Dragon's Honor - Kij Johnson [53]
Good Lord, Beverly thought, comprehension blooming suddenly. No one has told the bride the facts of life. She wondered if this was what Lord Lu Tung had intended all along; no wonder he was so eager to accept her services. Her cheeks still burning, Yao Hu looked up at Beverly with desperate, pleading eyes of emerald, while Hsiao Har grinned maliciously not far away. Both girls watched her expectantly, waiting for her to speak.
Oh, dear, Beverly thought. This is rather more than I bargained for.
Six Starfleet security officers stood posted around the wedding gifts, accompanied by an equal complement of Pai warriors in full armor. Worf nodded in approval. Ideally, of course, a battalion of Klingon warriors would provide real security; unfortunately, there were not yet enough Klingons in Starfleet to fill out even one security roster. Thus far, Worf’s example had not inspired many of his fellow Klingons to follow in his footsteps; this troubled him sometimes, although he would never admit it, not even to Deanna.
In any event, a dozen guards seemed more than enough to stand watch over the vast collection of treasures and trinkets assembled in the so-called High Hall of Ceremonial Grandeur. In truth, Worf found this ostentatious display of wealth and luxury rather distasteful—and further evidence of the Dragon Empire’s misplaced priorities. All this pomp and circumstance for a mere wedding? Worf was unimpressed. A Klingon wedding, by contrast, was short, direct, and admirably uncomplicated, requiring little more than an exchange of vows between a warrior and his (or her) chosen mate. On the Homeworld, he thought, this wedding would have been concluded hours ago. Entire wars could be fought and won, however, in the time it took to marry off a pair of Pai. Worf shook his head in disbelief.
“Is something wrong?” Chih-li asked. The Imperial Minister of Internal Security stood beside Worf, holding his gilded helmet against his chest.
“No,” Worf said. His gaze swept over the guards standing attentively at their posts. “It is well.”
“Indeed,” Chih-li agreed. “Not that your people are in any way necessary.”
“I have my orders,” Worf reminded him.
“Yes, well. We do what we must, I suppose.”
Chih-li talked too much, Worf thought, like all the rest of the Pai. Still, he had come to respect the stalwart Pai warrior, who clearly took his duty and his honor very seriously. But how did that honor apply when it came to the safety of Dragon himself? In a very real sense, Worf recalled, the security of the wedding gifts was just a blind; Captain Picard wanted him on hand to protect the Emperor and his guests. Could he now suggest as much to Chih-li without provoking another duel? Worf eyed his new ally very carefully.
“There is another matter,” Worf said slowly, lowering his voice so he could not be overheard. “The captain has informed me that an attempt has been made on the Dragon’s life.”
“Yes,” Chih-li conceded. He looked more mournful than offended. His voice held a note of resignation when he spoke. “The Dragon has refused to permit any measures to protect him. It is a matter of honor.”
“Yet an assassin almost succeeded mere hours ago,” Worf said.
The minister lowered his head. His chin sank onto his chest. “I should have protected him, despite his direct orders. He would have had me killed when he found out, but still—”
“If there is one attempt,” Worf emphasized, “there may be others.”
“I have already offered to kill myself in atonement for my failure at the banquet,” Chih-li said, “and the Dragon denied me that privilege.”
Worf sympathized. “It is understood among my people that such a thing could best be atoned for only by death.”
“Really?” Chih-li cocked an eyebrow. “Are your people truly so similar to our own?”
“We have lived the way of honor for ten thousand years,” Worf said diplomatically. He took a deep breath before fully confiding in Chih-li.