Free Everything Under the Heavens (Silk and Song) by Dana Stabenow Page B

was still as unruly and unmanageable as the little mongrel herself, escaping a wisp at a time to curl round the pale face with its odd cheekbones, enormous nose and grossly oversized mouth. The hair had not even the saving grace of color, that thick rich black fall of hair one might expect of the honorable Wu Li’s daughter, but instead a brown streaked with bronze, acquired during the improperly hatless and shockingly astride daily rides with her father and that foreign stableboy the honorable Wu Li had so carelessly chosen first as his daughter’s playmate and later as her personal guard. Perhaps Wu Li had felt that the essential outlandishness in each made them fit only for their own company. Certainly they were inseparable.
    Wu Li’s widow was pleased enough with this reasoning to ignore the presence of Gokudo at her shoulder. He was the noble warrior of an honorable race strong enough to defeat two invasions by Kublai Khan himself, not to be compared to the descendant of a race of men who could not hold a land they had conquered for even fifty years.
    The little mongrel’s stepmother averted her eyes before her inventory could take in the abomination of close-cut fingernails and unbound feet, but she was shocked to her very soul at such an unfeminine disregard for the proprieties. That the little mongrel herself was without sense or shame was expected but that Wu Li would have allowed either was unbelievable. Foreign, the widow thought with an inward shudder, the most insulting epithet in her language.
    Yes, in birth, appearance and demeanor, altogether an unsatisfactory little mongrel to dispose of, but disposed of she must be if the widow wished to gather the reins of her husband’s importing business into her own supremely competent hands, and that she most certainly wished to do.
    All that remained was the safe disposition of the sole heir of Wu Li’s body.
    Fortunately a solution to the problem was ready to hand. The widow smiled to herself, and said, “Ceremonies for your father will take place three days from now.” She paused, and added with a bow that was as patronizing as it was slight, “You may attend.”
    The little mongrel displayed no proper gratitude for the magnanimity thus offered. There was no bow of acknowledgement, no polite murmur of appreciation. Her blue-gray eyes remained steady on the widow’s face. Truth be told, that unflinching gaze was a little unnerving.
    Again, Gokudo shifted behind the widow. Her eyes moved to the marble-topped table reposing in isolated splendor against one wall. On its carved and polished top rested two items, carefully centered. One was the jade box that held Wu Li’s bao. The other was the fat leather-bound journal that held the names of all of Wu Li’s agents in cities far and near, and his annotated maps of trading routes as far as the Middle Sea. The power these two items represented was enough to soothe her irritation.
    She turned her head to see the little mongrel watching her. She dropped her eyes and smoothed the heavy blue silk of her dress. “There is another matter we must discuss. Sit down.” She beckoned a servant forward with one graceful sweep of a hand heavy with rings. “Will you have tea?”
    The girl folded her long frame down onto a pillow, crossing her legs and resting a hand on each knee, instead of kneeling with bent head and clasped hands in an attitude of proper attentiveness. She refused tea. Impolite and graceless as well as ugly, the widow noted, not without pleasure.
    They waited as the tea was poured and the servant retired. The widow sipped delicately at the fragrant liquid in the paper-thin porcelain cup. After a moment of appreciative contemplation of the delicate design traced on its rim, she said, her tone casual, “I have received an offer of marriage for you.”
    “Have you?” The strange light eyes met hers. “From whom?”
    The widow allowed herself a small, playful smile. “It is from the son of Maffeo the