As instructed, Maomao shut herself up in the archives the very next
afternoon. The building contained reams of public records and had a distinctly musty smell. A pale-faced official brought Maomao armloads of scrolls. He was the only other person she saw there; the posting seemed to be something of a sinecure.
It wouldn’t hurt him to get out in the sun every once in a while, though, she thought.
She unrolled one scroll after another, each made of excellent paper. They listed in brief both accidents and crimes that had occurred in the palace complex over the past several years. This wasn’t confidential information; the scrolls were quite public, and could be viewed by anyone who requested them.
She looked through them with interest. Most of the cases were mundane accidents, but a few piqued her curiosity. Cases of food poisoning, say…
She’d expected such cases to spike during the summer, but there were a surprising number in winter as well. Autumn could bring its own troubles, with people eating unidentified or inappropriate mushrooms.
Maomao asked the official for another bundle of scrolls. She’d expected him to treat her as a nuisance, but he seemed quite pleased to finally have an opportunity to do some work. It looked like he wasn’t here just because he liked to kill time. He was clearly curious about what Maomao was researching, occasionally stealing little glances as she worked.
Maomao ignored him, flipping through the sheets until she found what she wanted: a description of the recent food-poisoning incident. Maomao stopped when she saw the government organ with which the victim had been associated.
The Board of Rites?
That, at least, was what his official title suggested to her. Maomao’s recollection, such as it was, was that the Board of Rites was responsible for education and diplomacy. Maybe, she thought, she would be more sure if
she had studied harder for the court ladies’ exam.
“Having trouble with anything?” the pallid official asked her. Anything to pass the time, perhaps.
Maomao decided that now was not the time to be embarrassed by her ignorance. “Yes,” she said. “I’m not quite sure what this title signifies.” She suspected the admission made her sound absolutely brainless.
“Ah. This person oversees the observance of ritual,” the man said, sounding rather pleased to be providing this knowledge.
“Did you say ritual?”
Right, the food-poisoning victim had been in charge of ritual implements, hadn’t he?
“Indeed. I’d be happy to fetch a more detailed book on the subject for you, if you’d like,” the official said, not unkindly. Maomao, though, hardly heard him; the gears were spinning in her brain. Suddenly, she smacked the long table in front of her. The man just about jumped out of his skin.
“Do you have anything to write on?” Maomao demanded. “Er, y-yes…”
Maomao went rapidly through the register of incidents she’d been examining. She took down exact positions and terms of office.
When coincidence piled upon coincidence, it suggested something deliberate. And if she laid out all these seeming coincidences, the place where they overlapped would tell her where to look.
“Observance of ritual… Ritual implements…”
Rituals as such weren’t uncommon; all manner of rites were observed throughout the year. The keeping of minor observances could be done by a village chief, but the most important ceremonies were performed by the Imperial family. The implements that had been stolen would have been for at least a mid-level ceremony, if not something even more important.
A mid-level ceremony, Maomao thought to herself. She remembered
Jinshi performing a purification rite. If she had a question about something related to rituals, it might be quickest to ask the eunuch.
“Are you interested in ritual matters?” The official, who was turning out to be not only bored but in fact quite friendly, came over with some kind of large drawing.
“Huh…” Maomao said. It was a fairly detailed illustration of the ritual grounds. An altar stood in the center, with a banner fluttering above it. A
large pot was placed at the foot of the altar, perhaps to hold a fire. “Rather unusual place, isn’t it?” the official said.
“So it is…”
It certainly looked elegant and imposing. The banner appeared to have some kind of writing on it—did they change it each time there was an observance?
Seems like a lot of trouble to take it up and down every time, thought Maomao, ever practical. The banner was up high enough that even getting a ladder up to it would be a headache.
“They’ve got a special contraption there,” the official said. “A large
beam hung from the ceiling. It can be raised and lowered so they can write the appropriate ritual inscription on the banner.”
“You seem to know quite a bit about this,” Maomao said, studying the pale man.
“I daresay I do. I used to do more dignified work than marking time in the archives. But, I’m ashamed to admit, I must have slipped up at the wrong moment or offended the wrong person, because I earned myself exile to the stacks.”
He had, he added, formerly been assigned to the Board of Rites himself, which, Maomao realized, explained why he’d been so interested in what she was doing. And then the official said something that really got her attention: “I was concerned whether it would be strong enough at first. I’m so glad there haven’t been any problems.”
“You were concerned whether what would be strong enough?”
“The beam. The system that holds it up. That’s a huge thing. I hardly dare imagine the tragedy that would result if it fell. But no sooner had I raised the issue than I found myself banished to these archives.”
Maomao stared at the picture in silence. If the beam did come loose from the ceiling, the one in greatest danger would be the person directly below it: the officiant of the ceremony. Potentially a very important person indeed.
And he’s worried about how strong the system is, Maomao thought. In order to raise and lower the beam, it would have to be attached to something. And if the fasteners were to break…
How strong it is…
There was a fire pot in the immediate vicinity. Maomao was suddenly
seized by the question of what ritual implements had been stolen. She slapped the table again, producing another startled reaction from the official. She turned to him where he stood stiff as a board and said, “I’m sorry, but when is the next ritual observance?! And where’s the place shown in this picture?!”
“It’s a structure called the Altar of the Sapphire Sky, on the western edge of the outer court. And as for when it will be used…” The official flipped through a calendar, scratching his ear. “Why, there’s an observance today.” Before the man had finished speaking, Maomao was dashing out of the building, without even straightening up the scrolls.
The Altar of the Sapphire Sky, to the west, she thought, trying to organize her thoughts as she ran. This plan, she suspected, had been brewing for a long time. Prepared with the understanding that some individual parts of it might be foiled, but if just a few could be made to overlap, it would provide the opening the plotter wanted. I’m still just guessing. Nothing more than that. But it was dizzying to imagine the consequences if her guess was right.
Soon, she spied a round pagoda. Similar buildings flanked it to either side, and there was a row of officials in front of it. From their clothing, she guessed a ritual was going on even now.
“Hey, you!” one of them called. “What do you think you’re doing?”
That was only to be expected when a filthy maid tried to race past them.
Maomao gave a cluck of her tongue. She didn’t have time for this. If she could have gone for Jinshi or Gaoshun, they might have solved the problem for her, but they were going to be out all day.
“Let me through, please,” she said.
“Absolutely not. A ritual is being celebrated,” said a warrior holding a nasty-looking war club. He glowered at Maomao, but she could hardly blame him for simply wanting to do his job. Instead, she cursed herself for not being a smooth talker.
“It’s an emergency. You have to let me inside.” “A maid like you would dare impose herself on the holy rites?” He had her there.
Maomao was nothing but a maid. She had no
authority. If this man let a girl like her into the ceremonial venue just because she asked him to, he might as well kiss his head goodbye.
Unfortunately, Maomao couldn’t back down either.
Maybe nothing will happen, she thought. But if it did, it would be too late for I-told-you-sos. By the time we realize something irrevocable has happened, it’s always already too late.
The soldier stood head and shoulders taller than her, but she looked him full in the face. The officials nearby were starting to murmur and look at them.
“I’m not here simply to besmirch the ritual,” Maomao said. “Someone’s life is in danger. You have to stop the ceremony!”
One of the nearby officials spoke up. “That’s not for you to decide. If you have an opinion you’d like to share, we have a suggestion box.” He was openly mocking Maomao, lowly servant that she was.
“You would never see it in time. Let me through!” “No!”
They were never going to get anywhere arguing like children. Perhaps it would have been the mature thing for Maomao to acknowledge that she was never going to get through and simply back down. But she didn’t have it in her. Instead, a sarcastic smile worked its way over her face. “There’s a fatal flaw in the construction of that altar. And I believe someone may have taken advantage of it. If you don’t let me through this minute, believe me, you’ll regret it. Dear me, but I tremble to think what will happen to you when they find out I warned you and you didn’t listen!” She put her hand to her cheek in an exaggerated expression of surprise. Then she said: “Wait… I see. Is that what’s going on here?” She smacked her fist into her open palm as if it all made sense now. Her smile turned mean. “You want whatever it is to happen. You’re delaying me here because you’re in league with whoever booby-trapped the—”
She was interrupted by a dull thud from her own head. Almost before she knew what had happened, she was lying on the ground, her vision blurring.
Got to stay conscious, she thought, but wishing wasn’t going to make it so. She heard the voice of the soldier who had struck her, but he sounded as if he were a great distance away, and she couldn’t make out what he was saying. Well, at least she knew she had their attention. Any soldier would be angry about abuse like that from a little girl like her. Angry enough to raise
a hand without thinking, perhaps.
She couldn’t complain; she’d brought it on herself. But if she passed out
now, it would all be over.
Slowly, Maomao pulled herself to a sitting position. Her ear burned, and her vision was still blurry. As color filtered back into her world, she perceived the soldier, his arm still raised, his companions restraining him.
Thought starting a fight might help, but…no good…
There hadn’t been enough of a commotion to interrupt the ceremony; she could still hear music from the direction of the altar. The show was going on.
At last she dragged her body onto its feet. A few red specks stippled the ground in front of her. Nosebleed, she thought. Not something to worry about. The blow seemed to have caught her on the ear, but it only burned; there was no pain. Maomao pressed a thumb to one side of her nose and blew the blood out. A murmur ran through the assembled officials. Maomao realized maybe it was inappropriate to shed blood at the site of a ritual, but she hardly had time to apologize.
“Are you quite satisfied?” she said. With her still-fuzzy vision, she couldn’t see exactly what response she got; she only heard the general buzz of voices around her. There was no time for these games. There was something Maomao had to do.
Her voice went up an octave: “Let me through!”
I have to get in there!
It would be too late, once everything was over. Too late. If she didn’t get in there right now…
I’ll never get my ox bezoar!
Her head was spinning and her vision was still hazy, but that thought gave her the motivation to stay standing.
Maomao looked hard at those around her. “I’m not asking you to stop the ceremony. Only to let me by. Say a rat snuck in when you weren’t looking.” The current Emperor was a compassionate man; she didn’t think anyone’s head would roll for this. Except possibly hers. She could only beg Jinshi to intercede on her behalf. Or at the very least, to let her die by poison. “What will you do if something does happen, and you detained me here? I know that has to be someone important inside celebrating the ritual. Then you will pay with your lives!”
She didn’t know who was officiating, only that everything about the situation implied it was someone highly ranked indeed.
A few of the guards looked at each other as if shaken by her words, but it was clear they weren’t all about to step aside.
“Why should we listen to a nobody little girl like you?” the soldier asked.
That was the real question, wasn’t it? Maomao had no answer, but only stood staring daggers at the man.
It was then that they heard a swift clack-clack of shoes. “Perhaps you would listen to me, then?” someone said, almost jokingly. Maomao could practically hear the smile in the voice. And she knew who it belonged to.
The soldier blocking Maomao’s way took a half step back. The assembled officials had gone pale, as if confronted with something they’d hoped never to see.
Maomao didn’t look behind her. It was all she could do to keep her scowl from getting any deeper. Her temples were already starting to twitch.
“Anyhow, nobody little girl or no, I’m not sure I can condone hitting a young woman. Look—she’s injured. Who did it? Fess up!” A cold edge entered the voice. Everyone looked unconsciously at the man with the war club. His face had gone tight.
“For a start,” the voice resumed, “why don’t you do as the girl says? I’ll take full responsibility for whatever happens.”
Whoever was behind her, he couldn’t have had better timing if he’d tried. Maomao gritted her teeth. Can’t think about that now, she thought. She still didn’t look back. Instead, she cast one final glance at the people around her, and then she ran for the altar.
She decided she didn’t care who the voice belonged to.
The aromas of smoke and incense drifted through the arena. The plinking of musical instruments was accompanied by the flapping of the banner that hung from the beam on the ceiling. The prayer of the celebrants was written on it in flowing, beautiful letters, displayed aloft in the hopes that it might reach heaven.
The appearance of a grimy young girl in this sacred space set the crowd mumbling. I must look awful, Maomao thought. She’d dirtied her uniform running, and now her face was streaked with dried blood from her nose. She was determined to have a nice, long bath when this was all over. She wouldn’t be caught dead using the bath in Jinshi’s residence, though.
Maybe she could wheedle Gaoshun into letting her use his.
That was, of course, provided her head was still attached to her body by the time she got to that point.
At the far end of a scarlet carpet stood a man in black. On his head was a distinctive cap of office hung with pendants of beads. He was intoning something in a loud, clear voice.
The huge fire pot stood in front of him, burning brightly. And there, over his head, was the beam with the flapping banner. And securing the beam to the ceiling was…
Maomao thought she heard a distinct creaking sound. It had to be her imagination; there was no way she could have heard it at this distance.
Nonetheless, she kept moving. She could feel the soft material of the carpet under her feet as she drove toward him as fast as she could.
The officiant noticed Maomao and turned toward her, but she didn’t hesitate. She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling him down to the ground.
A deafening crash followed almost immediately. A searing pain shot up her leg, and when she looked back, she saw a heavy metal beam pinning it down, the skin already cut open.
That’ll need stitches, she thought. Reaching into the folds of her robe for her usual stash of medicine and supplies, she was stopped by a large hand catching hers. As she looked up, her vision was filled with the dangling beads from his hat. Beyond them, a pair of obsidian-black eyes stared down at her.
“And how did we end up like this?” The voice, almost divine, questioned.
The beam that had fallen from the ceiling lay next to them. Had the speaker been standing under it when it fell, he’d have been crushed instantly.
“Master Jinshi… Can I have my bezoar now?” Maomao asked, recognizing the striking eunuch who, to her surprise, was also officiating this ceremony. Why on earth was he even here?
“Of all things to ask for right now,” Jinshi muttered, his expression sour, as though he’d tasted something bitter. His large hand gently brushed her face, and his thumb traced along her cheek. “Look at your face,” he said, wincing. Why would he react like that?
Maomao, however, was focused on the more pressing issue. “Can you let me stitch up my leg?” The pain wasn’t sharp, more of a burning sensation. She twisted to try and get a better look at the wound, but her body trembled involuntarily.
“H-Hey, now—!”
Jinshi’s voice sounded far away. Uh-oh, she thought. It was that whack on the head.
Her strength abruptly left her. Her vision grayed out again, and then
Jinshi was shaking her, shouting something, and she couldn’t tell what, but oh, how she wished he would be quiet.
