by Jeff Wheeler
“Um,” he fumbled, then gestured for her to come out of the road. She noticed others were starting to stare at her as well.
“What?” she demanded, following him.
“Your hair is showing,” he said, whispering.
She realized that when the big thief had yanked on her wig, he’d pulled loose one of her braided coils. Quion was right, one of the braids was dangling down her back. She’d been so caught up in the rush of her victory, she hadn’t noticed. She frowned and reached back to try to fix it.
“I can help,” he said, and reached to assist, but she butted him with her elbow.
“I don’t need help,” she said. Soon it was tucked beneath the wig. “Let’s go.”
Quion walked alongside her, quiet, as she led the way to King Budai’s palace at the center of town. They crossed another bridge, one of three that led to the main square of the town. This was the hub of Wangfujing, the place where people crowded and gossiped. Bingmei stopped at the peak of the bridge, drinking in the sight of the glowing lanterns on both sides of the river, the noises, and the smells. Several months had passed since she’d last stood there. Soon it would all be blanketed in snow, the days surrendered to the Dragon of Night.
Quion approached and stood next to her, gazing at the river. He rested his elbows on the railing. There were stone carvings of animals on the support stays at regular intervals.
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you,” he said.
She snorted. “You’re like other boys. You don’t think women can be fighters. But we can. We just have to work harder to prove it.”
“You’re very brave,” he said.
That mollified her a little. “Don’t we all have to be? In order to survive this harsh world?”
He nodded in agreement. “You especially.”
She wrinkled her brow. “How so?”
“My father told me that some children are born . . . like you,” he added, his voice dropping lower. “The winter sickness. It’s rare. He . . . he said parents will sometimes abandon a baby if they have it. Being different is dangerous.”
His expression was considerate, not mocking. He was perhaps a fool, but he wasn’t mean-spirited.
“Kunmia says that once I have a reputation, the color of my hair won’t matter. Everyone in the ensign knows. I don’t mind you knowing. But if you tease me about it . . .”
He nodded vigorously. “I won’t. I promise.”
She looked back at the water. “Thank you for telling me. Back there. I hadn’t noticed the looks I was getting. Marenqo would have noticed it right away. Well, we should go to the palace to meet the others.”
“Does your ensign live here?” he asked her while straightening.
“Wangfujing? No, we have our own quonsuun up in the mountains.”
He wrinkled his brow. “What’s a quonsuun?”
She shrugged. “That’s just what they’re called. They were holy places, I think, back when the ancients lived here. Set away from the towns and villages. Most are up in the mountains. It’s where we train, where we live. Kunmia’s is very prominent. We stay there during the dark season.”
“Oh,” Quion said. “I’d like to see it.”
“You might,” Bingmei said. “Kunmia might want you to join us. You have skills that would be useful, I think. Like Marenqo.”
Quion pursed his lips and shrugged. He really was a fool. He didn’t realize the honor it would be if Kunmia were to issue an invitation.
“Do you want another stick of scorpions before we go?” she asked, grinning.
His eyes lit up. “I’ll pay this time.”
She let him.
King Budai’s palace in Wangfujing was girded by a high stone wall nearly three times Bingmei’s height. There was nothing that revealed the palace that lay beyond. The commoners who lived in Wangfujing would never be permitted inside. Quion gawked at the wall and the two enormous statues of toads that bracketed the entrance. The doors had probably been replaced recently, for Bingmei noticed the wood was a uniform stain. Each was intricately carved with scenes featuring various animals, and the ring handles were clenched in the jaws of two metal lions. The doorway alone was enough to flaunt the power of the king who resided inside.
Bingmei grasped one of the rings and tapped it against the brass rivets beneath it to knock.
After a brief wait, she heard the groan of the hinges, and one of the heavy doors opened. Inside, torchlight revealed the officers’ uniforms. Marenqo stood beside them, his expression impatient, and bid her enter.
As Quion followed her in, he gaped at the lush decorations within the doors, at the marble pathway, inlaid with brass, that led through an arrangement of trees and flowers growing out of tall urns full of earth. A glimpse of the palace could be seen beyond the foliage.
“You’re late,” Marenqo chided. “I’ve had to wait for you.”
“Has the feast started yet?” Bingmei asked sweetly.
“That will happen later. Come, Kunmia wants to see you quickly.”
“Me?” Bingmei asked.
“No, the fisherman’s son.”
“Truly?” Quion asked, looking flummoxed. He didn’t know Marenqo’s sense of humor.
“Don’t be a fool. She wants to see Bingmei in the throne room. Bao Budai already has another job for us.” He wagged his eyebrows at her.
“It’s too late in the season to start another one,” Bingmei said.
“All the more reason to hurry, then. Come along!” He gave her an enigmatic grin. “Also, there’s another ensign here from the kingdom of Sajinau. Budai wants us to work with them on this mission.”
That was a strange request, especially since the others were affiliated with a different kingdom. Bingmei felt a throb of concern in her heart. “Why would we need the help of another ensign?”
“I don’t know,” Marenqo said with delight. “But isn’t it curious?”
As they walked along the path, the smell of the fresh flowers made her want to linger, but her desire to learn what was happening drove her on. Although the palace itself was grand, the inner gardens were her favorite part of the estate. The ivy growing on the pillars, the moss thick on the walls. The sound of lapping water from the spring. It was one of her favorite places, surrounded by the fresh flowers cultivated only by the extraordinarily wealthy. Nature masked the obvious.
Inside the palace, the sweaty smell of greed was nearly intolerable.
CHAPTER FIVE
King Budai
Every person had a smell. This was not just the smell of smoke from one who sat too close to a fire. Or the smell of a laborer’s sweat. A person’s character, their motives and drives, also came off them as a scent. Or at least it did for Bingmei. King Budai smelled like greed, which had a lemony tang mixed with sweat and sometimes cooked yams. Even so, he was not a dishonest man. There was nothing rotten about his motives. He craved power, treasure, artifacts, and boundless wealth. It was a purpose that drove him in all his decisions—and, according to Bingmei’s nose, poisoned him.
Bingmei entered the king’s throne room alone, Marenqo steering Quion in another direction. The throne room was a collection of the king’s trophies, rare and costly items displayed on various decorative pedestals and shelves. There were figurines of animals carved by master craftsmen from every stone imaginable. Many were of giant toads or frogs, which the king loved to collect. Weapons adorned the walls, bound in meiwood scabbards and positioned to highlight their elegance. Delicate fans were encased in glass to protect them from further deterioration. Fragrant jasmine burned on an incense stand, but its sweet perfume could not mask the sharp scent of greed. Guards were positioned at the doors leading in. No one stole from King Budai. His vengeance was swift and terrible.
King Budai was a large man. It was said he’d been a powerful warrior in his youth, but his covetousness extended to a powerful hunger for food. His throne was made of meiwood inlaid with gold, and velvet cushions padded his plump posterior. Two snow leo
pards were chained at the foot of the dais atop which his immaculate chair was positioned. One of the leopards lifted its head and yawned as Bingmei approached.
Budai’s meaty arm lowered, and he began tapping the armrest. Kunmia sat in a smaller chair in front of him, beside a strange man. The man’s saber and his martial posture hinted he might be the leader of the other ensign. He had long hair, partly braided in the back, and an arrogant look. The coppery smell of pride made her nose wrinkle.
Her eyes darted to the long wooden box near Kunmia’s boot. The Phoenix Blade was in that box—it called to her.
“Ah, there she is,” King Budai said as Bingmei approached. “The ice rose. Bingmei. Welcome back to Wangfujing, my dear. Kunmia Suun says you acquitted yourself well. But of course you would. You are the great Jiao’s granddaughter.” He gave her a broad grin. He loved knowing about people’s connections, especially if they had any degree of fame or honor. He’d taken an interest in her from the first time they’d met, and had even promised to help her reclaim her parents’ ensign—with a suitable loan, of course. It would take a great deal of money to accomplish it.
“Thank you, my lord,” Bingmei said. “I am pleased his memory has not dimmed.”
“Everything dims with time, my dear,” Budai said. “Look at this palace. Nothing like the splendor of its illustrious past. It must have been a famous port long ago. But now . . . so paltry. I hope to restore it to its former glory. You must be thirsty after your travels. Have some water from our ancestors’ well.” He snapped his fingers, and a servant was dispatched with a brass pitcher and goblet, which was promptly filled and handed to her.
Bingmei sipped the lukewarm drink gratefully. She was especially thirsty after chasing the thief down. The palace was built over a well, and only the palace’s residents and their honored guests could drink of the water.
Two other servants idled in the square-shaped room, Bingmei noticed, and another man walked around examining the collections. He was tall, also long-haired, and had a disinterested look on his face as he stared at the pieces. His dress reminded her of the man seated beside Kunmia. She guessed him to be just a few years older than herself.
“Drink your fill,” Budai encouraged after she lowered the goblet. Bingmei nodded and finished the cup before handing it back to the servant.
Budai leaned forward in his chair, the cushion making a squishing sound as he did so. “You are trusted by Kunmia Suun, young Bingmei. Your estimable master will not make this decision without your advice. That speaks highly of you, does it not? That means I value you as well. Let us counsel together. Come closer.”
Bingmei did as she was asked, coming to a stop next to her master, who sat with a serious expression, her hands folded on her lap. The man seated beside Kunmia eyed Bingmei skeptically.
“This is Bao Damanhur,” Budai said, gesturing to the man. “Leader of an ensign from Sajinau. While I prefer baldness, these fellows never cut their hair. Unless”—Budai grinned, his own dome shining in the lamplight, and wagged his finger—“they are defeated in battle! The longer the hair, the more victories! At least, that is what they claim in Sajinau.” He chuckled softly.
“A bald man insulting our ways, Budai?” said the other man.
“I am bald because I worry so much about the prosperity of my people,” said Budai in sugary tones.
“The prosperity of your people,” said Bao Damanhur. “Your words drip with sincerity, great king.”
“Alas,” Budai said, “Damanhur is not a courtier. But I forgive his insolence because he is a powerful swordsman. The best in Sajinau. Now to the point. He brought me something found by a fisherman last moon. The fisherman wished to sell it to raise money.” He snapped his fingers twice, and a servant rushed to a pedestal on which a fragment of broken stone was displayed. The servant hefted it, grunting, for apparently it was heavy, carried it to the king’s throne, and set it down on the dais.
As Bingmei examined it, she saw what looked to be a wall crenellation, carved into a pattern of dragons, faint and blemished on the edging. It looked very old. Bingmei crouched to examine it more closely.
“What do you see, young Bingmei?” asked Budai in a silky voice. The lemony smell was getting stronger. The king was keenly interested in this piece of rubble. She’d seen much finer pieces before. Something was special about this one.
She looked up at him. “Where did the fisherman find it?”
King Budai grinned. “That we will not reveal until we have a bargain.”
Bingmei glanced at Kunmia, whose eyes were fixed on Budai. She smelled uneasy.
“What bargain?” Bingmei asked.
“It was found by a glacier. The fisherman said it is starting to melt. There’s a waterfall coming down. I tell you this only because there are hundreds of glaciers, and the north rim is so vast, you’d never find it without knowing where to look.” His eyes glittered. “There was an even larger piece, the fisherman said. He ventured farther north than he’d ever been, trying new waters, and one of his traps got stuck in the river. So he swam down to free it, only to find the stone. The waters up north are as clear as glass. It was too heavy to bring, so he broke off just a piece of it. This piece,” he said, gesturing to the stone.
The king steepled his enormous fingers together. “It was found in a place where no artifacts have ever been found. We’ve plundered from the past so many times, we think there are no troves left. But there are still myths about Fusang, the Summer Palace.”
Bingmei had heard many stories about the ancient ones and the palaces they’d left behind. Legends handed down from person to person. Her parents had told her about the Summer Palace, hidden in the mountains far to the north, but she’d never heard it called Fusang. They’d described it as a place full of magic and wonder. Anything could happen there, they’d said, for the killing fog didn’t come. One time, her father had gone off in search of it with another ensign, but they’d found nothing to indicate it existed. The sudden memory of her parents made her cheeks tingle.
“As we know, in the highest north, the sun never sets during the summer. Legend says that the splendor of the palace in Sajinau pales in comparison to Fusang. Many people believe it’s only a myth, but I have a feeling this fisherman may have discovered a relic from it. I’ve told as much to Bao Damanhur. I think, my little ice rose, that Fusang is hidden beneath that glacier. The force of the ice must have broken off part of the palace and dragged it into the river. But now the ice is receding. The seasons are growing longer. My sages all think something is changing.”
Budai sniffed, adjusting his seat. His voice thrummed with anticipation. “I may be wrong. It may just be a fragment of rock that’s worth only a few cowry shells. But I have an instinct for making wealth. If it’s true, if Fusang is real, then others will try to steal the treasures. I want to get there first. I want my children and my grandchildren and my great-grandchildren to live there someday.” He held up two fingers. “That is why I’m convinced two ensigns are needed. One to guard it. One to bring its treasures here. It must be kept in secrecy. If the Qiangdao were to learn of it . . .” He shook his head. “They’d find a chieftain and raise a horde that would destroy all of the kingdoms. Think of it. Think of the wealth that may be sitting beneath all that ice.”
He leaned back in his chair. “I trust both of your ensigns.” His gaze shifted back to Bingmei. “But Kunmia Suun trusts your instincts even more than mine. We must come to an agreement. I insist. We must do this tonight.”
“The agreement is simple,” Bao Damanhur said, rising from his chair. “I will lead the mission. We cannot have two ensigns obeying two masters. One must lead. That will be me. We found the fisherman who found the rock with the dragon carvings.”
Another wave of his coppery scent wafted to Bingmei. He wanted the job. He was determined to have it.
Kunmia rose as well. “Then you can go alone.”
“Please,” King Budai said, holding up his hands. “Surely we can find a w
ay to accomplish this? Yes, Bao Damanhur, you and your friend found the stone. But without my insight, it meant nothing to you. This is a chance to win a fortune! Don’t be proud.”
Bingmei noticed Damanhur’s companion was watching them keenly. His hair was as long as his master’s, and he had an ambitious look in his eye. He smelled of intrigue and deception, but not dishonesty. On further appraisal, he was rather handsome, but what was Marenqo’s jest about handsome men?
It’s the handsome ones you should be careful of the most.
“Who is that man?” Bingmei asked, nodding to the fellow who had not joined their circle.
“He’s my servant, Wuren,” Bao Damanhur said. “He’s no one. Ignore him as I do.” This last statement was said with a chuckle.
It was a lie. A blatant one. Bingmei shook her head. “You speak falsely.”
Damanhur’s brows lifted. “I’ll not have a child call me a liar,” he said.
Kunmia stepped forward as Bingmei’s cheeks flushed with anger. She put her hand on Bingmei’s shoulder. “This is why I called her. Something did not feel right when I came in. I understand your eagerness, my lord, but we will not be party to this without understanding the truth. We will go and keep your secret. Find another ensign to make the journey.”
She guided Bingmei with her hand and started to leave.
“Wait,” Budai said, his voice throbbing.
Kunmia stopped, but she did not turn around. Bingmei felt the tension in the room shift. She was proud of her master’s decision to walk away. It was the right thing to do.
“Give me the funds, and I will hire another ensign,” Damanhur said in a low voice.
A deep sigh followed. “You are a capable master,” Budai said. “But I trust her. She worked for my father as well. Please, Kunmia, come back. We can work this out.”
Kunmia turned. “You knew the truth, yet you did not tell me.”
“I was testing her,” Budai explained, gesturing to Bingmei. “Truly, her instincts are formidable. But let me speak plainly.”
