women, but soldiers none the less: which made them the emperor’s personal guard, who had sailed here on Old Yen’s own boat.
He said, “Why should the emperor want me?”—but they only shook their heads and hurried him, faster than old tired feet wanted to go over wet stones in the dark.
He might have believed this back in Taishu-port, where
the emperor
could sometimes mean
Mei Feng
. She might send for him just to see him, to be reassured about his health and safety; or to ask about the mute child and its welfare; or about the dragon, or the goddess. Or to be angry with him, about any of those or for any reason else.
But Mei Feng was on Taishu and he was not. This city was not that city. His girl was beyond his reach.
H ERE WAS an end at last, the gate to the governor’s palace; and oh he was weary now, and still bewildered. All the more so when his escorts took him through one courtyard and through another, into a room that was too small and too private for his deserving, and here was the emperor indeed.
Also, here was Mei Feng. Where she could not be, where she was not, here in Santung. It wasn’t possible. This was a dream.
Except that she was scowling up at him from a luxurious heap of cushions, she was tumbling a cat out of her lap and scattering cushions and coverlets all over as she came at him like a pocket typhoon, an invasion of one, furious and irresistible.
Small hard body, cable-tight and whippy as bamboo. Her hug threatened to squeeze all the surviving breath out of him. Then she lifted her face, still frowning. “Why are you so wet?”
“Wet? Mei Feng, it’s
raining
…” Had she perhaps not noticedthe typhoon, here inside palace walls? Had she been conjured here from Taishu, and never passed through open air between?
“Still?” She glanced from one escort to another. Mute and treacherous, they shook their heads. Old Yen thought back: oh. Perhaps it had in fact stopped raining, a little while back.
“Well, but it has been; and there was work to do …”
“And you didn’t think to stop work, to change your wet clothes and maybe eat a meal, maybe sleep till morning? And you,” his escorts again, “you didn’t think to find him something dry to wear, before you dragged an old man up a steep hill after he’s been up and working hard all last night and all day since?”
“Mei Feng, that’s not fair! The emperor said—”
“Oh, the
emperor, he
said, did he? And that makes it all right, does it?”
She was swiveling around now to bring her fury to bear on his imperial majesty, except that he forestalled her. He was right there, his hands were on her hips and his chin in her hair, his smile must be resonating through her bones as he said, “Of course it is all right, if the emperor says so. The emperor is a god,” with his long godly arms wrapping themselves around her now, and it was good to see them so kind with each other again. “And besides,” the emperor went on, “Old Yen would have been just as wet if we had left him undisturbed. He would have worked just as late or later, he might still have forgotten to eat supper. And now we have him here under our eyes, you have his company and can make sure that he eats a good meal and dries his beard and sleeps until you wake him in the morning.”
“You might have sent someone down,” she growled, refusing to be placated, “to do all that without dragging his poor tired soaked self all the way up here. I would have sent Chung, if you hadn’t stolen him away to make a soldier of him.”
“He made a soldier of himself,” the emperor crooned, rocking her gently, “or else Shen did that for him. Not me. Do you want him back?”
“Not particularly. Not if he doesn’t want to come, if he’d rather camp out in the rain and be mysterious. Leave him to Shen. And don’t change the subject,” which was blatantly, magnificently unfair. “Look at my grandfather, see the state of him? I’m ashamed of you, all of you,”
He said, “Why should the emperor want me?”—but they only shook their heads and hurried him, faster than old tired feet wanted to go over wet stones in the dark.
He might have believed this back in Taishu-port, where
the emperor
could sometimes mean
Mei Feng
. She might send for him just to see him, to be reassured about his health and safety; or to ask about the mute child and its welfare; or about the dragon, or the goddess. Or to be angry with him, about any of those or for any reason else.
But Mei Feng was on Taishu and he was not. This city was not that city. His girl was beyond his reach.
H ERE WAS an end at last, the gate to the governor’s palace; and oh he was weary now, and still bewildered. All the more so when his escorts took him through one courtyard and through another, into a room that was too small and too private for his deserving, and here was the emperor indeed.
Also, here was Mei Feng. Where she could not be, where she was not, here in Santung. It wasn’t possible. This was a dream.
Except that she was scowling up at him from a luxurious heap of cushions, she was tumbling a cat out of her lap and scattering cushions and coverlets all over as she came at him like a pocket typhoon, an invasion of one, furious and irresistible.
Small hard body, cable-tight and whippy as bamboo. Her hug threatened to squeeze all the surviving breath out of him. Then she lifted her face, still frowning. “Why are you so wet?”
“Wet? Mei Feng, it’s
raining
…” Had she perhaps not noticedthe typhoon, here inside palace walls? Had she been conjured here from Taishu, and never passed through open air between?
“Still?” She glanced from one escort to another. Mute and treacherous, they shook their heads. Old Yen thought back: oh. Perhaps it had in fact stopped raining, a little while back.
“Well, but it has been; and there was work to do …”
“And you didn’t think to stop work, to change your wet clothes and maybe eat a meal, maybe sleep till morning? And you,” his escorts again, “you didn’t think to find him something dry to wear, before you dragged an old man up a steep hill after he’s been up and working hard all last night and all day since?”
“Mei Feng, that’s not fair! The emperor said—”
“Oh, the
emperor, he
said, did he? And that makes it all right, does it?”
She was swiveling around now to bring her fury to bear on his imperial majesty, except that he forestalled her. He was right there, his hands were on her hips and his chin in her hair, his smile must be resonating through her bones as he said, “Of course it is all right, if the emperor says so. The emperor is a god,” with his long godly arms wrapping themselves around her now, and it was good to see them so kind with each other again. “And besides,” the emperor went on, “Old Yen would have been just as wet if we had left him undisturbed. He would have worked just as late or later, he might still have forgotten to eat supper. And now we have him here under our eyes, you have his company and can make sure that he eats a good meal and dries his beard and sleeps until you wake him in the morning.”
“You might have sent someone down,” she growled, refusing to be placated, “to do all that without dragging his poor tired soaked self all the way up here. I would have sent Chung, if you hadn’t stolen him away to make a soldier of him.”
“He made a soldier of himself,” the emperor crooned, rocking her gently, “or else Shen did that for him. Not me. Do you want him back?”
“Not particularly. Not if he doesn’t want to come, if he’d rather camp out in the rain and be mysterious. Leave him to Shen. And don’t change the subject,” which was blatantly, magnificently unfair. “Look at my grandfather, see the state of him? I’m ashamed of you, all of you,”
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