Chasing the Phoenix (5 page)

Surplus took the deck, cut it once, and said, “I will wager five grams of silver that the top card is the ace of hearts.”

“Alas, sir, I have no money.”

“Nor I. In which case, there is no reason for us to be parsimonious. Make it fifty kilograms of gold.”

An hour passed, perhaps two. Capable Servant had lost several tons of precious metals by the time the guards reappeared and marched them away.

*   *   *

THEY WERE
brought to a conference room, where seven individuals sat around a half-circular table whose straight edge faced the door. At the center, a still personage in purple brocade sat upon a chair slightly higher than those of the others. His body was broad and burly, yet his face was young, lean, and ascetic. His expression was alert and clever. Anybody who had not been forewarned would naturally assume this man to be the Hidden King. To his right sat a general in full armor, his metal visor the face of a demon. To his left was White Squall. Two more counselors sat to either side, their faces grim.

“Who are these men?” asked the supposed king.

“These are the lowborn scoundrels who present themselves as figures out of ancient myth and superstition,” White Squall said. “If Your Majesty wishes, I can have their throats cut now and spare you the tedium of their pleas for mercy.”

The lean-faced man glanced to his right and then said, “With your permission, Chief Executive Officer Powerful Locomotive, and yours as well, Chief Archaeological Officer White Squall, it amuses us to hear what they have to say.”

Darger nodded slightly, as if acknowledging something that was entirely his due. Then, stepping forward, he spoke.

“My name is Aubrey Darger, and since my associate's name is not easily translatable into your language, you may think of him as the Noble Dog Warrior. We were born or, rather, created in a laboratory in a faraway land in the final years of the Utopian era, when all the world was unimaginably rich. Not long before the fall of Utopia, the secret of perpetual life was discovered. To test it, immortals were created. Our genomes were so designed as to render us unaging and immune to all natural causes of death, though we remain as vulnerable to acts of chance and violence as any other men. There were eight of us in the pilot program, but it has been many centuries since we have seen any of the others, and I must presume they are dead. Each of our kind varied greatly from the others, for the goal of the pilot program was not merely long lives but socially productive ones. Thus, my friend's character was so composed as to be decisive and active, making him a fearless fighter and protector of the weak. I, meanwhile, found myself to be of a more contemplative bent, a natural philosopher, scholar, and mentor to the young. Collectively, we were meant to be the world's moral guardians.

“Alas, our society was not as enduring as we. Having created machines to do their manual labor, mankind built more subtle engines to do their thinking as well. The times fell into lassitude and decay. We immortals, meanwhile, discovered that natural talents count for little without training and experience. Though we tried our best, we were ineffectual against the evils of the times. We saw the great nations of the world fragment and fall apart … and could do nothing to prevent it.

“When civilization collapsed, the Noble Dog Warrior and I gathered together all the books of philosophy, political science, and military strategy we could find and retired into the wilderness to think and to plan. We built a stone tower, and there I dwelt, reading and studying, while my friend farmed and hunted and protected me from the wandering bands of brigands which were common in that benighted era. Three times the tower fell into ruin from age, and three times we rebuilt it. There I studied until all the books had been read into dust. By then, I could have re-created them from memory, but what would be the point of that? Those books had not prevented the disaster. Something greater was needed.

“So I entered the second phase of my studies—contemplation. For centuries I thought over the implications of what I had read, resolved its contradictions, discarded its errors, and synthesized what remained into a coherent unity. At last I was, in theory, the perfect strategist. At which point I reentered the world.

“In this third phase of my studies, I put my learning and theoretics into practice. I sought out small countries involved in particularly vicious and pointless wars and endeavored to put an end to conflict. Were theory all, this would have been the simplest matter imaginable, given my unequaled learning. In practice, making peace was difficult beyond imagining. My strategies were perfectly rational. But men are ruled by irrational desires. They lust for personal glory. They hate without reason. They feel little gratitude to those they owe most. Over the course of many years I came to realize that the success of any nation ultimately depended upon the character of its ruler. For while a great ruler with inadequate advisors cannot succeed, neither can a weak ruler with the best advisors in existence.

“At the end of our experiments, having proved to our own satisfaction that we could win any war but that lasting peace was a more difficult matter, we retired once again to a remote part of Mongolia, where I spent many decades meditating on how best to use what I had learned.

“At last I was ready to enter into the final phase of my studies—healing the world. Long had I known that the healing must start with the restoration of China to her former greatness. For is not China the center of the earth? Create peace there and it would radiate outward. So the Noble Dog Warrior and I disguised ourselves as priests and went from country to country, observing the misery of their peoples and looking for a king who had the qualities of greatness within him.

“These qualities are, first of all, ambition. China must be reunited, and a king without fire in his soul is incapable of so great a deed. Second, firmness of action. As the ancient sage said, a war is not a tea party. Third, cunning. This goes without saying. Fourth and most important, evasiveness. He who would be emperor will necessarily make enemies of all kinds, and these enemies will necessarily try to strike at him. The future emperor must therefore be a man whose true essence is not known, one whose physical self is elusive. In that way, the bullets and arrows of his enemies will always go astray.

“To state the obvious, that king is here, in this very room. We discovered that, in his compassion for the suffering of the people, he had already begun the noble work of reunification. History is hard, however, and fate uncertain. We knew he would need our advice and assistance. But he was, as I said, elusive. How, then, to bring ourselves to his attention? The Noble Dog Warrior walked into Brocade, presenting himself as a god. I played the part of a corpse. Together, we acted out a story in which a supernatural entity had brought a dead man to life. We knew it would be talked about everywhere. We knew too that the Hidden King would send for us and, when he did, we would have the chance to tell our tale. As I now have done.”

Darger spread out his arms. “So you see, there is nothing supernatural about us. You seven, being intelligent and highly educated, realized that immediately. But just try telling that to the common people. Better yet, try telling it to your enemies. Rumor is already spreading beyond the current boundaries of this land that two gods have come out of the wilderness to advise the Hidden King. Having advisors with such a reputation will be almost as valuable in the coming war as will our service—and that you will find valuable indeed.”

His tale done, Darger fell silent. Standing behind him, Surplus held his breath.

The advisors rustled with impatience. “This is too unserious!” one exclaimed. There were murmurs of agreement.

“He claims to be immortal,” White Squall said, turning to her right. “Allow me to test that claim.”

“Madam, I can die as easily as the next man—by violence or starvation or a thousand other means. The only advantage my friend and I have over others is that we do not age. Killing us will prove nothing.”

The man on the throne leaned forward. But before he could speak, the general sitting to his right said in a high, almost girlish voice, “It is insolence to suggest that you can better advise the Hidden King than his own counselors, each one handpicked for excellence!”

“When the student is ready to learn, a teacher appears,” Darger replied. “When a king is ready to become emperor, a strategist. I am that strategist. I have found the noble soul who should properly be the next emperor of China. But his advisors are merely mortal. If he listens to them, he, who deserves only victory, will assume his place at the head of his army and march off to defeat. Such, at the moment, is his destiny.

“I am here to change that destiny.”

Turning so that it was clear he was addressing no one else, Darger knelt before the man clad as a general. Who was the only figure in the room whose face was covered. Who had interrupted the putative king without the least hesitation. And who was the only one in the room wearing armor that was obviously too large for him. As puzzles went, Surplus reflected, it was not a difficult one to crack.

“Your Majesty, please allow me to help you become the emperor that all of China is waiting for.”

The Hidden King rose to his feet. “Is this a sign,” he asked, “that I am chosen of heaven? Or do you seek to appeal to my pride by implying that I have a destiny? If the former, then this is an opportunity I must not throw away! Stranger tales than yours have turned out to be true. But if the latter, your flattery is pointless, for I already know that I have a destiny.” He looked to his left for confirmation. “Ceo Powerful Locomotive, have I not often said so? Cao White Squall, you have heard it as well. A destiny such as mine cannot be hidden. It is like a great light which, though you pack it away in crates and wrap it about with canvas, shines through! Even this stranger can see that it burns within me. Unless he is trying to deceive me.”

White Squall began to open her mouth, then contained herself.

Ceo Powerful Locomotive removed the royal robe and, laying it down neatly folded on the conference table, humbly crouched down by the Hidden King's feet. His face shifted, growing heavier and more belligerent of expression, as suited one of his girth. Now visible, the scars on his arms and one almost bisecting his neck suggested that his rise in the military hierarchy had not been uneventful. “All that you say is true, oh peerless monarch,” he said, “and to your credit. But the man who is dazzled by the light of the sun is not himself the sun, and he who can perceive greatness is not necessarily great in his own right.” He cast a swift, shrewd glance Darger's way. “I believe that this stranger, this self-styled Perfect Strategist, should be tested.”

The Hidden King divested himself of the borrowed armor, throwing it onto the floor carelessly. He stripped down to his small clothes and the helmet that, because he was a slight man, made him look like a child playing with his father's war gear. Then he donned the brocade robe and removed the helmet, holding the visor mask before his face with one hand. Finally, he removed a veil from the sleeve of his robe and, placing it over his head, set the visor down on the table. His face remained as unknowable as ever.

“Well?” he said. “What test shall we give him?”

There was an uncomfortable pause as his advisors looked at one another, waiting for someone else to speak. Then White Squall said, “There is the matter of the prince of Southern Gate. If this nonesuch is the prodigy he claims to be, let him solve that. If he cannot, let us kill him and move on.”

There was a murmur of agreement among her peers.

“That is an excellent test,” the Hidden King said in a jubilant tone. “An almost impossible task, one no man can be expected to perform. Explain the particulars to our guests, White Squall.”

The chief archaeologist nodded. “Southern Gate, which I am sure you know lies along our northern border, is a minor kingdom of no great wealth. But to reach the Land of the Mountain Horses, which is our immediate objective, our armies must pass through Southern Gate—and so far its king has refused to give us permission to do so. We could conquer that obstinate land, of course. But it would cost us men and months we would rather not expend. Are you following me so far?”

“You are a model of concision and lucidity,” Darger said.

“At our request, the king of Southern Gate has sent a delegation headed by his eldest son to negotiate. The prince and his retinue are staying at an inn not far from here, as they have been for months. Our ambassadors make not the least progress with him.”

“Nor would I, were I in his place,” the ceo said. “Not only is it a matter of national pride, but of security as well. If three key cities were taken by our forces—which I am sure they could easily do—the entire kingdom could be held indefinitely. What responsible ruler would allow this possibility?”

“Even if the prince believed our assurances that we have no such intentions,” White Squall continued, “once the Abundant Kingdom conquers the Land of the Mountain Horses, Southern Gate will lie within the boundaries of the expanded country. Effectively, it then becomes a part of that country without a shot fired or an arrow loosed.

“Ultimately, we will have no choice but to invade our northern neighbor. This the prince of Southern Gate understands as well as we do, and so he is willing to negotiate for as long as we are willing to allow our plans to be delayed. But no agreement can possibly be arrived at.” She smiled coldly. “It would take a Perfect Strategist to find a way out of this conundrum.”

“Tomorrow,” the Hidden King said, “you will go to this prince. Speak with him, negotiate in my name. If he agrees to terms I consider reasonable, I will make you my advisors, second only to Powerful Locomotive and White Squall themselves. But if he does not”—he shrugged—“you, along with your servant, will die.”