Jade Dragon Mountain (38 page)

The flagstones were covered with blankets and soft shining cushions of silk perfumed with musk and ambergris. The incense burners breathed flowery smoke into the air, and the guests looked like dark butterflies in their finery.

Hamza began:

“There was once a man named Sayih who decided, after many travels, to return to the kingdom of his birth.

“So he sailed over three oceans until at last he saw the mountains of his own land. He climbed to the high passes where blue ice glowed with inner light. He trod the paths through the dark forest where ancient trees debated philosophy in the old language. Finally, he crossed the desert whose sands were the crushed mirrors of a previous age. And at last he came to the gates of the city that had been his home.

“Now it happened that the Sultan of this kingdom—whose palace stood in this very city—had been for some time in a black mood, for it had occurred to him that his kingdom and all its wonders would someday crumble to dust. The thought had thrown him into such a state of melancholy that he had secluded himself like one in mourning, and little had been seen of him.

“His advisors had come to him with a solution. ‘O, great Sultan,' they said, ‘the answer to your melancholy is simple. You must record the beauty of this kingdom. Summon the greatest artists to your palace, so that you may judge which among them can produce the most exact copy of all the delights of this land. The winner will become your court painter, and will make paintings so that the wonders of your realm will never be lost.'

“The Sultan was well pleased, and word spread throughout the kingdom of the competition that was to take place. When the day scheduled for the judgment finally arrived, the entire city was in a state of excitement. The advisors had arranged for the Sultan to view the paintings in the golden pavilion in his favorite garden, high on a hill at the center of the city. The citizens gathered to watch.

“There were three contestants. The first was a stern, proud man who had studied the artists of the past. The second was a woman from the east of the kingdom renowned for her command over every color in existence. The third, as you may have guessed, was none other than Sayih.

“At the Sultan's command, the first artist pulled the cloth from his painting. It showed a feast so splendid that everyone who saw it swallowed with sudden hunger. As they stared, a nightingale flew from its perch and tried to pluck a grape from the painted banquet table. The bird fluttered away quickly, for it was a vain creature and embarrassed to have appeared foolish.

“‘This must be the greatest painting,' said the Sultan, ‘for it has fooled the natural world into believing that it is real.'

“Nevertheless, he commanded the second artist to remove the cloth from her work. But she bowed low and said, ‘O, Sultan, there is no cloth over my work.' And the Sultan was amazed to find that the artist spoke the truth. The drape of cloth was not real, but was itself the painting.

“‘Then this must be the winning painting,' said the Sultan, ‘for it has fooled the Sultan of the kingdom.'

“Only Sayih's painting remained, and the advisers and crowd muttered among themselves that it was impossible for this stranger with old clothes and an untrimmed beard to improve on the work of the first two artists.

“‘Remove the cloth,' said the Sultan, ‘and show me your painting.'

“‘Great Sultan,' said Sayih, ‘You wish to capture your kingdom in a painting that copies it exactly, and this is what I have brought you.'

“And he lifted the cloth away.

“The Sultan raised his eyebrows and approached the painting. In the frame he saw the crowds before him, so real that they appeared to move and breathe. Beyond them he saw the sparkling deserts, beyond that, the shifting trees of the towering forest, and beyond that, the icy glow of the mountains.

“Then the Sultan stepped forward and reached out to touch the painting. But of course his hand passed through it, for it was an empty frame.

“‘Great Sultan,' said Sayih, ‘I have journeyed through all the lands that you see, and beyond the far oceans. Only today have I returned to this city, where the markets overflow with sweet fruits from the dry desert trees, dark berries from the forests, and musky herbs from the mountains. And as I passed through the streets I inhaled the scent of this place, and ate its food, and greeted old friends, and sat in the warm sunshine by a marble fountain. There is no painted illusion that can capture your kingdom.'

“‘So,' said the Sultan, ‘I was right to mourn, for there is nothing to stop it all turning to dust.'

“The Sultan began to sink once more into despondency, and the crowd grew silent.

“‘O, Sultan,' said Sayih, ‘do not despair. For I have seen many wonders in my travels and can describe them to you for your enjoyment. I can tell you of the reflections of the old gods in the desert ponds. I can tell you what the trees in the distant forests are saying. I can tell you the source of the glow in the mountain ice. And I can tell you what lies beyond the oceans.'

“‘Well,' said the Sultan, ‘if you can tell me a tale that is of interest to me, perhaps I will not throw you into prison for your impudence.'

“And so the traveler told the following tale.…”

And Hamza went on. He told of kingdoms under the ocean, of one-eyed giants and sailor rogues. He told of a jester who was murdered three times, and of twin sisters who saved a prince from a curse.

The hour was late when he was allowed to stop, and he bowed deeply, as drunk in his own way as the audience in theirs. One by one the lanterns on the hill winked out, snuffed by servants who trudged up the paths in the dark and made sure to dampen the grass so that no spark could start a fire.

 

The Eclipse

 

Chapter 23

Half an hour before the eclipse was to begin, the only cloud in sight was draped luxuriously over the eastern shoulder of the mountain. Below the festival field the rooftops of Dayan sloped in layers and levels of mossy gray. For the first time in weeks its streets were quiet and empty. That was because every resident, its guests, its merchants, and its officials were gathered in the festival field. There were, according to the secretary whose task it was to tally the register, more than six thousand people in attendance.

Li Du had been given a seat on one of the eight viewing platforms built on either side of the emperor's pavilion. From this vantage point he could see the entire length of the field and the city beyond it. The performances had all been halted in anticipation of the eclipse, and the crowds surged up over the stages so that the only thing visible other than people was the flashing water of the canal that snaked from one end to the other. Even the small tiled bridges were obscured by the people standing or sitting on them.

Shading his eyes from the sun, Li Du looked at the pavilion that rose three levels higher than the other structures. It looked nothing like the skeletal, scaffolded stage that he had seen before. Now its entire base was gold plated and covered in etched dragons with jade and emerald scales and ruby eyes. From that glinting foundation rose the tiers of the pavilion, the top of which was held up by more dragons, carved in wood. These were unusual dragons, different from the traditional Chinese style. Their bodies were broader and decorated with carvings of geometric tangles and knots and braids. These dragons were the beams contributed by Nicholas Gray, and appeared to hold the uppermost platform aloft on their claws and tails.

Li Du returned his attention to the people around him. Magistrate Tulishen sat in the center on a wooden chair padded with silk cushions. Lady Chen was engaged in discussion with the first consort of the magistrate from Dali, shaded by a parasol made of a net strung with pearls and hung around the edges with a fringe of tiny golden fruits. It was the maid Bao who held the parasol, and Li Du could see by her pinched mouth and white fingers that it was very heavy. Lady Chen smiled and nodded sympathetically while the other woman spoke, but occasionally her glance wandered to peruse the faces of the other high officials and ladies. She wore a dark blue robe embroidered with silver, and her hair was dressed with silver butterflies.

Hugh Ashton had acquitted himself well in his interactions that day, with the help of Li Du as his translator, and Li Du was relieved that the young scholar had not been regarded with any particular suspicion. Now Ashton sat on his own chair, quiet and tired, lost in thought amid the excited babble of words that he did not understand. Li Du had not seen Hamza, Mu Gao, or Old Mu for some hours, and imagined, with a little bit of envy, that they were somewhere lost in the comfortable solidarity of the milling crowds. He guessed they were close to one of the clouds of steam issuing from the food stalls scattered throughout the field.

Li Du looked at the sky, in which the sun shone so bright it seemed to him that it was determined to ward off the approaching moon, or to melt its attacker in its obstinate fire.

The only unoccupied seat was Nicholas Gray's. Tulishen was watching the Emperor, who had begun to ascend the stairs to the top of his pavilion. Tulishen turned his head sharply when Li Du rose and leaned down to ask him quietly, “Where is Sir Gray?”

Tulishen looked at the empty chair and frowned. “If he made other arrangements to view the eclipse, he should have told me. There were many important individuals who offered expensive favors in return for space among us. I could have pleased two more of them, since your translation would not have been necessary either.”

“Does it not seem strange to you that he would give up such a vantage point, so close to the Emperor and to his Company's own work?”

“Perhaps it is a little bit strange. But likely he has become distracted, or could not make his way quickly enough through the crowds. You see the chaos down there. Without soldiers to create a path through them, it would be difficult to move from one place to another now.”

The Emperor now stood on the top of the pavilion, towering above them and above the crowds that began to cheer at the sight of him. Li Du could barely make out the planes of his face, stern as a carving. His costume was a mixture of Manchu and Chinese style, saffron silk emblazoned with red dragons accented with blue and green swirls of embroidered cloud. In the glaring sunlight he shone as if he were an extension of the golden pavilion itself, a giant standing above his empire, glinting and invulnerable. Behind him on the pavilion stood a line of archers in gray, still as statues. On the ground at the base of the pavilion were more soldiers standing in ranks between the Emperor and the people.

Li Du felt the back of his neck prickle. He glanced at the ground in case Nicholas Gray was only now approaching, but there was no sign of him. The consort who was speaking to Lady Chen laughed, a false, affected warble that increased Li Du's anxiety. Something was wrong. Why wasn't Gray here? Gray had been obsessed with this moment, even more obsessed than everyone else, from the time Li Du had first spoken to him. Gray's concern, through everything that had happened, had always been with the moment of the eclipse. It was the chance to please the Emperor, to charm him and entice him with the skill of foreign clockmakers and jewelers. Gray would never have given up this place, the closest to the Emperor of any in the field.

The faces of the crowd were too numerous, and Li Du knew that there was no hope of identifying Gray among them. He noticed individuals only to lose them again: two old women kneeling and bobbing their heads in prayer, a mother trying to hush an upset baby, three men arguing and gesticulating at the sun, each of them wanting to be the first to see the eclipse begin. Anxiety, like the crackling pressure in the air before a storm, fed upon itself and urged the crowd to murmur more loudly and to look around them in anticipation and fear.

He returned his gaze to the emperor's pavilion. Now the soldiers at the base of it were preparing the fireworks that would burst from the mouths of stone dragons, surrounding the pavilion in sprays of colored fire. The display had been meticulously planned.

From the top of the Emperor's pavilion there drifted a chime so faint Li Du could not tell whether it was real or imagined. The Emperor raised his arms, and a sudden hush fell like a shadow across the field. There was something impossible about that silence in a space filled with so many breathing souls. Li Du glanced at Lady Chen and saw that her eyes were full of tears. He felt an answering sting in his own eyes.

Then the cries began, and all over the field arms were raised, pointing at the sun. The nobles on the carved platforms fumbled for their disks of smoked glass and raised them to their eyes. They all looked at the white, burning sun and saw, very slowly, the perfect curve of darkness dipping into it.

Li Du heard a second ghostly chime. What was the Emperor seeing? Li Du pictured the tiny sapphire oceans shifting underneath the jeweled ships, the tiny drums tapping in the bell towers, the cherry trees clicking into pink gemstone blossoms. And the glowing glass sun. What was it called? Phosphorus. A chemical of fire.
Everything
, he thought,
everything has been about this moment. It has all come to this moment. This moment.

The light began to change. The entire world was dimming, imperceptibly, into night. Li Du looked at the carved wooden dragons clutching the emperor's pavilion. He heard the strike of flints from the ground behind him as the fireworks were placed in their positions. And suddenly he knew with absolute certainty what was about to happen.

He stood up. No one looked at him. He put his hand on Tulishen's shoulder and whispered in his ear. “You must get the Emperor down from the podium.”