Rule spoke slowly, using a short memorized speech in their language. “Good. Continue to call until you are too weary, or until one in authority tells you to stop.”
He turned away, set one hand on the side of the boat, and leaped lightly onto the dock, sick with guilt. Quivering with anticipation. At last, at last, at last he could go to Lily.
And even that was not enough to keep him from thinking about those he left behind on the chún-chún. Wondering how many of them would live long enough to find out what had been done to them. And if he would ever know.
? ? ?
LILY had been scrubbed and rinsed. They were skipping the usual soak in the hot pool in order to have time for major primping. She must be properly prepared for her presentation—sweet-smelling oils, a fancy hairstyle, and the most formal of court wear. A quiet, barefoot woman who looked much like Ah Hai, only with pigment, delivered the garments just as Ah Hai started washing Lily’s hair. When the woman left, she carried a message from Ah Hai to . . . someone. Ah Hai would not say who. “You understand, it is not for me to say ‘do this’ or ‘do that,’” she’d told Lily earnestly. “I will ask, but another will make the decision.”
Ah Hai had almost finished towel-drying Lily’s hair when an old man walked up to the bathhouse guided by a young boy. He carried a walking stick and had a clean white cloth tied over his eyes. The guards told him to leave. He bowed deeply and answered that he regretted he could not obey their order, for his duties required him to be there.
He was barefoot. So was the boy.
By the time Ah Hai had Lily oiled and buffed, twelve people had assembled outside the bathhouse. All of them apologized abjectly for not dispersing as the guards told them to. All of them were barefoot.
Some of the guards were confused, some of them angry. All were at a loss what to do. The claimed were always respectful, always obedient . . . until now. Anyone else they might have struck or arrested or both, but these were yāoqiú. They were owned by the Zhuren. One did not strike the property of the Zhuren. One did not arrest property. Yet they would not go.
The maid who’d brought Lily’s fancy clothes returned, bringing a fancy hair ornament she said had mistakenly been omitted from the first delivery. When she emerged from the bathhouse, she went to the old man and whispered something to him.
Much to the guards’ relief, the yāoqiú began moving away. Only the blind old man saw the small, orange-skinned female hidden in their midst.
The old man led the others to the tower in the center of Heart’s Home, where they settled on the ground in a large circle. Barefoot people continued to arrive in ones and twos. Some wore veils. Some wore loose clothing that muffled whatever eccentricities their bodies possessed, but other deformities couldn’t be hidden. Two were dwarfs. One was severely hunchbacked. A few had no obvious mutations.
? ? ?
A tall peasant man sat on the dusty ground in front of We Pan Li’s shop. He seemed to be dozing in the late afternoon heat, with his head lowered onto the arms he’d crossed on his up-drawn knees. With his head down, his straw hat completely hid his face. Suddenly he lifted his head and smiled. A moment later he pulled a small pot from a pocket in his pants and began smearing goo all over his face. When he was satisfied with that, he removed his shoes.
? ? ?
First Fist Li Po was in his office in the Justice Court—a small, underground room safe from fire and visiting dragons, as were all the important rooms in the Court. In the winter it could easily be heated with a single brazier. In the summer, it sweltered.
Li Po did not like his office. He much preferred to remain at his home in the city—a large and spacious stone house with a beautiful central courtyard and one of the best libraries in the city. Li Po considered himself a scholar. If he had not read all of the books and scrolls he had collected, he was sure he would someday. In the meantime, guests were much impressed by his library.
He would much rather have been in his library now. He could read and sign papers there as easily as he could in his office, could he not? Why sweat in this hot, cramped space if he did not have to? There were underlings to carry those papers back and forth, and other subordinates to carry out the day-to-day administration of the Court. True, he did not like Fist Second Fang, but the man was competent. Irritating, but competent.
Sacrifices must be made at times, however. He needed to conduct the handover of one special prisoner himself. Not that he understood why the woman was special. Prideful, mannish—why, she fought hand-to-hand with the guards! With his guards. Li Po did not approve of pride in women. He did not approve of allowing them to fight with men, and he deeply resented Báitóu Alice Li for insisting that the prisoner be allowed to do so.
He disliked Alice much more than he disliked Fist Second Fang. He fantasized about someday bringing her low, but he was a realist. That would not happen. Her grandfather valued her greatly. More, he suspected, than his own grandfather valued him. The Zhu Dìqiú never sought him out. When they did encounter each other, the Zhu was civil, but no more. But he had arranged Li Po’s appointment as First Fist, so perhaps he was wrong about his grandfather’s lack of interest. The Zhuren were not demonstrative, after all. They valued reason above emotion.
The Zhuren also valued the prisoner who was the cause of his decision to remain in his hot office today. Li Po did not know why. In truth, he did not understand the Zhuren, but it would never have crossed his mind to disobey them.
Being underground didn’t keep Li Po didn’t from feeling the shudder when the wards went down.
The shānjiǎo had entered the city.
TWENTY-NINE
AH Hai had reluctantly agreed to arrange Lily’s hair in a braided style suitable for a warrior instead of the poufy bun-thing she wanted to do. In return Lily had allowed her to paint her face.
It was probably just as well she didn’t have a mirror. Ah Hai had a heavy hand with cosmetics. Though she would have liked to see the flower Ah Hai had painted on her forehead—a chrysanthemum, which she insisted was appropriate for a warrior. That didn’t fit what Lily had been told about mums, but then, this wasn’t really China.
The outfit the spawn wanted Lily to wear was similar to the most formal court wear from the Han Dynasty. For the first time, she was given underwear—knickers and something like a tank top, both made of silk.
Everything was silk. Over her new undies went an ankle-length skirt and a long-sleeved top, both in white silk. Over that went a sort of long apron—a panel in a brilliant crimson brocade that hung down in front. And on top of everything else went a black shenyi with absurdly long sleeves piped in white, followed by a white sash to hold it in place. It took Ah Hai several minutes to adjust the folds of the shenyi just so. Lots of beautiful, hot, sweaty layers.