Jade Dragon Mountain (39 page)

“What?” Tulishen was uncomprehending.

“If the Emperor does not come down now he will die.”

“But—”

“There is no time.”

“You—you are serious? But what can I say to him? It cannot be done.”

“Think of something.”

The sky was growing darker and darker, and Li Du could no longer make out the features of the people in the field. They were thousands of faceless human shadows, standing in wonder at the sky. Any moment now the fireworks would hiss and scream and explode into the darkening air above them.

Tulishen still hesitated. Li Du reached out and grasped his cousin's arm. “When darkness comes it will be too late. You are the only one the guards will allow to pass. You have to trust me.”

Tulishen looked down at the hand that clutched his sleeve. The sun was now half gone. The moon continued its inexorable carving away of the white light. “Do it now,” Li Du said, and took his hand away. Their eyes met, and what Tulishen saw in his cousin's expression brought an end to his hesitation. Tulishen's eyes widened, with dawning horror he lifted his gaze to the top of the podium. He stood up, and without a word or look at anyone, descended the stairs.

No one paid any attention. The Emperor and the sun held them transfixed, breathless and still as statues. Only the decorations moved, the tassels and jewels and feathers stirring slowly as they were caught by the careless breeze.

At the base of the emperor's podium, a guard moved to block Tulishen's progress. But at the magistrate's harsh command, the guard bowed deferentially and moved to let him pass. Li Du watched as Tulishen climbed to the first level, then to the second. The sun was now three-quarters covered. Tulishen was at the third level. He had reached the top. The Emperor and the soldiers turned abruptly as Tulishen in his midnight robes stepped onto the platform. Li Du heard another chime and thought he could see the small red glow of the tellurion's sun. How stupid they had all been. What had Ashton called it? Phosphorus—light and fire.

Hurry
, Li Du urged silently. The Emperor shone in his yellow and scarlet robe like an echo of the sun that was almost completely covered. Tulishen said something. The Emperor responded. There was hesitation, then decision.

From the high pavilion there was the sound of a drum and then a cry in unison delivered by the soldiers of the Emperor's guard who stood there almost invisible.

“The Emperor will walk among the people,” they announced. “The Son of the Dragon will be one with his subjects as the sun is now with the moon!”

Only one white sliver of light remained in the sky, and now its brightness intensified, shining with the last of its strength through the final space allotted to it by the implacable moon. The Emperor descended, moving at a stately pace, down the stairs, slowly, slowly away from the podium and toward the crowds that fell to their knees around him as the announcement reverberated again and again through the multitudes.

“The Son of the Dragon walks among his people!”

Then darkness came. A great ring cut the sky. The blackness at the center of the ring deepened, so dark now that it was not just devoid of light, but an insistent absence. The universal clockwork had moved into its appointed place, and the crowd was united in a cry of wonder and amazement.

Many things occurred then. The noise of the crowd rose into a new cry of awe and reverence. The Emperor was for a moment lost to sight even to his closest guards in the darkness. The flints sparked. Fireworks whistled into the sky and burst in bright chrysanthemums, sprays of color spreading and winking away to be replaced by new explosions. And in that beautiful chaos that had been planned with such precision, the center of the emperor's pavilion was engulfed in searing flame. It blended with the fireworks around it, and as the fire spread to the huge wooden dragons they too burst into flame. The nobles around Li Du jumped as they felt the rush of heat reach them. They stared as the pavilion became a pyre. Li Du imagined that he saw the shattering and the twisting spokes of the tellurion, gears and jewels hurtling through the flame and catching its light before they fell to the shadowed ground.

Through his daze he felt someone looking at him. He turned and saw that it was Lady Chen. Their eyes met and she held his gaze. Then, with no sign that she understood anything of what had happened, she turned back to look at the Emperor and the magistrate proceeding through the crowds. She joined the rest of the nobles in applause.

The crowd continued to prostrate itself in waves around the Emperor. The eclipse began to reverse itself, and the light was returning to the field and to the sky. The sun seemed stronger for having been restrained, and Li Du blinked as the glare struck his eyes.

The fireworks stopped when the light had fully returned. The performers returned to the stages and struck up their music once more. As the people recovered from what they had seen, they began to drink and eat and converse, sharing their impressions of the eclipse that had begun to alter in each of their memories the moment it ended. The orchestras struck up familiar tunes, the acrobats began their cartwheels, and the opera singers again took up their tales of love.

The Emperor was again surrounded by his retinue and escorted to the performances that appealed to him. The noble people who had been given the honor of seats close to the Emperor were already rushing down the field in the hope of continuing to ingratiate themselves.

Li Du walked to the base of the burning podium, where several officials stood in frightened confusion, unsure whether the fire had been planned or not. He looked down at the grass, and saw at his feet the scattered glitter of precious stones. He knelt and picked up a pale silver sphere—the moon, he guessed. He knew there was no chance of finding the sun. It had been the center of the explosion, and the ruby glass that had held the pent-up fire had melted away to nothing.

 

Chapter 24

Magistrate Tulishen came in person that evening to tell Li Du that the Emperor wished to see them both. The private sitting room into which they were admitted was filled with the items that the Emperor always brought with him when he traveled: reference books of foreign and Chinese origin, volumes of classical poetry, history, and philosophy, calligraphy brushes and paper, and a small, simple chiming clock.

Mingled with the delicate tools of academic contemplation were heavy allusions to the hunt. An enormous chair rested on a tiger-skin rug. On the wall, hung between two stringed instruments, was a painting of the Emperor on horseback circling a speared and bleeding boar. In a corner of the room, a large piece of natural rock sculpture sat on a pedestal in evocation of the mountain wilds.

Li Du almost didn't notice the guards who stood unmoving at the doors and windows, but when the Emperor came into the room they prostrated themselves in practiced unison. Li Du and Tulishen also lowered themselves into the kowtow, and remained with their faces to the ground until the Emperor commanded them to rise.

At such close proximity and in such a humble setting, Li Du had expected the Emperor to appear diminished. He found, when he raised his eyes, that the opposite was true. The Kangxi, wearing an unadorned blue robe and a red hat, was more impressive than any of the pomp and splendor that usually surrounded him. The signs of age on his face—a loosening and hollowing of skin and a weary droop of his mustache—only intensified the brightness and intelligence of his eyes. Li Du read humor in that face, and pride, and, strongest of all, curiosity.

He lowered his eyes immediately, aware that it was the law. He was aware of the Emperor assessing him, and of Tulishen, who was holding himself rigid, barely breathing in his effort to maintain the correct posture. The Emperor addressed Tulishen first.

“The assassin has escaped Dayan, but he will be caught. There may be traitors hidden in this province, but the web I have cast is more tightly woven than theirs. I had hoped that you would have addressed this situation with more discipline during your time here as magistrate.”

Tulishen, not permitted to speak unless commanded to, opened his mouth and, with trembling lips, prepared to beg forgiveness for his failures. But the Kangxi gave an impatient wave. “I dislike it when my magistrates quail before me as if they were weak men. A superior man is quiet and calm, and expresses himself without obsequious fear. I understand the situation. This province is untamed. You will serve me better in the capital, where I may rely on you to strengthen connections with certain old families. You accept this change?”

With obvious effort, Tulishen kept his voice from shaking. “This servant accepts with humility and gratitude the honor that is bestowed upon his unworthy family.”

“We will discuss the assignment of a new magistrate to Dayan. And when you arrange your household in the capital, you will include the consort Lady Chen. She possesses an exotic charm that will make her popular. Does she have sons?”

“She has no children.”

“That is unfortunate, but perhaps the change of location will be auspicious.” The Emperor paused, then with his thumb and forefinger began to move the beads that hung across his chest, clicking them one at a time along the strand. “Though,” he mused, “I do not agree with my advisors on the importance of auspicious and inauspicious signs. Everything is not predetermined. Years ago I was on a hunt in the north, and in the deep forests I became separated from the others. Suddenly I heard crashes of thunder very close to me, and I fled the clearing where I stood. When I looked back, I saw that lightning had struck just where I had been standing a moment before. I realized that if I had not run, and had been struck by that bolt, everyone would have said that such was my fate. So you see that human action cannot be discounted. You see the relevance?”

It was not an invitation to speak, and the Emperor allowed the silence to become a setting to better display his next statement. “Today,” he said, “the foreigners tried to assassinate me with a clockwork device. It could be said that my fate was predetermined when the weapon was built and set to chime the hour of my death. And yet I am not dead. The Li family has done me great service today.”

He turned to address Li Du. “I have always declared my deep respect for scholars. Almost always, when a scholar is accused of a crime against me, I am merciful. Only once in my reign have I executed a scholar for written words. You were a friend to his family, and you were exiled for your failure to recognize his traitorous behavior.”

Li Du kept his gaze lowered.

“Today your action has altered your fate,” continued the Emperor. “How did you discover that the tellurion was a weapon?”

Tulishen looked sharply at Li Du, who ignored him and spoke to the Emperor. “I interviewed Sir Gray in the course of my investigation of the death of Brother Pieter—”

The Emperor held up a hand to stop Li Du. “A matter,” he said, “that there is no further need to discuss. In some circumstances, secrecy is essential. An Emperor is responsible for the history of reign, and there are certain events that do not merit placement in history. But tell me about this Sir Gray.”

“The tellurion was coordinated with the eclipse. Sir Gray was adamant that there be no change to the schedule that might diminish the effect of the tellurion.”

“But that is not in itself suspicious.”

“No, but I saw Sir Gray's face when I revealed that the eclipse would not occur as expected. His eyes turned immediately to the tellurion. He is an impatient, forceful man, quick to be angry. But what I saw in his face was not anger. It was fear. Fear of the object itself.”

“He thought it might burst into flame at any moment, until you reassured him that it was not so.”

“Yes. I did not understand the significance of his reaction at the time. It was not until today, when he failed to take his place of honor on the magistrate's pavilion, that I saw what was going to happen. The carved dragons that were a gift from the company—”

“The ugly wooden sculptures.” The Emperor pursed his lips in distaste, and gave a low, scornful grunt, as if the aesthetic offense was more disturbing to him than the plot against his life.

Li Du went on. “They were made to be part of the stage on which you would stand. When I visited the field, I heard one of the officials remark that they were not as heavy as he expected. He attributed his confusion to the unfamiliar wood. In fact they were hollow, and packed with sawdust and perhaps a trace of gunpowder that would ignite when the tellurion exploded. When the final chime struck at the point of total darkness, the clockwork cracked the glass sun. The chemical inside it bursts into flame when it is touched by air. It is an invention of their alchemists.”

The Emperor absorbed these explanations without expression or comment. Then he nodded and said, “I understand the strategy of this Company. It is a common one, and I have read about it in detail in the
Seven Military Classics
, though in general I consider such texts a waste of time. A general who seeks to win a battle by studying a book will always lose. So the Company wanted to destabilize my empire, to introduce chaos in order to make China vulnerable.”

“They recognized a unique situation that they could turn to their advantage.”

“Ah,” said the Kangxi, with a sudden and unexpected smile. “You are very clever. I can see by your face that you and I are sharing thoughts. This is rare—usually I must decide whether to go to the effort of explaining myself very slowly until my officials understand. Magistrate, do you know what your cousin and I are considering together?”

“With deepest apologies,” replied Tulishen, “this servant does not know.”

“We are thinking,” said the Emperor, “of how this foreign Company had the audacity to plan the assassination of an Emperor. They do not have the strength to attack China, and so they tried to alter the current of my own strength so that it would drown me. I see by your face that you are too nervous to understand me.”