The words didn't land as a blow, but as-- something she'd never experienced before. It was as if her entire body went numb. Her lips felt as though they were no longer part of her body, no longer under her command.
Her mind refused to think, moving as slowly as in the days when she smoked opium to drive away the reality of her life. But this time, there was no comforting haze, no lovely dreams. Reality settled into her soul with the razor-sharpness of hurled shuriken, shredding hopes, beliefs, ideals, in the brief seconds it had taken to speak those inked lines.
For the rest of her life, Bo Jun could never recall what she'd said to the kind young girl, or if she'd said anything at all. She could recall folding the black-edged sheet back into its envelope. She could remember walking through the town as mindlessly as a clockwork automaton....
But nothing else, until she found herself at the cool oasis of the huge springfed pond, that gave this town a reason to be. She dropped into the lap of the long grass, and took out the sheet once more.
An observer would have thought she was reading the lines that covered the page in neat rows. An observer would have been wrong. Bo Jun saw neither ink or paper. She was far away, in time and space.... remembering her mother's face and her lovely voice, remembering the pride and love in it as she described Steven Caine, the man she called Chengde, "Perfect Virtue." And how she'd faithfully passed along the beliefs he'd brought, the beliefs Anling had made a part of herself, when she'd taken on the name of Caine.
A bitter laugh mingled with a disgusted retch. "Perfect virtue!"
Bo Jun dropped her head back, to stare up into the searing blue of the cloudless desert sky. She'd often wondered what was beyond it, what the celestial city was like.
Heaven was a city that her mother firmly asserted was so wonderfully beautiful, it made the Forbidden City resemble a collection of filthy pigstyes in comparison. The city that only believers would be granted entrance to, the city that held no tears, no pain, no parting, inside its gates of pearl....
The letter had answered her, with brutal finality. There was no Heaven waiting beyond that bowl of cerulean. There was no release from suffering, other than the ending of death. There was... nothing.... past this life! The words-- the life--of the man that gave her birth were lies. The tales he'd told of a savior, of a heaven, of a way of life with eternal rewards were shown by his heartless actions, to be only the cruelest of fantasies.
Far crueler than the fantastic myths that told of China's panoply of gods and goddesses... or the teachings of those that followed the Buddah... for those priests and monks that told those tales believed them, lived them. Did not deceive and destroy by them!
With a snarl, Bo Jun launched herself from the grass, to land in a balanced fighter's stance. The thin linen paper crushed in her fist, and was thrown aside with the first flick of her wrist.
The fluid movements of the katas did nothing to ease the agony of the raw place in her soul, where her beliefs, her respect for her father-- her very reason for existing-- had been ripped away. They did, however, provide her with a means of calming herself, of focusing on nothing but perfection of movement.
Tiger, dragon, mantis, crane, snake, leopard-- and the ultimate deceiver, monkey-- Bo Jun's body flowed in a deadly dance, as she took on first one, then the next, of each of these animal's forms of attack and defense. The tears streaming down her face, blurring her vision, were of as little consequence as the sweat that mingled with them.
Again and again, she went through the forms... forcing herself to move more quickly, to strike with greater force, demanding perfection and power....
Until the snort of a horse brought her back to time and place. Elusive as the shadows she melted into, Bo Jun settled into a watchful crouch. The intruder was the half-breed woman. And it was plain to see that she was as upset as Bo Jun herself.
The universe seemed to have chosen today, for cruel blows to the psyche.... Doing her best to still the rasp of her breathing to a level that wouldn't carry across the pond's water, Caine sank to the ground and waited for Cheyenne to leave. She still intended to speak with the woman-- but now was not the time for either of them.
She waited, motionless, until the woman finished her swim and rode away. Bo Jun rose, her muscles already burning from demands she'd not made on them in some time-- in too long. The water was undeniably inviting. Following Cheyenne's lead, Caine stripped off her sweat-drenched clothes, and eased into the water.
At full dark, she left it, pulled her dry, stiff clothes back on, and hurried into town. Despite her disillusionment, she still had an obligation to her job. And now, that she had no reason to move on, she needed that employment more than ever.
"Good evening, Miss Caine... I was almost at the point of believing you had abandoned us," Ezra greeted her, from his "throne" at the gaming table.
"I ask your pardon, Mr. Standish," she replied, slipping behind the bar. "I was... unexpectedly detained."
"An occurance that belays the best of us now and then," he responded graciously-- then peered at her more closely, in the glow of the lamplight. "Are you quite all right, Miss Caine?"
"Yes... No... I shall be, soon, " She sighed, and came out from around the bar to approach his table more closely. "May I speak with you a moment, Mr. Standish?"
"Of course, my dear," he answered, and gallantly pulled out the chair opposite for her. Once he'd seated her, he retook his own seat, and moved the cards aside. "How may I assist you?"
"I am not certain, yet," she began slowly. "But I find that I will make my permanent home, here, in Four Corners..." Her head lifted from its submissive tilt, and her onyx eyes blazed into his. "I find that I do not desire to make my home in poverty, any longer-- nor to subsist on the kind charity of yourself and Madame Patterson."
"I assure you, my dear Miss Caine, the dispensation of charity is not in my nature-- and I venture to say, not in Lily's, either. You earn your room and board honestly."
"Honestly..." she whispered. A long, slender finger reached out and tapped his deck. "There are other... honest... ways to earn one's keep... Ways that earn considerably more than mere sustenance wages."
Black eyes met green, with an agreement of greed. "I've watched you play, closely enough that I feel I have a grasp of the rules of the game," she continued. "But the finer points, that I desire... Would you teach me, Mr. Standish? In return for a portion of my winnings, for the rest of the year, of course."
A chestnut eyebrow lifted speculatively. "A sizable portion," he countered. "I would, after all, be giving up a good bit of my own income to you, if you prove competent enough to become competition."
"A sizable portion, of course," she nodded, with her familiar subservience, then grinned with impish wickedness. "But becoming your competition is not my intent. I would prefer to become your ally-- or would 'accomplice' be the more proper word? My grasp of English is still not the best...."
"I suspect the choice of noun would depend upon one's point of view," Ezra mused, his gold tooth glinting with equal vulpine amusement. "I shall endeavor to improve your vocabulary and diction, as I teach you the art of the gaming table..."
He extended his hand, "Consider the deal struck, for three-quarters of your winnings for the next twelve months, Miss Caine."
"Agreed," she nodded, "For HALF my winnings, for the next nine months."
Ezra shook his head. "Half, for the full year." Again, the grin. "Almost charity, at that..."
"Hardly," she sniffed, her lips curving into a smile none the less. "Yet, one must sacrifice, to become the pupil of a master. Agreed, Master Standish-- half my winnings, for the next year."
Her fingers curled around his firmly. Her seated bow was playfully mocking.
"Master... " Ezra rolled the word over his tongue as if it were rich and sweet. "As pleasing as I find the sound of that appellation, it would be best, if we were to allow ourselves the familiarity of addressing one another by our given names. Please, call me Ezra... Bo Jun."
"I shall, Ezra... When shall our lessons begin?"
"At once. Would you stand, please?"
Ezra's patrician nose wrinkled a bit, as he stood as well, and surveyed her worn, patched trousers and faded, crumpled shirt. "First lesson--appearance is crucial. To woo wealth from others, one must present the appearance of having wealth, oneself. I shall loan you the funds to appropriately garb yourself-- at a reasonable rate of interest, of course."
"Oh, of course!" Bo Jun chuckled, then, her shoulders lifted. "I willingly follow your suggestions, but I am afraid I have very little idea of what would be appropriate or attractive, in women's dress here."
"The least I could do would be to take you to my dressmaker, and give you advice!" Lily's amused voice drew both Bo Jun and Ezra's attention to the stairway. Lily swept down the rest of the flight in a rustle of silk and a cloud of patchouli. "Especially since I have put you into the postion of selling your unsullied soul to this devil, here!" she laughed, and laid a companionable hand on Ezra's shoulder.
"She needed no help in deciding for profitable corruption, my dear!" Ezra shot back, with a fond smile to the co-owner of the saloon. "In point of fact, the entire enterprise was her suggestion..."
"Of course she did, Cher, of course!" Lily laughed, and moved to survey Bo Jun with as critical an expert eye as Ezra had.
"Hmm... jewel tones, I think, to play up your dark hair and eyes, and your lovely skin. Exotic in cut and fabric... something original, rather than la mode Parisian... " Lily moved around Bo Jun, to lift her thick, long braid speculatively. "Such beautiful hair. And so very long... Bo Jun, I think you should wear it dressed differently--partly loose, perhaps, with ornaments to glitter in its darkness..."
Her thoughtful tone changed to the brisk one of decision. "Come upstairs with me, Cherie... I don't have anything to suit you perfectly, but I still have a gown that I wore as a debutante. I suspect it will fit you, and it will do until we can have something better made... And I have a set of combs, enameled peacocks, that were gifts from Mr. Patterson. I think they would compliment you far more than they ever have me..."
Ezra chuckled, to see his protégée swept away in a scented cloud of feminine speculation, by a master of slightly different persuasive arts. Yes, with Lily's assistance, this could be a very profitable alliance, indeed....