The Shattering Waves (The Year of the Dragon, Book 7) Read Online Free Page A

Khmer. As for Qin … There’s plenty of it to go around for everyone. We could share it with you and the Varyaga, no?”
    As he spoke, his eyes glinted into the distance, and blood rushed to his cheeks. He raised himself from his mattress, and drew shapes of imaginary provinces in the air with his fingerless hand. But he ended on a cough, and had to lean back against the pillows.
    The weapons deal — it awoke an unhealthy ambition.
    “The Dragon Throne does not take kindly to threats,” said Dylan. He took a sip — the tea in his cup was lukewarm and acrid.
    “Threats? Please, Di Lan- sama, do not insult me. In me, Dracaland has a friend and an admirer.”
    “Does Curzius know about your plans?”
    “He guesses, I’m sure.” Nariakira shrugged. “But we never spoke about it.”
    “Then why tell me about it?”
    The daimyo leaned forward. “Do you think I’m the only one with grand plans for Yamato? Nabeshima, Mori — even Tokugawa with his Abominations, they will all do the same, as soon as this is over, as soon as one of us comes out on top.” He looked at the old, yellowed and wrinkled map of Yamato on the tent wall. “This country will never be the same again. We have dragons destroying cities, Rangaku wizards fighting magic battles, foreigners openly flaunting the Taikun’s orders … We will never go back to the old, secluded ways.”
    “Ah, I think I see what you’re saying.” Dylan nodded. “But I could go today to Nabeshima- dono’s tent and gain the same assurances of friendship. Words are cheap.”
    “You want a treaty, Dracalish?” Nariakira glanced at him. “I can give you a treaty.”
    “You have no authority to sign pronouncements in the name of the entire country.”
    “Aaah,” the daimyo drew a long vowel, “but what if I did ?”
    He grasped the cane and raised himself up with a surprising spring in his step. “Come with me to the harbour. I have something to show you.”
    A large two-masted junk, richly decorated along the sides, with a temple-like aftcastle, stood at anchor in the middle of the river. Dylan recognized the hulk as of the same type used to build Nariakira’s mistfire warship — the largest available to the Yamato, he guessed. This one had no engine, only snow-white silk sails with the Satsuma crest painted in the centre in striking black.
    On the upper level of the aftcastle, in the usual place of the captain’s cabin, was a room of silk curtains and feather cushions. Its walls were decorated with hastily painted chrysanthemum flowers and cranes in flight. The curtains and cushions muffled all sound.
    In the silence, Dylan heard the tinkling of a bell. A small cloth ball rolled under his feet. He picked it up — the bell inside jangled.
    A soft but commanding voice spoke in Yamato; it was coming from the centre of the room, where the curtains were the densest. In the dim light thrown down from a skylight, Dylan saw a silhouette of a slender, narrow-shouldered man — or a boy. Nariakira bowed deeply — deeper than Dylan had seen any of the Yamato noblemen bow before.
    “Why do your servants insist on bringing me these toys, Nariakira?” said Mutsuhito. “I am not a child.”
    “I’m sorry, heika . I will make sure you’re provided with entertainment more suitable for your age.”
    He means women, the young Mikado thought with revulsion. I should be choosing concubines by now, mothers of my sons. I should be producing heirs to the throne, not wasting my sacred seed on some southern courtesan.
    “There is someone with you.” He could barely distinguish the shadows through the many silk curtains. “Who did you bring this time to watch the monkey dance?”
    “It is Di Lan- sama of the Dracalish Empire , heika .”
    Mutsuhito looked closer, trying to pierce the veils with his gaze. The man standing beside Nariakira was tall and slim, wearing the straight-legged trousers and tight-fitting jacket of the Western fashion.
    “Another Gaikokujin? ”
    He