Jade Dragon Mountain (37 page)

“And did he stutter? Did he forget to kowtow?”

Bao shrugged. “No,” she admitted. “He did not do so badly. He spoke through a translator, which was wise because the Emperor's speech is so refined that any foreigner would sound a fool in conversation with him. The ambassador was clever not to try.”

She considered. “But his clothes are so strange for a man. The cloth at his neck is so limp and flimsy, like a dancer's veil. And he fastens his coat so tight across his chest that it bursts out like this.” She mimed a round belly, and puffed out her cheeks to imitate Gray's round face. The women in the audience giggled.

“We carried the objects one by one before the Emperor, and he asked so many wise questions. He wanted the ambassador to tell him the age of each of the old bronze vessels from Arabia. He wanted know what gods they honored, and what they had contained, and whether they were still made today. And when he saw the portraits of the foreign kings he asked if the likenesses were good, and what powers each of them wielded in their kingdoms. There was a white coral tree. The Emperor asked how it had been cut from the ocean, and what instruments had been used to polish it, and whether there were larger corals. When we brought him the spools of green wool—it was nothing like the rough horse blankets—he wanted to know the ingredients in the dye and the size of the looms and the number of sheep needed for each length of fabric. The Emperor's questions showed him an expert in all matters.”

Bao's audience nodded and murmured among themselves. She drew her small shoulders back even straighter. “Then at the very end, that was when we brought out the finest treasure of all. The one with the jeweled city. The Emperor was very intrigued by it, and he summoned five scholars who travel with him in order that they could examine it and explain its nature to him. But they could not!”

There were gasps, and Bao nodded vehemently. “They could not say why its center emitted light, or how it could move the way the ambassador said, like a clock. The ambassador was very pleased then, for the Emperor was truly impressed.”

Voices urged her to continue, and she cocked her head coyly, pretending to need time to remember what happened next. “Well,” she said, “then the ambassador explained it. He said that inside it had the same contents as a clock, but that instead of chiming on an hour it would chime on the eclipse, when the earth was dark. He said that at that moment all the little rivers and oceans made of gemstones will move as if they were real water. The Emperor asked the ambassador to show us this wonder there in the hall. But the ambassador—and I admit he seemed brave at the time—said that it was not possible.”

“Why?”

“Was the Emperor angry?”

Bao shook her head. “No, the Emperor was patient, and he listened to the ambassador. Just the way a clock's chime cannot be initiated before its appointed time, so this device, he said, cannot be cajoled. Tomorrow, when the moon takes its place before the sun at the Emperor's command, the tellurion will reveal itself to him, and to him alone.”

There were nods of approval and interest. “And the Emperor was pleased,” said Bao.

“What of the ambassador's suit? Will we trade with these foreign strangers?”

Bao looked slightly bored. “I do not know about all that,” she said, “but the Emperor did say that nothing about these Western inventions is truly new to our empire. All the foreign wisdom was already explained in ancient times by our own
Book of Changes
. And our craftsmen could make any of these toys themselves, should the Emperor command them. Of course the ambassador had no choice but to kowtow and take his place in the audience, even though the Emperor did not answer his requests directly. But what did he think? That our Emperor would simply say yes?”

Laughing, the audience members broke into smaller groups to discuss their own interpretations of Bao's account. Li Du finished translating for Hugh Ashton. “I have no mind for these political games,” said Ashton, shaking his head in confusion. “It does not sound to me as if Sir Gray could possibly have been satisfied. However foolish I have been, I am glad that I did not come to China in the hope of securing a promise from the Emperor. The Company cannot have had great hopes of success.”

Li Du nodded. He was distracted, thinking about the tellurion. It was fitting, he thought, that it would share the pavilion with the Emperor during the eclipse. The tellurion, after all, was a symbol of control. It suggested a world that was predictable, a world that had tamed the spinning infinite of the unknown. A world that fulfilled an Emperor's fantasy, as long as the Emperor remained the glowing center around which everything else was ordered.

Jia Huan had seen this illusion of control for what it was, and seen the opportunity to replace it with an illusion of his own. To crack the Emperor's complacency, and remind the empire of the chaos that waited, ready to spread as wide and dark and infinite as the stars in the sky. And perhaps, in this and only in this, Jia Huan had been right.

*   *   *

That evening, while the Emperor was resting before the banquet, Tulishen sent for Li Du.

“You will not be required to see the Emperor,” said Tulishen, who was enjoying a small meal in his private quarters. He reached his chopsticks eagerly from one dish to another, and kept his attention on the food even as he spoke to Li Du. “It has all been taken care of, and the Emperor has decided that it will be best if the incident is kept secret.”

“But so many people know. There must be rumors spreading through Dayan.”

“The attention of the crowds is easily diverted. Of course we will monitor carefully what is being said, but the death of the foreigner is already fading from public memory.”

“And what is to happen to Jia Huan?”

“The Emperor has ordered his death.”

Li Du was silent.

“But this is what you wanted, is it not?” asked Tulishen. “I hope that you are not disappointed when I have gone to so much effort on your behalf. You never wished an audience with the Emperor—that is what you told me when you first arrived in Dayan. Today I argued that your role in the matter was very small, that you behaved with respect and loyalty, and that you are anxious to do what is asked of you. I have acted in your interest, and I plan to make a gift to you of silver taels and letters that will ensure your access to good Chinese families in the north. I will be disheartened if you do not appreciate all I have done for you.”

“What was the Emperor's reaction? Does he understand that the Jesuits were not to blame for the mistake in the calendar?”

“Ah,” said Tulishen, with a little gesture that caused dark sauce to drip from his chopsticks onto the table. “You are concerned for the safety of the foreigners. Well, perhaps you have reason to be. The Emperor is not pleased. Jia Huan is obviously insane, and if I had not been so occupied with preparations for the banquet I would easily have seen as much myself. But if the—what do they call themselves, the Jesuit's rivals—”

“The Dominicans.”

“Yes. If indeed they were involved, then this is exactly what the Emperor has been predicting. The foreigners bring their ugly, petty squabbles to China, and cause trouble in his court. They are not of great use anymore in the capital, now that our own scholars have learned what they can from them.”

“Is the calendar no longer to be trusted to the Jesuits?”

Tulishen shrugged. “I do not know. That the sabotage was possible speaks to gross ineptitude in the capital. The Emperor will need reliable officials in positions of power there. These young ones like Jia Huan may appear very clever, but they are easily manipulated by thoughtless ideologies. Yes—the Emperor will be making new appointments.”

“And you hope that you will be one of them.”

“What a sour tone you are taking. As usual you fail to differentiate between what is important and what is not. The matter is no longer your concern. You have no sense of the broader implications. You did well. You were a help to me. As I said, I will provide you certain gifts for the next stage of your journey. But remember—
there is no banquet, however sumptuous, from which the guests do not disperse
. Your part is ended, just as you wanted it to. You are lucky that the Emperor has chosen to overlook your involvement, as an exile, in affairs of such gravity.”

“Then I am now free to leave Dayan?”

“Ah,” said Tulishen, gesturing again with his chopsticks, “there is one more task for you here. It is, in fact, more of an honor than a task. Sir Gray has requested that you be on the viewing platform with us tomorrow to translate for him if necessary. He is uncomfortable with the variety of accents and dialects among the official translators. And he wishes to thank you for your efforts, which saved him considerable embarrassment. What else did he say?” Tulishen paused to remember. “Ah, yes, he said to remind you that you promised to play a game of chess with him before you part ways. He feels that he has become more accomplished at the game.”

“He could have told me these things himself tonight at the banquet.”

“Perhaps, but you will not be seated close to each other. As you and the storyteller have become friends, I have placed you with the performers. I am sorry that you will not have a view of the Emperor from your seat, but you have seen how much anxiety and effort has gone into the table arrangements in these final days of preparation.”

Tulishen wiped his mouth with a delicate white napkin and stood up. “Now please excuse me. The musicians are to begin soon, and the guests will make their kowtows and presentations of wine. Perhaps you and I will speak again later in the evening.”

They parted with the unspoken understanding that neither of them had any intention of speaking to the other at the banquet, where hundreds of guests would be vying for the Emperor's notice.

Li Du, knowing that it would be some time before the lower-ranking tables would be seated, walked the paths of the mansion that snaked upward toward the pavilion on the hill. From the higher vantage point he could see the mountain rising beyond the sloping roofs. He thought of the Khampa and wondered whether they had returned by now to their home villages, or whether they were camped on one of those jagged snowy passes.

The sun had set, but the air was still bright with the cooling fire of the day. The mountain was the color of slate against the sky that glowed pale yellow and green. The great dragon was quiet, more like a shape cut from the sky than an object with dimension and weight. Li Du felt that he was looking at a distant painting that required only a few lines to convey an entire world.

 

Chapter 22

The first banquet of the festival began just after sunset. Li Du sat with Hamza at one of the tables farthest from the Emperor. Around the seated guests, servants moved to and from the tables like swallows, taking plates away and replacing them with new ones, pouring wine and tea, trimming wicks, refilling the rice bowls and providing fresh chopsticks to replace those that had fallen to the floor.

Around the perimeter of the hall were the guards, bannermen of the Emperor and of the magistrate, stern and perfect in round black hats tied with slim bands of silk under their chins, single peacock feathers falling down their backs, wearing swords in green sheaths with gold details and blue tassels hanging from the hilts. Their cloaks were somber, crisp gray, which, rather than making them unobtrusive, made them stand out against the busy embroidered finery of the banquet and its guests.

Boys with rouged cheeks poured wine, and the table was heavy with food, delicacies and tributes from all over the province and from neighboring provinces also. The bronze wine vessels glowed, and acrobats cartwheeled and jumped and somersaulted down the center aisle. The table was heavy with food, glistening with oil and with the gentle beads of condensed steam.

Within Li Du's reach, there were deer tails, bear paws, boar tongues, pheasants, organs, bones of tigers, geese, pigs, fish, salmon, duck, shrimp, carp, wild onions, leeks, mushrooms, and bamboo slices. There were many more dishes that he could not reach, reserved for the guests of higher rank, as was the finest porcelain.

Hamza looked over his shoulder at a maid who removed a bowl of picked-over bones, and said to Li Du, “There is a story of a princess who had to impress a sultan at a banquet. She put the bones left from the feast in her sleeves, and when she danced for the court she flung her arms up gracefully, and swans flew from the silk around her slender wrists. Of course, when her jealous stepsisters tried to copy her, they only scattered bones in the face of the sultan.”

“Is that one of the stories you will tell tonight?”

“Perhaps.”

“You mean you do not decide in advance what stories you will tell?”

“Sometimes I do. In this case I am sure of at least one. The rest will depend on the faces I see before me, and what I find inspiring about the atmosphere.” Hamza looked around him appreciatively. “It is a fine banquet,” he said, “but I must say that it is nothing compared to those of the Mughal king.”

“The Emperor does not like ostentation beyond what is appropriate, especially when he is traveling.”

Hamza lifted his eyebrows in an incredulous expression. “Have you not noticed that there is a dragon the length of an entire village carved into the eastern field?”

Li Du smiled. “For an emperor and an eclipse, such decorations are expected. Anything less would be considered cheap, I understand.”

“Well,” said Hamza, “I must go prepare my other self.”

*   *   *

The guests invited to the performance drew in their breaths in amazement when they came to the garden stage set at the base of Lion Hill, on the west end of the mansion. The lanterns were lit from the hill's crown all the way down to the stage, around the stone pavilion where the audience was to sit, and onto the raised dais where the emperor's throne had been placed. It was as if a river of stars was flowing down through the darkness, each twinkling, some with red, others with white flame, and still others inexplicably blue or green. The sky was starry, but there was no moon.