Chasing the Phoenix (32 page)

“Tell me how you discovered”—the Hidden Emperor waved a hand up and down the cheap gown he wore—“my little secret.”

“Among those who have not met you, Majesty, you are famous for being unknown. But among your inner circle, the most common observation is that you know things that a ruler could not possibly know—because, as you rightly observed, there are things no rational man would dare to report. In Crossroads, a junior member of the Dog Pack fell ill of the plague and upon recovery amused herself by impersonating a joyous one. This allowed her surprising freedom in acquiring objects that did not belong to her. One very swiftly got used to having a joyous one present and, after a time, stopped noticing them. They were all the same, after all, and seemingly incurious.

“This led me to reflect upon how similar a good servant was to such a being—unobtrusive, ubiquitous, seemingly incurious. All servants are in one way or another programmed or conditioned not to eavesdrop. But a face dancer could get around that by sending away his target's most trusted servant and then impersonating him or her. You, of course, have spies to do that for you, but the spymaster still controls the flow of information. The problem has merely been shifted from one locale to another.

“I came to the conclusion that you were acting as your own spy. Which meant that if I wanted to speak with you, all I had to do to draw you out of hiding was to schedule a meeting of such people as would make you wonder if some traitorous conspiracy were being contemplated.”

The Hidden Emperor lightly clapped his hands. “Well reasoned. So now that you have me, what do you intend to do? Kill me, perhaps?”

“I would not dare attempt such a thing, Majesty.”

A sardonic note entered the emperor's voice. “Because you are so loyal, you mean?”

“No, Majesty. Simply because a ruler who would repeatedly place himself beyond reach of his bodyguards must surely have some extremely lethal weaponry in his possession.”

“Then what do you intend?”

“I wish merely to ask you why I have lost your trust.”

The Hidden Emperor tapped his fingers on the table, thinking. Then he said, “Tell me about the plot to murder me and place Powerful Locomotive on the throne.”

Darger's blood ran cold. But he merely said, “Surely you are not going to believe such nonsense, Majesty.”

The emperor's eyes were cold. “I heard it from your own mouth.”

“I am as capable of nonsense as any man! I first narrated this murderous fantasy to Prince First-Born Splendor in the countryside outside of Brocade to trick him into signing a treaty advantageous to Your Majesty. I told him a parable about a traveler and wolves. Then I asked him if he was willing to get blood on his hands, if it meant saving the lives of thousands of his subjects.…” Speaking as convincingly as he could—and he could be extremely convincing when his life was on the line—Darger laid out the history of his deceits and the convoluted romantic tangle that had been, all against his will, lover by lover, thrust upon him. And though he may have withheld some small details—his sleeping with White Squall, for instance—he scrupulously adhered to the absolute truth in his account.

The telling took a long time. When Darger was done, the Hidden Emperor said, “I would have expected a more successful resolution of these various romantic desires from the Perfect Strategist.”

“Remember, Majesty, that these are not matters of military strategy, where my skill and judgment are paramount, but human interrelationships, of which no man is a master. I was forced to tell one or two lies in order to keep your best subordinates from killing one another. But keep them in line I did! All of this was done in your service, Majesty, and in the service of your destiny to conquer and rule China the Great.”

“Hmmm.” The emperor pondered all he had heard in silence for a time. Then he said, “It does make sense of much that had seemed inexplicable.”

“The important thing for you to know is that none of the people involved actively desired your demise. They were simply caught up in webs of fantasy and moonshine I wove for them.”

The Hidden Emperor asked several questions, probing for inconsistencies in Darger's account. He found none, for there were none there to find. Nor did Darger have to resort to invention, for the plain unvarnished facts were irrational enough that no sane man could have doubted them. At last, the emperor said, “You seem to be telling the truth.”

“There is a time and a place for lies, Majesty, but this is not it. To you, I dare speak only the truth.”

“The story you told me about your being an immortal and your long years of study. In which camp does it belong?”

“Majesty, I will speak to you frankly. My Utopian origins, my immortality, my studies, the centuries spent in the desert with the Dog Warrior, my determination that China must be restored, and my discovery that you were the perfect vessel for that destiny—all these are true. Particularly the last. Every time you listened to me, you prospered. But when you did not, your fortunes still prospered, though not as spectacularly. Had I put myself in the service of any other king who then utilized my genius as sparingly as you have, he would by now be long dead. Yet you remain and your cause moves forward. It is even possible that you would have reached this point without my assistance—though not, I'll warrant, nearly so quickly.”

The Hidden Emperor nodded, possibly involuntarily. “The question is,” he said, “what should I do about you?”

“You will do as you wish.”

The Hidden Emperor waited. “And?” he said at last.

“That's all.”

That sly smile returned to the emperor's face. “That was the right answer. You are still out of favor, but you may live. For now.”

*   *   *

THE AFTERNOON
had grown late while Darger was in the teahouse. He sought out Surplus and found his friend with the Dog Pack on a grassy expanse outside the city, taking turns practicing equestrian stunts.

“Watch this,” Surplus said and, leaping into Buttercup's saddle, urged his mount to a full gallop. Meanwhile, on the far side of the sward, Fire Orchid did the same with her own mountain horse, Dragonfly.

Straight toward each other the two noble beasts ran at full speed, neither veering away, until it seemed they must inevitably collide. Then, at the last possible instant, Dragonfly crouched so low to the ground that her belly grazed the grass and Buttercup leaped high over her, so that they passed under and over each other without touching.

Everybody in the Dog Pack cheered. Fire Orchid, glowing with exertion, trotted her mountain horse over to Darger and said, “Did you catch the sexual subtext to the stunt? Next time I want to be on top. Don't you blush. It's okay—we're married.”

“No, we're not,” Surplus said, bringing Buttercup to a stop nearby.

Intense Lotus clapped her hands for attention. “Everybody! Today you learned the basic moves. Tomorrow we start combining them. First thing after breakfast, I'll mark out a circle and we'll all hammer stakes into it in place of a dressage fence. Then two riders will race their mountain horses around the outside and two around the inside, leaping up and over and down and under in alternation each lap. When you've got that down, I'll give all the riders swords. So then the drill will be: up and over, outside rider takes a swing at the head of the inside rider, who ducks; down and under, inside rider takes a swing at the head of the outside rider, who ducks. This will look spectacular but obviously requires lots of practice.”

“That is good as far as it goes,” Surplus said critically. “But once a sword is drawn, it must see combat. So let's make that: outside rider swings, inside rider swings, and third time the swords clash. If it can be done in such a way that sparks fly, so much the better.” Then, as an afterthought, “And use cheap swords—at these speeds nobody will know the difference.”

“Your first suggestion is good,” Intense Lotus said. “Your second is insulting. Next thing, you will be telling me how to shortchange shopkeepers.”

Several of the Dog Pack snickered. But Fire Orchid silenced them with a look.

“Domesticity suits you,” Darger said as he and Surplus walked away from the Dog Pack for a little private talk.

“Fire Orchid and I are not—”

“I never said that you were. Why in the world are you putting together a stunt-riding act, of all things?”

“It was the only way I could think of to keep the family out of trouble,” Surplus said. “If they're not doing something, they have a tendency to go out and … do things. Also, it's a good way to draw a nice, dense crowd. One where we can send in our pickpockets and clean up. Not that I intend to let that happen while we're under Shrewd Fox's scrutiny and probation.”

They walked on for a bit. Then Darger said, “I have spoken with the Hidden Emperor.”

“And?”

“We had a free and frank exchange of viewpoints.”

“As bad as that? Oh, dear.”

“There were glimmers of light here and there. I did manage to engineer a partial reconciliation, and I am almost certain that the emperor does not intend to kill us. But he no longer believes his ultimate success relies upon our support. Subsequently, his patronage of us hangs by a thread.”

“And our identities as near-godlike immortals?”

“Intact,” Darger said. “Though who knows to what degree the Hidden Emperor ever really believed in it.”

“Well, it sounds as though you've played as good a game as anybody could have, given the strange cards we were dealt.”

Darger ducked his head to acknowledge the compliment. “Just make sure that everybody remains ready to leave at a moment's notice. If and when the Hidden Emperor decides to turn on us, we will have no time to prepare and only minutes in which to act.”

 

15.

“There is a price for everything,” the Perfect Strategist said, “and that price must be paid, if not by the debtor then by his creditor. Nowhere in heaven or on earth is there to be found such a thing as a free lunch.”

—
THE
SAYINGS OF THE
PERFECT
STRATEGIST

THREE WEEKS
into the siege of South, Surplus said, “This grows stale.”

He and Darger were on a boat on the river, just out of enemy cannon range, mountain watching. Far to one side was Curling Dragon Mountain and far to the other was Crouching Tiger Mountain, both gleaming in the twilight. With sunset, the clouds that gave Purple-Gold Mountain its name were gathering about its peak. The high-walled city of South huddled below it, lamps and torches glowing peaceably in the shadows, as if the war were nothing but a distant rumor. But on the mountain slopes above, pinpricks of light sparkled as riflemen fought a desperate skirmish rendered silent and griefless by distance.

His friend nodded agreement. “Worse, it eats up the autumn. We have only so much time before the cold weather sets in and we're faced with the unpleasant choice of retreating to Weedy Lake to wait for spring—which gives the Yellow Sea Alliance further time to prepare against us—or conducting a winter war, with all the miseries of cold and ice and difficulties of travel that the season entails.”

“If only White Squall still had her machines! Say what you will about the morality of employing such grotesque violations of the natural order, they were a demoralizing sight for an army to see bearing down upon it. With my own eyes, I've witnessed entire cities abandoned out of fear of them.”

“She has a handful of spiders left and a halfway-serviceable crushing wheel,” Darger observed. “Also a portable bridge.”

“That is hardly enough. Numbers count. What is needed is an endless hell horde so terrifying as to strike despair into the heart of the most stalwart defender.”

“I wonder…” A strange gleam came into Darger's eye. “Everyone save you and I sees Fire Orchid's family only as petty criminals and a minor nuisance, when actually they are the most brilliant set of precision tools two gentlemen of our profession could wish for.”

“This is true. Exactly whose services were you thinking of calling upon?”

“Those of Gentle Mountain.”

“The puppeteer? Oh! Oh, of course! Yes, that's a brilliant plan.”

“The only question,” Darger said, “is how are we going to convince Ceo Shrewd Fox to adopt it?”

“My dear friend, you astound me. You are like the sailor who has swum almost to shore yet drowns in a foot of water for failing to stand up, or the marathon runner who pauses just before the finish line to contemplate what to do about the tape. Obviously, by making her think it was her own idea.”

*   *   *

DESPITE HIS
name, Gentle Mountain was not a large and kindly man but a lean fellow with the hard face of an assassin and a vivid white scar from a long-ago street fight where his opponent had tried with near success to cut his throat. To look at him was to suspect the worst. But in truth he was an amiable soul who cared for nothing so much as his art and was only an outlaw from a sense of family obligation. So he threw himself into the new project with tremendous energy and enthusiasm.

“You are corrupting the family,” Fire Orchid said.

“Is that possible?” Surplus asked.

“Don't talk so sassy. This job you gave Gentle Mountain makes him too happy. He wakes up thinking about it and he works all day on nothing else. Predatory Hibiscus has to force him to eat, he is so caught up in it. He is all the time singing!”

“Well, he is an artist, after all.”

“He has all the family helping him. He told me that he would do this work for free!”

“Ah,” Surplus said. “I understand your concern now. Artists often say such ridiculous things—and act upon them, too, if they are not protected from themselves. It is up to their friends and family to see that they come to no harm.”