“You’re being unfair now. Many of them give money to charity.” “Charity?” She was openly scornful now, beyond caring whether what she said was hurtful. “What’s that but a salve—an excuse not to act, not to do something real?”
Gloria shook her head, her face tight now with resentment. “You’re a real little revolutionary at heart, aren’t you? I thought—“ “You thought what? That I could be tamed? That I could be made to be the perfect political companion for Michael?” She shook her head. “That’s what Kennedy thought, too, and look where that led him.” “That’s unfair, Em, and you know it.”
“Unfair? Shit... I wasn’t the one who was making deals with Wu Shih!” “He had no choice. Besides, Michael’s told me about your meeting with Nan Ho.”
She felt herself go still. “He told you? When?” Gloria shrugged, realizing she had said something wrong. “I—I can’t remember. Last week sometime. He tells me these things. . . .” “Tells you . . .” Mary looked away, her lips pursed. “He sees you, then, when I’m not there?”
“It’s nothing,” Gloria said quickly. “I—“
She stopped. Michael was standing in the doorway behind them.
“What’s going on? I heard raised voices. ...” “You’d better ask your wife. I think she’d like to declare war on all of us.”
He turned to her. “Em?”
For once she didn’t look at him. “It won’t work, Michael. I can’t be Nan Ho’s creature, however slack the strings. And this—this farce . . . gods, it’s so decadent! There’s a sickness here, all right, but it isn’t just in the Lowers. It’s everywhere!”
“Em . . . This isn’t like you.”
“No?” She turned on him, anger flashing in her eyes. “Well, you’d best discuss that with your friend here. You seem to discuss everything else.” “Ah . . .” He shook his head. “Look. It’s just that I’m used to talking things through with her. We go back years. ...” But Mary was no longer listening. Abruptly she pushed past him and through the door. Her footsteps hammered on the marble steps leading up to her room and then a door slammed loudly.
“This business . . . it’s upset her badly.”
“Go after her. She’ll listen to you, Michael.” “I don’t know. ...” He stared at the empty doorway, frowning. “I’ve never seen her quite like that. All that anger.” “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned about our meeting Tuesday. She thinks”—she laughed—“she thinks we’re having an affair.” Michael stared at her, astonished, then turned back to face the doorway once again. “Oh shit! . . . And I thought...” He sighed. “I’d better go talk to her, neh?”
“You’d better. And, Michael. . .”
He turned back. “Yes?”
She smiled. “If you need me, you know where I am.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Maker’s Mark kuei jen lay in bed, the covers pulled up tight about his neck, alone in the big, dark room, the familiar shapes of the furniture threatening somehow, changed in the faint predawn light. He had been crying, but the tears had dried and his eyes were sore where he had rubbed them. There had been noises in the night—shouting, and running footsteps— but when he had called no one had come, as if his section of the palace had been deserted. And then there had been silence—a silence worse than the commotion that had preceded it, for then he really did think that they had gone and left him there alone. Left him because he was bad. He sniffed and felt a shiver pass right through him, wishing, despite the fear he felt, that the darkness would linger in his room a little longer. When it was light the man would come, and it would begin again—all those awful exercises; all those dreadful things that he could never manage properly.
Why? he kept asking himself. Why? And always the answer was the same. Because he no longer loves me. Because I’ve been bad and he no longer loves me. Again he shuddered, close once more to tears. But if the man came and saw he had been crying there would be trouble. He would be punished for it.
Fighting back his fear he pushed the covers back and slid to the edge of the bed, then ran quickly, fearfully, across the shadowed room to the door, fumbling at the big hexagonal doorknob before it gave and the heavy door creaked back.
Outside, the corridor was empty. There were noises from the left, from the kitchens, but from the right, where his father’s suite was, there was nothing. He went that way, running down the broad, dark corridor, his bare feet padding on the cold tiles, his breath coming to him in tiny, shuddering gasps. Outside his father’s study he stopped, hearing faint voices from within, remembering what his father had said only the day before about not bursting in. And yet he had to speak to him; had to explain just what he was feeling. If this went on ... He squeezed his eyes firmly shut, trying to stop the tears, to be the prince his father wanted him to be, but it was hard. He had had so little practice at it.
Pressing his ear against the door he listened. There were two voices. One was his father’s, the other ... he listened more . . . Tsu Ma’s. Yes, even as he recognized it, he heard, more clearly than before, his Uncle Ma’s rich laughter. It almost cheered him. But then he remembered that that, too, was in the past. All joy, all happiness—all that lay in the past now. Today, like every other day from this time on, he would spend with the dour Lo Wen, learning to be a prince.
He reached out, placing his hand against the handle, then stopped, taking in what his father had just said. A wife . . . His father was taking a new wife.
Slowly he backed away, his mouth an O of surprise. And then it hit him. That was why. A wife! His father was taking a new wife, and there would no longer be room for him in his father’s heart. His mouth puckered and a small sound of pain, like the whimper of a wounded animal, escaped him. He doesn’t love me anymore. Daddy doesn’t love me anymore.
“Kuei Jen?”
He turned, his eyes wide with fear. It was the Captain of the Guard, Shen Lo-yen. Shen stared back at him, surprised to find him there. “Are you all right, young Master?”
But Kuei Jen was not all right. With a yelp he turned and ran, straight past his room and on—on through the kitchens and out into the Western Garden, jumping the broad marble steps in twos and threes in his haste, his bare feet stinging, and then on again, down the narrow pathway and through the gate in the wall ... on until the darkness of the trees embraced him.
li yuan looked up anxiously as his Chancellor entered the room. “Is he found, Master Nan?”
Nan Ho smiled reassuringly. “All is well, Chieh Hsia. We found him in the orchard, hiding behind one of the trees. He was a little cold, but no real harm has been done. Your maids are tending to him now.” “Thank the gods!” Li Yuan heaved a huge sigh of relief, then turned to his fellow T’ang. “If Captain Shen hadn’t raised the alarm, who knows what might have happened? But why? Why should the child run off like that?” Tsu Ma shrugged. “I’m hardly the person to ask, Yuan. My experience of children is limited, to say the least.”
Nan Ho cleared his throat.
“Yes, Master Nan?”
“I think you need to talk to him, Chieh Hsia. About your forthcoming marriage. The boy needs . . . reassuring. It might also serve if you would let him off his instruction just for today.” “Let him off? But you’ve been telling me how important it was to keep to his routines.”