‘Thank you, Nan Ho. I…’
But the Chancellor had already gone. Even as Li Yuan looked up, the door was closing on the far side of the room.
He sat back, staring at the tiny package on his desk. It was from her. From Fei Yen. Though there were no markings on the wrapping, he knew no other would have used that scent. No one else would have used his Chancellor as a messenger.
He shuddered, surprised by the intensity of what he felt. Then, leaning forward, his hand trembling, he began to unfasten the wrappings, curious and yet afraid of what was inside.
There was a note, and beneath the note a tiny tape. He unfolded it and read the brief message, then lifted the tape gingerly, his eyes drawn to the gold-leaf pictograms embossed into the black of the casing. Han Ch’in, they read. His son.
He swallowed, then closed his eyes. What did she want? Why was she doing this to him? For a moment he closed his hand tightly on the tiny cassette, as if to break it, then loosened his grip. No. He would have to see it. Suddenly he realized just how much he had wanted to go to the estate at Hei Shui and simply stand there, unobserved, watching his child at play.
Even so, the question still remained. What did she want? He went to the long window. Already the sun was higher, the shadows on the eastern lawn much shorter. He breathed deeply, watching the sunlight flicker on the surface of the pond, then shook his head. Maybe she didn’t know. Maybe she didn’t understand what power she had over him, even now. Maybe it was a simple act of kindness…
He laughed quietly. No. Whatever it was, it wasn’t that. Or not simply that. He turned, looking across at the tape, the note, then turned back again, staring outward. Whatever, it would have to wait. Right now he must prepare himself, clearing his mind of everything but the struggle ahead. Tonight, after Council, he could relax; might let himself succumb to his weakness. But not before. Not until he had dealt with Wang Sau-leyan.
He sighed and turned from the window, making his way back to his rooms and the waiting maids.
Out on the pond, in the early morning light, a dragonfly hovered over the water, its wings flickering like molten sunlight, its body a bright iridescent green.
Chapter 73
IN A DARKENED EYE
It was just after seven in the morning, but in the Black Heart business was brisk. At the huge centre table a crowd of men pressed close, taking bets on the two tiny contestants crouched in the tight beam of the spotlight.
They were mantises, brought up from the Clay, their long, translucent bodies raised threateningly, switchblade forelegs extended before their tiny, vicious-looking heads as they circled slowly. To Chen, watching from the edge of the crowd, it was an ugly, chilling sight. He had seen men – Triad gangsters – behave in this manner, their every movement suggestive of a deadly stillness. Men whose eyes were dead, who cared only for the perfection of the kill. Here, in these cold, unsympathetic creatures, was their model; the paradigm of their behaviour. He shuddered. To model oneself on such a thing – what made a man reduce himself so much?
As he watched, the larger of the creatures struck out, its forelegs moving in a blur as it tried to catch and pin its opponent. There was a roar of excitement from the watching men, but the attack faltered, the smaller mantis struggling free. It scuttled back, twitching, making small, answering feints with its forelegs.
Chen looked about him, sickened by the glow of excitement in every face, then came away, returning to the table in the corner.
‘So what’s happened?’
Karr looked up from the map, smiling wearily. ‘It’s gone cold. And this time even our Triad friends can’t help us.’
Chen leaned across, putting his finger down where the map was marked with a red line – a line that ended abruptly at the entrance to the stack in which the Black Heart was located. ‘We’ve tracked them this far, right? And then there’s nothing. It’s a white-out, right?’
Karr nodded. ‘The cameras were working, but the storage system had been tampered with. There was nothing on record but white light.’
‘Right. And there’s no trace of either of them coming out of this stack, correct? The records have been checked for facial recognition?’
Again Karr nodded.
‘Then what else remains? No one broke the seals and went down to the Net, and no one got out by flyer. Which means they must be here.’
Karr laughed. ‘But they’re not. We’ve searched the place from top to bottom and found nothing. We’ve taken the place apart.’
Chen smiled enigmatically. ‘Which leaves what?’
Karr shrugged. ‘Maybe they were ghosts.’
Chen nodded. ‘Or maybe the images on the tape were. What if someone tampered with the computer storage system down the line?’ He traced the red line back with his finger, stopping at the point where it took a sixtydegree turn. ‘What if our friends turned off earlier? Or went straight on? Have we checked the records from the surrounding stacks?’
‘I’ve done it. And there’s nothing. They just disappeared.’
At the gaming table things had changed dramatically. Beneath the spotlight’s glare the smaller mantis seemed to be winning. It had pinned the larger creature’s forelegs to the ground, trapping it, but it could not take advantage of its position without releasing its opponent. For a long time it was still, then, with a suddenness that surprised the hushed watchers, it moved back, meaning to strike at once and cripple its enemy. But the larger beast had waited for that moment. The instant it felt the relentless pressure of the other’s forelegs lapse, it snapped back, springing up from the floor, its back legs powering it into the smaller insect. The snap of its forelegs was followed instantly by the crunch of its opponent’s brittle flesh. It was over. The smaller mantis was dead.
For a moment they looked across, distracted by the uproar, then Karr turned back, his blue eyes filled with doubt. ‘Come… there’s nothing here.’
They were getting up as a messenger came across; one of the Triad men they had met earlier. Bowing, he handed Karr a sheet of computer printout – a copy of a Security report timed at 4.24 a.m.
Karr studied it a moment, then laughed. ‘Just when I thought it had died on us. Look, Chen! Look what the gods have sent us!’
Chen took the printout. It was a report on a new terrorist attack. On a place called the Dragonfly Club. The details were sketchy, but one fact stood out – a computer face-recognition match. Chen stared at Karr. ‘It’s the woman! Chi Li, or whatever her name is!’
‘Yes,’ Karr laughed, his gloom dispelled for the first time in two days. ‘So let’s get there, neh? Before the trail goes cold.’
Ywe Hao woke, her heart pounding, and threw back the sheet. Disoriented, she sat up, staring about her. What in the gods’ names…?
Then she saw it – the winking red light of the warning circuit. Its high-pitched alarm must have woken her. She spun about, looking to see what time it was: 7.13. She had been asleep less than an hour.
Dressing took fifteen seconds, locating and checking her gun another ten. Then she was at the door, breathing deeply, preparing herself, as the door slid slowly back.
The corridor was empty. She walked quickly, her gun held out before her, knowing they would have to use this corridor.
At the intersection she slowed, hearing footsteps, but they were from the left. The warning had come from her friends – the two boys at the lift – which meant her assailants would be coming from that direction; from the corridor directly ahead. She put the gun away and let the old man pass, then went to the right, breaking into a run, heading for the inter-level steps.
There was urgent whispering in the corridor behind her at the intersection. She flattened herself against the wall, holding her breath. Then the voices were gone, heading towards her apartment.
Vasska’s brother, Edel. She was certain of it.
She was eight, nine steps up the flight when she remembered the case. She stopped, annoyed with herself. But there hadn’t been time. If she’d s
topped to dig it out from the back of the cupboard she would have lost valuable seconds. Would have run into them in the corridor. Even so, she couldn’t leave it there. The dossier on the raid was in it.
A group of Han students passed her on the steps, heading for their morning classes, their sing-song chatter filling the stairwell briefly. Then she was alone again. For a moment longer she hesitated, then she went up, heading for the maintenance room at the top of the deck.
Karr looked about him at the ruins. It was the same pattern as before – broken security cameras, deserted guard-posts, secured lifts, the terrorists’ trail cleverly covered by white-outs. All spoke of a highly-organized operation, planned well in advance and carried out with a professionalism that even the T’ang’s own élite would have found hard to match.
Not only that, but the Yu chose their targets well. Even here, amidst this chaos, they had taken care to identify their victims. Twenty-four men had died here, all but one of them – a guard – regular members of the Club, each of them ‘tagged’ by the Yu, brief histories of their worthless lives tied about their necks. The second guard had simply been beaten and tied up, while the servants had again been left unharmed. Such discrimination was impressive and the rumour of it – passed from mouth to ear, in defiance of the explicit warnings of the T’ing Wei – had thus far served to discredit every effort of that Ministry to portray the terrorists as uncaring, sadistic killers, their victims as undeserving innocents.
He shook his head, then went across. ‘Anything new?’ he asked, looking past Chen at the last of the corpses.
‘Nothing,’ Chen answered, his weary smile a reminder that they had been on duty more than thirty hours. ‘The only remarkable thing is the similarity of the wounds. My guess is that there was some kind of ritual involved.’
Karr grimaced. ‘Yes. These men weren’t just killed, they were executed. And, if our Ko Ming friends are right, for good reason.’
Chen looked away, a shudder of disgust passing through him. He too had seen the holos the assassins had left – studies of their victims with young boys taken from the Lowers. Scenes of degradation and torture. Scenes that the T’ing Wei were certain to keep from popular consumption.
Which was to say nothing of the mutilated corpse of the child they had found in the room at the far end of the club.
Karr leaned across, touching Chen’s arm. ‘We’re waiting on lab reports, word from our Triad contacts. There’s little we can do just now, so why don’t you go home? Spend some time with that wife of yours, or take young Jyan to the Palace of Dreams. They tell me there’s a new historical.’
Chen laughed. ‘And Marie? I thought this was supposed to be your honeymoon?’
Karr grinned. ‘Marie understands. It’s why she married me.’
Chen shook his head. ‘And I thought I was mad.’ He laughed. ‘Okay. But let me know as soon as something happens.’
Karr nodded. ‘All right. Now go.’
He watched Chen leave, then stood, feeling the emotional weight of what had happened here bearing down on him. It was rare that he was affected by such scenes, rarer still that he felt any sympathy for the perpetrators, but for once he was. The Yu had done society a great service here tonight. Had rid Chung Kuo of the kind of scum he had met so often below the Net.
He breathed out heavily, recalling Chen’s disgust, knowing, at the very core of him, that this was what all healthy, decent men ought to feel. And yet the T’ing Wei would try to twist it, until these good-for-nothing perverts, this shit masquerading as men, were portrayed as shining examples of good citizenship.
Yes, he had seen the holos. Had felt his guts wrenched by the distress in the young boys’ eyes, by that helpless, unanswered plea. He shuddered. The oven man had them now. And no evidence remained but for that small, pathetic corpse and these mementoes – these perverse records of a foul desire.
And was he to watch it being whitewashed? Made pure and sparkling by a parcel of lies? He spat, angered by the injustice of it. Was this why he had become Tolonen’s man? For this?
Everywhere he looked he found the signature of decadence; of sons given everything by their fathers – everything but time and attention. No wonder they turned out as they did, lacking any sense of value. No wonder they pissed their time away, drinking and gambling and whoring – for inside them there was nothing. Nothing real, anyway. Some of them were even clever enough to realize as much, yet all their efforts to fill that nothingness were pointless. The nothingness was vast, unbounded. To fill it was like trying to carry water in a sieve.
Karr sighed, angered by the sheer waste of it all. He had seen enough to know that it was not even their fault; they had had no choice but to be as they were – spoilt and corrupt, vacuous and sardonic. They had been given no other model to emulate, and now it was too late.
He found the sheer sumptuousness of the room abhorrent. His own taste was for the simple, the austere. Here, confronted by its opposite, he found himself baring his teeth, as if at an enemy. Then, realizing what he was doing, he laughed uncomfortably and turned, forcing himself to be still.
It would be no easy task tracking down the Yu, for they were unlike any of the other Ko Ming groups currently operating in City Europe. They were fuelled not by simple hatred – by that obsessive urge to destroy that had fired the Ping Tiao and their like – but by a powerful indignation and a strong sense of injustice. The first Ko Ming emperor, Mao Tse-tung, had once said something about true revolutionaries being the fish that swam in the great sea of the people. Well, these Yu – these ‘fish’ – were certainly that. They had learned from past excesses. Learned that the people cared who died and who was spared. Discrimination – moral discrimination – was their most potent tool, and they took great pains to be in the right. At least, from where he stood, it looked like that, and the failure of the T’ing Wei to mould public opinion seemed to confirm his gut instinct.
And now this. Karr looked about him. Last night’s raid – this devastatingly direct strike against the corrupt heart of the Above – would do much to bolster the good opinion of the masses. Yes, he could imagine the face of the T’ing Wei’s Third Secretary, Yen T’ung, when he learned of this. Karr laughed, then fell silent, for his laughter, like the tenor of his thoughts, was indicative of a deep inner division.
His duty was clear. As Tolonen’s man he owed unswerving loyalty. If the Marshal asked him to track down the Yu, he would track them down. But for the first time ever he found himself torn, for his instinct was for the Yu, not against them. If one of those boys had been his son…
But he was Tolonen’s man; bound by the strongest of oaths. Sworn to defend the Seven against Ko Ming activity, of whatever kind.
He spoke softly to the empty room. ‘Which is why I must find you, Chi Li, even if, secretly, I admire what you have done here. For I am the T’ang’s man, and you are the T’ang’s enemy. A Ko Ming.’
And when he found her? Karr looked down, troubled. When he found her he would kill her. Swiftly, mercifully, and with honour.
The first of them was facing Ywe Hao as she came through the door. He fell back, clutching his ruined stomach, the sound of the gun’s detonation echoing in the corridor outside. The second came out of the kitchen. She shot him twice in the chest, even as he fumbled for his weapon. Edel was behind him. He came at her with a small butcher’s knife, his face twisted with hatred. She blew his hand off, then shot him through the temple. He fell at her feet, his legs kicking impotently.
She looked about her. There had been five of them, according to her lookouts. So where were the others?
There was shouting outside. Any time now Security would investigate. She went through to the kitchen, then came back, spotting the case on the bed. Good. They’d taken nothing. It was only when she lifted it that she realized she was wrong. They had taken something. The case was empty.
‘Shit…’
She looked about her, trying to work out what to do. Where would they have taken the d
ossiers? What would they have wanted them for?
There were footsteps, coming down the corridor.
She threw the case down and crossed the room, standing beside the open door, clicking the spent clip from the handle of her gun. Outside the footsteps stopped.
‘Edel? Is that you?’
She nodded to herself, then slipped a new clip into the handle. The longer she waited, the more jittery they’d get. At the same time, they might just be waiting for her to put her head round the door.
She smiled. It was the kind of dilemma she understood.
She counted. At eight she turned and went low, the gun kicking noisily in her hand as she moved out into the corridor.
Overhead, tiny armies, tens of thousands strong, fought against a hazed background of mountains, the roar of battle faint against the hubbub of noise in the crowded Main. The giant hologram was suspended in the air above the entrance to the Golden Emperor’s Palace of Eternal Dreams.
Crowds were pushing out from the Holo-Palace while others queued to get in, their necks – young and old alike – craned back to watch the battle overhead. As Kao Chen pushed through, ushering his son before him, he smiled, seeing how his head strained up and back, trying to glimpse the air-show.
‘Well, Jyan? What did you think?’
The ten-year-old looked up at his father and beamed a smile. ‘It was wonderful! That moment when Liu Pang raised his banner and the whole army roared his name. That was great!’
Chen laughed. ‘Yes, wasn’t it? And to think he was but Ch’en She, a poor man, before he became Son of Heaven! Liu Pang, founder of the great Han dynasty!’
Jyan nodded eagerly. ‘They should teach it like that at school. It’s far more interesting than all that poetry.’
Chen smiled, easing his way through the crowds. ‘Maybe, but not all poetry is bad. You’ll understand that when you’re older.’
Jyan made a face, making Chen laugh. He too had always preferred history to poetry but, then, he’d never had Jyan’s chances, Jyan’s education. No, things would be different for Jyan. Very different.
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