The Wei smiled and bowed a second time. "I understand. It's been a hard day, neh?"
Su Ping met his Security Captain's eyes and smiled weakly. Then, looking tired beyond his years, he shuffled past, heading for his bed.
Kung Chia watched the Hsien L'ing go, then, turning on his heel, made for the stairs, hurrying now, anxious to speak to his real Master, Su Chun.
Emily stepped inside the enclosure, then pulled the gate to behind her, reaching up to slide the bolt slowly, quietly across.
She turned. Li was standing on the far side of the outer courtyard, watching her.
"So what did he send us?"
She stared at the parcel, then went across and handed it to him.
He sat down, beginning to unwrap the parcel, then looked up at her, astonished. "Kuan Yin!"
"It looks new," she said, reaching out to touch the smooth, black, shiny surface of the HeadStim.
"It is," he said, awed by the machine. "State-of-the-art. It's. . ." He shook it and it rattled. "It looks like it's been dropped."
"Even so . . ." she said, anticipating his next words.
She hadn't realised. When Steward Liu had said he had something to give them, she had never thought it would be anything like this. Why, even broken, the components would be worth a hundred, maybe two hundred yuanl And mended. . . She whistled softly. This gift - this broken thing - gave them a breathing space, a few weeks free of worry.
Lin looked to her, his eyes troubled. "Are you sure he meant to give us this?"
She nodded. "It seems they were shaken down, too. He said ... he said whatever help . . ."
She found she could not finish the sentence. Found that his simple human offer of help had choked her up.
Aiyal she thought. I'm getting soft in my old age!
"That's kind," Lin said, staring at the HeadStim thoughtfully, already considering how best to set about the task of repairing it. "Steward Liu is a good man. Why, I recall. . ."
He stopped, staring at the door behind her. Emily turned. It was Ji. He stood there, clutching his blanket, his face pinched, confused by tiredness.
"Mama Em ..."
"Come on," she said, going to him and picking him up, joggling him gently. "If you don't get your sleep . . ."
"Mama Em?"
She drew her face back slightly so she could see him properly.
"Yes, Ji?"
"Did you . . . remember?"
She smiled and, reaching into her pocket, took out the greased paper that contained the cakes.
"Here," she said. "But not now. In the morning, okay, young Ji?"
There was a tired smile, a clutching of the tiny package to his chest, then he snuggled into her again, content, his tiny body fitting the contours of her own perfectly as she carried him through to his bunk.
She shuddered, partly from tiredness, partly from the strange mix of emotions she was feeling, then set him down. She tucked him in again, then, for a moment, knelt there, listening to his breathing, making sure he'd settled. Only then did she get up, pausing a moment to look down at him, smiling as she saw the way he still clutched the wrapped cakes to his chest.
IW be okay, she told herself. We shall come through.
But the morning would be difficult, and in the days ahead. . .
She sighed deeply, the brief flash of optimism guttering in her, then, turning away, she stepped out into the cobbled yard and stood there, looking about her at the shadowed stalls, sniffing the warm night air and listening to the snoring of the boys, as if to fix it all clearly in her mind.
Li Yuan crossed the moonlit gardens swiftly, silently, keeping to the cover of the trees, then climbed the steps, slipping like a shadow into the unlit entrance of the Northern Palace. There his Master of the Inner Chambers, Nan Fa-hsien awaited him.
"Are they ready?" he asked.
"Almost," Nan Fa-hsien answered. He bowed low, then led Li Yuan along a broad corridor lit by flickering cresset lamps to a pair of massive, lacquered doors.
Li Yuan stepped inside, into brightness and elegance. The room was warm after the coolness of the corridor, making Li Yuan shiver involuntarily. The double doors to the guest suite were directly ahead. To his right a group of high-backed officials chairs surrounded a low, jade-topped table, to his left a massive mirror filled the wall. He walked across and stood before it, studying himself, pulling gently at his tightly-buttoned collar, then froze.
She had got up from one of the chairs and now stood, looking across at him. As he met her eyes she smiled and lowered her head demurely.
Li Yuan turned, flustered, not merely by her presence there but by the look of her - by her youth; her fresh, untainted beauty.
"Forgive me, Chieh Hsia . . ." she began, but he shook his head.
"Who are you? I thought I was alone."
"I know," she said and, raising her fan, flipped it open, concealing the smile that had come to her face.
"So?" he said, after what seemed a lengthy silence.
"Forgive me, Chieh Hsia?" she said, lowering her fan slightly, giving him a fresh view of her delicate, almost porcelain features. Her flesh was so white it seemed to gleam.
"Your name," he said, staring at her open-mouthed now.
"Ah . . ." The fan fluttered a moment, and then she answered him. "My name, Chieh Hsia, is Hsun Lung hsin."
"Dragon Heart . . ." He laughed softly. "Did your father name you thus, or your mother?"
Her smile delighted him. "I do not know, Chieh Hsia. I never thought to ask."
"And your sister?"
"Is inside, Chieh Hsia, with my father, preparing themselves to meet you."
"Ah. . ." But suddenly he found that, though it was why he had come, he was no longer interested in meeting her sister. He wanted to know more about her. For a moment he was at a loss, not knowing what to say, then he noticed the book lying on the table close to her.
"You were reading?"
"Yes, Chieh Hsia."
He took a step toward her. "Might I see?"
She folded up her fan and tucked''. into her sleeve, then, with what was almost a curtsey, picked up the book and held it out to him.
"History?" He raised his eyes from the page, surprised, to find hers watching him. Keen, intelligent eyes.
"I was reading about the great T'ang Emperor Ming Huang and his love for the concubine Yang Kuei-fei. You know the story, of course."
He did, every schoolboy did, but at that moment he wanted to hear her speak, to watch her mouth and see her dark eyes sparkle.
"Tell me," he said, taking a seat, the book resting in his lap.
"Where to begin?" she said with a rhetorical flourish, then smiled, giving a tiny nod, as if she suddenly knew.
"Ming Huang was, perhaps, the greatest of the great T'ang emperors. In the early years of his reign the arts flourished and the Empire was strong, expanding deep into the heart of Asia. But Ming Huang had a weakness, he worshipped beauty, and most beautiful of all was the Lady Yang Kuei-fei, wife of Ming Huang's son, the young Prince Shou. In the thirty-second year of his reign, Ming Huang took Yang Kuei-fei into his palace, where, bewitched by her, he divorced her from his son and, taking her as his own consort, gave her power beyond her dreams. Beyond them, I say, for the Lady Yang was of humble birth, the daughter of a mere Hsien L'ing from Sichuan Province."
He listened, interested to hear her particular slant on the ancient tale, fascinated by the movement of her tiny hands as she spoke.
"How old are you?" he asked suddenly.
She stopped, looking at him thoughtfully. "Fifteen, Chieh Hsia."
It was the age Yang Kuei-fei had been when first she'd come to court at ancient Chang-An.
"Continue," he said, telling himself not to draw too close a parallel. After all, Ming Huang had been all of sixty years old when he had first met his little swallow, whereas he was a mere forty two. And this girl - this charming, delightful girl - was of the noblest birth, her father Head of one of the great Minor Families.