by Sharon Shinn
He shook his head, looking baffled and amused. “Sometimes you women are hard to understand.”
Oh, you would have an even harder time understanding if I told you the truth. “We can only be grateful that men try to understand us even so,” she agreed.
As they approached the river, traffic grew denser, and Quan was forced to slow down. Daiyu felt herself straining forward on the seat, as if by sheer will she could force the car through the tangles of vehicles and knots of pedestrians with their carts. They were close enough to the river now that Daiyu could spot the bright slash of the red lacquer gate, close enough that the streets narrowed into an almost impassable warren of twisting circles and cluttered alleys. Quan found his way blocked by a large vehicle that appeared to be delivering goods to a shop. Cursing under his breath, he whipped around a corner only to faceadeadend.Whenhetriedtobackup,theexitwasclogged with cars that had come to a complete standstill.
“Will you please move your cars?” Quan shouted over his shoulder. “We have very urgent business to complete!”
There was no time to waste. “Forgive me, Quan. You have been most kind,” Daiyu said, and jumped down from the seat.
“Daiyu! Wait a moment! Daiyu!” he shouted after her.
“Meet me at the chocolate shop in half an hour!” she called over her shoulder. Not because she expected to join him there, but because she thought otherwise he might come after her, and she could not risk that.
She could not risk anything.
Kalenwilldrown,Kalenwilldie....
Rounding the corner, she accelerated into a flat-out run. Pushing past the men and women in her way, darting into and out of street traffic if that route looked faster. Every minute counted, every second. She needed the shortest, most direct route toward the gate, toward the river, toward Kalen.
How close was Chow? How long would it take him to find the workmen to raise the gates?
She burst free of the last cluster of buildings and onto the broad stone swath of yin-and-yang symbols that separated the city from the riverfront. She could see them now, the stonepickers bending over the great muddy expanse of the emptied riverbed, moving with slow deliberation across the littered landscape. Which one was Feng? Which one was Kalen?
Wasn’t every laborer in the Zhongbu someone’s friend, someone’s beloved?
She’d had no plan, she’d had almost no coherent thought, but as she raced toward the river she saw the bell tower and instantly knew what she must do. She altered her course to run in that direction, calling out Gabe’s name before she was even close enough for him to hear. A few people idly standing along the riverbank turned to give her curious looks, but no one seemed alarmed. No one seemed to realize that the world was about to end.
She arrived at the base of the bell tower, staggering a little, her breath coming so harshly that she felt like a knife was sawing across her rib cage. “Gabe!” she panted, then louder. “Gabe! Ring the bells! There’s been a terrible mistake—ring the bells!”
There was no answer, and Gabe didn’t poke his head over the edge of the tower. Daiyu felt a fresh surge of horror. Had Chow beaten her here? Had he murdered the bell ringers so that no one could call the stonepickers out of the river? Furiously she shook the gate, and the broken lock came open in her hand. She would have to climb to the top of the tower herself.
Forcing her trembling, exhausted legs to function, she dragged herself up the spiral staircase, gasping for air, feeling her hands shake on the railing, moving as fast as she could. “Gabe,” she tried again every time she could gather enough breath, but he never answered. She dimly remembered Kalen saying that Gabe had found a girlfriend with whom he spent all his time. It was still fairly early in the morning, and the stonepickers usually worked till noon. Perhaps he had simply assumed that he could chance arriving late... that there would be no reason to summon the stonepickers out of the river before their usual time. . . .
She heaved herself up the last step and onto the unstable catwalk, looking around wildly and drawing in great gusts of air. She was relieved to see no sign of Gabe’s bloody body, but dismayed to remember that the rope pull for the silver chimes was located all the way on the other side. Clinging to the half wall that circled the tower, she glided clumsily forward, trying not to look down, forcing herself to ignore the fact that she was several stories up in an untrustworthy structure. She had forgotten that there was a gap in the flooring and she whimpered aloud when she reached it, but it was narrow, only about eight inches across. Holding her breath and never letting go of the ledge, she made a tiny jump and landed on the other side.
The bell pulls were in reach.
Freshly energized, she quickly unwrapped the thinner rope from its anchor on the wall and began pulling it with all her strength. Instantly, the little bells sent their silver trill into the air and over the water, urgent omens of danger and retreat. She didn’t have attention to spare to see how the stonepickers reacted when they heard this sound at least two hours before they expected it. Would they gather their bags and hurry for shore, would they turn to one another and wonder aloud what was wrong? Would they notice that the eastern bells weren’t ringing and assume some young boy had climbed the western tower to play a prank? Would they listen at all?
She pulled harder and harder on the rope, trying to invest the bells with some of the desperation she felt. But they seemed too lighthearted, too flimsy, unacquainted with doom. What else could she do? Keeping one hand on the thinner pull, she stretched her arm and began uncoiling the thicker, heavier rope, the one that controlled the large bell. When it was loose in her hand, she tugged on it as hard as she could.
The bell scarcely responded and she pulled again, seeing it begin to sway, moving with the stately precision of an elephant swinging its head around. Again she pulled, and again, almost coming to her knees to get leverage, continuing to shake the smaller bells with her other hand. And then the clapper struck the side of the metal with a sound that almost made a physical indentation in the air. She pulled again and felt the rope sweep her up, almost off her feet as the bell swung back in the otherdirection.Againtheclapperhit—again—adark,ominous counterpoint to the clattering chatter of the smaller chimes. The world is upended and none of us are safe, she willed the little bells to proclaim, while over their excited voices, the big bell intoned, Home.Home.Home.Home.
Now at last she risked looking over the side of the tower to see what her summons had wrought. Yes! Stonepickers on both banks were hastily climbing out of the riverbed, glancing nervously up at the gates, curiously back at the tower. In the press of people she could not make out individuals—where was Kalen? where was Feng?—and she hoped Chow’s guards would have just as much difficulty as she did. Those men, she could see clearly, pacing both banks of the river, shouting to one another, pointing, shaking their heads. She had a moment’s spasm of horror as she realized that she might just have driven Feng straight into the arms of his enemies. But she devoutly hoped that they would continue to search for Feng instead of charging toward the tower to see who had rung the bells.
And then water began hissing out from under the gates.
She heard the collective gasp from the workers still struggling toward safety, a great swelling murmur of disbelief that intensified as the sound of the escaping river grew louder. Now there were shouts of fear; now she saw individual stonepickers stumble in the mud and yield to the angry foam of the onrushing water. At least two men were swept away. Daiyu pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to push back her cry of anguish. Other workers formed human chains connecting the people still in the riverbed to the safety of the banks. More stonepickers were on dry land—more—the last man was splashing up and out of the water as the Zhongbu reached its highest, most furious peak.
Anyone who was not out of the water by now was dead.
Daiyu leaned as far over the half wall as she dared, frantically trying to make out faces and figures. She didn’t waste much time studying the Han men—she would
be sorry if Feng were dead, but he was not her primary concern—all she cared about was Kalen’s face, Kalen’s fate. Her eyes skimmed over the muttering, anxious crowd as she searched for a tall, thin, cangbai man with a loose, easy walk and a kind smile. . . .
She almost tumbled out of the tower when she spotted him. He was supporting an older heiren woman who looked like she had twisted her ankle in the mad dash out of the Zhongbu. They were so close to the water’s edge, they might have been the last two out of the river. Kalen was bent over her solicitously and if Daiyu was not mistaken, he was carrying the woman’s sack as well as his own. He never looked toward the belltower.
Daiyu felt her blood thaw in her veins. Her head swam so suddenly that she almost pitched over the side of the tower. Abruptly she pulled herself back inside and collapsed onto the catwalk, fighting nausea and starting to shiver.
Kalen was safe. Kalen was alive. She had not been too late after all.
But what should she do now?
She desperately wanted to hurry down the spiral steps, push her way through the dispersing crowd of stonepickers, find Kalen, and fling herself into his arms. She wanted to pattern his face with frenzied kisses, test his breath with her own, prove to herself beyond any lingering irrational fear that he was alive, he had escaped to safety. She wanted him to hold her close, create for her a small inviolable space where she could stand without fear, sheltered by his body. But she knew that if she left this tower and ran to Kalen, she would not be able to bring herself to leave him again. She would not be able to find her way back to Quan, she would not be able to return to the palace. She would not be able to banish Chenglei, if that was what she decided to do.
She had to make impossible choices, she had to carry out dangerous plans, without drawing on Kalen’s strength to support her own.
Daiyu drew her knees up and rested her face against them and tried to think through her options. She had abandoned Quan with a half-promise, not expecting to redeem it. But couldn’t she? He would have no reason to think she was the one who had set the bells to clamoring so early in the day. Unless he had decided she was too unsteady to take seriously, he was even now awaiting her arrival at the chocolate shop, mystified and a little ruffled. She had not been gone so very long. If she could find him, if she could make up a plausible story, could she not return with him? Who would know where she had been?
She had not encountered any servants on her wild flight from the house. Xiang had not seen her race down the stairs—and even if her mad exit had been witnessed, she had said nothing incriminating. Anyone might think she had been eager to see Quan, eager to make one last purchase before the holiday. Why couldn’t she return to the prime minister’s house and resume her masquerade? Why couldn’t she ask Aurora for the bracelet back? Why couldn’t she await her next private meeting with Chenglei to send the dreadful man back to the iteration where he belonged?
But what if Chenglei or Chow had glimpsed her at the door? What if they had seen her fleeing, what if they realized what she had overheard and guessed she had been the one to sound the alarm?
She would be in mortal danger the instant she set foot in the mansion.
Daiyu lifted her head and dropped her legs so that her feet dangled over the side of the walkway into open space. Her right hand crept to her pocket where the quartz talisman lay safely in its silken cocoon.
If Chenglei suspected she had betrayed him, she would have to go home.
If he did not, she had to play out this charade to the bitter end.
TWENTY
QūUAN WAS SITTING at one of the outdoor tables, crunching on a chocolate ice and looking very ill-used. Daiyu slipped into the seat across from him, folded her hands before her on the table, and lowered her eyes.
“My most abject apologies, honored Quan,” she said very formally. “I have behaved like a girl from the most backward of provinces and not like a young woman from the best family. I am ashamed. I cannot hope to be forgiven. I have come merely to tell you that I am sorry and that I will find my way back to the prime minister’s on my own.”
“No,” he said sharply as she began to rise from her chair. And then, in a softer voice, “No. Please, Daiyu. Stay. I admit I am puzzled and confused, but I am not angry.”
“Your forbearance is more than I deserve.”
He signaled to the waiter, who was already bringing over a chocolate ice for Daiyu. “What I deserve, perhaps, is an explanation.”
She took three bites before answering. Her mouth was so dry from running and panting that the confection tasted divine. “I told you. I swore to Xiang that I had bought her a gift from a riverfront store, but I lied. I was afraid she would disown me if I did not give it to her tonight.”
“But what is the gift?”
She risked a quick look at him, a secretive smile. “Ah, it is something only women can know about.”
He blushed and looked away. He was one of those men who thought women so mysterious that they were actually a little frightening. “And why did you fail to buy it for her before today?”
She made her voice small and contrite. “Because I was unwilling to give up any chance I had to spend time with you.”
It was a good gamble, and it paid off. His head came back around, and his smile was wide and pleased. “I would have helped you long before this,” he said. “You would not have had to forfeit our time.”
She bowed her head again, her own smile widening. “But I did not want to take the risk,” she said. “I am so sorry. I have been unforgivably foolish.”
His hand came up briefly to touch the back of hers where it lay on the table. “Very foolish,” he said in a caressing voice, “but not unforgivably so. I am glad I was able to aid you today, Daiyu.”
She took a deep breath. “And you will never know, Quan, how glad I am that you were there to help me.”
Xiang was in a rare state when Daiyu got back to the prime minister’s house. “Where have you been? Gone so long on such an important day! You should be bathed already and sitting before your maid to have your hair styled.”
“I was with Quan, Aunt,” Daiyu said, her eyes wide with innocent surprise. “I thought you liked it when I spent time with Mei’s son.”
“Yes, but to be gone so long on such a day! And you did not even inform the prime minister that you were leaving, as I expressly told you to do! He came looking for you and was very surprised to learn you were gone.”
“He came looking for me?” Daiyu said, keeping her voice calm. “Was he angry?”
“No, but he was disappointed. He said your talk this morning had been cut short and he wished to resume it.”
“That is why I could not tell him I was leaving, Aunt. He had an important visitor. Who am I to interrupt?”
Xiang seemed a little mollified. “He asked if we might stay tomorrow after the rest of the guests were gone so that he could finish showing you his collection. So that he could show both of us his collection,” Xiang added, sounding smug.
Daiyu tried not to take a deep breath of relief. This mark of exceptional favor meant the prime minister knew nothing of Daiyu’s betrayal. This and the fact that he hadn’t had his guards arrest her the moment she returned to the house. “Oh, Aunt, I hope you said we could!”
“Of course I did! I know what kind of behavior is proper when I am visiting the house of an important man!”
“Yes, Aunt. I apologize, Aunt. I’m sorry I have disappointed you.”
Xiang fussed for a few more minutes, but really there was no time. They had to separate to their own rooms and quickly begin the ritual of readying themselves for the holiday dinner. In Daiyu’s case, this involved taking a scented bath, applying body oils, getting the maid’s help to put on the pearl-sewn black sheath, allowing a second maid to fix her hair while the first one brushed her face with cosmetics. She couldn’t imagine how many more steps Xiang required.
Finally Daiyu had donned the finishing touches—ropes of pearls on her wrists and at her th
roat, pearls and studs of onyx at her ears, and flat embroidered black shoes—and she was ready to go. She shooed the maids out of the room, claiming a need for one last moment of privacy, and slipped the quartz stone in its silken pouch into her right-hand pocket.
She was ready to celebrate the holiday.
Chenglei’s party was utterly charming. Even before true darkness fell, the festive lanterns strung overhead washed the back lawns with color; sweet doughs baking and spicy meats frying sent tantalizing aromas swirling out from the tents. The guests were all dressed in summer elegance, bare arms glittering with jewels, faces lifted to catch the first cool breezes of evening. The whole tone of the event was one of suppressed excitement as the privileged families of Shenglang gathered in one place to show off their beauty and revel in their wealth.
It was fairly easy for Daiyu to get free of Xiang, who was much more interested in banding together with her cronies and dropping hints about her invitation to view Chenglei’s artifacts in the morning. Daiyu supposed she also managed to work into the conversation how much time her niece was spending with Mei’s son. In fact, here at the party, Quan was making his interest in Daiyu quite clear as he strolled around the lawns with her for much of the evening, introducing her to his friends and offering every five minutes to fetch her something else to eat. She allowed herself, now and then, to touch him on the arm in a proprietary manner. Some of the girls her own age glared at her when they thought no one else could see their faces; some of them sighed and looked forlorn.
Daiyu had never meant for her life in Shenglang to get this tangled.
It was just on the edge of true darkness, and the technicians at the very back of the lawns had set off a few preliminary fireworks, when Mei approached Daiyu and Quan as they stood together, idly talking.