The Concubine's Daughter (54 page)

Siu-Sing replied instantly, bowing her appreciation. “I am most fortunate to be chosen, Gracious Mother. I will do all I can to earn your trust and deserve your kindness.” In her heart, Sing knew this was the beginning of deception. From this moment she would be two separate people: Topaz, who would become the perfect Silver Sister, and Siu-Sing, the warrior, daughter of a brave and noble Chinese mother, who would one day stand before her famous father.

Tamiko-san carefully selected a ripe persimmon. The golden orb rested lightly in the palm of her hand, her glittering fingernails forming a cage around its perfection. “See how luscious it is,” she murmured thoughtfully. “I import them from Japan. Did you know that the Chinese persimmon is slightly inferior to that of the Japanese? And that those grown in America ripen too quickly and are too soft?” She tossed the fruit lightly, as though judging its weight. “It is hand picked and properly packed for me by an expert who knows just how well and how far the fruit will travel, just how long the flesh will remain firm, fresh, and sweet.” She laughed. “Of course, such perfection takes the most careful of handling by the finest of experts to command the highest prices.”

Suddenly, she tossed the fruit high in the air, flicking wide the black fan in a graceful swoop with the sound of a striking snake. The
persimmon fell to the floor, sliced neatly in two, its syrupy nectar seeping slowly across polished flagstones. “See how in the blink of an eye this gorgeous, carefully nurtured fruit is worthless, its long journey wasted, of no more value to me than a withered flower. It will be cast aside, trodden underfoot, and left to rot untasted.”

Tamiko-san’s golden eyes were steady as a cat’s, the gold-tipped fingers reaching to caress Sing’s forearm lightly as a crawling insect. “One thing above all others: While you are beneath this roof you will know no man but the one you are chosen to attend. You will not leave this house unescorted or without my permission. Everything you need is here.”

She gestured to the crowded bookshelves. “All of this has been collected over many lifetimes, and is the work of wise and adventurous minds and of gifted artists, both good and evil. Yet they deal only with lust. You will find little in these thousand times ten thousand pages about love.”

Tamiko-san rose to leave the pavilion, the golden ornaments in her hair shivering with the slightest turn of her head. “Love is a luxury few can afford, Topaz; it will not put rice in your belly or clothes on your back. Lust, though, is legal currency in all languages, in all places, and at all times. It will feed and clothe you like an empress, and I will teach you to spend it wisely.”

The
mama-san
walked across the bridge, opening a parasol of the same softly glowing silk as her kimono. “But first, I will introduce you to someone you will find of great interest …” She smiled mysteriously, beckoning with the closed fan for Siu-Sing to follow. “One man you may become acquainted with and will never forget.

“Men are often very stupid in matters of the bedroom. They believe that a woman is no more than a plaything, an expensive toy to be enjoyed whenever the fancy takes them. Most of those that come here have wives and concubines of their own … often too many, yet never enough. They will take a mistress and find her a fine home, buy her whatever she asks him for … then throw her out to make room for one that is younger and prettier. Such is the way of the taipan if we allow it.” She laughed, a little ruefully, it seemed to Sing. “It is such stupidity that has made me
rich and given me power. If you are as clever and as careful as I believe you to be, such a man will also make you rich and give you power.”

Siu-Sing wanted to cry out,
I have no interest in the wealth and fame of such a man. I have been taught by the wisest of all teachers to choose my own mountain and to climb it alone if I must. From him, from the spirit of my mother and the father that awaits me, I have learned what it is to be alone but not lonely … to face great danger yet be unafraid.
Those were the thoughts and beliefs of Siu-Sing, disciple of the White Crane, but the words she spoke were those of Topaz, the Silver Sister. “I will do all that I can to earn such confidence.”

They walked across the bridge to another small pavilion. It too was lined with shelves of scrolls and books, along with many pieces of sculpture in precious stone. A raised bench stood in its center, covered by a sheet of exquisitely embroidered silk. The Golden One pulled the sheet away. “Behold, the perfect man,” she said dramatically. “The Grand Duke of the Sacred Persimmon. He was carved three thousand years ago by Chen-Lao, the finest sculptor China has ever produced, from the rarest, most precious of woods … ebony, the sacred heart of the persimmon tree.”

The naked figure she revealed was the perfect life-size effigy of a splendidly handsome young man, its glossy hue like no other Siu-Sing had seen—in places purplish black as a ripe plum, in others the deep sheen of burnished bronze, seamed with veins of palest yellow. He lay on his back in a posture of complete relaxation, his eyes closed, his hands by his sides, as though deep in meditation. In his left hand he held the glowing orb of a succulent persimmon that seemed to be made from solid gold.

“You may touch him,” said the Golden One. Siu-Sing reached out to place her fingertips upon the smooth chest. Its patina felt so real she withdrew her hand quickly. Tamiko-san laughed. “Don’t be afraid. You will come to know every inch of him before we part.” She took Siu-Sing’s hand and placed it firmly on his shapely thigh, guiding it gently downward over the contours of well-defined muscle, to his knee and back again.

“Explore him. Feel his beauty.” She chuckled wickedly, pleased and
amused by her student’s caution. “He will not awaken. But does he not cast a spell?”

She watched Siu-Sing’s small hand trace the lines of the duke’s noble face, gliding over the planes and hollows of chest and shoulders, arms and hands, abdomen and back to thighs, calves, and feet. The figure had the touch of cool marble and was slippery as silk. Tamiko-san’s amusement increased as Siu-Sing’s fingers delicately skirted the empty socket above the scrotum modeled in minute detail.

“Our duke hides many secrets.” The Golden One smiled. “Take his hand.” Siu-Sing did so. “Now spread his fingers.” Each joint moved as though the hand were alive. When she looked closely, Siu-Sing saw that the knuckles and joints were intricately tooled to move independently.

“Now bend his elbow, raise his arm.” The Golden One stepped across to demonstrate, lifting first one leg, then the other, letting them fall back into a natural position. “Open his eyes that he may see his new mistress.” Gingerly, Sing laid her fingertips on the duke’s eyelids. At her slightest touch they rolled smoothly upward to reveal eyes so real they caused her to step back.

The Golden One laughed aloud. “He cannot see you. His eyes are of finest onyx, set in ivory. But look closely. He speaks to us.” She pointed to his finely sculpted ear. When Sing bent closer, tiny Chinese characters became apparent, meticulously inscribed over every fold and turn of the ear.

“And here, and here and here,” said Tamiko-san, pointing with the tip of her long fingernail. Sing realized that every inch of the model was covered in tiny pinholes bearing inscriptions so finely drawn they were almost indiscernible. “They tell us all his innermost secrets.” A small frown of concentration creased Sing’s brow as she tried to read them.

“They are in a tongue long buried,” said the Golden One. “I will teach them to you in time.”

She slid open a shallow drawer beneath the reclining figure, to withdraw a long flat box, its lid inlaid with characters and symbols in the same ancient hand. “Now we will make him whole.” Inside the box, carved from the same exquisite wood, were two rows of lifelike phalluses
of different sizes and shapes. “We will begin modestly.” Tamiko-san surveyed the arrangement as critically as a duelist choosing a weapon. “But not too modestly,” she concluded, selecting one of medium size and slotting it into the socket. “See. It also moves.” The penis, its plum-shaped head gleaming, moved smoothly back and forth between Tamikosan’s fingers.

“This,” Tamiko-san said with playful reverence, “is the erect penis … the jade stem … the ivory staff … the golden rod; call it what you will. To tired wives and mothers, it is no more than a ridiculous appendage, far more trouble than it is worth. This is why their husbands come to us.”

One evening each week, the Golden One descended among them in the glittering pavilion they called the Palace of Lights. It was the place of entertainment for those who were guests of the tavern and served by the Silver Sisters. Its domed ceiling was inlaid with thousands of tiny convex mirrors, with a chandelier of five hundred candles that filled the space with cascades of shimmering light. Beneath it, a central fountain fed a pool of green marble. The Silver Sisters swam naked, playing like children in its emerald waters. Around its edge, tables were spread with tempting foods and flasks of the golden nectar. Beyond them were divans of great splendor and comfort where the sleeping dragons could rest and smoke a pipe.

The Golden One reclined on the most elaborate divan, clad in the scarlet robes of a geisha with an obi of gold silk, smoking from the golden bowl of a pipe fashioned in the shape of a peony. Her face was chalk white, her honeyed eyes thickly lined with kohl, her mouth red as blood on virgin snow. She invited each of the Sisters to take the stage and entertain. Some sang, danced, or played music; others told stories or recited poetry. Some displayed secrets of sensuality practiced only by their people, alone or with a chosen partner. As the evening wore on and the flasks were emptied, most of the Sisters reached a languorous state of abandon.

From shadowed balconies set around the circular walls, the richest
and most important of Tamiko-san’s guests could observe at their leisure in curtained privacy.

“They may watch,” explained Ruby when Siu-Sing asked, “but they may not touch. This is where they may choose a pipe-maker. If she pleases him sufficiently, he will pay much so that she is kept only for him.” She placed a butterfly kiss on the tip of Siu-Sing’s nose. “I must dance now.” A flashing red gem set in her navel, a string of silver bells around her waist, Ruby performed an exotic dance that commanded attention, her hips and belly gyrating to the fevered music of the bazaar and the rhythmic clapping of the Silver Sisters.

When Siu-Sing was called to the stage, she played the songs of the silver nightingale on the
er-hu.
There was silence as the music of the mountains filled the glittering hall; for those moments, Siu-Sing felt as if she sat alone at the jade table in the Place of Clear Water.

In the private balcony reserved for a taipan of great power and wealth, the lone occupant sat back, his fingers idly twisting the stem of the brandy balloon on the table before him. His eyes were closed, enchanted by the pure notes of unknown music that seemed written only for him. It was played by a girl no more than a child, with hair thick and glossy as the mane of a thoroughbred from his stables, and a body that moved with grace and hidden strength. Through small mother-of-pearl opera glasses, he had studied her for an hour, seen the wild beauty of her face, the deep copper lights in her hair, and the rare coloring of her large eyes.

The entertainment in the Palace of Lights continued until dawn, and the following day was one of rest. Ruby took Siu-Sing’s hand, holding it closely to her cheek for a moment. “You belong here now, and to her. She thinks you are her property, as this house and all things within it are her property. When it pleases her, you will be sold to the great taipan, J. T. Ching, but that will not be soon. We have time to plan, but you must heed her warning … her punishment is permanent.”

The pipe-maker’s fingertips traced the faint white line across her own cheek. “If you escape her, she will find you. She will take away your happiness
forever, so simply, so finally, as she has taken mine … with the flick of a fan.”

Ruby unwound the silken sari from around her body. Stepping into the candlelight, she stood naked before Siu-Sing for the first time. Her limbs were scarred by the same puckered lines that crossed her cheeks … as thin and deliberate as though made with the point of a rapier.