Chapter Six
MARCHIONESS SHEN approached with the captain from Manhao beside her, his broad frame overshadowing her own sturdy build.
‘So, Captain Duan,’ she said in her haughty tone. ‘Did the prince’s dance please you?’
‘His talent is considerable, you were right in speaking so highly of his…abilities.’ The man had a voice as imposing as his body.
The sort Xian imagined would have had his soldiers quaking when he held military command.
‘I have little interest in music and dance myself, but even I found it difficult to take my eyes from him.’
They were close now, their shadows casting from the lanterns that had been lit in anticipation of the evening’s arrival.
‘And what of your master? I hope Sub-Prefect Keng shares a greater love of entertainment, or there seems no point in sending this gift to him.’
The captain’s laughter was like trees falling in the woods; each note crashed hard.
‘Oh, he enjoys every kind of entertainment there is. And even if he does not favour dance, there is much of your gift he will be very pleased with. You know my master hungers for treasures rare and dangerous to own.’
Xian trembled where he sat surrounded by his russet gown; as though drowning in the Red River.
‘Indeed. But I know it is the West and its curiosities he covets most. I hope my offering sates his appetites.’
‘Mandarin Feng will be well pleased, you have my word on that. He trusts my appraisals.’ There was a pause, and Xian was covered entirely by the captain’s shadow. ‘And I like what I see.’
Fixing his gaze to the ground, Xian made no sound, not even to offer greetings to the pair as he should have done. He could not have spoken even if he’d wished to, his throat too dry.
‘Mandarin Feng?’ Marchioness Shen sniffed. ‘The Sub-Prefect still insists on using the title those foreign devils bestowed on him?’
‘He thinks highly of those devils,’ the captain replied, ‘as he does their trade and their eagerness to do business.’
‘I suppose it sounds more grand than Sub-Prefect Feng.’
‘It certainly does.’ The captain chuckled. ‘And he has grand designs for Manhao.’
‘As I do for Kunming and our ambitions favour each of our great cities. We are very suitable company, your master and I.’
‘Both are superbly talented at, shall we say, very delicate negotiations.’
‘No need for flattery, Captain Duan. So long as your master delivers on his promise to send his trade exclusively through Kunming, then this shall be a very fruitful union for us both.’
‘You shall enjoy the spoils of the West as much as Mandarin Feng does, your grace. As will those bordering nations your trade route shall satisfy.’
Xian sat still, absorbing the conversation that revolved around him, trying to capture the essence of what was actually being said.
With the West, his mind went at once to opium.
There had been one Opium War already with the Yīngguó — or as their ambassadors preferred, the British Empire — who sought to import the illegal powder.
The war’s end was eleven years past, but with the trade still illegal, and the English unhappy with the treaties made, the turmoil was far from over.
Xian could understand the Marchioness’s keenness to negotiate with a port town, if opium were involved. But it did not explain why he sat here on his knees, being spoken of as if he were a bull at market for slaughter.
He entwined his fingers, trying to stop their shaking.
‘Then you approve this last point in our negotiation?’ said the marchioness. ‘You will take the prince to you master?’
Xian could hold his silence no longer. ‘Your Grace?’
‘You shall be a gift to Manhao, Xian, for the New Year celebrations.’ She stared down her nose at him.
‘Dance for the Mandarin, as you did here today, in honour of the agreement made between us. You will usher in a fortuitous year for his town.’ She smirked.
‘Use whatever enchantments you have at your behest.’
The pulse in his neck thumped so hard they’d likely be able to see it. ‘But, your grace, I have already danced—’
‘It is done, Xian. Do not vex me. I should have thought you would be eager to escape your duties here. The Great Mother knows, you tend to laziness as it is. Your disappearance this day only convinced me I need you out of my sight for a time, before you drive me mad with your slippery ways.’
He’d never known how to counter her twisting of the truth. Now, hearing he was to be sent to a town almost seven days’ ride away, he was lost for words.
Xian clenched his fists, sick to his stomach.
‘Ensure you tell the mandarin that idleness does not favour this prince,’ the marchioness said. ‘And that he should only dance occasionally. If he is constantly fettered over for his singular talent he will grow arrogant and lazy, and I’ll not have him returned to us that way.’
The lies were enormous, looming over Xian like boulders on a hillside, threatening to slide down and crush him.
‘I shall see that his highness is kept well occupied outside the dance-floor.’
Xian stared up at the woman who could not possibly be any more unlike his mother. ‘When?’ he whispered.
The marchioness was standing upon his gown, and was clearly aware of it, for she ground her heels as she turned away.
‘You will return with Captain Duan the day after tomorrow. He is eager to return to Manhao and enjoy the New Year Celebrations over the coming weeks.’ She looked over her shoulder, turning so that Xian could see the snarled smile lifting her lip.
‘Do not shame me, boy. I’d be gravely disappointed to have to send word to my sister in the Imperial Court that you caused the emperor yet more trouble with a foulness of attitude.
’ She turned her head, setting all her hair jewels swinging and tinkling against one another.
‘You may rise now, Xian. Go to Daoshi Wenming in the Western shrine. The old man does not tend his fires well, and you are decent at keeping the embers burning. Spend this night in prayer with him. Thank the gods for this honour they have brought you. Do not think to go off on another of your jaunts, either. If you are not in the shrine when I send a servant to check on you, I’ll have no choice but to punish you well.
And I would not like to send you to Mandarin Feng with any unsightly marks. ’
Rather than appear shocked by her blatant admission of Xian’s maltreatment, Captain Duan continued to leer at him.
‘A shame you cannot join us at the feast, your highness.’ He leaned down, offering his hand to assist Xian in getting to his feet. ‘Come now, do not look so wary. I merely seek to help you, you must be tired after such a display?’
Swallowing hard, Xian took his hand, praying the shaking in his own was not evident. The denigrating grin on the man’s face told him it was.
Xian’s legs ached, his toes numb from being pressed beneath him too long. He found himself unsteady as he stood and was loath to admit the captain’s help was useful. He sensed very little was actually offered freely from this man.
‘Hurry now, captain,’ the marchioness called. ‘My husband will not wait for us, and likes to serve the best wine first.’
‘Just a word with His Highness, if you don’t mind.’ Even as he spoke, the captain’s green eyes, almost as unusual a shade as Xian’s own violet, never left him, and his grip was hard. ‘Some advice for the long journey ahead. I will be brief.’
The marchioness reached the end of the hall and took her fan from the attendant who waited for her.
‘Very well, Chuntao will wait for you and escort you when you are ready.’
The attendant dipped her head. ‘Yes, your grace.’
Xian pulled free of the captain’s grip after a couple of insistent tugs of his hand.
The marchioness walked down the corridor without a backward glance, and her attendant stepped from the doorway to move discreetly out of sight.
Xian watched her disappear with dismay. He needed no instinct to tell him this man was not pleasant company.
Captain Duan leaned in close, his neck so thick and short it was as though it barely existed at all, giving him the unsettling appearance of a living stone wall.
‘Your highness.’ He bowed his head, the gesture reeking of false propriety.
‘How they shall clamour to see you. In all your glory. I shall have to keep close, for your own protection, for there are those in our court who have particular tastes for peculiar things. And how you shall excite them.’ His snide chuckle sent bile scorching the back of Xian’s throat.
He stayed still and silent, but his heart was ferocious beneath his ribs, as desperate to escape as Xian himself.
Captain Duan raised his hand and drifted his fingers towards Xian’s veil. Though Xian fought not to flinch, the encroaching fingers, coarse and dry-knuckled, made it impossible.
‘What’s wrong? Do you not like to be touched, Cursed Prince?’ The whisper was painful as a whip’s lash. ‘That will change.’
The man slipped his fingers around the side of the veil, brushing their tips against Xian’s cheek.
‘Stop.’ Little more than a frightened gasp. No wonder the man’s fingers continued their unwanted caress.
‘Stop, I said.’ Louder this time, but not firmer.
‘Come now, I do you a favour. Think of this as preparation for your time in Manhao.’
‘Leave me be.’
The harsh rasp of sliding panels filled the Reception Hall. The captain stepped back so quickly he almost stumbled.
‘Stupid servant,’ he shouted. ‘What purpose do you have here?’
His cry was not directed towards the door where the concealed attendant still showed no sign of herself, but to the side of the room, directly opposite to where Xian stood trapped by his own terror.
‘Ah, forgive my intrusion, nobleman…I am a stupid egg indeed.’ The oppressive gloom of the room suddenly lifted as Xian recognised the voice. ‘I seem to have gotten myself lost in this palatial manor, I was hoping to reach the Lady Tian’s rooms.’
Song Lim stood in the frame of the open doorway, the gardens behind him lit by the fluttering of torches. He held a box cradled beneath one arm, his clothing changed to a more formal grey changsan with pale green edging, the oil in his hair catching the light.
Xian exhaled, the knots in his belly slackening. His body returned to life; the blood finally finding its way into his limbs. He took a step away from the captain.
‘What business do you have with the lady?’ the captain demanded.
‘I’m not sure that is any of your business, sir. But she sent word she has urgent need of comfortable shoes for the long evening ahead. Can I say, there is room for improvement with yours as well.’
The captain swelled like a toadfish poked. ‘Do you know who you speak to, merchant?’
‘No. Should I?’
Now, a few of those knots wound again in Xian’s chest, as the captain took several threatening steps towards Song Lim.
‘Chuntao,’ Xian called out to the attendant, who appeared like a ghost from her hiding place.
‘Yes, your highness?’
‘Captain Duan is ready to be taken to the Dining Hall now, if you please. I fear I have occupied far too much of his time already. And I am remiss in tending to the shrine as Her Grace requested.’ He bent into a shallow bow, his heart a hummingbird beneath his ribs, but now it came from a foreign sense of exhilaration, rather than gripping fear.
‘And Master Song, you are best to take that hallway, through there.’ He pointed in the opposite direction to where the captain would travel, and entirely opposite to where Lady Tian’s actual rooms were.
If he judged this situation correctly, Song Lim had no business with Xian’s sister at this hour.
The shoemaker met Xian’s gaze; warmth replacing the deep scowl he’d been sending the captain’s way. ‘Thank you, your highness.’
‘I know Her Ladyship is well pleased with your work,’ Xian said. ‘And will be very grateful you rescued her from a difficult situation. Thank you, for your attentiveness.’
Lim bowed his head, but his eyes did not leave Xian. ‘Of course, Your Highness.’
Xian didn’t need to use the garden entrance where Song Lim stood. The shrine lay to the east. In truth, he should join the captain, who would head in the same direction to reach the feast, but Xian would have walked a hundred extra miles to avoid this man’s company.
Praying his legs would support him, Xian walked past the shoemaker, who bowed only half as deeply as decorum dictated, allowing him to watch Xian as he approached.
‘Good evening, your highness.’
‘Good evening.’
Xian stepped outside, where the air held the sharp crispness of a January evening.
He stepped down onto the pebbled pathway, toying with the repaired hem on the sleeve of his overcoat.
Song Lim done more for Xian in one day than many in the manor had done in a decade, but did that mean he was truly an ally, or just chose a gentler way to manipulate and connive than the marchioness, and men like the captain.
Xian glanced back and found the shoemaker gone from the doorway. A night owl screeched somewhere close by, and Xian broke into a run. He did not stop until the silhouette of the shrine rose from the gloom before him.