by Troy Denning
Qwo shuffled around behind Wu to tie the scarf. “You’re disobeying the emperor,” she said reproachfully.
“I know,” Wu responded. The admission sent cold shivers down her spine.
“And of course you don’t care,” Qwo said, pulling the scarf uncomfortably tight. “You’ve always been a disobedient child.”
“I haven’t been a child for twenty years,” Wu said, reaching behind her head to loosen Qwo’s knot.
“Well, you’ve been disobedient much more recently,” the servant said, slapping her hands against her thighs. “Why can’t you just send a message to the emperor about this spy?”
“Who would the Divine One believe,” Wu asked, looking herself over to see if she had forgotten anything, “the daughter of a country noble or a mandarin?”
“You,” Qwo said simply, giving Wu a hard look. “Even if he didn’t, you would have done your duty.”
Wu frowned, though she knew Qwo would not see the expression behind the black scarf. “This is not about duty to the empire,” she said. “It’s about my father and my husband. If the enemy discovers their plans—”
“The Divine General alone determines the outcome of war. Such matters are not left to the hands of mortals, and no good will come of trying to interfere. Your concern is your household and your children,” Qwo lectured. “By risking the emperor’s wrath, you are failing in your true duty.”
Wu sighed and looked away from the old woman’s severe gaze. About that much, at least, Qwo was correct. So far, Wu’s boldness had brought her household nothing but embarrassment and inconvenience. If she were caught disobeying the emperor’s direct command, however, she would not suffer the consequences alone. In such matters, the entire family carried the burden of dishonor and guilt.
Though Wu was prepared to face any danger for her husband, she could not bear to watch her children pay for her crimes.
A polite cough sounded in the courtyard outside. Qwo’s son, who served as Tzu Hsuang’s steward, said, “Lady Wu?”
“Come in, Xeng,” Wu responded.
A paper wall panel slid aside, revealing a slim man with a hawkish nose and a mild-manner. He was five years younger than Wu, having been born to Qwo in the absence of a husband. Though no one had ever admitted it, Wu suspected that Xeng was her half-brother. He had the same nose and firm expressions that she had seen so often in her father’s face. More telling, however, was the jade medallion Xeng wore around his neck. The dragon-shaped pendant could render a man nearly invisible, and had been in Wu’s family for hundreds of years. Nevertheless, Tzu Hsuang had given the priceless medallion to Xeng.
After entering the room, Xeng bowed first to his mother, then to Wu. “The Minister of State is here with news of your father,” he said. Eyeing Wu’s samfu, he added, “I’m afraid I implied you had not yet retired for the evening.”
“News of my father?” Wu repeated. “I’ll see him now.”
Qwo grabbed her sleeve. “Like that?”
“Yes,” Wu responded, pulling the black scarf off her chin. “Like this.”
She followed Xeng through the rest of the house, then entered the main hall. Ju-Hai Chou sat upon one of the stone benches facing the room’s main decoration, the dolphin fountain.
As Wu entered, the minister stood and stared at her black clothing. “I’m sorry,” he said, confused. “Did I interrupt your exercises?”
Wu decided to be frank with the minister. “No,” she said. “You interrupted my escape.”
Xeng gasped, and Ju-Hai frowned. “I don’t understand,” the minister said.
Wu crossed to Ju-Hai’s bench and sat. “There is no need for concern. I intended to return.”
“Return!” Xeng exclaimed, taking a single step toward the bench. “The emperor himself has forbidden you to leave. What can you be thinking?”
Wu glared at Xeng, but he remained oblivious to the anger in her eyes.
Ju-Hai sat next to Wu, laying his hands in his lap and locking his fingers together. “I’m curious, too. What are you thinking?”
Wu looked back to minister. “I’ll explain in a few minutes,” she replied. “First, tell me of Father.”
The minister looked away uncomfortably. Wu began to fear her father had been killed.
“We don’t have all the details,” Ju-Hai began, taking Wu’s hand. “This is what we do know: six days ago, the nobles met the barbarians outside the town of Shihfang. They lost over half their number.”
A knot formed in Wu’s stomach. Batu’s plan had called for casualties, but she had not expected the toll to be so high.
“The messenger said they were falling back to Shou Kuan,” the minister continued.
“And what of Tzu Hsuang?” Xeng inquired urgently, moving to Ju-Hai’s side.
The mandarin frowned at being addressed so directly by another persons domestic. “Tzu Hsuang is organizing the retreat,” the minister said. “He wasn’t injured, as far as we know.”
Both Wu and Xeng breathed sighs of relief.
The minister turned his back on the steward and looked Wu in the eye. “I’m afraid I must ask you to tell me where Batu went with the provincial armies,” he said. “The news of the nobles’ loss has upset the Divine One. He’s beginning to voice doubts about your husband’s loyalty. It’s time to reassure him.”
Ju-Hai’s admission did not upset Wu, for her current confinement was evidence enough that the emperor had little faith in her husband. Before answering the minister, however, she looked at Xeng. “Perhaps you should inform your mother of the news.”
Xeng acknowledged the order with a bow, then turned and left the room. He took care to close the wall behind him.
After the rice-paper panel slid into place, Wu turned back to Ju-Hai. “Tell the emperor not to be concerned,” she said. “Batu did not expect the Twenty-Five Armies to win at Shihfang.”
“That won’t satisfy the Divine One,” Ju-Hai responded, shaking his head. “Kwan is taking advantage of the loss to turn the emperor against us.”
“I won’t say where Batu is,” Wu said stubbornly.
Ju-Hai stood and half turned away. “The time for mysteries is past,” he snapped. “You must tell me something that will reassure the Divine One.”
“If I do as you ask,” Wu insisted, retaining her seat on the bench, “the Tuigan will learn my husband’s plan.”
“Don’t be foolish,” the minister answered, scowling. “Shou Lung’s secrets are safe with the emperor.”
“Are you sure?” Wu asked, meeting Ju-Hai’s angry glare with a steady gaze.
Her question caused the mandarin to pause and suppress his anger. “What do you mean?” he asked warily.
“There’s a spy in the Mandarinate,” Wu answered quickly.
Ju-Hai showed no surprise at the accusation. Instead, he simply narrowed his eyes and demanded, “Who?”
Knowing how much her revelation would hurt the minister, Wu took a deep breath. “Minister Ting Mei Wan,” she said at last.
For several moments, Ju-Hai stared at the nobleman’s daughter with an incredulous look. Finally, he asked, “What makes you think Ting has betrayed the emperor?”
His voice was calm and curious. It was impossible to tell whether he was more interested in the issue of Ting’s betrayal or the reason for Wu’s accusation.
“Jasmine.”
“Flowers?”
“Blossoms,” Wu responded. “I smelled them on the spy in the Garden of the Virtuous Consort.”
“And Ting Mei Wan perfumes herself with jasmine,” Ju-Hai finished, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. “Is that the basis of your suspicion?”
Wu shook her head. “She has been asking about Batu’s plans.”
“So have I,” Ju-Hai responded. “Does that make me a spy?” Before Wu could answer, the minister raised his hand. “Don’t answer. You might lose the only friend you have left.”
Wu stood and took Ju-Hai’s arm. Despite the affection she felt for the minister,
it was the first time she had touched him. “Ju-Hai,” she said, “I could never doubt you, but Ting is different. She even asked Ji—”
He freed his arm. “Do you have proof?”
Hurt by the rejection, Wu backed away and sat on the bench. “Not really,” she responded. “When you arrived, I was just leaving to find some.”
“Why?” Ju-Hai asked, studying her with the sharp eyes of an interrogator. “Do you know something more?”
“No,” Wu admitted, looking away. “But if Ting has something to tell her masters, a dark night like tonight would be the time to go to a messenger.”
“Then you are proceeding on no more than suspicion?”
Wu nodded.
The minister’s face became less stern. “I suppose that is all you can do,” he allowed. “Ting is a smart woman. She would not be exposed any other way.”
“So you believe me?” Wu asked, brightening.
“No,” the mandarin answered bluntly. “I’ve known Ting Mei Wan for many years, much longer than I’ve known you.”
Wu turned away from the minister. If Ju-Hai would not help her, it would be impossible to expose Ting’s treachery.
A moment later, however, Ju-Hai said, “Still, I cannot dismiss such an accusation lightly.”
Wu turned to face the minister again. “Then you’ll investigate?”
Ju-Hai shook his head. “Even if you’re right, Ting is far too clever to give herself away to me.”
Wu frowned, sensing that the minister was leaving something unsaid. “So you want me to go ahead and follow her?”
“I’m not saying that,” the minister replied cautiously.
“You’re not saying I should leave the matter to you or the emperor,” Wu observed.
“What you suggest is very dangerous,” Ju-Hai said, fixing his eyes firmly on hers. “If you are caught outside your house, I will be powerless to help you. The emperor may conclude that Kwan is correct, and that both you and your husband are traitors. I assume you have already thought about these consequences.”
Wu nodded. “I would be beheaded.”
“Your servants and children as well,” Ju-Hai added. “Where treason is involved, even the Son of Heaven must be ruthless.”
“I realize that.” As Wu spoke the words, a wave of weakness rolled over her body.
The minister stared at her with a demanding, merciless expression. “On the other hand, if Batu does not defeat the barbarians soon, the emperor will still conclude that you are traitors. It is a difficult choice. I would not wish to make it.”
“What are you saying?” Wu demanded, rising.
“I am saying nothing,” Ju-Hai answered. He stared at her with cold, dispassionate eyes. Suddenly, he bowed. “I only called to relay the news of your father. If you’ll excuse me, it’s late and I should be going.”
The minister turned and showed himself out of the main hall, leaving Wu alone to puzzle over his words.
When Ju-Hai stepped out of the Batu compound, two different sets of guards snapped to attention. One set was his personal bodyguard of six men, which he had left outside Wu’s home. The other set belonged to Ting. Until tonight, he had assumed that they were protecting the Batu family from Kwan’s assassins. Now, he wondered if they were more dangerous than the servants of the Minister of War.
He paused in the gate and looked down the street. The night was close, and the air felt heavy with moisture. Overhead, the sky was moonless and black. Beneath the walls of the Batu compound, the darkness was as absolute. The minister could not see even the silhouettes of the guards that he knew would be standing there. It seemed a fitting night for accusations of treachery and betrayal.
Ju-Hai was not anxious to believe Wu, and he could find plenty of reason to doubt her suspicions. Certainly, it was not unusual to smell jasmine in the Virtuous Consort’s garden. Though he had never been inside, he did not doubt that the small park contained at least a few of the climbing shrubs. Even if that was not the case, Ting was far from alone in using jasmine blossoms as perfume.
As for asking about Batu’s plan, the female mandarin could hardly be blamed for her inquisitiveness. For nearly two months now, the general’s disappearance had been the primary source of court gossip. Even the emperor had occasionally voiced his curiosity about what had happened to the General of the Northern Marches and his hundred thousand pengs.
Still, Ju-Hai could not dismiss Wu’s accusation out-of-hand. For several months now, Ting had seemed more independent and power-hungry than usual. He had taken this as a sign that she was growing more secure in her position as a mandarin. He also saw that it could be a result of a secret allegiance to a new master.
Ju-Hai was deeply fond of Ting. In a world of double deceits and elaborate subterfuges, her undisguised mercenary streak seemed almost honest. Though he had never trusted her completely, Ju-Hai had always felt that if he knew what she wanted, he could work with her to achieve what he desired.
It had never occurred to the Minister of State that his protege might want something badly enough to betray Shou Lung. Even by the most ruthless standards of court conduct, such behavior was unthinkable. He could not believe that Ting would resort to such treachery.
Ju-Hai was far from confident in his opinion, however, and knew that he could not expect to discover the truth through direct questioning. Opening an official inquiry was also out of the question. If it proved nothing, it would needlessly damage Ting’s reputation, making the Tigress an enemy for life.
Wu was the only tool Ju-Hai had available to discover the truth. He did not doubt that Hsuang’s daughter would do as he wanted, for he had carefully guided the conversation to make her feel that she had no choice except to expose the spy herself. Ju-Hai did not enjoy such callous manipulation, but he was willing to do it for the good of the emperor.
At the same time, the minister also felt obliged to provide what assistance he could. His agents had been quite impressed with Wu’s kung fu, and Ju-Hai knew the general’s wife would have no trouble getting into Ting’s house. However, leaving her own home, which was tightly ringed with guards, might prove more difficult.
Ju-Hai started away from the compound, surrounded by his bodyguard. Fifty yards later, he looked down an alley and, feigning surprise, asked his guards, “What’s happening there?”
His bodyguard peered into the alley. “Where, Minister?” asked one.
“There—a figure. Don’t you see it?” Ju-Hai pointed at the right side of the darkened lane. “Stop in the name of the emperor!” he yelled.
No one answered, but he had not expected a response. As far as he knew, the alley was empty. He was simply trying to lure the guards away from Wu’s house.
When he looked back toward the Batu compound, he was pleased to note that his plan was working. In the light of gate lamps, he saw Ting’s guards looking in his direction.
“Guards!” he called. “Come quickly—it’s a spy!”
As he had hoped, the mere mention of a spy was enough to lure the guards away from their posts. The tramp of heavy boots echoed down the street, and a moment later twelve sentries rushed into view. Ju-Hai’s own bodyguard closed ranks around him. If there was danger nearby, the last thing they would do was leave their master alone.
Ju-Hai pointed down the alley. “There!” he said, speaking to Ting’s guards. “Quickly!”
The soldiers brushed past the minister with barely a second glance, calling orders and commands to each other. Ju-Hai looked back toward the Batu household, hoping to catch a glimpse of Wu taking advantage of his ruse. Not even the hint of a shadow slipped out of the gate.
Returning his attention to the alley, Ju-Hai patiently waited while the guards rushed about, banging gates and searching doorways. Though he wanted to leave, Ju-Hai knew that his sudden departure would make the guards suspicious.
Ten minutes later, a drizzle began to fall. The rain was warm, almost hot, and did nothing to relieve the stickiness of the night. Ju-Hai did not care. I
t provided him with an excuse to leave the search.
“I have no desire to stand in the rain while you let the spy escape,” he said to the sergeant. “If you are lucky enough to find the infiltrator, take him to Minister Ting. Ask her to notify me at once.”
The sergeant bowed. “Of course, Minister.”
Ju-Hai returned the bow with a cursory nod, then started down the street with his own bodyguard in tow. Instead of going home, however, he turned toward Ting’s. His unexpected arrival at her house would provide another distraction for Wu. He might even learn something himself.
As he and his guards drifted through the dark streets, Ju-Hai occasionally stopped to listen for Wu. He did not see even the faintest suggestion of a trailing silhouette, and the only sound he heard was the squeak of his own guards’ wet armor. The only hint of Wu’s presence was a feeling of disquiet that raised the hair on the back of the minister’s neck.
When he approached Ting’s house, Ju-Hai stationed his bodyguard at the entrance of the alley that ran along the back wall of her compound, then went down the dark lane alone. If he were to use the front gate, by tomorrow morning, the summer palace would be filled with gossip of their “liaison.” As he had no desire to make himself the subject of such gossip, he intended to use the back entrance.
Just before Ju-Hai reached Ting’s back gate, the wooden doors opened. A figure dressed in a dark samfu slipped out of the archway and paused in the light of the single gate lamp. It was Ting Mei Wan, Minister of State Security. She carried a dark scarf and a polished ebony tube, such as one might use to store a paper scroll. The scabbard of a twelve-inch dagger hung from her belt.
She paused a moment to tie the scarf around her face. In that instant, Ju-Hai knew that Wu was right. Ting, the very person charged with ensuring the empire’s security, was preparing to meet the enemy’s courier even now. There could be no other reason for her nefarious dress. The ebony tube, the minister guessed, contained evidence of her betrayal, probably a report of how the emperor had taken the nobles’ defeat.
