The Dragon Men

Chapter Three

Peking was burning. The flames lit the night sky with phoenix wings, and smells of smoke and gunpowder stung Cixi’s nose, even here at the Mountain Palace for Avoiding Heat, far from the Forbidden City in Peking. Behind her in the spidery palanquin, her maids hid their painted faces in their sleeves and wept. Cixi, the Lady Yehenara, kept a carefully mild expression, as if she were out enjoying an evening ride, though inside she was weeping just like the maids. For a second time the British barbarians had invaded Peking, and now they were doing what they did best-destroy. Automatically she reached down to her lap to stroke one of her dogs for comfort, forgetting that her lap was empty. During the hasty evacuation of the Forbidden City, the eunuchs had thrown all her dear little lion-faced dogs down the well so the barbarians wouldn’t be able to touch them. She wondered if any of them were still alive, struggling to stay afloat in the cold water and begging for someone to take them out.

The spider palanquin came to a halt. Its legs lowered it to the ground, stirring the silk curtains that preserved the privacy of the riders. Li Liyang, her chief eunuch, personally helped her out and guided her toward the steps of the Pavilion of a Thousand Silver Stars, her own residence within the palace. The palace wasn’t a single building but was actually a compound that took up most of the little town of Chengde. Dozens of pavilions and temples and bridges and palaces lay scattered artfully about the lush lawns and gardens of perfumed flowers chosen for their complementary scents. Cixi, who pronounced her imperial name kee-shee in the Manchu fashion, paused at the top of the steps to look at the too-bright sky again. The city was dying as slowly and steadily as her dogs.

“My lady, we should not remain outdoors,” said Liyang in his high-pitched lilt. “It is too upsetting for a delicate constitution.”

“Where is my son?” she asked as she mounted the steps.

“He is safe,” Liyang replied. His head was shaved, and he wore a conical hat of gold silk that matched the elaborate geometric designs on his gold robe. Like most eunuchs, he smelled vaguely of urine-the knife that stripped away a boy’s three preciouses took with it the ability to control the bladder, a problem that remained through adulthood and led to the saying “smelly as a eunuch.” At his belt, Liyang carried a pouch with a small jar in it. The jar held his preciouses preserved in oil, and when he died, they would be buried with him so he could join the ancestors as a full man. Cixi thought of her dogs again and wondered how long it would be before such a thing happened to Liyang.

“Safe does not tell me where he is, Liyang,” she said. “Bring him to me immediately.”

“My lady-”

“You have disobeyed me, Liyang. Fortunately, you are my favorite eunuch, and these are trying times. Therefore I will not have you beaten for disobedience-if my son Zaichun is at my side by the time I reach the front door.”

Liyang scurried away. To be nice to him, Cixi took her time with the steps, pausing to allow her maids to smooth the wrinkles from her silken split-front robe and straighten the wide trousers beneath. Cixi was beautiful and knew it, but in the Imperial Court, beauty was common and cheap. Cixi’s lustrous hair, fine features, and smooth skin had gotten her chosen as a concubine of the fifth rank when she was sixteen, but poise, wit, and her skill in the bedroom had caught the emperor’s fancy, and by age twenty-two, Cixi had spun that fancy into a pregnancy and finally her current rank as Imperial Concubine. Beauty had its uses, and it had to be maintained, but it was nothing without a mind behind it.

Liyang was lucky that beauty requirements for Manchu women such as Cixi did not extend to binding their feet as some of the concubines did. Otherwise someone would have carried her up the steps in an instant and she would have been forced to have Liyang beaten with bamboo rods regardless of how she felt about him. She supposed she could order it done with the thicker ones that broke bones and left bruises instead of the thinner ones that split skin and laid flesh open. But that might show too much favoritism, even for Liyang, and when things were chaotic, people craved order. It wouldn’t do to go back on the rules for any reason. No, if Liyang didn’t produce her son within the allotted time, she would have to have the Imperial Master of a Hundred Cries mete out a severe beating with no intervention from Cixi. It would make everyone feel better.

She reached the top of the steps. The Pavilion of a Thousand Silver Stars was three stories tall, bright and airy even in the night. Lacquered pillars held up the portico, which looked out over the serene waters of a lotus pond. She had ordered the pavilion painted a soft pink, the exact shade of an orchid, because her girlhood name had been Little Orchid. Cixi was the name given her on the day she had been chosen as an Imperial Concubine. A year after the birth of her son-so far the emperor’s only son-Cixi had been promoted to the position of Noble Consort, which put her second only to the empress. This meant she had the emperor’s ear and could do things such as build pink pavilions in the Mountain Palace for Avoiding Heat.

Cixi glanced at the fiery sky again. Last year, just before the signing of the awful Treaty of Tientsin-the treaty that granted the British power to travel within China and sell their filthy opium-a fleet of British ships carrying diplomats, envoys, and thousands of soldiers sailed up the Peiho River near the fortress at Taku. The emperor and his generals didn’t want an armed force coming so close to Taku, and so the emperor sent a message asking them to anchor at a harbor farther north. Although the request was perfectly reasonable and not even inconvenient, the English envoy Wright Frederick-or Frederick Wright, as Cixi supposed the barbarians put the name-ordered the fleet to attack Taku to teach the Chinese a lesson. No doubt to the great surprise of the English, the fortress at Taku had turned out to be more heavily fortified than expected. The automatons and soldiers at Taku had turned back the English forces with little effort. The easy victory emboldened the emperor to declare the entire Treaty of Tientsin in abeyance and the borders closed.

Now, a year later, the English responded in force. They fought their way up the river all the way to Peking, despite the best efforts of the emperor’s generals. Emperor Xianfeng had been forced to flee to the Mountain Palace for his own safety. A difficult thing it had been, too, with hundreds of soldiers, slaves, and eunuchs, and an equal number of mechanical carts filled with their minimal possessions and treasures, preceded by fifty spiders to sweep the road ahead of the emperor’s palanquin and strew the stones with rose petals.

Cixi reached the pavilion doors, gridded with flawless glass, and her maids hurried to slide them open. She glanced about. No sign of Liyang or Zaichun. Ah well. Cixi raised her foot, clad in a bejeweled slipper, to step over the threshold.

“Honored mother!” Her son Zaichun dashed up the steps, his dark eyes sparkling beneath his round cap. He was not quite six, and to him this was a grand adventure that kept him up well past his normal bedtime. Behind him came an entourage of eunuchs and his wet nurse, all of them carrying any toys, foodstuffs, and articles of clothing the boy might need. The servants looked frazzled, and their clothes were in disarray. Cixi made a mental note to have a sharp word with Liyang about that. Servants in the presence of the emperor’s son and the Imperial Concubine had no place to appear less than respectable. Disarray led to fear, fear led to panic, and right now, no one could afford to panic.

“You wished to see me, Mother?” Zaichun continued.

“I did, Little Cricket.” She touched his hair, careful not to the let the long jade coverings on her nails jab his face. “I wanted to see for myself that you were safe.”

“I am. I spoke with Father, too. He even let me ride behind his palanquin so I could watch for invaders!”

“That was kind of him. I hope you remembered to give him your thanks.”

“Of course, Mother. I heard him talking to General Su Shun about how well-mannered I was when we entered the palace.”

“That is good to hear, my son, and I am glad to see that you are safe, but perhaps you should sleep in my pavilion tonight.”

“I can sleep in my own pavilion,” he said sulkily, betraying his earlier good manners. “It’s bigger. And I’m not sleepy.”

“Mother has had a trying day. She hopes her son won’t make things more difficult.”

“I don’t like pink. It’s for girls.”

“Your words are very interesting.” Cixi’s tone remained mild, but her hand dropped to his shoulder, and the points of her nail covers dug into his flesh. He gasped. “But I’m sure you would rather spend the night here, where it’s safer. Is that not true?” She tightened her grasp.

“Yes, Mother.” He was struggling not to show the pain, and she was proud that he didn’t do so, though she didn’t loosen her grip.

“It would be good if the eunuchs knew.”

He cleared his throat. “I believe I will spend the night in my honored mother’s pavilion. See to it.”

The eunuchs bowed and swarmed into the pavilion through a series of side entrances-no one but Cixi and her guests used the main door.

“You are a well-mannered boy. Perhaps you would like to run along now.” She released him, and he fled into the pavilion.

She held out her hand and said, “Tea.” A porcelain cup was placed in it, and she let the warm drink wash the road dust from her throat as she strolled across the threshold. Inside the pavilion, a maid carrying a heavy feather bed froze as she realized whose presence she was in. She tried to bow and keep the precious feather bed from touching the floor all at once, though she didn’t dare flee without permission. Cixi dropped the cup-a spider caught it before it hit the ground-and was about to enter the pavilion fully when she changed her mind and paused in the doorway again. The bowing maid holding the heavy feather bed bit her lip, and sweat was making her makeup run. A bit of down worked its way out of the feather bed and, caught on a draft, drifted out the open door and away to the east, toward the place known as the Cool Hall on the Misty Lake, the emperor’s residence. Cixi watched it go. The fear she had been keeping firmly at bay gave way to a new nervousness she couldn’t name. The feather vanished into the darkness.

“Liyang!” she said.

Liyang came to her side. “My lady?”

“What is the latest news of Peking?”

“The Army of a Thousand Tigers continues to fight the English north of Peking, my lady, while Su Shun and the Dragon Men use the Machines of Wind and Thunder in the south.”

“But who is winning?”

Liyang hesitated. “The Tiger Army is. . rather. . it is encountering quite a challenge, one worthy of its fighting prowess. The Machines of Wind and Thunder fight bravely under Prince Kung and will do so until nothing is left but a pile of melted brass.”

“I see.” They were losing, but Liyang couldn’t say such a dreadful thing to the Imperial Consort. She kept her face calm with effort. “How is the emperor?”

The arms of the bowed maid were now trembling with the effort of holding up the bulky feather bed. Letting the silk cover touch the floor would mean her death. Liyang shot her a glance and said quickly, “I am told he is resting very comfortably.”

Resting comfortably was Liyang’s way of saying Xianfeng had taken a great deal of rice wine. Very comfortably meant he had used his opium pipe as well. Cixi knew she shouldn’t be surprised. The man had turned thirty only last month, and already he had smoked more opium and drunk more wine than any four emperors before him. Small wonder he had produced only one child, and how lucky for Cixi it had been her son. The maid was panting now, and one corner of the bed drooped toward the floor. Another feather floated away to the east, drawing Cixi’s eye with it. The nervousness wouldn’t leave her alone. Two feathers in a row. A sign?

“I heard him talking to General Su Shun about how well-mannered I was when we entered the palace.”

Two drifting feathers. Rice wine and opium. Strange. If Xianfeng had been drinking and smoking long enough to be “resting very comfortably,” how could he have been coherent enough to comment on his son’s manners?

“I believe I will call on the emperor,” Cixi said, then remembered herself and coughed to cover her lapse. “Rather, please let the emperor know the Imperial Concubine would be pleased and honored to find herself summoned to his heavenly presence.”

“But the emperor is resting- Yes, my lady,” Liyang said. He snapped his fingers, and one of his apprentices, a eunuch of perhaps six or seven, rushed up, clutching at the jar at his own belt. “Run to the Cool Hall on the Misty Lake and deliver the lady’s message.”

The boy dashed away. Cixi turned to follow more sedately, and her maids slid the doors shut on the relieved face of the maid with the feather bed.

The palanquin delivered Cixi, her maids, and her eunuchs to the Cool Hall on the Misty Lake, the emperor’s residence at the palace. The palanquin skittered faster than the little apprentice eunuch could run, and he would actually not have been able to deliver the message yet, something Cixi was counting on. Cixi swept toward the main doors of the Hall, and the startled eunuchs on duty hurried to slide it open. Again, she halted in the doorway. Why was she here, ahead of the messenger she herself had sent? Foolishness. This was a strange day, and she was on a strange errand. But her instincts told her to continue, and she had learned to trust her instincts.

“The back of the mind is wiser than the front,” her mother liked to say.

“I wish to proceed completely alone,” she announced, and continued inside.

For the Imperial Concubine, completely alone meant her, four maids (one for each sacred direction), Liyang, his three assistants, and a spider to run ahead with a lantern. At one time, the Hall had been fitted for electric lights, with each lightbulb personally designed and blown by one of the Dragon Men at great effort and expense. The lights were an artistic triumph, each one a delicate work of art that captured the sun itself. But the moment Xianfeng entered his new apartments, he fell victim to a headache that lasted three days. The chief eunuch declared electricity was the cause, and he ordered all the wiring pulled out and every bulb smashed. The Dragon Man had drowned himself in a fishpond, and no electric light had been allowed in the Hall since.

Cixi strode through the dark corridors, following the spider. She could tell the place was bustling with activity as frightened servants rushed about, finding places to store the clothing and treasures brought out of the Forbidden City, but this was merely a sense she had, a change in the night and feeling of tensions. She actually saw nothing-everyone cleared the way for Cixi, and she walked through empty hallways, alone but for her spider, maids, and eunuchs, and eventually she came to Xianfeng’s chambers. Outside the sliding door stood twelve muscled guards with swords, armor, and pistols. All of them sported metal limbs or partially armored skin, as was proper for a soldier and taboo for nobility.

Cixi hesitated. Something was wrong here. The soldiers’ builds weren’t soft and flabby like those of eunuchs. Only a few highly trusted male advisers were allowed to enter the Forbidden City back in Peking, and not one of them was allowed to remain inside after nightfall, not even in the most dire emergencies, because the integrity of the emperor’s wife and concubines had to be protected. Even one man left on the grounds overnight meant the origin of any baby born to a wife or concubine later might not be the emperor’s. Yet here stood a dozen powerful, virile men. True, some rules were bent at the Mountain Palace, but never this one. Cixi’s own integrity could be called into question by just standing in their presence. Why would-

Then Cixi noticed the corner of a bandage sticking out from the waist joint of the armor of one of the guards, and she understood with great relief. These men had only recently been castrated, probably in the last day or two, when it became clear the emperor would have to evacuate the Forbidden City and would need strong guards. She wondered where their jars were.

“I wish for the emperor to know I am here,” she said to one of the guards. “You know who I am?”

“Yes, great lady.” The guards bowed and looked at one another uncertainly. It occurred to Cixi that these guards were unschooled in proper etiquette. A flabby eunuch would have politely enquired about her business, or more likely have long been aware she was coming and admitted her immediately or turned her aside in such a way as to make it seem that leaving were her idea.

“You are honorable men who are guarding the emperor’s heavenly presence during these trying times,” she said. “I am sure he appreciates your service.” And boldly she stepped forward to reach for the door. Horrified, two of her maids leaped forward to whip it open, their fear of the guards overcome by the idea that the Imperial Concubine might touch a door for herself. Cixi sailed through as if she had done nothing at all unusual, and before the guards could decide what to do, her maids and eunuchs also boiled through and the doors snapped shut. The chaos of the evacuation worked in her favor.

Moments later, she was entering Xianfeng’s bedchamber, with its wide, curtained bed, treasure boxes, windup machines, and red wall hangings drilled with spy holes. Eight perfumed lanterns threw down a glow that held back the darkness. A silver nightingale trilled soothing music from a bejeweled cage, and a small crowd of eunuchs knelt around the bed, awaiting the emperor’s slightest desire. Above the bed hung a painting of a seated man dressed in black. His bare head was shaved, and his piercing eyes stared through the viewer. He held a human hand made of brass and jade and a box of blackest ebony inlaid with gold dragons. The man was Lung Fei, China’s first Dragon Man, and his image was prominent everywhere in every imperial palace.

Against one wall, another man dressed all in black occupied a black pillow. A brass salamander curled around his ear with its tail inserted into his ear canal. The man was sitting down in the presence of the emperor, a capital offense for most people, but the disease known as the blessing of dragons made Dragon Men forget many social protocols, and if they were punished or executed every time they forgot one, soon there would be no Dragon Men left, and China needed Dragon Men. They wore unadorned black silk to show they had no time to worry about clothing and to quickly identify their position even to the uneducated.

This Dragon Man held a board and paper in his lap, and he was scribbling madly. “Cixi,” he said without looking up or stopping. “A paper cut. One bleeds without knowing.”

Cixi ignored this nonsense, knelt, and tapped her forehead on the floor at the bedchamber’s threshold, as did her maids and eunuchs. Then she waited, facedown.

“The Son of Heaven won’t give his permission to rise, great lady,” said a voice from a corner. “He is resting very comfortably, and it is a surprise that you were allowed to enter.”

Since the owner of the voice clearly wasn’t on the floor, Cixi remained in her daring mood and took it as a sign that she could rise anyway. She did so, though her entourage remained on the floor.

The speaker, a tall, muscled man in his midforties, moved into the lantern light. He had the swarthy complexion that bespoke hours spent outdoors, and his hair was streaked with gray under his high red cap. His straight nose and long jaw gave him a regal air, and he wore pieces of red-lacquered armor over his Manchu robe and trousers. The armor pieces were purely decorative, indicating his rank. Half the man’s face was covered in intricately etched brass, and riveted brass ringed his neck. The man’s name was Su Shun. Cixi narrowed her eyes. Last she had heard, he was commanding troops in the city.

“One has to wonder,” she said, “what the emperor’s most trusted general is doing in Jehol when he is likely needed in Peking.”

“I like the ducks on the canal,” said the Dragon Man. “They don’t wind down.”

Su Shun ran a finger down the side of his metallic face, almost as if he were scratching. Members of the nobility did not modify themselves with metal-such modifications were reserved for the lower classes. Su Shun was an exception. The blessing of dragons had ruined his face, forcing him to have the disease’s damage repaired by a Dragon Man. Cixi knew Su Shun felt a deep disdain for anyone who had not served in the military, including the emperor. That he looked down on mere women was a given.

“The emperor needs an experienced general to coordinate military movements at his side,” Su Shun replied. “I am, of course, here at his request. Prince Cheng is easily able to command Peking.”

“I believe Prince Kung runs Peking.”

“Prince Kung was not available, and I was forced to turn command of the troops over to Cheng. I am confident he will do a good job.”

“Cheng does admirable work,” Cixi said smoothly. “A hard worker who never speaks for himself. Somehow, his superiors always take credit for what goes right, and Cheng takes the blame for what goes wrong.” She paused. “Who is Cheng’s superior in this conflict, Su Shun? Would he be in this room?”

“The emperor,” Su Shun replied, equally smoothly, “is everyone’s superior.”

“Hm.” Cixi sniffed. The oily perfume of the lanterns was the only scent on the air. On the bed lay Xianfeng, hidden beneath a pile of embroidered scarlet coverlets. “I am happy to see that you are here to comfort the emperor in his hour of need, Su Shun, but perhaps the Son of Heaven will require comfort from his Imperial Concubine as well as his general.”

Su Shun stepped forward, between Cixi and Xianfeng’s bed. His partially brass face distorted his expression, giving him a half-dead look. “As the lady can see, he has already been well comforted.”

At that, Cixi noticed for the first time a young woman kneeling among the eunuchs. Her robes indicated her position as a concubine of the fifth rank, the lowest rank. “Who is that?” Cixi demanded, and the girl flinched, though she didn’t rise from the floor or even look up.

“A new nothing,” Su Shun said dismissively. “The emperor wanted company, and I brought her here myself.”

“Into his bedchamber?” Cixi’s voice had nearly become a squawk. The emperor saw only select concubines in his own bedchamber. Lesser concubines he visited in their rooms. A sound came from one of the eunuchs, and Cixi regained control of herself. “That is surprising, Su Shun.”

“Unusual circumstances, one supposes,” he said, his tone still mild. “The journey was difficult, and he wanted comfort.”

“Comfort from an untutored girl rather than his Imperial Concubine or a concubine of the second rank?” Her voice shook at the outrage, though she didn’t know whom she was outraged at. The emperor could do as he wished, of course, and it wasn’t her place to be angry, or even to be mildly unhappy.

“It would seem so.”

Cixi was steadily losing ground. The more she lost her temper, the more she looked the fool, and the more face she lost. She had to get control of herself and of the situation. But the awful evacuation and the death of her dogs and the long journey were taking their toll, and the words snarled free before she could stop them. “Get out, you piece of pig filth,” she snapped at the girl. “And do not return.”

The concubine scurried backward to the door, hurriedly knocked her head on the floor the prescribed number of times, and fled. Cixi hoped she would have a bruise in the morning.

“You’ll disturb the emperor’s rest, Lady Yehenara.” Su Shun was suppressing a smile, or as much of one as his brass cheek allowed.

Cixi closed her eyes and forced her anger back like a dragon forcing a tiger into a cage. “An Imperial Concubine is better able to ensure the emperor has a proper rest, General.”

“This is not true,” Su Shun said mildly. “Her proper position is to disturb him in his bed as often as possible. Nothing more.”

“An Imperial Concubine’s proper place is indeed in the emperor’s bedchamber.” Cixi felt more in control now that the girl had gone. “On the other hand, some may wonder why a general is spending so much time there.”

The left side of Su Shun’s face flushed. The eunuchs and maids, still on the floor, were watching from the corners of their eyes and listening hard, even as they pretended they weren’t there. Within moments, this conversation would be repeated all over the Mountain Palace. Everything was. Su Shun drew himself up.

“Now that the other concubine has left, you may approach the emperor if you wish,” he said, taking the upper hand by giving permission, even though he had no right to grant it. His magnanimity, false or not, pushed Cixi down another level. She cast about, but she was still tired, and she couldn’t find a counter response.

“Very well,” was all she could think to say.

“And if the great lady does not mind,” he continued, oozing politeness, “I have other duties to attend to. If she will allow me to withdraw?”

Cixi ground her teeth, feeling the secret eyes of the eunuchs and slaves and the spies through their spy holes on her. Su Shun had scored yet more points with too-precise manners. If she dismissed him, she was giving in to his sarcasm. If she refused, she would look peevish, and she wouldn’t have the chance to approach Xianfeng.

“Very well,” she murmured.

“What was that?” he said. “If the lady could speak more clearly?”

He was truly in his element now. Cixi’s face flamed. He had embarrassed her, here in the imperial bedchamber, a place where she was supposed to have the most power, and he was flaunting the fact that he knew it. Before sunrise, the whole Mountain Palace would know Su Shun had bested Cixi in the imperial chambers. Cixi wanted to crawl under the bedcovers and hide from all the eyes in the room, those she could see and especially those she couldn’t. But she kept her back straight and her head high. “Face what you cannot avoid” was another piece of advice from her mother, and it had never failed her.

“Very well,” she repeated, briskly this time. “Thank you, Su Shun. Your service in the imperial bedchamber is appreciated.”

But Su Shun was already leaving with his own eunuchs, and her final remark was delivered to his back.

“Paper cuts,” said the Dragon Man.

Refusing to feel defeat, Cixi approached the bed. The eunuchs shuffled out of the way, and she ignored them. The nightingale in the corner stopped singing, and Xianfeng stirred. He had remained asleep during an argument between his general and his Imperial Concubine, but this woke him up. The coverlets fell away from his right hand, which wasn’t flesh and blood, but jade inlaid with wires of gold and brass. The wires were twisted into impossible shapes, and the hand seemed to quiver with quiet power, even when the owner was partially asleep.

“I want a different song for my bird, Lung Chao,” Emperor Xianfeng murmured. “Make it sing a different song.”

The complicated wiring on the Jade Hand glowed faintly at his words, and the salamander in the Dragon Man’s ear made an answering glow. The Dragon Man twitched once, then set his drawings down and scuttled over to the nightingale. He plucked it from its cage, flipped it open, and did something to the insides that Cixi didn’t see. The emperor, meanwhile, drifted back to sleep, the Jade Hand lying still on his chest.

Cixi looked down at Xianfeng’s sleeping form. His cheeks were hollow, his skin sallow, his build thin and only filled out by the voluminous silks that enshrouded him. He looked like a man of fifty, not a man who had just celebrated his thirtieth birthday. Cixi’s eyes, however, were mostly drawn to the Celestial Scepter, the Jade Hand. The top of the hand pierced Xianfeng’s flesh and connected with the tissue inside, allowing the hand limited motion. The Scepter was the creation of Lung Fei and had become the symbol of office for every emperor since Lung Fei’s time more than a hundred years ago. It would fall off when the emperor died, and it would graft itself onto the stump of the new emperor. Lung Fei had written that willingness to give up a hand for the empire indicated proper character for a ruler and set him apart from lesser nobility, but the thought that she would eventually watch her own son’s hand be chopped off turned Cixi’s stomach, no matter how much he-and she-stood to gain by the gesture.

The Dragon Man rewound the nightingale and replaced it in the cage. It started to sing a different song, just as the emperor had ordered. More of Lung Fei’s work. He had written that Dragon Men were too dangerous to be allowed free rein, and the Celestial Scepter, paired with the salamanders, allowed the emperor to keep them under control.

Cixi leaned over Xianfeng but didn’t touch him-she had no desire to. She didn’t love him, or even like him very much. It was a concubine’s job to be beautiful and entertaining and give advice when asked, and she did this job spectacularly well. It was not a concubine’s job to fall in love. She did feel a certain fondness for Xianfeng, and a definite sense of possessiveness. He was her emperor. Hers. Thanks to him, she had risen from a childhood of poverty and become the second-most-powerful woman in China, just behind the empress herself. In some ways, Cixi was even more powerful than the empress because Cixi had borne the emperor a son, and it didn’t look as if he would have any others. Usually emperors had too many sons, but Xianfeng had spent his youth in brothels and opium dens, and she could see close up the impact such activities had on a man and his fertility. It was possible he had a few dozen bastard children out there, sons of prostitutes, but they were of no consequence. Only a son born of the empress or an Imperial Concubine could inherit the Celestial Throne.

Greatly daring, Cixi put out a hand and touched the lapel of his pajamas. The trouble was, Xianfeng wasn’t ruling China in any real sense. The eunuchs and generals handled everything while Xianfeng sucked his opium pipe and drained his wine cup and spent himself uselessly on concubines and prostitutes. It was no wonder the English had managed to invade China and force opium down Chinese windpipes, not when the emperor himself partook of the stuff at every opportunity. Meanwhile, the generals wanted only to fight, and the eunuchs wanted only to line their pockets with silver. No one truly wanted to lead China.

Thoughts of Xianfeng’s death made Cixi’s eyes go to the corner of the bedchamber. An ebony box carved and inlaid with golden imperial dragons and sealed with a latch shaped like a phoenix perched on a jade table. The flickering lantern light made it appear as if the sinuous dragons were chasing one another around the box, either in play or battle. The box was another invention of Lung Fei, and inside, Cixi knew, lay a piece of paper, and on the paper was written the name of the man-or boy-the emperor had designated as his heir. The box would be opened at the moment of the emperor’s death. The heir was supposed to be Zaichun, but Cixi had never seen the paper, and given Xianfeng’s state of mind, nothing was certain.

Cixi leaned over Xianfeng and sniffed again. A soft scent of rose petals floated over the bedcovers to mingle with the perfume from the lanterns. She set her face. There was no hint of rice wine or opium about him; there hadn’t been since she walked into the room. Her suspicions must be correct-he hadn’t taken any opium at all. Yet he had somehow remained asleep throughout Cixi’s argument with Su Shun, and he didn’t stir now. A tray of jade dishes sat on a small table next to his bed. Bits of food were left on them, and the tiny serving spider lay motionless and unwound nearby. Things were truly out of order if dirty dishes were left in the emperor’s presence. She straightened and passed by the tray. As she did, she slipped the little spider into her sleeve. No doubt someone had noticed, but it didn’t matter quite yet.

Cixi lingered a while longer in the imperial bedchamber, establishing and reinforcing her right to be there, and then finally left, backing away from the bed and knocking her forehead on the floor as she did so. Liyang, the eunuchs, and her maids followed.

“Liyang,” she murmured as they strolled slowly through the corridors.

“My lady?”

“In the morning, everyone will be discussing that conversation, and the emperor will certainly hear of it. One wonders if I will come across as. . less than I am.”

“I will personally see to it that some of the correct eunuchs are on hand when the emperor wakes in the morning,” Liyang said instantly. “They will feed the emperor a flattering version of the story along with his breakfast.”

“Thank you, Liyang. You are most skilled.”

“My lady. Will there be anything else?”

With that, she knew he had seen her take the spider. “Tell Lung Fan I wish to see him tonight.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Fingering the cup in her sleeve, Cixi passed by the imperial dining hall, with its low tables, sumptuous pillows, and careful wall hangings. One of the sliding doors, covered in frosted glass, was partly open, and Cixi saw light and a hint of movement inside. Curious as to who could have business in the dining hall at this time of night, on this night in particular, she stopped and motioned for Liyang to remain silent, knowing the others would follow suit. She leaned forward to peer through the crack. What she saw made her knees go weak, and she stifled a gasp of horror.

Su Shun was sitting at the head of the table. A small banquet was spread out before him, sweetmeats and delicacies on jade plates and bowls rimmed with gold. As Cixi watched, a spider ran down his arm to the table, speared a dumpling from a bowl, and ran back up Su Shun’s arm to drop the morsel into his open mouth. Cixi staggered, and one of her maids hurried to help her upright. Horrifying. Unthinkable! Su Shun was sitting in the emperor’s place at the emperor’s table eating from the emperor’s dishes. Anyone who dared such a thing would be instantly put to death.

Anyone but the emperor.

Su Shun’s intent couldn’t be more clear. He saw himself in the emperor’s place and was indulging himself in a bit of predictive fantasy. The eunuchs who were with him wouldn’t say a word, since they were in a position to be chief eunuchs once Su Shun took the throne.

Su Shun ate another dumpling. Cixi hung in the hallway, wracked with indecision. Should she burst into the dining hall and confront him? That would be satisfying and even fun, and the little girl in her longed to see the look on his brassy face when she did so. But the Imperial Concubine in her paused. Su Shun was a highly trusted general. He had just had an argument with Cixi in the emperor’s chambers, an argument that Cixi had clearly lost, and Cixi had definitely not been summoned to the imperial bedchambers while Su Shun just as definitely had been. All of this meant that if Su Shun claimed Cixi-and her servants-were lying out of spite, and if Su Shun’s eunuchs backed him up, the emperor would have no choice but to believe Su Shun, and Cixi would lose considerable status. The emperor might refuse to see her entirely, putting her position in court into great jeopardy. Although her son was the emperor’s only male offspring, the emperor needed only Zaichun. Cixi had finished her part in this and could still be dismissed at any time.

Therefore it was time to go. Cixi and her servants fled as silently as they could in their silken slippers down the corridors to the main doors, where her spider palanquin awaited her. No one would have known of this if Cixi hadn’t come to the Hall at this late hour, or if that door hadn’t been left open. Or if that maid hadn’t walked by with that feather bed, or if that errant feather hadn’t drawn Cixi’s attention to the Cool Hall on the Misty Lake. She shook her head. It was impossible to track down the first event that led to anything. One might as well argue that all this was coming about because Cixi herself had been born, though that had happened only because her father had met her mother and they had copulated at a particular time in a particular place. How differently history might go if one tiny event changed along the way.

Back at the Pavilion of a Thousand Silver Stars, Cixi entered her own chambers, her mind churning. Soft rugs hushed her footsteps, and the spy holes on the walls were well crafted, barely noticeable between the wall hangings. Since this was not the emperor’s residence, electric lights were allowed, and the maids set about flipping switches on intricate jade lamps. Cixi sighed as shadows fled the room and the place brightened. She felt more at ease in the light. The water clock on the wall told her dawn was only three hours away, and now that she was slowing down, exhaustion settled over her. Had it only been this afternoon that her eunuchs had thrown her dogs down the well? They were no doubt dead now. She hoped their little corpses rotted quickly and that a barbarian might sicken and die from tainted water so her dear pets’ deaths wouldn’t be completely in vain.

A woman was waiting for her, another Dragon Man dressed all in black with her hair worn in a man’s long queue. They were all called Dragon Men and referred to using he and him in conversation whether they were male or female to ensure that everyone treated even the women with deference, allowing them to build the all-important inventions and weapons that kept the empire on an even footing with the West. Her face was plain, her cheekbones broad and flat, but her eyes burned with intelligence. This Dragon Man was Lung Fan, and she-he-was personally assigned to Cixi just as Lung Chao was assigned to the emperor.

“My lady wished to see me?” said Lung Fan without bowing.

“I did.” Cixi handed her the spider. “I want you to test this.”

Lung Fan turned it over, examining it with long fingers. “An eating spider? What for?”

“For-”

“No, wait.” Lung Fan sniffed the spider’s legs and the little chopsticks it used to hold morsels of food. Then she took a metal instrument from her pocket. It was shaped like a serpent, a very wise creature. By law, all automatons and machines in China were shaped like animals or mythical creatures. Man-shaped automatons were strictly forbidden, lest the automatons begin to think themselves human beings. Lights along the serpent’s body flickered in strange patterns, and it hissed in short bursts.

“There is good news,” Lung Fan said.

Cixi furrowed her brow, puzzled. “Good news? But I haven’t told you what I was looking-”

“The battle in Peking has taken a turn for the better. Based on what I have learned from the eunuchs, the concentration of paraffin in the atmosphere, and the contents of a coded message the emperor has not yet read, our troops stand slightly more than a ninety percent chance of winning.”

Cixi realized her mouth was hanging open, a most unbecoming gesture. She shut it. “You are sure?”

Lung Fan sniffed the air again. “No. It’s ninety-two percent.”

A soft ripple went through the eunuchs and maids, though none spoke. A great deal of tension evaporated. Cixi herself felt a little giddy. “So all we need do is wait for a while, and we can go home.”

“Duck tongues,” said Lung Fan. “Bear paws, beef marrow.”

“I-what?”

Lung Fan held up the little automaton. “Those are the foods that were most recently eaten with this spider. I can do a much longer examination and tell you more, if you like.”

“Is that all?” Cixi asked, disappointed. “Because I was wondering-”

“Yes, they were all drugged,” Lung Fan added as an afterthought. “A powerful sedative also designed to stop a cough. I believe there is also willow bark distillate, which will reduce a fever.”

“Drugged.” Cixi didn’t know whether to be relieved or alarmed that her theory had been correct. It was so much news so fast, she was having a hard time taking it all in. Perhaps this was the reason Dragon Men went insane.

“With medicine,” Lung Fan said.

“Is the emperor ill?” Liyang asked doubtfully. “I heard nothing of it.”

“The sedative would make him sleepy and would explain why he was resting very comfortably, even without his opium,” Cixi said. “But why something for fever and cough when he had problems with neither?”

“Perhaps the sedative was all Su Shun wanted,” Liyang hazarded, “and the other effects are coincidental.”

“You believe Su Shun was behind it?”

“I have no proof, of course,” Liyang said. “But he was there, and he brought in the concubine, and I assume she served the food to the emperor, perhaps even tasted it herself beforehand to show it was not poisoned. And it was not. Quite.” Liyang paused thoughtfully. “Perhaps Su Shun knows the emperor is ill and is trying to hide it?”

“The food served by this spider was definitely not poisoned,” Lung Fan said. She dropped into a lotus position on the floor and fiddled with the spider. One of the maids made a disgusted noise, but Dragon Men were allowed to sit in the presence of the Imperial Court.

“The food was not poisoned,” Cixi repeated slowly. And then a dreadful thought stole over her, a terrible, world-wrecking thought. She also sank to the floor, and a maid pushed a padded stool under her. One of the seams burst as Cixi sat on it, and little feathers puffed out. The maid rushed about, gathering them up. “The food was not poisoned. Liyang, go now and find that concubine. Bring her to me immediately. If you cannot find her, find out everything you can about her. This is urgent. See to it yourself.”

“My lady.” Liyang bowed and vanished out the door with his apprentices and assistants.

“So, what are you thinking, concubine woman?” Lung Fan asked. “You look as if you swallowed a frog.”

“I do not wish to say.”

Lung Fan grinned, and the expression looked ghoulish in the bright lights. “I actually know what you’re thinking. And I think you’re right. Can I be reassigned to someone else?”

Cixi didn’t answer. For a long time, she waited in tense silence. The only sound was the dripping of the water clock and the clicking of the spider against the serpent in Lung Fan’s lap and the footsteps of the maids who were gathering feathers. Eventually, Liyang rushed back into the room with his apprentices panting behind him.

“Where is the girl?” Cixi asked without waiting for formalities.

“She is dead, my lady. Drowned in a lotus pool. Already the story is going about that she killed herself because she displeased you, or that you yourself are directly responsible.”

Cixi waved this aside. One fewer low-ranking concubine was of no importance. “And where did she come from?”

“That is the startling thing, my lady. No one seems to know. All the records are in disarray, thanks to the evacuation, of course, but no one I talked to seems to remember her, or when she joined the Imperial Court.”

“I thought as much,” Cixi muttered. “Su Shun arranged for her to slip into the evacuation caravan. Where is the body?”

“I anticipated your wishes, my lady, and my assistants are bringing her here. She is on the back lawn.”

A feather drifted across Cixi’s nose as she rose to her feet. “Come, Lung Fan. Bring your device.”

The dead girl was still soaked through. Her hair had come undone and lay tangled about her neck and shoulders. She huddled on her side in her ruined green robe on the grass. Cixi guessed she was no more than sixteen, the same age Cixi had been when she became a concubine. Lung Fan squatted next to her and punctured her skin with the serpent’s teeth. The lights along the serpent’s back glittered, then settled into a steady scarlet glow.

“Well?” Cixi asked. “Was I thinking right?”

“Were we thinking right?” Lung Fan corrected. “And yes. The girl was in the early stages of the blessing of dragons.”

Cixi stepped back, as did all the maids and eunuchs. The girl carried the blessing of dragons, and Su Shun had arranged for the girl to share Xianfeng’s bed. Thanks to Su Shun, the emperor now had the plague.