“But not to deceive himself that his fellows are themselves honest men,” Mianning said, “unless we are to believe him a fool.”
They feinted back and forth a little further along these lines, it seemed to Laurence very much like two fencers feeling out their way onto unfamiliar ground, trying to ascertain which of them should take the better advantage from it, in which direction and what manner they wished to press the attack. And then abruptly Bayan made his lunge, adding, “And if nothing else, what he has said is surely true: China can ill afford to involve herself in the disputes of a foreign nation while strife rends the state from within.”
“I am surprised to hear that you have so little confidence in General Fela’s ability to put down the White Lotus resurgence,” Mianning said.
“When a hidden hand props the foe from behind, and he is forbidden to strike at the true source of danger, even the greatest general cannot be expected to easily find success,” Bayan said. “Perhaps,” he added, with a false air of having been suddenly struck with a new idea, “the foreigners should be tasked to go to his aid, under the command of the Emperor’s son and Lung Tien Xiang. If the British are responsible, they may correct their own wrongdoing. If they are not, they may do a singular service to the nation, and thereby properly merit some acknowledgment.”
Laurence heard this proposal with dismay: he could well imagine what Hammond should say to their entire party being sent away from the heart of Imperial power to the hinterlands of China, silenced and expected to clear away a provincial rebellion that might be as much whisper and legend as armed force, and nearly incapable of defeat. Let a man be robbed on the road, and the conservatives might claim rebels had done it. And if the rebellion were real, were some truly dangerous insurgency against the throne, Laurence could scarcely imagine that their own party would be of particular use, stumbling over themselves in a foreign land. They might well merely be in the way, and in so being might make Bayan’s accusations almost true.
He was all the more dismayed, then, to hear Mianning slowly say, “While rising from questionable suppositions, nevertheless Lord Bayan’s proposal has merit.”
Laurence could not help but stare at him, while Mianning serenely continued, “Though the remnants of the White Lotus may not yet have become truly dangerous, the creeping vine is best pruned back early, and with greater zeal than necessary. To send my brother—with a force appropriate to his rank—to see them put down and restore harmony, would be a wise course and a duty befitting his dignities.”
It was little comfort to Laurence to see Bayan as taken aback as himself by Mianning’s unexpected yielding. “What escort could the prince require other than his own company?” Bayan said at once, urgently. “General Fela and the army are there already—”
“And yet have so far been insufficient to halt this insurgency, by your own report,” Mianning said. “Surely you would not propose that such a risk be taken with my brother, nor the honorable Lung Tien Xiang, who have not had the blessings of proper military training. When I myself first led men into battle, I was arrayed not only in armor, but with the wisdom of the senior officers who advised me.”
Laurence could not like the proposal any better for Bayan’s evident dismay; but neither he nor Bayan had any opportunity to object further: the Emperor had straightened in his seat, and it was plain the audience had reached its conclusion.
“My son Laurence,” the Emperor said, “taking General Lung Shao Chu, and consulting at all times his advice and wisdom, you will gather three jalan of dragon bannermen and go south with them, to deal with the rebellion and uncover the source of these strange and evil rumors about your country-men, proving them false if you can. Return swiftly and victorious home.”
He had scarcely finished speaking when one of the half-a-dozen scribes working busily by his side, the one nearest the throne, rose and kneeling before the throne presented him a clean copy of the orders upon a writing-desk. The Emperor took up a brush and signed, swiftly, and taking up the red seal pressed it down; the sheet was folded over thrice by the scribe’s skillful hands even as he turned to offer it to Laurence, who with a sense of numb disaster bowed his head before it.