an sheng’s palace lay in the valley just below them, its tiled roofs a gleaming red in the late afternoon sunlight, its high white walls heavily patrolled by armed guards. As they made their way down, a horseman rode up the path to greet them, dismounting and pressing his forehead into the dust at the First Dragon’s feet.
“Highness,” the man said breathlessly, lifting his head but keeping his eyes averted, “my Master was not expecting you until this evening. But he greets you warmly and asks you to accompany me.” The First Dragon grunted, then turned, looking to Shang Mu. “I suppose Prince An knows best.”
“He would have good reason, I Lung,” Shang answered quietly, conscious of how he would have felt had the First Dragon descended on him three hours early. “I am told Li Yuan has spies in all the households. Prince An would want to make sure that news of our visit did not get back to the wrong ears.”
The First Dragon smiled tightly. “Ah. Of course.” He turned back to the waiting servant. “Lead on, man. One of my servants will take your horse.” At the gate An Sheng’s third son, Prince Mo Shan, a tall man in his thirties, was waiting to greet them formally. With a minimum of fuss he ushered them through into the cool of a small anteroom where a table had been laid with sweetmeats and wine.
“You must forgive us, I Lung,” the prince said, dismissing the servants and going to the table, intent on honoring the First Dragon by serving him himself. “My father sleeps in the afternoon and 1 am loath to wake him before he has had his full rest. After all, such matters as must be discussed ...”
He let the elliptic nature of his words hang in the air a moment, then half turned, looking down at the table. “However, would you have some refreshments after your journey, I Lung?” Shang Mu, standing to the right of the First Dragon and two steps back, watched the side of his Master’s face, noting the tension in his neck muscles. The First Dragon was clearly put out. Even so, he smiled and made polite conversation, as if nothing were amiss. Maybe, Shang thought, this is a power game of some kind. Maybe An Sheng thinks the First Dragon has come early to make some kind of point, and is acting thus to demonstrate that he will not be hurried into anything. If so that was worrying, for it spoke of mistrust and potential division, and that was the last thing any of them needed right now.
The First Dragon turned, looking at him. “Shang Mu? Will you have something to drink?”
“A cordial, Master,” he said, noting the coded signal they had agreed on earlier. If the First Dragon looked elsewhere when he addressed him, he was to say nothing; but if he looked directly at him . . . Shang Mu looked past his Master at the prince. “A man needs his rest,” he said, watching Mo Shan pour him a silver tumbler of the cordial, “and a great man more than most. He cannot afford to be tired. His responsibilities are great, therefore his mind must be clear, like a mountain stream.”
Mo Shan handed him his drink. “So it is, Master Shang. Especially when the matter is as great as this.”
The First Dragon came closer. “Your father has discussed this with you, Mo Shan?”
“I am my father’s hands, my father’s eyes. To be effective I must know what he is thinking.”
Shang Mu smiled, understanding at last. Whether they had arrived early or late would have made no difference. They might dine with An Sheng, but they would deal with his son.
The First Dragon, quick to pick up on what was happening, spoke to Shang Mu again, this time looking to the prince and smiling as he did so. “It is as I was saying on the journey here, Shang Mu: a great man is made greater by the ability of his servants, and who is more loyal a servant than a son?”
He raised his tumbler, toasting Mo Shan. “I trust you will be as the lips to the teeth.”
“You understand then, 1 Lung?”
“Of course. It is only right that your father keep aloof from such matters. Indeed, it would be easier for us all were we to keep this matter . . . informal” “Informal, I Lung?”
“Exactly. Great men are like great ships, they leave a huge wake wherever they go. It is easy for the eyes of the Hsiao jen—the little men—to see them, neh? Whereas, if this matter were dealt with at a ... let us say, slightly lower level...”
Mo Shan smiled, then turned, looking directly at Shang Mu. “You speak, then, for the Ministry, Master Shang?”
Shang Mu returned the smile, but it was the First Dragon who answered. “My son-in-law speaks for us all, as uncle and brother speak for the family.” “Then let us talk, Master Shang. But first, I Lung, let me take you through to my father’s rooms. I understand he is waking and wishes to greet his old friend.”
“And I him.” The First Dragon glanced at Shang Mu, giving a terse nod,
then went across, moving past the waiting prince and out into the
corridor.
Alone, Shang Mu looked down into his tumbler and heaved a sigh. He understood. It was not merely a matter of who dealt with whom, but who would take the blame if things went wrong. This way it would be he and the young Prince, Mo Shan, whose heads would fall were their conspiracy to be uncovered. An Sheng and the First Dragon would claim no knowledge of it. It was a frightening thought, yet that was the way of it, and he accepted it. Besides, the I Lung was right. A single meeting with An Sheng would draw little attention. After all, it was the job of the First Dragon to keep in touch with all the Heads of the Twenty-Nine. Yet to be seen in An Sheng’s company too often would draw unwanted notice. No, it was best this way. And if their scheme succeeded it would do him no harm to have played so prominent a role.
Shang Mu put the heavy tumbler to his lips and drained it at a gulp, then went across, pouring himself a second. Listening to the First Dragon only a moment before, he had realized just how far they had come in the last twenty-four hours. The first step had been taken. They had done enough already to warrant execution. From here on there could be no mistakes. To survive he had to succeed.
In a week he could be dead, all trace of his family erased from the records. It was an appalling thought. And yet, what better incentive could he have been given? What better stimulus to make him think clearly and plan carefully? No, the First Dragon had been clever— very clever indeed. And he would repay the great man’s trust. He would make this great enterprise work. Because to fail was unthinkable. To fail was . . . well, it was not an option.
He heard footsteps. A moment later Prince Mo Shan appeared in the doorway. Now that the First Dragon had gone, he seemed more relaxed, as if he had cast off a skin.
“Well, Master Shang,” he said, turning slightly, indicating the open door, the corridor beyond, “it would be a shame to waste the sunlight. Let us walk in the gardens, neh? I am sure we have much to discuss.”
it was after one when Chen finally got home. The hallway was in darkness, but there was a light on in the kitchen at the far end. He went through, thinking it might be Wang Ti, up late, waiting for him, but it was a stranger, a young Han in her late teens. She turned, eyes wide, then, drying her hands quickly, gave a bow.
“Who are you?” he asked quietly, pulling the door to behind him, concerned not to wake the household. “Where is Tian Fen?” “She had to leave, Major Kao. I am her cousin, Tian Ching.” “Ah...” He looked about him at the kitchen, satisfied by the cleanliness, the orderliness, he saw, not unhappy that the slovenly Tian Fen had left. She had been trouble from the start. He looked back at the girl. “So you’re my wife’s new helper?”