dawn breeze died down, and a few wisps of clouds did not obscure the glory of the rising sun. The shades of red gave way to the whiter and brighter morning light. The conditions were perfect for target practice.

"Good morning, Master Zha Yao," Muck greeted him. Zheng yawned and waved dismissively. He hummed a song while the chemist's apprentice measured out the equal amounts of black powder for each pistol.

"So that's the famed special formula? It looks glamorous with the sheen, I'll give you that." Zha Yao poured the magic black powder down the barrel of his pistol and rammed the bullet on top of it.

His pistol ready, Zheng watched Won fill the second gun with the prosaic black powder. The wretch had no idea how lucky he was to handle the noble weapon. Invented to please an Emperor, forgotten, and now brought back from obscurity... only to be entrusted to one such as Muck? By a scion of Han family?

He felt a pang of guilt, but what could he do? He was disowned and betrayed. This was his chance to set things right. So Zheng suppressed a sigh and explained to the chemist apprentice how to stuff the bullet into the barrel, and how to ignite the powder.

That done, Zheng aimed at the ugly clay jar.

Muck targeted the other one, looking completely at ease. Zheng hated the commoner's newfound poise. There was something fishy about it. The sooner they were done with their little experiment, the better.

"Three," Zheng counted down. "Two. One. Fire!"

The shot boomed, and his jar burst apart. The second jar remained intact. Muck did not shoot!

Well, what else can you expect from a dim peasant?! Zheng rounded on Muck ready to curse him for a fool who couldn't follow the simplest instructions—

And there it was, staring right at him, one-eyed and implacable.

The weapon of the Emperors.

His death.

Zheng's last thought as he blinked out of existence was, 'Won the Muck shot me. That's not fair!'