Трой Деннинг - The Veiled Dragon

The two men returned with a small brazier already filled with hot coals. Ruha crushed one of the tears between her palms, then sprinkled the crumbs onto the embers. An aromatic smoke rose from the pan, filling the entire chamber with such a sweet, fresh smell that the Shou finally allowed their stoic masks to slip. They began to smile openly and crowd closer to the source, taking such deep breaths that some of them actually snorted. Even the stern-faced guards could not keep their nostrils from flaring.

Wei Dao studied her entourage’s reaction in bemused meditation. “This is not magic?”

“I am no spellcaster,” Ruha lied. She pressed the other tear into the princess’s hand and motioned toward the brazier. “It will smell just as sweet if you sprinkle the crumbs. Tomorrow, I will demonstrate its use in the making of perfumes and poultices.”

Wei Dao did not step toward the brazier. “Not necessary. We buy all you have.”

“What about the price?” Fowler gasped. “Aren’t you even going to ask?”

Wei Dao glanced at the brazier, where her entourage stood sniffing the sweet-smelling smoke. “You already tell me it is more valuable than gold. I believe you.”

Fowler shook his head in amazement, then looked back to Ruha. “Well, Lady Ruha, how much do we have?”

It took Ruha a moment to realize what he was asking, for she had not expected her plan to succeed quite so well. “I’m afraid we have very little at the moment.” The witch had only three more tears in her pocket. “You see, our ship was sunk by a dragon—”

“By dragon?”

Wei Dao’s exclamation caught Ruha as much by surprise as had the offer to buy all her frankincense. “It was a very large dragon,” the witch explained, keeping a watchful eye on the princess’s expression. “A black one. Do you know it?”

Wei Dao’s face became as unreadable as ever. “I do not know this dragon. But it is difficult for Shou to hear of dragons doing evil things.”

“Yes, I have heard your emperor is a green dragon.”

“Jade.” Wei Dao bowed, suggesting that the audience was at an end. “Please return to Ginger Palace with more frankincense and myrrh.”

Ruha did not return the bow. “You may be certain we will—but first, we are interested in purchasing some wares to take with us.” The witch fingered the silk veil that Hsieh had given to her. “As you can see, the love of Shou silk reaches even into the depths of Anauroch.”

“Of course. You discuss with Prince Tang.” Wei Dao bowed again. “Come back tomorrow, and new chamberlain sees you are among first to see my husband.”

“I am sorry, but that is not possible.” Ruha had to fight to keep the panic out of her voice. “We must leave for Ilipur tomorrow to buy a new ship.”

“Then come very early in morning. Chamberlain give you first appointment.” Wei Dao turned to leave, this time without bowing.

Ruha threw open the coffer in Fowler’s hands. “Before you go, Princess, Abazm said you would want to see the color of our gold.”

Wei Dao spun around, affronted. “Show me money? What for?”

Fowler tipped the box so she could look inside, and the princess’s expression changed instantly—first to one of puzzlement, then interest.

“Yes, of course. Abazm always tells us we must inspect coins.” She glided over to the box and started to reach inside, then remembered herself and asked, “May I touch?”

Ruha nodded, and Wei Dao picked up several gold pieces and raised them to her face. When Ruha saw the coin from Calimshan slide down the long sleeve of the princess’s dress, she thought it best not to say anything.

“You stay tonight in Ginger Palace,” Wei Dao said, as though she had thought of the idea herself. “We see Prince Tang soon after breakfast.”

Ruha raised her veil, blew into the tree-shaped keyhole, and whispered the incantation to her wind spell. A short blast of air whistled softly through the slot, raising a gentle clatter as it rattled the lock. The sound was not loud, but the witch cringed. After a long night of skulking through the Ginger Palace, she had worked her way deep into the labyrinthine corridors of the residential section, and the guards here were thick as ants in their hill.

The bolt slid back with a muffled clack. Ruha stood, then looked back down the long hall. Already, two sentries were stalking toward her, their bare feet sliding across the silk runner in utter silence. It was their incredible stealth that made the witch’s search so nerve-wracking. She never knew when she would meet one coming around a corner, or suddenly feel someone gliding past her as she kneeled before a keyhole.

Ruha pressed herself into a corner beside the door, moving very slowly and deliberately. Although she had rendered herself invisible with a sun spell, the mirage was not perfect. Any quick motion would cause a shimmering blur that might alert the guards to her presence.

The men stopped before the door, gesturing at the knob and whispering to each other in the lilting language of the Shou. After arguing a few moments, they tried the latch. When the door swung open, they gasped and backed away, both reaching for their square-tipped swords. One of them spoke, and the other scurried down the hall.

The remaining guard peered into the room, calling gently, as though saying someone’s name. No one answered. He reluctantly entered the chamber, still speaking softly. Though she was puzzled by the man’s alarm, Ruha followed him through the door and instantly realized she had found the personal quarters of Lady Feng.

Opposite the door was a glass window, through which spilled the pale dawn light illuminating an anteroom similar to those Ruha had found in the private apartments of both the prince and princess. Like many chambers in the Ginger Palace, this one was furnished with nothing more than a single low table and a few straw mats. The walls were covered not by the resplendent frescoes of birds and reptiles that decorated the other royal apartments, but by subtly hued paintings of symbolic portent: a snake coiled into an ascending spiral, a feeble old man sailing backward across a rainbow, a spider that had spun its web in the mouth of a singing woman, and many more images that would have put the witch into a contemplative mood, had she not been so jittery from hours of skulking about the Ginger Palace.

The guard crossed the chamber and nervously called through the doorway into the next room. When no one answered, he reluctantly inched forward. Ruha went to the window and, while she waited for the sentry to complete his search, looked out upon the rear part of the palace complex. She could not see much, for a large, high-walled enclosure sat in the middle of the grounds, blocking her view of everything beyond save the tiled roofs of the two huge buildings the witch had noticed yesterday.

Ruha could not decide what the enclosure was. Its walls were capped by a double row of barbed spikes, as though it were some sort of prison, but the gates hung open beneath a strange, scaly archway that vaguely resembled a dragon’s tail. A short, opal-paved path connected the peculiar courtyard to the mansion, crossing an arcing, multicolored bridge and snaking through a thicket of well-tended shrubbery. The witch noticed several sentries kneeling among the bushes, not hiding so much as trying to avoid obtrusiveness.

Ruha was dismayed to note that the sun had already risen high enough to kindle an iridescent glimmer in the pearly surfaces of both the walkway and the enclosure’s scaly arch. There was not much time to find Yanseldara’s staff. Soon, the breakfast servants would arrive at the guest house in the front courtyard. Fowler could probably keep them at bay, but he would be hard-pressed to explain the witch’s absence when someone called to escort them to Prince Tang’s audience hall.