need to know in case…'
His words were swamped by the deep resonating note of the Imperial gong. He dropped the fan away from our faces, both of us quickly pulling back from our conversation. Two officials stood at the gilded gate in front of us, waiting for the next gong to allow us into the ceremonial courtyard.
The huge entrance gate to the palace had three vaulted passages set into it. The central corridor, called the Way of Heavenly Conduct, was for the use of the Emperor and could take eight horses side by side. The right passage — the Arch of Strong Sons — was for the Imperial family. And the left, which we were facing, was officially called the Arch of Just and Scholarly Judgement but was commonly known as the Judgement Gate. It was reserved for nobles, generals, high-ranked dignitaries and the three winning scholars of the annual examinations. All others came and went through the two smaller side gates — the Gates of Humility — that flanked the red and gold edifice. I had never been through either of the Humility Gates, let alone the Judgement Gate. Nor had I been inside the ceremonial courtyard. And now, here I was, heading a procession into the Emperor's presence.
The second gong vibrated through the air. Immediately, the two officials pushed the gate apart. The third gong sent us into the cooler corridor.
'So beautiful,' I breathed as my eyes adjusted to the dimmer light.
The walls were gold, stuccoed with dragons coiled around the symbols of the four gracious arts of the scholar: pen, brush, zither and the crisscrossed square of the strategy game. The ceiling was a rich red lacquer and etched with gold landscapes: seas, mountains, plateaus and an intricate rendering of the palace
precinct we were now entering. I craned back my head. Above them all, in the vaults of the roof, were gold scenes depicting the eight gods of learning.
We emerged into the bright sunshine again. I blinked, trying to get my bearings in the immense courtyard. It was easily the size of the Dragon Arena with long galleries lining each side. In the centre, a massive staircase, built into three marble terraces, led up to an imposing hall. Its roof was gold and curved towards the heavens, and the walls were painted with vivid red and black designs that called on the gods for good fortune, happiness, and longevity. A huge gong flanked the gold and jade door, and incense burners the size of men stood at the corners to cleanse the Emperor's air of any evil spirits.
Two guards took a position on each side of our palanquin, leading our bearers over the wide expanse of grey paving towards the central staircase. I glanced at my master; even he was stilled by the majesty of the place. At the halfway mark, we stopped behind a thin dark line. It was, in fact, a band of gold that had been embedded between the stones and seemed to run from one edge of the courtyard to the other.
'The Imperial audience line,' my master said. 'We must go on foot from here.'
The bearers smoothly lowered the palanquin to the ground, the effort showing on the leader's face. I stepped out of the cabin and saw the line of other Dragoneyes and dignitaries waiting their turn to advance. From the next palanquin, Lord Ido was watching me closely with narrowed eyes. I kept my hands clasped tightly together to stop myself from checking. the folio again.
My master looked across the stone courtyard to the long staircase, grim resignation on his face as he lowered himself slowly into a half crouch. Although the Emperor had not yet emerged from the great red and black hall, all who stepped beyond the audience line had to approach in the Imperial bow
It was a long walk to our honoured position at the bottom of the steps. My back and hip ached from hunching over, and I could hear the catch in my master's breathing as a silent official led us to our places. A eunuch stepped up behind each of us and held a large parasol over our heads while we stood and waited for the other dignitaries to take their positions, but the protection did nothing for the heat that bounced off the grey flags. My master's face was bleached of any colour and his hunched posture looked like it was more from pain than obedience.
'Lord Brannon, you look unwell,' I whispered. He did not look up. I touched his shoulder, alarmed. 'Master, do you need water?'
He shook his head. 'It was just the walk,' he rasped. 'I will recover soon.'
Lord Ido took his place at the bottom of the staircase. The folio felt like a huge block tied to my arm and I dared not look at him in case he saw its presence in my face. Lord Tyron stepped up beside us, his heavy face creasing with concern when he saw his ally's ashen skin and glazed eyes. I measured the time in my master's laboured breaths as the officials slowly guided the other Dragoneyes and high-ranked men into position. It was all taking so long.
My master lurched forwards then recovered.
'Old friend, lean on me,' Lord Tyron said urgently
My master nodded, his mouth clenched shut, and clasped Tyron's arm. Over his head, the Ox Dragoneye signalled for me to take my master's other arm. I hooked it under mine and felt cold skin under my hand. This was more than just exhaustion.
'Lord Tyron, did you send us lime juice before the procession?'
He frowned. 'No, why would I…' Then comprehension blanched his face. He looked down at my master, shuddering between us, then back at me. 'No, I swear I did not.'
At the top of the staircase, an official sounded the huge gong. Everyone around us dropped to their knees: the ceremony had started. Tyron met my anxious gaze and nodded — there was nothing we could do but help my master down to the ground. 1 lis weight sagged between us as we clumsily settled him onto the flags. Another gong. I lowered into the Imperial kowtow. Beside me, my master pitched forwards into the obedience, his body convulsing. I grabbed his chilled wrist as though my puny hold could keep him from slumping over. Would I soon be shivering and panting in the same way? The third gong announced the arrival of the Emperor. I held my breath, feeling my master's weight press painfully against my hand as we waited for the order to rise. What was the delay?
Finally, the gong sounded again.
I sat back, helping Tyron pull my master upright onto his knees. His breathing was fast, his eyes fixed and clouded. Above us, at the top of the staircase, the frail figure of the Emperor surveyed the courtyard from his sedan chair.
'We must get help,' I hissed. I turned to the eunuch behind me. 'Get the royal physician.'
The man's eyes widened with terror, his forehead hitting the ground. 'Forgive me, my lord, it is not allowed. We cannot leave the Imperial presence.'
Tyron nodded. 'He's right. We cannot interrupt an Imperial audience.' His eyes searched my face. Are you ill too?'
'No.'
A fanfare from the rank of trumpets behind us blasted across the courtyard, bouncing off the paving and buildings. My master winced and moaned. The clattering of hooves on the stone echoed in the huge space, the thundering noise announcing the arrival of High Lord Sethon and his officers.
'Move closer to him,' Tyron ordered as he shifted against my master.
I took some of my master's weight. Patches of sweat under his arms and around his neck had darkened the red silk into black.
'My chest,' he whispered. His hand groped for his collar.
The sound of hooves had settled into the distinct beat of one horse approaching. I snatched a look down. A huge black horse
paced towards us, ruthlessly controlled, the rider clad in blue Imperial parade armour outlined in red piping. High Lord Sethon. His face was in shadow under an elaborate leather helmet, but the way he carried himself showed the bullish strength that was now diminished in his Imperial brother. Behind him, on foot, came three soldiers wearing plain blue skirted armour and carrying banners. I could see their horses behind the audience line, held by aides.
My master stiffened then doubled over and vomited a foul green bile onto the stones. A murmur of disgust and fear rose around us as men edged away.
I cast around frantically, not sure what I was looking for, only knowing my master needed help. Across the path, Lord Ido watched us, his face unreadable. A wave of kowtowing moved towards us as High Lord Sethon passed between the ranks of dignitaries.
My master retched again. I braced him against the convulsions, the chill of his body through the thin silk as cold as a winter stream. On the other side, Lord Tyron suddenly dropped into a kowtow. My master sagged against me. I looked up. Above me was the massive black chest of the horse. And above that, the hard gaze of High Lord
