The Grass King’s Concubine (50 page)

The Grass King came back into the room, wrapped in a wide linen towel and followed by his body servants. In the flurry of his dressing, Yelena crept out along her beam to the edge of a window alcove. She leaped, caught herself on a curtain rail, and slipped behind the curtain to slither down the inside of it. She loitered at its base, hidden in the folds, and waited. The valets gave way, bowing before the Grass King and opening doors as he progressed into the Cedar-Wood Breakfast Room, with its long wide balcony and awnings of pale fabric. His meal was laid out for him on a brass-topped table, platters of fruits and bread, slices of cheeses, a glowing jar of honey and another, plain earthenware, of soft new butter, preserved dates and sour pickles, rice porridge and oat porridge, dried beef and fresh-cooked mutton. One tall glass pitcher held clean water, another barley beer; smaller ones offered the juices of oranges and pineapples and grapes. Table servants sank into low obeisances as the Grass King settled himself on a pile of cushions and made his selections. Yelena scurried from curtain to bed, bed to door, along the corridor, and, at last, into the protective foliage of the thick flowering vine that covered the wall of the terrace and grew up its pillars to provide shade. She was hungry. She might, if she chose, sneak out
from her hiding place, burrow into the Grass King’s seat and wait for his largesse. The wind brought her the scents of hot meat and curd cheese, and she swayed forward.

In the Courtyard of Fallows, out there in the depths of the Rice Palace, Julana awaited her, sharing Marcellan’s small meal of flatbread and fruit. Yelena shook herself and pulled back.

A servant came to the terrace door and bowed; the head of the table servants came to him and listened to his message, then clapped his hands in dismissal. Softly, smoothly, he whispered in the Grass King’s ear. The Grass King wiped his mouth with a napkin and nodded. “Have him come in. Bring cushions for him, and a plate.”

“Sire.” The servant left on silent feet. After a moment or two, he returned, followed by Shirai. Somewhere in the rooms below, a musician began to play, a sweet sad tune on a wooden pipe.

Shirai bowed.

“Mo-Shirai. Be seated. Eat.” The Grass King gestured to the smaller cushion heap that the servants had set out. “The figs are good this morning. Also the sharp cheese.” Shirai bowed again and sat. A servant brought him a plate with the items the Grass King had named. “So,” the Grass King said, “how stand the banners?”

“As they should.” Shirai said. “The night passed without incident until…” He hesitated. “At the dawn hour…”

“We’ll speak of that shortly. Continue.”

“As you wish. Sujien is restless. He would take his banner away for a time, to play at war in the mountains.”

“That is his nature.”

“Yes, but…” Again, Shirai hesitated. “The Fire Banner are also distracted. Liyan has again one of his obsessions.”

The Grass King smiled. “Liyan has always some project on hand. That is as he is. But he should not neglect his duties to his banner.”

“No.” Shirai said, and then, “Qiaqia…”

The Grass King raised his eyes. “Tell the Darkchild that it is not her place to cover up the failings of the Firehand.”

“I have done so, Sire. But I’m not wholly convinced that that’s what she is doing.”

“Ah.” Both paused to drink more beer. The Grass King said, “And have you asked her what she
is
doing?”

“I have. She said,” and Shirai smiled in his turn, “she said that she’s counting her sheep.”

“Ask her to tell me when she’s finished. It’s a number I’d like to know.”

“I will, Sire.”

“And the Water Banner?”

“They are as they always are.” Reservation caught the fringes of Shirai’s voice. “They know their duties. They perform them.”

“And nothing more?” The Grass King dipped a finger into his goblet, watched the ripples play out from it across the surface of the ale. “Perhaps I should make changes in my intimate household.”

“Tsai does not neglect her banner duties,” Shirai said.

Again, the Grass King smiled, but this smile was small and pale. “As you say. Yet Tsai is sometimes forgetful. And she’s easily diverted.”

“She…” and Shirai stopped, looked down at the tiled floor.

“The junior maid to my twentieth lady is beloved of the sergeant of the Water Banner,” the Grass King said. “My twentieth lady complains to me that this junior maid is too often sleepy and vague about her duties. And I wonder if the sergeant occupies too much of his time with her.”

“Sire,” said Shirai, slowly, “Tsai listens better to you than to me.”

“It’s clear,” said the Grass King, “that whatever occupies Liyan also affects Tsai. And this new contraption involves her. The stones speak to me of this. Of water and movement and something more.” He frowned. In her hiding place, Yelena craned forward. He went on, “Something I do not know.” Yelena shivered. The Grass King knew everything. That was the rule.

“Sire.” Shirai said, “the stones tell me no more than you.”

“No.” The Grass King helped himself to a piece of cheese. “Perhaps it is only that the human is still with us.” Yelena shivered. Marcellan must be kept safe. The Grass King must not hurt him. “In which case,” the Grass King continued, “we should observe for a while, I think. I sense no harm.”

“Sire.” Shirai gave a shallow bow. The piper finished his lament and began on a more sprightly tune. Yelena relaxed. The smell of the cooked meats piled on the table called to her. Neither the Grass King nor Shirai were paying the least attention to them. If she stayed in the shadows, if she sprinted for the shelter of the tablecloth…

Shirai looked up. “Sire, Liyan has made a clock.”

Yelena froze again.

Clocks were not common in this place of amber twilight. Time counted itself in the rhythms of crops and fruits, the activities of court and countryside, measured out in incense sticks and bushel loads and habit. In the long series of kitchens that hugged the flank of the Rice Palace to its east, sand devices regulated the delivery of meals, the baking of pies and meats. The masters of the schools and libraries serving the court divided up their lessons by lengths of incense or marks on great candles. Clocks, with their heavy cases and loud pendulums, were regarded more as noisy curiosities than useful devices. If it occurred to the Grass King to wonder why Liyan was now interested in them…

“A clock?” The Grass King’s voice was calm. “Does my Firehand seek to improve those we already have?”

“That’s possible.”

“And yet,” the Grass King continued, and his gaze grew soft and thoughtful, “you are confused by this clock. Why?”

“It isn’t…” Shirai began, and stopped. He frowned. “It isn’t like the other clocks.”

“That’s what one might expect, given Liyan.”

“Yes. But,” Shirai shook his head. “My mind isn’t suited for such things.”

The Grass King studied him. “What does Qiaqia say?”

“She doesn’t.”

Footfalls, quick and light, sounded from the room behind the terrace. Yelena pulled back into her hiding place. From behind the curtain, Liyan appeared, trailed by a flustered official. He bowed from the opening, and the Grass King beckoned him forward. He came to stand at Shirai’s shoulder. He was negligently dressed, in loose trousers and tunic, both smudged with metal dust and grease. His hair was bound back in a single tail, his face unveiled. “Mo-Liyan,” said the Grass King, and Liyan bowed again. The Grass King said, “There was a noise. Explain it to me.” Under the leaves, Yelena trembled anew.

Liyan smiled. He said, “You heard it?”

“We all heard it.” The Grass King eyed him. “Tsai felt it, also.”

“She did?” Liyan put his head to one side, considering. “That’s interesting. All I did was divert one of the conduits, but she gave me permission. I must ask her about what she experienced. I wonder,” his voice trailed away, his eyes fixed on something in the middle distance.

“Mo-Liyan,” the Grass King said, “the noise?”

“It was a test. I wanted to be sure of range, of various calibrations…”

“Perhaps,” said the Grass King, “it might have been better to give some kind of warning?”

“I’d only just finished the adjustments.” Liyan’s face was guileless.

The Grass King lifted a sleeve to his mouth. Yelena could see the muscles twitch as he hid his smile. “Mo-Liyan, didn’t you think it might startle the court?”

“Oh.” Even Yelena, anxious in her shadows, could see the comedy at work. Her whiskers twitched. Were Julana here, were they in their accustomed nest under the Grass King’s robes, the twins would be quivering with delight. Liyan fidgeted with his sleeve, shuffled his feet, frowned, and said, “No.”

This time, the Grass King did laugh. All along her spine, Yelena’s fur softened and flattened back down. Shirai took
another mouthful from his cup. The Grass King said, “This clock. What is it intended to do?”

“It measures,” Liyan said. “Hours. Minutes. The start and end of watches.” He gestured at a lamp that stood at one end of the terrace. “Those things—measurement by lamp wicks, by candles and incense and sand—they’re clumsy. They can change, depending on wind, on the quality of their making. My clock shouldn’t do that. It won’t need people to fill it or turn it or watch it. The water flows through it and makes it move.”

“I see the challenge,” the Grass King said, “but the purpose, Mo-Liyan?”

“It’s interesting,” Liyan said. “I wanted to know if I could do it. Mar…That is, I’ve heard it said that the human creatures of WorldAbove have such devices. It should be possible to replicate them, to improve them. And besides…” And he stopped and stared at the hem of the Grass King’s robe.

“Besides?” The Grass King said.

Liyan looked up. “Those humans—they use clocks for other things, too. To measure the stars and the moons, to chart their movements. I want to know how that works. What it’s for.”

“Water for power,” the Grass King said, “and for the study of the bodies of the air.” He considered Liyan, “Built with the substances of my realm by the skills of my Firehand. The project has merit.”

Liyan said nothing aloud, but the tilt of his chin showed his confidence. The Grass King continued, “I shall come and inspect it.”

“It’s not ready.” Liyan said. And then, “I wanted…That is, when it’s finished.”

The Grass King nodded. “When it’s ready, then.” Liyan bowed. “Continue, Mo-Liyan. You may go.”

“Sire.” This bow was the deepest, yet it was soon ended as Liyan whirled to head back to his work.

As the screen closed behind him, the Grass King turned
to Shirai. “Liyan has heard something of the doings of the creatures of WorldAbove. How is that, Mo-Shirai?” Yelena sat forward. Here it was at last, the danger.

“I believe,” Shirai said, “that he has been talking with the human, Marcellan.” Yelena trembled.

“Ah.” The Grass King folded his hands in front of him. “That explains the oddness that the stones speak of. It’s like him, of course. Liyan does have to
know
.”

“Yes, Sire.” Shirai hesitated. “You did not forbid such discussions.”

“Indeed. But I need to consider.” The Grass King rose. Shirai followed him. From the room beyond, servants scurried in, to clear the table, to hold aside the curtains, to assist in any way that might be required. Pattering feet hastened past Yelena’s hiding place; her shelter of leaves shook and shivered in the breeze of their passing. She hesitated, coiled, sprang for the deep shadows that clustered under the writing desk in one corner of the Cedar-Wood Breakfast Room. In its center, the Grass King halted and clapped his hands. Servants, Shirai, all came to a stop. The Grass King said, “I go to meditate in the Sandalwood Room. Do not disturb me. In the meantime, see that the human does not leave his assigned courtyard.”

A flurry of bows, and the room emptied of all save the Grass King and Yelena. No cover between her and any exit. She pulled back into the darkness. The Grass King held out a hand. He said, “Will you come with me, littlest? You must be lonely without your twin.”

Yelena shuddered. He had seen her. He had seen, he knew she was here and alone. Did he know, also, what she and Yelena had been doing these last weeks and days? He was warmth and comfort, familiarity and security and treats. He was the heavy hand of the earthquake and the roar of falling mountains. His touch could unmake her in a moment. He had ordered Marcellan confined.

She gathered herself and ran, fast as she could, for the servants’ passage and its loose wainscoting.

Water-Ward

J
EHAN CAME TO A HALT on the riverbank, heels skidding a little on the loose gravel. A twin—he could not tell which—reared up on her hind legs and hissed at him. Her fur stood up. She was ready to bite. At her side, her sister crouched, flanks heaving. The air was sticky. Despite everything, despite the numbness that still haunted his flesh, he was sweating. His hair clung to his neck. Clairet nickered again, low and edgy. Behind him, the crystal trees shivered and muttered, scratchy notes striking off their leaves, setting his teeth on edge. The white woman thing lay beneath the surface of the water, eyes wide and staring, hands outstretched. All around her, the water swirled and tumbled. Her fingers were claws, biting into the currents. Her hair…Against all nature, it hung straight down, as if it would root itself into the riverbed. There was no sound save the susurrations of the leaves, no rush or slop of water. It pushed her, pinned her to its bed. Grains of dark sand washed over her, hid her pale limbs, beginning already to bury her. She did not struggle.