The Wall of Storms, page 38
“The emperor is still a man,” said Cogo. “None of us is free from vanity.”
“Oh, I was counting on it,” said Jia.
Cogo’s eyes snapped to focus on her, but the look of surprise lasted only a fleeting moment before being replaced by his habitual serene expression.
“The emperor may have at one time or another reprimanded all of his generals and advisers except you and Luan,” said Jia. “Luan stays away from the court, while you are smooth as a polished piece of jade, the master politician.” She paused and looked at him.
“I am but a loyal servant of the emperor,” said Cogo, his face impassive.
“And of the next emperor as well, I hope?” asked Jia.
Cogo hesitated only a beat. “Of course.”
“Remember that.”
Jia turned and left.
Cogo stood rooted in place, and only long after the empress was gone did he raise his sleeve to wipe the cold sweat from the back of his neck.
While Emperor Ragin and Consort Risana were away in Arulugi to oversee the war against Théca Kimo, while Prince Timu remained in Dasu to maintain vigilance against the pirates, while Prince Phyro—and Princess Théra, who refused to obey her mother’s commands to return to the capital—remained in Tunoa to sweep up the remnants of the Hegemon’s cult, Empress Jia became Imperial regent in Pan.
Since this was the first time the empress had ever been the regent, the ministers and generals were not quite sure what to expect. Her reputation for possessing a fiery temper filled everyone with trepidation.
But she soon reassured everyone. She visited the city garrison, thanking the soldiers for defending the capital against acts of sabotage by Théca Kimo’s spies or the remnants of the insurgency in Tunoa; she went to oversee the shipment of grains and feed for the emperor’s expedition in Arulugi; she gathered the scholars and spoke to them about the importance of stability.
Everyone at court whispered that Empress Jia was indeed an extraordinary woman surpassing others of her sex like the dyran surpassed all other fish, a much-needed careful and stabilizing influence.
On the ninth day after the emperor left, Jia summoned all of Kuni’s ministers and generals who were in the capital to formal court.
She sat in her customary seat next to the throne, though now next to her sat the Seal of Dara on a small sandalwood table. The ministers and generals lined the Grand Audience Hall, all sitting in formal mipa rari.
“Honored Lords of Dara,” said the empress, “we gather today to speak of examinations.”
The ministers and the generals looked at each other, puzzled. The Grand Examination wouldn’t happen for another five years, so what was the empress talking about?
The empress turned to the side and called for Princess Fara. The young princess timidly entered the Grand Audience Hall and knelt before the empress.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” said the empress kindly. “I’d just like to ask you a few questions and see if perhaps the emperor’s advisers could learn something from a child.”
The gathered ministers and generals felt their stomachs tighten. What game is the empress playing?
“Ada-tika, suppose a man of Haan must go to Faça on a trip of a few months, and he leaves a sum of money to his good friend, asking him to take care of his children. However, when he returns, he finds his children starving and in ragged clothes, while his friend enjoys rich meals and dresses in silk. What shall he do with such a friend?”
Fara smiled. “This is a story from Kon Fiji’s Treatise on Moral Relations. The answer is: The man should break off all contact with this friend because he cannot be trusted to be faithful.”
The empress nodded. “Very good. Now, suppose a minister is unable to govern his clerks well, and they disobey his directives and shirk their duties while he imposes no discipline, what should the king do with the minister?”
Fara giggled. “This is from the same story. The answer is: The king should dismiss the minister because he cannot be trusted to be competent.”
The empress again nodded. “A third question then. Now, suppose an enfeoffed noble ignores threats to his lord’s well-being, offers comfort and succor to his lord’s enemies, instigates discord and harmony in the family of his lord, forms factions and parties among his lord’s followers, what shall the lord do with him?”
Fara was stunned. “That’s—that’s—but that’s not how the story went . . . I don’t know.”
Jia smiled. “It’s not your fault.” She gestured for her to leave, and the young princess bowed and ran away quickly.
The Grand Audience Hall was completely quiet. Though all the ministers and generals were full of questions, none dared even to breathe too loud.
“Would anyone care to answer?”
No one stirred.
Kado Garu, who sat to the side, at the head of the column of nobles and generals, silently congratulated himself on having yielded his fief to Timu. Jia really is going to go after the nobles.
Jia looked around and settled her eyes on Cogo Yelu. “Prime Minister, would you care to answer the query that Princess Fara could not?”
Cogo Yelu bowed and said, “The empress is citing one of Kon Fiji’s famous tales. If I recall correctly, the One True Sage was speaking to the King of Faça.”
“Indeed. What was his original third question to the King of Faça?”
“Kon Fiji asked, ‘Suppose then that the state is ill administered, that the laws are unreasonable, that the people complain about corruption and misrule, what should be done with the king?’ ”
“What did the King of Faça say?”
Cogo Yelu reluctantly went on. “The King of Faça was silent for a while. Then he looked to the left, looked to the right, and then began to speak of the weather.”
“How are you different from the King of Faça, Prime Minister, if you will not answer my query?”
Cogo touched his forehead to the ground and said nothing.
Jia looked away from him and swept her eyes over the court.
“When Théca Kimo rebelled, Gin Mazoti never came to Pan to offer her aid, despite her position as the Marshal of Dara; when Noda Mi and Doru Solofi escaped Tunoa, their little plot in shambles, Gin Mazoti offered them refuge; when Gin Mazoti attended court five years ago, she spoke rudely to me while conspicuously flaunting her friendship with Consort Risana; when a cashima lost her pass to attend the Grand Examination, Gin Mazoti offered her aid in secret, thereby hoarding for herself the loyalty of a talented person—have you nothing to say to any of these charges?”
Cogo remained kneeling with his forehead to the ground. But when it was clear that the empress would not go on until he gave an answer, he spoke reluctantly, pausing between words, “There must be ironclad proof, lest the people speak ill of Your Imperial Majesty.”
Jia waved her hand, and Chatelain Otho Krin came forward. “Spies have returned with a new report from Géjira. Queen Mazoti feasts every night with Noda Mi and Doru Solofi, as well as many of their followers.”
Jia waited.
Cogo looked up. “I serve the emperor,” he said. Then he bowed again and touched his forehead to the ground. “And the empress.”
The other ministers, generals, and nobles bowed and said together, “I serve the emperor and the empress.”
Jia looked impassively at them and nodded, once.
As Cruben’s Horn descended toward Pan, Gin and Zomi looked down at the carriages and pedestrians streaming through the wide avenues of the city like blood through the vessels of some giant.
Zomi pointed at the golden, circular roof of the Grand Examination Hall. “Five years ago, that place had seemed the center of the universe, a hub around which everything revolved. I could not conceive of a more important place anywhere else in Dara. Yet today it appears as just an ordinary building, and my heart is no longer filled with awe at the sight of it.”
“That is because the Examination Hall was necessary to your success back then, and of little use now,” said Gin.
Zomi was startled for a moment, and then she nodded. “I had not thought of it that way before, but I suppose it is true. I am thankful, in any event, that the hall where so many scholars’ dreams died ultimately brought me to you.”
“Such is the fate of all things and people,” said Gin. “One day we’re street urchins and peasant girls from distant provinces, and the next day we could be queens and high officials deciding the fates of hundreds of thousands because our talents are necessary to those who need them. But who knows what will happen the day after that?”
Zomi wasn’t used to such morose sentiments coming from the queen. She wondered whether it was because Gin still felt some trepidation at being summoned by the empress out of the blue. The messenger had explained that the empress wished to discuss the rebellion in Arulugi, and that as time was of the essence, Gin had to leave right away in the Imperial messenger airship. The ship’s small capacity allowed Gin only a single attendant, and she chose Zomi Kidosu. She had none of her guards and trusted generals with her.
“Zomi, do you know who Aya’s father is?” asked Gin.
The question surprised Zomi. She had always assumed that this was a topic that Gin did not wish to broach.
“You know him,” said Gin. “You are the daughter of his mind as Aya is the daughter of his flesh.”
Zomi was stunned by the revelation.
“Aya does not know the truth. I’ve always hidden it from her because . . . I suppose I wanted her to be prouder of me than of her father. Vanity is a sin none of us can be free from. I’ve never told him either because . . . I wanted him to stay because of me, not because of duty.
“If something should happen . . . would you . . .” The queen’s voice trailed off, as if she could not bear this moment of weakness.
For a moment, Zomi wondered if Gin’s suspicion of the empress’s intentions was right. But the empress had been her benefactress, and thinking that way felt like a betrayal.
The empress bears you no ill will at all, Zomi wanted to shout at the queen, but she had sworn an oath of secrecy. You will find out the truth soon enough, she thought.
“I swear to protect Princess Aya,” said Zomi, “with every fiber of my being.”
Gin said nothing, as though she didn’t even hear her.
The grand plaza in front of the Imperial palace loomed as the ship began the final approach to the landing site.
Gin arrived in Pan in the afternoon, but the empress did not see her right away despite the rush to get her into the capital. She was apparently absorbed with the affairs of state and could only attend to Gin on the morrow. Gin was not invited to stay inside the palace because, as the empress’s secretary explained, the empress found the sight of swords at the present time an ill omen.
Shaking her head at Jia’s pettiness—the empress had never liked the fact that Gin could enter the palace with her sword—Gin went to the quarters assigned to her in the guest complex right outside the walls of the palace. This was where visiting nobles and important officials from the provinces stayed when they came to the capital on business. Gin settled in with a pot of tea and conversed with Zomi Kidosu, certain that soon generals and ministers who wished to curry favor with her would come to visit.
But no one came for most of the afternoon.
Though Gin continued to joke and laugh and speak of inconsequential things, Zomi saw that the queen’s hand involuntarily trembled as she poured tea. Whether it was from rage or fear she could not tell.
Zomi grew uneasy as well. She had never been very sensitive to the winds of politics, but even she could see this was unusual. What is going on in Pan?
Finally, Mün Çakri, First General of the Infantry and one of Gin’s most trusted friends, arrived in the evening.
“What interesting gossip is being passed around the court?” asked Gin, after they had finished greeting each other.
“I didn’t realize you were interested in gossip, Marshal,” said Mün. “In any event, I wouldn’t know. I’ve been away in Rui, helping to prepare the island against an assault by Théca Kimo should he become desperate enough to try such a thing. I returned only this morning and I have to leave again tomorrow to escort the grain shipment to the emperor in Arulugi.”
“Ah, so you’ve been away as well,” said Gin, disappointed. “Have you heard any news of Luan Zya?”
“That old turtle? No, nothing. But I wouldn’t worry about him. He’s dived from the sky and ridden on the back of a cruben—I doubt sailing through unknown waters could harm him.”
“How’s Naro and Cacaya-tika?” Gin asked.
“I’ve been so busy these last few months that I haven’t seen much of them. But I’ve already started to teach the boy to wrestle piglets.”
Gin laughed. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“I started my life as a butcher, and I don’t want my son to forget it. Where we start is important, you know?”
Gin turned somber. “Have you ever wished you could have stayed a butcher instead of . . . this life?”
Mün shook his head. “Never. Why would a kite wish to stay on the ground instead of shooting for the sky?”
“Even if a storm is coming?”
Mün glanced out the window. “It does look like it will rain soon. I better get back before Naro starts to worry.”
Gin refilled both cups and drained hers in one gulp. “To old friends and flying kites in storms.”
Mün drained his cup. He smacked his lips, praising the fragrance of the wine.
He didn’t catch the fleeting trace of sorrow in Gin’s eyes.
CHAPTER THIRTY
ZOMI’S SECRET
PAN: THE TENTH MONTH IN THE ELEVENTH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF FOUR PLACID SEAS.
“I will not!” declared Zomi.
She was once again sitting opposite the empress in her private audience hall, a pot of freshly brewed tea between them.
While Mün and Gin were conversing, Chatelain Otho Krin had come to the guest quarters and summoned Zomi for an urgent meeting with the empress. The “report” she had been asked to sign shocked her to the core of her being.
“The proof for Gin Mazoti’s intent to rebel is ironclad,” said the empress, calmly pouring tea for both of them. “You’ll simply be confirming what we already know.”
“The queen never intended to rebel.”
“Then why has she been harboring Noda Mi and Doru Solofi as well as dozens of their followers? At this moment, generals loyal to the Throne have already seized control of the army of Géjira and occupied the queen’s palace. The fugitives have been arrested.”
“But you told me—” Zomi stopped. A complex series of expressions transformed her face: disbelief, anger, fear, and eventually bitter acceptance. “Only now do I understand the true purpose of my assignment—I was but a stone in your cüpa game. You have lied to me, Your Imperial Majesty.”
“Speaking of lies, I have something to show you.” Jia got up and walked over to her desk. She rummaged in a drawer and returned with a stack of paper. She set the stack down on the desk between them and pushed it over to Zomi.
Zomi looked at the stack closely. It was actually a single sheet of paper that had been folded over multiple times. She reached out and touched it: Golden threads were embedded in the material, and it was clear that the sheet had once been cut into small squares and then painstakingly pasted back together with strips of paper and glue. Many of the squares had names written on them, along with the seals of the various governors and enfeoffed nobles.
She didn’t need to unfold the paper to know that there would be a square missing.
Her mind drifted to that momentous night years ago.
Regent Ra Olu, King Kado’s representative on Dasu, was holding a party for all the cashima of Dasu. He was supposed to meet with each of them individually and then determine which ones would be recommended for the Grand Examination based on a combination of their scores in the Provincial Examination and their character and reputation.
Zomi had been sure that she would be selected. She had the highest score of all the toko dawiji who had achieved the rank of cashima in years, and out of the ten or so recommendations that Regent Ra Olu would hand out, one would have to have her name on it, wouldn’t it? After all, that was the point of the examinations, to pick out men and women of talent to serve the emperor.
Many of the cashima had gone to school together or knew each other by the prominence of their families, and they now conversed in small cliques. Zomi didn’t know anyone and wandered around by herself: There was much wine and fish, served raw and dipped in the spicy sauces that Dasu was famous for.
Her stomach was unused to the wine—no doubt expensive—and the rich fish roe—a delicacy. Soon, Zomi had to go to the toilet. When she was done, she was confused. She couldn’t find the customary box of soft, dry tissue grass next to the toilet. How was she supposed to clean herself?
She waited until another cashima, a man, came in. She whispered through the thin privacy partition.
“Do you have anything to wipe with?”
“Have they run out?” the man asked. “The regent will be very unhappy with the toilet attendants. Let me help you out.”
He went to the next stall, came back, and reached under the privacy partition. Zomi gratefully took what he was holding in his hand.
She was stunned: It was a stack of silk handkerchiefs, just like the ones in the box in her stall. She had thought they had been left behind by a lady of the house by mistake. The silk was smooth and soft; she had never owned anything that expensive.
So this was how the wealthy lived.
She seethed as she wiped herself. She thought about the muddy hut she had grown up in; she thought about her mother going to Master Ikigégé’s house to wash the floor and clean the toilets; she thought about her own childhood spent hauling fish and working the fields until the skin of her hands had grown as rough as the soil itself. Meanwhile, the regent of Dasu was cleaning his ass with silk.
