Dragonwall (33 page)

Noting the reaction of the other mandarins, the emperor said, “Minister Ju-Hai, we have considered the words of the messengers and have all reached the same conclusion.” The Divine One turned back to the Minister of War. “How do you plan to defend the city, General?”

The ancient mandarin answered immediately. “With the exception of your guard, I have placed all forces in Tai Tung under my personal command—”

“Take my guard as well,” the emperor interrupted. “If the city falls, they will do me no good.”

Kwan bowed his head. “Thank you, Divine One. They will prove most useful—”

The ancient Minister of War was interrupted again, this time by the chamberlain. “Excuse me, honored ones,” he said, moving toward the center of the room. “I thought you would want to know that General Batu is at the city gate demanding entrance.”

“He dares show his face personally?” The emperor asked, pushing himself to the edge of his throne.

The chamberlain nodded. “He is dressed like a barbarian, but several guards recognized him.”

“To believe we would open the gate to ten thousand enemies, he must take us for imbeciles!” Kwan objected.

“The impudent knave!” Ting said, speaking for the first time that morning. “Have an archer plant a feather in his breast!”

“No!” Ju-Hai shouted, rising to his feet. “Shouldn’t we hear him out?”

Ting whirled on Ju-Hai, her eyes burning with anger. “The traitor will make no promises we can believe!”

A chorus of agreement ran through the Mandarinate and Ju-Hai realized that nothing he said would persuade his peers to listen to him. To gain entrance into Tai Tung for Batu, he would have to appeal directly to the Divine One. He was risking the little that remained of his prestige, for the emperor had already indicated his displeasure with Ju-Hai once that morning. Nevertheless, the Minister of State knew Batu was no traitor. The young general would not have returned to Tai Tung if he did not feel that doing so was in Shou Lung’s best interests.

Ju-Hai turned to the emperor. “Divine One, what harm can come from admitting Batu into Tai Tung? Does anyone believe a lone man capable of defeating an entire city?”

“There is magic,” Kwan countered. “With sorcery, one man can accomplish much.”

“Batu is no wu jen,” Ju-Hai returned.

“Neither are you,” Ting said. “How do you know he does not carry some trinket to block the gate when we open it?”

“Then let him climb the wall!” Ju-Hai snapped, returning his eyes to the emperor. “The man has been accused of treason. Allow him to come and speak in his own defense. If his words do not convince us of his innocence, then at least we will have him in our grasp to punish!”

The Divine One studied Ju-Hai for several moments, his face, as usual, an unreadable mask. Finally, the emperor turned to the chamberlain. “Have the guards lower a rope to General Batu.”

After the chamberlain left, Kwan outlined his plans for defending Tai Tung. The emperor asked a few questions, but it was clear that the court was more concerned with Batu’s arrival than the Minister of War’s report. Ting constantly fidgeted, rearranged her fur, crossed and recrossed her legs. Ju-Hai suspected she could hardly keep from rising to pace back and forth, for it was certainly possible that the general’s return would expose her treachery.

Finally, the chamberlain returned with Batu. The two men were accompanied by a dozen imperial guards. As the small entourage advanced into the Hall of Supreme Harmony, a murmur of shocked disapproval rustled through the Mandarinate. The general wore a conical skullcap trimmed with oily fur, a filthy hauberk, grimy leather riding breeches, and mud-spattered boots rising to the top of his shins. If Ju-Hai had not seen Batu in civilized apparel before this, he would have sworn he was looking at a barbarian.

Batu and his escorts stopped in the middle of the hall. The general removed his skullcap and thrust it roughly at the chamberlain, revealing a mass of long unkempt hair. Batu dropped to his knees and touched his forehead to the floor three times.

“You may rise.”

The emperor had barely spoken before Batu sprang to his feet. He held his jaw set firmly and his eyes burned with outrage. When he spoke, however, his words contained no trace of anger. “Thank you for seeing me, Divine One. I have much to report.”

Kwan was quick to move in for the attack. “You mean to account for, traitor!”

Batu turned on the ancient mandarin with a stare so savage that Ju-Hai half-expected the general to fling a hidden dagger at the old man. Instead, Batu said, “As usual, you are mistaken, Minister Kwan. Was it at your order that I had to climb the city wall like a common thief?”

“No,” the emperor interrupted. “It was at mine.”

Batu looked back to the emperor, his expression finally betraying his injured feelings. “Why?”

The Divine One studied Batu with a scowl lost halfway between anger and puzzlement. “Why?” he snapped. “You lay siege to my summer home, then present yourself in the filthy rags of a barbarian, and you ask why you must climb the wall? General, you are more intelligent than that. Now say what you have come to say.”

Batu’s mouth dropped into a pained frown. “Didn’t my messenger explain?”

“Your messenger explained,” Ju-Hai interrupted, deciding it was best to let Batu know what he faced. “No one believed him. He was killed during interrogation.”

“Killed?” Batu gasped. “But he was a Shou peng!”

“He was a traitor, like you and your family,” Ting Mei Wan spat. She pointed a lacquered fingernail at the general. “Your messenger was put to death, the same as your wife and children!”

“What?” Batu shrieked. “What are you saying?”

“How long did you think the emperor would neglect your crimes?” Ting demanded. “Lady Wu was wounded while stealing secrets from my home. She died the next day, trying to escape. Your children were duly executed for her crimes, and yours, against the emperor.”

“No!” Batu shouted. “It can’t be!” He looked toward Ju-Hai, clearly hoping the Minister of State would report that Ting was lying.

Ju-Hai knew the cunning woman’s purpose in telling Batu of his family’s death. She was hoping to disorient him. Choked with grief, he might become irrational, violent, even self-destructive. In such a state, he would be easier to manipulate or to dismiss as demented if he revealed something that incriminated her.

Nevertheless, Ju-Hai could not lie about the deaths of Wu and the children. Even if the general believed him, someone else in the Mandarinate would confirm Ting’s words, and the Minister of State would lose Batu’s trust. His only choice was to tell the truth and hope the general could overcome his grief.

“She’s telling the truth, Batu,” Ju-Hai said, looking straight into the man’s horrified eyes. “Your wife and children died at her orders.”

For several moments, the minister and the general stared at each other. Batu’s lower lip quivered, and his brow twisted into a shroud of grief. His eyes became red and puffy, then glassed over with unshed tears.

“General,” Ju-Hai asked, “why did you return to Tai Tung?”

The minister was hoping to help Batu refocus his thoughts. The general’s only hope of escaping the same fate as his wife and children lay in performing his duty and proving his loyalty. The Minister of State did not imagine that Batu cared about living at the moment, but too much depended on the general to let him perish.

“Batu Min Ho,” Ju-Hai repeated sternly, “your mission isn’t finished yet. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and report!”

Suddenly Batu clenched his jaw and his eyes cleared. He looked away from Ju-Hai, then turned to the emperor. “Did you condone Ting’s action?”

The emperor did not flinch. “You know the penalty for treason.”

“Then you will find this most interesting,” Batu said, reaching into his hauberk. Immediately his escorts leveled their chiang-chuns at him.

The general glared at the guards. “Do not mistake me for an assassin.”

He withdrew his hand slowly. In it, he held a small ebony tube. It was the same tube that Ju-Hai had seen Ting Mei Wan holding on a dark, drizzly night many weeks past. It was the same tube for which Wu had died. Ju-Hai could not imagine how Batu had come to possess it, and he did not know what was inside. Yet, given Ting’s frantic search over the past weeks, he was sure the tube’s contents would condemn the beautiful mandarin to the death she deserved.

As if confirming Ju-Hai’s suspicion, Ting grew pale and slumped in her chair.

Batu looked in the disheartened woman’s direction and smiled grimly. He opened the tube and withdrew two sheets of paper, which he gave to the chamberlain. “These letters were meant for you, Divine One.” Batu’s voice was stiff and emotionless.

The chamberlain carried the letters to the emperor, who accepted them and began reading without a word. A few moments later, he looked up. “How did these come into your possession?”

“The barbarians sent them to me,” Batu answered. “They took the letters off a body in Shou Kuan.”

“Why would they give the letters to you?”

Batu glanced at Ju-Hai with a curiously apologetic expression, then said, “They want Ministers Kwan and Ju-Hai.”

Ju-Hai felt as though someone had dropped a boulder on his chest. He knew without a doubt what the letters revealed. The barbarians could want him and Kwan for only one reason.

“Ridiculous!” Minister Kwan yelled.

“Perhaps, and perhaps not.” The very calmness of Batu’s voice seemed menacing. “In addition to identifying Minister Ting as a spy, the letters say that you were party to an attempt on Yamun Khahan’s life. The barbarians claim that’s why they started the war.”

“I’d never do such a thing without your instruction!” Kwan shouted, looking to the emperor.

Batu turned back to the Divine One. “Those letters were sent as proof of the barbarian claim. I—” The general paused as the words caught in his throat, then continued. “I recognized Wu’s signature, so I knew they were genuine.”

“He’s lying!” Kwan said. “He forged the letters!”

“Minister Kwan has a point,” Ting added. “We have no way of confirming that the letters are genuine.” Though she spoke in a calm voice and appeared relaxed, Ting’s face was as pale as the fur on her shoulders. She glanced at Ju-Hai, her eyes carrying an unspoken suggestion.

The self-serving thing to do, Ju-Hai knew, was to join forces with Ting and Kwan. With three people calling Batu a liar, the emperor might take it on face value that the letters were forgeries. Even if the Divine One investigated further, the ploy would buy valuable time to maneuver. As unsavory as he found such a confederation, it was not something at which the minister balked. During his long career, he had made hundreds of unpleasant alliances and betrayed the trust of many friends on behalf of Shou Lung.

Ju-Hai realized that the eyes of the entire Mandarinate were fixed on him, anxiously awaiting his acknowledgement or denial of the assassination attempt. Still, the minister was not ready to make his decision. He had to consider one more point.

The minister turned to Batu. “General, if we don’t make peace with the barbarians, who will win the war?”

Several people seemed confused by the change of subject, but Batu answered immediately. “I can’t say,” he said, fixing a vacant stare on the minister. Continuing in an empty voice, he added, “The Tuigan are trapped in Shou Kuan; but they outnumber us and stand a good chance of winning when they sally. Even if they don’t attack, we may not be able to starve them out, for I’ve heard they’ll eat their horses and even each other. What’s worse is that while the enemy sleeps beneath the roofs of Shou Kuan, our men are exposed to chill weather and autumn rains. The risk of epidemic is high.”

The answer was not the one Ju-Hai had hoped to hear. It meant that much more was at stake than his life or Batu’s.

The Minister of State bowed to the emperor, but did not dare to look him in the eye. “I beg your forgiveness, Divine One,” he said. “The letters are genuine. When I learned of Yamun Khahan’s success in uniting the horse tribes, I offered my help to his treacherous stepmother. At my request, Kwan sent an assassin to aid her.”

A stunned silence fell over the Hall of Supreme Harmony, but only for a moment. Ting Mei Wan sprang to her feet as if to flee, but the emperor was not taken by surprise. “Minister Ting!” he boomed, pointing a long-nailed finger at her. “At the moment, you face only one death. If you flee, I will see to it that you die a thousand times!”

Ting looked from the emperor to the guards behind Batu. They still had not moved, and Ju-Hai thought his former protege stood a chance of escaping if she acted quickly enough. Then her gaze fell on Batu. The general’s face was warped into a hateful scowl and his bitter eyes were locked on Ting’s. Without looking away, the Minister of State Security collapsed back into her chair.

“A wise decision,” Ju-Hai said. “There is no place you could run that General Batu would not find you.”

The Divine One motioned to the guards behind Batu, “Lock her in the First Spire of Ultimate Despair. Ministers Kwan and Ju-Hai are confined to the palace grounds until further notice. Do not let them out of your sight.”

“You wouldn’t think of sending us to the barbarians!” Kwan protested.

Rising to leave the hall, the emperor said, “That will be decided after Ting’s execution.”

Kwan started to follow the Son of Heaven. “Divine One, let us explain!”

Ju-Hai rose. “There’s nothing to explain, you fool.” He knew that the emperor could reach only one conclusion: two lives were a small price to pay for ending a costly war that had little prospect of victory.

The Minister of State turned to the guards assigned to him. “I’d like to spend the day in my garden.”

*

The sword fell and there was a hollow pop. Ting’s head, covered by a silk hood, dropped into the waiting basket. The kneeling corpse remained perched on the executioner’s block, its hands bound behind its back.

In the pale morning light, everything seemed gray except Ting’s cheosong. It was her favorite scarlet dress, the one with the golden dragon that entwined her body. Now, clinging to a headless corpse, it was the dragon that looked full and alive.