The last notes of First Ring drifted away. Feng watched wan'Zhuge lift his head and rise from his bended knee, his clasped hands dropping from his forehead. "No prayer at all, Envoy wei'Shamoke?" wan'Zhuge asked. Feng thought the man's smile seemed more a mocking leer, and the gleaming metallic nose was impossible to ignore. "I thought the Mategician were still believers in something, even if they've abandoned the Inarian Faith."
"We do believe, Commandant," Feng answered. "We believe in logic, in proofs that we can see and touch and feel. We believe that if the gods do exist, then the way to understand them is through the abilities they've given us: reason and logic. What better way to worship them than to use all the qualities we have?"
" '... if the gods do exist.' " Wan'Zhuge inclined his head, looking upward as if tasting the words on his tongue. "I have no doubt as to Inari's existence, Envoy wei'Shamoke, nor do I need anything but my faith to understand Him." The commandant smiled at Feng. "But we're not here to discuss theology, are we?"
The response to Feng's request to meet with the Huangdi had come not long after the Lighting of the Boulevard: not from the Huangdi herself, but from her aide Zhong shu'Zhuge. The Huangdi would regrettably be unable to meet with Envoy wei'Shamoke, but Commandant wan'Zhuge would be available to address his concerns. It was, honestly, more than Feng had expected. He'd arrived at the Grand Palace before First Ring, as the note had requested, and been ushered into one of the lower reception rooms in the East Wing, where tea and breakfast had been laid out on a small table with two servants standing patiently behind it, and where Commandant wan'Zhuge entered a few marks of the glass later, just as the wind-horns announced First Ring.
Wan'Zhuge went to the table. One of the several attendants hovering around the edges of the room poured the commandant's tea, stirring a bit of honey into the fragrant brew. He took one of the pastries and bit into it, seeming to savor the taste with closed eyes before taking a sip of the tea. "Something for you, Envoy? The pastry chef the Huangdi retains is truly excellent. You really must have one of the tarts. Here..." He pointed to the tarts, and another attendant quickly placed one on a plate.
Wan'Zhuge passed Feng the small plate with the inlaid Huangdi's crest obscured by the pastry. "We'll eat on the patio," wan'Zhuge told the servants. "Bring the envoy his tea, give us an assortment of the pastries, and leave us."
As the servants scurried about the table, wan'Zhuge escorted Feng from the room out to a raised stone patio that emptied into the palace's formal gardens. Several workers moved through the grounds, trimming the bushes and pruning the flowers. "Take a seat, please, Envoy," wan'Zhuge said, gesturing to two chairs facing the garden with a small, cloisonné-topped table placed between them. Feng sat; the commandant took the other chair; the servants came in with tea and pastries, and vanished again. "I enjoy watching the gardens this time of day," wan'Zhuge said.
"They're quite beautiful, I would agree, Commandant."
"Indeed. But what I enjoy seeing are the gardeners at their work. You see, Envoy, all the order and loveliness you see there in front of you has a cost. Did you know that the Huangdi employs over a hundred workers for the palace grounds alone, just here on the Isle? If you take into account all the rest of the property she owns, her chateaux and houses throughout the Satellites, then there are a thousand and more. They maintain the beauty you and I see, and to do that, they must ruthlessly rid the garden of anything that is rotting or diseased, or that threatens the setting."
Feng allowed himself a small smile, glancing at the commandant, who was looking not at the garden but at Feng. The commandant's eyes flicked over the stone-shell necklace around his neck, then back up to his face. "So you see yourself as a simple grounds worker, Commandant?" Feng asked him. "And we Mategician are weeds threatening the flower of Orbis? I suppose you believe that An'Torii wan'Kang is but the Gardener of Haixi."
Wan'Zhuge chuckled; Feng found the sound to be sinister. "I knew my crude analogy wouldn't escape you, Envoy. Yes, in fact, I do sometimes think of myself as in charge of the garden that is this city, as the Huangdi is in charge of the much greater garden that is the Satellites, as the an'torii and the Guji are responsible for the flowering of the faithful. As to the Mategician..." Wan'Zhuge set his tea down on the stand; the cup chattered on the plate. "You're the Envoy. You're the one sent here to speak to the Huangdi on their behalf."
"Commandant, the attack on the Guji yesterday was not part of some Mategician plot. It was the act of a single madman, who unfortunately does seem to have had Mategician connections but whom I've never personally met. My credentials from the government of the Isle of Hebei..."
Wan'Zhuge waved him silent. "Your credentials are in order. I know; I checked them myself, months ago. If they weren't, we wouldn't be talking; well, at least not in this manner." He rose from his chair and Feng stood with him. "Come, Envoy, let's walk while we discuss this."
He led Feng from the patio into the gardens. As they strolled the graveled walkways, the commandant pointed out some of the blooms and arrangements. The commandant seemed to have a wide knowledge of horticulture, certainly more than Feng, who could name only the most common of the flowers here in Orbis. The conversation, to Feng's frustration, never seemed to come back to the Mategician and the attempted assassination of the Guji, but he forced himself to patience. Wan'Zhuge, Feng had learned in his few months here, was—like the Huangdi herself—a person who did things in his own time. Like a handsome but dangerous beast of prey, he had to be watched carefully. They'd been walking for some time when wan'Zhuge stopped. He crouched down near the path's manicured edge. He pointed to a small plant there, its saw-toothed and purplish leaves just overhanging the edge of the walkway. "Weed or flower?" he asked Feng.
"I don't know, Commandant."
"It's difficult to tell, isn't it? Right now there's no sign of a bloom, yet it could burst into triumphant color a week from now, or spread out to infest the entire area." The commandant plunged his fingers into the soft earth around the plant, pulling it out of the ground with its roots intact. "You, my man!" he called to the nearest of the garden workers, who came running over at the summons. "Take this and put it in a small pot for me." The man took the plant in cupped hands and hurried off.
"Dong jin'Zhuo has been executed," wan'Zhuge said without preamble as he wiped dirt from his hands. His dark eyes seemed to probe Feng's face.
He forced himself to show nothing. "That's as I expected, Commandant. Orbis is well known throughout the Satellites for its..." He allowed himself the slightest of hesitations. "... quick justice," he finished.
Muscles pulled at the corners of wan'Zhuge's mouth. "It was justice, Envoy," he answered. "And more. For attacking the Guji, jin'Zhuo's life was forfeit, even if he'd tried to use a sword or arrow. But worse, his weapon was the Misogi, which is Inari's Gift alone and which is forbidden by both Satellites law and the Inarian Confession to anyone but the torii."
"It wasn't the Misogi, Commandant," Feng said. "It was what we call the Scáth Cumhacht."
"Call it whatever you like," wan'Zhuge answered. "That's only semantics." Wan'Zhuge continued to stare, unblinking even in the bright sun. Feng found the man's gaze disconcerting, but he couldn't look away. "I should tell you that jin'Zhuo signed a full confession before he died."
"And that was of his own free will, no doubt."
"I understand your skepticism, Envoy, but it happens often enough. Some criminals wish to ease their souls by admitting their guilt before they go to meet Inari's soul-weigher. I find it difficult to believe that jin'Zhuo was acting entirely alone, Envoy. I suspect there were other Mategician involved."
"Am I to be arrested, then, Commandant? Did his confession name me as an accomplice? If so, I appreciate that you brought me here before taking me to the Gaol so I could sign my own confession for you."
The gardener approached, and the commandant turned away for a moment to take the small clay pot from him. "Here," wan'Zhuge said to Feng, handing him the pot. Feng accepted the plant, and wan'Zhuge reached toward him to stroke the leaves with a forefinger. "A garden can accept many plants: if they prove their own beauty, if they provide the right accents for the gardener's taste, and if they can safely coexist with all the other plants. So—weed or flower, Envoy? Which is it, I wonder? Take care of that plant, water it and give it sun, and you'll learn."
"But you already know which it is, do you not, Commandant?"
Wan'Zhuge's eyes glittered. He smiled again, with a flash of teeth. "I do indeed, Envoy. But you don't, and that's what you need to decide, isn't it?"