The Art of War

by David Wingrove

  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, givin
g 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…’