Chapter 12

“I was wondering,” butterball Chief Eunuch intoned in a voice that would have lit a thousand lamps and greased the stairways of the Empire, “whether Your Majesty has made a decision regarding a state contribution to that worthy cause I had the honor to bring to Your Majesty’s attention a few days ago?”

His attempts at blackmail were becoming blatant. Butterfly Sword was tempted to step down from the stool on which he was presently standing, grab the obese obscenity by the throat, and twirl his head around until it came off. Would anyone dare intervene? At the moment, the Emperor was being dressed in the state robes by a team of six valets. A dozen others were wandering about, pretending to be busy. It was a highly inappropriate moment to importune him for money, carefully chosen to maximize the threat. He made an effort to restrain his temper.

“To which cause are you referring? You have mentioned so many.”

“The fund for funeral rites for former palace servants, lord. Eunuchs lack sons to smooth their ascent to the Fifth World, and many are so impoverished after a lifetime in imperial service that they are practically indigent. Your honored mother and equally honored father both gave generously in their time.” He sighed and mopped his streaming forehead with a richly embroidered sleeve; the Robing Room was hotter than an iron foundry.

He was lying like wet snow, of course. He had claimed seven grandsons and the average palace eunuch was richer than a wholesale opium dealer. Theft and bribery were their daily fare.

Butterfly Sword had no time for this nonsense just then. In a few moments, he would hold court. Prince Boundless Shore had arrived at Sublime Mountain three days ago, with an entourage of guards and concubines, of course, and must be officially received. General Iron Spur was to have been smuggled in last night. Butterfly Sword had been anxiously awaiting both of those men, because they were part of a plan he had devised. No one else knew it yet, but today he would make his bid for freedom.

“The Gray Helpers charge such extortionate fees,” Chief Eunuch murmured, dragging the threat of exposure out in the open while there were many witnesses present.

“The Gray Helpers are thieves and extortionists,” the Emperor said sincerely. “I am thinking of launching a campaign to expose their larceny and bring them to justice. Just at present, though, the so-called Bamboo rebels are posing a threat to our throne, and we intend to crush them without mercy.” How was that for a counterthreat? “Besides, our treasury is sorely strained by the millions of our beloved subjects suffering from famine and homelessness. They regard me as their loving father and expect me to help. Mention your cause to me again next week.”

“Your Majesty is most gracious.”

But next week, His Majesty would have escaped from prison and Chief Eunuch would be in one. If all went well, that was.

Absolute Purity was the Son of the Sun, Lord of the High and the Low, Emperor of the Good Land, Father of the Gentle People, Lord of Ten Thousand Years, and so on, and he was a prisoner. In the two months since he murdered the Empress Mother, Butterfly Sword had learned just how close his confinement was. Not just he, but all preceding Emperors had become captives of the palace eunuchs. The whole palace system was designed to imprison its most important resident.

Everything came to him by the hands of the eunuchs—his food, his clothes, his entertainment, even his concubines. Although he was out of practice at playing roles other than Emperor, he was still a Gray Helper. He could don a eunuch’s costume and walk out the gate as a eunuch, unnoticed and unchallenged. Alas, to obtain a eunuch’s costume, he would have to ask the eunuchs. Anyone who came at him with a blade would learn his mistake very rapidly, but a Gray Helper was as vulnerable to poison as the next man. Assassination was not an impossible move in the current palace game, especially with Boundless Shore at hand.

Likely, Butterfly Sword was more conscious of this imprisonment than most of his predecessors had been, because he had not been raised in the system. Unless he did something to smash it, his children would be raised in the same traditional way. All their lives they would be nurtured, surrounded, and educated by eunuchs, so they could never relate to ordinary people. The Empress Mother had not been palace born, but she had been tended and pampered by eunuchs since she was twelve. They were as universal as fleas in a bazaar.

Long ago, the Eleventh Dynasty had fallen into the same trap as its predecessors. Because palace intrigue raised the mortality rate among imperial heirs to atrociously high levels, Emperors tried to ensure their lines’ survival by fathering many sons. To do so, they needed, or thought they needed, hundreds of concubines. Therefore, they needed thousands of eunuchs to guard them. Every concubine sought to promote her own sons by conspiring with eunuchs in murderous palace intrigue, continuing the vicious spiral.

Mandarins and eunuchs were historical foes, but Butterfly Sword had few means of reaching the mandarinate except through the eunuchs. Ever since that first climactic huddle with First Mandarin, their meetings had been public and formal. Had they tried to exchange notes, the eunuchs would have opened them, read them, and expertly resealed them before delivering them. If they ever did deliver them.

Still, his hasty agreement with First Mandarin on the day of the Empress Mother’s death seemed to have escaped his jailers’ ken. The speed with which the two men had moved to establish a common front, combined with the mass confusion in the palace that morning, had let their plot pass undetected. Now everything depended on the safe arrival of General Iron Spur, the old man’s grandson.

Today, the Emperor intended to speak in open court. That had not happened in three reigns, but it had happened, and a little experimentation had shown him that the compulsions Lark had laid on him allowed him to do anything that any of his predecessors had done. That gave him all the scope he would ever need.

In the past few weeks, he had read all the government reports he could get into his hands and a lot of history from the imperial library. The day after the death of the Empress Mother, he had inspected her quarters, finding them looted to bare planks as he had expected. But in the ruins, he had discovered a secret cupboard whose door had been ripped off by the pillagers. Finding it full of papers and nothing of market value, they had lost interest. The Emperor had recognized the late unlamented’s confidential records, and ordered them collected and delivered to his own quarters. Those had been the most interesting reading of all.

There had been very little else to do during official mourning—no sex, no music, no masques. But he had built his kite and now the time had come to fly it.

The eunuch on the stool finished adjusting His Majesty’s absurdly tall headdress, stepped down, and bowed. Butterfly Sword examined his reflection in the enormous mirror. Swathed in yellow brocade, towering over all his attendants, he was impressive to the point of absurdity. Did majesty really require such trappings? Strong as he was, he found the robes’ weight oppressive in the baking, airless heat of early summer.

“Well done,” he said. “Are we ready to proceed?”

Of course they were. Everyone else would have been ready for hours.

With two youths holding his train, he rustled forward, marched through the hidden back door into the vast Hall of Celestial Peace, and took his seat on the Golden Throne. Eunuchs adjusted his robes and withdrew, except for two who swung giant fans to waft air at His Imperial Majesty and keep the flies off him.

Out in the main hall, beyond a fretted screen, lesser officials were already present. As the doorkeeper proclaimed each name and title, the owner would scurry in, approach the invisible throne, and perform the three genuflections and nine head knockings. Then he would sidle away to kneel on the sidelines. Many of the ancients had trouble kowtowing. Respect for age was all very well, but the Empress Mother had left far too many old familiar faces in place long after they passed their usefulness. An imperial court should also include a dozen or so royal princes. She had disposed of those long ago.

The Hall of Celestial Peace was a magnificent place, every surface decorated with bright-colored tiles. The balconies were already crowded with spectators, although the Emperor had not expected to see people up there and no idea who they were. Certainly, Chief Eunuch would be watching from somewhere.

Minister of This … Prefect of That … Slowly, they progressed to more senior titles, officers of the second rank, then the first. Gatherer of Imperial Bounty … Court Astrologer, old fool … Last came First Mandarin, so honored because he normally represented the Emperor. He took his place at a corner of the dais.

Butterfly Sword nodded. Trumpets blared and the screens slid back to reveal him, although not the boys with the fans.

First Mandarin signaled. The herald at the door proclaimed His Highness Prince Boundless Shore, followed by a list of estates and titles. In trotted a double line of flunkies bearing the prince’s gifts to the Emperor, which they laid before the throne. Butterfly Sword noted porcelain and jade and silk carpets and mysterious carved chests and wondered how much of it would be swallowed by the eunuchs’ bottomless greed before even being listed by the imperial household.

Then came Absolute Purity’s fourth cousin, His Highness Prince Boundless Shore, the boy who had the best real claim to the throne. He was about fifteen, tall but still youthfully slender, and he moved a great deal more nimbly and gracefully than anyone else had done. As a prince, he was required to knock his head on the floor only three times, not nine.

“Rise, cousin,” the Emperor boomed. “You are welcome in court, a jewel to brighten our house.”

The court gasped. No one living had ever heard the Lord of the High and the Low speak in such an assembly.

The boy rose to his knees. He was not supposed to look at the Emperor, but he could not resist a hasty upward glance, which Butterfly Sword pretended not to notice. The kid must be terrified at being summoned to court for the first time, knowing the bloody ways Emperors had for dealing with possible rivals, but he was hiding it very well. Butterfly Sword had no such vicious intentions, for he was in firm possession now, despite Chief Eunuch’s smarmy threats. No one questioned his identity, and he had not one but two infant sons to succeed him if necessary. He had summoned the young prince for quite different reasons.

“That my insignificant existence,” the prince began, reciting a speech he had probably found in some ancient record, “should thus so unexpectedly, by the honor of imperial regard …” And so on. He did not stumble once, which was more than could be said for most courtiers haranguing the throne. “. . . can have no greater honor than to kneel here and solemnly dedicate my life to your honor and service, My Lord.”

“We intend to take you up on that offer, noble cousin. You are most welcome to our court and will be treated with sublime royal honors during your stay. You will drink tea with us in the Garden of Arboreal Splendor as soon as this meeting has adjourned. Meanwhile, sit there, opposite His Excellency, while we deal with another matter.”

Butterfly Sword gestured to a fat cushion in the place of second honor. To be told to sit, rather than kneel, was a stupendous honor, of course, the sort of wonder to be passed on to future generations.

First Mandarin signaled again. The herald proclaimed General Peach Harvest, Deputy Supreme Guardian. The ever-­cautious­ Empress Mother had always kept an incompetent in charge of the army, and an incompetent would always choose incompetents as his subordinates. The old man who came tottering in from the side of the hall had probably been worth little forty years ago and now his prose was tortuous, his logic nonsensical, his brushwork almost illegible. Butterfly Sword had ripped the last report apart in fury.

Having already kowtowed, Peach Harvest merely knelt and humbly begged the Lord of All Under Heaven to receive General Iron Spur, His Majesty’s military prefect on the Siping frontier. He stumbled over even that little speech, having learned of it only that morning.

The trumpets announced the general. Butterfly Sword watched with interest as the alleged hero approached. Even unarmed, barefoot, and performing the undignified shuffle required to approach the throne, First Mandarin’s grandson revealed traces of a soldier’s bearing. He was younger than Butterfly Sword had expected, although that might be just because he had grown too accustomed to the company of eunuchs and geriatrics.

After the newcomer had kowtowed, the agenda called for Peach Harvest to beseech His Majesty to approve a long overdue commendation to Iron Spur for his victory over the barbarians five years ago. Before he could gather his wits, the Emperor spoke, in tones that echoed from the walls.

“Honorable Peach Harvest, your reports are rubbish. Where is our army?”

Jaws dropped. The court cowered back. Peach Harvest himself just gaped in horror.

“We ask you again, where is our army?”

The old man made strangled noises, then addressed the floor tiles. “Your Majesty, I believe it is still in Gongshan Province. Its progress to the south is being delayed because the Grand Canal is almost dry. The level of the Golden River has fallen so low that—”

“You believe? You don’t know? And why is it going south? Where is the Bamboo Banner?”

After several ums and ers … “Jingyan Province, Your Majesty?”

“You are asking me? You don’t know? You are dismissed from office. Go away.”

In a murderous silence, the crushed old soldier crept backward, out of the imperial presence. Previous Emperors might have now sent him “permission” to commit suicide, and he might not wait for it, but Butterfly Sword had better targets for his wrath. Meanwhile, nothing would happen until he told it to. He noticed that First Mandarin had so far forgotten his practiced inscrutability as to lower his snowy eyebrows in disapproval of the upstart imposter who was departing from the agenda.

“First Mandarin, can anyone in this hall tell me where the Bamboo Banner is?”

The old man almost smiled as he caught up with the unwritten script. He had sent Butterfly Sword the answer to that question only yesterday and would certainly have discussed it with his grandson already.

“Your Majesty, if anyone can advise you on the military situation, it will be General Iron Spur.”

“Do so, if you can, General.”

Still kneeling, the soldier took it in stride. Having been granted the floor, he now addressed it, being unworthy to look directly at the Emperor. “My understanding, Your Majesty, is that the Bamboo Banner is presently in southern Jingyan Province, and there is some recent evidence to suggest that it is veering more to the northwest, away from its previous northeasterly path. The army, as of the time of the earthquake, was in Gongshan Province, and Supreme Guardian was concerned by reports that the Golden River had ceased to flow. In other words, Lord of All Under Heaven, the two forces are still on opposite sides of the Good Land.”

“So if the army does cross the river without being washed away, it may even miss the Bamboo Banner entirely and have to chase it north?” Butterfly Sword did not wait for an answer, in case he had been wrong. “If I now appoint you Supreme Guardian, can you find our army, assume command, and deal with the rebels before they do any more damage?”

The audience gasped again, but there was only one possible answer to that question. Iron Spur gave it without a twitch, although he might be putting his neck on the block.

“My life and sword are Your Majesty’s to command.”

“I so command. It is time to stamp out this upstart rabble. You will meet with us in the Garden of Arboreal Splendor shortly. You also, First Mandarin, and of course our worthy cousin, Prince Boundless Shore.”

He raised a hand very slightly, and instantly the screens closed.

There! He had begun. And eunuchs were the first target on his list.

The Garden of Arboreal Splendor, in the Great Without, comprised several acres of artfully sited groves, lawns, flowerbeds, and lotus ponds. Butterfly Sword was carried to where his three guests sat in a small gazebo he had not seen before. It would be ideal for private dalliance with Snow Lily, except that she must never leave the Great Within. It was not overlooked by any windows, and there was no undergrowth close enough to conceal listeners. He ignored the throne provided and joined the others in sitting on the mats. All three of them must be wondering why Boundless Shore had been included in a council of war.

“I waive palace formality for this meeting,” Butterfly Sword said. “Our business is too important to be complicated by ceremony or undue politeness. Disagree with me if you think I am in error. Flat-out contradict me if necessary. I am as human as you are. I spit and shit and fart. The only difference is that when I fart everyone has to look pleased.”

First Mandarin stiffened in horror. Iron Spur studied his knees. The young prince choked back a grin. Butterfly Sword was relying on his Gray Helper training, as he had when he went rowing with Snow Lily. An Emperor who deliberately did the unthinkable must be genuine because an imposter would not dare. Then conversation had to wait while the tea arrived. It was cold, of course.

As soon as the servants had left, Butterfly Sword said, “General, give us your reading of the military situation.”

Iron Spur must have foreseen the question. “Based on the information I have been given, Lord”—he glanced briefly at his grandfather—“the earthquake devastated large parts of three provinces: Nanling, Shashi, and Jingyan. With bridges and cities in ruins, with food and shelter critically short, the Bamboo Banner must either return to the south or detour from its previous track. The Golden River is temporarily dammed just east of Wedlock, bringing a real risk of catastrophic flooding downstream from there. For that reason, I believe the army’s present course southward may be impeded. I would humbly advise Your Majesty that your forces should head west to cut off the rebels in Wanrong or even Shashi.”

“The army will have farther to go than the rebels do.”

“But it will be moving over the plains. The rabble will be cutting across the ridges, up and down hills. We have an organized commissariat. They will be foraging for food in a not very fertile land. I believe Your Majesty’s forces can cut them off in Wanrong.”

“There is reason to expect that the interception will occur in Shashi.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Iron Spur said, “I am inexpressibly grateful to Your Majesty for this guidance.”

“There is no military reason for my conclusion, but the Portal of Worlds is expected to open shortly, probably next year, but even that date is uncertain.”

No one was going to say that a change of dynasty might follow. Very few knew that one had already happened—long may it last!

“Does Your Majesty order me to proceed on that assumption?”

“No. Do what you are paid to do as you think fit. I like your plan, though. When can you leave?”

“Tonight, Your Majesty, if my commission can be ready by then.”

The difference between this young firebrand and the Supreme Guardian was noon over midnight.

“You are a man after my own heart, General, but there are a few details I must take care of first. How many men did you bring with you?”

“Ten thousand, sire. They can be here within hours.”

“How trustworthy are its officers?”

“My second-in-command is my brother, Iron Fist, Majesty.”

“He and the troops will stay here. You will lead our army against the Bamboo Banner. Its followers have claimed for years that I am dead. To prove them wrong, I will come with you.”

First Mandarin’s tea bowl shattered on the paving.

“Like Emperors of old, I will march against the rebels,” Butterfly Sword continued calmly. “If a battle can be avoided, or after it is won, I will decide what terms to offer this Bamboo and his gang. But I will not presume to tell you how to lead an army or fight a battle, Supreme Guardian. First Mandarin, prepare documents to raise the Pearl Concubine to the rank of Empress and to appoint a regency council of yourself and Prince Boundless Shore to rule the Good Land in my absence. If the two of you disagree on a matter, you will consult the Empress to break the deadlock.”

He waited then to let them unravel it all. First Mandarin was very pale, but he was being offered more power than he had ever had, and a chance to put Boundless Shore on the throne if the usurper failed to destroy the Banner. Boundless Shore had turned bright pink. Instead of some token job on the fringe of government, he was starting at the top, for regent was as high as he could ever honorably hope to rise in the Empire. Iron Spur just looked thoughtful.

Butterfly Sword asked him first. “Questions, Supreme Com­mander?”

“How will Your Majesty travel?”

“On horseback, and I will set a pace that makes you scream for mercy.”

The soldier must have doubted that, but he said, “I am overwhelmed by the honor and trust you bestow on me, sire.”

“And his men?” First Mandarin dared to ask.

“The Empress and the mothers of my sons will move to the Turquoise Palace. The rest of my concubines or prospective concubines will be returned to their families with appropriate gifts. The Empress will provide a list of up to one hundred eunuchs she wishes to retain in my service. I command the regency council to impose martial law on Heart of the World and evict all other eunuchs from the palace. Start tonight. I want Chief Eunuch arrested and his house searched for evidence of stolen property.”

The old man beamed blissfully. “Your Majesty, he owns two palaces packed to the rafters with treasure. It will take weeks to move it all to the imperial vaults.”

“If that is confirmed, cut off his head and mount it on the Gate of Memory.”

“The thousand cuts? Impalement?”

“No, it must be quick.” Butterfly Sword was not going to have the fat man taking days to die, screaming allegations of treason against the Emperor. “And then move against the next layer: his sons, his accomplices. Seize their property, but go slowly, so that any who choose to flee the city may do so, but allow them to take only what they can carry. None of them should starve.”

Butterfly Sword glanced around his three accomplices and resisted a desire to laugh aloud. Power certainly had its enjoyable moments. He would be wagering his life by leaving the capital, but his life was barely worth a sneeze at the moment. If he failed, Snow Lily and all his children would die. If he could overcome the Bamboo Banner, he would rule unchallenged.

“Do you have any questions? Cousin?” He went around the circle, and none of them had questions. They were all stunned.

“In that case, First Mandarin, Supreme Guardian, you have our leave to go and be about our business. No formality—and don’t walk backward! You’ll break your necks on that paving.”

As the two were leaving, First Mandarin glanced back and nodded very slightly. Only Butterfly Sword saw, and he took it as a welcome sign of commitment, the old man indicating he approved of the imposter’s performance so far and would support him.

In Heart of the World, anyone who trusted anyone else had a very short life expectancy.

“Well, cousin … ?”

“Your Majesty?”

“Family can look me in the eye in private conversations.”

Startled, the boy looked up and flushed. “Sire!”

Butterfly Sword smiled. “Were you worried that I would cut off your head?”

“Oh no, sire! But … Of course not, sire.”

“Poison or a silken cord? You were right to worry. I hope I have reassured you somewhat in this little chat?”

“I am overwhelmed, sire.”

“So you should be! I just dropped the entire Good Land on your shoulders. First Mandarin is efficient, and I believe honest, but he is also set firmly in the ruts of a long life. Don’t be afraid to push a younger point of view if necessary. When you were a child, did your family have a pet name for you?”

Bewilderment. “My sisters called me Sandfly, sire.”

“That’s too obvious by itself, but we can stretch it to insects in general. When you write to me, always mention insects of one kind or another, and that way I will know it is really from you, and you are not writing under compulsion. Any mention of spiders or webs will mean that you are not writing freely. In my youth, I was known as Horse, so I will always mention horses or cavalry somewhere. The warning will be ‘mule.’ Is that clear? Good. Now, is there anything you need from me?”

“Um …” An even deeper blush. The boy looked down at his perfectly groomed nails, and then forced his eyes up again as he remembered his orders. “Money, sire. My grandmother once had a thousand servants and now we have less than a dozen. Your esteemed and well-loved mother … I mean I had to sell art and jewels to pay for my journey here, the hired retainers, the gifts … We have only one house left.”

Butterfly Sword sighed. How many houses did one boy and one old woman really need? Millions of the Gentle People were dying of starvation already. But unless he rewarded his vice Emperor lavishly, his would be one of the shortest reigns in the history of the Good Land.

“Why don’t I begin by just giving you one of Chief Eunuch’s palaces and all its contents? That will probably make you the richest man in the Empire after me. Once I have quashed the Bamboo Banner and can start to reign in earnest, I will honor you properly. No, you do not have to kiss my shoes.”