by JC Kang
He lifted her chin with his calloused fingers to meet his smile. A tingle percolated through her. “Thank you. Everything will be all right. Come.”
They approached the front gates, Hardeep supporting her. The guards crossed their spears in front of them.
“Begone,” one of them said.
Hardeep pressed his hands together. “That is no way to greet Princess Kaiya.”
“The princess? Impossible.” The other guard snorted. “The Ministry of Appointments would have informed us and she would have come with an entourage of handmaidens and imperial guards.”
Kaiya stepped closer and lowered her hood.
The guards leaned forward and squinted. Gawping, they dropped to a knee, fist to the ground. “My apologies, Dian-xia,” they both said in unison. One turned and called for the chamberlain, while the other opened the gates and invited them in.
With Prince Hardeep one step behind her, Kaiya squared her shoulders and walked into the front courtyard with as much grace as the alcohol allowed. Which was to say, she almost tripped on her borrowed cloak.
Sharply pitched eaves of green tile capped a spacious one-story residence. Red latticework framed windows in white walls. At the center of the manicured courtyard, a carp pond bubbled. Servants rushed about, whispering her name.
The chamberlain shuffled out, bowing repeatedly. “Dian-xia, what a surprise! Foreign Minister Song and his wife are at the reception, but his eldest son will receive you and your, uh, friend.” He extended a hand toward an oval entrance to the house.
“Thank you, chamberlain.” Kaiya followed him in. Warmth washed over her as they left the cool night air. Bloodwood stands, porcelain vases, and hanging scrolls all decorated the foyer.
A good-looking young man came out from a side room and bowed low. “Welcome, Dian-xia. I am Song Xingyuan. I apologize for our meager abode. Please, sit.” He gestured to the side room.
Kaiya nodded her head and walked through the oval doorway. A red, blue, and white wool carpet from the Ayuri South covered much of the marble tiles. Bloodwood chairs and double chairs surrounded a table with a marble top. Calligraphy and paintings by famous artists evoked a sense of calm and welcome.
To the side, the sound of her heartbeat echoed off of…she turned her head.
A lute. Similar in appearance to a pipa, its fretted neck tilted at a sharp angle. It had at least a dozen strings compared to a pipa’s four. Its soundboard was the color of cinnabar and had a texture similar to leather.
Avarax’s scale. Focus locked on the lute, she settled on the edge of a chair—and nearly lost her balance. How humiliating. Prince Hardeep remained standing at her side. He leaned in and pointed his chin at the lute.
Song Xingyuan bowed. “Would you like some rice wine?”
Tea, an inner voice implored. Still, with Prince Hardeep so close his heat radiated into her core, rice wine seemed more appealing. She nodded.
With a gesture, Song Xingyuan sent the chamberlain off. He looked at the floor in front of her. “So, to what does my family owe the honor of your visit?”
Kaiya gestured with an open hand toward the lute. “That is such a beautiful instrument.”
“I have never seen it before.” Song Xingyuan cocked his head and motioned to the chamberlain as he entered with a porcelain decanter and cups. “Shu, how long has that been there?”
Chamberlain Shu stared at it while pouring the rice wine. So bedazzled he must have been that the wine overflowed onto the table and splashed. Kaiya scuttled back.
Both Song Xingyuan and the chamberlain were on their feet, bowing repeatedly.
Prince Hardeep knelt down by her side and dabbed the very small patch of moisture on her knee.
“Please forgive my clumsiness.” The chamberlain sank to both knees and pressed his forehead to the ground. In two hands, he proffered a silk kerchief.
“My deepest apologies for our chamberlain’s carelessness.” Song’s head bobbed.
Kaiya waved off their concerns. “I think your carpet might have suffered more than I.”
Song’s nervous laugh could not be more contrived.
Staring at the lute, the chamberlain wiped the table. “It has never left the storehouse. It didn’t have strings before.”
“How did it get in such a conspicuous spot?” Kaiya studied the dark red resonance plate.
Song Xingyuan exchanged a perplexed look with the chamberlain. “Perhaps my mother got it restrung? She must have had it put there, perhaps before they left for your brother’s reception.”
The chamberlain nodded. “Yes, there are all kinds of foreign treasures in the storehouse, and Madame Song likes to rotate them.”
Prince Hardeep, still on one knee, pointed to it. “May I?”
The chamberlain shuffled on his feet, watching Kaiya. A clear desire to deny the request, but not willing to refuse her.
Etiquette screamed for her not to press the issue, but here laid the salvation for Hardeep’s people. Not to mention, a chance to prove her worth. “Please,” she said.
With a bow, the chamberlain shuffled to the lute and removed it from the wall. He returned and proffered it in two hands.
Kaiya’s eyes widened as she received it. Like Yanyan’s pipa, and so unlike her own, it seemed to have a vibration, a life of its own. So ancient it must be; it smelled like rust. The several pairs of twisted strings shimmered like a wet line of spider silk in the morning sun. She ran her hand over the resonance plate. With its countless ridges, it resembled the cross section of a tree stump.
She closed her gaping mouth and looked up at Prince Hardeep. “How did they acquire one of his scales?”
He scratched the back of his neck, brow furrowed and eyes looking up at his own lashes. “A legend from before the War of Ancient Gods has it that Aralas himself dislodged that scale from Avarax’s neck with a magical arrow.”
Kaiya regarded the minister’s son and the chamberlain, both staring at Hardeep with rapt attention. She turned back to Prince Hardeep. “I have never heard that legend.”
Hardeep tapped his bare chin. “Perhaps the stories in the South differ from Cathay’s. Why don’t you try the lute?”
She’d never played any instrument of the Arkothi East before, but it couldn’t be much different from a pipa. Her attention shifted from the lute to Song Xingyuan. It would be impolite to play someone else’s instrument without permission. “May I?”
Hardeep, too, looked at Song, with the same expectant eyes he’d turned on her during their first meeting. A twinge of jealousy twanged in Kaiya’s chest.
Song Xingyuan’s face brightened like the clouds opening up on an afternoon sun. “I don’t think Father would mind. He would be honored, in fact.”
Kaiya shook away her jealousy. With a trembling finger, she pulled a tentative pluck on a bass string.
The barely audible sound came out low and desolate, like the lament of an exiled ruler over the fall of his kingdom. Despite the lack of resonance, a tremor coursed down Kaiya’s spine. She placed her hand over the strings to quiet them.
The joy in Hardeep’s eyes guttered. “No, no. Maybe with practice, you can coax the energy out.”
As if she wanted to. Just that single pluck gave birth to more misgivings than any of the day’s other misadventures. She shivered again.
“Though maybe…” He tapped a finger to his chin for a few seconds before he beamed. “I know what we can do.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Do?” What was there to do?
“We need to find a place like the Hall of Pure Melody,” he said. “The acoustics there are so perfect; they magnified the power of your voice. I think I know a place nearby which has an even stronger effect.”
Was he mad? The thought of hearing that bass string again tightened her chest. He couldn’t be so desperate as to subject even an enemy to it. Not to mention, “Even if I could make it work in a specific place, I won’t be able to replicate it in Ankira.”
His smile looked anything b
ut insane. “I have faith in you. If you take this step into the unknown, perhaps it will awaken something special inside of you.”
To be special. Xiulan was, combining both beauty and the magic of her handwriting. If Kaiya couldn’t be pretty, at least she might be remembered for reviving Yanyan’s musical power.
And, of course, Ankira depended on her. Her hand pressed on Tian’s pebble as she turned to Song. “Mister Song, may I borrow this lute?”
An audacious request, for the sake of the nation. A minister’s son wouldn’t dare refuse a princess. He exchanged looks with the chamberlain. His expression looked like he’d sucked a lemon and bitter melon at the same time.
CHAPTER 18
Treachery Afoot
Acool sea breeze blew through Tian’s hair as he reached the top of the lighthouse, at the head of the seawall that separated the harbor from the mouth of the Jade River. Jie was briefing the four Moquan adepts gathered there.
Looking up, he found Caiyue in its usual spot, now waxing past its third gibbous, indicating less than two hours before midnight. Only a little more than an hour had passed since he’d killed Lamp Man Sha, and they’d already found Fat Nose Jiang. With the evidence on Sha leaving a trail here, it had been almost too easy.
Below, light bauble lamps hung from posts on the seventeen riverside docks, mingling with the soft blue light of Guanyin’s Eye. Twenty-two men armed with broadswords stood guard as thirty-seven longshoremen and boatmen worked to load eleven privately owned river barges.
Fat Nose Jiang oversaw the operation at the head of one of the quays, personally inspecting a hundred and forty-two bales of rice, twelve barrels of fish paste, and eight kegs of sulfur. They were nearly done, and no doubt the barges would push off at first light, bound upstream for Lord Tong and his allies. Whatever else could be said about the conspirators, they were efficient.
Tian unfurled his official robes and passed them to Chong Xiang, a forty-two-year-old adept with a crook nose. “Put these on. You know the plan.”
Chong beamed. “Brilliant. Just like the Architect.”
Tian snorted. Chong must’ve just been a green recruit when the legendary Black Lotus strategist died on a secret mission thirty years before. He’d have no basis for comparison. Still, if Chong wanted to wax nostalgic… “That makes you the Surgeon,” Tian said.
“Then that leaves me as the Beauty?” Jie peered at Guanyin’s Eye, the Blue Moon.
Her reference to the last of the ill-fated trio would have made sense, except there would be no baiting gullible men. “No, you’re the lookout and runner.”
She sucked on her lower lip and released it with a pop.
He studied Chong, who shrugged into the official robes. “Have Jiang at the dock overseer’s office in ten minutes.”
With that, he started his mental countdown. He and the adepts descended the lighthouse. Jie motioned them to assigned lookout points as they snuck along the south end of the docks toward the overseer’s office.
Its weathered plank siding afforded plenty of handholds, and in seconds he had gained the rooftop. The terrace provided a commanding view of the wharfs, just a biao’s throw away from where Jiang was now unfurling a scroll and reading. Stairs descended to the office below. Tian tested the door. Unlocked and well-oiled.
Slipping in, he padded down the steps. The overseer’s office was only a twelfth the size of the harbormaster’s, probably because the overseer was busy overseeing his own finances. Tian worked his way between several desks, taking note of the shuttered lamps, and came to the door. He unlocked it. Five minutes to spare, assuming Chong kept to the timeline. Cracking the wooden window shutters, he squinted out.
Jiang pressed the scroll to his chest while Chong crossed his arms. A guard flanked Jiang, hand on sword hilt.
“I don’t recognize you from the harbormaster’s office,” Jiang said.
Chong’s booming voice carried the chill air. “Look, I don’t want to be out here at this hour any more than the harbormaster, but since I’m just the new deputy, he sent me. There’s a minor clerical error we need to resolve.”
Jiang leaned in toward Chong and whispered something beyond Tian’s hearing. Something shiny glinted in his hand.
“A bribe,” Jie whispered, her breath hot on his ear.
Tian whipped around. She’d snuck up on him, yet again. “Is everyone in place?”
She yawned. “Very soon.”
He turned back to the crack between the shutters.
“I see everything is in order.” Chong gestured toward the overseer’s office. “You’ll have to sign an affidavit.”
Jiang threw up an arm. “Can’t it wait?”
“My sleep is worth more than a gold yuan.”
The guard’s sword hand twitched. Chong settled ever so slightly in his stance, his hands reaching across into either sleeve. Jie placed one hand on the shutters while the other palmed a throwing spike.
“Very well.” With a sigh, Jiang motioned for his guard to follow.
Tian blew out a long breath. It had worked just as he expected from what Jie’d told him about Jiang not wanting to hurt her on the Wild Orchid.
She tapped on his arm. Guard is mine.
Non-lethal, he tapped back.
Of course.
The men’s footsteps came closer. Light feet pattered on the roof. Tian’s grip tightened on his knife. The door pushed open.
“I’ll get the light.” Chong stepped in.
Jiang and the guard followed.
Pushing the door closed with his foot, Tian yanked Jiang’s hair back and pressed a knife to his throat. “Not a word.”
Across from him, a large body crumpled to the floor.
“You!” Jiang said. “I recognize your voice. You’re the boy from this morning. I guess you didn’t take Sha’s bribes. Where is he?”
Dead, but Jiang didn’t have to join him as long as he cooperated. In all likelihood, he wouldn’t divulge much, not without time they didn’t have. Tian spoke in Jie’s direction. “Prepare the intoxicant. Chong, dim light.”
A light bauble spilled a brittle light from between Chong’s fingers, revealing Bu and Li’s silent arrival. A cork popped off a snuff bottle. The sweet fragrance of yinghua flowers filled the air. The contact toxin affected only men, making them even more malleable to a woman’s suggestion. It would also leave them with a splitting headache and little memory.
“Put him in a chair and take one step back,” Jie whispered.
Tian dragged a chair over with his foot and then shoved Jiang into it. Keeping the knife at Jiang’s throat, he backed off.
“What are you doing?” Jiang’s voice quivered.
“Making you more comfortable.” Casting a broad smile, Jie straddled Jiang and pressed her lips to the divot below his nose. In two seconds, the tension in his body melted. With a hand, she pushed Tian’s knife hand away. “That isn’t necessary. Mister Jiang will be cooperative, right?”
“No…” Jiang mumbled. “Yes…”
“Good boy.” She ground into his lap and pressed her chest against him.
Disgusting. Tian’s jaw twitched as he focused on Jiang’s back, which would look better with a knife in it. The things the Black Lotus sisters did in the line of duty, even at such a young age, were unenviable.
Jie shifted back. “So Mister Jiang, who do you work for?”
“I really shouldn’t say…”
“No, you shouldn’t, but you will.” Her voice was so…sultry. So wrong.
“Evergreen Trading.” No surprise there.
“What do you do?”
His voice began to slur. “I have a budget to make sure things get to where they need to go.”
“What things?”
“Turmeric.” His hand reached to Jie’s buttocks.
The son of a turtle egg deserved to have his manhood decapitated for lusting after…well, Jie might be twenty-nine, but she was still a girl, maybe not yet flowered for all that she let on. Knife flipped to
an underhanded grip, Tian took a step forward.
She waved him off with one hand and moved Jiang’s hand off her butt with the other. “Eight kegs of turmeric? Is Lord Tong opening up a chain of curry shops throughout the North?”
Jiang chuckled nervously. “Firepowder to Yutou, sulfur and food stores to Wailian.”
“How much food so far?” Jie ran fingers through his hair.
“Twelve thousand shi of rice and twelve hundred jin of pink fish paste.” Enough to feed Lord Tong’s five thousand men for two years, four months and eight days, if the fish paste kept that long. Or less, if there were more soldiers.
She kissed his ear. “Why so much?”
“I don’t ask questions, I just do what I’m told.” Try as he might, Jiang’s hand couldn’t get past Jie’s as he tried to grope her.
Tian sighed. Jiang was nothing more than an accessory. Not even a bad person, save for salacious proclivities and putting money ahead of nation. “What about Lord Peng? Is he involved in Evergreen Trading?”
Jiang’s hands paused in their futile efforts and he snaked his head around. His words came out more and more slowly. “The Tai-Ming lord? No, he’s the Tianzi’s lapdog. He wouldn’t dream of skirting the laws of interdependence.”
Tian looked at Jie. She’d defended Lord Peng and now had a smug look to prove it. Peng was clearly innocent, unlike the conspirators who paid little heed to the three-hundred-year-old rules set up by the Founder himself, which ensured everyone prospered but stayed dependent through specialization. Maybe Lord Tong and his allies were jealous that only the capital province was allowed economic diversification. Or, they were planning on outright rebellion.
Jiang’s head jerked and his eyes blinked.
Jie slapped him lightly. “Stay awake. I don’t want you falling asleep before the fun begins.”
“I…won’t.” The last word came out as a mumble, and his eyes rolled up into his head. They’d get no more out of him for another ten hours.
Two sets of footsteps, an adult’s and juvenile’s, brushed across the roof and down the stairs. Bu and Li turned around, hands on their concealed weapons, but eased when Qu and Little Huang appeared.
