Five Odd Honors (44 page)

“I’m not certain how we would go about it,” Albert admitted. “Righteous Drum, do you have any thoughts?”

“If the Lands were the Lands I have known all my life,” Righteous Drum said, “I would have many, but regarding this transformed world of which we have been told, I am as ignorant as the merest apprentice.”

“The scouts haven’t been out of contact all that long,” Albert said, trying to sound encouraging. “Five, six days.”

“Six,” Honey Dream said firmly.

Albert went on. “Des mentioned that they must cross those mountains of metal. He noted that he expected the passage to be formidable. Perhaps the scouts are still in the mountains. Remember, all their other journeys have been on the flat.”

Honey Dream gestured toward the mah-jong tiles spread on the table. “How about those? Can’t we use them to check?”

“We could try,” Pearl said. “However, we’ve already found that the further realities are separated, the harder it is to make the tiles respond. The Orphans learned that from the beginning of their exile. They longed to check on the family and friends they had left behind, but they could not.”

Nissa bounced in her seat, looking for a moment very much like Lani.

“What about the mah-jong sets, though? I mean the specif c ones, the ones that are made from the bones of the ghosts who are part of the expedition. We have their sets. Surely the link would be stronger.”

“That’s an interesting idea,” Albert said, stoking his small beard thoughtfully, “a very interesting idea. We were able to contact the ghosts using those sets.”

“But they are not ghosts any longer,” Righteous Drum objected. “By the gracious will of Yen-lo Wang, they have been re-embodied.”

“True,” Albert said, “but we’re not looking to summon them, just to make contact.”

“It’s an interesting idea,” Pearl said, “but not one I think we should pursue today. I have a feeling we’re going to need all our ch’i.”

Righteous Drum nodded, stilling what Pearl had a feeling was an incipient rebellion on the part of his daughter.

“I agree. The guardian domains lie between the Lands and this place, so we will need to bridge not one but two degrees of separation.”

Albert said, “The scouts are probably simply occupied with what they are doing, and haven’t had the opportunity to accumulate sufficient ch’i to contact us.”

Pearl heard the note of uncertainty underlying his words. Judging from the expression in Honey Dream’s eyes, so did the Snake.

Looking at how those slim shoulders squared and those dark eyes grew thoughtful, Pearl hoped that Honey Dream wasn’t planning to do anything impulsive.

Loyal Wind knew that three days had passed since they had been taken prisoner by Thundering Heaven.

He’d seen the light outside the narrow window that brought fresh air into his solitary cell change from bright to dark and dark to bright. He’d tracked the changes, scoring them deeply into the wood of the doorframe.

Three days, not counting the day on which they had been captured. They’d not walked far that day. Thundering Heaven had positioned wagons around a bend in the trail. After weapons—and, in the case of himself and Flying Claw, armor—had been removed, the prisoners had been bundled one at a time into those wagons. Their hands were tied behind them, their ankles hobbled. A rope about their waists secured them to an iron loop in the wagon.

The bonds had not been uncomfortable, but they had been restrictive. As further insurance against escape attempts, Thundering Heaven had employed the neat little device of a rope looped around the throat, connected to that which bound the wrists. As long as one did not struggle, the loop around the throat remained no more restrictive than a tight collar. However, if one struggled—as in stretching to attempt to untie one’s own wrists or those of another—then the loop tightened, first restricting breath, then strangling.

This was the stick. As a carrot, Thundering Heaven had offered not to gag them as long as they remained perfectly silent.

“I will have soldiers stationed in the back of the wagons with you. If they report a single word, even a suspicious grunt, then the gags will go in. You see? I can be gracious—as long as I am not pushed too hard.”

The prisoners had been placed in three different wagons. Loyal Wind did not think it a coincidence that he, Flying Claw, and Riprap—the three most effective fighters—had been separated. Loyal Wind shared his wagon with Bent Bamboo and Gentle Smoke. They had all been warned that they must remain in their human shapes.

Gentle Smoke in particular had been warned of the consequences should she attempt to slip away. Loyal Wind recalled how furious Gentle Smoke had been with Thundering Heaven. She’d even tried to bite him. Funny. Until then, Loyal Wind had never considered whether her snake form was venomous or not. He still wasn’t certain, but from how the soldier who had been set to guard them had reacted, that young man wasn’t going to take any chances.

No one had broken the prohibition against speech while the wagons were in motion. When they were unloaded well after dark in an inner courtyard of a looming structure that smelled of wet stone and grief, Nine Ducks had ventured a question.

“Where are we?”

“Someplace that would mean nothing to you,” Thundering Heaven had said. “A place with sufficient quarters to house you all appropriately.”

Those quarters had proven to be cells: stone-walled, stone-floored. The furnishings were minimal: a covered bucket, a heap of straw, and a large clay jar filled with fresh water.

The only light came from a narrow window that ran along the top of one wall. This was the only source of fresh air as well. When rain fell, as it did on the second night, water streamed in to splash on the stone floor before draining through slits set a few inches from the wall.

The cell’s door had a slot through which food was passed at odd hours: usually rice topped with some slivers of fish and pickled vegetables. The food was fresh and plentiful. The water was replenished through a hose lowered through the window each dawn. The bucket was emptied into the slits on the floor, rinsed through with water from the same hose. If Loyal Wind worked quickly enough, he could even give himself a shower. This was easy enough, since his only garment was a light cotton tunic.

On the first day of his captivity, Loyal Wind had attempted some magic to improve his situation, but found he could not even summon a small light. He was no Dragon to speculate on what charms must have been used to eliminate drawing even on personal ch’i, but the level of exhaustion he felt after his effort made him think that the charm must divert his ch’i from the spell of his choice, draining more ch’i than he had intended to use, judging from his fatigue.

He decided not to risk ch’i depletion. There were worse things than darkness.

In the three days since Loyal Wind had been put in his cell, no one had spoken to him. He had tried shouting, but no one had answered him. Soon after, the food slot had shot back and a voice had made a shushing noise, then added three words: “Or no water.”

The pickled vegetables had made him thirsty. Loyal Wind accepted the warning. In any case, given how carefully all the other arrangements had been made, he doubted that his associates were anywhere they could hear him. He’d had to try.

From what Thundering Heaven had already said, Loyal Wind knew the Exile Tiger’s master wanted them alive, wanted to speak to them. Except for their confinement, their situation could be worse. They had come here to learn what had happened to the Lands. Now they would do so.

Once Loyal Wind might have raged at being imprisoned. Stallions were not known for their equable temperaments, nor horses in general for loving confinement.

But Loyal Wind had been dead far longer than he had been alive. When, somewhere in the long years of death, he had slowly begun to let go of the anger and outrage that had led to his suicide, he had begun to distrust his own temper.

Now he sat on the pile of straw that was his only furniture and contemplated the situation. He hoped that Flying Claw or Riprap had not done anything too impulsive, that Bent Bamboo had kept his tendency to make sassy remarks in check. Des was not likely to say anything deliberately rude, but his eagerness to ask questions might be misinterpreted.

The ladies provided less reason for concern. Gentle Smoke was skilled in monitoring her remarks. While Copper Gong could be acid-tongued, the long years she had spent pushing the Orphans to attempt a return to the Lands had taught her something of the value of moderation. Nine Ducks, like her namesake Ox, was very calm unless roused.

Loyal Wind felt a stirring of uneasiness when he thought of Nine Ducks. She—not he—had defeated Thundering Heaven back when they had first sought to rescue Bent Bamboo. Would Thundering Heaven attempt to exact some vengeance? Loyal Wind doubted that Thundering Heaven would stoop to anything as extreme as torture—after all, apparently Li Szu wished to speak with them—but withholding food or water or providing some minor humiliation could serve both to punish her and to provide them all with a reminder that their situation might be far worse.

Such thoughts were troubling, especially as speculation made them seem all the more real. Loyal Wind tried thinking about other things. Foremost among these was Li Szu himself.

Thundering Heaven had referred to Li Szu as the creator of the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice. In a sense Li Szu was, for he was the one who had counseled the first emperor, Ch’in Shih Huang Ti, to burn those books that did not agree with the new empire’s policies. This action—combined with the executions of scholars who refused to comply—had created the surge of energy that had given birth to the Lands.

It was a tale every child was told, but, strangely, after that initial act neither Li Szu nor the first emperor had any place in the tales of the Lands. The gods and goddesses of the Lands were those of China at the time of the Burning of the Books, though Buddhism had seeped in and left its mark, just as it had in China.

Sometime on the fourth day, probably about noon given the light—Loyal Wind had long ago established that his window faced east—the food slot in the door shot back. It was too early for another meal. Loyal Wind went from an idle drowse directly to his feet.

He cast about for a weapon, but the lid to the slops bucket was chained on and the bucket itself secured by a short but heavy chain to the wall. Straw would do no good, and both the bowl in which his rice was provided and the water jar were made of clay too delicate to be of any use as a weapon.

“Stand where you can be seen,” said a voice without, male, but not, Loyal Wind thought, that of Thundering Heaven. “Put your hands out to your sides.”

Loyal Wind did this.

The door opened, swinging out into the corridor.

“Come,” said the voice.

After the indirect light of his cell, the area outside seemed very bright. All Loyal Wind could make out was a large shape. When he stepped out into the corridor, he realized this belonged to a guard. The man who had spoken was a much less impressive figure, dressed in the robes of a minor official.

“You are to be prepared,” the official said. “If you cause difficulties, you will still be prepared, but afterwards you will not return to such pleasant accommodations. Do you understand?”

“I do.” Loyal Wind decided to hazard a question. “Prepared for what?”

“An audience. Follow me.”

Loyal Wind did so. Another guard as large as the first stepped out between him and the official, while the first took up the rear—this despite the fact that they were in a corridor without any other doors.

Loyal Wind wondered if this was actually the case. Disguising any distinguishing marks was a very simple illusion, one often done in prisons to keep the prisoners from getting a sense of where they were, so that even if they did escape, they would not be likely to find their way out.

They went down this corridor, up a short flight of stairs, into another corridor, down a ramp, and eventually ended up in an area that smelled very invitingly of musky perfumes. The air held an extra note of humidity, and Loyal Wind was not in the least surprised to find they had come to a bath.

“You will bathe,” the official said. “You will permit the attendants to trim your hair, beard, and nails. You will then—when you are dry—garb yourself in the clothing provided. Any resistance will lead to punishment. Do you understand?”