Heart and Soul (28 page)

But then, there was the rest. Papa had said he had married Hettie’s mama sixteen years ago, and Hettie was fifteen. She was either the child of their honeymoon or…Her mind shied from the idea, but it wasn’t so rare that such a thing was involved in these unequal marriages.

And then there was the fact that, for years, Mama had slaved in the kitchen, and Papa had worked himself into the ground, barely stopping in his trips to see his family, so they could keep Hettie in luxuries, and send her to her very expensive school, and accumulate a dowry for her, which, after all, might not be enough to give her any material advantage.

And now Mama would push Papa to go and ask for money from his family. Hettie had no doubt about it. She was quite capable of it, her mama. Normally the most biddable woman in the world, she would do anything—anything—for the sake of Hettie.

Which meant Papa would eventually have to swallow the pride that she’d heard in his voice, and go throw himself at the mercy of the family that had rejected Mama and…

She had no idea what the
and
was that followed, and suddenly she didn’t care either, because a new and more appalling idea had occurred to her. The dragon and that very strange carpetship magician, with his jewel that was sure to be stolen.

Papa had housed them, hidden them, probably in exchange for the proceeds of their disreputable adventure. That meant he had done it for Hettie.

Well, Hettie would not tolerate that. Not anymore. She was through with having sacrifices made for her. Adrian Corridon had offered for her hand, and though she’d shied away from it and thought it very disreputable indeed—and been afraid of breaking Mama and Papa’s hearts—now she realized it was the only thing she could do.

Without thinking too much, almost without stopping to take even a deep breath, she got her wicker suitcase from atop the wardrobe, the one that Mama had given her so many years ago, when Hettie was a very little girl and had gone with Papa on a trip to London, to see the palace where the queen lived.

Each carpetship employee could take only one family member, so it meant that Mama couldn’t go, but Hettie had been brave and waited the long days in Papa’s cabin, dressing and undressing Mrs. Beddlington. And it had been worth it, to go to tea in the nice big salons with Papa, and eat her toast buttered just so and to see the queen’s palace.

Now she opened the wardrobe and picked things to take with her. Two changes of underwear, and a change of dress. She didn’t suppose she needed much more than those, since Adrian would, of course, want to buy her new dresses. After some hesitation, she settled Mrs. Beddlington atop the nest of dresses and clothes, and closed the wicker suitcase. Then she opened the window and, following a route she’d only taken before to go play with Jane when she’d been bad and had been sent to her room, she climbed onto the windowsill and from it down to the branch of the apple tree that almost touched it.

When she’d attained the security of a lower branch, she threw her suitcase down onto the soft grass, knowing that with such cushioning Mrs. Bedlington would not be harmed. Then she jumped down herself.

As she took a turn to press herself against the wall of the garden, she cast one look back to the dining room, where Papa was reading his newspaper, and where Mama stood by and looked at him with what Hettie would swear was a fond expression.

Wiping away a tear she couldn’t quite admit to, Hettie made her way down the garden, in the fast-growing shadows of the afternoon.

Once she was gone, and married, her parents would live so much better.

THE VOICE OF THE FLOOD

Being dragged through the underworld was not as
unpleasant as it might have been, Third Lady realized. After all, as she should have surmised, not every place in Feng Du was uncomfortable, or even dark. No. Some people seemed to live quite pleasantly in Feng Du. Granted, most of those were great heros or renowned characters who occupied some post of responsibility. She thought perhaps the ones who were punished were only tormented because they believed they deserved it before they were allowed to reincarnate.

And as she thought of this, it occurred to her to wonder why Yu the Great was still here. If he was, as family records claimed, the very first Dragon Emperor or, as he called himself, the first king of China, he had lived uncountable millennia ago, long before human memory could have taken hold. That meant, surely, that he would have come through Feng Du and gone away by now, either back to the wheel of rebirth, or to the golden bridge that led to the paradise of deified heros and kings and the presence of the Jade Emperor.

In either case, one thing was for sure, and that was that he should not be loitering here, in this place that, even when it wasn’t devoted to punishment, was a dim reflection of brighter and happier lands.

She followed Wen through the halls of Feng Du, while the paper figures escorted them both. On the way, they saw other paper figures, and other creatures, engaged in various forms of either expiation or incomprehensible work.

Carts were pulled here and there, some of them, seemingly, piled high with what appeared to be all the goods of the world. And here and there, screams broke the gloom.

Precious Lotus noticed, though, that they never left the hall that was filled with and surrounded by mirrors, and that they never strayed far from the people looking into the glass, at scenes of great battles, or lovemaking or—once, glimpsed out of the corner of Third Lady’s eyes—a beggar sitting in the middle of the street, hand extended, moaning and sighing, and behaving as though he could barely stand to see any more.

Wen, himself, more alert than he’d been before, was speaking. “So, my ancestor,” he said. “Yu the Great, is he in this court of Feng Du?”

“He waits here,” one of the paper figures said, in his dry rustly voice, which sounded like leaves—or else like paper—being played upon by the wind. “After the review of his actions, he realized where they would lead, and what path he’d set his dragon-descendants upon. With the ability of a great sage—which he is—he saw at a glance where it would all end up. As such, he chose never to leave here. And when your palace was destroyed and it, too, arrived down here, he chose to guard a semblance of the ancestral palace and do what he could to keep it safe until his descendants could occupy it, rather than to follow the golden bridge to the court of the Jade Emperor, where his status as hero entitles him to be.

“Every year the Jade Emperor insists that Yu the Great come take possession of the place prepared for him in his court. And every year, Yu the Great sends his regrets, saying he can only go when the palace entrusted to his care should be restored to its proper place and the world of the living.” The figure made a papery sound, which seemed, for all the world, as though he’d just cleared his throat. “So you see, it is a matter of some chagrin to the Jade Emperor.”

“And probably a good reason for him to meddle in the affairs of my house,” Wen said, in a whisper, to his wife.

She nodded, in acquiescence, though she suspected there were other reasons as well. In fact, she had started to suppose a lot of things depended on Wen managing to make his position as emperor more than a mystical and symbolic position.

And it had to come to Wen, who had to be Wen—emperor in name only, who could not hold the throne without Red Jade’s help.

As they walked, surrounded by the paper guards, Third Lady started hearing the sound of running water, slowly transforming to the sound of many streams at once. They seemed to rush from all around, while the paper guards led Wen and Third Lady around the last set of mirrors and penitents and suddenly, before Third Lady, there rose the most incongruous of sights in this place of punishment and shadowy presence.

She felt her jaw drop open, as her mind said, in an awed tone,
We didn’t get the palace right. Not even a little of it.

While Jade had made every woman on the barges work on the paper figuration of a sumptuous palace for her father’s afterlife, none of it had looked even nearly as sumptuous, as impressive or as magnificent as the building she found herself facing.

It was a construction in white marble, rising terrace on terrace, each terrace cultivated with exotic gardens, each garden filled with strange flowers. Birds sang amid fruit trees. In the distance, over a green meadow, shone a sun that looked like it had been cut out of paper, and yet gave enough warmth for everyone.

Wen had stopped beside Third Lady, staring. And, perhaps because he needed as much support as she did, he extended a hand toward her. All around, amid the gardens, water flowed, in a hundred disciplined rivulets, watering the strange plants, and keeping everything green.

Nearby, a man who appeared to be made of clay, and wearing a detailed armor, knelt, engaged in the homely work of pulling up weeds.

Wen advanced on this creature and bowed to him. “We come to see Yu the Great, my illustrious ancestor, per his invitation.”

The creature of clay did not acknowledge him, and went on pulling weeds. “He can’t see you,” the paper creatures said. “Only we can, because you are alive, and we were designed to patrol against an invasion of the living. But most people and guardians and servants here can’t.”

He approached the clay statue and spoke in a rustly voice. “We bring the living ones who say that Yu the Great, once king of all under heaven, tamer of the flood, and dragon ruler over all the were-clans, has invited him to visit. Go and ascertain from your master whether the living ones lie.”

The clay man looked at the paper man, and no more able to make expressions than the paper man, he managed to convey a look of profound skepticism. He rose slowly from his knees, and Third Lady noticed that the knees didn’t so much bend as seemed to develop a lot of cracks, then healed them as fast as they developed, re-forming into another position as he stood.

He then bowed, by the same process, in the direction of the paper man, but giving the impression of bowing to herself and Wen. And then, turning, he made his slow progress through the garden, toward one of the exquisite marble pavilions in this most magnificent of all palaces.

Moments later, laughter was heard. Male laughter and then female laughter. Through the terraced gardens came a magnificent couple. They wore odd clothes, or perhaps the clothes of many generations ago. Both of them were dressed in loose pants and magnificently embroidered jackets made of the finest silk that caught the shimmers and the glow of the paper sun up above.

They walked quickly, but without seeming to hasten, hand in hand, and Third Lady noticed that wherever the man set his foot, a rivulet of water seemed to spring up, if only for a moment.

Where the clay creature had been, the two stopped and bowed in their direction. “Wen, Emperor of All Under Heaven, True Dragon King,” Yu said, his voice resonant and deep like the thunder that echoes just before the rain. “I have been awaiting you. This is my wife, Nu Jiao, who waited for me through seventeen years, and then thirteen more after she married me and I did my duty and tamed the great flood.” The pretty lady in the jacket bowed to them, and Third Lady thought that it didn’t look at all as if she’d be the sort of stoic woman who would endure that separation and absence in good part. And then she caught the lady’s merry gaze as she bowed in her direction.

“I would invite you into the palace that is yours, Wen, but you see I cannot, for right now it is my abode, and the presence of future heirs—”

“I understand,” Wen said, “and I do not hold it against you, Grandfather.”