The White Mountain

by David Wingrove

  Looking back at Main, she saw the changes everywhere. Time had injured this place, and there seemed no way to heal it. Best then to tear it down. Level by level. Maybe then they would have a chance. Once they had rid themselves of Cities.

  Shivering, more alone now than she had been for many years, she turned from it and stepped into the transit, going up, away from her past.

  The dark, heart-shaped rock was embedded deep into the earth beneath the pool, like the last tooth in an ancient’s jaw. Its surface was scored and pitted, darker in places than in others, its long flank, where it faced the Pavilion, smoother than those that faced away; like a dark, polished glass, misted by the spray from the tiny falls. At its foot the cold, clear waters of the pool swirled lazily over an uneven surface of rock, converting the white-water turbulence of the two rivers’ convergence into a single, placid flow.

  From the rock one could see the two figures in the Pavilion; might note their gestures and hear the murmur of their words beneath the hiss and rush of the falling water. Tsu Ma was talking now, his hand moving to his mouth every so often, a thin thread of dark smoke rising in the air. He seemed intensely agitated, angered even, and his voice rose momentarily, carrying over the sound of the falls.

  ‘It is all very well knowing, Yuan, but how will you get proof? If this is true, it is most serious. Wang Sau-leyan must be called to account for this. His conduct is outrageous!’

  Li Yuan turned to face his fellow T’ang. ‘No, Cousin Ma. Think what damage it would do to confront Wang openly. At best he might be forced to abdicate, and that would leave us with the problem of a successor – a problem that would make the GenSyn inheritance question a mere trifle, and the gods know that is proving hard enough! At worst he might defy us. If he did, and Hou Tung-po and Chi Hsing backed him, we could find ourselves at war among ourselves.’

  ‘That cannot be.’

  ‘No. But for once the threat to expose Wang might prove more potent than the actuality. If so, we might still use this to our benefit.’

  ‘You mean, as a bargaining counter?’

  Li Yuan laughed; a hard, clear laughter. ‘Nothing so subtle. I mean we blackmail the bastard. Force him to give us what we want.’

  ‘And if he won’t?’

  ‘He will. Like us all, he enjoys being a T’ang. Besides, he knows he is too weak, his friends in Council unprepared for such a war. Oh, he will fight if we push him to it, but only if he must. Meanwhile he plays his games and bides his time, hoping to profit from our failures. But this once he has overstretched himself. This once we have him.’

  ‘Good. But how do you plan to use this knowledge?’

  Li Yuan looked outward. ‘First we must let things take their course. Hsiang Shao-erh meets with our cousin Wang on his estate in Tao Yuan an hour from now. My friend in Wang’s household will be there at that meeting. By tonight I will know what transpired. And tomorrow, after Council, we can confront Wang with what we know. That is, if we need to. If we haven’t already achieved what we want by other, more direct means.’

  ‘And your… friend? Will he be safe? Don’t you think Wang might suspect there is a spy in his household?’

  Li Yuan laughed. ‘That is the clever part. I have arranged to have Hsiang Shao-erh arrested on his return home. It will seem as if he had… volunteered the information. As, indeed, he will.’

  Tsu Ma nodded thoughtfully. ‘Good. Then let us get back. All this talking has given me an appetite.’

  Li Yuan smiled, then looked about him, conscious once more of the beauty of the shadowed gorge, the harmony of tree and rock and water. And yet that beauty was somehow insufficient.

  He grasped the smooth wood of the rail, looking out at the great, heart-shaped rock that rested, so solid and substantial, at the centre of the flow, and felt a tiny tremor pass through him. This place, the morning light, gave him a sense of great peace, of oneness with things, and yet, at the same time, he was filled with a seething mass of fears and expectations and hopes. And these, coursing like twin streams in his blood, made him feel odd, distanced from himself. To be so at rest and yet to feel such impatience, was that not strange? And yet, was that not the condition of all things? Was that not what the great Tao taught? Maybe, but it was rare to feel it so intensely in the blood.

  Like a dragonfly hovering above the surface of a stream.

  Tsu Ma was watching him from the bridge. ‘Yuan? Are you coming?’

  Li Yuan turned, momentarily abstracted from the scene, then, with the vaguest nod, he moved from the rail, following his friend.

  And maybe peace never came. Maybe, like life, it was all illusion, as the ancient Buddhists claimed. Or maybe it was himself. Maybe it was his own life that was out of balance. On the bridge he turned, looking back, seeing how the great swirl of white drifted out into the black, how its violent energy was stilled and channelled by the rock.

  Then he turned back, walking on through the shadow of the trees, the dark image of the rock embedded at the centre of his thoughts.

  It was midday and the sky over Northern Hunan was the cloudless blue of early spring. In the garden of the palace at Tao Yuan, Wang Sau-leyan sat on a tall throne, indolently picking from the bowls of delicacies on the table at his side while he listened to the man who stood, head bowed, before him.

  The throne was mounted on an ancient sedan, the long arms carved like rearing dragons, the thick base shaped like a map of the ancient Middle Kingdom, back before the world had changed. Wang had had them set him down at the very heart of the garden, the elegant whiteness of the threetiered Pagoda of Profound Significance to his right, the stream, with its eight gently arching bridges, partly concealed beyond a stand of ancient junipers to his left.

  To one side Sun Li Hua, newly promoted to Master of the Royal Household, stood in the shadow of the junipers, his arms folded into his powder-blue sleeves, his head lowered, waiting to do his master’s bidding.

  The man who stood before Wang was a tall, elegant-looking Han in his mid-fifties. His name was Hsiang Shao-erh and he was Head of the Hsiang family of City Europe, Li Yuan’s bondsman – his blood vassal. But today he was here, speaking to his master’s enemy. Offering him friendship. And more…

  For an hour Hsiang had prevaricated; had talked of many things, but never of the one thing he had come to raise. Now, tiring of his polite evasions, Wang Sau-leyan looked up, wiping his fingers on a square of bright red silk as he spoke.

  ‘Yes, cousin, but why are you here? What do you want from me?’

  For the second time that day Hsiang was taken aback. Earlier, when Wang had invited him outdoors to talk, his mouth had flapped uselessly, trying to find the words that would not offend the T’ang; that might make clear this was a matter best discussed behind closed doors or not at all. But Wang had insisted and Hsiang had had to bow his head and follow, concealing his discomfort.

  Now, however, Hsiang was feeling much more than simple discomfort. He glanced up, then looked away, troubled by Wang Sau-leyan’s directness. For him this was a major step. Once taken, it could not be reversed. Even to be here today was a kind of betrayal. But this next…

  With a tiny shudder, Hsiang came to the point.

  ‘Forgive me, Chieh Hsia, but I am here because I can do you a great service.’ He lifted his head slightly, meeting Wang’s eyes tentatively. ‘There is one we both… dislike immensely. One who has offended us gravely. He…’

  Wang raised an eyebrow. ‘Go on, Hsiang Shao-erh…’

  Hsiang looked down. ‘You know what happened, Chieh Hsia?’

  Wang nodded, a faint smile on his lips. He did indeed. And, strangely enough, it was one of the few things he actually admired Li Yuan for. Faced with similar circumstances – with an outbreak of a deadly strain of syphilis – he would have acted exactly as Li Yuan had done, even to the point of offending his own Family Heads. But that was not the issue. Hsiang Shao-erh was here because – quite rightly – he assumed Wang hated Li Yuan as much as he did. But though Hsi
ang’s loss of face before his peers had been a great thing, it was as nothing beside this act of betrayal.

  Hsiang looked up, steeling himself, his voice hardening as he recalled his humiliation; his anger momentarily overcoming the fear he felt. ‘Then you understand why I am here, Chieh Hsia.’

  Wang shook his head. ‘You will have to be less opaque, cousin. You talk of one who has offended us both. Can you be more specific?’

  Hsiang was staring at him now. But Wang merely turned aside, picking a lychee from one of the bowls and chewing leisurely at the soft, moist fruit before looking back at Hsiang.

  ‘Well?’

  Hsiang shook his head slightly, as if waking, then stammered his answer. ‘Li Yuan. I mean Li Yuan.’

  ‘Ah…’ Wang nodded. ‘But I still don’t follow you, cousin. You said there was some great service you could do me.’

  Hsiang’s head fell. He had clearly not expected it to be so hard. For a time he seemed to struggle against some inner demon, then he straightened, pushing out his chest exaggeratedly, his eyes meeting Wang’s.

  ‘We are tied, you and I. Tied by our hatred of this man. There must be some way of using that hatred, surely?’

  Wang’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘It is true. I dislike my cousin. Hatred may be too strong a word, but…’ He leaned forward, spitting out the seeds. ‘Well, let me put it bluntly, Hsiang Shao-erh. Li Yuan is a T’ang. My equal and your master. So what are you suggesting?’

  It could not have been put more explicitly, and Wang could see how Hsiang’s eyes widened fearfully before he looked down again. Wang reached out and took another fruit, waiting, enjoying the moment. Would Hsiang dare take the next step, or would he draw back?

  ‘I…’ Hsiang shuddered. His hands pulled at the silk over his thighs. Then, after another titanic inner struggle, he looked up again. ‘There is a substance I have heard of. An illegal substance that was developed, I am told, in the laboratories of SimFic.’

  ‘A substance?’

  Hsiang moved his head uncomfortably. ‘Yes, Chieh Hsia. Something that destroys the female’s ability to produce eggs.’

  ‘A …’ Wang sat back, staring up into the blueness. ‘And this substance? You have it, I take it?’

  Hsiang shook his head. ‘No, Chieh Hsia. It was taken in a raid on one of Shih Berdichev’s establishments. Your late father’s Security forces undertook that raid, I believe, yet the substance…’

  ‘Was destroyed, I should think,’ Wang said brusquely. ‘But tell me, cousin. Had it existed – had there been some of this substance remaining, held, perhaps, illegally, in defiance of the Edict – what would you have done with it?’

  Again it was too direct. Again Hsiang shied back like a frightened horse. Yet the desire for revenge – that burning need in him to reverse the humiliation he had suffered at Li Yuan’s hands – drove him on. He spoke quickly, nervously, forcing the words out before his courage failed.

  ‘I plan to hold a party, Chieh Hsia. In celebration of Li Yuan’s official birthday. He will accept, naturally, and his wives will accompany him. It is there that I will administer this substance to them.’

  Wang Sau-leyan had been sitting forward, listening attentively. Now he sat back, laughing. ‘You mean, they will sit there calmly while you spoon it down their throats?’

  Hsiang shook his head irritably. ‘No, Chieh Hsia. I… The substance will be in their drinks.’

  ‘Oh, of course!’ Wang let out another burst of laughter. ‘And the She tou, the official taster – what will he have been doing all this while?’

  Hsiang looked down, biting back his obvious anger at Wang Sau-leyan’s mockery. ‘I am told this substance is tasteless, Chieh Hsia. That even a She tou would be unable to detect any trace of its presence.’

  Wang sat forward, suddenly more conciliatory. He looked across at Sun Li Hua, then back at Hsiang Shao-erh, smiling.

  ‘Let me make this absolutely clear, Hsiang Shao-erh. What you are suggesting is that I provide you with a special substance – an illegal substance – that you will then administer secretly to Li Yuan’s three wives. A substance that will prevent them from ovulating.’

  Hsiang swallowed deeply, then nodded. ‘That is it, Chieh Hsia.’

  ‘And if our young friend marries again?’

  Hsiang laughed uneasily. ‘Chieh Hsia?’

  ‘If Li Yuan casts off these three and marries again?’

  Hsiang’s mouth worked uselessly.

  Wang shook his head. ‘No matter. In the short term your scheme will deny Li Yuan sons. Will kill them even before they are born, neh?’

  Hsiang shuddered. ‘As he killed mine, Chieh Hsia.’

  It was not strictly true. Hsiang’s sons had killed themselves. Or, at least, had fallen ill from the yang mei ping – the willow-plum sickness – that had spread among the Minor Families after the entertainment at Hsiang’s estate. If Li Yuan had helped Hsiang’s sons end their worthless lives a few days earlier than otherwise, that was more to his credit than to theirs. They had been fated anyway. But Wang was unconcerned with such sophistry. All that concerned him was how he might use this. Hsiang’s sense of humiliation made him useful, almost the perfect means of getting back at Li Yuan. Almost.

  Wang Sau-leyan leaned forward, thrusting out his right hand, the matt black surface of the Ywe Lung, the ring of power, resting like a saddle on the index finger.

  Hsiang stared at it a moment, not understanding, then, meeting Wang’s eyes, he quickly knelt, drawing the ring to his lips and kissing it once, twice, a third time before he released it, his head remaining bowed before the T’ang of Africa.

  Karr had washed and put on a fresh uniform ready for the meeting. He turned from the sink and looked across. Marie was in the other room, standing before the full-length mirror. In the lamp’s light her skin was a pale ivory, the long line of her backbone prominent as she leaned forward.

  For a moment he was perfectly still, watching her, a thrill of delight rippling through him. She was so strong, so perfectly formed. He felt his flesh stir and gave a soft laugh, going across.

  He closed his eyes, embracing her from behind, the warm softness of her skin, that sense of silk over steel, intoxicating. She turned, folding into his arms, her face coming up to meet his in a kiss.

  ‘You must go,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘Must I?’

  ‘Yes, you must. Besides, haven’t you had enough?’

  He shook his head, his smile broadening. ‘No. But you’re right. I must go. There’s much to be done.’

  Her smile changed to a look of concern. ‘You should have slept…’

  He laughed. ‘And you’d have let me?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘No. And neither could I with you beside me.’

  ‘The time will come…’

  He laughed. ‘I can’t imagine it, but…

  She lifted her hand. ‘Here.’

  He took the two pills from her and swallowed them down. They would keep him awake, alert, for another twelve to fifteen hours – long enough to get things done. Then he could sleep. If she’d let him.

  ‘Is it important?’ Marie asked, a note of curiosity creeping into her voice.

  ‘It is the T’ang’s business,’ he answered cryptically, stone-faced, then laughed. ‘You must learn patience, my love. There are things I have to do… well, they’re not always pleasant…’

  She put a finger to his lips. ‘I understand. Now go. I’ll be here, waiting, when you get back.’

  He stood back from her, at arm’s length, his hands kneading her shoulders gently, then bent forward, kissing her breasts. ‘Until then…’

  She shivered, then came close again, going up on tiptoe to kiss the bridge of his nose. ‘Take care, my love, whatever it is.’

  ‘Okay, Major Karr. You can take off the blindfold.’

  Karr looked about him, genuinely surprised. ‘Where are we? First Level?’

  The servant lowered his head respectfully, but t
here was a smile on his face. He was too wary, too experienced in his master’s service, to be caught by such a blatant attempt to elicit information, but he was also aware that, blindfolded as he was, Karr knew he had been taken down the levels, not up.

  ‘If you would follow me…’

  Karr smiled and followed, taken aback by the elegance of the rooms through which they passed. He had not thought such luxury existed here just above the Net, but it was not really that surprising. He had read the report on the United Bamboo; had seen the financial estimates for the last five years. With an annual turnover of one hundred and fifteen billion yuan, Fat Wong, the big boss of United Bamboo, could afford luxuries like these. Even so, it was unexpected to find them in such a setting. Like finding an oasis on Mars.

  Karr looked down, noting that the floor mosaic mirrored that of the ceiling overhead. Nine long, thick canes of bamboo were gripped by a single, giant hand, the ivory yellow of the canes and the hand contrasted against the brilliant emerald green of a paddy field. Karr smiled, thinking of how often he had seen that symbol, on the headbands of dead runners trapped in Security ambushes, or on the packaging of illicitly smuggled goods that had made their way up from the Net. And now he was to meet the head behind that grasping hand – the 489 himself.

  The servant had stopped. Now he turned, facing Karr again, and bowed deeply. ‘Forgive me, Major Karr, but I must leave you here. If you would go through, my master will be with you in a while.’

  Karr went through, past a comfortably furnished anteroom and out into a long, spacious gallery with a moon door at each end. Here, on the facing walls, were displayed the banners of the thirty or more minor Triads that the United Bamboo had conquered or assimilated over the centuries. Karr made his way down the row, stopping at the last of the banners.

  He reached up, touching the ancient silk gently, delicately, conscious that it was much older than the others that hung there. The peacock blue of the banner had faded, but the golden triangle at its centre still held something of its former glory. In the blue beside each face of the triangle was embroidered a Han word, the original red of the pictograms transformed by time into a dull mauvish-brown, like ancient bloodstains. He gave a little shudder, then offered the words softly to the air.