Portal of a Thousand Worlds Page 4

  He removed his hood and dropped gently to the ground behind her. Had she been his subject, she would have died instantly. Knowing what to expect, she was unsurprised and turned calmly.

  “Tug? Nicely done. Is this for real?”

  “Absolutely!” he said indignantly.

  “Who’s your subject?” she demanded, her voice in the night suddenly crackling with suspicion.

  He said, “The heron and the swan against rain-dimpled water. Up golden ladders to the moon.”

  She winced and doubled over as if struck by sudden belly pains. “Oh! Rot me! You turd!” She sobbed a few times. “Stop it, stop it!”

  “I have instructions for you.”

  “Tell me! I’ll obey. You needn’t do this to me.”

  “Yes, I do, because my subject is Lemon Grass 3.”

  She groaned. “Please, please! It’s getting worse.”

  He plunged ahead. “You will obey all my instructions, answer my questions truthfully, and you will not betray me or hinder my escape.”

  “Yes, yes! Just make it stop.”

  “Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you will obey?”

  “Of course I will obey, anus worm! Didn’t he tell you? I’ll eat shit if you tell me to.”

  “Not necessary. Morning star that dies when its task is done.”

  She uttered a faint breathy sound, a whisper of relief, and then straightened up. She bared her teeth, but she did not try to knife him.

  “Lemon Grass is a client!”

  “There’s a conflict and he lost.”

  She sighed. “I see. Then it’s over. … They gave you a big one to start with, Brother! The town will buzz tomorrow. What’s your name now?”

  “Silky.”

  “Good one! What do you need, Silky?”

  “Advise me. Natural causes.”

  She snorted. “He’s taking his usual exercise and Starry Pink gets the honor tonight. When he’s done with her, he’ll go to his own bed. Never varies.”

  The novices’ toast: May all your subjects be predictable.

  “What does he wear in bed?”

  “Nothing. A sheet on top. He keeps a quilt handy in case he feels cold.”

  “Show me where,” Silky said.

  It was going to be drastically easy. Knowing the geography of the Cloud mansion, he could have done it alone, scrambling up the stonework to a window and lying in wait to break the subject’s neck when he returned, but he had been told repeatedly that safest and simplest were always best. His orders were that it had to be natural causes.

  He followed Freshet indoors and up the stair to the master’s bedchamber. Then he sent her away, because he wanted to enjoy every moment of this, his first real score. He had worked hard and long to get to it.

  A rich man like Lemon Grass slept on a raised bed of bricks, into which braziers could be placed during cold weather. Wearing hood and gloves, Silky drew back the quilt and sprinkled powdered wolfsbane on the pillows and the topmost rug. The subject would ingest a fatal dose through his breath and his skin. He would be found there dead in the morning unless he awoke with hallucinations of flying and hurled himself out the window.

  Silky had already warned Overt Operations. The Gray Helpers would be summoned to prepare the body, and they must make sure the deadly bedclothes claimed no more victims. He went back downstairs and let himself out. The dogs showed no signs of waking. No one saw him go over the wall.

  His first outing was done. Not quite boring, but close.

  He was home at Joyful Departure within the hour, finding a party to celebrate his naming already in progress. He was quite touched by all the cheers and little speeches, but he had displayed his own talent for hypocrisy at such events often enough to distrust most of them. Of course, he was having a double celebration—name and first score on the same day was unusual—so he got to kiss all the girls twice.

  Sex was just another business technique to the Order, a craft that needed practice like any other. The wall dividing the nunnery from the monastery was of polished glass, topped with razor-edged spikes and regarded by novices on both sides as a skill-testing question. Any adolescent boy or girl who did not regularly break the rules against promiscuity would be recognized as unsuitable material and duly expelled, dead or alive. The only true prohibition was a visible pregnancy, for which all three parties involved would be put to death. Thanks to good pharmaceutical instruction and a shoddy lock on the pharmacy door, matters never went that far.

  Following tradition, Silky announced that he must rest up for a busy day ahead and left early. The female novices then drew straws to see who would help the newly blooded brother celebrate. It was dark in his cell, and the girl who joined him there wouldn’t tell him her name. That didn’t matter, because he knew her scent and texture. After it was over, he slept very well.

  Jade Harmony slept very badly. He thrashed and repeatedly wakened himself by crying out in nightmares for reasons he could not remember. His concubine was too pregnant to be of any help—he had limited himself to one as an economic measure—and he never lay with his wife now, not wanting more legal children to support.

  He eventually gave up and went up to the rooftop shrine to pray for help from his ancestors. The sky was clear, and the uncountable worlds looked down on him coldly. How many of them had his ancestors reached? How many of those ancestors were advanced enough now to help their troubled descendant still trapped down here in the Fourth? He prayed for wisdom, but nothing changed.

  He left early for the harbor, after issuing strict orders to set the dogs on any caller touting business ventures.

  Rumors about Lemon Grass began to circulate by midmorning. Before noon, the criers had the news, and the governor ordered the trading floors closed. Nauseated and feverish, appalled at how easily he had been hoodwinked, Jade Harmony summoned his palanquin and guards and went home.

  In Wedlock, the slums of the masses huddled near the water; the palaces of the rich stood on the uplands, enjoying vistas, cool winds, and springs of sweet water. Most of the palaces had been built by princes and were now owned by merchants or retired mandarins. Jade Harmony 7’s residence was not one of the best, but it was still a palace. From it, he had a good, if distant, view of the river traffic, a few modern paddleboats and stern wheelers spewing plumes of black smoke in among the swarm of traditional junks.

  The thought that he might have lost all this but instead had saved it by complicity in a murder tore him to pieces. Poverty was unthinkable, but the death of a thousand cuts was even worse. Suddenly, he felt an unbearable urgency, and signaled with his drum for maximum speed. Unsatisfied, he signaled for even more, until he heard the crack of the guards’ whips on his bearer’s backs.

  Arriving home, he gave instructions that a man named Silky should be admitted, blessing his foresight that he had not mentioned that name earlier and hence could not be seen to be countermanding his own orders. He declined food and again sought reassurance in the shrine of his ancestors. A right-thinking man should never order a murder, and yet the sense of relief that Lemon Grass was no longer holding a knife at his financial throat was undeniable. The very sunlight seemed to sparkle brighter.

  Eventually, Jade Harmony crept out to sit in his water garden and wait for his visitor. Bamboo swayed gently in the breeze, caged birds sang, waterfalls purled their silver songs, and all he could think of was the execution ground before the governor’s mansion. That was where evildoers were sliced to death, immobilized in wooden cangues, screaming their lives away amid the mockery of the crowds. The spectators would lay bets on how long he would take to die, and bribe the tormentors to make the show last for days.

  Surprisingly, First Musket himself came to announce the visitor. “A sand warrior, Eminent One, calling himself Silky! He refuses to surrender his weapons.”

&n
bsp; Sand warriors paraded around festooned with fearsome shiny blades of all shapes and sizes, like walking bower birds’ nests. Jade Harmony could not imagine the doe-eyed boy he had met at the monastery adorned like that. “I hope you didn’t laugh too hard?”

  First Musket blinked in bewilderment. “No, Eminent One.” He glanced around at the shrubbery. “You wish us to admit him? And stay close?”

  “No!” More calmly the merchant added, “I will receive him in private. He is known to me.”

  The old musketeer’s mustache bristled in outrage, but he rose from his knees and withdrew, backing and bowing. It was unheard of for any man of status to receive a male visitor alone, armed or not. Jade Harmony wondered uneasily if loyalty might override obedience in this case, resulting in forbidden eavesdropping, but then the sight of his visitor drove all other thoughts from his mind.

  No ash-gray robe now. No boy, even. He wore the scarlet knee breeches and leather boots of his pretended profession, and the traditional collection of weapons—at least a score visible, probably more hidden. A long sword hung on his back and two shorter ones at his waist. Baldrics forming an X across his chest were loaded with throwing knives while more were strapped to his forearms. Several paces away he drew his longest blade to salute, then went through the correct ritual of bowing and scraping until he was kneeling in the sand before Jade Harmony 7’s cushion. It was undoubtedly the same youth, the one he had named Silky, but he seemed to have aged several years. Arms and chest … even his neck looked thicker and more mature. His raven-black queue was gathered in the traditional topknot of a sand warrior, tied with purple and white ribbons.

  Jade Harmony stared at that more than anything. “Last night, your head was completely shaven!”

  Silky smiled disarmingly. “Last night, the light was not of the best, Eminence.”

  There was nothing wrong with the sunshine now. “This is what you really look like?”

  Again the boy showed a perfect set of teeth, a rarity in Shashi. “This is what I look like when I am dressed as a sand warrior. Last night, you saw me in a monk’s habit. People are happiest when they see what they expect to see.”

  “Sorcery?” Jade Harmony whispered. His scalp prickled. It was unmistakably the same youngster—face, voice, eyes, oversize hands. He recalled now how easily those hands had lifted him.

  The warrior shrugged today’s broad shoulders. “A minor occult skill.”

  “Purple and white? Whose colors are those?”

  Silky smiled, as if amused by his ignorance. “The House of Humble Followers of Martial Ancestors. There are six warrior lodges in Wedlock, but they are legal fictions. In fact, each sand warrior is sponsored by a gentleman of quality, one already licensed to maintain armed retainers. I will never sully your own noble colors by wearing them in the arena.”

  No, he wouldn’t. The ritualized swordplay of the sand warriors was an entertainment for the masses, never gentlemen. “But everyone here would know what you are!”

  “Officially, I would be, say, a clerk of accounts. I can look like that, too, but your household may be allowed to know that I am a sand warrior. Only you will know that I am a Gray Helper. May we proceed to the contract, Eminent One?” He stretched forward to offer a scroll.

  Jade Harmony began to unroll it; exquisite brushwork swam before his eyes. He closed it. “Lemon Grass had a major seizure in the night. There is word that he may not live.”

  The boy sighed. “He does not—the Helpers were summoned at the third hour. A funeral of the Most Exalted Grade is being prepared. May he prosper as well in the Fifth World as he did in the Fourth.”

  “You killed him!”

  Last night, the boy’s smiles had looked innocent.

  “I helped him advance on the staircase of worlds. Does this not relieve the worst of your troubles, Eminent One—as we agreed?”

  Yes! Yes, it did, and the thought was sickening. “I did not agree! I agreed to nothing. Now you expect me to pay you for committing this murder?”

  “Not now, Eminence.” The killer looked quite shocked. “Our terms are explained in that scroll.”

  Jade Harmony 7’s stomach churned like the river behind a sternwheeler. Again, he unrolled the contract and tried to read it.

  “There are no names written here!”

  White teeth flashed again. “Of course. No names given and no signatures required. That is purely a statement of terms already agreed between a gentleman and his servants.”

  Jade Harmony could not read through his tears. He could not think. “Tell me briefly what it says.”

  “All our contracts are for seven years or seven requested outings, whichever comes first. We may provide other incidents, at our discretion. We call those ‘routine’ and do not count them. An aide, meaning me, is assigned exclusively to your attendance during that time. I work to promote your interests and no others.’”

  “‘Outing’ means ‘murder’?”

  “We prefer to call them outings, or ‘incidents’.” The assassin smiled again. “We offer many more services than just murder, Eminence. Our information is unmatched in Wedlock and throughout the Good Land. For example, we know that the governor assessed your deeply lamented father’s worth at 473,000 taels and levied a death tax of 95,000 on it. Fortunately, his assessors overlooked your rice lands at Great Salt River and the silk partnership in the Mulberry Islands, not to mention the emerald collection your father had been amassing in his last years. The sudden, tragic advance of Lemon Grass offers several opportunities for those who can act quickly, of which the most promising will be a drastic drop in the price of salt, because he and some partners were holding it back from the market and the others don’t know how much he had in stock. I do.” And so on.

  Jade Harmony listened in amazement to a display of financial virtuosity such as he had not heard since his father died. The monk child never hesitated or stumbled as he rattled off prices, amounts, locations, dealers, profits, or prospective partners, nor was he merely parroting a lesson, because whenever Jade Harmony asked a question, he answered promptly and lucidly. At the end, he raised an insolent and amused eyebrow to invite comment.

  “When do I pay you and how much?” Jade Harmony asked hoarsely.

  “You pay the House of Joyful Departure, Master. It allots me a share.”

  “How. Much. Do. I. Pay?”

  “There will be a settlement at the end of the contract.”

  “How much?”

  “One quarter of your worth.”

  “My … Quarter? Of my entire worth?”

  The boy spread his hands as if to show that he was hiding nothing. They were the thick, callused hands of a warrior, not the small, soft hands of a monk. Or so they seemed at that moment. “We estimate your true present value at a conservative 500,000 taels, Eminence. We guarantee that it will increase manyfold during the life of the contract.”

  “And if, in the meantime, the governor has cut us to shreds in the Place of Execution?”

  Silky laughed. “The Emperor, bless his name, does not appoint fools to be governors! The last attempt to put a Gray Helper on trial was a hundred years ago in the city of High Vistas. The governor’s replacement’s replacement’s first act was to burn the indictment.”

  “The Son of the Sun—”

  “The Emperor knows that he is mortal also,” Silky said impatiently. “Do not worry about the Emperor or his minions. They will not trouble us. Now, you will see that it is to our mutual advantage for me to have some independent position in your household, so that I can come and go without having to ask leave of some servant or endure this absurd rigmarole over weapons every time I must speak with you. Sand warriors are very profitable for their sponsors. For example, last month’s bout between Carmine Fangs and Implacable Dragon … Mayhap you have heard of it?”

  “No.” The mere thought of watching armed men f
ight made Jade Harmony 7’s skin crawl.

  “Admittedly, it was a match to disablement, which is rare and more profitable than most. The two sponsors—including their shares of the gate and the book, but before paying the purse to the winner and a settlement for the loser’s widow—regrettably, he bled to death, which was quite unplanned—anyway, between them, the sponsors shared more than 7,000 taels. The winner’s sponsor netted 4,000 clear.” The monk smirked at Jade Harmony 7’s expression. “I do not lie to you now, Master, and I never will. Not a bad return on room and board, you must agree.”

  “That is all? A room and your keep?”

  “That will do to start with. As soon as you see the profits rolling in, you will be ordering me to expand your stable, hire trainers and so on. Most sponsors rapidly become enamored of the sport.”

  How had Jade Harmony ever thought this young killer looked innocent? Trapped, trapped! This must be how it felt to blunder into quicksand. Public bloodshed and private murder! What would Jade Harmony 6 have said? What must he think if he was watching now? Better to think upon Jade Harmony 1, who had been the next worst thing to a pirate and who would approve. He had died on an impalement stake. “What choice do I have?”

  “None, really,” Silky said sadly. “Last night, you asked me to kill Lemon Grass and I did. He did not suffer and the Good Land is better for his ascent. The contract is in force. Believe me, you will not regret it, Master, once you have adjusted to the idea.”

  This was absurd! An illegal conspiracy in an unsigned document? Such a contract could never be enforced. But the gleam in the young killer’s eager eyes warned Jade Harmony that it was extremely enforceable.

  “And who is next?”

  “Master, that really is not a wise—”