Vaerana’s eyes widened at the rebuke. Her cheeks turned crimson and she dropped her eyes in embarrassment. “I shouldn’t be sharpening my blade on you, Witch. Whatever happened, your life was the one at risk.” She backed away and said, “Why don’t you tell us what happened?”
Ruha glanced at Fowler. “I do not know how much the captain could tell you—”
“Not much,” Fowler interjected. “I waited all night for you to come back and started to worry when you didn’t return before dawn. Then the Shou went crazy, running all over swinging their boarding pikes around like they were trying to cut up the air, and I knew they had to be looking for you. I cut a hole through the roof of the guest house, then climbed over the wall and ran for the trees. Sorry I didn’t stay, but I wasn’t going to be much help.”
“You made the right choice,” Ruha replied. “And matters did not go so badly.”
Vaerana’s eyes lit up. “Then you know where the staff is?”
Ruha shook her head. “I am sorry. But I do know it is not inside the Ginger Palace.”
A dark curtain descended over Vaerana’s face. “Not inside? But it’s Shou magic stealing Yanseldara’s spirit—my sages are sure of it!”
“Yes, and Prince Tang’s mother is casting the spell, as you suspected,” Ruha said. “But Lady Feng has been abducted.”
“Someone stole her?” Fowler’s tone was incredulous. “From the Ginger Palace?”
Ruha nodded, then described all that she had discovered, from Lady Feng’s starving familiar to Prince Tang’s unwitting enrollment in the Cult of the Dragon.
Vaerana listened rather impatiently until the witch finished, then regarded her with a thoughtful expression. “It looks like I owe you an apology—if you’re sure of this.”
“Of everything I have described, yes,” Ruha replied. “But I do not understand why the cult is going to all this trouble to steal Yanseldara’s spirit. Wouldn’t it have been simpler for them just to kill her?”
Vaerana made a half-nod. “Sure, but then they wouldn’t rule Elversult. If they control Yanseldara, they control the city.”
Though not entirely satisfied with Vaerana’s explanation, Ruha lacked a better one and saw no use in jeopardizing their developing truce by contradicting the Lady Constable.
“Assuming you are correct, the cult may be further from its goal than we think,” Ruha said. “To complete the theft of Yanseldara’s spirit, the Cult of the Dragon needs something more from Prince Tang.”
“What?” Vaerana demanded, once again sounding impatient and pushy. “If we deny them, can we stop Yanseldara from getting any sicker?”
“I could not learn the answer to either of your questions.” Ruha looked away from Vaerana’s disappointed face, restraining the urge to add that the Lady Constable’s ‘rescue’ had ruined her chances of discovering more. “The cult could need anything: an instrument from Lady Feng’s apartment, ingredients from the palace’s warehouse, perhaps something from Yanseldara’s home.”
“No, nothing from Moonstorm House,” Vaerana objected. “They wouldn’t have one chance in ten thousand of getting anything from there.”
“How do you suppose they got her staff?” asked Fowler.
Vaerana shot the half-orc a murderous glare, then turned back to Ruha without answering his question. “Your mission wasn’t a total loss, Witch,” she said, trying to be magnanimous and failing miserably. “At least you gave me some idea of what I’ll need to ask.”
“Ask?” Fowler grunted. “If you’re thinking what I’m thinking you are, I want my gold now.”
Vaerana frowned at the half-orc. “I can’t pay out of Elversult’s treasury. You’ll get your gold after we take the palace.”
“You intend to storm the Ginger Palace?” Ruha gasped.
“Can you think of a better way to get my hands on Tang?”
Ruha shook her head. “No, but I doubt interrogating him will do you any good. The prince is too afraid of Cypress. He refuses to believe I destroyed the dragon.”
“Well, you did,” Vaerana growled. “Hsieh will tell him that!”
“Somehow, I do not think it will matter.” Ruha thought for a moment, trying to recall Tang’s exact words when she told him she had destroyed the dragon. “He said ‘Perhaps you do destroy Cypress, but if you think that means there is no reason to fear him, you know nothing.’ I thought he was referring to the Cult of the Dragon, but now that I reconsider …”
“Something strange is happening,” Vaerana agreed. “I’ve heard reports that the cult’s paying good gold to fishermen for tiny pieces of that dragon you killed.”
“That’ll hardly drain their treasure boxes,” Fowler observed. “The sharks got most of the carcass.”
Vaerana nodded. “For nearly a tenday now, the cult’s been shipping wagon-loads of shark out of Pros, but none of it ever shows up in Elversult.”
“Where could it be going?” Ruha asked.
Vaerana shrugged. “With all that’s going on, I didn’t think it was worth the trouble of tracking down. Maybe I was wrong.”
“That’d be a good idea,” Fowler said. “Cypress might not be as gone as we thought.”
Tombor the Jolly came stomping through the trees. “Vaerana, the Shou want their mandarin. Archers are beginning to gather along the walls.”
“Let them!” Vaerana turned to go back to the road. “We’re going to have a battle soon enough.”
Ruha grabbed the Lady Constable by the arm. “But the Shou do not have Yanseldara’s staff!”
“They’re still my best hope of stopping the cult—or Cypress—and saving Yanseldara.”
“I may know of a better way,” Ruha said, thinking of Lady Feng’s abandoned familiar. “Give me another day, and I will find Tang’s mother—and Yanseldara’s staff.”
Vaerana shook her head. “I don’t know if Yanseldara has another day—and even if she does, Elversult may not. The Cult of the Dragon is growing more powerful by the hour.”
“How long’ll it take you to storm the palace?” Fowler asked. “And even if it’s less than a day, can you be sure Tang will tell you what you want to know—or that it’ll do you much good?”
Vaerana looked to Tombor. “What do you think?”
The cleric’s gaze darted from Fowler to Ruha to Vaerana. Finally, he smiled and shrugged amiably. “It’s all the same to me. I just need to know what you’re doing.”
Vaerana bit her lip, then finally said, “Tell Hsieh that he’s free to go.” After Tombor left, the Lady Constable gently took Ruha’s arm and, in a tone that was almost pleading, said, “Witch, you can’t foul this up.”
“I shall not.” Ruha glanced toward the road to make certain that she was still shielded from the view of any Shou, then whispered the incantation of the same sun spell she had used to vanish the day before. A shimmering wave of heat rolled down her body, leaving both her clothes and her flesh as transparent as air. “Just give me until tomorrow at dawn.”
With that, the invisible witch returned to the road, where Tombor was just giving the order to release Hsieh and the caravan drivers. She went to the nearest wagon and raised the edge of its tarp just far enough to slip inside, and nearly gagged on the cloying odor that rose from the cargo box: fresh ylang blossoms.
Nine
The servants had brought a small, triangular table of polished mahogany into the Hall of Amity and placed three teak thrones around it. Prince Tang and his wife sat close together on one side, staring at their reflections in the burnished surface, and Minister Hsieh sat alone at the opposite point. The shape of the table represented the trio’s nominal equality as members of the Imperial Household of Shou Lung, the seating arrangement reflected their actual status in the Emperor’s eyes, and the absence of any guards except the minister’s was a concession to his office: only the Emperor himself could bring personal guards into the presence of a mandarin.
“Why does table have only three sides?” Hsieh demanded. “Where is Lady Feng?
”
The knot in Tang’s stomach tightened even further, but he forced himself to slacken his face muscles and meet the mandarin’s eyes. “Lady Feng is not here.”
The mandarin accepted the prince’s nonanswer with stern inexpressiveness. “Is most worthy concubine available? I travel many thousands of li to speak to her.”
The prince hazarded a glance at his wife, whose face remained as unreadable as the mandarin’s. They had not expected this. Though Hsieh and Lady Feng were cousins, they disliked each other vehemently and had taken pains to avoid each other for years. It was even whispered that, after some incident involving Lady Feng’s familiar, it had been the mandarin who had arranged the exile of the Third Virtuous Concubine.
At last, Wei Dao asked, “You have nothing to say to Honored Husband?”
Hsieh regarded the prince and princess in thoughtful silence, until a smirk of amusement flickered briefly across his lips. “No, to surprise of everyone in Hall of Supreme Harmony, profits of Ginger Palace are most satisfying. Even Emperor notice.”
Tang’s stomach started to writhe and churn. The good news would only make it more difficult to admit that he had allowed someone to kidnap the Third Virtuous Concubine.
“Do not look so troubled, Prince. We will talk after I see Lady Feng.” Hsieh’s uncovered eye narrowed in mild rebuke. “I am most anxious to hear why Ministry of Spices does not know about Ginger Palace’s poison trade.”
Tang rose and accepted the mandarin’s admonishment with a polite bow. “I am most anxious to make report on anything you wish.” He fixed his eyes on the silver-trimmed hem of the mandarin’s maitung, then took a deep breath and forced himself to speak again. “But first, I must relate regrettable truth about Lady Feng.”
Even a seasoned bureaucrat like Minister Hsieh could not prevent the blood from draining from his face, thereby betraying his shock. “Something has happened?”
Wei Dao was on her feet and speaking before Tang could continue. “When Prince Tang says Lady Feng is not here, he means not in Ginger Palace.”
Hsieh’s jaw fell, and when his brow furrowed this time, the rebuke was not a gentle one. “Then where is Third Virtuous Concubine?”
Again, Wei Dao answered for her husband. “She tends to sick friend in Elversult.”
The mandarin scowled and, apparently resigning himself to having all his questions answered by the princess, turned directly to Wei Dao.
“It is most indecorous to have Emperor’s consort wandering about outside her palace, especially in land of barbarians.” Though his face showed no sign of emotion, there was a dubious edge in his voice. “Why not bring sick friend to Ginger Palace?”
“Friend is too sick to move.”
Hsieh’s eyes narrowed; then he whirled back to Prince Tang. “Who is this friend?”
“Very important—”
Hsieh raised his hand to silence the princess. “I ask honorable husband.”
Tang glanced at his wife, who wisely made no attempt to communicate what she had intended to say. Though the mandarin’s gaze was riveted on the prince, his adjutant was watching Wei Dao from the corners of his eyes.
Tang could not bring himself to answer. He was too blinded by fear to see the escape toward which Wei Dao had been driving. Lying to a mandarin was both a crime as terrible as treason and an indelible stain on the honor of his ancestors, yet now that his wife had shown him the way, he wanted nothing more than to avoid admitting his ignoble failure.
“Who is Lady Feng’s friend?” Hsieh demanded.
Tang realized that his wife could have intended to give only one answer. “Lady Feng visits Moonstorm House in Elversult.” The prince felt as though he would retch; his stomach was turning somersaults and his jaws were aching. “Queen of city is very ill, and her priests ask for help of Third Virtuous Concubine.”
Hsieh’s face did not soften. “Then why does constable woman harass Shou caravan? Making hostage of Emperor’s servant is poor way to show appreciation.”
As badly as he wanted to, the prince did not look toward Wei Dao. Certainly, she had already thought of an answer to this simple question, but the mere hint of coaching from her would be enough to condemn both Tang and his wife to slow and dishonorable deaths.
“Barbarians have strange customs.” Tang knew that his response was a feeble one, but he needed time to think of something better. “Vaerana Hawklyn does not trust afterworld magic and accuses us of causing her queen’s illness.”
“Have we?”
Tang tried to swallow and found that he could not. “Why do you think that, Minister?”
The minister splayed his fingers, then began to tick off the names of poisonous plants that had been hidden in the Ginger Lady’s cargo. “Oleander … lantana … castor bean … pink pea … Shou berry.” He reached his little finger and stopped. “Need I go on?”
Prince Tang shook his head. “We only sell poisons, not use them. Yanseldara’s condition is not our fault.”
Hsieh lowered his hand. “You know I do not care if it is, as long as your reason is good. But if you are lying—”
“Never!” Both Tang and his wife spoke at once.
Hsieh raised a cautionary finger and continued, “If you lie to protect Lady Feng, I have no mercy.”
Tang’s head began to spin. “To protect Lady Feng?” he asked, truly confused. “How does lying—”
“We do not lie.” Wei Dao stepped around the table to her husband’s side. “We send a company of guards to inform Lady Feng of your arrival. Perhaps you wish to send Yu Po along?”
Hsieh considered the offer, then shook his head. “That is not necessary. If there is anything I should know, it is certain to come to light.”
The mandarin rose and honored them with a shallow bow, then led Yu Po and his guards from the room. As soon as their steps faded from the corridor outside, Tang sent the servants away.
“Why do you lie to mandarin?” he demanded, turning to his wife. “You dishonor ancestors and condemn us to Chamber of Agonizing Death!”
“Only if Minister Hsieh discovers abduction of venerable mother.”
“How can he fail?” Tang’s legs were trembling. It made him feel ashamed and weak. “Any servant tells esteemed mandarin everything he wants to know.”
“True, but Minister Hsieh is sure to ask wrong questions,” Wei Dao replied calmly. “He thinks venerable mother has lover, and any servant he asks certainly tells him that is nonsense.”
The princess’s reassurance did little to bolster Tang’s courage. “But how do guards bring Lady Feng home from Moonstorm House? Cypress has mother, not Vaerana Hawklyn!”
“Yes, but now we have fresh ylang blossoms.” Wei Dao grabbed her husband by the wrist and started toward the back of the palace. “Now come. We have no more time for your cowardice—or your foolishness.”
* * * **
Inside the cargo box, the thick stench of ylang blossoms did more to muffle the unexpected shriek than the canvas tarp—or so it seemed to Ruha. The first screech was instantly followed by more cries from all corners of the cavernous spicehouse, and then came a brief stampede of drumming boots. Wisps of another smell, rancid and even more cloying than ylang oil, drifted through the gaps between the wagon’s sideboards. After that, the cavernous spicehouse fell silent, leaving the witch to wonder if, after untold hours of stillness, she dared uncurl herself and peek outside.
Ruha decided to wait; ten heartbeats, twenty, thirty. She had thought it would be a simple thing to stow away until the wagon was inside the palace, then slip out from beneath the tarp when it was parked to await unloading. But the Shou had driven the witch’s wagon and several others into the shady coolness of the spicehouse and left them there, then began to unpack the vehicles parked outside in the hot sun. Until now, the patter of feet passing by her hiding place had been so steady that she had hardly dared to breathe, much less poke her head out from beneath the tarp.
Ruha’s count reached a hundred. She slowly
uncurled herself, taking a moment to stretch her stiff muscles in case she suddenly had to run or fight, then half-swam through the dried blossoms to the back corner of the wagon. In the inky darkness beneath the tarp, her sun spell had grown weak and expired some time ago, leaving her as visible as any workman. She used the tip of her jambiya to lift the tarp, then raised her head high enough to peer over the tail boards.
A gasp of surprise rose into her throat and escaped, half-strangled, from her mouth. Less than five paces away sat a small black dragon. Save that it was no larger than a cargo wagon, the creature was identical to Cypress, with the same dull scales, splintered horns, and sinister voids where his eyes should have been. The foul odor she had smelled earlier seemed to be coming from the carcass, and now the witch thought she could identify the stench: rotten fish.
Ruha dropped back into the wagon and tried not to choke on her own heart, which had somehow climbed high into her throat. When the creature did not immediately come tearing through the tarp, the witch dared to hope it had not seen her and frantically tried to think of some reason that did not involve her that it might be waiting outside her wagon. She failed, rather quickly, and started to consider what she might do about the situation.
Come out, my dear. Though the voice reverberated through Ruha’s head without passing through her ears, it sounded as raspy and chilling as the first time she had heard it. You have no idea how I have been looking forward to our second meeting.
Ruha knew then that someone had betrayed her, but who: Vaerana or Fowler? The thought was ludicrous. They both had more reason than she to hate Cypress, yet who else could have known where she was hiding? Anyone they would have trusted with the secret. In Vaerana’s case, at least, that circle was no doubt larger than the witch would have liked.
Come out and give me that silver I smell in your pocket If you show that much courage, perhaps I will have mercy.
The Veiled Dragon Page 15