Heart and Soul (49 page)

They flew from Canton to the Yang-tse, close to
Hangchow, with Nigel straddling the back of Jade’s dragon form and clutching a satchel with all her clothes and other necessities—such as soap—which she’d procured in Canton. It still appeared grossly immoral, but there didn’t seem to be a faster and less conspicuous way to travel. They’d eaten in Canton, and then flown through the night, largely invisible, mostly over sleeping China.

Here and there, rarely, a cluster of villages broke the darkness with the glow of fires or paper lanterns or magelights. But above all, throughout all, there was darkness and the glistening ribbon of the Yang-tse coming into view as morning approached.

As dawn broke, Nigel could see that the river sat in the middle of a vast delta plain, planted with rice fields. Before they’d embarked on this leg of their journey, Jade—who apparently felt she needed to be his guide—had informed him, in a tight-lipped way, that the cultivation of rice had been introduced to China by Yu the Great, her first recorded ancestor. He didn’t so much care about all that, but he wanted to know now which village this one was, or that one, and who operated the boats on the river, and how far away from here her people lived. But he said nothing because he knew that Jade in her dragon form could not answer at all, or only with great difficulty.

They came at last to a part of the river, just outside Hangchow, where it was relatively quiet. A few junks floated far off in the river, and they might go back and report disturbances and dragons, but they would not be so shocked that they would turn against Jade or Nigel.

After they landed, Nigel gave Jade her clothes and turned his back. Seeing her naked was more temptation than a mortal man should have to endure. The desire to hold her in his arms was almost overwhelming, and he thought very highly of himself that he managed to control it.

When she was dressed, she touched him, softly, on the shoulder, and together they approached the Yang-tse and held the ruby over the river.

“Elder of the river, Ancestor, Grandfather,” Jade began.

Before the words were fully uttered, a huge, red dragon emerged from the river, towering over them, fully overturning one of the junk boats nearby. The glow of the ruby enveloped him as he thundered at them from above, “I know who you are and I know why you’re here. I’ve seen you in my dream.”

Jade dropped to her knees and kowtowed, and Nigel thought it wise to do the same. “We meant no harm,” Jade said. “Indeed, we did not. We are just in search of your vote in the council of dragons.”

“You have it,” he said, somehow still sounding angry. “We need a true dragon dynasty again. I’ve been so somnolent, with the energy of the Dragon Throne blocked, that I think I slept away the last six centuries and forgot to change my course twice.”

And then he plunged back under the water, as huge waves splashed all around.

Nigel cloaked the ruby again. “I don’t know,” he said, “if I should feel better that Zhang hasn’t found us, or worse.”

“Worse,” Jade said. “I don’t think it is that he hasn’t found us, but that he knows his power alone cannot defeat us—not when my dragon power far exceeds his. I think he is trying to find allies who will lend him power. And I think he will meet us wherever the council of dragons is supposed to be. We must make sure to ask that of the elder of the Huang He, or, as you call it, the Yellow River. He will know. And I think that we must be present for the council to work.”

“But who or what can Zhang bring to the council that will make such a difference?”

“I don’t know,” Jade said. “I just know that he will not have given up on achieving my family’s throne. His plan of accomplishing it from the underworld has clearly failed. I confess, I am surprised, but it must have failed, because otherwise, how could Wen’s power be gone from me? Zhang failed to keep Wen’s soul sequestered, which would have killed him eventually, so now he must achieve it in some other way. I wish I could penetrate his mind, but I don’t think anyone can who is not wholly born to intrigue.”

Nigel sighed. “Well, born to intrigue I am not. But he doesn’t seem to be following us, so what would you like to do now?”

“Go to Hangchow,” she said. “And find a place to rest and wait until nighttime. Whether Zhang is following us or not, I’d prefer not to leave too obvious a trail by flying during the day.”

HOW TO RECOVER MAIDENS NOT IN DISTRESS

Corridon was skeptical at first when the eye of the
dragon showed them a middle-class neighborhood, with row upon row of British houses, and battalions of Chinese gardeners looking after the immaculate lawns. But he’d insisted on accompanying Peter to the door.

Upon their knock, the door was opened by a Chinese butler, and when Peter—with his impeccable accent, his impeccable manners and his almost too good looks—informed the butler that he wished to speak to Madame, Corridon heard an echo of Hettie’s voice from deep within the house. He would recognize that voice anywhere.

The Earl of St. Maur had told him, gravely, that since Lord Marshlake had married a maid, he might not wish to reclaim his title or to return to polite society. And Corridon had made an appalling discovery. He didn’t mind. He didn’t at all care, provided first of all that Hettie was returned to her parents, and was safe. Then he could somehow convince her parents—and her—that he was not the worst villain alive and that he wished to court her, earnestly and traditionally.

To that end, Lord St. Maur had offered to help him by speaking to her parents.

Now the lady of the house came to the door. Corridon appraised her easily enough as upper middle class, who, in England, would have a mid-large house and perhaps two or three servants. But here in the reaches of the Orient, she commanded servants almost without count.

She started a little at the sight of the two men. Then she looked directly at Corridon and pursed her lips. Lord St. Maur smiled, but there was nothing that could have prepared Corridon for what Peter said next. “Ah, madame, I understand my little niece has imposed on you most terribly.”

“You…your niece?” she said, obviously taken aback.

“Yes, Hettie Perigord, as she calls herself, though I beg leave to inform you she’s the only daughter of the Earl of Marshlake.”

The lady looked at him, speechless, and St. Maur continued. “She is, you see, a very naughty girl. She convinced this boy, a longtime family friend, to elope with her, but then in the carpetship she changed her mind, and she has, you see…She has quite cast him off. I don’t know under what manner of falsehood she has imposed upon you.”

“She said he had kidnapped her,” the lady said, her voice tight. “You must forgive me, but how do I know you are…I mean…how do I know who you are and that you are not in league with him?”

“A very just question, madame,” he said. “Permit me to present you with my card.” He extended her a card with his title, style and address. “If you wish to ask at Cooks, with whom I normally travel, or at Lloyds, with whom I bank, I am sure they will be glad to confirm my identity.”

“No, but…Oh, this is very vexing. Hettie, come over here this minute,” the lady said.

“I would bet even now she’s making her way out the back door,” St. Maur said, quite coolly.

The lady issued a few shouted commands, and moments later three servants appeared, escorting a rumpled Hettie between them. “Just as you said,” one of the servants reported. “She was trying to escape through the back door.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” Hettie said, defiantly. “I don’t know who his accomplice is, but this man is the most odious man in the world.” She pointed at Corridon, her eyes blazing. “He kidnapped me. He tried to marry me by force.”

“Oh, Hettie,” St. Maur said, his voice filled with the amusement of a relative dealing with a cherished but naughty younger person. “How can you say so? If he wished to marry you by force, he could have done it in Cape Town, or in any of the other places around there. Or even aboard the carpetship. Confess you flew off with him on a romantic fling because you wanted to be on a carpetship without your parents for the first time in your life.”

“Madame,” Hettie said, turning to her protector. “I beg you to believe I don’t even know who the man is who is hectoring me so shamelessly.”

“Oh, certainly,” St. Maur said. “That’s a likely one. You don’t know your own uncle. Your father has sent me, Hettie, to claim you and that disreputable doll you call Mrs. Beddlington.”

Hetty’s eyes showed surprise, and she seemed to be wavering.

St. Maur smiled, crossing his arms on his chest. “Indeed, your long-suffering parents told me to come and get you with all possible speed and that all would be forgiven.”

“He told you about Mrs. Beddlington,” she said, pointing at Corridon.

“Hardly,” St. Maur said. “I know my memory is abominable, but I could never have forgotten that disreputable toy you used to drag to my estate at Summercourt.” He smiled at her. “Come, come, Hettie, your father told me to tell you he’s forgiven you for causing him to break his pipe, which was just starting to acquire such a nice color, too.”

Hettie’s expression showed her understanding that St. Maur must, indeed, have been sent by her parents—or at least that’s what Corridon saw. “And your mother, while talking to me, in her agitation, dropped her favorite teapot, the one with the red and yellow roses. But they’re willing to forgive you all the broken crockery if you will just let me take you home to them.”

For a moment, it looked like she would fight, but then he saw the understanding that he knew things Corridon couldn’t have told him slowly dawning in her eyes. She had to understand he came from her parents, and if she trusted her parents, she would know St. Maur, therefore, must mean well for her. She nodded once, and then she ran into the house and returned carrying a wicker suitcase. She dropped a curtsey to her bewildered hostess. “Only, forgive me, madame,” she said, “for imposing on you so dreadfully. But you see, I had thought better of my adventure, and I thought—”

To Corridon’s surprise, the woman laughed. “Ah, child,” she said. “We were all young once.”

And Corridon thought it was the glow of noble names which burnished the scene, plus Peter Farewell, Earl St. Maur’s manners, so polished and suave that made the woman unable to regard any of them as villains.

They left her behind and walked down the street, and then St. Maur said, “We must find a place for me to change.”

“Cannot we travel in a carpetship?” Corridon asked, unwilling to think that he would be consorting with someone who was clearly and unavoidably a were-creature, while the creature was in his shifted form. It destroyed all his chances at denying that he knew of St. Maur’s condition.

“No, far more expensive, and it would take much longer. And I promised Miss Perigord’s parents that I’d get her back to them as soon as humanly possible.”

“But what can you mean?” Hettie said. “How else can you get me to my parents but on a carpetship?”

St. Maur sighed, and bowed deeply. “I can get you home on dragon-back,” he said.

Corridon didn’t know how Hettie would react, and he watched her apprehensively. But the shriek that escaped her was one of pure excitement, and when she spoke, it was in a soft voice. “ Dragon-back. What an adventure.”