“It’s Traditional script, of course, except for the writing right at the beginning, which is exactly the sort of script we would expect if it had been written in the Qin dynasty.”
“Qin Shi Huangdi settled the Chinese language into a single written form,” said Ji Ye, “and it became widespread over China within only fifteen years. But for a long time after, there were still people who wrote in the old styles.”
“Here,” said the Doctor, “is Zi Ying, and the line connects him alongside Qin Shi Huangdi. That tells us that, at least in this scroll, Zi Ying is reckoned to be a brother of the First Emperor.”
“And there is Xing Hua, showing that she was the firstborn child of Qin Shi Huangdi, and she married this man Ch’i Yin, and they had children… They, at least, must have escaped from the capital city before Qin Er Shi murdered all his brothers and sisters.”
“The line of descent continues down most of the document. There are not many dates. Only four in the whole document. As nearly as we can estimate, the genealogy ends in the 1880s or 1890s.”
John and Yifan felt like spare parts. They just stood watching the two scholars and Ji Ye. All three were leaning on the desk with their bottoms in the air, peering closely at the silk scroll and pointing at this and that. Occasionally Doctor Parfew would say something in Chinese to Ji Ye, and they would nod together. But really, it was not all that exciting for the spectators.
Eventually Doctor Parfew straightened up and looked at Yifan. “Young lady,” he said, “you will have to talk with your grandfather and find the names of his mother, her mother, her mother and so on, back as far as you can. If we’re lucky” – he paused and looked down at the document – “then we may get back to a point where one of those names will match the last name written down here.”
“And then,” continued Professor Steller, “we will know that both you and your mum are princesses. Descendants of the daughter of the first Emperor of China.”
V.
In the fullness of time the family received a thick letter from Professor Steller. She and Doctor Parfew had unravelled all the genealogy and verified the names where they could. Photographs of the silk document were enclosed, along with its contents retyped in both Pinyin and Traditional Chinese. The names that could be verified were marked, and dates given. Some had city names next to them, where their location was known.
There were also photographs of the pot before and after cleaning, and a report on its composition, style and probable age. They had only cleaned half of the pot, so that people could see how it had been disguised. Altogether there was quite a lot of information, so Yifan knew that they had been working hard on the family’s behalf.
And there was a release form, which Yifan’s grandfather should sign if he wanted to give the Museum permission to display the items. Ji Ye immediately phoned him and had a long conversation, which was full of surprises for Mister Ji since they had not yet told him about the Museum’s involvement – or about the value of the little pot.
Mister Ji said he would come to visit and look at the letter, and he would also try to get details about his family going back through the female line as far as he could go, and a week later he and Missus Ji turned up for the weekend, which delighted Yifan and gave John a chance to cook a roast dinner.
“Well, you know that documents sometimes got lost in China, in the old days,” Mister Ji began, when they were relaxing in the evening. The garden was looking lovely, with clover and moss and wildflowers on the lawn and cool drinks on the wooden table, for the weather was warm and dry. “There were quite a few in the tea-chest that I had not looked at before. They were just things I brought with me when I came to England. And many things were left behind with my brother, so I called him and he helped to put together this list…”
The list was exactly what had been asked for. Not just the female line, but the male was there too – it was a full family tree, albeit with some gaps, and stretched almost two hundred years to Yifan Shen at the bottom of the screen.
The direct female line began with two of the names that were on the Museum’s list. A mother and her daughter, one born in 1822 and the other in 1845. These were the last names on Princess Aster’s family tree, and they must have been responsible for keeping the silk list up-to-date. But after that there had been turmoil in China, and the pot had been put away, and no-one had thought about it again until Yifan had discovered it.
Yifan was uncomfortably aware that her excursion into the loft was considered very suspicious by everyone around her. But she held her tongue and did not blurt out her secret. Although Bart worried her – at one point she thought he was about to leap onto the table and tell them all about Vicky!
What do you do if you find out that you really are a princess? What would YOU do? Well, if you are reading this and you are a boy, you probably would get quite embarrassed. But if you are a girl, even if you stopped reading all the princess stories a long time ago, you would get very excited. You would go about telling people what you were, and expecting them to believe you and to treat you nicely. Even, perhaps, to be in awe of you and give you presents.
Yifan had always believed that she was a princess, so there was not a lot of change in her attitude. But now that she could actually prove that she was of royal blood she became shy about it.
*
The school year was ending, and Year Seven exams were coming up to make all the girls nervous. Yifan was confident she could do well and then immediately plunged into doubt. This is normal.
The British Museum was gently pushing Mister Ji to allow the pot to go on display. Mister Ji said that he was happy to allow that, but did not want any publicity. This did not suit the Museum, which was hoping to make the pot the centrepiece of an exciting new exhibition about ancient China, and wanted to launch it with the whole family tree from Princess Aster to Princess Yifan.
“No,” said Ji Ye, putting her foot down with a firm hand. “It’s Yifan’s exam time, for a start, and we would have people coming to the door all the time to ask questions. It’s not right.”
Even John agreed with Ji Ye and Mister Ji, and without permission the Museum could do nothing. Or at least that was how it appeared.
The exams started. After the first day Yifan declared that she did not know what all the fuss had been about – it was easy-peasy. John and Ji Ye wondered how Yifan had done, but guessed that she would not be very reliable at estimating her score.
On the second day there was maths and a writing test. Yifan was nervous as she set out for school, because she had been thinking overnight about whether she had actually given the right answers the day before. Everyone feels the same, said her mother, and Yifan had to accept that.
In the school hall, which had been converted into an exam room simply by putting in rows of desks, Yifan and the other pupils taking the maths test watched the clock tick slowly round to nine o’clock. The scent of sweat was filling the big room. At the back someone whimpered, but no-one turned round to see who it was. And the red hand of the clock lurched up to twelve, and Yifan and the others picked up their pens and groped for the face-down papers in front of them, and then
Somewhere else.
Yifan lurched, and her seat lurched back at her. In front of her was a big blue sky, the biggest bluest sky she could have imagined. The heat of the sun struck through the shirt on her back, bounced off the wide-brimmed hat on her head, glittered on the metalwork of the horse’s bridle. Beneath her was a terrifying drop, almost sheer down to the floor of a massive crater that curved around before her in a circle that touched the horizon.
Horse?
The horse shifted beneath her, and she swayed in the saddle. She gripped the reins tightly and whimpered like the girl at the back of the hall.
The hall! She was supposed to be taking an exam!
Yifan opened her mouth and sobbed.
-- What’s going on? What’s happening?
The voice in her head was her, of course. Vicky. But older,
probably almost John’s age.
-- I am NOT John’s age! said Vicky, crossly. I’m twenty-five. What are you doing here?
-- I don’t know, said Yifan, miserably. I’m supposed to be doing my maths exam. I want to go back. I’m scared.
And she was scared. This was a catastrophe. What would the teachers say? What would her friends say? And she would never hear the last of it from mum or John; and they would find out about Vicky, and she would fail the exam….
Yifan cried with Vicky’s eyes.
-- Will you stop doing that? It’s really not comfortable.
-- I want to go home.
Vicky seized control of her own body with some difficulty and clicked her tongue at the horse, tugging at the rein and touching the horse’s side with her heel. The horse turned, alarmingly close to the edge of the drop, and began to walk down a faint path that led away from the crater over the rough, ochre ground.
-- I do wish you’d let me know when you’re going to drop in.
-- I didn’t know! I don’t want to be here.
-- Well, you are here, and you can’t make yourself go back, so you’re stuck until it – it just happens. I suppose. So what’s happening in your world?
-- I’ve got an exam. It’s the year-end maths test.
-- I just about remember that. Really easy, I thought.
Vicky wiped Yifan’s tears away with the back of her hand, then pulled the hat brim down over her eyes to shade them from the sun.
-- Well, I don’t think it’s easy.
-- I bet you tell mum it was.
-- Yes.
They both laughed, which caused Vicky’s mouth to twist around alarmingly.
-- What are you doing?
-- I’m on a field trip. This is New Mexico. In America. The crater was formed about a million years ago, and there are some stone-age Native American settlements dotted around it. Wherever there was a water source, a spring, we’re finding evidence. It’s quite exciting.
-- The pot’s made of gold.
-- Yes, I know.
-- The museum wants to display it with our names, but mum and grandpa don’t want that. Neither does John.
-- That’s sensible. But there are ways for enemies to get our names, kid.
Being called kid was not the sort of thing that she should say to herself, thought Yifan, but before any retort could make its way into her conversation there was a flat cracking sound behind them, and then Vicky’s hat was pulled off her head and flung nearly ten metres away into a scrubby bush. Vicky immediately shook the reins, jabbed her heels into her horse’s flanks and crouched low over his back as he bounded forward.
-- And that’s them, said Vicky.
Yifan was frozen with fear as another shot rang out, and a puff of dust and stone chips exploded from a nearby boulder. The horse
-- Belinda. His real name’s Enrique but I call him Belinda.
The horse, Belinda, was at full gallop, which was terrifying enough, but Vicky was making her – him – veer and swerve to present a less predictable target. Another shot, but nothing puffed and they were not hit. The bullet was whizzing off into the distance, alone and ineffective.
-- What’s happening? Why are we running?
-- We’re being shot at. It’s been happening since that damned pot was exhibited in China. The genealogy was investigated and the Chinese did what the British newspapers couldn’t do. They found grandpa’s family connection.
-- Why shoot us? What have I done?
-- I am the last Princess of the Qin dynasty, descendant of the first Emperor of China.
Well, so am I, thought Yifan, feeling a bit miffed at being left out. And then Belinda veered again, and a noise like a big angry insect deafened her left ear for a moment.
-- That was close, said Vicky.
It was a bullet! Yifan felt sick.
-- Don’t you do anything! warned Vicky.
Belinda galloped over a rise in the ground and below them, about a kilometre away, were tents and land rovers and people. The archaeologists’ camp. Two toy helicopters flew from that direction over Vicky’s head, making towards the shooting.
-- Some people apparently think that mum should be the ruler of China. And others think she should not be, and the only way to make sure is to….
Vicky did not finish the sentence, and Yifan was not sure she wanted to hear any more anyway. Belinda had fallen into a trot as the camp approached, and then a walk, and someone came up and caught his reins. It was not until Vicky dismounted that Yifan noticed how sore her bottom was, and how shapely Vicky was. She was wearing just the same style of clothes as her Toy Story cowgirl doll, down to the boots and the bandanna. And Vicky was just as slim. It was nice to think that this would be her in a few years….
-- Maybe not, said Vicky, dusting off her jeans and making towards a clutch of water bottles.
From the other side of the rise there came the faint sound of an engine. After a few minutes it faded into the distance. The assassin had gone.
-- Don’t you call the police? wondered Yifan.
-- I have. My phone did. It sent two drones from the camp to follow the shooter. We are a bit farther along with technology, dear. It’s the future, to all intents.
-- What was happening to you last time?
-- Last time?
And Yifan told Vicky about being in the dark, and hospital smells.
-- I had appendicitis. That’s all. Just a routine operation.
Maybe, thought Yifan. Or maybe she had been shot.
-- I have to tell you something important, said Vicky, uncapping a water bottle. It’s
“Comfortable?” A familiar voice purred quietly into her ear. Yifan opened her eyes and saw a much closer view of her teacher’s face than she would have wanted, accompanied by a waft of what may have been quite an exotic breakfast, probably garlic and sugar puffs.
She sat up with a start, making the teacher jerk back. All around her were girls with their heads bent low over papers, their pens making a susurration that filled the room with whispers.
Yifan’s eyes began to fill with tears, but then she saw the clock on the wall next to the stage.
It was one minute past nine.
She dashed her sleeve across her eyes to blot the moisture, and turned over her paper.
*
Yifan began to wish that she could meet Vicky again, and find out whether the police had caught her attackers. She was careful to think this when she was in bed, and maybe it worked, because she was asleep when it happened again.
The room was boring. Big windows looked out over a city that could have been anywhere. Tired-looking adults sat around a long polished table, with wafer-thin tablet computers in front of them. One whole wall of the room was a huge screen, with windows showing other tired-looking adults. Most of them were Chinese.
Vicky did not seem to have noticed that Yifan had arrived, until Yifan turned Vicky’s head to look around. Sitting next to her was her mother. Yifan was so surprised she said “Mum!” with Vicky’s mouth.
“Hello, Yifan,” said Ji Ye. “Just be quiet.”
Ji Ye was looking very tired. She had some lines on her face that she had not had when Yifan had seen her at home the night before – but that was a different time, and a different place.
-- I see you’re in at the death, said Vicky.
-- Death? Who’s dead? Yifan panicked and the joints in Vicky’s neck crackled as she craned around to look at everyone in the room. Where’s John?
-- He’s gone, said Vicky, and Yifan began to cry.
Ji Ye leaned towards her and said in a whisper, “John was here just a while ago, and now he’s gone back to the hotel.”
-- He isn’t dead, silly. He was around for the morning session, but now it’s just us two. We have to make a decision.
-- What decision? said Yifan sullenly. And she started to wonder how her mum could have known that she was here, and what she was thinking.
-- She knows because she
’s mum, and I told her about you, and she has always known what was going on in my head. And we have to decide to resign any claim to the Dragon Throne.
-- The what?
-- This is the last of a set of meetings with the Chinese Government, Taiwan and Western interests, and the main pro-Royal groupings outside China. We’re going to formally withdraw any claim to be the true rulers of China. In exchange, we get to keep our royal titles and we get a pension each for life.
Yifan pondered this. She did not understand it all, but it did sound as if Vicky and Ji Ye had been fobbed off with something worth a lot less than whatever they had had before.
-- No, it’s simple. I told you, there are several different sides. Some want us to kick out the Party and take over China. Others want us to become the leadership in Taiwan. Some people think it’s all a joke, and some people want us to be executed.
-- When they shot at us.
-- They were definitely not the people who think it’s all a joke, said Vicky with a smile.
A young-ish Chinese man in a shiny suit, exuding the scent of expensive after-shave, came up to Ji Ye’s side and whispered in her ear. Ji Ye nodded and turned to Vicky.
“Yifan, we’re going to agree to the proposals. You’ll still be a princess, but it will be an honorary title. We have no power, and if we ever try to make trouble using our titles we’ll be laughed at.”
-- We’ll probably be able to jump queues in Beijing, said Vicky, with the mental equivalent of a wink. Now you should go back.
-- I can’t make myself go back, Yifan protested. You know that.
There was an awkward silence from Vicky, but then the clearing of a throat sounded from the head of the table, and the meeting was back in session.
And what a boring, long, tedious, interminable, repetitious, formal, lengthy, ennui-provoking, seriously terminal, eyelid-drooping, navel-gazing, pontificationary meeting it was. Because everything had to be translated – the languages in the room were Mandarin, Cantonese and English – it took an hour and a half, and Yifan nearly made Vicky fall asleep. Then she started naming Moshie Monsters in her head, until Vicky said “Lady Goo-Goo” out loud, and got a withering look from whichever stuffed shirt was by then speaking his piece. Vicky went bright red, and Ji Ye stifled a laugh.