Read Temple Of Dawn for Free Online Page B

winding path over the lawn. As Honda approached his goal, and despite the joy that he knew was metaphysical, he felt as though the sound of his footsteps was that of the sharp claws of some jungle beast stalking its prey with drooling fangs. Yes, he had been born for just this pleasure.
    The Rosette Palace seemed confined in its own stubborn little dream. The impression was enhanced by the shape of the building itself. It was a little box with neither wings or extensions. The ground floor displayed so many casement windows that it was difficult to discern which was the entrance. Every one was paneled in wood carved into roses, above which octagons of yellow, blue, and indigo glass encircled small, five-petaled, purple rose-shaped windows in the Near Eastern style. The French windows facing the garden were half open.
    The second floor bore a panel of fleur-de-lis, and three windows opening on the garden formed a triptych. The central one was higher than its neighbors, but all were bordered with carved rosettes.
    The entrance itself at the top of three steps consisted of a French window of the same design. As soon as Hishikawa rang the bell, Honda indiscreetly peeped through the small rose pane of purple glass. Inside all was dark violet, like the ocean floor.
    The French door opened and an old woman appeared. Honda and Hishikawa removed their hats. The white-haired brown face with its flat nose wore a smile of friendly greeting in the characteristic Thai manner. But the smile was a formality, nothing more.
    The woman spoke with Hishikawa for a few moments. Apparently there had been no change in the appointment he had arranged.
    Four or five chairs were lined up in the foyer that was too small for a reception hall. Hishikawa handed a package to the woman and she accepted it after joining her hands respectfully. Opening the central door, she at once led them into a spacious audience hall.
    After the morning heat outside, the musty, stagnant coolness of the room was pleasant. The two men were invited to sit in red and gold Chinese chairs supported by legs in the form of lion paws.
    While waiting for the Princess, Honda took the opportunity to scrutinize the room. There was no sound save the faint buzzing of a fly.
    The reception hall did not give directly onto the windows. A pillared gallery supported a mezzanine; only the throne was heavily draped. And directly above it a portrait of King Chulalongkorn was displayed in the upper gallery. The Corinthian pillars of the gallery were painted blue with vertical incisions inlaid with gold, while the capitals were adorned with golden roses in the Near Eastern style instead of the usual acanthus leaves.
    The rosette pattern was tenaciously repeated throughout the palace. The gallery, painted gold and bordered in white, had openwork balustrades of golden roses. An immense chandelier suspended from the center of the lofty ceiling was also decorated with gold and white roses. When Honda looked down at his feet, he saw that the red carpet had a rosette pattern.
    A pair of gigantic ivory tusks placed behind the throne—an embracing pair of white crescent moons—was the sole traditionally Thai decoration. The impressive polished ivory gleamed yellowish white in the gloom.
    Upon entering, Honda discovered that the French windows occupied only the forepart of the house facing the front garden. The open ones looking out on the rear garden, barred by a corridor, were only chest high. It was through the northern windows that a light breeze entered.
    As his eyes wandered toward the windows, he suddenly glimpsed a black shadow flitting by the window frame. He shuddered. It was a green peacock. The bird perched on the sill, stretching its long elegant neck that glittered a greenish gold. The plumed crest on its proud head was like the delicate silhouette of a miniature fan.
    “I wonder how long they’re going to make us wait,” Honda whispered into Hishikawa’s ear, thoroughly bored.
    “It’s