Resting on a palanquin lined with furs the Emperor looked disinterestedly at the lines of slaves who’d been instructed to leave behind their rusting blades and walk the fields to create a fence of flesh along the dusty road in order to pay their respects to this; their leader. Unmoved by the normal sight, he passed the time by filtering out the menfolk and instead focused on the women whose bowed heads hid their expressions. What you cannot see is more erotic and he daydreamed about leaving behind the palanquin and stepping down to brush away greasy lank locks to stroke eyelids, to trace his fingertips along their forms before roughly pushing them to the ground and forcing himself on them. He leant back at the thought and sighed heavily as repression and longing caressed him. He was bored with the women that came to his room late in the evening; dressed in colourful lace, pearls and silks. They were too eager to please him and the only aspect he found titillating was knowing they did it out of fear of what would happen if was not satisfied. What he longed for was to search out a woman of his own and take her outside where it was forbidden; where they might be caught. He made a mental note to do this someday.

The dying grasses of the fields yawned open to reveal the wall of the citadel and as the great iron wrought gates were laboriously pulled apart, he stretched his legs idly wondering what they had prepared for him to eat that day. The four slaves who had carried him carefully set down the palanquin and his favoured man, Chien, lifted away the heavy scarlet curtains and bowed courteously as the Emperor heaved himself out of the crimson cushions and set himself down heavily onto the ground. Adjusting his robes he shuffled past the lily ponds and dragon topiary to step inside the shaded inner court where a table had been set for him. Settling down into the throne at the furthest point away from the garden swathes of servants appeared as though by osmosis and silently placed steaming bowls of rice, fermented pork rolls, cha tom, sour prawns and rice wine before standing back to flank the grand table while he ate his fill. As was customary for him, he noticed the sharp lines of their cheekbones, the saggy nature of their clothes as they hung from bones that needed fat and he felt content knowing that they were watching him, expressionless but salivating while he ate his fill.

The afternoon was tiresome; there was paperwork to complete, documents to read and act upon alongside monotonous meetings with dignitaries whom he had little interest in, particularly the ones who made the most effort to compliment him and feigned savouring every word he uttered. To pass the time more enjoyably, he poured himself small cups of spirit until his senses were suitably numbed and the colours that surrounded those he was meant to be listening to were blurry. Without thinking he signed numerous sheets of paper with great swirling violet flourishes until finally they tiptoed away.

The Emperor leaned back onto his sumptuous cushions and looked from under half shut eyes at the lattice work on the windows and the carvings on the furniture. He listened lazily to the caged bird at the other end of the room sing its melancholy song.

‘Emperor?’

The voice was unfamiliar to him. In his stupor he only moved his head slightly to the right and mumbled,

‘Who are you?”

Without answering he could hear someone shuffling across the cool floor, the robes sniffling like rodents behind the ankles of whoever was approaching.

Being accustomed to having no need to fear anything or anyone, the Emperor did not pick up the fact the bird in the cage had stopped singing.

Whoever it was had stopped behind him and was emanating a subtle scent of myrrh and another oil the Emperor was unable to identify.

‘How was your day today?’

This was not a question the Emperor was accustomed to being asked. Intrigued finally, he tried to move his head but discovered he was more intoxicated than he had thought was as his neck seemed suddenly to be made of lead and unable to move.

Mumbling he tried to respond but gave up.

‘You were fed well?’

The Emperor tried to nod.

‘Nothing was of discomfort to you?’

Puzzled the Emperor tried to shake his head.

‘Did you enjoy seeing your subjects?’

He tried to shrug.

‘Have you ever really seen your subjects?’

Suddenly a small globe was offered to him by the unidentified person behind him. He couldn’t tell whether they were male or female. Even the globe was held by a hand that was hidden by a long dark blue sleeve that was decorated with golden thread that included an embroidered circle with spokes, an ever decreasing spiral and dots. The swirls in the globe shifted into shapes that looked like ghouls bending over, howling and holding onto their shrunken bellies, there seemed to be dark shapes bent over working and sweating in the midday sun, dead babies lying skeletal in shallow graves beneath the shadow of a buddha.

‘At least they are free to do what they choose, they don’t have to do dull paperwork, can eat whenever they can instead of waiting for people to serve you’ the Emperor mumbled slurred irritably at what he saw as a needless reminder of what just a few people had to live through; he knew that the vast majority were fine, working and earning money. Those that suffered probably deserved it because of their laziness to find better work, he thought.

‘You seem to feel imprisoned in your current life. What if I could offer you the chance to return to this life free from paperwork; a life where you won’t have to answer to anybody; where you will be completely free?’

The Emperor smiled and sighed, ‘yes’.

The globe vanished and just the hand remained holding a tiny pot of dark liquid from which rose a faint metallic smell.

‘Dip the end of your plait into this and sign my hand’ the voice instructed.

The Emperor’s long black tail of a plait slithered over his shoulder and with some difficulty he placed the end in the pot and signed his name onto the waiting palm. As he did so, the hand seemed to shape shift into a paw but after a blink the flesh remained pale and the fingertips smooth with short nails.

Exhausted, the Emperor fell back into a stupor and slept until the dawn painted his eyelids with a carmine flush.

Years later the Emperor would look upon the events of that afternoon as one would a strange dream or hallucination. The only troubling issue for him was that the ends of his plait always seemed to have a reddish hue when he stood in the light but he simply put that down to age and gave no more thought to it than he did his starving flea ridden subjects.

He lived a long life, which was not surprising. As the decades drew on he moved less and less only moving his corpulent figure when absolutely necessary, demanding more from his concubines and insisting on visiting his subjects in the palanquin so he could check they were all contributing to society and working hard. He seemed incapable of looking beyond the swollen mounds of grain and vegetables in order to recognise the hollow cheeks, sullen eyes and angry clenched fists.

Finally, the morning arrived when Chien entered the Emperor’s bedroom and found him on his back, mouth open like a fish and only the rancid reek of his final breath gave any hint that the body on the bed had ever been alive.

The mourning period was brief and obligatory. Having fathered as many illegitimate sons as a man possibly could, the eldest was chosen to be the heir and after his father was sunk into a deep pit in the grounds of the citadel, the boy quickly made it clear that he had no intention of continuing his father’s gluttonous and selfish ways. He was heralded as revolutionary and the people quietly celebrated the passing of the old man.

So what of the Emperor and his strange meeting decades earlier?

After death, he had woken with a start in a stinking quagmire that offended his sensitive nose. His eyes wouldn’t open and when he opened his mouth only a squeak came out. Panicked he tried to move but discovered he couldn’t co-ordinate in the manner that he was accustomed to. Terrified he snuffled closer to the warm bodies around him and found their musty scent to be of comfort although inexplicable. In the background he could hear a muffled roar, clanging and voices that sounded vaguely familiar to him although he couldn’t identify what they were saying or who they were.

Gradually, his panic subsided and a sudden drowsiness cloaked him so he slept as he entered the welcome numbing of sleep he thought that he’d wake the next day and feel much more like his own self.

Except he didn’t.

In fact, every day he would wake, confused, disorientated and afraid. Not being able to open his eyes was particularly disturbing and he’d try to cry out but only helpless squeaks would form  and in his frustration he would reach out and paw at anything and everything.

Nobody came to his rescue.

A hellish week or two ensued and although he became accustomed to what had happened to him, the morning he woke and rubbed his eyes to be met with hazy and blinding light was such a relief. Nothing came into focus for a while but when it did he sat up in alarm. He was surrounded by giants. Giant dark eyes, giant paws, giant tails, giant noses. He backed away in alarm but the largest of them all opened her jaws and he cowered in fear as the dark cavern drew closer but she only engaged with the ruff of his neck and promptly deposited him back in the litter with the rest of his brothers and sisters. He’d become a dog.

Astounded he spent days trying to work out how this could be and how it could have kept his knowledge of his past life to the point that he was all the more acutely aware of the terrible imprisonment he found himself in. The horror of the early days of realisation soon subsided when he realised that at least he was safe with his pack, his mother was forthcoming with milk and he was protected. He almost became accepting of his fate until of course the day she didn’t come back and one by one his brothers and sisters left him behind the bins of the building site that they had called home for so many weeks. Thus his life on the streets began. Initially, he had been confident that he could persuade people to part with scraps if he behaved well, or looked at them innocently and in fact this did work before the fleas crept in and snuggled into the roots of his fur. As his appearance grew more and more unkempt his hunger likewise grew. Eventually, his fur hung in thick greasy clumps before large sections fell out. Once, he was chased out of a shop and ran straight into a motorbike that crushed his paw and he spent weeks hobbling in pain until eventually the bone mended into a permanent bend and he had to hop from one filthy street to the next. Always he would bemoan his fortune and fate, not understanding why the gods had bequeathed him this fate.

And then, as happens, the answer came. He’d been dragging his broken and itching body around the streets of Hue sniffing at mouldy jackfruit in the gutter when he looked up and saw a group of peasants sitting low on stools and quickly slurping noodles. They were talking in low voices but seemed friendly enough. Hopeful, the dog hobbled over and sat looking with sad eyes at the feast sat on the table straight ahead of him. Steaming plates of beef laced with coriander sat next to fresh spring rolls, spicy prawns and elephant fish. Salivating he whimpered. He overheard one of the peasants say

‘Shall we take pity on that poor thing and give him some of our food?’

At this the dog sat up wagging its tail looking from one face to the next. Most of the group looked up and acknowledged him with sympathy and one even began to reach over to pick up some beef to place on the ground next to him but he was stopped by the large, hard faced man whose skin was freckled from too many afternoons spent working in the sun.

‘No. We have to work all day for a pittance and need our strength to harvest as much rice as we can. That dog doesn’t need as much food as we do. He’s free unlike us. He can go wherever he wants and eat whatever he finds. Don’t pity it.’

And with that he sank began into his hot bowl of soup and took to slurping again. The others followed his lead.

Stunned the dog sat back on its haunches staring helplessly at food he wouldn’t be able to touch. Out of desperation he launched himself up onto the table to try and steal a bite but was quickly beaten back down with the swipe of an anonymous hand and had to admit defeat. Morbidly, he slunk away and went to lay his bony body out on the baking pavement. Ringing in his ears were the words

‘he’s free…he’s free.’