Five Odd Honors (45 page)

Loyal Wind did, and although he felt humiliated by how meekly he was forced to accept this grooming—feeling rather like a horse being prepared for parade—he decided nothing would be gained by protesting. He even tried to enjoy the scrubbing and the attentions of the skilled attendants, but doing so was difficult.

No one would speak to him. The official had moved away to a bench near the entrance, and appeared engrossed in a scroll he removed from one of his capacious sleeves.

Eventually, garbed in rich red robes embroidered (somewhat hastily, Loyal Wind thought) with a horse on the back and on each of the sleeves, Loyal Wind was ready. The slippers he had been given to wear were a trifle oversized, and he wondered if that was deliberate, to make him clumsy if he should choose to run.

Anything is possible,
he thought.

Loyal Wind wondered if he would be taken to a waiting area, if he would find some of the others there, similarly fresh from being bathed and groomed. Instead, the official led the way into an inner courtyard. There their entourage swelled to a dozen guards, most armed with clubs but several carrying spears. The message was unspoken but no less clear. Were Loyal Wind to try anything foolish, he would be beaten down.

Loyal Wind did not expect to be warned again, nor was he.

They left the inner courtyard, passing into a larger, central building. Here the corridors were wider, floored in marble or intricately patterned wood rather than the more utilitarian stone of the building they had just left.

The walls were ornamented with subdued taste. There were four-clawed dragons, but no sign of the imperial five-clawed version. The ch’i-lin, who only appears when the ruler is wise and just, was depicted repeatedly, as were emblems for prosperity and wisdom.

Nothing for happiness, though,
Loyal Wind thought.
I guess that says something. Certainly the emphasis on the ch’i-lin does.

Wide, double-paneled doors led to other, even wider corridors, and these to even grander entries. Despite the vastness of the palace, they passed no one. Corridors were empty. There were no sounds, no smothered giggles from functionaries hurrying out of sight, no hints of distant music, only perfect silence and the matched footsteps of the guards who escorted Loyal Wind and the nameless official.

At last they came to a pair of doors that, although wider than the rest, was devoid of the elegant carvings Loyal Wind had seen elsewhere. It was as if whoever was within did not wish to give anything away about himself or his desires.

The foremost guards rapped on the door with the butts of their clubs. In answer, the doors swung open.

“Enter,” the official said, stepping back to let Loyal Wind precede him, “and kowtow most profoundly before Li Szu, creator of the universe, absolute ruler of all these Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice, soon to bring justice and order and right living to all lands no matter how far they may be.”

Loyal Wind did as he was told, performing the kowtow after the fashion demanded for a reigning emperor. When he was finished, he remained crouched on all fours, but dared to sneak a glance at the man who claimed to be the creator of a universe.

Li Szu was a sparely built man who was certainly at least seventy, and quite possibly much older. He wore his hair and beard cut in the fashion popularized by Confucius—or at least in the fashion that great sage was most frequently shown wearing in art. Li Szu was clad as a Mandarin, with a scholar’s rectangular hat, pointed beard, and long hair. Despite his grandiose claims, Li Szu did not wear the robes of an emperor, but rather those of a scholar of the highest rank.

Loyal Wind tried to decide whether this was an indication of modesty or the reverse. In his teachings, Confucius frequently advocated neither extreme, saying that a man should represent himself as what he was, no more, but certainly no less.

If I could get a feeling for what Li Szu’s game is,
Loyal Wind thought,
I might better know how to plan the tactics of my approach. For now, I shall treat him like an emperor, as his subjects do, but include the grace notes accorded to a scholar.

“Rise, Loyal Wind,” said Li Szu. His voice was as spare as his frame, but not in the least reedy or shrill. It was the voice of one who prefers whispers, and who commands so much power that he has never needed to shout.

Loyal Wind rose, feeling the skirts of his formal robes fall into place. Good silk. Heavy, yet densely woven. Looking at the man before him, Loyal Wind understood that this had nothing to do with him, nor with any desire to reflect his own honors and achievements. Those who came before Li Szu would always be clad as that man thought they should be, no more, but certainly no less.

We are dolls in a shadow play of his making,
Loyal Wind thought.
But what is the script? My role seems to be that of courtier and advisor, as I was before the Exile.

Li Szu was seated upon a chair set upon a raised dais. It was not a throne. Rather it was the chair of a high official who represents the emperor, the type of chair upon which the governor of a large province might sit when receiving homage ostensibly for his ruler, but in reality for himself.

Without letting his gaze wander, Loyal Wind assessed who else was in the room. Guards flanked the raised dais, their expressions as emotionless as those of painted Men Shen upon a door. The armor and weapons were elaborate, but from how the edges of the heads of the spears cut the light, Loyal Wind did not doubt that these were more than ornamental weapons.

Clerks hovered just out of the imperial line of sight, ready to assist but not intruding. A few scribes sat at a long table, brushes ready to dip into the ink prepared on the stones, long pieces of paper unrolled and waiting.

Loyal Wind noted that even the least clerk wore the cap buttons of officials of notable rank. Most wore robes reserved for those of higher ranks, with ornaments on their sleeves indicating years of faithful and illustrious service.

Like a general,
Loyal Wind thought,
whose assistants are themselves ranking officers, qualified to command large forces. Li Szu’s robes say he is but a scholar, but his surroundings say otherwise.

After giving the command to rise, Li Szu kept silent for a great while. Now he spoke.

“Bring a chair for the great general! Bring him tea and refreshments.”

Loyal Wind was surprised to be offered the opportunity to sit in the presence of greatness, but he obeyed when a chair was brought.

Li Szu smiled benignly as a green tea smelling lightly of fresh melons was poured. He accepted a cup for himself from the same pot. A steamer filled with elegant dumplings was brought, and each was permitted to serve himself.

Mute reassurance,
Loyal Wind thought,
that I need not fear poison.

The dumplings were perfect, filled with savory, salty things that went very well with the slightly sweet tea. Host and guest shared for a time, then Li Szu wiped his fingers and motioned for his cup to be refilled.

“Loyal Wind, you have been an advisor to an emperor, a commander of vast forces.”

The statement was not phrased as a question, so Loyal Wind did not reply. Instead he inclined his head slightly, acknowledgment of what had been said, but that was all.

“As one who must make decisions that will guide a great enterprise, I have need of advice.”

Somehow I doubt that,
Loyal Wind thought, but he schooled his face into impassivity that he hoped would be taken as attentiveness.
The next thing he says will give me some inkling as to what game he is playing.

Li Szu leaned forward slightly. The fall of his ostensible scholar’s robes showed a weight and weave of silk that gave lie to any claim of humility. The worked gold and coral buttons on his cap caught the light and gave it back transformed into bloody red.

“Tell me, Loyal Wind, how would you deal with a thief?”

Brenda sat
tucked into bed, the fantasy novel she’d been reading—something about a woman raised by wolves—set beside her on top of the sheets.

Two days had passed since Brenda’s return from the Land Beneath the Hills, a perfectly good weekend spent mostly in bed recovering from massive ch’i depletion. The drain hadn’t been as bad as the first time, during the summer. She’d been spared the vomiting and aversion to light, but she’d still been so exhausted that she could hardly raise her head from the pillow.

At first, Shannon had teased her, thinking that Parnell and Brenda had gotten a bit wild. Brenda’s usual limit was a couple of beers, and she’d never acquired a taste for anything that involved drawing smoke into her lungs.

When Brenda still looked pretty bad by noon, and turned down anything other than yogurt and ice cream, Shannon offered to run to the drugstore for anything and everything that might ease the symptoms. By mid afternoon on Saturday, Brenda had been willing to choke down a few aspirin and even contemplate eating something semisolid.

Right about the time Shannon might have grown tired of playing ministering angel, Parnell showed up and offered to take over.

“As you should!” Shannon said, swatting him not quite playfully. “After all, you did this to her.”

Brenda saw the look Parnell shot her and gave a minuscule shake of her head.

No. I haven’t given away any of your—or our—secrets.

For a moment, Parnell had looked as if he might sass Shannon back, but instead he had looked appropriately contrite.

“And who would have thought an evening of dancing and a stroll on the green would have done this to such a fine lass as our Brenda?”

“Maybe it wasn’t the dancing, but the st—rolling,” Shannon replied, spacing the syllables of the last word to make it clear she thought a bit of rolling about in the grass on a late September evening might have caused Brenda to catch a chill.

Shannon relented, though. Brenda remembered hearing parts of a soft phone conversation between her and Dermott, making plans to join him when he got back from a soccer tournament: “If Brenda’s well enough, maybe I will let you take over.”

“Go on,” Brenda urged. “I’m probably just going to sleep anyhow.”

Shannon let herself be convinced, and Brenda had indeed slept. When Shannon woke Sunday morning to get ready for Mass—whatever she was or was not doing with Dermott hadn’t broken her of that habit yet—she’d fussed over Brenda, fetching her fresh water, a book, a container of yogurt (Brenda was beginning to hate the stuff , even the raspberry) from the fridge. Shannon was heading out the door when Brenda called after her.

“Hey. Can you grab me my laptop? I think I feel well enough to check my e-mail.”

Shannon had complied, and though Brenda had been too tired to do more than skim, she had reassured herself of two things: Nothing had gone wrong, and the Orphans still remained singularly uncommunicative. There was a chatty e-mail from Nissa with attached pictures of Lani doing some song and dance routine, but nothing was even hinted about the Lands, the scouts, or anything else.

Miffed, Brenda didn’t even bother to reply, although Lani had looked amazingly cute, and she was glad that Nissa had promised to link some video as soon as she got it loaded. She was leaning her head back, closing her eyes to rest them, when she remembered a file she hadn’t looked at in what seemed like weeks.

Once she’d regained some strength, Brenda pulled it up. It was a collection of photos from her time in California. Many had been taken to e-mail to her mom so that Keely could see what Brenda was doing that summer.

There was Des, wearing a hot pink mandarin hat, wildly stirring variousingredients in a wok in Pearl’s kitchen. There was Riprap, leaping in the air to slam-dunk a basketball. There was Pearl, cool and elegant, seated behind her desk, a cup of green tea gently steaming at her elbow despite the summer heat. There were pictures of Nissa and Lani, too, but none of the Landers, with one glaring exception.

Most of the file contained pictures of Flying Claw. The first one was a phonecam picture taken by Nissa soon after “Foster,” as they then called him, had lost his memory. That hadn’t been the first time Brenda had seen him, of course. That was reserved for a memorable encounter in a parking garage in LoDo, Denver, but Brenda hadn’t been in a position to take pictures then.