by Peter David
“Shall we say… a million yeng?”
I could see from the expressions of the others that this was an unexpected development, and no doubt a fairly healthy outlay of funds to serve as an incentive bonus. Considering the reward for the destruction of the Forked Tong was ten million yeng, this had suddenly turned from a no-win scenario to one that was rife with possibilities.
Granted, yes, I had no experience whatsoever as an architect. But I had advantages over my predecessors. For one thing, my mandate would be to design a building that looked like nothing the Imperior had seen. That should not prove difficult at all. And I was confident enough in my ability to manipulate discussions that I was certain I could handle the Imperior. That might have been foolish pride talking rather than a reasonable perspective, but my ability to deceive others was pretty much the only aspect of my personality that I genuinely did take pride in, so I suppose I could be forgiven the flash of arrogance.
A healthy reward for drawing pictures of buildings, while the destruction of the Forked Tong and their criminal associates who had killed Ali was being handled by armed soldiers with no risk whatsoever to myself. Yes indeed, matters were shaping up rather nicely at that.
I bowed deeply, so deeply that I almost tumbled forward off the pillow. When I righted myself, I said carefully, “Imperior, it would be an honor to serve you in this manner.”
Go Nogo looked at me very suspiciously. I could intuit why. He wanted to be pleased over this development. To convince himself that I had just willingly shoved my head into a noose and invited it to be drawn closed around my neck. But my confidence was disconcerting to the point where he no doubt wondered just what it was I had up my sleeve. That was fine by me. The more I could do to keep adversaries off balance, the better I liked it.
“Have you considered taking advantage of my daughter?”
I had been in the midst of drinking tea when the Imperior asked me the question, and my rather ungenteel response was to blow a good part of it out my nose.
Several weeks had passed since the initial discussion in the council chamber which had led to my rather curious installation as chief architect… curious since I had no experience at it.
And yet the entire process had gone remarkably smoothly. Fortunately enough, I had lived in the castle of King Runcible for more than enough time to memorize every nook and cranny of the place. So all I really had to do was draw a reasonable representation of Runcible’s castle and I was set.
I quickly realized I would have to do multiple drawings, since otherwise there would be an overlap of the images and it would be impossible to distinguish one from the other. So I did half a dozen different designs, beginning with one that laid out the castle’s outer garrison wall, followed by the interior towers, the courtyard, and other accouterments. I worked closely with Itso Esi, who, for all his officiousness, was an efficient enough fellow. He seemed genuinely interested in the designs, and kept saying he wanted to do everything he could to make certain my “vision” was realized. He even simplified my life by providing me with cleverly designed paper with clearly delineated grids upon it. I could use them to indicate scale. I was told that each grid equaled “ten feet,” and that was a relief as well. I wasn’t anxious to learn an entirely new method of measurement, so it was convenient that the Chinpanese used the same calibrations as I was accustomed to.
Of even greater relief to me was the Imperior’s enthusiasm for the designs. I felt I was walking a tightrope with a shark-filled moat for a net when I first presented the drawings to the Imperior. Despite Esi’s claims that he thought them dazzling, I was not fooling myself. The moment the Imperior said he disliked them, I knew I’d be on my own.
Fortunately enough, that didn’t happen. Instead the Imperior looked over the drawings with growing excitement, his aged head bobbing up and down as if threatening to tumble off his shoulders. “Yes,” he kept saying, “yes, exactly, yes.” He clearly could not have been happier, and if that’s how he felt about it, naturally I did as well.
During that time, Go Nogo was hardly around. On the occasions when I did see him, he was deep in discussion with members of his elite Hamunri guards, and I would constantly hear words like “Tong” and “Skang Kei” bandied about. Clearly he was doing everything within his power to act upon the Imperior’s wishes. I wished him all the luck that I would normally wish upon someone who had tried to drown me.
Meanwhile, I was feeling growing excitement with my current assignment. Believe it or not, as I contemplated the reward, I was thinking about the impact it would have—not on my life, but on the lives of the villagers of Hosbiyu.
Yes, I was actually dwelling upon improving not my own life, but the lives of others. For the longer I was away from the simple folk of Hosbiyu, the more I came to realize that I had really, truly enjoyed my time there. Indeed, I had been more purely happy in Hosbiyu for a longer period than any other segment of my life. The more I thought about it, the more I became convinced that my return there was not only likely, but a certainty.
In a strange sort of way, it was the classic tale. The young man from the farming village embarks upon a journey of discovery, has some adventures, and then returns to his village wiser in the ways of the world, with rewards for the people of the village that would enrich their lives.
Granted, there were some significant differences in my case. First and foremost, I was not a young man. By that point in my life, I had reached my mid-twenties. Astonishing to consider, really. When one took into account the number of times people had tried to kill me, it would have seemed rather unlikely I would make it out of my teens. Second, my “adventures” mostly entailed trying to stay the hell out of trouble rather than throwing myself into the thick of the fray, as most such mythic heroes did.
On the other hand, what I found most attractive about the notion was that it made me the center of the story.
It was a view that seemed peculiar to me, but I had a singular awareness of the world that no one else appeared to possess.
Everyone liked to believe that they were the center of their own little universe. But only I seemed blessed—or, more correctly, cursed—with the awareness that my own existence was of so little consequence, that it was never important enough to be the center of anything, including my own life. Instead I excelled at being germane to other people’s adventures. I was a sidekick, a supporting character, or—most discouraging of all—an obstacle to be overcome while the hero went on to some great accomplishment.
You, of course, might think me mad. Who considers the world in that way? In terms of fiction and romance and novel concepts instead of the true, factual way of things?
In answer to the question: I do. I had an epiphany one day, you see, and it is really quite impossible to convince others who have not had an epiphany of the truth of things. So those of you who would consider me mad, I would in turn consider you to be poor, unfortunate souls who likely don’t even enjoy the rank of being a secondary or supporting player in a grand epic. The vast majority of you are very likely relegated to being mere faces in the crowd or—worst of all—spear fodder. Corpses on legs, walking about until the next great war or unleashed disease or act of barbaric brutality occurs, at which point you will simply be one of the many bodies heaped into a pile to help underscore the tragic seriousness of the predicament. You won’t even survive to see how it all turns out.
As much as you might feel sorry for me in thinking me demented, I likewise feel sorry for you. I understand the way of things while you are simply destined to live and die as a mere shadow being in an epic that you didn’t even know was being spun. As much as I despised the being I was, I wouldn’t want to be you for all the tea in Chinpan.
So…
My plans for the Imperior’s new estate were met with great enthusiasm by the ruler of Chinpan, and they were immediately shipped out to the outer province where a vast army of workers had apparently been sitting idle for quite some time. The Imperior was most pleased to be able to set them to
work. And if the Imperior was happy, then I was happy, bordering on ecstatic.
In the evenings I would chat with Mordant, who seemed to have an almost supernatural ability to keep himself out of sight. Then again, he was a talking dragon, so perhaps “supernatural” was not out of the realm of possibility.
That left the princess Mitsu who, to be honest, I kept hoping would run away again.
It wasn’t that she was all that much of a difficulty for me. After our rather stimulating encounter in the bath, I had hardly run into her at all. Considering the size of the palace, it really wasn’t that odd that I did not encounter her.
One day, however, I was invited to a private tea with the Imperior. This, of course, made me nervous. A small table sat between us as tea steeped in the center, and serving girls poured out for us as the Imperior nodded in approval. I was just taking the initial sip of the beverage when he brought up the notion of “taking advantage” of his daughter, at which point I lost control of both myself and the tea. I could only be grateful that, when the liquid sprayed, it did so primarily over myself rather than the Imperior. I could only imagine what the penalty was for blasting tea out one’s nose all over the divine personage of the ruler of Chinpan. Actually, I didn’t have to imagine all that hard. I could readily guess what it was.
“Take… advantage, Imperior?” I managed to cough out as the serving girl helped dab me clean. “I… I don’t—”
“She is an intelligent female… for a female, that is,” he added.
“She has been trained by the finest self-defense teachers in Chinpan. She might be of use in teaching you fighting techniques.”
“Ah,” I said, calming somewhat. “Well, that is… that’s an intriguing notion, Great One. Very intriguing. And generous.” The serving girl had poured another cup and I started to drink from it.
“Plus you might want to have sex with her.”
This time the tea did not exit explosively. Instead I choked on it. It took me a few moments to pull myself together as the Imperior simply stared at me, his eyes peaceful and relaxed.
“Your, uh… your people’s approach to sexual union… is a bit more straightforward than mine, Your Stupendousness,” I said.
“Is it?” He looked politely surprised.
“Yes. We… tend not to discuss it so blatantly. Nor, in my culture, would a father offer intimacy with his daughter in so matter-of-fact a fashion. Unless, of course, she were a—”
“A what?”
I had been prepared to say “prostitute,” but I realized an instant before the words escaped my lips that it probably wouldn’t be the wisest thing to say. Quickly I substituted, “—princess. Of course. If she were a princess, and her father a king, well then naturally, different rules of conduct apply. Because when one is royalty and divinely inspired, there are no rules save that which the royalty makes up.”
The Imperior nodded approvingly. “And that is as it should be,” he said contentedly. Then, warming to the topic of his daughter’s carnality, he said, “My daughter is very wise in the ways of pleasuring a man.”
“Is she?” My voice was suddenly constricted.
“Oh yes. She has read many texts on the subject.”
“Well… that’s how I hear you get experience.”
“It is possible you could learn much from her.”
“I… have no doubt,” I said. “But I… well, Imperior, you see… I am but a lowly messenger. Understand, I take great pride in the fact that you have treated me with such honor and respect. In here, however,” and I touched my heart, “I cannot help but feel that I would not be worthy of such a… a treasure.”
“Not worthy…?” His face clouded, but then brightened. “Ah. I comprehend. And you are concerned that because of that feeling, you would be unable to perform as a man should.”
“What? Now… wait. I didn’t…”
“It is all right,” he assured me, nodding and looking sympathetic.
“You should not think the less of yourself simply because you are impotent.”
“Imperior, I didn’t say—”
“It happens to all men. Well… not to me. Never to me. But I am more than a man, so it is understandable. But do not worry, Po. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Imperior, I am not impotent! I can function perfectly well! As well as the next man! Better than the next man!” I said with growing frustration. “Why, I could take your daughter right now and—”
“Very well,” he said, and clapped his hands together briskly.
At which point I realized I’d well and truly screwed myself… appropriate, I suppose.
“Tell my daughter that the honorable Po will be coming to her chamber shortly, and she is to tend to him in the manner that a woman is supposed to tend to a man.” He nodded gravely at me. “I will appreciate an excellent performance on your part, Po. It will help to take her mind off that foolish peasant boy.”
“Peasant boy?” My mind was whirling. I felt as if I’d missed an entire part of the conversation.
“Yes. A pathetic young beggar who caught her fancy one day when she was out and about in the marketplace several years ago. She became obsessed with him. For a long time, she spoke of nothing else. Then one day he disappeared, as such creatures tend to do. She blamed me for that.” He shook his head, looking aggrieved. “As if I am responsible for the comings and goings of gutter rats.”
“It sounds most unfair,” I agreed.
“Oh, it is,” sighed the Imperior. “Even after all this time, she still brings him up. Take her mind off him, noble Po. If you are a man, you can accomplish this.”
I gulped deeply.
Interesting thing about the doors in the palace, which I had not mentioned earlier: They were made of some sort of rice paper, stretched across wooden frames. Rather than opening like normal doors, they would slide from one side to the other, and you could see through them to some degree.
I stood outside the door that led into the princess’s chamber and cleared my throat loudly. “Princess,” I called, and was annoyed because my voice broke slightly. I cleared it again and said, “Mitsu?”
I heard movement from within and soft footsteps approaching the door. Then I saw the outline of her figure through the door. She was standing there like a shadow come to life. She stretched her arms luxuriously over her head, and I could tell—even though she was in shadow—that she was either unclothed, or wearing nothing to speak of.
“My father told me you would be coming here,” she said.
“Yes, well… that’s open to debate.”
“Will you be entering?”
I suddenly felt the need to throw myself into a tub of ice water.
“I… do not think that would be wise. At this time.”
“My father desires it.”
“Do you?”
“My father desires it.”
“Ah.” Well, that certainly answered that question, even though it wasn’t being directly answered at all. “And what about your desires?”
“My desires?” There was a sharp, bitter laugh from the other side.
“My desires are of no consequence, honorable Po. That has been made abundantly clear by my divine father. By everyone, really.”
“And what about the boy? The boy in the marketplace?”
There was a brief silence, and I saw her “shadow” stiffen. “What of him?”
“Does he feel that way as well? That what you think is of no consequence?”
She said nothing in response.
“Mitsu?” I prompted.
“He was so beautiful,” Mitsu said softly. From the way she spoke, it was as if I wasn’t even there. As if she was talking to herself. “The moment I looked at him, I knew. I just knew. Have you ever looked at someone and just… known?”
“No,” I admitted.
“It is as if you’ve been together in a previous life, and recognize one another from that earlier incarnation. The connection is just there, and you instantly kn
ow that you would do anything for that person. That they are more important to you than anything in the world, including yourself. Such is the power of that connection.”
“I envy you that,” and I meant it. “I’m not sure whether a cynic such as myself could ever feel that way.”
“In any event… he’s gone. And my father is responsible.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” There should have been anger and ferocity in her tone, but instead she simply sounded resigned. “I do know it. And he knows I know it.”
Unwillingly, my mind spun back to Entipy. She, too, had been in love with a young man who had earned the disapproval of those who “knew best.” Her great love had been Tacit, my greatest friend in youth… and my greatest enemy in life. I had been consumed with jealousy upon learning of her feelings for Tacit, even though I had no particular affection for the princess. In truth, I actually disliked her intensely. But the mere fact of her devotion to Tacit was enough for me to use every means in my power to sunder their bond. And I had succeeded beyond my wildest dreams.
Odd. I’d never felt guilty about it until that moment.
“You are silent, Po,” said Mitsu. “Why?”
“As… you are thinking of friends long gone, so am I,” I said.
“Are we to have intimacy with one another, then?”
I took in a deep breath and then let it out unsteadily. “I would feel it… trespassing, Princess. And… dishonorable.” It was quite possibly the first time I’d used the word and actually meant it.
“But my father wishes it.”
I glanced around. There was no one about. “What your father does not know cannot hurt him. Or us.”
“You would lie to my divine father?”
“That would not be possible, would it. Since he is divine, he would know the truth of things. So if he asks… we will smile. And look knowingly at him. And say nothing beyond that. If that is acceptable to you.”
She rested one hand gently upon the paper door. I reached up and placed my palm flat against hers. “You are a decent and caring man, Apropos.”
