stupid … are you, Little An?' Just for a second the silvery voice hardened on that chilly note, and then she had risen, staggered, giggled, and broken into a little-girl sing-song: 'I'm hungry, An! Yes, I am, An! And I want some pickles, An, and roast pork, and cherries, and lots of crackling, and sugared lotus seeds, and a cup of honeysuckle tea. And then sleep, sleep, sleep …' She leaned against him, murmuring.
'But … but … oh, it's the infernal black smoke! It makes you mad, and irresponsible … and … and naughty! You don't know what you're saying or doing! Please, dear Orchid Lady, little Empress, listen to reason! You've enjoyed the beastly fellow—ugh!—isn't it enough? You say no one would tell—but how if the Emperor came to your pavilion and found that … that creature —'
'The Emperor,' says she drowsily, 'will never get out of his bed again. Why should he, when I'm always in it? But if he did, and caught me with twenty barbarians … d'you know what? He'd forgive me.' She brushed a wing playfully across his face. 'If you were a man, Little An, you'd know why. My barbarian knows why!' She pushed away from him, laughing, and skipped unsteadily to my bench, beating her wings. 'Oh, yes, he knows why! Don't you, my ugly, hairy barbarian—so ugly, except for the happy part … See? Oh, An, I'm so happy!'
'Stop it! Stop it at once, I say!' He pulled her away; he was nearly in tears. 'I won't have it, d'you hear! It's not decent—you, a great Manchoo lady—how can you think of that animal —'
'Oh, leave me alone—look, you've torn my wing!' The lovely mouth pouted as she smoothed her feathers. 'You'll make me angry in a minute, Little An—I should have you beaten for that—yes, I will, you blubbery little ape —'
'Have me beaten, then!' he squealed, in sudden passion. 'Beat me for a torn wing—and what of your torn honour? You, Yehonala, daughter of a knight of the Banner Corps, mother of Tungchi, the seed of Heaven, to forget your loyalty to the Emperor! You indulge your wicked lust with this peasant savage—you, whose life's duty is the solace and comfort of the Solitary Prince! Shame on you! I'll have no part in it, and you can beat or kill me if you like!' He finished on a fine fearful flourish. 'It's not good enough!'
I've taken part in some damned odd scenes in my time, but I imagine a visitor to that room just then would have agreed that the present spectacle was unique. There we were among the furniture and dust-sheets: on my left, in brown robe and pill-box hat, twenty diminutive stone of blubber shrilling like a steam whistle; on my right, topping him by a head in her pearl-fringed block shoes, that incredible ivory beauty, her nudity only enhanced by the ridiculous trailing peacock wings and silver garters; they faced each other across the supine form of the pride of the 17th Lancers, trussed, gagged, and stark as a picked bone, but following the debate with rapt attention. My admiration, if not my sympathy, was all with Little An, as I looked at that lovely, silver-painted mask of a face beneath the coiled raven hair: suddenly it was wiped clean of drugged laughter, and the cold implacability that looked out of it was frightening. I even left off staring at those excellent jutting tits, which goes to show. I'd not have faced her for a fortune, but when she spoke it was in the same soft, bell-like tone.
'Eunuch An-te-hai,' says she, and negligently indicated her feet—and the poor little tub came waddling and sank down like a burst bladder. She touched his cheek gently with a silver talon, and he turned up his trembling pug face.
'Poor Little An, you know I always get my way, don't you?' It was like a caress. 'And you always obey, because I am your little orchid whom you have loved since I came here long ago, a frightened little girl to whom you were kind. Remember the watermelon seeds and walnuts, and how you consoled me when my heart was breaking for the boy I loved, and how you shielded me from the anger of the Dowager when I broke her best gold cup and you took the blame, and how you whispered comfort when first you wrapped me in the scarlet cloak and took me to the Emperor's bed, trembling and in tears? `Be brave, little empress—you will be a real empress some day'. Have you forgotten, Little An? I never shall.'
He was leaking like the Drinking Fountain Movement by now, and no wonder. I was starting to feel horny for her again myself.
'Now, because I love you, too, and need you, Little An, I shall be honest with you—as I always am.' The silvery voice was sober as a judge's now. 'I want this barbarian, for what you call my wicked lust … no, no, it's true. And why not, if it pleases me? You talk of honour, loyalty to the Emperor—what loyalty do I owe to that debauched pervert? You know I'm not a woman to him, but a pretty painted toy trained to pander to his filthy vices—what honour is there in that? You know, and pity me—and used to arrange those secret trysts with Jung, the man I loved. Where was my honour then?'
'Jung Lu was a noble, a Manchoo, a Banner Chief who would have married you if he could,' he whimpered, pawing her feet. 'Oh, please, Orchid, i seek only your good—this thing is a barbarian brute —'
'But if I want him, Little An, mayn't I have him … please? He is just a little pleasure … a watermelon seed. And he may have another use; you should know of it … and of other things, which it will soon be time to tell you.' She paused, head lifting. 'Yes … why not now? This is a good secret place, away from big ears. Go—see that all is safe.'
He hopped up, all alarm, popped his head out, and came back nodding nervously. She sat down, motioning him to kneel close, and stroked his fat cheek playfully. 'Don't be frightened, small jelly. Just listen.' She began to talk, quite unaware that the big ears of the barbarian melonseed were understanding every word.
'Soon, Little An, two great things will happen: the barbarians will take Pekin, and the Emperor will die. No, listen, you fat fool, and keep your babbling to yourself. First, the Emperor. Only I and one discreet physician know it, but in a few weeks he will be dead, partly of his infirmities, but mostly of over-indulgence in the charms of the Yi Concubine. Well, it's a pleasant death, and I give him every assistance. I believe,' says this Manchoo Messalina, with a reflective chuckle, 'that I could have carried him off tonight, by combining the Exquisite Torment of the Seven Velvet Mirrors with the Prolonged Ecstasy of the Reluctant Shrimp, which as you know involves partial immersion in ice-cold water. But it will be soon, anyway—and who will rule China then, Little An?' She played with her feathers, smiling at his evident terror. 'Will it be that amiable
,weakling, Prince Kung, the Emperor's brother? Or his cousin, the hungry skeleton Prince I? Or that murderous madman, Prince Sang? Or Tungchi, the Emperor's only son—my son? Any one of these, or as many others, might become Emperor, Little An—but who will rule China?'
Well, he could guess, all right, and I could have a suspicion myself; I knew nothing of their palace politics, or the immense power of Imperial concubines, but I know women. This one had the spirit, no error, and probably the brains and determination—above all, she had that matchless beauty which could get her whatever she wanted.
'What … too frightened even to guess, Little An? Never mind; leave the dying Son of Heaven, and consider the barbarians. Sang, the idiot, still hopes to defeat them—which is why he and his fellow-jackals have been urging the Emperor to go north to Jehol, on an ostensible hunting trip for his health!' She laughed without mirth. 'In fact, Sang knows such a departure would be seen as a cowardly flight, and the Emperor would be disgraced—and Sang, having beaten the barbarians in his absence, would step into his shoes as the darling of army and people. Poor Sang! If only he knew it, the throne will soon be vacant, and his intrigues all for nothing. In any event, he will not beat the barbarians; they will be here within two weeks.'
'But that is impossible!' Little An started up in horror. 'And that you should say so! You, Orchid Lady, who have urged the Emperor to fight to the end—who made him send the silk cord to defeated generals—who made him set the price on barbarian heads!'
'To be sure—a thousand taels for the Big Barbarian's head, isn't it?' She sounded amused. 'A hundred for every white head, fifty for their black soldiers? Five hundred for Banner Chiefs like that repulsive thing there!' She waved a wing at me, the awful bitch. 'Really, I must make him wear a mask in bed. But of course I urge resistance—you think I like these barbarian swine? Yehonala is the resolute champion of China, and the people know it, and will remember the Banner Knight's daughter—especially when the Emperor is dead. Until he is, I make him fight—who do you think has kept him from fleeing to Jehol, stupid? It is quite wonderful how even such a flabby wreck as the Son of Heaven can be roused to martial ardour … in bed.'
'But if the barbarians triumph, all is lost —'
'No, little fool, all is gained! The barbarians will come—and go, with their piece of paper. China remains. With a new Emperor—but of course, he must be an Emperor acceptable to the barbarians; they will see to that before they go. And they will countenance no bitter enemies like Sang or Prince I or Sushun —'
'But, forgive me, Orchid Lady—you are their bitterest foe of all!'
