by Troy Denning
The desertion theory had begun to circulate two days ago. According to this hypothesis, Batu had rendezvoused with an advanced enemy army and defected with all his soldiers. The advocates of this notion took great delight in suggesting that he would return to Tai Tung at the head of a mixed barbarian and Shou army.
Having helped her husband develop his plan, Wu knew nothing could be farther from the truth. Unfortunately, she was the only person in the summer palace who could say so with absolute certainty. Still, she did not dare speak in her husband’s defense for fear that Tuigan spies would uncover Batu’s plan.
So, amid the splendor and pageantry of the imperial court, Wu remained shunned and isolated. For her, it was not a great sacrifice. The ladies of the court, with their plucked and painted eyebrows, seemed universally shallow and dull. Wu had no desire to share in their company.
The children, however, were accustomed to the freedom of immense gardens and a plethora of playmates. In the summer palace, though, room was at a premium and young companions were a rarity. The few children who did live in the court had been forbidden from socializing with “the deserter’s progeny.” For Ji and Yo, the summer palace had become even more of a jail than it was for Wu.
The one island in this sea of isolation had been the Minister of State, Ju-Hai Chou. Wu suspected that the minister had guessed something of her husband’s plan. Several times, he had called to reassure her that Batu had the emperor’s complete confidence, no matter what the sycophants whispered. Ju-Hai had also gone out of his way to see that Wu lacked no luxury. He had even convinced the bureaucracy to let Wu and the children use the Celestial Garden.
Of all the things Ju-Hai had done, Wu appreciated this last favor the most. Located in the northwest corner of the palace, the garden was a small retreat no more than two hundred feet on a side. It was a feral place filled with trees of many varieties: plum, small magnolias, white mulberries. There were even two grand willows that, with their puffball shapes and weeping leaves, made the garden seem almost as wild and as marvelous as the parks of Chukei.
From Wu’s perspective, however, the best thing about the Celestial Garden was its walls. The ones on the north and east were actually part of the palace fortifications and stood more than thirty feet tall. On the south and west, the walls were twenty feet tall. The garden had only one entrance, the circular “moon gate” on the south wall, before which Wu now stood. Normally, Wu was not such a student of architecture, but the high garden walls meant that she and her children could be alone—providing, of course, the guards did not find any spies or assassins lurking inside.
Wu and her children waited several minutes more before the two guards returned and stepped through the round gate. One wore green lamellar plate and the other an identical set of armor, save that it was blue. The one in green bowed, saying, “The Celestial Garden is vacant, Lady Batu. It is safe to enter.”
Wu returned the guard’s bow. “The minister shall hear of your vigilance.”
As Wu and the children stepped through the gate, her guards snapped to attention and two brief, distinct clatters sounded behind her. There were two clatters because she had two sets of guards under separate commanders and they never did anything together. The ten soldiers in blue came from the Ministry of War. Her husband’s enemy, Kwan Chan Sen, had assigned them to watch her at all times. The ten guards in green came from the Ministry of State Security. As a favor to Ju-Hai, Ting Mei Wan had assigned these guards to Wu. The duty of Ting’s guards, as far as Wu could tell, was to protect her and the children from Kwan’s men.
Neither group made Wu feel secure. She would rather have had a company of her husband’s or father’s personal guard, but the Grand Master of Protocol had made it clear that he would not permit such troops inside the palace. Wu was left feeling that she could trust only her own skills for the safety of her children and herself.
As she passed through the gate, Wu released the hands of her children. Both bolted for the northwest side of the garden, pausing on their way to roll down a manmade hill and splash through an artificial brook. Wu started to caution them about soiling their clothes, but decided to allow them their fun. With all that Shou Lung was asking of her family, the emperor could give her children new samfus if necessary.
In the growing shadows of dusk, Wu could almost forget that she was locked inside the palace. The center of the garden held a fish pond, upon which floated a miniature sampan large enough for two people. Though the pond was so small that one could walk around it in less than one hundred steps, a marble bridge spanned its center.
Beyond the pond, the Virtuous Consort’s gardeners had formed the terrain into a series of serpentine hills, complete with artificial brooks and miniature cliffs. Along the walls, the trees and shrubbery grew so thick that the stonework behind them was completely hidden, giving the garden the appearance of being an open meadow in a forest. The two weeping willows completed the little park, towering high above the outer wall and draping their shaggy branches upon its crown.
Ji and Yo stopped at the willow closest to the west wall. Ji tugged at his sister’s arm and circled the trunk. Yo followed, and they began a merry game of tag, dodging in and out among the long pendant leaves that drooped nearly to the ground. Both giggled wildly and yelled each other’s names at the tops of their lungs. Wu did not remind them to keep their voices down. In the Celestial Garden, they could scream as loudly as they wished, for no one could hear them over the high walls.
Suddenly, both children stopped running and peered into the branches.
“What do you see?” Wu called, starting toward the garden corner. “Is it an owl?”
Ji studied the tree thoughtfully, then finally shook his head. “It’s too big,” he said.
“Well, then,” Wu said, stepping across a brook. “It must be a tree troll—”
The pop of a breaking stick came from the willow, then one of its sagging branches rustled.
“It’s a man!” Yo screamed, pointing overhead.
Wu broke into a sprint. “Children, get away from there!”
The urgency in her voice stunned the children into inaction. They looked at her with distressed expressions, then both began to cry.
Wu arrived beneath the tree a moment later. Ignoring her children’s frightened tears, she shoved them behind her. Automatically, she assumed the stance of the golden crane, her arms raised over her head in a defensive position.
Wu could see a man’s silhouette stretched out on a branch, trying to hide in the shadows. He appeared tall and fairly thin, but she could tell little more. The figure wore a black samfu, along with a black scarf to camouflage his face.
Wu could think of only one reason he would be in the garden. He was waiting to assassinate her or the Virtuous Consort. In either case, she thought it wisest not to let him escape. Besides, if she captured an assassin, some of the tongues denigrating her husband might be silenced.
In her most commanding voice, she said, “Ji, stop crying and listen to me!”
As she knew he would, her son obeyed immediately.
“This is very important,” she continued, not taking her eyes off the figure in the tree. He would hear her instructions, but that could not be helped. “Take your sister and fetch the guards. Tell them to hurry because your mother is in danger. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mother,” he replied.
“Do it right now!” she said. “Run as fast as the wind!”
Ji took his sister’s hand, and they sped off toward the gate. Wu continued to watch the silhouette.
As the children crossed the brook, the shadow glanced in their direction. It crawled along the limb toward the western wall. Wu realized that this was no vagabond, for an assassin’s first instinct would have been to kill, not to run. The figure had been using the willow trees to climb over the outer wall in secrecy.
It could only be a Tuigan spy, Wu decided quickly.
Almost instantly, she leaped up and grabbed the willow’s lo
west branch. After the capture of the first infiltrator, the Minister of State Security had instituted stringent security measures to prevent more spies from entering or leaving the summer palace. The guard on the outer wall had been doubled, and even mandarins were thoroughly searched when they entered or left the palace.
Wu suspected that the spy had something important to relay to the barbarians if he was willing to brave the increased security. As far as she was concerned, that information could only decrease Batu’s chances of returning alive. She had to capture the infiltrator.
Quickly Wu pulled herself onto the lowest branch, then grabbed the next one and climbed after the spy. As she reached the fifth branch, her hand touched a coil of black rope that the enemy agent had probably intended to use in descending the outer wall. She also discovered a faint, fragrant odor she could not quite identify, but which she had smelled many times before.
The spy had already crawled halfway to the end of the limb, but was moving slowly and carefully. Wu tossed the rope to the ground, then followed the dark figure. She did not bother calling out or ordering her quarry to stop, for he obviously would not obey.
Wu scrambled out on the limb rapidly, relying on her kung fu training for balance and strength. As the spy neared the wall, she caught up to him.
A voice at the gate yelled, “Stop! In the emperor’s name, don’t go any farther!”
When Wu glanced toward the voice, the spy leveled a vicious kick at her head. She easily ducked away and blocked the foot, then found herself tumbling out of the tree.
Landing head-first, Wu went into a forward roll to absorb the impact. Nevertheless, the fall was a long one and it hurt. The landing knocked the breath out of her lungs and left Wu flat on her back, gasping for breath, the world a white blur before her eyes.
By the time Wu’s vision returned, one of Kwan’s blue-armored guards stood over her, the tip of his broad-bladed chiang-chun held to her throat. The man’s sergeant approached, the coil of black rope in his hand.
“When did you sneak this in?” he demanded.
Wu uttered an astonished objection, but her breath had not returned and she managed nothing but a feeble gasp.
The sergeant dropped the rope over Wu’s body. “What kind of a mother abandons her children to join her traitorous husband?”
Wu finally drew a breath, then hissed, “How dare you!” She pointed at the west wall. “The spy is escaping. After him!”
The guard did not bother to look up. “The only spy I see is lying here.”
The green-armored sergeant arrived, carrying Yo in his arms. Though the girl had clearly been sobbing a moment ago, she was now too frightened to cry.
“You can’t be serious!” said the sergeant in green. “This woman is no spy!”
The soldier in blue, one of Kwan’s men, met the eyes of his counterpart. “I suppose Minister Kwan will have to decide that.” He did not order his subordinate to move the polearm away from Wu’s throat. She realized that only the presence of Ting’s guards kept the man from executing her on the spot.
8
Jasmine
Wu kneeled in a traditional kowtow, her forehead pressed to the floor and her arms stretched out in front of her torso. A tiny pool of perspiration had formed beneath her brow, making the marble feel cold and clammy. Her knees ached horribly and her shoulders were as stiff as those of a statue. At her side, Ji restlessly mimicked his mother’s position, his graceful little form folded into an elegant egg-shape. Yo had long since tumbled into a heap and lay asleep on the cold stone. Mercifully, the guards had taken pity on the child and let her rest.
The mother and her children had been awaiting the emperor for over two hours. After allowing the spy in the Celestial Garden to escape unpursued, the two sets of guards had argued about whether Wu should be taken to Minister Kwan or to Minister Ting. They had finally compromised by bringing her to the Hall of Supreme Harmony, where the emperor himself could determine what was to be done with her.
At night, lit only by flickering torches, the Hall of Supreme Harmony seemed more an immense and ominous grotto than an architectural wonder. The incessant click-click-click of boots on stone echoed from the murkiness overhead, where unseen guards were making their rounds on dark balconies. Somewhere in the shadowy perimeter, a lone cricket sang its song. A gentle breeze carried the scent of persimmon blossoms through the room.
Finally, Wu heard the doors open behind her, and someone shuffled across the room. Two more people followed the first, the sounds of their steps echoing off the walls with a purposeful cadence. By tucking her chin against her breastbone and looking beneath her armpits, Wu could increase her field of vision enough to observe the areas to either side of her. She saw Minister Kwan totter into view, followed a short time later by Ting Mei Wan. They both went to take their customary seats, moving out of Wu’s narrow range of vision.
The third walker stopped to the kneeling mother’s right. Ju-Hai Chou bent down and gently awakened Yo. “Come, my child. You’re about to meet the Son of Heaven,” he said. “Don’t you want to show him your respect?”
At the mention of the emperor, Yo grew alert. “The Divine One?” she asked. “Father’s master?”
“Yes,” Ju-Hai replied, gently moving her into a kowtow. “Everybody’s master.”
The minister had barely finished speaking before Wu heard the officious steps of several men directly ahead. It would have been disrespectful to lift her head, but Wu did not need to see the Divine One to know that his entourage had entered the hall. Ju-Hai returned to his feet and executed a deep bow. The guards snapped to attention with a sharp clatter of equipment.
To Wu’s surprise, Ju-Hai remained next to Yo.
The emperor took his seat, then said, “What is this all about, Minister Chou?”
“I’m not sure I know, Divine One,” Ju-Hai responded. “Minister Kwan sent a messenger to my house claiming to have captured a spy and asking me to arrange a special audience. Naturally, I sent word to you and suggested we meet in the Hall of Supreme Harmony.” Ju-Hai waved a hand at Yo, Ji, and Wu. In a voice of exaggerated puzzlement, he said, “When we arrived, all I saw was this woman and her two children.”
Wu breathed a silent sigh of relief. At least she had one ally present.
“They are General Batu’s wife and children,” Ju-Hai continued. “Obviously, there has been some mistake.”
“Minister Kwan?” the emperor asked, his silk robe swishing as he shifted in his seat.
“There has been no mistake,” the old man replied sharply. “We are all aware of the reports regarding General Batu’s desertion—”
“Wild rumors,” interrupted Ju-Hai. “Probably started by a jealous rival,” he added pointedly.
“We shall see.” The emperor’s robes hissed as he turned away from Ju-Hai and Kwan. “Minister Ting, can State Security shed any light on this?”
“Perhaps,” she replied cautiously. “We have been investigating each rumor, as you instructed.”
Wu nearly gasped out loud. The news that the emperor was having her husband’s loyalty investigated came as a shock. Until now, she had taken the Divine One’s trust in Batu as a given, for the Son of Heaven had extended every courtesy to her and the children. Wu felt angry, dismayed, and betrayed. Only the fact that she was kneeling before the emperor himself prevented her from rising to vent her wrath.
“And what have you found, Minister?” the emperor asked.
“Very little,” Ting replied. “Though General Batu’s disappearance has made many people suspicious of him, no one can provide the slightest proof of any disloyalty.”
“Proof!” Kwan stormed. Though Wu could not see the old minister from her angle, it almost seemed she could feel him pointing an accusing finger at her. “Batu’s wife was abandoning her children to join the traitor. What greater proof do you need?”
Ji jumped to his feet. “Liar!” he screamed.
Behind Wu, the guards gasped, but she smiled at her child�
��s boldness. No one had given her permission to rise, so she made no move to silence him.
“Ji,” Ju-Hai said, grasping the boy’s shoulder. “This is the Hall of Supreme Harmony. You mustn’t say such things here.”
The boy jerked free of the minister’s grip and ignored the reproach. “He’s lying! Mama wouldn’t leave us.”
“I understand that this is difficult for you, my child,” Kwan said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “You mustn’t worry. Shou Lung will always care for you, no matter what your mother has done.”
“She hasn’t done anything!” Ji insisted.
“That isn’t for you to say,” Kwan replied, his voice growing angry.
Oblivious to the old man’s threatening tone, Ji responded. “You weren’t even there!”
“That’s enough!” Kwan roared, an angry swish of silk indicating that he was rising to his feet. “Remove the children!”
“No,” the emperor countered. “The boy is right. Tell me what happened in the Virtuous Consort’s garden.”
Being addressed by the Divine One himself doused the fire in Ji’s heart. He swallowed, looked to his mother’s prone form for reassurance, then finally turned back to the emperor.
“We saw something in the tree,” he said, looking at the floor. His voice was now quiet and weak.
“What?” asked the emperor. “What did you see?”
“A man.”
“Are you sure?” the Divine One asked. “Could it have been something else, like an owl or a cat?”
Ji frowned and looked at his sister uncertainly. She shook her head sternly, and Ji turned back to the Son of Heaven. “No,” he said. “We’re sure. It was a man.”
“Perhaps one of General Batu’s spies, come to fetch his wife,” Kwan said, the fabric of his hai-waitao whispering against the chair arms as the old man finally returned to his seat. “If there was anybody in the tree at all.”
