“What do you think will happen to him?” Phipps asked quietly.
“I’ve no idea.” Alice sighed. “I can only cure them. I can’t give them their old lives back. At least now he has a chance to live. The worst are the children.”
Gavin put an arm around her. “I was hoping that after three years, your cure would have wiped out the plague entirely.”
“Clearly not.” Suddenly she was very tired-tired of travel, tired of strange places, tired of pitiable plague victims and a world that shunned them or used them. It didn’t feel as if she were having any impact whatsoever, and therefore why bother? It all seemed very sad.
“Are you all right?” Gavin asked solicitously.
“I will be,” she said, straightening. She was an English lady. Did the Queen whine to herself? What nonsense! Soldier ahead, girl. Always ahead. “Take me to that hotel now.”
The Red Moon Hotel sat at one corner of a five-way intersection. A pair of towers topped by little minarets flanked the square white building, and strange music mingled with strong tobacco smoke in a courtyard behind it. The place had been fitted with electric lights, and all three stories cast stiff beams of illumination in all directions. The lobby struck Alice as distinctly threadbare, even a little shabby. Before she could lose her nerve, she strode to the battered front desk, where a man in a turban was holding forth.
“Do you speak English?” she asked.
“Yes, little,” he said.
She put a coin on the desk. “I am looking for a man named Yeh.”
“Eat. There.” The coin vanished, and the man pointed to a doorway that seemed to lead into a restaurant. “Wears green.”
Alice swept away with Gavin and Phipps in tow, her regal bearing hiding a pounding heart and a stomach tied in knots. This had the potential to explode in her face, and the closer she came to Bu Yeh, the more she wondered at her chances of success.
You are a baroness, blast it. Act like one.
The restaurant was crowded with customers sitting on cushions at low tables. They ate and drank and pulled fragrant smoke from enormous bulbous water pipes that Alice had never seen outside a storybook illustration. Loud conversation swirled around the room and bounced off the walls. The crowd was largely swarthy Easterners with a sprinkling of white Westerners, and they all gesticulated wildly when they spoke. Alice and Phipps were the only women present. Waiters rushed about with trays of food and silver coffee services. At a corner table by himself sat an enormously fat Chinese man wearing a green embroidered tunic that tied shut over his left shoulder. A large, puffy green hat covered his head, and a black braid ran down his back. His face was clean-shaven but for a sparse mustache and a pointed bit of beard in the center of his chin. On his shoulder sat a brass spider. The man stared about the room with a look of contempt on his round face. Every so often, the spider skittered down his shoulder, hooked a bit of food from one of the plates on the table, and skittered back up the man’s shoulder to pop it into his open mouth. Alice remembered the meal she and Gavin had shared with the Chinese ambassador back in London-had it only been a few months ago? — and the way spiders had fed every morsel to her instead of allowing her to touch anything with fork or fingers.
Before she could lose her nerve, Alice strode across the restaurant and plumped herself down across from him at his table with Gavin and Phipps standing guard on either side of her. Startled, the man reared back, and two large Persian men appeared from the shadows to flank him. One had a pistol, the other a sword. Gavin put a hand on the glass cutlass at his belt.
“No need,” Alice said in a calm voice completely at odds with her churning insides. “Mr. Yeh, I presume?”
“Mr. Yeh does not speak to filthy Westerners,” one of the guards said. His accent was faint.
“He will speak with me.” Alice took out the newspaper page with the dreadful drawing on it and laid it on the table, then unwrapped her spidery hand and laid that on the table as well. “Do you recognize this?”
Yeh’s eyes widened. His mouth fell open. For a moment, no one around the table moved. Then the spider on his shoulder scampered down to the table and flipped a chickpea into Yeh’s mouth. Yeh sputtered and coughed and slurped down some tea.
“You Alice Michaels lady,” he said, recovering. “Angel of death.”
“I wouldn’t put it that way, but yes.”
Yeh’s eyes glittered. “Why come here? Why see me?”
“Isn’t it obvious, Mr. Yeh? I wish to claim the reward.”
Chapter Six
The emperor was dying. Everyone knew it, but no one would say it. Everyone also knew Su Shun had arranged for the emperor to sleep with a false concubine who carried the blessing of dragons. No one would say that, either. Su Shun was powerful, and there was no real proof. The official prognosis was smallpox, and the imperial physicians could only ensure that Xianfeng rested very comfortably until the end came. The only people allowed to see the emperor were eunuchs who had survived the blessing and were therefore unable to transmit it. They, and Su Shun.
“It’s a disaster,” Liyang said, wringing his soft hands. “A disaster! Cheng defeated the British in Peking, but Su Shun has already taken credit for it, just as you predicted, and now Su Shun intends to use this bit of popularity as an excuse to take the Celestial Throne.”
Cixi tried not to grimace. “We are definitely in trouble. Su Shun is indeed popular at the moment, and the emperor has not publicly declared Zaichun as his heir. So unless Xianfeng put Zaichun’s name in that box, my son’s claim on the throne will be tenuous at best. At least Xianfeng has not publicly declared Su Shun his heir, either. That’s something, at least.”
“It pains me to say it, my lady,” Liyang said, “but the emperor isn’t. . he hasn’t been at his strongest. . ”
“I know. No need.” Cixi sipped from her teacup. It was now a month after the evacuation to the palace at Jehol. Life was comfortable in the Pavilion of a Thousand Silver Stars, and no one would have known that just to the south, sections of Peking lay in shambles and thousands were dead. The British were slaughtered or had fled, and Su Shun, speaking for the emperor, had ordered all borders sealed again. Still, people were working hard in Peking, and, in a few months, life would be normal once more. The streets would be clean, the buildings rebuilt, the parks green and quiet. Except that the emperor was dying. Except that Su Shun intended to steal the throne the moment he was dead. Except that Su Shun intended to go to war as soon as he had the throne.
“The only thing that keeps Su Shun from attacking England right now,” Cixi mused, “is this cure I’ve heard about. What is that woman’s name?”
“Alice, Lady Michaels,” Liyang supplied. He fingered the jar at his belt. “Minor nobility in England, and of no consequence. That is, until she and her courtier, Ennock Gavin, began spreading this cure. Then she became consequential indeed. The irony is, Xianfeng worried that the blessing of dragons might fall on him one day, and he ordered Su Shun to put out a reward for her capture so he-the emperor-could bring her here for himself.”
“I hadn’t heard,” Cixi lied, not wanting to give away the fact that her own spies kept her better informed than Liyang did.
“Oh yes. He offered four hundred pounds of silver. That should have flushed anyone into the open. Michaels and Ennock were spotted three years ago in a leper colony near Tehran, but no one’s heard from them since. Su Shun has left the reward in place, but with one small change.”
This was news to Cixi. “And what is that?”
“He wants Lady Michaels brought to him alive so he can kill her himself.”
“Ah.” Cixi thought about that. “He wants personally to see her dead. Su Shun does not trust someone else for something this important.”
“But why? This I do not understand.”
“He needs to stop her from spreading the cure. The only reason Su Shun hasn’t started a march across Mongolia to Europe in the emperor’s name is that he is worried our troops will be infected
with that filthy cure and bring it home. He wants to make absolutely sure this Alice woman is dead before he invades.”
Liyang bowed. “My lady is brilliant. Of course she is correct. Unfortunately for Su Shun, even four hundred pounds of silver have not brought her to him. She is most likely dead. Still, Su Shun isn’t sure, because he has not begun the invasion.”
A fly buzzed about the room, and one of the maids chased it away with her fan. Cixi said only, “Hm.”
“All reports say the cure stalled in Europe,” Liyang said. “It has not touched India or the United States of America. We are not sure about Africa.”
“We certainly don’t need it in China,” Cixi said firmly. “No more Dragon Men? The empire would collapse.”
“Collapse,” said Liyang. “Yes.”
Cixi gazed out a latticed window at a tranquil pool covered with white lotus flowers. Neither of them was talking about the other problem, the main problem, the problem that once Su Shun took the throne, he would ensure no one who could challenge his rule would be left alive. The death of Zaichun, her little boy, was inevitable. Su Shun would trump up charges of treason and have the boy’s mouth and nose stopped up with wet silk. Cixi would be forced to watch while he struggled and kicked and slowly suffocated.
A golden fish leaped out of the lotus pool and vanished with a tiny splash, no doubt fleeing a predator. Once Zaichun was dead, Su Shun would almost certainly order Cixi’s execution as well, followed by the deaths of Liyang and all the eunuchs who served under him, including his boy apprentices. No one with strong allegiances to the rightful emperor could be allowed to live. Cixi had tried to see the emperor on several occasions despite the order that only immune eunuchs were allowed in, but the soldiers on duty outside Xianfeng’s chambers now knew not to let her in, and her polite and kind requests were always met with equally polite and kind refusals. Cixi had tried every trick she knew, and none of them worked. Time was working against them.
“There is one way to save China and the Celestial Throne,” Cixi said quietly.
“My lady?” said Liyang.
“Everyone knows Su Shun’s rule would destroy China,” she said, vocalizing thoughts that had been going through her head for a long time. “Everyone also knows my-the emperor’s-son is the proper heir.”
“My Lord Zaichun is a bright and intelligent boy,” said Liyang with proper deference. “The most intelligent boy the world has ever seen. But even the most intelligent boy cannot truly rule an empire.”
“No. Someone would have to be regent. Make decisions in his name. Someone who knows the empire. Someone who knows what is best for China. Someone who can make good decisions. Someone who isn’t hot-blooded like so many men.”
“Not I, my lady,” said Liyang quickly.
“No. You are a eunuch, but you still think like a man. Your advice would, of course, be instrumental in all decisions, Liyang.” Cixi smoothed the front of her silk tunic and its elaborate embroidery. “No, the time for men to rule China has come to an end, I think.”
“Ah,” said Liyang. “I see, my lady. Yes. I agree. But how will this happen?”
Lung Fang, seated in her corner, ran a finger over the salamander in her ear. “I have calculated that the emperor has twelve minutes left to live.”
“What?” Cixi sprang to her feet. Her kneeling maids scrambled to follow suit.
“Eleven minutes and fifty-five seconds, actually,” said Lung Fang.
Time had run out. Cixi stood for a moment, thinking furiously. Years of training in court etiquette warred with looming necessity. In the end, necessity won. She rushed out of her chambers, out of the Stars Pavilion, and down the front stairs. Zaichun was playing with a set of small mechanical animals on the front lawn under the watchful eye of a dozen eunuchs and his wet nurse. Without pausing, she snatched him up, eliciting gasps from her maids and eunuchs.
“My lady, I’ll carry him!”
“My lady, it is not seemly-”
“My lady, do you want your palanquin?”
She ignored them all and all but ran across the lawns toward the Cool Hall on the Misty Lake. By the time the palanquins was summoned and readied, everything would be over. Zaichun clung to her, wide-eyed and without speaking. He was heavy, but she didn’t set him down. She was panting and her arms were aching to fall off by the time she reached the Hall, but she kept going, trailing a line of frantic maids and eunuchs. She stormed up the step and through the front doors. Servants and courtiers leaped to get out of her way as she stormed down hallways and across courtyards, ignoring the pleas of her servants, knowing if she slowed for even a moment, she would lose her nerve.
She was turning a corner to come down the final corridor to the emperor’s chamber when she slipped. Her feet came out from under her, and she landed hard on the polished floor. Zaichun landed on her, knocking the breath from her lungs. A squawk went up from the flock of maids and eunuchs, who quickly took the crying boy away and helped her to her feet. Thanks to her voluminous clothing, it took considerable time to get to her feet. As she rose, she saw a white feather detach itself from her slipper and float away. She must have slipped on it.
But no time to consider further. She snatched the bawling prince away from the maid and ran down the hallway, every muscle in her body aching now. “Enough, child,” she murmured into his ear. “We are going to see your father, and you do not want him to see you weeping as he departs this world.”
Zaichun got himself under control as Cixi reached the muscled eunuchs at the door. They tensed, having been through Cixi’s attempts at entry before, but before they could speak, Cixi held Zaichun out before her.
“Make way for Prince Aisin-Gioro Zaichun, the Celestial Gift of China!” she boomed. “Make way for the emperor’s son!”
As they had the first time Cixi had come through, the guards looked uncertain and puzzled. Cixi had been forbidden to enter the imperial bedchamber, but the prince and presumptive heir outranked everyone except the emperor himself. The guards were unwilling to lay a hand on him-or on the woman carrying him.
Cixi didn’t hesitate. Holding the boy before her like a living battering ram, she bullied past the waffling guards and kicked the doors open. The eunuchs gathered around Xianfeng’s bed jumped in bewilderment at Cixi’s unannounced entrance. She didn’t bow, she didn’t kneel, she didn’t kowtow. Forgetting these things meant her death, but she was dead anyway and had nothing to lose.
Su Shun stood beside the emperor’s scarlet bed, his brass half face gleaming in the sunlight filtered through the frosted glass of the doors. He was bending over Xianfeng’s wasted form. The blessing of dragons turned a tiny number of people into Dragon Men, it turned a certain number of people into shambling zombies, but most people it simply killed. And emperor or not, Xianfeng turned out to be no better than a commoner in this case. Xianfeng’s breathing came in short gasps as the blessing progressively paralyzed his muscles and fever ravaged his body.
“Father!” Zaichun cried from Cixi’s arms. He squirmed away from her and ran to Xianfeng’s bed. The eunuchs boiled out of the way, and Cixi followed in the path he cleared. “Father!”
“What are you doing here?” Su Shun snapped. “Guards!”
Xianfeng turned fever-bright eyes on Zaichun. “My. . son!”
The guards from outside rushed into the room, swords and pistols drawn. But Xianfeng raised the Jade Hand. “No. . back. .”
The guards obediently backed away. Su Shun looked outraged, but he could say nothing. Cixi gave him a grim smile.
“What of your succession to the throne?” Cixi said urgently. “My lord, who shall rule after you die?”
Xianfeng dropped his hand. The light was fading from his eyes. The water clock in the corner ticked away the time. Thirty seconds left, according to what Lung Fan had said. The room was dead silent. Everyone-guards, eunuchs, Su Shun-was listening with every fiber of his being. Cixi held her breath.
“My. . throne. .,” Xianfeng whispered.
>
“Your son is here!” Cixi said. Even now she couldn’t bring herself to order the emperor to choose Zaichun, but she slid the boy closer to the emperor’s side. Zaichun looked confused and unhappy, and he reached for his father’s Jade Hand. Everyone held his breath. The water clock dripped away the seconds.
“My. . throne,” said Xianfeng. “Eighteen. Eight. . teen.”
He exhaled once more, then went still.
Several things happened all at once. The Celestial Scepter dropped off Xianfeng’s forearm and fell toward the floor. The water clock chimed. A fast-thinking eunuch dove sideways and caught the Jade Hand before it could touch the ground. Cixi’s maids and the other eunuchs set up a screaming wail and tore at their clothes. Su Shun’s eyes met Cixi’s, and she knew they both had the same thought. The emperor had not declared Zaichun his heir. He had declared no one his heir. And Su Shun was the most powerful man in the room.
Both Cixi and Su Shun moved at the same time. The eunuch was cradling the precious Jade Hand against his chest. Su Shun snatched a pistol from one of the guards and shot the eunuch in the head. The pistol boomed against Cixi’s very bones. She caught up the shocked Zaichun and ran for the door. For a fraction of a second, Su Shun started to aim his pistol at Cixi, then changed his mind and grabbed the Jade Hand from the dead eunuch instead. The pause gave Cixi extra time, and when she passed one of the tables, something made her snatch up the Ebony Chamber, with its gold dragons and phoenix latch. She ran for freedom, clutching the box and towing Zaichun with her. As she left, she had just enough time to see Su Shun raise a guard’s sword high and hear the meaty thunk as Su Shun chopped off his own hand.
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