2 Feng wei'Shamoke

"Can you imagine this in summer?" Yue jin'Qian whispered, leaning close to Feng. His long, aquiline nose wrinkled dramatically. "I smell more sweat than perfume."

Feng could only nod in agreement. The Huangdi's Throne Room was crowded with supplicants. It was the second saturday of the month, the day that the Huangdi accepted all supplicants—at least all those who managed to reach her in the few turns of the glass she sat on the Vermillion Throne. The long hall was stuffed as tightly as sweetfruit in a crate with people dressed in their best finery. The room sweltered; Feng could feel beads of perspiration gathered at his brow and running freely down his spine to soak the cloth of the jōe he wore. "It's what all the wan'-and-shu' are wearing this season," the tailor had declared, but Feng could see nothing at all similar in the cut of the jōes and jōas nearest him. He suspected that it was last year's fashion at best, and that those staring appraisingly at him were snickering behind their fluttering, ornate fans. He also noted that he and Yue stood in their own little open space, as if those with wan' or shu' in front of their name would be contaminated if they came too close. He touched the pendant around his neck nervously—a seashell that looked as if it had been carved of stone, the plain gray rock polished from usage.

At the front of the room, the Vermillion Throne gleamed beneath the Huangdi Shangxiang wan'Heshi: the ruler of Orbis and the Satellites, the great Peacemaker, the Wielder of the Steel Halberd, the Mamaqin Satellite, who would in a few months be celebrating the Jubilee of the fiftieth year of her reign: the longest reign yet of any Huangd. Most of the people now living in the Satellites had known no other ruler. The seat of the Huangd was carved from a single massive crystal, enchanted by the first Guji over three centuries ago in a way that no torii had since been able to duplicate. When someone wearing the Ring of the Huangd sat in its hard, glittering embrace, the Vermillion Throne gleamed a pale red. Feng knew there were persistent whispers that the radiance had actually vanished long ago; now, skeptics insisted, the interior light was created at need by special torii sent by the Guji whenever the Huangdi appeared publicly on the Vermillion Throne. It was certainly true, given accounts written during the first Guji lifetime of how the throne had "shone like a true sun, blinding all with its radiance," that the Vermillion Throne must have paled considerably in the intervening centuries. In full daylight, its glow could barely be seen. The swaying chandeliers overhead were decidedly necessary: even though it was nearly Second Ring, the tall windows of the Throne Room were too narrow to allow much of the light to enter.

It was also true that Feng would have been able to duplicate that glow himself, had he dared to do such a thing here.

"Mister Deng shu'Ling!" Zhong, the Huangdi's ancient and wizened aide, called out the name in a wavering voice, reading from a scroll in his hand. The murmur of voices in the room went momentarily quiet. Feng saw someone moving toward the Vermillion Throne in response, a middle-aged man who bowed low as he approached, and Feng scowled and sighed at the same time.

"I told you that you should have slipped Zhong a coin or two," Yue stage-whispered. "He's not going to call us forward."

"I'm the Envoy Hebei Matemacian," Feng answered. "How can he ignore us?"

"For the same reasons that the Huangdi ignored the Marques of Habei that you sent her when you requested a private audience. She's tied too tightly to the Inarian Faith; she doesn't want to contaminate herself by acknowledging heretics."

"You're a pessimist, Yue."

"I'm a realist," Yue retorted. "I would remind you that I have been here in Orbis for far longer than you, my friend, and I know these people all too well. I think we're lucky to have even been allowed in the hall—it's only your pretty title that got us past Zhong. Look over there to the side. You see that man staring our way? The one in black? You can't miss him—he's blind and has silver glasses."

Feng lifted up on his toes, scanning the room in the direction in which Yue had nodded. The man stood against the wall, too casually posed. When he noticed Feng's gaze, the mustachioed lips under the pronounced nose twisted in what might have been an amused smirk. He nodded faintly in Feng's direction. "That's Commandant wan'Zhuge of the Huangd Patrol," Yue continued. "If either of us appear to be even halfway threatening, we'll be in the Gaol faster than a fly to a dead horse. So don't make any sudden gestures."

"I think you're being paranoid."

Yue sniffed. "Things are different in the west away from Orbis," he said. "I'll tell you what. I'll wager you dinner tonight that we don't meet the Huangdi today."

"Done," Feng said.

Three turns of the glass later, the Huangdi rose and everyone bowed as she left the room. Feng had yet to be called forward for his audience.

"I'm terrifically hungry," Yue commented as those in attendance filed from the Throne Room. "How about you?"