Heart and Soul (24 page)

The picture that had formed in his mind was that of a well-funded, well-sprung organization embracing men of all descriptions and motivations. It was far bigger than this chase for the rubies—and this chase for the rubies might be the biggest challenge of his generation. If he uncovered this, he might uncover, at the heart of it, a conspiracy that, for all he knew, had dogged human steps for centuries.

It was more than Captain Corridon, second son of the Earl of Northford and an ambitious man, could resist.

And then there was Hettie. If he’d met her in London, at the home of some fashionable hostess, still Captain Corridon would have noticed her. It was not just that she was pretty. Her beauty as such was the bland and inoffensive look of a well-brought-up miss, and he suspected she had yet to fully grow into her charms. But there was a light in her eyes, a madcap spark that matched his own desire for adventure and fame. He would have responded to that in any case.

Now the young lady, who either was all unaware who she might truly be or was one of the most cunning spies ever trained, was pouring into his ears a fantastical tale. Unless she knew about Nigel Oldhall and the quest for the rubies, indeed, it was an unbelievable tale. That her parents, law-abiding citizens that they were, had agreed to shelter in their house and hide from the search a were-dragon. A Chinese were-dragon that they could not possibly have known until hours ago. That Nigel—if it was him—had released the full power of the ruby just now in their dining room.

Captain Corridon wasn’t a trained farseer, and he’d not been trying to scan for the ruby. He’d had a feeling of power nearby, but he couldn’t, for the life of him, swear it was the ruby. However, the way Hettie described it, the light bathing the room, was eerily similar to the way the soldiers who’d survived the encounter with the ruby had described it, back in Africa.

“You are very displeased,” he said, as a way to keep her from realizing how deep in thought her story had plunged him.

She let out a little exasperated sigh. “Oh, very,” she said. “Indeed, how could I not be when my parents are acting quite contrary to everything they’ve ever told me to do and think?” She bit her lower lip, prettily, in a gesture of vexation.

“Parents,” he said, softly, “can be very trying.” Was she hoaxing him? Did she know who her father was and, furthermore, was she a member of what must be a vast international conspiracy? And if not, then how could her father leave her thus unprotected? Had he thought that the truth would endanger her?

Corridon had heard from his Chinese contact—a man he neither liked nor trusted, nor should he, considering that he was poisoning his own sovereign with opium in order to advance himself—that he had one of the rubies which he’d obtained from a carpetship magician. That meant the other ruby must still be with the carpetship magician, Nigel Oldhall.

The captain could take Hettie’s word for it and call for a raid on the house. Heaven knew he had enough cause for suspicion; none of his superiors would question his decision. But what if this truly was a conspiracy? What if it slipped between his fingers as it had slipped between the fingers of officers here in Africa and in India? What if he was made a fool of, his advancement forever blighted?

One thing he knew for sure, and that was that Lord Marshlake, as much under disguise as he might be, and as deeply involved in a conspiracy as he could be, had only one daughter. And that daughter, from all the information he’d collected in this neighborhood, the lord loved very much.

If Corridon secured the daughter—oh, not quite a kidnapping, but a more delicate affair in which he might compromise her honor but would take care not to—there was a good chance that Marshlake would spill everything he knew and give up all of his accomplices.

A bright future smiled at Captain Corridon, one in which everyone marveled at how he could have cracked such a complex conspiracy that had—possibly—subsisted for millennia. The queen herself, or—if she had died by then, as people kept saying she was likely to do—her son, would reward him amply.

He bit his lip. It might seem dishonorable from the outside, but he was doing it in the service of his country.

“Hettie,” he said, putting in his voice that sort of unrestrained passion that very young ladies were likely to confuse with love. “Hettie, listen. Run away with me.”

She looked at him, her mouth open, seeming absolutely shocked. For a moment he thought she was going to scream and run away, but instead she stood there, and just started to shake her head.

He reached for her hands and held them, tight, in his own. “I know it must seem like madness to you, but indeed, Hettie, you’ve driven me mad ever since I met you. I must have you for my wife, and I will have you. It is all I can do to ask you politely, instead of kidnapping you and taking you with me into a forced marriage.” She was very young and the idea of a forced marriage would still seem to her more romantic than horrifying. She blushed a little and almost smiled. “But I must have you. My father will never consent, though. You know, he is an earl.”

She nodded. She didn’t even attempt to make a protest, so he would have to guess her father, indeed, had not told her the truth, and she couldn’t know they were equals or nearly so—for there was very little chance that her mother was as highly bred as the Countess of Northford.

“He will never allow me to marry you if we ask his permission. And it is plain to me that your family is not treating you well. I don’t know why, but it is clear.”

“Mama and Papa do love me,” she said, in a little gasping protest.

“I am sure they do,” he said. “But you must admit they’ve chosen a very odd way to show it.”

“Yes,” she said, in a low voice.

“So, will you run away with me, Hettie? I can get us a marriage certificate, listing you as of age. I doubt your parents will try to dispute it.” His father undoubtedly would. That is, until he realized that through Hettie the title to the estate of Marshlake would descend. He would not be so churlish as to try to do his second son out of a title. None of which signified, as Corridon wouldn’t marry Hettie.

He
probably
wouldn’t marry Hettie, he added to himself, as he looked into her limpid blue eyes.

She demurred. “This is very sudden,” she said. “Why, I hardly know you…”

Commotion from the street, outside this alley, called them. “Dragon, dragon!” a voice called. And running, Corridon saw there was indeed a dragon. It was the red one of the two who had fought over this street not so long ago. And on its back sat a man, who looked remarkably like the descriptions of Nigel Oldhall.

“Please, Hettie, please,” Captain Corridon said, turning back to see that Hettie, who had followed him, was standing just behind him. “You are my only hope.”

THE LORDS OF FENG DU

Precious Lotus, Third Lady of the True Dragon
Emperor, turned around, in confusion, to see three men marching toward them. Or, at least, they should be men, but they weren’t. They looked from a distance like soldiers wearing Imperial uniforms of an outdated design, but up close it became obvious that the uniforms weren’t so much worn as were a part of the person approaching at full speed. “Stop,” they were saying. “Stop in the name of Lord Qin-Quang-Wang, Lord of the First Court of Feng Du.”

There were ten courts of Feng Du, Third Lady thought, though some legends said six, some seven and some twelve. But they all agreed that the first court was the domain of Qin-Quang-Wang. As the guards ran toward them, she observed that there were three others approaching from the other side of the cavern, bearing down on Wen. It seemed to her that they were acting very strangely, since neither Third Lady nor Wen were in fact moving, but only standing there, confused by these creatures and their peremptory orders.

“The living should not intrude in the courts of Feng Du,” one of the creatures said, when he got close enough, and bowed deeply, as though, somehow, by bowing he could make the verdict palatable. “We regret it, but we will have to arrest you.”

“Perhaps we should run?” Wen whispered in Jade’s ear, but before either of them could take a step, there were hands grabbing at them. The hands were hard and dry, and felt curiously inhuman, but also very strong, like bands of iron, as they clasped around her arms. Running was impossible. She looked to the side, and saw Wen had arrived at the same conclusion and was sagging in the grasp of his captors.

“You must face the mirror of retribution,” one of the guards said. He had the type of voice that sounded like it was being recited in some sort of ritual, and completely divorced from the situation at hand.

“The mirror of retribution is for the dead,” Wen said, as the two of them were dragged—without having to move their feet—across the length of the cavern. And the cavern was bewildering. In addition to the first scenes that had greeted Precious Lotus—the strange people that weren’t people, and the green donkey pulling a cart of what she very much feared were corpses and therefore refused to look at more closely—it seemed like the cavern unfolded into very different scenes.

It took her only a moment to realize that the cavern was completely formed of mirrors. Mirrors at right angles, and mirrors twisted this way and that, and what they were reflecting wasn’t the landscape.

Passing a bank of mirrors that showed what appeared to be a war between two armies, one dressed in red, the other in gray, Third Lady tried, once more, to make their captors see the light. “We are not dead. And as my lord says, the mirror of retribution is for the dead.”

One of the guards chuckled, a dry chuckle like the rustling of dried leaves. “You will be dead anyway before you leave the Feng Du.”

“No, no,” she said. “We can’t be dead. This is the True Dragon Emperor, the real Lord of All Under Heaven. He has duties in the world. We were sent here by the Oracle of the Dragon, at the behest of the Jade Emperor, Ruler of Heaven and the Court of the Blessed. It is the decree of heaven.”

For a moment, their captors stopped and turned to look at her. Only, their faces were as incapable of forming any expression as they seemed incapable of changing uniforms. “She has invoked the name of the Jade Emperor,” one of them said.

The other one, despite completely immobile features, managed to give the impression of rolling his eyes. “What will they think of next?”

“It is true,” Wen said. “At least, it is true that I am the Dragon Emperor and that my wife tells me the oracle sent us here. Why else would the living intrude on the world of the dead?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” one of the guards said, in the conversational tone of a functionary explaining the inanity of life. “Once we had a live monkey in here, and what havoc he generated. All the records were scrambled, and we had people dying out of order and people arriving here years before or after they should have. It took us centuries to clear up his mistakes. He had come, you see, in search of immortality.”

“And that was not the worst of it,” another guard said. “There was also the time when a man came in here, by magic, somehow, bringing his body with him, thinking that it was the land of the living and he could steal gold. He breathed on the Lord Qin-Quang-Wang.

“He breathed on him?” Precious Lotus asked, puzzled, because it was said as though this was the most heinous of crimes, but she couldn’t understand what could be so bad.

The guard bowed, looking curiously two-dimensional as he did so—like a piece of paper or cloth folding. “You must know that the breath of the living is poisonous to the dead.”