24 A Laughing Matter

~SHAN JIANG~

The inhabitants of the Isles of the Laughing Men took the name at least half-seriously. Shan Jiang the Storyteller was greeted by roaring laughter. As far as the other half of the islands' name went, the jury was still out.

"I am pleased to amuse m'lady!" he put in between the two mighty bursts.

Is m'lady enough? Jung Hwa's only polite honorific was The Salt Bitch. Jiang had done his best to forget all the impolite ones before he set out on his journey.

She waved away his attempt to ingratiate himself and went on laughing. Jiang stood there, head down, hands folded in supplication but his mind worked as hard as ever. Everyone was vain. The trick was to find the lure as fast as possible, set the trap, and... that's where the similarities between the poet and the hunter ended.

From that point on, the poet became more of a farmer, cultivating the benefactor's vanity to feed himself year after year. With most women, the lure was their looks, but he was not sure about Jung Hwa.

Unlike her late husband, the Admiral Thirty Claws, the Chieftain wore nothing ornamental. In fact, she barely wore anything at all. Her vest barely covered her breasts such as they were, and she had breechcloth secured at the waist with a wide belt. Jiang suspected that the leather-like material of her garments was cured demonskin.

With a woman that size laughing that hard, he'd expected a fair bit of jiggling bits, but Jung Hwa's body had no give at all. She seemed to be made entirely of boulders packed tight under her leathery skin.

Finally, she settled down and wiped her eyes.

The captain who brought him to the Isles had pushed him forward. Maybe it was the customary invitation to approach the Chieftain, but Jiang had not expected the shove, so he'd skidded on the sand and dropped on all fours. He'd landed inside the structure he'd immediately christened 'The Pavilion of Ocean Spray' because it provided Jung Hwa and her retinue with both shelter from the sun and space to hold court.

It was too grand a name for the simple colonnade of the palm trunks, covered with palm-leaves and furnished with the large chunks of axe-carved driftwood, but Jiang figured that the 'Gruesome Gazebo' would not do.

But it sure was gruesome, with all the dried body parts, both human and beast nailed to the wood in a haphazard fashion.

Hmm, I don't know about the flower-and-feather garlands. On one hand, they add a note of femininity to the decor, on the other, it distracts the eye from the 'bloodthirsty chic'.

Then again, he could not take his eyes away from the grisly display. He spotted wicked claws, and entire jaws, the horns, and skulls. The skulls, in particular, set the mood, staring down at him from far too many eye-sockets. The fresher bones came in the range of colours from beige to black, but all of them would eventually end up weathered by the spray and the sun to the sterile white, the colour of mourning.

Despite his aversion to the decor, Jiang crawled to the edge of the shade. He stripped much of his clothing during the last days of sailing when the heat became oppressive, but it was not enough. He thought wistfully of Sutao where the fourth season was about to give way to the fifth, the winter. In Sutao he would have been longing for a break in clouds, and the timid warmth of the late fall's sun. Here, he could hear blisters grow on his exposed neck.

"Leave kowtowing to the Weeping Men," Jung Hwa ordered. "You begged Captain So to bring you to us. What for?"

Aha, my moment to shine! He scrambled back to his feet, a surprisingly hard task after more than a week at the mercy of the Jade Sea.

"Your Grace, the Lady of the Laughing Men Isles!" he started loftily. "I am a storyteller and a poet. I bring the latest tales from Xichon to delight your people!"

"Captain So tells me you fled Xichon after the Imperial Censor ordered your tongue pulled out, and you blinded and burned on a pyre made from the copies of your scrolls," Jung Hwa said.

"Critics can be brutal, but a poet's tongue will not be chained!"

A good line, that. A proud, powerful ---

"...and that you found shelter with the Zha Yao's cohorts---"

"Uncouth louts," Jiang scoffed. He was walking on quicksand now. He did not know how the Chieftain felt about Thirty Claws' death.

Jung Hwa's face did not show much. "You abandoned Zha Yao for fear of the Inscrutable Contagion. Is that correct?"

And here he thought Captain So was just another greedy thug. Who knew he doubled as a spymaster with a special interest in humble storytellers?

"I am but a poet who sings of heroes," Jiang demurred. The lords of men loved humility in other men. Perhaps, so did the ladies.

Jung Hwa flicked her hand, and her entire party pointed the wicked re-curved bows at him. Captain So pressed something sharp to the back of his neck.

"Are you infected?"

"No, Your Grace! No!" Jiang squirmed. "Would I remain unblemished through the whole journey were I ill? The evil spirits of Contagion mark your skin black or purple."

"Mother Xho?" Jung Hwa asked quietly without taking her eyes off of him. And his neck.

A crone emerged from a pile of blankets by Jung Hwa's feet. The rheumy eyes fixed on his face surprised him. They looked too pale to serve any purpose other than pinning the excess of wrinkled skin to the old woman's skull. The crone reached inside him, sending a shiver through them.

"Nay, nay," she croaked, "He's clean! Clean, clean, clean!" She stabbed some unseen evil with a feather duster before pronouncing the final verdict: "The poet is not marked by the Mother of Sorrows."

The crone's hoarse voice and her age-ruined face became more welcome to him than the sweet harmonies sung by Aynu, the loveliest among women, before she disappeared from the Beaded Curtain, leaving him to his eternal longing and wine.

Jung Hwa nodded, and the bows were lowered. Captain So also took a step back, but the cut he left on Jiang's neck stung, and he cursed the salt-filled air again.

"Show me your craft," the Chieftain ordered. "Tell me the tale of Zha Yao and Thirty Claws and the Graceful Lady Tien Lyn."

Jiang smiled inwardly while he found a discreet place for his canvas bag with the props. He did not bring along a drummer to accompany his performance, qin was for courtesans and aristocrats, he would make up for the lack of music with his voice. Ready to go, and in his element now, Jiang sat down cross-legged and waited for the Chieftain's retinue to hush.

When he rose to his feet, his first wooden mask transformed him into the mighty Pirate Thirty Claws.

***

Jiang-as-Thirty-Claws celebrated his greatest victory with the treacherous noblemen.

He raised the goblet and saluted the gathering. "Our ships shall sail beyond what eyes can see! We will cut the demons down, and plunder their riches! The Empire will prosper, fenced by our swords!"

The real pirates clapped from the sidelines, whistled and brandished their weapons, now a part of Jiang's unfolding story.

He fished out a painted fan and the Beautiful Lady's mask on a long handle from his bag while the audience celebrated.

Enter Jiang-as-Lady Tien Lyn: a hopeless flirt, she fanned herself and approached the effeminate courtiers to help her uncover the source of a very novel tingling sensation in her lady parts.

The bouts of laughter met her failure to uncover the reason and her mounting frustration.

Thirty Claws mask on.

As Thirty Claws he came to her rescue, made her (and the pirates) listen in wonder about the Islands of the Laughing Men.

Lady's mask on. She swooned with delight, and her fan went flick-flick-flick as the new hope for relieving her maidenly discomfort dawned.

With a new, Villain's mask on, Jiang-as-Zha Yao eavesdropped, concealed by a palm tree. Outraged, he stomped his feet like a toddler. He shook his fist at the Heavens and vowed to keep the ladies of the Empire ignorant of the prowess of the Islanders.

At first, Jiang-as-Zha Yao brandished a sword and charged Thirty Claws, but it was too heavy for him. He ended up not being able to hold it upright, and the pommel ended up at the level of his crotch rather than overhead, then swung forward to the ground. Zha Yao tripped over his sword and ran away.

Thirty Claws laughed along with his pirate chorus.

The new mask, the Apothecary, addressed Zha Yao promising to make a deadly elixir for him.

Zha Yao poured a jug of poison into Thirty Claw's goblet.

Thirty Claw drunk deeply, belched, and called for more of the same wine. As he went dancing, Zha Yao pulled at the hair on his head and cried bitter tears.

Jiang swiped a new mask out, one of his favourite ones, the one of the Sorcerer. Jiang-as-Sorcerer spoke to Zha Yao.

Jiang-as-Zha Yao pulled out pouch after pouch of silver that he had secreted about his person, then his jacket, and, finally, his trousers to pay for magic. Left in naught but his smallclothes, Zha Yao waved the magic pistol he'd bought from the Sorcerer in the air. He proudly announced that he was the best the Empire's manhood had to offer and one day they should make him an Emperor.

Shaking like a leaf in the wind, he raised the pistol two-handed and made a shot from a great distance.

The Sorcerer had to go into a frenzy of spellcasting dances to make the wicked bullet hit Thirty Claws.

Thirty Claws fell, betrayed and mourned by all.

Jiang, now just the unmasked Storyteller, started the funeral lamentations, but Jung Hwa abruptly rose to her feet, looking like a monster emerged from the abyss. He shut up.

Could there be a heart inside there somewhere?

"By demon's arse, Mother! We were just getting to the good bits."

During Jiang's performance, the Islanders had trickled in from the settlement beyond the line of the palm trees, and the speaker was one of the newcomers. He had spoken lazily while leaning against a tree some distance away, and it was a wonder the tree had not snapped yet. His massive arms rested casually on his chest, but there was no mistaking him for a dutiful son. As far as Jiang knew, there should have been three. He quickly scanned the crowd to pick two more men cast from the same mould, with darker skin than the most, and the same impressive build, but watchful, rather than challenging. The three brothers had a passing resemblance to Jung Hwa, but much more to one another, and, presumably, Thirty Claws.

How long until the Salt Pups turn into a wild pack?

"What's the hurry? Let's at least hear the song about the Gracious Lady Tien Lyn and Zha Yao while we have someone who does not sound like a drunken bull with a barb up its ass."

Jung Hwa's eyes twinkled with malice. "Will you indulge my son, singer?"