Lord Hong was folding paper. He was an expert at it because when he did it he gave it his full attention. Lord Hong had a mind like a knife, although possibly a knife with a curved blade. The door slid aside. A guard, red in the face from running, threw himself on to the floor. 'O Lord Hong, who is exalted—'
'Yes, indeed,' said Lord Hong distantly, essaying a taxing crease. 'What has gone wrong this time?'
'My lord?'
'I asked you what has gone wrong.'
'Uh . . . we killed the Emperor as directed—'
'By whom?'
'My lord! You commanded it!'
'Did I?' said Lord Hong, folding the paper lengthwise. The guard shut his eyes. He had a vision, a very short vision, of the future. There was a spike in it. He carried on. 'But the . . . prisoners can't be found anywhere, lord! We heard someone approach and then . . . well, we saw two people, lord. We're chasing them. But the others have vanished.'
'No slogans? No revolutionary posters? No culprits?'
'No, lord.'
'I see. Remain here.' Lord Hong's hands continued with the folding as he looked at the room's other occupant. 'You have something to say, Two Fire Herb?' he said pleasantly. The revolutionary leader looked sheepish. 'The Red Army has been quite expensive,' said Lord Hong. 'The printing costs alone . . . And you cannot say I have not helped you. We unlocked the doors and killed the guards and gave your wretched people swords and a map, did we not? And now I can hardly claim that they killed the Emperor, may he stay dead for ten thousand years, when there is no sign of them. People will ask too many questions. I can hardly kill everyone. And we appear to have some barbarians in the building, too.'
'Something must have gone wrong, my lord.' Herb was hypnotized by the moving hands as they caressed that paper. 'What a pity. I do not like it when things go wrong. Guard? Redeem your miserable self. Take him away. I will have to try a different plan.'
'My lord!'
'Yes, Two Fire Herb?'
'When you . . . when we agreed . . . when it was agreed that the Red Army should be turned over to vou, you did promise me indemnity.' Lord Hong smiled. 'Oh, yes. I recall. I said, did I not, that I would neither say nor write any order for your death? And I must keep my word, otherwise what am I?' He folded the last crease and opened his hands, putting the little paper decoration on the lacquered table beside him. Herb and the guard stared at it. 'Guard . . . take him away,' said Lord Hong. It was a marvellously constructed paper figure of a man. But there didn't seem to have been enough paper for a head. The immediate court turned out to be about eighty men, women and eunuchs, in various states of sleeplessness. They were astonished at what sat on the throne. The Horde were quite astonished at the court. 'Who're all them vinegar-faced old baggages at the front?' whispered Cohen, who was idly tossing a throwing knife into the air and catching it again. 'I wouldn't even set fire to them.'
'They're the wives of former Emperors,' hissed Six Beneficent Winds. 'We don't have to marry them, do we?'
'I don't think so.'
'Why're their feet so small?' said Cohen. 'I like to see big feet on a woman.' Six Beneficent Winds told him. Cohen's expression hardened.
'I'm learning a lot about civilization, I am,' he said. 'Long fingernails, crippled feet and servants running around without their family jewels. Huh.'
'What is going on here, pray?' said a middle-aged man. 'Who are you? Who are these old eunuchs?'
'Who're you?' said Cohen. He drew his sword. 'I need to know so's it can be put on your gravestone—'
'I wonder if I might effect some introductions at this point?' said Mr Saveloy. He stepped forward. 'This,' he said, 'is Ghenghiz Cohen - put it away, Ghenghiz - who is technically a barbarian, and this is his Horde. They have overrun your city. And you are—?'
'Barbarian invaders?' said the man haughtily, ignoring him. 'Barbarian invaders come in their thousands! Big screaming men on little horses!'
'I told you,' said Truckle. 'But would anyone listen?'
'—and there is fire, terror, rapine, looting and blood in the streets!'
'We haven't had breakfast yet,' said Cohen, tossing his knife into the air again. 'Hah! I would rather die than submit to such as you!' Cohen shrugged. 'Why didn't you say earlier?'
'Oops,' said Six Beneficent Winds. It was a very accurate throw. 'Who was he, anyway?' said Cohen, as the body folded up. 'Anyone know who he was?'
'Ghenghiz,' said Mr Saveloy, 'I've kept meaning to tell you: when people say they'd rather die, they don't really mean they'd rather die. Not always.'
'Why'd they say it, then?'
'It's the done thing.'