Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 | Page 41

Admiral or Pirate?
Dulwich College Beijing, Lu, Michael - 12
Autumn sweeps over China, glazing the beautiful maple trees bronze and rustic red. The fourth voyage is set
to fly, my enormous wooden ships sitting serenely on the azure sea. By the sides of the ships, cannons,
polished to reflect the sun; on the ballast, a huge dragon figurine posed to strike fear into all who mean evil
to us. High-spirited and singing, my crew of 5000 well-trained soldiers and sailors await my final
instructions.
I watch as the druid cast dragon knuckle bones onto the sandy floor. His eyes are shut with concentration
and sweat is dripping down his forehead. Finally, as if pricked by an invisible needle, he jerks his head up
and smiles feebly- “All the signs are favorable; the Gods are on your side.”
Another voyage –– trading, patrolling, but more importantly, gaining and preserving the respect of foreign
countries and traders, accumulated over years and years of hard work and toil. And now we set sail from
Palembang, the strait of Malacca.
***
Wind blows through the masts of my ship, and the waves lap obediently at my feet. The azure blue of the
sea and the sky make it impossible to discern where the horizon starts. Gradually, a small smudge of green in
this giant canvas of blue. My crew grows animated, rushing to the front of the boat. Peering at the first sight
of land in a month, they holler and whoop. Smiles and cheers break out over the top-deck, penetrating the
crusty skin build by weeks of sullen silence.
Stepping off the boat, we are greeted by a group of well-dressed, middle-aged men. They all have that
same, tired expression, hidden behind a facade of welcoming and benevolence. Streaks of grey dash their
knotted hair, the crow’s feet by their eyes and the wrinkles etched onto their faces all tilt upwards as we
approach. Behind their mask of all smiles and enthusiasm, I can see that everything they do is tinged with
fear. Fear of me and what I represent. The quick glancing gazes at me; the slight tremble of the arm.
Nothing escapes me, nothing escapes us. They are afraid of us, because we control the trade routes, we
control what comes in and goes out. With a snap of my fingers, or my name on paper, I can stop goods
from coming into their port in an instant.
Though both of us know it is a one-sided affair, the lead trader and I go to a secluded garden to discuss our
goods. He is a tall man, his face pocketed with acne scars. Leaning on his delicately carved cane, he speaks in
a slow, flaky monotone. “What do you have to offer in exchange for our cotton?’
Soon we are finished, and I go back to my ship. It is clear that this port is stale –– simply no one comes to
trade here anymore. Their product, cotton, is just not needed anymore –– silk, a much better fabric, has
been on the market for long now, and at a much better price too.
***
My crew and I visited island after island, port after port, extending our reach to even the smallest of ports.
We have seen lush islands and barren wastelands, swampy marshes and rolling mountains. For me and my
crew, nothing is impossible.
Standing at the prow of my ship, I am proud to see my crew working diligently and efficiently. The
synchronized rowing of the oars, the polished decks and the agile rigging-monkeys calling out everything
around us. A chorus of voices and sounds fill the air. My crew are the best, the elite of the elite. Suddenly,
one of the rigging monkeys shout out, “Ship ahoy!”
A ship? Here? Why, this part of the sea is practically deserted! Squinting against the blazing sun, I peer into
the patch of sea my lackey points to. A huge fleet. In the distance, I can barely see the sign imprinted on
their sails, but… could it be them? The dragon insignia that strikes terror into the hearts of all of us traders.
Or maybe it is not a dragon. Maybe I am mistaken.
Still, isn’t it better to be prepared?
I bark out order after order, my crew frantically obeying each with precision: Haul up the mast! Prime the
cannons! Get ready to fight!
A grim smile appears on my face –– this will be a battle to the deaths.
***
“Fire!” A steady line of flame erupts from my ship –– lighting up the mast and the prow of our enemy.
Sweat, blood and the stale odor of gunpowder lingers in the air, a foul stench, the stench of death. Drawing
closer, they fire off a rally of cannon shots as well. All shots miss.
Our ship draws nearer and nearer –– as it does I can clearly see just how few men are on their ship- half of
what we have. My men are swarming over their ship, and I whoop, leaping over the side of my ship to join
the fray of battle.