She looked up at him. ‘Have I a choice?’
‘Yes. You can walk out of here, right now. I’ll not stop you. But if you do, Mach will come after you with everything he’s got. Because he’ll not feel safe until you’re dead.’
‘And you?’
DeVore smiled. ‘Oh, I’m safe. I’m always safe.’
Slowly the great globe of Chung Kuo turned in space, moving through sunlight and darkness, the blank faces of its continents glistening like ice caps beneath huge swirls of cloud. Three hours had passed by the measure of men and in Sichuan Province, in the great palace at Tongjiang, Li Shai Tung sat with his son in the dim-lit silence of his study, reading through the report General Nocenzi had brought. Li Yuan stood at his father’s side, scanning each sheet as his father finished with it.
The report concerned a number of items taken in a raid the previous evening on a gaming club frequented by the sons of several important Company heads. More than a dozen of the young men had been taken, together with a quantity of seditious material: posters and pamphlets, secret diaries and detailed accounts of illicit meetings. Much of the material confirmed what Tolonen had said only the day before. There was a new wave of unrest; a new tide, running for change.
They were good men – exemplary young men, it might be said – from families whose ties to the Seven went back to the foundation of the City. Men who, in other circumstances, might have served his father well. But a disease was rife among them, a foulness that, once infected, could not be shaken from the blood.
And the disease? Li Yuan looked across at the pile of folders balanced on the far side of his father’s desk. There were three of them, each bulging with handwritten ice-vellum sheets. He had not had time to compare more than a few paragraphs scattered throughout each text, but he had seen enough to know that their contents were practically identical. He reached across and picked one up, flicking through the first few pages. He had seen the original in Berdichev’s papers more than a year ago, amongst the material Karr had brought back with him from Mars, but had never thought to see another.
He read the title page. The Aristotle File. Being the True History of Western Science. By Soren Berdichev.
The document had become the classic of dissent for these young men, each copy painstakingly written out in longhand.
His father turned in his seat, looking up at him. ‘Well, Yuan? What do you think?’
He set the file down. ‘It is as you said, Father. The thing is a cancer. We must cut it out, before it spreads.’
The old T’ang smiled, pleased with his son. ‘If we can.’
‘You think it might already be too late?’
Li Shai Tung shrugged. ‘A document like this is a powerful thing, Yuan.’ He smiled then stood, touching his son’s arm. ‘But come… let us feed the fish. It is a while since we had the chance to talk.’
Li Yuan followed his father into the semi-darkness of the arboretum, his mind filled with misgivings.
Inside, Li Shai Tung turned, facing his son, the carp pool behind him. ‘I come here whenever I need to think.’
Li Yuan looked about him and nodded. He understood. When his father was absent, he would come here himself and stand beside the pool, staring down into the water as if emptying himself into its depths, letting his thoughts become the fish, drifting, gliding slowly, almost listlessly in the water, then rising swiftly to breach the surface, imbued with sudden purpose.
The old T’ang smiled, seeing how his son stared down into the water; so like himself in some respects.
‘Sometimes I think it needs a pike…’
Li Yuan looked up surprised. ‘A pike in a carp pool, Father? But it would eat the other fish!’
Li Shai Tung nodded earnestly. ‘And maybe that is what was wrong with Chung Kuo. Maybe our great carp pool needed a pike. To keep the numbers down and add that missing element of sharpness. Maybe that is what we are seeing now. Maybe our present troubles are merely the consequence of all those years of peace.’
‘Things decay…’ Yuan said, conscious of how far their talk had come; of how far his father’s words were from what he normally professed to believe.
‘Yes…’ Li Shai Tung nodded and eased himself back on to the great saddle of a turtle shell that was placed beside the pool. ‘And perhaps a pike is loose in the depths.’
Li Yuan moved to the side of the pool, the toes of his boots overlapping the tiled edge.
‘Have you made up your mind yet, Yuan?’
The question was unconnected to anything they had been discussing, but once again he understood. In this sense they had never been closer. His father meant the boy, Kim.
‘Yes, Father. I have decided.’
‘And?’
Yuan turned his head, looking across at his father. Li Shai Tung sat there, his feet spread, the cane resting against one knee. Yuan could see his dead brother, Han Ch’in, in that posture of his father’s. Could see how his father would have resembled Han when he was younger, as if age had been given to him and youth to Han. But Han was long dead and youth with it. Only old age remained. Only the crumbling patterns of their forefathers.
‘I was wrong,’ he said after a moment. ‘The reports are unequivocal. It hasn’t worked out. And now this… this matter of the sons and their “New European” movement. I can’t help but think the two are connected – that the boy is responsible for this.’
Li Shai Tung’s regretful smile mirrored his son’s. ‘It is connected, Yuan. Without the boy there would be no file.’ He looked clearly at his son. ‘Then you will act upon my warrant and have the boy terminated?’
Li Yuan met his father’s eyes, part of him still hesitant, even now. Then he nodded.
‘Good. And do not trouble yourself, Yuan. You did all you could. It seems to me that the boy’s end was fated.’
Li Yuan had looked down; now he looked up again, surprised by his father’s words. Li Shai Tung saw this and laughed. ‘You find it odd for me to talk of fate, neh?’
‘You have always spoken of it with scorn.’
‘Maybe so, yet any man must at some point question whether it is chance or fate that brings things to pass; whether he is the author or merely the agent of his actions.’
‘And you, Father? What do you think?’
Li Shai Tung stood, leaning heavily upon the silver-headed cane he had come to use so often these days; the cane with the dragon’s head that Han Ch’in had bought him on his fiftieth birthday.
‘It is said that in the time of Shang they would take a tortoise shell and cover it with ink then throw it into a fire. When it dried, a diviner would read the cracks and lines in the scorched shell. They believed, you see, that the tortoise was an animal of great purity – in its hard-soft form they saw the meeting of Yin and Yang, of Heaven and Earth. Later they would inscribe the shells with questions put to their ancestors. As if the dead could answer.’
Li Yuan smiled, reassured by the ironic tone of his father’s words. For a moment he had thought…
‘And maybe they were right, Yuan. Maybe it is all written. But then one must ask what it is the gods want of us. They seem to give and take without design. To build things up, only to cast them down. To give a man great joy, only to snatch it away, leaving him in great despair. And to what end, Yuan? To what end?’
Yuan answered softly, touched to the core by his father’s words. ‘I don’t know, Father. Truly I don’t.’
Li Shai Tung shook his head bitterly. ‘Bones and tortoise shells…’ He laughed and touched the great turtle shell behind him with his cane. ‘They say this is a copy of the great Luoshu shell, Yuan. It was a present to your mother from my father, on the day of our wedding. The pattern on its back is meant to be a charm, you see, for easing childbirth.’
Yuan looked away. It was as if his father felt a need to torture himself; to surround himself with the symbols of lost joy.
‘You know the story, Yuan? It was in the reign of Yu, oh… more than four thousand years ago
now, when the turtle crawled up out of the Luo River, bearing the markings on its back.’
Yuan knew the story well. Every child did. But he let his father talk, finding it strange that only now should they reach this point of intimacy between them; now, when things were darkest, his own life blighted by the failure of his dreams, his father’s by ill health.
‘Three lines of three figures were marked out there on the shell, as plain as could be seen, the Yin numbers in the corners, the Yang numbers in the centre, and each line – horizontal, vertical and diagonal – adding up to fifteen. Of course, it was hailed at once as a magic square – as a sign that supernatural powers were at work in the world. But we know better, neh, Yuan? We know there are no magic charms to aid us in our troubles – only our reason and our will. And if they fail…’
Li Shai Tung heaved a sigh, then sat heavily on the great saddle of the shell. He looked up at his son wearily.
‘But what is the answer, Yuan? What might we do that we have not already done?’
Li Yuan looked across at his father, his eyes narrowed. ‘Cast oracles?’
The T’ang laughed softly. ‘Like our forefathers, neh?’
The old man looked away; stared down into the depths of the pool. Beyond him the moon was framed within the darkness of the window. The night was perfect, like the velvet worn about the neck of a young girl.
‘I hoped for peace, Yuan. Longed for it. But…’ He shook his head.
‘What, then, Father? What should we do?’
‘Do?’ Li Shai Tung laughed, a soft, unfamiliar sound. ‘Prepare ourselves, Yuan. That’s all. Take care our friends are true. Sleep only when we’re safe.’
It was an uncharacteristically vague answer.
Yuan looked down, then broached the subject he had been avoiding all evening. ‘Are you well, Father? I had heard…’
‘Heard what?’ Li Shai Tung turned, his tone suddenly sharp, commanding.
Li Yuan almost smiled, but checked himself, knowing his father’s eagle eye was on him. ‘Only that you were not at your best, Father. No more than that. Headaches. Mild stomach upsets. But do not be angry with me. A son should be concerned for his father’s health.’
Li Shai Tung grunted. ‘Not at my best, eh? Well, that’s true of us all after thirty. We’re never again at our best.’ He was silent a moment then turned, tapping his cane against the tiled floor. ‘Maybe that’s true of all things – that they’re never at their best after a while. Men and the things men build.’
‘Particulars, Father. Particulars.’
The old man stared at him a moment then nodded. ‘So I’ve always lectured you, Yuan. You learn well. You always did. You were always suited for this.’
There was a long silence between them. Han Ch’in’s death lay there in that silence, cold, heavy, unmentionable: a dark stone of grief in the guts of each that neither had managed to pass.
‘And Fei Yen?’
It was the first time his father had mentioned the separation. The matter was not yet public knowledge.
Li Yuan sighed. ‘It’s still the same.’
There was real pain in Li Shai Tung’s face. ‘You should command her, Yuan. Order her to come home.’
Li Yuan shook his head, controlling what he felt. ‘With great respect, Father, I know what’s best in this. She hates me. I know that now. To have her in my home would weaken me.’
Li Shai Tung was watching his son closely, his shoulders slightly hunched. ‘Ah…’ He lifted his chin. ‘I did not know that, Yuan. I…’ Again he sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Yuan, but the child. What of the child?’
Li Yuan swallowed then raised his head again, facing the matter squarely. ‘The child is not mine. Fei Yen was unfaithful. The child belongs to another man.’
The old man came closer; came round the pool and stood there, facing his son.
‘You know this for certain?’
‘No, but I know it. Fei Yen herself –’
‘No. I don’t mean “know it” in some vague sense, I mean know it, for good and certain.’ His voice had grown fierce, commanding once more. ‘This is important, Yuan. I’m surprised at you. You should have seen to this.’
Li Yuan nodded. It was so, but he had not wanted to face it. Had not wanted to know for good and certain. He had been quite happy to accept her word.
‘You must go to her and offer her divorce terms, Yuan. At once. But you will make the offer conditional. You understand?’
Again he nodded, understanding. There would need to be tests. Tests to ascertain the father of the child. Genotyping. Then he would know. Know for good and certain. He gritted his teeth, feeling the pain like a needle in his guts.
‘Good,’ said the T’ang, seeing that what he had wanted was accomplished. ‘There must be no room for doubt in the future. If your son is to rule, he must be uncontested. Your son, not some cuckoo in the nest.’
The words stung Li Yuan, but that was their aim. His father knew when to spare and when to goad.
‘And then?’ Li Yuan felt drained suddenly; empty of thought.
‘And then you marry again. Not one wife, but two. Six if need be, Yuan. Have sons. Make the family strong again. Provide.’
He nodded, unable to conceive of life with any other woman but Fei Yen, but for now obedient to his father’s wishes.
‘Love!’ There was a strange bitterness to his father’s voice. An edge. ‘It’s never enough, Yuan. Remember that. It always fails you in the end. Always.’
Li Yuan looked up, meeting his father’s eyes, seeing the love and hurt and pain there where for others there was nothing.
‘All love?’
The T’ang nodded and reached out to hold his son’s shoulder. ‘All love, Yuan. Even this.’
There was a pounding at the outer doors. Li Shai Tung woke, drenched in sweat, the dream of his first wife, Lin Yua, and that dreadful night so clear that, for a moment, he thought the banging on the doors a part of it. He sat up, feeling weak, disoriented. The banging came again.
‘Gods help us… what is it now?’ he muttered, getting up slowly and pulling on his gown.
He went across and stood there, facing the doors. ‘Who is it?’
‘It is I, Chieh Hsia. Your Chancellor, Chung Hu-yan.’
He shivered. Chung Hu-yan. As in the dream. As on the night Lin Yua had died, giving birth to his son, Yuan. For a moment he could not answer him.
‘Chieh Hsia,’ came the voice again. ‘Are you all right?’
He turned, looking about him, then turned back. No. He was here. He wasn’t dreaming. Seventeen, almost eighteen years had passed and he was here, in his palace, and the knocking on the door, the voice – both were real.
‘Hold on, Chung. I’m coming…’
He heard how weak his voice sounded, how indecisive, and shivered. Sweat trickled down his inner arms, formed on his forehead. Why was everything suddenly so difficult?
He fumbled with the lock then drew back the catch. Stepping back, he watched the doors open. Chung Hu-yan stood there, flanked by two guards.
‘What is it, Chung?’ he said, his voice quavering, seeing the fear in his Chancellor’s face.
Chung Hu-yan bowed low. ‘News has come, Chieh Hsia. Bad news.’
Bad news… He felt his stomach tighten. Li Yuan was dead. Or Tsu Ma. Or…
‘What is it, Chung?’ he said again, unconscious of the repetition.
In answer Chung moved aside. Tolonen was standing there, his face ashen.
‘Chieh Hsia…’ the Marshal began, then went down on one knee, bowing his head low. ‘I have failed you, my lord… failed you.’
Li Shai Tung half turned, looking to see who was standing behind him, but there was no one. He frowned then turned back. ‘Failed, Knut? How failed?’
‘The Plantations…’ Tolonen said, then looked up at him again, tears in his eyes. ‘The Plantations are on fire.’
Chapter 61
THE BROKEN WHEEL
A huge window filled the en
d of the corridor where the tunnel turned to the right, intersecting with the boarding hatch. She stood there a moment, looking out across the pre-dawn darkness of the spaceport, barely conscious of the passengers pushing by, knowing that this was probably the last view she would ever have of City Europe – the City in which she had spent her whole life. But that life was over now and a new one lay ahead. Emily Ascher was dead, killed in a fictitious accident three days back. She was Mary Jennings now, a blonde from Atlanta Canton, returning to the eastern seaboard after a two-year secondment to the European arm of her Company.
She had sat up until late, learning the brief she had been sent, then had snatched three hours before the call had come. That had been an hour back. Now she stood, quite literally, on the threshold of a new life, hesitating, wondering even now if she had done the right thing.
Was it really too late to go back – to make her peace with Mach? She sighed and let her fingers move slowly down the dark, smooth surface of the glass. Yes. DeVore might have been lying when he had said he had no motive in helping her, but he was right about Mach wanting her dead. She had given Mach no option. No one left the Ping Tiao. Not voluntarily, anyway. And certainly not alive.
Even so, wasn’t there some other choice? Some other option than putting herself in debt to DeVore?
She looked down at her bandaged left hand then smiled cynically at her reflection in the darkened glass. If there had been she would not be here. Besides, there were things she had to do. Important things. And maybe she could do them just as well in America. If DeVore let her.
It was a big if, but she was prepared to take the chance. The only other choice was death, and while she didn’t fear death, it was hardly worth pre-empting things. No. She would reserve that option. Would keep it as her final bargaining counter. Just in case DeVore proved difficult. And maybe she’d even take him with her. If she could.
Her smile broadened, lost its hard edge. She turned, joining the line of boarding passengers, holding out her pass to the tiny Han stewardess, then moved down the aisle towards her seat.
She was about to sit when the steward touched her arm.
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