Page 74 of The Cinders

XIAN STEPPEDoutside onto the veranda that ran the length of the building.The officials had moved on, but other people replaced them, wandering about the courtyard garden; enjoying the weak-warmth of the waning sun.An elegantly dressed woman wore a lemon-coloured aoqun, the cross-collared jacket hanging longer than the ru Xian preferred, covering her waist and the top of her thighs.The stiff hem, trimmed with silver thread, gave way to flowing skirts, whose hush reached Xian’s ears where he stood.Two attendants followed her at a respectful distance; more indiscreet in their study of him than the noble woman.She was unfamiliar to him, but that was hardly odd, considering the number of visitors that had been arriving daily over the past week.He tried not to wince as they passed, with the attendants scuffing their feet against the pebbles; the sound making his head ache.The noblewoman bowed in greeting, not looking him in the eye, and continued on with her ladies without a word.

For once, Xian was grateful for his perceived bad luck.He had no time for meaningless chatter.

He took the short flight of stairs down into the courtyard, bracing for the noise of his feet on the pebbles.He’d not considered how loud this search might be, and wondered if it were too late to tear material from his underskirt and stuff it in his ears.

‘You shall have to get used to this, Xian,’ he mumbled to himself.

Touching his sleeve for reassurance, he moved out into the yard.

A quick glance told him Sir William was not obviously about.He rubbed at his nose, trying to find some reprieve from all the smells that assailed him; strongest of all were the winter plum blossoms, the dominant plant in the yard.At least their honey scent was pleasant, if not sickly, and did much to cover over the hint of bird droppings and, more distantly, livestock.

Xian lifted his nose to the sky and breathed in; refusing to become too overwhelmed by his own sensitivity.

There was the dankness of the ponds dotted around the courtyard, the woody undertones of the bamboo that grew behind many of the rockeries, the rich sweetness of the yellow jasmine that gave the yard its most striking swathes of colour.

He sniffed.

Lotus flowers were there too; subtle as fresh water, a clean scent that his nose welcomed.

A pity he did not recall Sir William smelling any way in particular; this search might be done with much faster.

Xian made his way into the garden, choosing the most direct path, of which there was only one; at the centre point of the courtyard, with all the rest looping and twisting their way about.He passed by several brass basins filled with water, goldfish darting colour beneath the surface.There were larger ponds built into the rockeries, but none came close to the size of Mercy’s home.They were, though, far less cluttered by water plants.

Xian paused by one of these, struck by the absence of any lotus.

Not a single lotus was to be seen in any of the water features he’d passed, yet their scent was unmistakable.

A high cry reached him.Laughter followed; smooth and sultry.

Xian lifted his skirts and hurried as quickly as he dared towards the sounds.Nothing about the move was quiet — the crunch of stone, the drag of material, even the huff of his own breath — and by the time he reached the southern end of the gardens Xian thought his ears were about to bleed.At the very least, he’d demand Sir William bring him something to stuff his ears with.

The scent of the lotus dominated the air now.So strong he could almost taste the seeds on his tongue.

Another cry came, this time strained, and followed immediately by a muffled gasp.

Xian stopped short.Up ahead was theyingbì, a screen of glazed red tiles built at the gate of a siheyuan to keep out evil spirits and shield occupants from view of passing traffic.Usually these would be featured at the main gate, which was a whole other courtyard away, but Mandarin Feng saw fit to place yingbì wherever he pleased in his inner domain.

‘Do you like that?’Sir William’s voice slunk like a serpent from behind the spirit screen.

‘Yes, yes.’A husky, breathless, and masculine reply.

‘Yes, what?’

A grunt, a low moan.‘Yes, your majesty.’

‘Oh, my.’A female who spoke in the tongue of the English, rendering most of her words insensible.‘William.’

Xian understood enough to know that he did not wish to learn any more about what was going on behind that screen.

Sir William, it seemed, had not yet been sated.

Xian backed away.His heel struck something, and a clatter followed.He let out a whimper of displeasure at the sound and turned.

His foot had struck a parasol resting against the stonework that marked the edge of the path, its fall onto the pebbles like a crash of thunder to Xian’s ear.The parasol’s tip now pointed towards a bucket — one it had likely been resting against before Xian’s disruption — that was partially covered by a chrysanthemum bush, as though someone had tucked both it and the parasol away to return to later.

The perfume of the lotus emanated from beneath the hessian covering laid over the bucket.

Xian sought to deafen himself to the grunts and muffled pleasures coming from behind the screen, and peered beneath the cover.