The stacked bombs began to split. They burst like piles of hatching eggs. Red-hot fragments flew far and wide. Soon another twenty score devil-chicks took to the air to wheel above in scanning circles. They preened themselves. They dropped sparks. They dipped low to scorch the affrighted, scattering people. Beating upward in streaming comet trails of heat, the flying dragons lividly paled the sun with their shimmering radiance.
Gwalchmai saw Wu and Mei-mei running, hand in hand, among the shrieking, fleeing multitude. He saw Shan Cho strip off his robe, so that no one would recognize him as a magician, and disappear, wearing only a coolie’s loincloth.
Gwalchmai’s faith in sorcery was bitterly shaken. He wished he could do the same, but he stood his ground. How could such a fiasco have taken place? His plans were ruined. His disappointment was bitter. He hoped that in whatever state of Elysium Merlin and Corenice might be, they could know nothing of this day of shame.
Then his face cleared. In a better light than before, he could now see that the four little marks on the outer edge of the ring hoop were in conjunction with a fifth tiny scratch, almost worn away. The letter was not a C, as he had read it! Sorcery was still a valid science!
He walked away with almost a jaunty step, seeking shelter from the heat. “Yes!” he muttered to himself. “Definitely! The letter in that word I mispronounced was Q!”
A tiny mistake, in truth, but enough to set the art of Chinese gunnery back by four hundred years.
Gwalchmai did not return to his well-furnished home. He never saw his office again, nor claimed any sort of reward from his no doubt anxiously awaiting monarch. It would have been difficult to locate Kublai Khan, who had abruptly left the city for his distant summer palace deep in the Outer Lands, outdistanced by most of his faithful but disturbed retinue, who had hurried on ahead at their best speed to make ready for his coining.
Neither did Gwalchmai waste time seeking Wu, son of Feng or Shan Cho, for in his self-abasement he reckoned them scarcely less inept than himself.
It was definitely no place for a man who could not make up his mind in a hurry. Fortunately, he was under no such handicap. He rapidly meditated upon the relative merits of a sea voyage and an extended tour by land, deciding promptly upon the former.
Among his less praiseworthy acquaintances was a junk captain who always maintained a constant readiness for sea, since his conscience plagued him into a chronic restlessness. As this person, being a somewhat impecunious fellow, was engaged in eking out a bare existence by carrying on a smuggling trade between both sides of the Narrow Sea, he was open to reasonably discreet offers.
Shortly after negotiations began, Gwalchmai, considerably poorer, was hidden away from the combined detrimental dangers of sunlight and curious eyes in one of the darker unsanitary corners of the junk’s hold.
A few days later he was deposited, at night, upon a secluded beach hi one of the less frequented spots upon the coast of Nihon, and was left there, without lengthy farewells, to henceforth shift for himself.
As the small boat departed from the shore, the junk captain gave him, in leavetaking, a friendly word of advice.
“It may be the thought of the Worthy but Canceled-Out Councilor that a time will come when it will be safe for him to return. He should realize that it would not be well for him to keep his head under water until that moment arrives.
“Half the city was burned by his dragons that night and was this person not a man of high-minded integrity and overwhelming virtue, riches would assuredly come to him in heaped wheelbarrows if the Councilor were brought to the Emperor in bonds.”
At first, Gwalchmai did not understand. At night? But the firedrakes had been flying everywhere when he left and“ there had been no fires.
Then it came to him. Of course! The culminating evil of that miserable day should have been evident to him from the very beginning!
Like any other winged creatures, when night came the firedrakes dropped down out of the sky to roost—red-hot and breathing sparks—upon the roofs of Cambaluc!
18
‘The fand of T>ream
Unbeknownst to Gwalchmai, it had been no accident that he was landed upon this particular section of coast. All people are directed by events and causes beyond their control, regardless of how strictly they fancy that they direct their own destiny, and throughout his long life he had been thus influenced more than most.
He had known this through much of his , wanderings,“‘ but he did not realize how strongly he had been affected on this occasion, nor by whom, as he stood gazing at the boat returning to the junk, which at once raised anchor and sail and soon was lost to sight
Other eyes had also been watching, and now he saw advancing toward him, across the beach, a strange and menacing individual.
He was short, no more than shoulder high to Gwalchmai, but he looked immensely powerful. His bare arms bunched with lumps of knotted muscle as he walked with an easy swing. His hands were empty, but hi his belt were two swords, one long, one short, and both sheathed, although his fingers were very close to the hilts.
Other than this, his body was completely covered with black plates of armor, which looked as though they were created as much to frighten an antagonist as to protect the wearer. The suit was shaped weirdly of heavy leather, some bronze, and a little steel, laced together by heavy rawhide thongs, scarlet silk cords, and thick copper-wire stitching. To Gwalchmai, the outfit resembled nothing so much as the sable chitinous armor that the elves made from the whig cases of giant beetles.
The man’s head was crowned by a four-pointed, crested bronze helmet with turned-up peaks. This was held by a leather strap, tight beneath his chin, and his face was covered with a bronze hinged mask pierced with eye slits and small holes for ventilation.
Gwalchmai was unarmed, except for a small dagger and the flint hatchet he always carried. He slipped it out of his sash and weighed it carelessly in his hand, ready to throw.
The armored man stopped about twenty feet away and lifted his visor. He had a pleasant, strong face, although he was obviously trying to look fierce by drawing down the corners of his mouth in a semi-scowl. Beneath it, a natural friendliness showed through.
Gwalchmai was pleased to find that he could understand his visitor, since he spoke in a dialect not much different from that of the sailors on the junk, although some words had a different inflection.
“I am Chikara, Samurai of Daimyo Hidayama, sent to guide you to Shori Castle, where you will be made welcome, Noble Messenger,” he said, and bowed with an insucking hiss of breath.
“You knew that I would be here?” Gwalchmai asked, puzzled. “You expected me?”
“Indeed, as you have said. We have patrols out these three days and nights for eight ri* up and down the coast, but it is I who was secretly informed by my Lady where to look for you and it is I who shall have the reward. Be pleased to accompany me.”
Gwalchmai relaxed his grip and placed the hatchet back in his sash. “I do not understand.”
His guide smiled. “All will be made clear by the Baron. This way, please.” Witho.ut waiting to see if he was followed, he set off at a fast pace and Gwalchmai was hard put to keep up with him in the soft white sand.
After about a mile of such walking they rounded a point, where boats were drawn up and a little fishing village of straw-thatched houses crescented the far end of a small bay. Overlooking it and dominating the village, Shori Castle, with its feet in the water and its crest in the low clouds, lay back against a rugged cliff as though it had grown out of the rock.
*twenty miles.
Chikara made a funnel of his ‘hands. “Oh-ei! Oh-ei!” he trumpeted, and one of the fishermen came swinging in to ferry them across the bay. The boat bumped lightly against a small stone quay, where willing hands gripped the side and laughing faces greeted them.
Gwalchmai was more puzzled than ever.
Chikara was surrounded by a group of soldiers dressed as he, who clapped him on the shoulders
and congratulated him upon his good fortune. Gwalchmai was gently urged within by a bowing silk-clad, shaven-pated underling who respectfully inquired his honorable name and pattered ahead on straw sandals while the others followed behind and the gate barring the entrance closed behind them.
Upward through winding corridors, with gates and guards at each angle; up stairways commanded by arrow slits in the walls; up ramps that slanged beneath ceilings pierced with holes, from which could pour a deadly flood of boiling water or flaming oil.
Thus they came at last to a large audience chamber, ten tatami mats in size, where the people, who so carefully left nothing to chance, waited there to receive him.
The Baron Hidayama sat cross-legged upon a low dais, gently fanning himself. The front of the room was open to the sea. He wore a black kimono, drawn in by a crimson sash in which was thrust diagonally a curved dagger, half hidden by the coat designating his rank—a stiff haori of heavy silk, embroidered with a single neat white peony.
His face was that of an aristocrat, delicately boned, thin-lipped. His mustache was long, but narrow, and his hair was rolled up in a tight topknot.
All this Gwalchmai took in with a single sweeping glance and then forgot him. He heard the Baron say something, in courteous words of greeting, but a roaring like that of the sea was in his ears and his heart was pounding to shake his entire body. He felt that he was suffocating. He pulled his loose collar still farther from his throbbing throat
Seated beside the Baron, upon a silken cushion of down, was someone he knew! Here, kitten-curled, was the little golden-skinned princess he had seen and caressed so briefly —who had clasped him with affection and held him to her heart—on this side of Shan Cho’s magic door!
“Know me by gold!” Those had been Corenice’s last words to him. There had been golden hair; a gold-embroi-dered gown that the nixie had worn to catch his admiring eye; a golden torque cinctured tight around a slim, bare waist. By these hints he had known her various embodiments. There had been nothing like this before.
Here Gwalchmai saw reborn, as though formed in the same mold, the Corenice he had first known and loved, for the expression that had transformed Thyra and Nikky temporarily to the semblance of the soul within was impressed upon this lovely daughter of Nihon as though her features had been recast.
She was Corenice!
He had little time to consider this miracle. Already his guide had sunk to his knees and bowed low.
The Honorable Ambassador, Gorome-San from the Emperor of Great Mongolia,“ he announced.
The Baron inclined his head in courteous greeting. Then, as Gwalchmai remained standing, he also arose.
“I give you greetings and welcome, honored Sir, and offer you the hospitality of my house. I am the Baron Kuroki Hidayama and this is my daughter, the Lady Mitami Uyume. It is she who advised me of your coming. After you have bathed, we shall dine. Doubtless you are hungry and weary. Kindly consider all that you see at your disposal. This is your home.” He clapped his hands twice.
Gwalchmai could only stare as though tongue-tied. Gone were all the flowery words, the ornate salutations, the involved phrases, the intricately framed speech that had smoothed his way in Cambaluc and that had been so painfully learned. Gone were his courtly manners, vanished and forgotten as though they had never been.
The Lady Mitami Uyume! Daughter to a Daimyo! Were these typical of the people whom the courtiers of the Khan called dog-devils?
Were such as these the folk against which a mighty nation was arming an invasion and outfitting a fleet? These small, delicate people?
He, Gwalchmai, had been directing all his efforts toward then- destruction to suit his own selfish purpose. To obtain the grant of a few ships, he had been willing to bring down consuming fire, terrible death, and slavery upon his Corenice —their Land of Dream!
He had passed through the door in the massive gate of Shan Cho’s vision when he had entered Short Castle. He remembered the very adze marks in the wood. It was wonderful! It was true! It would go down like paper before the strength of Kublai Khan!
He would die now before that should ever be.
He followed a maid to the bath, hardly knowing how he arrived there. He knew he must have said something appropriate to his hosts, but he could not remember what it was.
While he was soaking in a scalding tub and being scrubbed almost skinless, while he was gasping under a bucket of cold water direct from a deep well, .and while he was being pummeled until he expected to be black and blue, although his pretty torturer called it a gentle massage, he was trying to recall that lovely face he had seen.
In vain his masseuse used her most subtle arts—he scarcely heard her sighs and compliments upon his young face and strong body, despite his graying hair. In vain her caressing fingers discreetly sought to arouse him for his pleasure, in vain her eyes said things her lips dared not; he hardly saw her.
There was only one smile he wished to see, only one hand he wanted to touch—and only one love he hoped to enjoy.
When he had been dressed hi silks and shod in thick white split stockings and soft slippers, he was escorted to the dining hall where his host and his beloved were seated. His tensions had been softened away and he found the surroundings relaxing.
The meal was simple. It began with fish from the sea, with tiny mushrooms flavored with mustard. A clear turtle soup, with turtle eggs and a dash of ginger juice, was followed by a main dish of thinly sliced chicken, sauteed with finely chopped green tops of white radish in soy sauce.
After a serving of lobster tails, sectioned and arranged in the form of peonies, nested in boiled white rice, a rare sake was brought. A tray of fruit was placed upon the low table.
To the unobtrusively low tinkle of samisens, behind a painted translucent screen now drawn across the far end of the hall to provide the diners with a more intimate room, the discussion began.
Gwalchmai had no way of knowing that the presence of the Baron’s daughter was, here, most unusual. In other cultures with which he was familiar, from those of Aztlan and the Hodenosaunee, in Alata, to the systems of Britain, Europe, and continental Asia, woman’s voice carried equal weight with those of men, although sometimes more shrill.
Nor did it surprise him in his ignorance to find that Baron Hidayama seemed dominated by this young woman. If what he suspected was true, it would have been stranger if his host was not.
He did find it odd that she began the conversation.
“As you have been informed,” she began, in a pleasantly low voice, “we have anxiously awaited your coming. Is the message you bring one of war or peace?”
Gwalchmai was puzzled. Either this marvelous resemblance was no more than a heartbreaking coincidence or she was dissembling because she could not admit before her father that they had mystically shared a common past.
“I fear there has been an error. Perhaps I have accepted a hospitality meant for another. I bear no message, no letter of any kind, nor am I an ambassador of high rank or low. It may be best that I offer my apologies and leave.”
The Baron lifted a restraining hand. “Pray do not concern yourself. If there has been a mistake, it is surely not of your making, but ours. We knew that you were coming, because you were seen upon your way. Surely there cannot be two such men as yourself in Nihon, with skin as red as yours? If there were it would be even more remarkable that both should wear similar rings I assumed that you were the bearer of a message to the Regent Hojo Tokimune, as there have been five others before you, each carrying words more insulting than the last.
“We despise the Khan, but not the bearers of his letters. All have traveled to Kamakura without harm and have been treated with courtesy.
“Still, you were seen and I know who you are, if not what you may be.”
“And I also know who you are,” murmured the Lady Mitami, but so low that Gwalchmai saw the words on her lips more clearly than he heard them.
The Baron permitted himself a faint smile. “
My daughter has been allowed the privileges of the son I never had and she is worthy of them. Some women have powers and insights above those of men and it is well that when the gods grant such talents they be encouraged, not suppressed. When Mitami became a woman she was to have wed a son of the Akagawa, to whom she tad been promised, but she . would have none of him. She wept and languished and said that she had seen in a dream the only man she would marry.
“She refused to eat and pined away in longing for this man, who she said would come from the sea> Her favorite treasure was a mirror in which she said she sometimes saw him when she was not sleeping and so followed him across the world on his way to her. She said that she had a friend who looked back at her, out of her own eyes, when she looked into this mirror. I insisted that she must go to the man to whom I had promised her.
“We are a-feeble clan and I feared td make the Akagawa our enemy, but it seemed that she would die so strong was her will to combat my determination that she should obey.
“Then, as she lay so pale and weak, it came to me that I loved her more than my promise or my pride. At that moment, I prayed to the Fox Goddess, Inari, who has a fondness for our house, that Mitami should live again, for we thought she had died—there was no mist on the mirror when we raised it to her lips.
“I bent and whispered into-her ear that she should wed whom she chose and at her own time. She opened her eyes and smiled and ask’ed for food and slept. I knew thai Inari had sent her back and my heart was full. It cost me much to buy back my promise from the Akagawa and they are now my enemies, but I have had my treasure hi her and we have both been waiting for the red stranger‘ from the sea that she predicted would come in a time of great need. I am glad that you are he and not the ambassador I expected. Gan you tell us aught of Kublai and his plans?”
Merlin's Ring Page 29
