Under Heaven

brother does.

She says, “I am afraid. I don’t like feeling that way.”

“Sometimes fear is proper. It is what we do that matters.”

She’d not have expected a Bogu rider to admit the idea. She says, “It helps me when I know what is to come.”

“Who can know this?”

Li-Mei makes a face. It occurs to her that they are having an actual conversation. “I only mean our intention. Where we are riding.”

He is already harder to see. It has grown dark quickly. She hears the lead wolf in the grass, not far from them. She looks at the sky. She is looking for a swan.

Meshag says, “There is Kitan garrison not far. We sleep now, ride tonight. See it in morning.”

She had forgotten about the garrison. The soldiers posted beyond the borders—here in the north, in the southwest, or west along the Silk Roads beyond Jade Gate—these seldom enter the thoughts of the Kitan. And many of them are recruited barbarians, she knows, moved from their own homelands to serve the emperor in a far place.

But that is not what she is thinking about now.

A hand goes to her hair again. She says, “But I cannot go to them! When they learn who I am they will take me back to your brother. You must understand.” She hears her voice rising, tries to control it. “The emperor is dishonoured if they don’t. I was … I was given as a bride. The garrison commander will be terrified if I arrive! He will … he will hold me and send for instructions and they will tell him to escort me back! This is not—”

She stops, because he has held up a hand in the darkness. When she falls silent, the night is very still around them, the only sound the wind in grass.

Meshag shakes his head. “Do Kitan women all speak so much, not listen?”

She bites her lip. Resolutely says nothing.

He says, quietly, “I said we see garrison. Not go there. I know they take you back west. I know they must do this. We see walls and turn south. Kitan fortress is protection for us from Shuoki, they not go near it.”

“Oh,” Li-Mei says.

“I take you …” He pauses, shakes his head. “Difficult tongue. I am taking you to Long Wall, is only three days if we ride quickly.”

But the Wall, she thinks, the Wall’s soldiers will do exactly the same thing, whichever watchtower they come to. She remains silent, waiting.

He says, “Soldiers there also send you back. I know. We go through Long Wall into Kitai.”

“But how?” She cannot help herself.

She sees him shrug with one shoulder. “Not difficult for two people. You then see. No. You … will see.”

She is heroically silent. Then she hears a strange sound, and realizes he is laughing.

He says, “You are try so hard not to ask more.”

“I am!” Li-Mei says. “You shouldn’t laugh at me.”

He stops. Then says, “I take you through your Wall, sister of Shendai. Near to it is flat mountain. Drum Mountain, you call it? We go … we are going there.”

Her eyes widen. “Stone Drum Mountain,” she whispers.

He is taking her to the Kanlin Warriors.

The two women bowed at the tall doorway to Tai’s chamber. One of them opened the door. Tai let Sima Zian enter first. The women waited in the corridor. They didn’t lower their eyes now. It was clear that they would come in if he invited them. It was equally clear that there was little he or the poet might think to request that would not be granted. Zian smiled at the smaller, prettier one. Tai cleared his throat.

“I thank you both. I must speak now with my friend. How may I summon you if needed?”

They looked perplexed. It was Zian who said, “They’ll be right here, Shen Tai. They are yours until you leave Ma-wai.”

“Oh,” said Tai. He managed a smile. Both women smiled back. He closed the door, gently. The two large windows were open, screens rolled up. It was still light outside. He didn’t imagine any real privacy existed here, but he didn’t think anyone would be spying on him.

There was wine warming over a brazier on a small, lacquered table. He saw that the cups set beside it were gold. He felt overwhelmed. Zian crossed to the table, poured two cups. He handed one to Tai. He lifted his own in salute and drained it, then poured himself another.

“What just happened?” Tai asked.

He set his own wine down. He was afraid to drink any more. The intensity of the gathering they’d just left was washing over him. This happened in wartime, too, he knew.

This afternoon had been a battle. He’d been placed as an ambush, had engaged in single combat. Not necessarily with his true enemy. Enemy. That word again.

Zian raised his eyebrows. “What happened? You created a very fine poem, so did your brother. I will make copies of both.”

“No, I mean …”

“I know what you mean. I can judge the poems. I can’t answer the other question.”

Zian crossed to the window, looking out. From where he stood Tai could see that the gardens were glorious. This was Ma-wai. They would be. A little way north of here were the Ninth Dynasty tombs.

Tai said, “I think the emperor was behind the other screen.”

“What?” Zian turned quickly. “Why? How do you …?”

“I don’t know for certain. I think. Two painted screens, and what Lady Jian and the prince did together in there … it felt like it was meant for an audience, and it wouldn’t be me.”

“It might have been.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve never heard of Prince Shinzu behaving in such a … talking so …”

They were both fumbling for words.

“So strongly?”

“Yes.”

“Neither have I,” said Sima Zian, almost reluctantly.

“He was challenging Zhou. And he couldn’t have done it without knowing—surely!—that his father would learn of it. So it seems to me …”

“That he might have been doing it for the emperor?”

“Yes.”

Zian’s last word hung in the room, with all its obvious implications, and all those they could not see. The breeze at the window was mild, scented with flowers.

“Could you see us? From where you were?”

Tai nodded. “She’d arranged for that. So what happened there? I need help.”

The poet sighed. He refilled his cup again. He gestured, and Tai reluctantly drained his own. Zian crossed the room and poured for him. He said, “I have spent my life between cities and mountains, rivers and roads. You know it. I have never had a place at court. Never sat the examinations. Shen Tai, I am not the man to tell you what is unfolding.”

“But you listen. You watch. What did you hear in that room?”

Zian’s eyes were bright. The afternoon light streamed in. The room was large, gracious, inviting. A place to be easy, to seek tranquility. That was what Ma-wai had always been about. The poet said, “I think First Minister Wen was given a warning. I do not think it will cost him his position.”

“Even if he was plotting murder?”

Sima Zian shook his head. “No. Not even if he had achieved your killing. What, they will say, is the meaning of so much power if you can’t use it to rid yourself of someone you dislike?”

Tai looked at him, said nothing.

Zian went on, “They’d have cheerfully allowed him to have you killed—before the horses. It would have