The imperial court had prepared a grand reception in the capital’s Southern Plaza.
Four rows of beast handlers in white silk swung bronze incense burners, filling the air with ambergris and spirit orchids. Behind them, three hundred scribes and stewards knelt with their foreheads against the marble.
In the center of the plaza stood the Emperor’s gift.
The Royal Celestial Golden Dog Palace.
It was thirty feet wide, twenty feet deep, and twenty feet high. The entire structure had been cast from eighteen metric tons of immortal star-gold. Green dragon-jade tiles covered its triple-tiered roof, and cloud dragons curled around its golden pillars.
Inside waited three silk mattresses stuffed with the down of nine-colored phoenixes. Eight calming formations had been woven into the beds.
Twelve golden feeding troughs stood around the entrance. They held dragon-bone marrow porridge, thousand-year ginseng mash, braised mutton, and dried golden carp. Two junior handlers knelt nearby with leads made from silver wire and hollow jade rings.
The Chief Imperial Beast-Master stepped forward and raised a scroll.
“Master Builder and Your Imperial Majesty, the Royal Beast Guild and forty master alchemists worked through three night watches. We followed the Dragon-Tiger spirit line and added eight defensive wards. We hope the hound finds it comfortable.”
Emperor Yan Ming turned to Austin with a proud smile.
“When Admiral Meng described how your guardian defended Sunset Peak, the throne knew words were not enough. We offer this palace so your hound may rest as an emperor among beasts.”
Austin pushed his hard hat back and studied the gold pavilion. Then he looked at the hollow jade leash rings.
“That jade will snap the moment he leans into the collar. And this food is all fat and rich marrow. Feed him that after a train ride, and you’ll be pressure-washing the marble tomorrow.”
He took a pocket level and checked the main doorpost.
“Three-sixteenths out of plumb. Eighth-inch gap in the corner trim, cut with a broadaxe. Did anyone use a framing square before you poured eighteen tons of gold?”
The Chief Beast-Master trembled. “Grandmaster, the joints reflect the sacred imperfection of mortal devotion!”
“They reflect a carpenter who couldn’t read a tape.”
Austin tapped the gold wall.
“And gold moves heat about three thousand times faster than cedar. In winter, this place will pull warmth right out of his body. In summer, it becomes an oven. There’s no insulation, no moisture barrier, and no roof vent. On the first cold night, his breath will condense on the ceiling and drip on his head.”
“But eight talismans provide eternal spring warmth!”
“Talismans don’t fix bad building design. Gold is soft too. First time he kicks the wall while scratching an ear, his claws will cut through those dragon carvings.”
Austin put away the level.
“But the tenant should decide. Pug! Walkthrough!”
Heavy paws thumped inside the Sunset Express.
Cerberus Pug swaggered down the ramp with the chewed remains of the Sun-Slayer’s steering wheel in his middle mouth. His left head sniffed the incense with disgust. His right head watched a row of nervous royal guards.
The beast handlers held their breath.
“The Divine Hound approaches his heavenly throne,” one whispered.
Pug climbed the golden steps.
Left Head sniffed a jade-inlaid pillar.
Snort.
Right Head pushed his nose into the phoenix-down mattresses.
Snort.
Center Head licked the polished gold doorframe.
Slurp.
All six eyes blinked.
Then Pug turned his back on the palace.
He walked four paces to a carved golden dragon at the corner and lifted his right hind leg.
PSSSSSSSSSSST.
A high-pressure stream struck the gold pillar. Protective lacquer hissed and melted. A steaming yellow river ran down the jade steps and into the marble gutter.
Pug shook his leg twice, picked up his steering-wheel fragment, and trotted back to the train. He did not glance at the golden troughs or the phoenix-down beds.
The courtyard went silent.
One scribe looked at another with his brush frozen above the page.
“How do we record this? Did the Divine Hound consecrate the monument with solar essence?”
Austin caught his eye.
“Write ‘pissed on the corner,’ son. History needs accurate field notes.”
The Chief Beast-Master clutched his chest.
“He lifted his leg on eighteen tons of immortal star-gold!”
“He rejected the phoenix feathers and sacred dragon marrow!” the Minister of Rites wailed. “He used the Emperor’s greatest tribute as a fire hydrant!”
Austin chuckled.
“Gold doesn’t breathe. Working dogs don’t care about precious metal, and fancy feathers collect burrs. You gave a guard dog a metal monument. He gave you an honest review.”
He waved to the stunned court.
“Thanks for the thought, Your Majesty. We have concrete to pour back home. Departure is on time.”
The train doors closed. The Sunset Express left the station and accelerated back to six hundred and fifty miles an hour.
Three hours and ten minutes later, it arrived at Mount Clear Sky. Regenerative braking returned nearly half a megawatt-hour to the grid before the train settled into its depot.
Pug bounded down the ramp and headed straight for the lodge. He passed the guest rooms and ignored the clean porch steps. Instead, he went around the foundation to his favorite spot beneath the cedar floorboards.
His real bed waited there: an old moving blanket stained with grease. Austin had used it to wrap valves and pump housings during his first weeks on the mountain. It smelled of chain oil, solvent, bacon grease, and sawdust. Two corners had chew holes, and one dark ring marked an old hydraulic leak.
To Pug, it was paradise.
He dropped his piece of steering wheel, turned three circles on the blanket, and flopped down with a deep sigh.
FLOP.
Within ten seconds, all three muzzles rested on his paws.
Snore-whistle... Snore-puff... Snore-snort.
Austin stopped beside him and dropped a smoked garlic sausage beside each nose.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
Without opening an eye, Pug swallowed all three. His tail gave two lazy thumps, and he went back to sleep.
Austin sat in his rocking chair with his tea.
“Good dog. He knows real comfort. Keep your eighteen tons of gold. Give him a dry porch, an old blanket, and a good stick.”