Chasing the Phoenix (6 page)

*   *   *

WITH SCANT
ceremony, Darger and Surplus were dismissed and then returned to the same waiting room from whence they had come. This time, however, they were treated with deference, and servants brought them tea and extra candles. The palace major domo came by in person to assure them that rooms appropriate to their provisional status as advisors were being sought out and furnished. In the meantime, a
guqin
player was brought in to entertain them. She placed the zitherlike instrument on a small table before her and began to play.

While Capable Servant listened rapturously to the music, Surplus said in English, “What is your assessment of the Hidden King's character?”

“I would hesitate to make a clinical diagnosis of a man on so slight an acquaintance,” Darger replied. “However, were my feet put to the fire, I would venture to say that he is agoraphobic, paranoid, impulsive, borderline delusional, and quite possibly completely off his chump.”

“Then we are agreed that we should leave at the earliest possible convenience. I have memorized the layout of the palace. We could depart in the wee hours of the morning at the expense only of a concussed guard or two. We have gotten out of tighter jams than this in our time.”

“Oh, I do not think that will be necessary,” Darger said.

“But Aubrey! Consider! The Hidden King is at best tottering on the brink of madness.”

“And at worst, wealthy—or he will be, once he's conquered a city or three. We have a carp on our line. Let us see how he plays.”

 

3.

The sage known as the Yellow Child often observed that the righteous man can never be swindled.

—
THE
SAYINGS OF THE
PERFECT
STRATEGIST

IN THE
morning, servants deferentially roused Darger and Surplus from their sleep, provided them with fresh robes more suited for their newly presumed status (but Darger insisted on keeping his old clothing until something more luxurious but equally plain could be tailored for him), served breakfast, and escorted them up a country road to a meadow, where a city of brightly colored silk pavilions provided a neutral ground for the party from Southern Gate to meet with the Hidden King's ambassadors.

They found White Squall beyond the tents seated on a folding chair, sketching an antique building nestled in a grove of trees. Without looking up, she said, “What you see before you is the inn where the prince of Southern Gate is staying with his retinue.” An unexpected touch of warmth entered her voice. “It was built in the late Mao Dynasty, when China was incomparably prosperous. In the ages before then, country inns were contemptible places where only poor travelers stayed. But in that era, politicians, bureaucrats, and businessmen in great numbers journeyed to every part of China by iron horse and aluminum bird, and thus respectable lodgings were necessary. If you were so fortunate as to be invited within, you would note that it was built along traditional lines, with a mortise and tenon cedar frame, a courtyard in the center, and airy balconies all around the second floor. From here, you can see the green-tiled, double-eave roofs. The rounded vertical ridges of the roof, like its color, are symbolic of bamboo and thus represent youth and longevity.

“Because the Utopians used laser saws, fast-setting liquid jade, sheet-diamond windows, and other lost tools, materials, and techniques, the scrollwork and detailing of the building are incomparable. Its survival through the ensuing turbulent ages is a small miracle.” White Squall drew a final line and put aside the sketch pad. “There. Done.”

Darger picked up the pad. “Your rendering of the inn is as precise as an architect's blueprints. But it leaves out the romance of the place.”

“I draw what I see—and when I look at the inn, I see only the facts.”

“We are well matched then, lady, for I see nothing but the romance. Tell me, if you will, of the prince of Southern Gate.”

White Squall studied Darger silently for a moment, as if she were looking for hidden motives behind his question. Then she said, “First-Born Splendor is a well-made gentleman, courteous and yet expressive of his views, a man of his word and thus sparing of his promises, possessed of a good sense of humor and yet utterly serious about matters of state, forgiving of the foibles of others when they do no harm and yet uncompromising in his own virtue. In brief, he is the worst possible person to negotiate with.”

“Many a tough nut has been opened by guile after brute force failed,” Surplus observed. A servant hurried past with a tray of fresh-baked buns. He deftly snatched one and bit into it, adding, once he had swallowed, “Where threats do not work, soft words may prevail.”

From behind him, a voice like a bass drum said, “Do not underestimate brute force,” and Ceo Powerful Locomotive came striding up, smiling darkly. “Have you not wondered how the lovely White Squall came to be elevated to a chair at the left hand of the Hidden King, a position second only to that of my own, even though she is but a mere archaeologist?”

“We naturally assumed that this was due to her brilliance and high moral character,” Darger said.

“Weapons, gentlemen! That is the long and the short of it. Through a careful examination of ancient records, she and her people locate hidden weapons caches. Then she directs the excavation of those weapons and the restoration of their accompanying documentation. Were it not for the weapons she finds, she would still be a lowly mole pawing her blind way through the lightless corridors of forgotten libraries and archives.”

“Also, the Hidden King trusts my advice,” White Squall said.

“Advice?” Powerful Locomotive spun on his heel, saying, “Follow me.”

Through scurrying servants they four threaded a winding way among the tents. As they went, White Squall said to Darger in a low, angry voice, “The ceo acts as if resurrecting the Utopian machines incorporated into the armies of the Abundant Kingdom—the spiders, rolling fortresses, walking fire cannons, and all the rest—were simply a matter of digging them up out of the ground. But I assure you he underesteems my accomplishment. How easy do you think these things are to find? How simple to translate the archaic language of their maintenance manuals and explain such esoteric terms as ‘worm gear' and ‘cone friction clutch' to mechanics who are little better than village blacksmiths? Despite what Ceo Powerful Locomotive says of me, I have been of tremendous value to my nation. In fact—” Abruptly, she stopped.

“We are here,” Powerful Locomotive said.

They passed within a tent guarded by soldiers on all sides. In its shadowy interior rested a squat metal object that looked like a larger and much heavier version of a fireworks rocket. It rested at a thirty-degree angle on what might have been a presentation base were it not painted, like the rocket, a drab olive green. One man would have trouble lifting it, but two would have no difficulty moving it about.

“This is one of the many weapons White Squall has dug out of various holes in the ground.” Powerful Locomotive turned to her. “Would you care to explain your find?”

Her face utterly impassive, White Squall said, “This is the oldest and most primitive weapon I have yet uncovered, the Red Arrow, or HJ-73 antitank guided missile. Originally wire-operated, it has been repurposed as a ballistic device, and its shaped-charge warhead, which had been rendered infective by time, replaced with gunpowder and an impact-ignited blasting cap.”

“That is the most wondrous thing I have heard in years,” Darger said, “for I understand not a word of it.”

“Arrow I understand,” Surplus said. “But—guided missile? Antitank? Ballistic device?”

“A guided missile is a sophisticated rocket, used as a weapon. The tank was once believed to be a mythological beast but is now understood as an armored cannon-carrying machine used in the wars of old. The device is ballistic because, once launched, its flight cannot be influenced by its operator.”

“Ah. Very good. I understand completely. Pray, continue.”

“It was our intention to demonstrate the HJ-73 today,” White Squall said. “However, it is the Hidden King's whim that you should first fail to negotiate a happy settlement with Prince First-Born Splendor and then be hung for wasting our time. So we must wait until tomorrow to demonstrate it.”

“Demonstrate it how?” Surplus asked.

“By destroying the inn.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Ceo Powerful Locomotive's face shifted noticeably, the mouth widening and the brows becoming heavier and more menacing so that he looked almost demonic. This was surely, Darger reflected, habitual, a quirk so commonly used to intimidate subordinates when they questioned an order that he was no longer conscious of doing it. “All you need to know is that tomorrow the Red Arrow will fly through the air from here to the inn. There it will explode, destroying the building and all it contains. Nobody will be in it at the time, of course. The prince and his people will all be here. He is a useless fop and an irresolute fool. However, when he sees how easily a place he had lived in and whose beauty he had surely admired could be destroyed from a distance by a single instance of the many weapons provided by, as I said, this beautiful lady … then even he will become fully cognizant of the real benefits of signing a treaty with us.”

His speech done, Powerful Locomotive's face returned to its normal lineaments and he smiled insincerely. “But now I have real work to do. White Squall will see to your needs.”

For the space of a breath, White Squall glared after the departing ceo. Then, wordlessly, she lifted the tent flap. They all went outside again and stood blinking in the sunlight. “Any questions?” she said.

“How did the ceo come to have such a … mobile face?” Surplus asked.

“You did not know? But of course you are barbarian strangers and so gossip that is common to all the court is new to you. Powerful Locomotive's parents were landowners, minor nobility possessed of wealth but little political influence. To promote their family's fortunes, they invested in prenatal gene work to make their son a face dancer. Several collateral ancestors were in intelligence, you see, and they thought that on reaching his majority he could easily become a spy and from that position work his way upward. How were they to know that he would possess a natural genius for military command and a corresponding detestation of deceit? The irony of so straightforward a man possessing so ambiguous a talent is lost on no one.”

“I see,” Darger said. “Well, there is work to be done. How much time do we have to prepare?”

“The prince and his people will come here in early afternoon. Three hours, let us say. In the meantime, Ceo Powerful Locomotive and I have been directed to give you anything you may need.”

“Then we must begin preparations immediately. I shall require—ho! You!” At Darger's summons, a scurrying servant came to an abrupt stop. “Is that wine you are carrying? Of what quality is it?”

“Of the very finest, sir, for it is meant for the prince of Southern Gate himself.”

“Excellent!” Darger said, snatching the bottle from the startled man's hands. “Where is Capable Servant?”

“Here, sir,” said that admirably unobtrusive fellow.

“Fetch me a gourd with a leather strap, such as travelers use to carry water on their voyage. Nothing fancy, mind you. Borrow it if you can, buy it if that's required, steal it if you absolutely must, but get it to me in five minutes.”

“Sir!” Capable Servant disappeared.

“It is too early for you to be drinking,” White Squall said, reaching for the wine bottle, which was promptly whisked away from her.

“This wine is but one element of an intricate plan.” Darger took White Squall's folding chair from the servant who had followed them, carrying it. Setting the chair in the shadow of the nearest tent, he sat. “The Noble Dog Warrior has a list of our other requirements.”

“There is no need for a list, for I have committed our needs to memory.” Surplus could not possibly have done so, for Darger had come up with his scheme on the spot; nevertheless, Surplus held up a finger. “First, a spool of crimson thread along with three embroidery needles, a plate of water crackers, and five glass tumblers.” He held up a second finger. “Next, a giraffe—full grown, mind you, and in perfect health. It must be here before the prince arrives.”

“A giraffe!” White Squall said in a tone such as would be employed only by a woman who was overcome with indignation. “How am I supposed to find an African animal, full grown or not, on such short notice?”

“Madam,” Surplus said, “the list is long and enumerating it will take forever if you are going to raise objections whenever it strikes your fancy. I suggest that you jot down notes so that we can discuss your quibbles after the first read through and see if it is possible to make substitutions. Next, a lobster boat.”

White Squall put her hands on her hips. “Now that is simply impossible. We are twenty-five hundred
li
from the ocean.”

“Such negativity ill becomes you, great cao. Fourth—”

As the discussion grew more heated—Surplus could be infuriating when he put his mind to it—Darger accepted a gourd from Capable Servant and filled it with wine. Then, unobtrusively, he slipped away.

*   *   *

IT TOOK
Darger an hour to circle around the woods and so approach the country inn from its far side. The inn was handsomely situated near a small lake, with a grove of flowering peach trees around the back. A man who could only be the innkeeper stood in the doorway, taking a break from his duties. Cheerily, Darger hailed him. “Hello, my good fellow! Do you have a room free to rent to a wandering scholar who is for a brief time uncharacteristically affluent? Preferably one with a window looking out upon the lake, though from the exterior I judge that all your rooms are excellent.”