Chapter 44
CONFLICTING VOICES
Li Yuan woke early and, loath to disturb her, went to his desk on the far side of the room. He sat there in the tight circle of the lamp’s light, looking across at her, entranced by the vision of her sleeping form. Then, stirring himself, he took paper from the drawer and, after mixing water and ink from the ink block, began, writing the words in a neat, unhesitant hand down the page, right to left.
Hot wings, perfumed like cinnamon,
Beat about me, black as the moonless night.
I heard your splendid cry in the silence,
And knew the phoenix fed upon my heart.
He dipped the brush again, then looked across, realizing she was watching him.
‘What are you doing, my love?’
He felt a tiny thrill, a shiver of pure delight, pass through him at her words. My love… How often he’d dreamed of her saying that. He smiled, then set the brush down.
‘Nothing, my darling one. Sleep now. I’ll wake you when it’s time.’
He picked up the tiny, dragon-headed pot and shook sand over the paper to dry the ink, then lifted the sheet to blow it clean.
‘Is it business?’
He looked up again, smiling. She had raised herself on one elbow and was looking across at him, her dark hair fallen loose across the silk of her shoulder.
Li Yuan folded the sheet in half and in half again, then put it in the pocket of his gown. He looked away a moment, towards the garden. It was dark outside; black, like a sea of ink pressed against the glass.
He looked back, smiling. ‘No.’
‘Then come to bed, my love. It’s warm here.’
He laughed softly. ‘Yes, but I must get ready.’
There was a meeting of the Council that afternoon and there was much to do beforehand. He ought to begin. Even so, he hesitated, seeing her thus. It was his first morning with her, after all. Surely his father would understand?
She was watching him silently, letting the darkness of her eyes, the silken perfection of her naked shoulder bring him to her. He stood, then went across, sitting beside her on the bed.
She leaned forward to greet him, her left hand moving between the folds of his gown to touch and caress his chest. As she did so, the covers slipped back, revealing her neck, the smooth perfection of her upper chest, the magnificence of her breasts. He looked down at them, then up into her face again.
‘Fei Yen…’
Her lips parted slightly, her eyes widened, smiling. ‘Husband?’
He laughed again, a brief sound of delight. ‘Husband… It sounds so different from your lips.’
‘Different?’
He shivered, then leaned forward to kiss her, gently, softly, holding her to him momentarily. Then he released her and sat back, looking at her again. Like something undeserved.
There was a small movement in her mouth, then she laughed. ‘I have a present for you.’
‘A present?’
‘Yes. Wait there…’
Li Yuan reached out and took her arm gently, stopping her. ‘Hold, my love. Look at you!’ His eyes traced the form of her. ‘What need have I for presents?’
‘But this is different, Yuan. This is something I chose for you myself.’
‘Ah…’ he said, releasing her, then watched, his heart pounding in his chest as she turned from him, throwing the sheets aside, to reveal the slender curve of her back. She scrambled across the huge bed, then came back, a slim package in her hand.
‘Here…’
He took it, but his eyes were elsewhere, drinking in the beauty of her.
‘Well?’ she said, enjoying the way he looked at her. ‘Open it.’
He hesitated, then looked down, tugging at the bow to free the ribbon, then pulled the wrapping aside. It was a book. He opened the pages, then blushed and looked up.
‘What is it?’
‘It is a chun hua,’ she said, coming alongside him, draping her warmth across his side and shoulder. ‘A pillow book. Something to excite us when we’re here, alone.’
He turned the pages slowly, reluctantly, pretending he had never seen its like, strangely appalled by the graphic nature of its sexual images. ‘Fei Yen… we have no need for this. Why, I have only to look at you…’
‘I know,’ she said, turning his head gently with her fingers and kissing him softly on the cheek. ‘But this will keep our love fresh and powerful; will raise us to new heights.’
He shuddered, closing his eyes, overwhelmed by the feeling of her warmth pressed up against him, the softness of her kisses against his flesh. He could smell the scent of their lovemaking on her skin. Could taste it on his tongue.
‘I must get ready,’ he said almost inaudibly. ‘The Council…’
In answer she drew him down again, her kisses robbing him of his senses, enflaming him once more, making him surrender to her.
Prince Wang Sau-leyan stood on the balcony of his dead father’s room, his hands resting lightly on the balustrade, his back to his brother’s Chancellor. The broad sweep of the Nile lay below him, bisecting the empty landscape, its surface glittering in the morning light. He was dressed in a long silk sleeping robe of lavender decorated with butterflies, tied loosely at the waist. His feet were bare and his hair hung long, unbraided. He had been silent for some time, watching the slow, hovering flight of the birds high overhead, but now he lowered his head, finally acknowledging the waiting man.
‘Greetings, Hung Mien-lo. And how is my brother this fine morning?’
Hung Mien-lo inclined his head. He was dressed formally, the three tiny pigtails of his beard braided tightly with silver thread, the dark silks he wore contrasting with the vermilion sash of office.
‘The T’ang is poorly, Excellency. His nerves were bad and he did not sleep. He asks that you act as regent for him at today’s Council. I have the authority here, signed and sealed.’
The Prince dipped his hand into a bowl on the balustrade at his side, scattering a handful of meat on to the desert floor, then watched the vultures swoop towards the subtly poisoned bait.
‘Good. And our spies? What have they reported?’
Hung Mien-lo lifted his head, studying the Prince’s back.
‘That Li Shai Tung has a scheme. Something his son, Yuan, has proposed. I’ve sounded some of our friends.’
‘And?’
The friends were a mixture of First Level businessmen and representatives, government officials and selected members of the Minor Families – all of them men of some influence outside the narrow circle of the Seven.
‘They feel it would be best to oppose such a scheme.’
‘I see.’ He turned, looking at the Chancellor for the first time. ‘This scheme… what does it involve?’
‘They want to place a device in every citizen’s head – a kind of tracking beam. They believe it would allow for a more effective policing of Chung Kuo.’
Wang Sau-leyan turned away. It was not a bad idea, but that was not the point. His purpose was to blunt Li Shai Tung’s authority in Council, and what better way than to oppose his son? If, at the same time, he could win the support of certain influential members of the Above, then all the better. When his own plans came to fruition they would be reminded of his opposition to the scheme.
He turned, looking back fiercely at Hung Mien-lo. ‘It is abominable. To put things in men’s heads. Why, it would make them little more than machines!’
‘Indeed, Excellency. And men should not be machines to be manipulated – should they?’
Both men laughed.
‘You understand me well, Chancellor Hung. Too well, perhaps. But I can use you.’
Hung Mien-lo bowed low. ‘As your Excellency desires.’
‘Good.’ Wang Sau-leyan smiled and turned, staring out across the delta towards the distant pinnacle of the lighthouse. ‘Then you understand the last step we must take, you and I?’
Hung remained bowed, but his words came clear, unbowed, almost arrogant in their tone. ‘I understand… Chieh Hsia.’
After the Chancellor had gone, Wang Sau-leyan stood there, watching the birds. At first they seemed unaffected by the poison, but then, first one and then another began to stagger unsteadily. One flapped its wings awkwardly, attempting to fly, lifting ten, maybe fifteen ch’i into the air before it fell back heavily to earth. He smiled. Six birds had taken the poison. He watched them stumble about for a time before they fell and lay still. More birds were gathering overhead, making slow circles in the cloudless sky. In a while they too would swoop. And then…
He turned away, tired of the game already – knowing the outcome – and went back inside.
‘Sun!’ he shouted impatiently. ‘Sun! Where are you?’
Sun Li Hua, Master of the Inner Chamber, appeared in the doorway at once, his head bent low.
‘Yes, Excellency?’
‘Send the maids. At once! I wish to dress.’
Sun bowed and made to back away, but Wang Sau-leyan called him back.
‘No… Send just the one. You know… Mi Feng.’
‘As you wish, Excellency.’
He sniffed deeply, then went across to the full-length dragon mirror and stood there, looking at himself. So his brother was unwell. Good. He would feel much worse before the day was out.
Wang Sau-leyan smiled and combed his fingers through his hair, drawing it back from his forehead. Then, almost whimsically, he turned his head, exposing one ear to view. That mystery – the mystery of who had taken his father’s ears – remained unsolved. He had had Hung Mien-lo make a thorough investigation of the matter, but it had been without result. They had vanished, as if they had never been.
The thought brought a smile to his lips. He turned, still smiling, and saw the girl.
Mi Feng was kneeling just inside the door, her head lowered almost to her lap, awaiting his pleasure.
‘Come here,’ he said brusquely, turning from her, moving across towards the great wardrobes that lined one side of the room. ‘I want you to dress me, girl.’
She was his brother’s maid, inherited from their father. In the wardrobe mirrors he saw her hesitate and glance up at his back.
‘Well, girl? What are you waiting for? You heard me, didn’t you?’
He noted her confusion; saw the way her face clouded momentarily before she bowed her head and began to move towards him.
He turned abruptly, making her start nervously.
‘How is your sting, Little Bee? Did you serve my father well?’
Again he noted the movements in her face; the uncertainty, maybe even the suggestion of distaste. Well, who did she think she was? She was a servant, there to do his bidding, not the daughter of a T’ang.
She moistened her lips and spoke, her head kept low, her eyes averted. ‘What do you wish to wear, my lord?’
White, he almost answered her. White for mourning.
‘What do you suggest?’ he asked, studying her more carefully, noting how delightfully she was formed, how petite her figure. ‘What would my father have worn to Council?’
She looked up at him, then quickly away, clearly bewildered by what was happening. ‘Forgive me, Prince Sau-leyan, but I am the T’ang’s maid. Surely…’
He shouted at her, making her jump. ‘Be quiet, girl! You’ll do as you’re told or you’ll do nothing, understand me?’
She swallowed, then nodded her head.
‘Good. Then answer me. What would my father have worn to Council?’
She bowed, then moved past him, keeping her head lowered. A moment later she turned back, a long robe held over one arm.
‘Lay it out on the bed so that I can see it.’
He watched her move across to do as she was told, then smiled. Yes, the old man had chosen well with this one. He could imagine how the girl had wormed her way into the old boy’s affections. She had kept his bed warm many a night, he was sure.
She had turned away from him, laying out the heavy, formal robe. He moved closer, coming up behind her, then bent down and lifted her gown up from the hem, exposing her buttocks and her lower back. She froze.
‘You didn’t answer me earlier,’ he said. ‘I asked you…’
‘I heard you, Excellency.’
Her tone was sharper than it should have been. Impertinent. He felt a sudden flush of anger wash over him.
‘Put your hands out,’ he said, his voice suddenly cold. ‘Lean forward and stretch them out in front of you.’
Slowly she did as she was told.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Now stay there.’
He went outside on to the balcony a moment, then returned, holding a cane he had broken from the bamboo plant. It was as long as his arm and as thick as his middle finger. He swished it through the air, once, then a second time, satisfied with the sound it made, then turned and looked across at her.
‘I am not my father, Mi Feng. Or my brother, come to that. They were weak men. They held weak ideas. But I’m not like that. I’m stronger than them. Much stronger. And I’ll have no impertinence from those beneath me.’
He moved closer, measuring the distance between himself and the girl, then brought the cane down hard across her buttocks.
She cried out involuntarily, her whole body tensing from the blow.
‘Well?’ he said, as if there were something she should say, some apology or word of mitigation. But she was silent, her body tensed against him, defiantly expectant. He shivered, angered by her silence, and lashed out, again and again, bringing the cane down wildly, impatiently, until, with a shudder, he threw it aside.
‘Get up,’ he said, tonelessly. ‘Get up. I wish to be dressed.’
Fei Yen lay there, Yuan’s head cradled between her breasts, her hands resting lightly on his back, her fingertips barely touching his flesh. He was sleeping, exhausted from their last bout of lovemaking, the soft exhalation of his breath warm against her skin. It was almost noon and the bedchamber was flooded with light from the garden. If she turned her head she could see the maple, by the pathway where they had walked so long ago.
She sighed and turned back, studying the neat shape of his head. It had been a sweet night, far sweeter than she had ever imagined. She thought of what they had done and her blood thrilled. She had fancied herself the famous concubine, Yang Kuei Fei, lying in the arms of the great T’ang Emperor, Ming Huang, and, at the moment of clouds and rain, had found herself transported. A son, she had prayed to Heaven; let his seed grow in me and make a son! And the joy of the possibility had filled her, making her cry out beneath him with the pleasure of it.
A son! A future T’ang! From these loins she would bring him forth. And he would be an emperor. A Son of Heaven.
She shivered, thrilled by the thought of it, then felt him stir against her.
‘What is it?’ he said sleepily.
Her hands smoothed his back, caressed his neck. ‘I was thinking how hard it was before last night. How difficult to be alone.’
He lifted his head slightly, then lay back again.
‘Yes,’ he said, less drowsily than before. ‘I can see that.’
He was silent for a time, his body at ease against her own, then he lifted himself up on his arms, looking down at her, his face serious. ‘How was it?
All those years before last night. How hard was that?’
She looked away. ‘It was like death. As if not Han but I had died that day.’
She looked up at him, fiercely, almost defiantly. ‘I am a woman, Yuan, with a woman’s appetites.’ She swallowed. ‘Oh, you just don’t know…’ For a moment longer her face was hard with past bitterness, then it softened and a smile settled on her lips and in her eyes. ‘But now I am alive again. And it was you who brought me back to the living. My prince. My love…’
She made to draw him down again, but he moved back, kneeling there between her legs, his head bowed. ‘Forgive me, my love, but I am spent. Truly I am.’ He laughed apologetically, then met her eyes again. ‘Tonight, I promise you, I will be a tiger again. But now I must dress. The Council…’
He turned to look at the timer beside the bed, then sat bolt upright.
‘Gods! And you let me sleep!’ He backed away from her, then stood there on the bare floor, naked, looking about him anxiously. ‘I shall be late! Where is Nan Ho? Why did he not wake me?’
She laughed and stretched, then reached down and pulled the sheets up to her neck.
‘I sent him away. They will excuse you this once if you are late. Besides, you needed to sleep.’
‘But Fei Yen…’ Then he laughed, unable to be angry with her. She was beautiful, and, yes, he had needed to sleep. What’s more, they would forgive him this once. Even so…
He turned from her. ‘All right. But now I must dress.’
He was halfway to the door when she called him back. ‘Li Yuan! Please! You don’t understand. I’ll dress you.’
He turned. She had climbed from the bed and was coming towards him.
‘You?’ He shook his head. ‘No, my love. Such a task is beneath you. Let me call the maids.’
She put her arms about his neck. ‘You will do no such thing, my prince. I want to dress you. I want to serve you. As a wife should serve her master.’
He felt a small thrill go through him at the words. ‘But I…’
Her kiss quietened him. He bowed his head slightly. ‘As you wish.’
She smiled. ‘Good. But first I must bathe you. After all, you cannot go to Council smelling like a singsong house.’
He laughed uneasily, then, seeing how she smiled at him, felt the unease fall from him. It was impossible to be angry with her, even when her words were ill-chosen, for that too was part of the charm – the sheer delight – of her. Like porcelain she looked, yet in the darkness she had been fire, black wings of fire, beating about him wildly.
When he was gone she looked about the room.
It was a strangely feminine room, unlike the rooms of her brothers. There were no saddles, no weapons of war on display. In their place were beautiful ceramic pots, filled with the most exquisite miniature trees and shrubs. And in place of heavy masculine colours were softer shades, delicately chosen to complement the colours of the garden outside. She looked about her, pleased by what she saw, then went across to the desk and sat.
She placed her left hand on the desk’s broad surface, then lifted it, surprised. She licked at the tiny grains that had adhered to her palm, then understood. Of course. He had been writing.
She stood, then went back to the bed and picked up his sleeping robe. From whim, she tried it on, putting her arms into its sleeves and tying the slender sash about her waist. It was far too big for her, yet it felt somehow right to be wearing it. She laughed, then sat down on the bed, reaching into the pocket to take out the folded piece of paper.
She read it. Twice, and then a third time.
A poem. For her? It must have been. She shivered, then touched the tip of her tongue against her top teeth thoughtfully.
Yes. She could see it now: she would be everything to him. Indispensable. His wife. In all things his wife.
It was true what she had said. Or almost true. He had brought her back from death. From the death of all her hopes and dreams. Had given her back what she had always wanted.
And in return?
She smiled and drew his gown tighter about her. In return she would be his woman. That before all else. His helpmate and advisor. His champion and chief advocate. His lover and, when he needed it, a mother to him.
Yes, and that was the clue to Li Yuan. She had known it earlier, when he had rested his head between her breasts; had known then that it was a mother he wanted. Or at least someone to be the mother he had never had. Well, she would be that to him, amongst other things. And in time…
She shivered and slipped the poem back into the pocket of the gown.
In time she would have sons of her own. Seven sons. Each one of them a T’ang. She laughed and stood, letting the gown fall from her until she stood there, naked, lifting her arms defiantly. There! That was her dream. A dream she had shared with no one.
It seemed an impossibility, and yet she saw it clear. It would be so. Yes, but first she must be practical. First she must become all things to him. She would ask him this evening, after they had made love. She would bathe him and wash his hair, and then, when he was at his sweetest, would go down on her knees before him, pleading to be allowed always to serve him so.
He would agree. Of course he would. And then she would ask again. The maids, she would say; you must send them away. And he would do so. And then he would be hers. Completely, irrevocably hers.
Tender Willow and Sweet Rain were talking, laughing between them as they came into the room, but seeing Little Bee stretched out, face down on her bed, they fell silent.
‘What is it?’ Sweet Rain asked, moving closer. ‘What’s happened?’
Mi Feng looked up, her eyes red, her cheeks wet with tears, and shook her head.
‘What did he do?’ Tender Willow asked, coming alongside her sister.
Mi Feng swallowed, then let her head fall again, a great sob racking her body.
The two girls sat on the bed, either side of her, their arms about her, comforting her. But when Tender Willow leaned back, accidentally brushing against her buttocks, Mi Feng winced and gave a tiny moan.
The two girls exchanged looks, then nodded. Carefully, they lifted Mi Feng’s robe, conscious of how she tensed.
‘Kuan Yin…’ Sweet Rain said softly, her voice pained. ‘What did he do this with?’
‘A cane,’ came the whisper. ‘A bamboo cane.’
Tender Willow stared at the cuts a moment longer, horrified, then shuddered. ‘How dare he?’ she said, outraged. ‘Who does he think he is? You are the T’ang’s maid, not his. He cannot be allowed to act like this.’
Mi Feng shook her head. A great shuddering sigh passed through her, then she spoke again; calmer, more clearly than before. ‘You are wrong, sister. He may do as he wishes. He is a prince, after all. And what am I? Only a maid. A thing to be used or discarded. I learned that today, Tender Willow. I had it beaten into me. And the T’ang…’ She laughed coldly, then swallowed, another shiver passing through her. ‘The T’ang will do nothing.’
Tender Willow met her eyes momentarily, then looked away, feeling sick. Maybe it was true. The T’ang would do nothing. But this was too much. The Prince had gone too far this time. Maid or not, thing or not, she would not allow this to happen to her sister.
‘I’ve creams,’ she said gently, looking back, reaching out to touch and stroke her sister’s brow. ‘Ointments to soothe the cuts and help them heal. Lie still, Little Bee, and I’ll bring them. And don’t worry. Everything will be all right.’
The servant bowed low and backed away, his message delivered. Tsu Ma allowed himself the slightest smile, then turned, greeting the newcomer.
‘You’re late, Li Yuan!’ he said sternly, loud enough for the others to hear, then let the hard lines of his face melt into a broad grin. He put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. ‘Was it hard to get up this morning?’
‘No…’ Li Yuan began innocently, then blushed deeply as he saw the verbal trap and heard the great gust of laughter from the rest of the men on the great, broad balcony. He looked about and saw how each face – even his father’s – was filled with a tolerant, good-natured humour. All but one. A young, moon-faced man stood alone by the ornamental rail, beyond the two small groups of men. He was staring back coldly at Li Yuan, as if irritated by his arrival. At first Li Yuan did not recognize him. Then he realized who it was. Wang Sau-leyan.
Tsu Ma squeezed his shoulder gently, then lowered his voice. ‘Anyway, Yuan, come. The second session is not due to start for another half hour. There’s time for talk and refreshments.’
He turned and drew Li Yuan out of the shadows into the warm, mid-afternoon sunlight, then began the formality of introducing him to the T’ang and those of their sons who were attending.
Li Yuan knew them all personally. All but the last.
‘I’m surprised to find you here, Wang Sau-leyan,’ he said, as he lifted his head.
‘Surprised?’ Wang Sau-leyan’s eyes looked out past Li Yuan’s shoulder, an expression of disdain on his pale, rounded face. ‘Five years ago, perhaps. But as things are…’ He laughed, no warmth in the laughter. ‘My brother is unwell. His nerves…’
He glanced briefly at Li Yuan, then seemed to dismiss him, turning to concentrate his attention on Tsu Ma.
‘Have you sounded the other T’ang about my proposal, Tsu Ma?’
Tsu Ma smiled pleasantly, concealing whatever he had been thinking. ‘I have broached the matter.’
‘And?’
Tsu Ma laughed kindly. ‘Well, it’s difficult, cousin. If you had given them more warning. If they had had just a little more time to consider all the possible ramifications of your suggestion…’
Wang Sau-leyan interrupted him curtly. ‘What you mean is, no, they won’t debate it.’
Tsu Ma gave the slightest suggestion of a shrug, the smile remaining on his lips. ‘It was felt that it might be… how should I say?… premature to press the matter without consideration. But if the T’ang’s regent would like to prepare something for the next meeting.’
Wang Sau-leyan leaned towards Tsu Ma angrily, the words hissing from him coldly. ‘Four months from now! That’s far too long! Why not today? Why are they so afraid to listen to new ideas?’
Heads had turned, but Tsu Ma seemed perfectly unflustered. He smiled, his whole manner calm and polite. ‘I understand your impatience, Wang Sau…’
‘Impatience? You insult me, Tsu Ma! For three hours I have listened patiently to the words of others. Have attended to their schemes. Yet now, when I beg my turn to speak, they deny me. Is that impatience?’
Li Yuan had seen the movements of the muscles in Tsu Ma’s cheeks. Had known that, were he not a T’ang, Tsu Ma would have called the young Prince out and challenged him to a duel. Yet his control now in the face of such provocation was magnificent.
Tsu Ma smiled. ‘Forgive me, Wang Sau-leyan. My words were ill chosen. Even so, it is neither the validity of your views nor the… novelty of your words that are at issue here. It is merely our way. All that we say here, all we decide upon, has a profound effect upon the lives of those we rule. It would not do to give less than the most serious consideration to such matters. Ill-considered change benefits no man.’
‘You would lecture me, Tsu Ma?’
‘Not at all. I wish merely to explain the position of my fellow T’ang. These things are matters of long standing. It is how we transact our business.’
‘Then perhaps it ought to change.’
Tsu Ma laughed. ‘Maybe so. Perhaps the Prince Regent would put the idea forward for the next Council to consider?’
Wang Sau-leyan lifted his chin slightly. ‘Perhaps…’ He let his eyes rest momentarily on Li Yuan, then looked back at Tsu Ma, giving the slightest inclination of his head. ‘I thank you for your efforts, Tsu Ma. If my manner was terse, forgive me. That is my way. But do not mistake me. I too have the best interests of Chung Kuo at heart.’
Li Yuan watched as Wang Sau-leyan went across to greet the young T’ang of South America, Hou Tung-po, then turned back to Tsu Ma. ‘Well! What was his proposal?’
Tsu Ma smiled. ‘Not here,’ he said quietly. Then, taking his shoulder again, he drew Li Yuan aside, his smile suddenly broader, more natural.
‘So… tell me, cousin. How is that beautiful bride of yours?’
Helmstadt Armoury was a massive hexagonal block of three hundred levels, isolated from the stacks surrounding it by a space fifty ch’i in width. That two-li-deep chasm was spanned, at four separate levels, by three broad, connecting bridges, each bridge ending at a huge double gate, closed against intruders. To each side a whole battery of weapons – state-of-the-art equipment controlled from the guardroom within – covered these entry points to the complex.
Helmstadt was considered by its makers to be invulnerable: a fortress second only to the great nerve-centre of Bremen. But in less than thirty seconds, if everything went to plan, three of its gates would be open, the approaches unguarded.
DeVore crouched amongst his men in a side corridor on the City side of the bridge, looking down at his handset, watching through the complex’s own Security cameras as his man approached the gate. The man was a lieutenant in the Armoury’s back-up forces, called in on emergency standby after half the Armoury’s regular garrison had been sent to help quell the riots in Braunschweig, thirty li away.
The lieutenant marched up to the gate, then came to attention, holding his pass up for inspection. Two of the overhead guns had swivelled about, covering him, but now, on the computer’s recognition signal, they swung back, focusing once more on the mouth of the corridor beyond.
He moved forward, placing one eye to an indented pad set into the gate, then stepped back. Three seconds passed, then a panel irised back, chest high to him, revealing a keyboard. The lieutenant inserted his card, then tapped out the coded signal.
At once the gates began to open.
Elsewhere, at a gate on the far side of the stack and at another fifty levels down, the same thing was happening. Much now depended on timing. If just one of the gates remained unsecured then the odds would swing against them.
DeVore waited, tensed, counting. At thirty the screen of the handset went blank and he gave the signal. Immediately his men spilled out of the corridor and began to cross the bridge. If his inside man had failed they would be cut down instantly. But the guns remained silent. Beyond them, on the far side of the bridge, the great doors stayed open.
DeVore switched channels on the handset quickly, making sure. All three were blank, the transmission signals dead. He smiled, then, tucking the set inside his one-piece, followed his men out on to the bridge.
Inside, he found things well advanced. The level had been sealed off and all four of the big transit lifts secured. On the floor to one side a line of captives lay face down, bound at hand and foot. Most of the prisoners were only partly dressed, while two were completely naked. Only the five-man duty squad were fully dressed, but even they had been too surprised to put up any fight. Down below his men would be moving through the levels, securing all major entry points to the arsenal itself, isolating any remaining defenders scattered about these uppermost levels.
Much depended now on how the Ping Tiao fared, fifty levels down. If they could seal off the barracks and hold their gate all would be well. But even if they didn’t, it would be more their loss than his. He needed the weapons, it was true, but there was something far more important here. Something he hadn’t bothered to mention in the briefing.
He turned and called the lieutenant across.
‘Which of these is the duty captain?’
The lieutenant went down the line, then stopped and bent down to touch the back of one of the half-dressed men.
‘Good. Take him into the guardroom.’
While two of his men lifted the captain under the shoulders and dragged him away, DeVore turned to Lehmann. Of all of them he looked most at ease in the simple Ping Tiao clothes they were wearing.
‘Stefan… Come here.’
Lehmann came across, then followed him into the guardroom.
The captain had been placed in a chair, his back to them. One of the men was busy binding him about the chest and legs.
‘Who are you?’ he was demanding as DeVore entered. ‘You’re not Ping Tiao. I can see that, despite your clothes and those fish symbols about your necks. You’re too sharp, too well organized. Those scum wouldn’t know how to break into a foodstore.’
‘You’re quite right, Captain,’ DeVore said, coming round and sitting on the table edge, facing him.
The man’s eyes widened. ‘DeVore!’
DeVore laughed softly, then signalled for the two men to leave. When they were gone he looked past the man at Lehmann, who nodded and turned to lock the door.
‘Good.’ DeVore smiled. ‘Now to business.’
The captain glared at him defiantly. ‘What business? I have no business with you, DeVore.’
‘No?’ DeVore reached into the breast pocket of his one-piece and took out something small and flat and round, its white casing like a lady’s compact. Looking across at the captain, he smiled. ‘You have a nice family, Captain Sanders. A beautiful wife, two fine sons and the baby girl. Well, she’s divine. A pretty little thing.’
Sanders watched, horrified, as DeVore opened the casing and activated the hologram within.
‘You have them?’ Sanders looked up at DeVore, swallowing drily, then looked back down at the tiny holo of his family, noting the look of anguish on his wife’s face, the way the boys huddled against her.
DeVore smiled. ‘As I said. To business.’
‘What do you want?’
‘Six numbers and five letters.’
Sanders understood at once. ‘The lift…’
‘Yes.’
It was a secret one-man shaft that went down from this level to the floor of the stack. He had seen it once, when he had been inspecting Helmstadt, eleven years ago; had travelled down and seen first-hand how it was defended. Now he would use what he knew.
Sanders hesitated, staring at the hologram. ‘And if I do… they’ll go free?’
‘Of course.’ DeVore snapped the case shut and slipped it back into the pocket of his one-piece. ‘You might consider me a traitor, Captain Sanders, but I’m still a man of my word.’
Sanders studied DeVore a moment longer, doubt warring with fear in his eyes, then he nodded. ‘All right. But it won’t help you.’
‘No?’ DeVore leaned back slightly. ‘Well, we’ll see, neh? Just give me the code. I’ll do the rest.’
Five thousand li to the east, in the magnificent palace at Astrakhan on the shore of the great inland sea, the Seven were in Council. As was their way, they sat not at a great table but in low, comfortable chairs drawn into a circle at one end of the room. Their manner seemed casual, as though they had met as friends to drink and talk of old times, yet here, on such occasions, all major policy decisions were made. Behind the T’ang, on simple stools, sat those sons who were attending – four in all, including Li Shai Tung’s son, Li Yuan – while at a desk behind Tsu Ma sat two scribes. In this, the second session of the day, they had come at last to the central issue: the matter of the Confiscations. Tsu Ma was just coming to the end of his speech, leaning forward in his chair, his words a strong echo of Li Shai Tung’s.
‘…but that would be folly. There’s no better way to put an end to all this bitterness and rivalry. At one stroke we can stabilize the market and placate those who, however mistakenly, might otherwise feel ill served by our generosity to those who sided with us.’
Tsu Ma paused and looked about the circle of his fellow T’ang, self-assured, his mouth and eyes forming a smile.
‘Which is why I have no hesitation in seconding Li Shai Tung’s proposal. The stewardship system will achieve the end we seek.’
There was a murmur of agreement from the older T’ang, but even as Tsu Ma sat back, Wang Sau-leyan leaned forward, his round face tensed with anger, his eyes hard. He spoke bitterly, staring about him angrily, challengingly.
‘Can I believe what I hear? Have we not just fought a war? A war which, by the power of Heaven, we won. If that is so, why should we fear the bitterness of our enemies? Why should we seek to placate them? Would they have done the same? No! They would have destroyed us. And what then? What would they have offered us? Nothing! Not even the dignity of a decent burial. And yet you sit here worrying about your enemies and their feelings. Well, I say forget them! We must reward our friends! Publicly, so all can see. What better way to encourage support for the Seven?’
Wei Feng sat forward in his chair, his face grim, his hands spread in a gesture that suggested his despair at Wang’s words.
‘That’s foolish talk, Wang Sau-leyan! Loyalty cannot be bought. It is like a tree. Long years go into its making. Your scheme would have us buy our friends.’ He laughed scornfully. ‘That would reduce our friendships to mere transactions, our dealings to the level of the marketplace.’
Wang Sau-leyan stared back at Wei Feng, his eyes narrowed.
‘And what is wrong with the marketplace? Is it not that selfsame market that gives us our power? Be honest now – what’s the truth of it? Does the love of our subjects sustain us, or is it the power we wield? Is there anyone here who does not fear the assassin’s knife? Is there a single one of us who would walk the lowest levels unprotected?’ Wang laughed scornfully and looked about him. ‘Well, then, I ask again – what is so wrong with the marketplace? Wei Feng says I speak foolishly. With respect, cousin Wei, my thoughts are not idle ones. You are right when you talk of loyalty as a tree. So it was. But the War has felled the forests. And are we to wait a dozen, fifteen years for the new seed to grow?’ He shook his head. ‘We here are realists. We know how things stand. There is no time to grow such loyalty again. Times have changed. It is regrettable, but…’
He paused, spreading his hands.
‘So. Let me ask again. What is wrong with rewarding our friends? If it achieves our end – if it breeds a kind of loyalty – why question what it is that keeps a man loyal? Love, fear, money… in the end it is only by force that we rule.’
There was a moment’s silence after he had finished. Li Shai Tung had been looking down at his hands while Wang was speaking. Now he looked up and, with a glance at Tsu Ma and Wu Shih, addressed the Council.
‘I hear what my cousin Wang says. Nevertheless, we must decide on this matter. We must formulate our policy here and now. I propose that this matter is put to the vote.’
Wang Sau-leyan stared at him a moment, then looked down. There was to be no delay, then? No further debate? They would have his vote now? Well, then, he would give them his vote.
Tsu Ma was leaning forward, taking a small cigar from the silver and ivory box on the arm of his chair. He glanced up casually. ‘We are agreed, then, cousins?’
Wang Sau-leyan looked about him, watching his fellow T’ang raise their hands then let them fall again.
‘Good,’ said Tsu Ma, ‘then let us move on quickly…’
Wang spoke up, interrupting Tsu Ma. ‘Excuse me, cousin, but have you not forgotten something?’
Tsu Ma met his eyes, clearly puzzled. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘The vote. You did not ask who was against.’
Tsu Ma laughed awkwardly. ‘I beg pardon…?’
‘Six hands were raised. Yet there are seven here, are there not?’
Wang Sau-leyan looked about him, seeing the effect his words were having on his fellow T’ang. Like so much else, they had not expected this. In Council all decisions were unanimous. Or had been. For one hundred and twenty-six years it had been so. Until today.
It was Li Shai Tung who broke the silence. ‘You mean you wish to vote against? After all we’ve said?’
Wei Feng, sat beside him, shook his head. ‘It isn’t done,’ he said quietly. ‘It just isn’t our way…’
‘Why not?’ Wang asked, staring at him defiantly. ‘We are Seven, not one, surely? Why must our voice be singular?’
‘You misunderstand…’ Tsu Ma began, but again Wang cut in.
‘I misunderstand nothing. It is my right to vote against, is it not? To put on record my opposition to this item of policy?’
Tsu Ma hesitated, then gave a small nod of assent.
‘Good. Then that is all I wish to do. To register my unease at our chosen course.’
At the desk behind Tsu Ma the secretary, Lung Mei Ho, had been taking down everything that was said for the official record, his ink brush moving quickly down the page. Beside him his assistant had been doing the same, the duplication ensuring that the report was accurate. Now both had stopped and were looking up, astonished.
‘But that has been done already, cousin Wang. Every word spoken here is a matter of record. Your unease…’ Tsu Ma frowned, trying to understand. ‘You mean you really do wish to vote against?’
‘Is it so hard to understand, Tsu Ma?’ Wang looked past the T’ang at the scribe, his voice suddenly hard. ‘Why aren’t you writing, Shih Lung? Did anyone call these proceedings to a halt?’
Lung glanced at his master’s back, then lowered his head hurriedly, setting down Wang’s words. Beside him his assistant did the same.
Satisfied, Wang Sau-leyan sat back, noting how his fellow T’ang were glaring at him now or looking amongst themselves, uncertain how to act. His gesture, ineffective in itself, had nonetheless shocked them to the bone. As Wei Feng had said, it wasn’t done. Not in the past. But the past was dead. This was a new world, with new rules. They had not learned that yet. Despite all, the War had taught them nothing. Well, he would change that. He would press their noses into the foul reality of it.
‘One further thing,’ he said quietly.
Tsu Ma looked up, meeting his eyes. ‘What is it, cousin Wang?’
The sharpness in Tsu Ma’s voice made him smile inside. He had rattled them – even the normally implacable Tsu Ma. Well, now he would shake them well and good.
‘It’s just a small thing. A point of procedure.’
‘Go on…’
‘Just this. The princes must leave. Now. Before we discuss any further business.’
He saw the look of consternation on Tsu Ma’s face; saw it mirrored on every face in that loose circle. Then the room exploded in a riot of angry, conflicting voices.