Swords From the East by Harold Lamb Page B

quarters of Chung-hi, the heir-apparent. Chun, hi, then, like himself, was awake. Mingan wondered if Chung-hi had sent the Servant of Mercy.
    Then, as he passed the stables again, he caught the glow of the Manchu's lantern, and drew closer. The slave seemed to be asleep, but Mingan knew that he could not have dozed so quickly. The face of the slave was composed, but from the breast of the man who had warned him the hilt of a knife projected.
    The Servant of Mercy had traced him to the stables, had discovered that horses were missing, and slain the attendant, and then-what? Although nothing was to be heard, Mingan caught the reflected glimmer of lanterns moving toward the gate of the palace enclosure. Guards were already searching for him in that direction; there would have been just time for the executioner to arouse them and order them to the gate to stop him. Then it was probable that his chariot, in the back lane, had not been discovered. Listening intently, he could make out the crunching of the horses as they moved over the grass, and the faint slap of the traces.
    Seconds were precious, and he ran to the vehicle, caught up the reins, and urged on the horses. They were fresh, and he passed out of the lane to the pastures swiftly, turning here into a path that led to the highway running out of Taitung to the northwest. Once on the road, smoothed and beaten for the passage of the emperor that day, he gave the horses their heads and sped on through the darkness.
    The moon had set and the brightest of the stars over his head was the planet of his birth. Mingan, feeling the damp of the dew on his face and the chill of the wind on his skin, wondered that men should so believe in the stars that they should be impelled to slay him because of this omen. It seemed ridiculous that he, cold, shivering, fleeing with throbbing pulse, should be destined to a higher fortune than the Dynasty.
    And yet-he had been taught the stars never lied.
    The dawn had flooded the sky behind him when Mingan reached the Western Gate of the Wall of China, and found a hundred men-at-arms drawn up beside the barred portal. The captain in command informed him respectfully that orders had been issued from the Court that no one was to pass through the gate before the emperor, who was on the way to the hunt.
    Mingan decided to wait where he was. If he went back, he would meet the cavalcade from Taitung; if he turned aside from the highway into one of the earth lanes, his chariot would be bogged down in the mud before he had passed beyond view. So he stood in the miniature chariot, to hide his bare feet, and let his horses breathe.
    By the eighth hour of the morning, the gong on one of the gate towers was sounded and the hundred soldiers lifted down the massive bar, swinging open the iron-studded gates. Then they threw themselves down on their faces. A troop of horsemen bearing wands appeared around the first bend in the highway.
    Mingan, being of royal blood, and in robes, kept his feet while the horsemen passed, saluting him. He watched a company of the palace guards march past with drawn swords on their shoulders, followed by the dignitaries of the Court, under canopies carried by slaves. Then, at the head of the princes of the blood, and the palanquins of courtesans, appeared the sedan chair of the emperor.
    The prince left his chariot and kneeled by the road, feeling his heart quicken as the sedan halted, and the side lattice was lowered at a command from within. The thin face and shrewd eyes of the Son of Heaven peered out at him. He heard the emperor ask his name, and the attendants answer.
    "Young nephew," the modulated voice spoke from the opening in the yellow lacquer, "it was said to us that you had left our presence during a revel of the night, thus showing us disrespect, inappropriate in the young in years."
    Mingan bent his head nine times.
    "Live for a thousand years! I, presuming beyond my merit, ventured to await your passing, to pay my