The Wall of Storms, page 39
She returned to the party, now feeling even more of a stranger, someone who didn’t belong.
“I saw that the beggar girl was hungry, and so I ordered a servant to give her some leftover porridge,” a well-dressed lady said. Zomi did not recognize her, but she was surrounded by a crowd of cashima, who seemed to hang on her every word.
“She squatted down right there in the kitchen and started to slurp the porridge. Embarrassed, I told her, ‘A girl does not squat, dear. You should sit in mipa rari when you’re in the presence of a superior lady. And you should take small sips, not slurp like an animal.’ She looked at me and said, ‘Ma and Da squat too. And if I don’t slurp, how would you know I like the food?’ And then she asked me if I had any preserved caterpillars to go with the porridge. Caterpillars! Can you believe it?”
The lady giggled.
The cashima around her laughed as though she had truly told an amusing story.
“I wish Lady Lon had not been exposed to such a primitive side of Dasu,” said one of the cashima. “In truth, even we are embarrassed by the uncouth manners and disgusting eating habits of the peasantry, a legacy from the days when Xana was little better than a land of barbarians. I have yearned to see the superior, refined society of the Big Island, and it is so good that you’re with us, Lady Lon, to provide us all a worthy example to emulate.”
“Oh, don’t be so modest,” said Lady Lon. “I know you are different. You are the educated cream of Dasu and would not appear too out of place at one of the parties I used to hold in Pan. Though, if I may be so bold, it will serve all of you well to seek a teacher of elocution and polish your speech slightly. I’m afraid that the tones of Dasu may sound a bit coarse to the ears of the inhabitants of the Big Island.”
The gathered cashima thanked Lady Lon for her generous instruction.
“Lady Lon, you judged the young girl wrongly.” Zomi couldn’t hold her tongue any longer.
The other cashima fell silent. Lady Lon turned to her, amazed.
“The young girl’s family was in the habit of squatting because they were too poor to afford sitting mats. When she saw the clean tile floor of your kitchen, she didn’t want to sit because she was afraid that her muddy clothes might dirty your floor. She slurped your porridge to show that she appreciated your act of charity, for that is how the poor of Dasu express enjoyment of our food. Kon Fiji said that having good manners means acting out of a sincere desire to be considerate of the feelings of others. I see nothing uncouth or unrefined about the young girl’s manners, but much that needs improvement in yours.”
Lady Lon’s face flushed bright red. “Who are you? How dare you lecture me?”
Zomi strolled over to one of the tables, filled her plate with pieces of raw fish dipped in sweet and spicy sauce, and then squatted down next to the table, her spread legs facing Lady Lon.
“You—you—” Lady Lon, enraged and embarrassed, could not continue.
“It is said that even the emperor, when he was King of Dasu, once sat down with the elders of my village to share a meal, and he squatted like everyone else and drank from the same cups and ate from the same plates. Should we not emulate the emperor?” She opened her mouth and chewed a piece of fish loudly and vigorously, not bothering to ensure that her lips remained closed.
She relished the way Lady Lon turned away from her in embarrassment. She delighted in the way the other cashima looked at her in disbelief. In a way, she also pitied them—they were so afraid of power that they behaved like boneless sponges when the Imperial examinations were meant to bring the powerless into the ranks of the powerful. She knew she had done better on the examination than them all.
Only later in the evening did she find out that Lady Lon was the favored wife of Regent Ra Olu. She waited with the other cashima for the elect to be announced, and she heard the regent call out nine names and then stop, instead of giving the expected tenth. As the cashima left the party, she went up to the regent.
“I have the highest score in all of Dasu, perhaps all of old Xana.” She was certain there had been a mistake.
“Scores aren’t everything,” said the regent, and turned away as though she was nothing but an inconsequential fly.
And Zomi understood what she should have always understood: Talent was not enough. There were webs of privilege and power that were just as important, if not more important, than talent. The ideal of the Imperial examinations was a lie.
So she turned away, and quietly let down her hair from the triple scroll-bun of a cashima. In her plain clothes, she looked indistinguishable from the servants clearing away the dishes and cups scattered around the room. She grabbed a stack of plates and stopped by the table on the raised dais where the passes for the Grand Examination were held, and slipped the last signed, but blank, pass into her sleeve.
It had been an impulsive decision.
She had not thought it wrong to steal the pass that should have belonged to her. Later, she had rationalized that if she did well on the Grand Examination, her theft would remain a secret because the regent would say nothing—he would be rewarded for having recommended a successful candidate to the emperor, so why would he argue with success? She had been counting on his self-interest.
She had hoped that success would make her feel like she belonged, but deep down, she had always known that her honor was stolen. There was a stain at the origin of her success that could never be erased.
“King Kado never saw your name on the list of recommended candidates,” said the empress, “which means that you had forged your name in the hand of the king’s regent.”
Zomi said nothing.
“It was really a stroke of luck that you then lost your pass, and Gin Mazoti signed a replacement pass for you—otherwise you would have been caught when Rin Coda assembled the passes back together and noticed that the handwriting on one of the passes from Dasu was different from all the others.”
Zomi closed her eyes. The empress was right. That brute at the Three-Legged Jug had actually been her savior. So much in life depended on these coincidences, wild, unpredictable turns that were the province of Tazu. Were they just another name for fate?
“But maybe instead of luck, we could say that Gin Mazoti was involved in a plot to cheat at the Grand Examination to enlarge her influence.”
“The queen knew nothing about any of this!”
“Who would believe the words of a disgraced cheater?” asked the empress placidly. “Let’s imagine what will happen after I announce your treachery: You will be tossed in prison; your mother will lose everything and perhaps be whipped for breeding a daughter of such poor character; Gin Mazoti will still be a traitor.”
Zomi thought about her mother.
“I will give you a better life. I swear it.”
Zomi thought about her teacher.
“That’s not the moral—”
“I don’t care! I only care about people close to me.”
Zomi thought about Queen Gin.
“Aya does not know the truth. . . . If something should happen . . . would you . . .”
What was the right thing to do?
If Zomi were disgraced, she would have no power to protect any of the people she cared about at all. But if she remained in the empress’s good graces, then her mother would continue to be cared for, and there would be a chance, however slim, that she could rescue the young princess from the usual fate of traitor to the Throne.
Zomi swallowed, hard. To carry out her promise to the queen, she must first betray her.
“I shall be guided by you, Empress,” said Zomi.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
A VISIT TO THE LAKE
PAN: THE TENTH MONTH IN THE ELEVENTH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF FOUR PLACID SEAS.
At the crack of dawn, the empress and the prime minister came to see the queen.
Gin stood in bare feet at the door awkwardly, not having had a chance to put on her socks or shoes to greet the empress because she had been given no notice. She was certain that Jia was doing everything on purpose—delaying seeing her when she arrived in Pan, forcing her to stay outside the palace, keeping visitors away, and then showing up so early unannounced—to keep her off balance, unsure of herself. But just because she understood what Jia was doing didn’t mean that the tricks weren’t effective.
“I heard that years ago, back on Dasu, Lord Garu himself once dashed out the door of his house without shoes to welcome you back,” said a wistful Gin. She emphasized Lord Garu deliberately, but the empress did not react to her breach of decorum. “He thought you had run away.”
Cogo laughed, though the mirth sounded a bit forced. “I left to chase you.”
“I owe all my successes to you,” said Gin with feeling. “Old friends are hard to come by.”
“And the prime minister may bring you yet more success,” said the empress, also smiling. “I apologize for not being able to meet you yesterday, but unexpected troubles come up when you are the regent. I hope we can take a ride together.”
“A ride?” Gin found the empress’s request odd. But since Cogo was with her, she felt reassured. “I am yours to command, Your Imperial Majesty.”
The three of them rode together, side by side, while the palace guards escorted them through the streets of Pan. They rode for much of the morning, always heading west, while the empress kept the conversation light, touching upon various bits of gossip in Pan, the latest popular stories being told in bars and teahouses, and the outrageous critiques of Imperial policy put forth by the learned minds in the College of Advocates. She made no mention of the rebellion, and Gin felt even more jumpy and uneasy.
Finally, they arrived at an Imperial dock on the shore of Lake Tututika. A small boat was tied up, and a kite was attached to its bow, flying high in the sky.
“This is one of the new inventions from the Imperial Academy based on a design by Luan Zya,” said the empress. Gin’s heart leapt at the mention of her former lover.
The empress continued, “This is a small model, of course, but I’m told that with a large kite to catch the powerful winds high above the clouds, it is possible to achieve speeds greater than with sail or oar. I wanted to get your opinion on it since you were once so helpful on the design of the mechanical cruben, another novel boat.”
Gin wasn’t sure how such a boat, even if effective, could be relevant to the current war in Arulugi, which was no longer a naval war. The empress seemed to speak only in enigmas.
“Why don’t you try it?” the empress pressed.
Cogo went to the boat and made a gesture. Please.
Gin approached. The palace guards lined up along the wharf, apparently cutting off her retreat.
I’m being paranoid, thought Gin. I must not show fear.
“You should leave your sword,” said Cogo. “This is a very small model, and we calculated the ballast for your weight only.”
Gin hesitated. She looked into Cogo’s face, but he avoided her gaze, looking only at the boat.
She sighed and took off her sword and laid it on the ground. She stepped into the boat and sat down, feeling as though she was following a script that was very old.
“I’ll have to fasten this about you,” said Cogo. He indicated the ropes attached to the gunwale. “The boat moves very fast when the wind catches the kite, and it’s safest to tie you down.”
Gin nodded. Every instinct in her told her to refuse, to jump up and pick up her sword and demand from the empress the truth of what was going on. But she knew that there would be no retreat from such a gesture, from open treason.
She held still.
Cogo wrapped the ropes around her waist and tied the knot behind her. She could see that his hands were trembling. She wanted to laugh. Her success on the battlefield had never been based on her swordsmanship, and yet here the empress was treating her like a cornered wolf, a thrashing shark, another Mata Zyndu. She let herself be bound.
Kuni will never turn against me, she thought. It doesn’t matter what the empress thinks. If she acts against me, it will only prove what I’ve surmised from Noda Mi and Doru Solofi.
“Gin,” Cogo whispered. “How could you?” He stepped back.
“Gin Mazoti,” said the empress. “Do you confess your sins?”
Gin heard the sharp clang of dozens of swords being unsheathed at once. She couldn’t get up because she was tied in place, and she no longer had her sword with her. She felt the tips of a few swords pressing against her back.
She laughed mirthlessly. She realized that she wasn’t even surprised.
“Cogo, my old friend,” she said, “you are the cause of my rise. It is only proper that you are also the cause of my downfall.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
BATTLE OF ARULUGI
ARULUGI: THE TENTH MONTH IN THE ELEVENTH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF FOUR PLACID SEAS.
Théca Kimo, though no naval expert, deduced that the mechanical crubens would make short work of Arulugi’s navy. As soon as he returned safely to Müning, he ordered the ships scuttled in the port of Müningtozu to seal off that route of access to the capital.
Puma Yemu, who had been designated commander of the Imperial forces, had no choice but to land his troops on beaches on the eastern shore of Arulugi. But dense jungles around Müning meant that the only practical way his troops could approach Müning was over the broad expanse of Lake Toyemotika.
Kimo, of course, was prepared with a fresh-water navy that patrolled the lakes, while Yemu was faced with the prospect of having to construct a new fleet from scratch.
The two sides thus settled down to a kind of stalemate. Without surface support, Imperial airships could do little to seriously damage Müning, the City in the Lake, as firebombs and burning oil fizzled uselessly in the canals and channels between the isles that formed the city’s foundation. Meanwhile, Kimo’s ships dominated the lake and harassed Yemu’s workers and soldiers onshore. Yemu could make little progress to overcome this advantage as the dense, mist-drenched jungles of Arulugi lacked the dry timber necessary to construct seaworthy ships.
But Kuni’s arrival on Arulugi revived the Imperial army with a fresh boost of morale. Eager to demonstrate their valor—and motivated in no small measure by the emperor’s promise of additional titles and fiefs for exceptional performance—Puma Yemu’s troops banged their spears against their shields and pledged to break through the defenses of Müning even at the cost of many lives. The din of their shouting and clanging drifted across the calm waters of Lake Toyemotika and caused Théca Kimo’s heart to palpitate.
Ever resourceful, Yemu decided to apply the “noble raider” tactics that had served him so well on the Porin Plains to water. He directed the Imperial airships to work in concert and airlift some small assault boats from the sea to a secluded cove of Lake Toyemotika under cover of darkness—he rejected the thought of airlifting any mechanical crubens, as they would be essentially powerless without underwater volcanoes in the lake.
Then, during the darkest hours of each night right before dawn, he ordered the airships to harass Kimo’s navy. However, instead of dropping firebombs and burning oil, for which Kimo’s sailors were well prepared, the airships doused the ships with water. Surprised at this tactic, Kimo’s men watched helplessly as torches and lamps on deck were extinguished, essentially blinding those aboard. The unexpected water assault also ruined the firework powder rockets the Arulugi ships carried as anti-airship weapons.
A dense fog settled over the fleet. Starlight and moonlight became hazy, and it was impossible to see even from one end of a ship to the other. As frightened Arulugi sailors peered into the inky mist, they detected the smell of smoke—but where was the smell coming from? What was burning? Was Marquess Yemu preparing yet another aerial assault, this time with fire? Had the emperor somehow acquired seaworthy ships on the lake, which were oaring toward them at this moment?
Indistinct shapes seemed to loom in every direction. As lookouts shouted, pointing excitedly, volleys of arrows were let loose at these ghost ships, and the archers ran from one side of the ship to the other, responding to new threats that arose each minute.
While the sailors and marines of Arulugi shouted and shot at these insubstantial foes, small Imperial assault boats advanced on the large Arulugi ships through the inky night like tiny remoras silently approaching much larger sharks and whales. The soldiers aboard drilled holes through the hulls of the warships and filled them with bombs made of firework powder. After lighting the fuses, the assault boats pulled away.
Kimo’s men were able to get the torches relit just as the bombs exploded, ripping out huge chunks from the ships’ hulls.
“Consort Risana’s smokecraft is as wondrous as the legends,” said an admiring Yemu from one of the assault boats, now safely out of the way.
“It’s but a small stage trick,” said a smiling Risana. “Making men see what they most fear to see is the easiest arrow in a smokecrafter’s quiver.”
The Arulugi ships turned into floating pyres, and Risana and Yemu stood and watched as tiny figures, like moths around lit lamps, dove off the sides of the burning hulks. The terrified screams of sailors drifted over the water as the ships slowly sank.
“We should head back before the emperor finds out I’m gone,” said Risana. “He’s grown overprotective, but I miss the days of doing interesting things.”
Two Arulugi warships sank that first night, which was not, in the grand scheme of things, a big loss. But damage to matériel was never Puma Yemu’s goal. Thereafter, Kimo’s sailors lived in constant terror of another “noble raid” by Marquess Yemu. Everyone onboard stayed up all night with their hearts in their throats, peering through the darkness for signs of Imperial airships and assault boats. Despite the exhortations of Cano Tho and even King Théca himself, morale sank among the rebels.
Nothing happened for two or three nights, but then, just as the alertness of Kimo’s men slackened, Yemu ordered another aerial water assault, once again dousing the torches and lamps on Arulugi ships.
“I saw that the beggar girl was hungry, and so I ordered a servant to give her some leftover porridge,” a well-dressed lady said. Zomi did not recognize her, but she was surrounded by a crowd of cashima, who seemed to hang on her every word.
“She squatted down right there in the kitchen and started to slurp the porridge. Embarrassed, I told her, ‘A girl does not squat, dear. You should sit in mipa rari when you’re in the presence of a superior lady. And you should take small sips, not slurp like an animal.’ She looked at me and said, ‘Ma and Da squat too. And if I don’t slurp, how would you know I like the food?’ And then she asked me if I had any preserved caterpillars to go with the porridge. Caterpillars! Can you believe it?”
The lady giggled.
The cashima around her laughed as though she had truly told an amusing story.
“I wish Lady Lon had not been exposed to such a primitive side of Dasu,” said one of the cashima. “In truth, even we are embarrassed by the uncouth manners and disgusting eating habits of the peasantry, a legacy from the days when Xana was little better than a land of barbarians. I have yearned to see the superior, refined society of the Big Island, and it is so good that you’re with us, Lady Lon, to provide us all a worthy example to emulate.”
“Oh, don’t be so modest,” said Lady Lon. “I know you are different. You are the educated cream of Dasu and would not appear too out of place at one of the parties I used to hold in Pan. Though, if I may be so bold, it will serve all of you well to seek a teacher of elocution and polish your speech slightly. I’m afraid that the tones of Dasu may sound a bit coarse to the ears of the inhabitants of the Big Island.”
The gathered cashima thanked Lady Lon for her generous instruction.
“Lady Lon, you judged the young girl wrongly.” Zomi couldn’t hold her tongue any longer.
The other cashima fell silent. Lady Lon turned to her, amazed.
“The young girl’s family was in the habit of squatting because they were too poor to afford sitting mats. When she saw the clean tile floor of your kitchen, she didn’t want to sit because she was afraid that her muddy clothes might dirty your floor. She slurped your porridge to show that she appreciated your act of charity, for that is how the poor of Dasu express enjoyment of our food. Kon Fiji said that having good manners means acting out of a sincere desire to be considerate of the feelings of others. I see nothing uncouth or unrefined about the young girl’s manners, but much that needs improvement in yours.”
Lady Lon’s face flushed bright red. “Who are you? How dare you lecture me?”
Zomi strolled over to one of the tables, filled her plate with pieces of raw fish dipped in sweet and spicy sauce, and then squatted down next to the table, her spread legs facing Lady Lon.
“You—you—” Lady Lon, enraged and embarrassed, could not continue.
“It is said that even the emperor, when he was King of Dasu, once sat down with the elders of my village to share a meal, and he squatted like everyone else and drank from the same cups and ate from the same plates. Should we not emulate the emperor?” She opened her mouth and chewed a piece of fish loudly and vigorously, not bothering to ensure that her lips remained closed.
She relished the way Lady Lon turned away from her in embarrassment. She delighted in the way the other cashima looked at her in disbelief. In a way, she also pitied them—they were so afraid of power that they behaved like boneless sponges when the Imperial examinations were meant to bring the powerless into the ranks of the powerful. She knew she had done better on the examination than them all.
Only later in the evening did she find out that Lady Lon was the favored wife of Regent Ra Olu. She waited with the other cashima for the elect to be announced, and she heard the regent call out nine names and then stop, instead of giving the expected tenth. As the cashima left the party, she went up to the regent.
“I have the highest score in all of Dasu, perhaps all of old Xana.” She was certain there had been a mistake.
“Scores aren’t everything,” said the regent, and turned away as though she was nothing but an inconsequential fly.
And Zomi understood what she should have always understood: Talent was not enough. There were webs of privilege and power that were just as important, if not more important, than talent. The ideal of the Imperial examinations was a lie.
So she turned away, and quietly let down her hair from the triple scroll-bun of a cashima. In her plain clothes, she looked indistinguishable from the servants clearing away the dishes and cups scattered around the room. She grabbed a stack of plates and stopped by the table on the raised dais where the passes for the Grand Examination were held, and slipped the last signed, but blank, pass into her sleeve.
It had been an impulsive decision.
She had not thought it wrong to steal the pass that should have belonged to her. Later, she had rationalized that if she did well on the Grand Examination, her theft would remain a secret because the regent would say nothing—he would be rewarded for having recommended a successful candidate to the emperor, so why would he argue with success? She had been counting on his self-interest.
She had hoped that success would make her feel like she belonged, but deep down, she had always known that her honor was stolen. There was a stain at the origin of her success that could never be erased.
“King Kado never saw your name on the list of recommended candidates,” said the empress, “which means that you had forged your name in the hand of the king’s regent.”
Zomi said nothing.
“It was really a stroke of luck that you then lost your pass, and Gin Mazoti signed a replacement pass for you—otherwise you would have been caught when Rin Coda assembled the passes back together and noticed that the handwriting on one of the passes from Dasu was different from all the others.”
Zomi closed her eyes. The empress was right. That brute at the Three-Legged Jug had actually been her savior. So much in life depended on these coincidences, wild, unpredictable turns that were the province of Tazu. Were they just another name for fate?
“But maybe instead of luck, we could say that Gin Mazoti was involved in a plot to cheat at the Grand Examination to enlarge her influence.”
“The queen knew nothing about any of this!”
“Who would believe the words of a disgraced cheater?” asked the empress placidly. “Let’s imagine what will happen after I announce your treachery: You will be tossed in prison; your mother will lose everything and perhaps be whipped for breeding a daughter of such poor character; Gin Mazoti will still be a traitor.”
Zomi thought about her mother.
“I will give you a better life. I swear it.”
Zomi thought about her teacher.
“That’s not the moral—”
“I don’t care! I only care about people close to me.”
Zomi thought about Queen Gin.
“Aya does not know the truth. . . . If something should happen . . . would you . . .”
What was the right thing to do?
If Zomi were disgraced, she would have no power to protect any of the people she cared about at all. But if she remained in the empress’s good graces, then her mother would continue to be cared for, and there would be a chance, however slim, that she could rescue the young princess from the usual fate of traitor to the Throne.
Zomi swallowed, hard. To carry out her promise to the queen, she must first betray her.
“I shall be guided by you, Empress,” said Zomi.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
A VISIT TO THE LAKE
PAN: THE TENTH MONTH IN THE ELEVENTH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF FOUR PLACID SEAS.
At the crack of dawn, the empress and the prime minister came to see the queen.
Gin stood in bare feet at the door awkwardly, not having had a chance to put on her socks or shoes to greet the empress because she had been given no notice. She was certain that Jia was doing everything on purpose—delaying seeing her when she arrived in Pan, forcing her to stay outside the palace, keeping visitors away, and then showing up so early unannounced—to keep her off balance, unsure of herself. But just because she understood what Jia was doing didn’t mean that the tricks weren’t effective.
“I heard that years ago, back on Dasu, Lord Garu himself once dashed out the door of his house without shoes to welcome you back,” said a wistful Gin. She emphasized Lord Garu deliberately, but the empress did not react to her breach of decorum. “He thought you had run away.”
Cogo laughed, though the mirth sounded a bit forced. “I left to chase you.”
“I owe all my successes to you,” said Gin with feeling. “Old friends are hard to come by.”
“And the prime minister may bring you yet more success,” said the empress, also smiling. “I apologize for not being able to meet you yesterday, but unexpected troubles come up when you are the regent. I hope we can take a ride together.”
“A ride?” Gin found the empress’s request odd. But since Cogo was with her, she felt reassured. “I am yours to command, Your Imperial Majesty.”
The three of them rode together, side by side, while the palace guards escorted them through the streets of Pan. They rode for much of the morning, always heading west, while the empress kept the conversation light, touching upon various bits of gossip in Pan, the latest popular stories being told in bars and teahouses, and the outrageous critiques of Imperial policy put forth by the learned minds in the College of Advocates. She made no mention of the rebellion, and Gin felt even more jumpy and uneasy.
Finally, they arrived at an Imperial dock on the shore of Lake Tututika. A small boat was tied up, and a kite was attached to its bow, flying high in the sky.
“This is one of the new inventions from the Imperial Academy based on a design by Luan Zya,” said the empress. Gin’s heart leapt at the mention of her former lover.
The empress continued, “This is a small model, of course, but I’m told that with a large kite to catch the powerful winds high above the clouds, it is possible to achieve speeds greater than with sail or oar. I wanted to get your opinion on it since you were once so helpful on the design of the mechanical cruben, another novel boat.”
Gin wasn’t sure how such a boat, even if effective, could be relevant to the current war in Arulugi, which was no longer a naval war. The empress seemed to speak only in enigmas.
“Why don’t you try it?” the empress pressed.
Cogo went to the boat and made a gesture. Please.
Gin approached. The palace guards lined up along the wharf, apparently cutting off her retreat.
I’m being paranoid, thought Gin. I must not show fear.
“You should leave your sword,” said Cogo. “This is a very small model, and we calculated the ballast for your weight only.”
Gin hesitated. She looked into Cogo’s face, but he avoided her gaze, looking only at the boat.
She sighed and took off her sword and laid it on the ground. She stepped into the boat and sat down, feeling as though she was following a script that was very old.
“I’ll have to fasten this about you,” said Cogo. He indicated the ropes attached to the gunwale. “The boat moves very fast when the wind catches the kite, and it’s safest to tie you down.”
Gin nodded. Every instinct in her told her to refuse, to jump up and pick up her sword and demand from the empress the truth of what was going on. But she knew that there would be no retreat from such a gesture, from open treason.
She held still.
Cogo wrapped the ropes around her waist and tied the knot behind her. She could see that his hands were trembling. She wanted to laugh. Her success on the battlefield had never been based on her swordsmanship, and yet here the empress was treating her like a cornered wolf, a thrashing shark, another Mata Zyndu. She let herself be bound.
Kuni will never turn against me, she thought. It doesn’t matter what the empress thinks. If she acts against me, it will only prove what I’ve surmised from Noda Mi and Doru Solofi.
“Gin,” Cogo whispered. “How could you?” He stepped back.
“Gin Mazoti,” said the empress. “Do you confess your sins?”
Gin heard the sharp clang of dozens of swords being unsheathed at once. She couldn’t get up because she was tied in place, and she no longer had her sword with her. She felt the tips of a few swords pressing against her back.
She laughed mirthlessly. She realized that she wasn’t even surprised.
“Cogo, my old friend,” she said, “you are the cause of my rise. It is only proper that you are also the cause of my downfall.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
BATTLE OF ARULUGI
ARULUGI: THE TENTH MONTH IN THE ELEVENTH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF FOUR PLACID SEAS.
Théca Kimo, though no naval expert, deduced that the mechanical crubens would make short work of Arulugi’s navy. As soon as he returned safely to Müning, he ordered the ships scuttled in the port of Müningtozu to seal off that route of access to the capital.
Puma Yemu, who had been designated commander of the Imperial forces, had no choice but to land his troops on beaches on the eastern shore of Arulugi. But dense jungles around Müning meant that the only practical way his troops could approach Müning was over the broad expanse of Lake Toyemotika.
Kimo, of course, was prepared with a fresh-water navy that patrolled the lakes, while Yemu was faced with the prospect of having to construct a new fleet from scratch.
The two sides thus settled down to a kind of stalemate. Without surface support, Imperial airships could do little to seriously damage Müning, the City in the Lake, as firebombs and burning oil fizzled uselessly in the canals and channels between the isles that formed the city’s foundation. Meanwhile, Kimo’s ships dominated the lake and harassed Yemu’s workers and soldiers onshore. Yemu could make little progress to overcome this advantage as the dense, mist-drenched jungles of Arulugi lacked the dry timber necessary to construct seaworthy ships.
But Kuni’s arrival on Arulugi revived the Imperial army with a fresh boost of morale. Eager to demonstrate their valor—and motivated in no small measure by the emperor’s promise of additional titles and fiefs for exceptional performance—Puma Yemu’s troops banged their spears against their shields and pledged to break through the defenses of Müning even at the cost of many lives. The din of their shouting and clanging drifted across the calm waters of Lake Toyemotika and caused Théca Kimo’s heart to palpitate.
Ever resourceful, Yemu decided to apply the “noble raider” tactics that had served him so well on the Porin Plains to water. He directed the Imperial airships to work in concert and airlift some small assault boats from the sea to a secluded cove of Lake Toyemotika under cover of darkness—he rejected the thought of airlifting any mechanical crubens, as they would be essentially powerless without underwater volcanoes in the lake.
Then, during the darkest hours of each night right before dawn, he ordered the airships to harass Kimo’s navy. However, instead of dropping firebombs and burning oil, for which Kimo’s sailors were well prepared, the airships doused the ships with water. Surprised at this tactic, Kimo’s men watched helplessly as torches and lamps on deck were extinguished, essentially blinding those aboard. The unexpected water assault also ruined the firework powder rockets the Arulugi ships carried as anti-airship weapons.
A dense fog settled over the fleet. Starlight and moonlight became hazy, and it was impossible to see even from one end of a ship to the other. As frightened Arulugi sailors peered into the inky mist, they detected the smell of smoke—but where was the smell coming from? What was burning? Was Marquess Yemu preparing yet another aerial assault, this time with fire? Had the emperor somehow acquired seaworthy ships on the lake, which were oaring toward them at this moment?
Indistinct shapes seemed to loom in every direction. As lookouts shouted, pointing excitedly, volleys of arrows were let loose at these ghost ships, and the archers ran from one side of the ship to the other, responding to new threats that arose each minute.
While the sailors and marines of Arulugi shouted and shot at these insubstantial foes, small Imperial assault boats advanced on the large Arulugi ships through the inky night like tiny remoras silently approaching much larger sharks and whales. The soldiers aboard drilled holes through the hulls of the warships and filled them with bombs made of firework powder. After lighting the fuses, the assault boats pulled away.
Kimo’s men were able to get the torches relit just as the bombs exploded, ripping out huge chunks from the ships’ hulls.
“Consort Risana’s smokecraft is as wondrous as the legends,” said an admiring Yemu from one of the assault boats, now safely out of the way.
“It’s but a small stage trick,” said a smiling Risana. “Making men see what they most fear to see is the easiest arrow in a smokecrafter’s quiver.”
The Arulugi ships turned into floating pyres, and Risana and Yemu stood and watched as tiny figures, like moths around lit lamps, dove off the sides of the burning hulks. The terrified screams of sailors drifted over the water as the ships slowly sank.
“We should head back before the emperor finds out I’m gone,” said Risana. “He’s grown overprotective, but I miss the days of doing interesting things.”
Two Arulugi warships sank that first night, which was not, in the grand scheme of things, a big loss. But damage to matériel was never Puma Yemu’s goal. Thereafter, Kimo’s sailors lived in constant terror of another “noble raid” by Marquess Yemu. Everyone onboard stayed up all night with their hearts in their throats, peering through the darkness for signs of Imperial airships and assault boats. Despite the exhortations of Cano Tho and even King Théca himself, morale sank among the rebels.
Nothing happened for two or three nights, but then, just as the alertness of Kimo’s men slackened, Yemu ordered another aerial water assault, once again dousing the torches and lamps on Arulugi ships.
