The White Mountain

by David Wingrove

  ‘Is there any doubt?’ he said, looking across at Ywe Hao as he spoke. ‘There are many who have heard the guard’s story. How she killed my brother – shot him in the back – and spared the guard.’

  ‘So you say,’ said Mach, his long, thin face stretching towards the light. ‘But have you witnesses to bring forward? Written statements?’

  Edel laughed scathingly, moving back into shadow. ‘As if they’d come here! As if they’d risk their names on paper to satisfy a Yu court!’

  ‘No Yu, even? Or is it only your say-so? Chi Li denies your charge. Without proof it is her word against yours.’

  ‘Send someone. Get proof.’

  A woman leaned forward, one of the Council of Five. Her face, etched in the light like a woodcut, showed strong, determined features. Her voice, when she spoke, was hard, uncompromising. ‘You know we cannot do that. You know also that you broke our strictest orders by going yourself.’

  ‘He was my brother!’

  ‘We are all brothers.’

  ‘Not all, it seems. Some are murderers.’

  There was a moment’s silence, then Mach leaned forward. ‘You asked for this hearing, Edel. As was your right. But you have made accusations without supporting evidence. You have brought the reputation of a good and proven comrade into question. She has answered your charges fully and still you persist. Such, one might argue, is your duty as a brother. But do not add insolence to the list of things against you.’

  Edel stood. His voice boomed, echoing in the dark and empty space. ‘So it’s wrong to want justice, is it? Wrong to want to unmask this murdering bitch?’

  His finger pointed unerringly across the circle at Ywe Hao, who kept her head lowered, the lamplight shining in the crown of her dark, neat hair. This tableau held for a moment, then, without another word, Edel sat back again, putting his trembling hands on his knees. From the fierce look of hatred in his eyes there was no doubting he believed what he said.

  ‘Chi Li?’ asked the woman, looking at her. ‘You stand by your account?’

  Ywe Hao looked up, the lamp’s light catching in her dark, liquid eyes. ‘Vasska was a fool. Erika and I barely got out alive. There was a patrol at the lift he should have secured. We had to shoot our way out. Erika was badly wounded. These are facts. If I could, I would have killed him for that. For risking others’ lives. But I didn’t. Shou Chen-hai killed him. Killed him before I could get to him.’

  So ran the official Security report, given to the media. Edel had done nothing, provided nothing, to seriously counter this. His evidence was rumour, hearsay, the kind of romantic legend that often attached itself to this kind of event. The Five made their decision and gave it.

  ‘I find no case proven,’ said Mach, standing. ‘You must apologize, Edel, or leave the Yu. That is our law.’

  Edel also stood, but there was no apology. Instead he leaned forward and spat across the lamp at Ywe Hao. It fell short, but at once Veda, the female Council member, stepped forward and pushed Edel back. She spoke quickly, harshly.

  ‘That’s it. You have proved there’s no place for you here. Go! And say nothing, do nothing to harm the Yu. The merest word and we shall hear of it. And then…’ She raised one finger to her throat and drew it across.

  Sullenly, glaring back at Ywe Hao, Edel left the circle and walked slowly across the factory floor, stopping only in the brightness of the doorway at the far end to look back, as if to say it wasn’t over yet.

  When he’d gone, Mach signalled to one of the men at his side to follow Edel. ‘Best do it now, Klaus. Veda’s warning will have no effect on him. He is past reasoning.’

  The man nodded, then ran across the dark floor, following Edel, his knife already drawn. Mach turned, facing Ywe Hao.

  ‘I’m sorry, Chi Li. This has been a sad day for us all.’

  But Ywe Hao was watching the man disappear in pursuit of Edel and asking herself if her lie had been worth the life of another man; if this barter, his life for hers, could in any way be justified. And as if in answer, she saw Leyden again, standing there, terrified, facing Edel’s brother, the man she had only known as Vasska, and knew she had been right to spare the guard and kill her comrade. As right as she had been in killing Shou Chen-hai.

  Veda came and stood by her, taking her hand, her words soft, comforting. ‘It’s all right, Chi Li. It wasn’t your fault.’

  But the thing was, she had enjoyed killing Vasska. Had wanted to kill him. And how could she live with that?

  ‘Listen,’ said Mach, coming close, turning her to face him. ‘I have another task for you. There’s a place the younger sons use. A place called the Dragonfly Club…’

  Chapter 72

  DRAGONFLIES

  The Pavilion of Elegant Sound rested on a great spur of pale rock, the delicately carved tips of its six sweeping gables spread out like the arms of white-robed giants raised in supplication to Heaven. To either side twin bridges spanned the ravine, the ancient wood of the handrails worn smooth like polished jade by a million pilgrims’ hands.

  A dark, lush greenery clothed the flank of Mount Emei about the ancient building, filtering the early morning sunlight, while below, long, twisted limbs of rock reached down to a shadowed gorge, their dark, eroded forms slick with the spray of the two tiny falls that met in a frenzy of mist and whiteness at their foot. Farther out, a great heart-shaped rock, as black as night itself, sat peacefully amidst the chill, crystal-clear flow.

  Standing at the low, wooden balustrade, Li Yuan looked down into the waters. For more than a thousand years travellers had stopped here on their long journey up the sacred mountain, to rest and contemplate the perfection of this place. Here two rivers met, the black dragon merging with the white, forming a swirl of dark and light – a perfect, natural tai ch’i.

  He turned, looking across. Tsu Ma stood by the table on the far side of the Pavilion, pouring wine. They were alone, the nearest servants five hundred ch’i distant, guarding the approaches. From the gorge below came the melodious sounds of the falls, from the trees surrounding them the sweet, fluting calls of wild birds. Li Yuan breathed in deeply, inhaling the heady scent of pine and cypress that filled the air. It was beautiful: a place of perfect harmony and repose. He smiled. It was like Tsu Ma to choose such a place for their meeting.

  Tsu Ma came across, handing Li Yuan one of the cups. For a moment he stood there, looking out past Li Yuan at the beauty of the gorge, then turned to face him, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. ‘Life is good, neh, Yuan?’

  Li Yuan’s smile broadened. ‘Here one might dream of an older, simpler age.’

  Tsu Ma grunted. ‘Things have never been simple for those who have to rule. Some problems are eternal. It is said that even the great Hung Wu, founder of the Ming dynasty, slept poorly at night. Population pressures, famines, civil unrest, the corruption of Ministers, court intrigues, the ambitions of rivals – these were as much his problems as they are ours. Neither was he much more successful at solving them.’

  Li Yuan frowned. ‘Then you think we should do nothing?’

  ‘On the contrary. As T’ang, it is our purpose in this life to attempt the impossible – to try to impose some kind of order on the chaos of this world. There would be no justification for our existence were it not so. And where would we be then?’

  Li Yuan laughed, then took a sip of wine, growing serious again. ‘And in Council tomorrow? How are we to play that?’

  Tsu Ma smiled. Tomorrow’s was an important meeting; perhaps the most important since Li Shai Tung’s death nine months earlier.

  ‘With regard to GenSyn, I think you are right, Yuan. Wang Sau-leyan’s proposal must be opposed. His idea of a governing committee of seven – one member appointed by each T’ang – whilst fair in principle would prove unworkable in practice. Wang’s appointment would be but a front for his own guiding hand. He would seize upon the slightest excuse – the most petty of internal divisions on policy – to use his veto. It would have the effect of clos
ing GenSyn down, and as few of GenSyn’s facilities are based in City Africa, our cousin would escape relatively unscathed, while you would be harmed greatly. Which is why I shall support your counter-proposal of a single independent stewardship.’

  ‘And my candidate?’

  Tsu Ma smiled. ‘I can see no reason why Wang should object to Wei Feng’s man, Sheng, taking charge. No. It’s the perfect choice. Wang would not dare suggest that Minister Sheng is unsuited for the post. It would be tantamount to a slur on Sheng’s master, the T’ang of East Asia! And even our moon-faced cousin would not dare risk that.’

  Li Yuan joined in with Tsu Ma’s laughter, but deep down he was not so sure. Wang Sau-leyan made much of his power to offend. His sense of hsiao – of filial submission – was weak. If the man had dared to have his father killed, his brother driven to suicide, what else might he not do? And yet the question of GenSyn was the least of the items that was to be discussed. As Tsu Ma knew, Li Yuan was prepared to concede ground in this instance if Wang would give way on more important matters.

  ‘Do you think the balance of Council will be against us on the other measures?’

  Tsu Ma stared into his cup, then shrugged. ‘It is hard to say. I have tried to sound Wu Shih and Wei Feng on the question of the changes, but they have been strangely reticent. On any other matter we might guarantee their support, but on this I am afraid they see things differently.’

  Li Yuan huffed, exasperated. Without those concessions provided by the changes to the Edict and the reopening of the House, there was no chance of striking a deal with the Above over population controls. The three items worked as a package or not at all. The Edict changes were the sweetener, creating new prosperity for the merchant classes, whereas the reopening of the House would not only satisfy the growing call for proper representation of the Above in government but would provide the vehicle for the passage of new laws. Laws controlling the number of children a man might have. Laws that the Seven might find it difficult to implement without Above support.

  Tsu Ma looked at Yuan ruefully. ‘And the perversity of it is that Wang Sau-leyan will oppose us not because he disagrees – after all, he has made it quite clear that he would like to see changes to the Edict, the House reopened – but because it is his will to oppose us.’

  Li Yuan nodded. ‘Maybe so. But there is something else, cousin Ma. Something I have not mentioned before now.’

  Tsu Ma smiled, intrigued. ‘Which is?’

  Li Yuan laughed quietly, but his expression was sombre, almost regretful. ‘First fill my cup, then I will tell you a tale about a nobleman and a T’ang and a scheme they have hatched to make all plans of mine mere idle talk.’

  It was all much dirtier than she remembered it. Dirtier and more crowded. Ywe Hao stood there, her back to the barrier, and breathed out slowly. Two boys, no taller than her knee, stood beside her, looking up at her. Their faces were black with dirt, their heads covered in sores and stubble. Their small hands were held up to her, palms open, begging. They said nothing, but their eyes were eloquent. Even so, she shooed them from her, knowing that to feed two would bring a hundred more.

  Main had become a kind of encampment. The shops she remembered from her childhood had been turned into sleeping quarters, their empty fronts covered with sheets. There was rubbish everywhere, and the plain, clean walls she had glimpsed in memory were covered with graffiti and posters for a hundred different political groupings.

  There was no sign anywhere of Security, but men wearing armbands stood at the intersections and about Main itself, wielding ugly-looking clubs. Against the walls families huddled or lay, mother and father on the outside, children between. These last were mainly Han. They called them ‘little t’ang’ down here, the irony savage, for these t’ang had nothing – only the handouts from Above. And an unfair share of that.

  It had been only eight years since she had come from here. How could it have changed so much in that brief time?

  Ywe Hao pushed across Main, jostled by surly, ill-featured men who looked at her with undisguised calculation. One of them came across and grabbed her arm. She shook herself free and reached out with a quicksilver movement that surprised him. ‘Don’t…’ she warned, pushing him away. He backed off, understanding what she was. Others saw it too and a whisper went out, but she was gone by then, down a side corridor that, unlike the rest, seemed little changed. At the far end was her mother’s place.

  The room was squalid. Three families were huddled into it. She knew none of them. Angry, worried, she came out into the corridor and stood there, her heart pounding. She hadn’t thought…

  From across the corridor an old man called to her. ‘Is that you, Ywe Hao? Is that really you?’

  She laughed and went across. To either side people were watching her, standing in doorways, or out in the corridor itself. There was no privacy anywhere down here.

  It was her Uncle Chang. Her mother’s brother. She went to him and held him tightly to her, so glad to see him that for the moment she forgot they had parted badly.

  ‘Come in, girl! Come in out of the way!’ He looked past her almost haughtily at the watching faces, sniffing loudly before ushering her inside and sliding back the panel.

  It was quieter inside. While her uncle crouched at the k’ang, preparing ch’a, she looked about her. Most of the floor was taken up by three bedrolls, made neatly, tidily. To her left, beside the door panel, was a small table containing holos and 2-Ds of the family. In a saucer in front of them was the stub of a burnt candle. The room smelled of cheap incense.

  ‘Where’s mother?’

  Her uncle looked round at her and smiled. ‘At market. With Su Chen.’

  ‘Su Chen?’

  He looked away, embarrassed. ‘My wife,’ he said. ‘Didn’t you hear?’

  She almost laughed. Hear? How would she hear? For years she hadn’t known a thing. Had lived in fear of anyone finding out anything about them. But she had never stopped thinking of them. Wondering how they were.

  ‘And how is she?’

  ‘Older,’ he answered distractedly, then grunted his satisfaction at getting the k’ang to work. Ywe Hao could see he did little here. There was a vid unit in the corner, but it was dead. She looked at it, then back at him, wondering how he filled his days.

  She had been right to get out. It was like death here. Like slow suffocation. The thought brought back the memory of the last time she had been here. The argument. She turned her face away, gritting her teeth.

  The tiny silver fish hung on a chain about her neck, resting between her breasts, its metal cool against her flesh. It was like a talisman against this place; the promise of something better.

  Her uncle finished pottering about and sat back on the edge of the nearest bedroll. ‘So how are you?’ His eyes looked her up and down. Weak, watery eyes, watching her from an old man’s face. He had been younger, stronger, when she’d last seen him, but the expression in the eyes was no different. They wanted things.

  He was a weak man, and his weakness made him spiteful. She had lived out her childhood avoiding his spitefulness; avoiding the wanting in his eyes. From his pettiness she had forged her inner strength.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said. And what else? That she was an expert killer now? One of the most wanted people in the City?

  ‘No man? No children, then?’

  Again she wanted to laugh at him. He had never understood.

  ‘No. No man. No children,’ she said, after a moment. ‘Only myself.’

  She crouched beside the table, studying the small collection of portraits. There was one of her, much younger, there beside her dead brother.

  ‘I thought mother didn’t need this.’

  ‘She gets comfort from it. You’d not deny her that?’

  There was a holo of her father; one she had never seen before. No doubt her mother had bought the image from the public records. There was a file date at the foot of it that told her that the holo had been made almost eight years b
efore she had been born. He would have been – what? – twenty. She shivered and straightened up, then turned, looking down at her uncle. ‘Do you need money?’

  She saw at once that she had been too direct. He avoided her eyes, but there was a curious tenseness in him that told her he had been thinking of little else. But to admit it… that was something different. He was still her uncle. In his head she was still a little girl, dependent on him. He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. ‘Maybe… It would be nice to get a few things.’

  She was about to say something more when the panel behind her slid back and her mother stepped into the room. ‘Chang, I…’

  The old woman paused, then turned to face Ywe Hao, confused. At first it didn’t register, then her face lit up. She dropped the package she was carrying and opened her arms wide. ‘Hao! My little Hao!’

  Ywe Hao laughed and hugged her mother tightly, stooping to do so. She had forgotten how small her mother was. ‘Mama…’ she said, looking into her eyes and laughing again. ‘How have you been?’

  ‘How have I been?’ The old lady shook her head. Her eyes were brimming with tears and she was trembling with emotion. ‘Oh, dear gods, Hao, it’s so good to see you. All these years…’ There was a little sob, then, with another laugh and a sniff, she pointed to the beds. ‘Sit down. I’ll cook you something. You must be hungry.’

  Ywe Hao laughed, but did as she was told, squatting beside her uncle on the bedroll. From the doorway Su Chen, unintroduced, looked on bewildered. But no one thought to explain things to her. After a while she pulled the door closed and sat on the far side of her husband. Meanwhile, the old lady pottered at the k’ang, turning every now and then to glance at her daughter, wiping her eyes before turning back, laughing softly to herself.

  Later, after eating, they sat and talked, and for a time, it seemed almost as though the long years of parting had not happened; that this day and the last were stitched together like points on a folded cloth. But when, finally, she left them, she knew at last that there was no returning. She had gone beyond this, to a place where even a mother’s love could not keep her.