Jade War

Woon inclined his chin. “You’re sitting in that chair because you’re a Kaul.”

He said it simply, with no rancor at all, but Shae winced at the truth. She was well aware that she still had a long way to go to prove herself on Ship Street. The clan had barely escaped destruction last year, and even though the street war had settled into something of a stalemate, the Mountain was larger and remained in a stronger financial position. No Peak was dominant in some sectors, such as real estate and construction, but the boom in housing and infrastructure development that had occurred in the decades after the Many Nations War had slowed; meanwhile, several of the industries where the Mountain held a greater share, such as manufacturing, retail, and transportation, continued their healthy growth. No Peak had to expand operations more aggressively if it hoped to prevail in the long run, and every action Shae took as Weather Man might improve or worsen the clan’s position relative to its enemies. Her voice and shoulders fell. “We need every advantage we can get, no matter how slight,” she insisted. “That’s driving all my decisions, even if some of them upset people.”

“Trust is also an advantage,” Woon said.

“You don’t believe the clan trusts me?”

“You’re extremely hardworking and smart, Shae-jen, anyone can see that,” Woon said, with surprising vehemence for someone normally so soft-spoken. “And you’re a Kaul. So the clan trusts you on those levels. But Lantern Men are loyal to the clan because of what it can do for them, and lately, you’ve been shutting doors instead of opening them.”

Shae sat silently for long moment. Thick clouds laden with spring rain hung over Janloon; from a distance the sky and the sea were the same indistinguishable shade of flat gray-blue. “I’m grateful I have you, Papi-jen.” She meant it. If Lan had not been killed, Woon would’ve been the one sitting in this office as Weather Man, yet he’d devoted himself tirelessly to being the Weather Man’s Shadow, her chief of staff, never expressing bitterness or complaint. Woon was not unusually cunning or clever, he did not have a forceful personality, but like Lan, he seemed made of such a steadfast and dependable fiber that Shae understood why he’d been her brother’s longtime friend and aide. She put a hand on his arm. “It’s been a long day. Go home; no need to wait for me.”

Woon stood, dislodging her hand from his arm, and she Perceived his jade aura pulse with some sudden, stifled emotion. “I have work to do as well,” he said. “Take the time you need, Kaul-jen; I’ll drive you home as usual afterward.” The former Pillarman had left Lan alone on the evening of his murder. He had not gone home early in all his time as her Shadow.

When Woon had gone, Shae went through paperwork at her desk for another couple of hours. Her reflection emerged in the darkening windowpanes as the lights of downtown Janloon came on, transforming the skyscrapers into luminous columns. The phone rang, and she picked up the receiver. “Kaul-jen,” said the slightly nasal voice of Ree Turahuo on the other end, “I’m glad I caught you still at the office. I was hoping we might have a frank discussion between Weather Men.”

Shae put down the report she’d been reading; the phone cord stretched as she pushed her chair back from the table. “Ree-jen,” she said, her voice calm and dispassionate. “What would you like to discuss?”

“Next month, the board of the Kekon Jade Alliance is scheduled to finally reconvene and hold a shareholder vote on whether to recommence national jade mining operations,” Ree said. “How do No Peak and its allies among the minor clans intend to vote?”

Shae said, “The Pillar is considering all the factors. He hasn’t yet made a decision.”

“Come now, Kaul-jen,” said Ree, his voice sharpening, “don’t play games. We all know that your brother leans on your counsel in all these matters. You’re the one making the decision. Do you plan to prolong this needless suspension, or return the country to normal?”