The Veiled Dragon (27 page)

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Tang hurled the torch against the gray limestone, then sat upon a fallen stalactite to contemplate the back wall of the cavern. He had explored every nook, cranny and fissure without finding Cypress’s lair. Not a single passage large enough for a man, much less a dragon, led deeper into the mountain. The prince had even scaled a giant-high dropblock to peer into the ceiling’s shadowy recesses, and he had seen nothing. It was as if Cypress vanished when he entered the cavern. Given that the dragon was more dead than alive, that seemed entirely possible. Still, Tang had not yet searched one place, perhaps because if he found the passage there, he stood every chance of dying in it. The prince retrieved his guttering torch and climbed down to the pool. On the far bank, the cavern did not end in a true wall. The ceiling simply angled down and disappeared into the water, which was so fetid and brown with decay it was impossible to see a hand’s span beneath the surface. The passage, if the cavern had one, could only be hidden there. Tang returned to the small pile of equipment he had salvaged from his dugout and prepared for his dive. He folded his tinderbox into its oilcloth and knotted the ends together so they would not leak. He pushed the stopper well down into his oil flask and used a bootlace to fix it to his sword belt. He emptied his waterskin into the pool, then refilled it with several breaths of air and slung it around his neck. Finally, the prince uncoiled his rope, tying one end to his sword belt and the other to a small boulder at the edge of the pond. Tang waded into the pool until it became chest-deep, then doused his torch and wedged it into his empty sword scabbard. In the dim swamp light filtering in from the cavern mouth, he could barely see the ceiling of the grotto, sloping down like the roof of some huge mouth. He swam over to it and dove. The water turned instantly as thick and dark as plum wine. The prince rolled onto his back so he could use his hands and feet to push himself along the roof of the passage. Tang’s heart began to pound in his ears and his throat grew tight, but he gave no thought to turning back. It was not that he felt no fear; on the contrary, he was filled with a cold, queasy dread that made his hands shake and his bowels churn. The thought occurred to him that the passage might have more than one branch. He could easily be swimming into an underwater labyrinth; in such suffocating darkness, he would never know it. Dragging himself through the passage was hard work, and Tang’s breath did not last long. He turned over, then emptied his lungs into the black water. The prince pulled his buoyant waterskin beneath his body and allowed it to press him against the ceiling, then placed his lips over the mouth. Biting the stopper between his teeth, he carefully opened the skin and allowed a stream of stale air to seep into his chest. Closing the sack was more difficult. He had to use his fingers to push the stopper back into place, losing several precious bubbles when he slipped the digits into the corner of his mouth. Tang continued forward, if not growing less afraid, then at least growing more accustomed to fear. Though he had lost all sense of direction, he no longer worried about becoming lost. No matter how complicated the labyrinth, he could always follow the rope back. He filled his lungs from his air sack two more times, each time allowing a few cherished bubbles to slip along his cheek as he pushed the stopper back into place. Even that loss did not trouble him. If he ran out of air, it would be much easier to pull himself back to the pond than to crawl forward as he was doing. Then he would simply find a couple of extra waterskins and resume his explorations. A flicker of orange-yellow light caught Tang’s eye, and he began to hope it would not be necessary to turn around. He dragged himself forward. When the flicker became a diffuse gold-red gleam pushing its way through the murky water, he realized he had to be nearing Cypress’s lair. The glow was the color of flame, and fires do not burn underwater. More importantly, where there was light, Lady Feng was also bound to be. The prince pulled himself forward with renewed vigor—only to come to an abrupt stop as he reached the end of the rope. Tang did not even consider going back for another length of rope. Instead, he sucked the last dregs of air from his waterskin, then untied himself and swam toward the light. He began to count heartbeats, not because he feared he would drown before he reached the

end of the passage, but to give him some idea of how far it was back to the rope. The golden glow brightened slowly. His count had reached thirty by the time it was ab large as a head. At fifty, his lungs began to ache for air, and the light was no larger than a harvest moon. When the count reached seventy, his limbs grew so heavy and weak that he could hardly move them. Yellow-orange radiance filled the whole passage ahead, and still the ceiling held Tang beneath the water. The prince blew out the last of his breath and swam another dozen strokes. His count reached a hundred and ten, and the orange glow was so bright that he could see his hands silhouetted against it. His heart began to beat faster, pounding inside his chest like a forge’s trip hammer, and a trickle of sweet-tasting water seeped between his lips. At the count of a hundred and thirty, the golden light began to sparkle and shimmer, and the prince realized he had made a terrible mistake. Whatever it was, this radiance was too strong, too brilliant to be firelight. Perhaps his testimony to the Chief Judge had come too late; perhaps the spirits of his dead soldiers, angry at his hesitation, had created the luminescence to trick him. One hundred and sixty

The ceiling lifted off of Tang’s back, and his head suddenly popped out of the water. With a great, racking groan, he sucked in the musty cave air, continuing until it seemed his lungs would burst. An orchestra of blissful purling echoed all around the prince, giving him the feeling that he had died and, despite his many faults, surfaced in the Land of Extreme Felicity. He exhaled and drew in even more air, as though he were trying to drain the cavern of its last wisp of dank atmosphere. The chamber itself only added to Tang’s impression that he had surfaced in a place of eternal paradise. The ceiling and walls were draped with jewelry both ancient and new: thumb-sized diamonds set into gold rings, blood-red rubies strung end-to-end in long chains, emeralds as large as cat eyes dangling from ear clips of pure

platinum. From dozens of ancillary passages poured streams large and small, all passing over beds of pearl and opal before they fell into a sparkling lake that filled the lower half of the cavern. Unlike the brown soup at the other end of the passage, the waters here were as clear as glass, and the bottom of the entire pool was covered by minted coins of every imaginable size and kingdom. A short swim away, the coins rose up to form the glistening beach of an island made entirely of precious ingots—and more gold than silver. In the center of the isle stood a single oaken staff—no doubt Yanseldara’s—with three gnarled branches rising at the top to grasp a huge orange topaz. From the depths of this gem burned the fiery light that illuminated the entire chamber, glimmering so brilliantly that the prince could hardly make out the form of the tall, willowy woman standing beside it. “Lady Feng!” Tang swam to the island, then stopped on the shore and bowed to his mother. “Will Third Virtuous Concubine honor her humble son with audience?” The woman stepped away from the staff and peered down the slope at her son. Unlike most Shou women, she showed every day of her age—and then some. She wore her gray hair pulled into a tight bun that did little to lessen its unruly appearance, and her skin was as ashen and flaky as lizard scales. The crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes fanned out like spiderwebs to veil her entire face, while the curious way that she cocked her head only emphasized the contrast between the pop-eye through which she saw the outer world and the squinty white orb that was usually turned inward to watch the spirit world. “Tang!” she said at last. “What do you do here?” “I come to rescue you, Lady Feng.” The prince held his bow. It was not unusual to have an entire conversation with the Third Virtuous Concubine without receiving permission to rise. It was a good thing she was not a queen; he would have had to kowtow. “I also come to destroy Cypress’s spirit gem.” “No. You mustn’t!” She began to pick her way down the ingot slope. “Cypress would know!” “It does not matter. He already tries to kill me for rescuing you.” “You risk life?” Lady Feng slapped Tang on the back of the head. “You are Shou prince!” “Rescuing you is only way to redeem honor of Ginger Palace.” “Do I ask to be rescued?” Lady Feng grabbed Tang’s chin and pulled his head up, then waved her arm around the glittering chamber. “Here is more wealth than all Imperial treasuries!” Tang scowled at this, for his mother had always been too wise to value wealth above freedom. “What good are these riches? Whole room of gold and diamonds is worth less than nothing if it makes prisoner of you.” Lady Feng’s squinty eye rolled in its socket, perhaps in dim recognition of the wisdom she herself had imparted to the prince. Her pop-eye, however, darted around the room from bauble to bauble, as though checking to be certain that each one remained in its place. “Do not argue!” she ordered. “Wealth shown is wealth lost to thieves.” Tang shook his head sadly. “You have dragon sickness.” He started up the ingot slope. “Show me where Cypress hides spirit gem; then we leave.” “Go no farther, Tang.” Tang stopped in his tracks. When Lady Feng assumed that tone, she was not a woman to be trifled with. His mother was capable of killing a man with the merest wisp of an incantation. Though he believed she loved him as any mother loved her child, she was a Scholar ofYen-Wang-Yeh, and to scholars of the Great Judge, life and death were merely aspects of one existence; even a son could not be sure his mother would care which state he happened to occupy. After a moment’s consideration, Tang realized how to solve his dilemma. He faced his cronish mother. “I only The VeUed Dragon

try to protect your treasure, Lady Feng. Cypress thinks it belongs to him. We must destroy him.” Lady Feng’s pop-eye flashed in anger, but the squinty one rolled around to study him. It was horribly bloodshot, with a milky iris and a black pupil that seemed as deep as the Well of Eighteen Hells itself, and Tang had not seen it since he was a little boy. “Tang, you try to trick me?” For the first time since his battle with the wyverns, Tang felt like a coward. He let his gaze drop and nodded. “But only to protect you from Cypress. Whether you understand or not, dragon sickness has made you his prisoner more than chains.” The squinty eye trembled as though from a palsy, but continued to linger on Tang’s face for a long time. At last, Lady Feng said, “Tunnel is long. If we destroy spirit gem, how do we escape?” “We carry extra air.” To demonstrate, Tang opened his water skin and filled it with breath. “Then I pull us through passage on rope I leave tied to other end.” Lady Feng eyed the air sack for a long time, then reluctantly nodded. “But we do not smash gem until we are outside.” The squinty eye rolled back into her head, and she added, “Then we destroy Cypress and come back to cave of wealth!” “Of course—if that is truly wish of Third Virtuous Concubine.” Tang ran a troubled eye over the glittering chamber; a month ago, his mother would have looked on the vast treasure with the mocking disdain of one who recognized such things as a worldly illusion. Now, it was all too easy to imagine Lady Feng returning to live out her life among these lonely riches. “Perhaps we even build palace for you.” A pithy smile crept across the gray lips of the Third Virtuous Concubine. “Most excellent idea. You know where to find spirit gem?” “Cypress wishes to be with love. Gem can be only one place.” Tang looked at the glowing gem in Yanseldara’s

staff. “I get staff. You gather your things.” As the prince turned to climb the ingots, a gentle wave rolled up the beach, stirring the precious coins and soaking his feet to the ankles. Tang scowled at the rising water, trying to imagine what might have caused the surge. Lady Feng grabbed his arm and shoved him into the water. “You must hide! Cypress returns!” Fourteen At the far end of the Ginger Palace’s long audience hall, the new chamberlain drew aside two silk draperies and opened a pair of teak doors. A double column of Minister Hsieh’s yellowcloaked guards marched into the room and split, one line filing to each side of Ruha and Vaerana. Behind the warriors followed a parade of servants bearing a triangular table, three teak chairs, and a tray with a steaming teapot and a trio of tiny, deep bowls. As Hsieh’s men took their positions, Vaerana scowled and leaned close to Ruha. “I don’t know why I listen to you. This is going to be worse than Voonlar. They mean to take us prisoner.” “You are too suspicious, Vaerana. They intend nothing of the kind.” “Then why so many guards?” “They are only for ceremony.” Ruha shook her head at the Lady Constable’s suspicions, remembering how easily Minister Hsieh had disabled Wei Dao. “The mandarin is quite capable of defending himself.” Vaerana sneered doubtfully, but fell silent as the servants arrived with the furniture. They put the table on the chamber’s exquisite floor mosaic, carefully arranging it so the point of the triangle stood over the head of the flametailed bird and the base faced Ruha and the Lady Constable. They placed two chairs on the women’s side and positioned the third one before the tip of the table. The man bearing the tea tray stepped to one side, then stood at attention while Minister Hsieh, with Yu Po following close behind, entered the room. The mandarin glided across the floor to the point of the table, then bowed to his guests. Ruha returned the gesture, making certain to bend lower than her host, but Vaerana barely nodded. Yu Po pulled the mandarin’s chair out. A pair of servants stepped forward to do likewise for the witch and Lady Constable. Vaerana astonished the servant by taking her own chair and placing it opposite the tea bearer. She dropped heavily into the seat, then braced her elbows on the table and faced Hsieh. “The witch tells me you have some ylang oil.” Yu Po’s face turned instantly scarlet. He slipped around Hsieh’s chair. “You are ill-bred daughter of—” “Yu Po!” Hsieh waited for his adjutant to stop, then waved at the tea tray. “You may serve.” Yu Po’s jaw dropped, as did that of the tea bearer and the other servants; then the adjutant bowed to his master and stepped to obey. Hsieh smiled at Vaerana. “Yes, ylang oil is ready.” He looked to Ruha. “Where is Lady Feng?” The witch found it difficult to meet the mandarin’s gaze. “I am afraid we do not know.” She saw Hsieh’s lips tighten and had the cold, sinking feeling that she was doomed to appear a failure to everyone she met. “We were not able to follow the spy when he fled to the lair.” The handle of the teapot nearly slipped from Yu Po’s grasp, and the lid clinked loudly. The mandarin frowned at his adjutant’s clumsiness, then asked, “Then Lady Feng cannot tell you where to find lair?” “Vaerana is