Dragon's Honor - Kij Johnson [15]
“What are you doing down there?” the Dragon interrupted him. “Looking for something? Get up, get up. And have them bring stairs for the gentlemen. Sometime tonight would be nice.” He glared at Mu, who scrambled hastily to his feet and vanished into the shadowy recesses of the western tower. He returned with a pair of servants clad in simple blue garments. The men brought a set of portable stairs over to the dais. Then they abased themselves as Picard and Riker ascended. “Sit, sit,” the Dragon said enthusiastically.
The dais was furnished with six couches laid out in a horseshoe, its open end facing the floor. Two couches stood free. Picard seated himself gingerly on the one beside the Dragon. Riker found a place nearer a younger man whom Picard assumed to be one of the Dragon’s two sons. “Excellence,” Picard began, relieved to be able to speak at last, “I am honored to extend the greetings of the entire Federation to—”
“So, Picard, hmmm?” the Dragon broke in. “I have heard good things about you. You are a true warrior and a man of honor. Good, good. You look like a warrior. I told those soft courtiers at your Federation, those old women who chat ceaselessly over subspace, that I wanted a warrior here, someone who would understand my side of things, a real man. You look one, yes?” The Dragon tapped his own balding pate. “Lots of thoughts, hmmm? Lots of experience makes the follicles die. We are men of the world, you and I.”
“I expect we will find we have much in common,” Picard began again, “as do the Federation and—”
“Indeed,” the Dragon interrupted. “I look forward to hearing your poem.”
“Poem?” Picard echoed, caught off-guard. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“The wedding poem, of course,” the Dragon said. “It’s traditional.”
I’m sure it is, Picard thought, making a mental note to worry about it later. Just one more thing my briefing left out. “As I was saying, Excellence, the Federation and the Dragon Empire share many interests—”
Scowling, the Dragon tilted his head toward the courtyard. “Why is there no music?” he said abruptly. “Mu!”
The chamberlain approached the foot of the dais.
“Most Excellent and Exalted One?”
“Start the entertainments again. Are we to sit here like peasants?”
The chamberlain flinched visibly, then clapped his hands together. Almost immediately, the four musicians returned to their posts and commenced playing. They were followed by a ten-meter-long, dancing dragon made of brightly dyed paper and cloth; at least a dozen performers operated the dragon from beneath its fiery red coils. The dragon capered back and forth across the courtyard to the accompaniment of the music of bells, flutes, and harp.
The Dragon smiled with satisfaction. “Much better,” he sighed. “Allow me to introduce to you my humble eldest son and heir, the eager bridegroom: Chuan-chi.”
The Heir sat between Picard and Riker. Eager was not the word Picard would have used to describe him. Chuan-chi looked to be in his early forties, tall and thin, with a large nose and, currently, a sour expression that might indicate indigestion. A school of scarlet fish, of over a hundred exotic breeds, were embroidered on his yellow robes.
“Gentlemen.” Chuan-chi sounded as dyspeptic as he looked. He brought his hands together and bowed, with the air of a man submitting himself for a painful and humiliating physical inspection. “You bring honor to my father’s palace.”
As the formal introductions had apparently been concluded, Picard assumed he could now speak freely. Certainly, the Dragon himself did not seem to be standing on ceremony. “The honor is all ours,” Picard said to the Heir, “and my congratulations on this happy occasion.”
“Happy for the Federation no doubt,” Chuan-chi replied. There was no mistaking the frosty edge to his voice. Did the Heir disapprove of the treaty binding the Empire to the Federation, Picard wondered. That could be a problem, depending on the extent of his influence over his father.
“My second son,” the Dragon said, “and a vexation