There was the deafening noise of automatic fire. Shells hammered into the wall beside him, cutting into his left arm and shoulder, but he was safe. His own fire had ripped into the guards an instant earlier, throwing them backwards.
Karr got up slowly, the pain in his upper arm intense, the shoulder wound less painful but more awkward. The bone felt broken – smashed probably. He crouched there a moment, feeling sick, then straightened up, gritting his teeth, knowing there was no option but to press on. It was just as it had been in the Pit all those years ago. He had a choice. He could go on and he could live, or he could give up and let himself be killed.
A choice? He laughed sourly. No, there had never really been a choice. He had always had to fight. As far back as he could remember, it had always been the same. It was the price for being who he was, for living where he’d lived, beneath the Net.
He went on, each step jolting his shoulder painfully, taking his breath. The gun was heavy in his right hand. Designed for two-handed use, its balance was wrong when used one-handed, the aim less certain.
Surprise. It was the last card left up his sleeve. Surprise and sheer audacity.
He was lucky. The guard outside the control-room had his back to him as he came out into the main corridor. There was a good twenty ch’i between them, but his luck held. He was on top of the man before he realized he was there, smashing the stock of the gun into the back of his head.
As the man sank to his knees, Karr stepped past him into the doorway and opened fire, spraying the room with shells. It was messy – not the way he’d normally have done it – but effective. When his gun fell silent again, there were six corpses on the floor of the room.
One wall had been filled with a nest of screens, like those they’d found in the Overseer’s House in the Plantation. His gunfire had destroyed a number of them, but more than three-quarters were still functioning. He had the briefest glimpse of various scenes, showing that fighting was still going on throughout the fortress, and then the screens went dead, the overhead lights fading.
He turned, listening for noises in the corridor, then turned back, knowing his only hope was to find the controls that operated the doors and let his men into this level.
He scanned the panels quickly, cursing the damage he’d done, then set his gun down beside a keyboard inset into the central panel. Maybe this was it.
The keyboard was unresponsive to his touch. The screen stayed blank. Overhead a red light began to flash. Karr grabbed his gun and backed out. Not before time. A moment later a metal screen fell into place, sealing off the doorway.
What now?
Karr turned, looking to his left. It was the only way. But did it lead anywhere? Suddenly he had a vision of DeVore sitting somewhere, watching him, laughing as he made his way deeper and deeper into the labyrinth he had built; knowing that all of these tunnels led nowhere. Nowhere but into the cold, stone heart of the mountain.
He shuddered. The left side of his tunic was sodden now, the whole of his left side warm, numb yet tingling, and he was beginning to feel light-headed. He had lost a lot of blood and his body was suffering from shock, but he had to go on. It was too late now to back off.
He went on, grunting with pain at every step, knowing he was close to physical collapse. Every movement pained him, yet he forced himself to keep alert, moving his head from side to side, his whole body tensed against a sudden counter-attack.
Again his luck held. The long corridor was empty, the rooms leading off deserted. But did it go anywhere?
Karr slowed. Up ahead the wall lighting stopped abruptly, but the tunnel went on into the darkness.
He turned, looking back, thinking he’d heard something, but there was nothing. No one was following him. But how long would it be before someone came? He had to keep going on.
Had to.
He threw off his mask then pulled the heat-sensitive glasses down over his eyes and went on.
After a while the tunnel began to slope downwards. He stumbled over the first of the steps and banged his damaged shoulder against the wall. For a moment he crouched there, groaning softly, letting the pain ease, then went on, more careful now, pressing close to the right-hand wall in case he fell.
At first they were not so much steps as broad ledges cut into the rocky floor, but soon that changed as the tunnel began to slope more steeply. He went on, conscious of the sharp hiss of his breathing in the silent darkness.
Partway down he stopped, certain he had made a mistake. The wall beside him was rough, as if crudely hacked from the rock. Moreover, the dank, musty smell of the place made him think that it was an old tunnel, cut long before DeVore’s time. For what reason he couldn’t guess, but it would explain the lack of lighting, the very crudeness of its construction.
He went on, slower now, each step an effort, until, finally, he could go no further. He sat, shivering, his gun set down beside him in the darkness.
So this was it? He laughed painfully. It was not how he had expected to end his days – in the cold, dank darkness at the heart of a mountain, half his shoulder shot away – but if this was what the gods had fated, then who was he to argue? After all, he could have died ten years back had Tolonen not bought out his contract, and they had been good years. The very best of years.
Even so, he felt bitter regret wash over him. Why now? Now that he had found Marie. It made no sense. As if the gods were punishing him. And for what? For arrogance? For being born the way he was? No… it made no sense. Unless the gods were cruel by nature.
He pulled the heat-sensitive glasses off then leaned back a little, seeking some posture in which the pain would ease, but it was no good. However he sat, the same fierce, burning ache would seize him again after a few moments, making him feel feverish, irrational.
What, then? Go back? Or go on, ever down?
The question was answered for him. Far below he heard a heavy rustling noise then the sharp squeal of an unoiled door being pushed back. Light spilled into the tunnel. Someone was coming up, hurriedly, as if pursued.
He reached beside him for his gun then sat back, the gun laid across his lap, its barrel facing down towards the light.
It was too late now to put his glasses back on, but what the hell? Whoever it was, they had the light behind them, while he sat in total darkness. Moreover, he knew they were coming, while they had no idea he was there. The advantages were all his. Even so, his hand was trembling so badly now that he wondered if he could even pull the trigger.
Partway up the steps the figure stopped, moving closer to the right-hand wall. There was a moment’s banging then it stopped, the figure turning towards him again. It sniffed the air then began to climb the steps, slower now, more cautiously, as if it sensed his presence. Up it came, closer and closer, until he could hear the steady pant of its breath, not twenty ch’i below.
Now! he thought, but his fingers were dead, the gun a heavy weight in his lap.
He closed his eyes, awaiting the end, knowing it was only a matter of time. Then he heard it. The figure had stopped; now it was moving back down the steps. He heard it try the lock again and opened his eyes.
For a moment his head swam then, even as his eyes focused, the door below creaked open, spilling light into the dimly lit passageway.
Karr caught his breath, praying the other wouldn’t turn and see him there. Yet even as the figure disappeared within, he recognized the profile.
DeVore! It had been DeVore!
Chapter 65
IN THE TEMPLE OF HEAVEN
The tower was built into the side of the mountain, a small, round, two-storey building, dominated by a smooth, grey overhang of rock. Beneath it only the outlines of ancient walls remained, huge rectangles laid out in staggered steps down the mountainside, the low brickwork overgrown with rough grasses and alpine flowers.
Lehmann stood there at the edge of the ruins, looking out across the broad valley towards the east. There was nothing human here, nothing but the sunlit mountains a
nd, far below, the broad stretch of the untended meadows, cut by a slow-moving river. Looking at it, he could imagine it remaining so a thousand years, while the world beyond the mountains tore itself apart.
And so it would be. Once the disease of humanity had run its course.
He looked across. On the far side of the valley bare rock fell half a li to the green of the valley floor, as if a giant had cut a crude path through the mountains. Dark stands of pine crested the vast wall of rock then, as the eye travelled upwards, that too gave way – to snow and ice and, finally, to the clear, bright blue of the sky.
He shivered. It was beautiful. So beautiful it took his breath. All else – all art, however fine – was mere distraction compared to this. This was real. Was like a temple. A temple to the old gods. A temple of rock and ice, of tree and stream, thrown up into the heavens.
He turned, looking back at Reid. The man was standing by the tower, hunched into himself, his furs drawn tight about him, as if unaware of the vast mystery that surrounded him. Lehmann shook his head then went across.
It was only a hunch, but when he had seen the Security craft clustered on the slopes, his first thought had been of the old tunnel. He’ll be there, he’d thought. Now, an hour later, he wasn’t quite so sure.
‘What are we doing?’ Reid asked anxiously. He too had seen the extent of the Security operation, had seen the rows of corpses stretched out in the snow.
Lehmann stared back at him a moment then climbed the narrow path to the tower. The doorframe was empty. He went inside and stood there, looking about him. The tower was a shell, the whole thing open to the sky, but the floor was much newer. The big planks there looked old, but that was how they were meant to look. At most they were ten years old.
Reid came and stood there in the doorway, looking in at him. ‘What is this? Are we going to camp here until they’ve gone?’
Lehmann shook his head then turned and came out, searching the nearby slope. With a grunt of satisfaction he crouched down, parting the spiky grasses with his gloved hands.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘Give me a hand.’
Reid went across. It was a hatch of some kind. An old-fashioned circular metal plate less than a ch’i in circumference. There were two handles, set into either side of the plate. Lehmann took one, Reid the other. Together they heaved at the thing until it gave.
Beneath was a shallow shaft. Lehmann leaned inside, feeling blindly for something.
‘What are you doing?’ Reid asked, looking out past him, afraid that a passing Security craft would spot them.
Lehmann said nothing, simply carried on with his search. A moment later he sat back, holding something in his hand. It looked like a knife. A broad, flat knife with a circular handle. Or a spike of some kind.
Lehmann stood then went back to the tower.
He went inside and crouched down, setting the spike down at his side. Groaning with the effort, he pushed one of the planks back tight against the far wall, revealing a small depression in the stonework below, its shape matching that of the spike perfectly. Lehmann hefted the spike a moment then slotted it into the depression. Reid, watching from the open doorway, laughed. It was a key.
Lehmann stepped back into the doorway. As he did so there was a sharp click and the whole floor began to rise, pushing up into the shell of the tower, until it stopped, two ch’i above their heads.
It was a lift. Moreover, it was occupied. Reid made a small sound of surprise then bowed his head hurriedly. It was DeVore.
‘About time!’ DeVore said, moving out past the two men, his face livid with anger. ‘Another hour and they’d have had me. I could hear them working on the seal at the far end of the tunnel.’
‘What happened?’ Lehmann asked, following DeVore out into the open.
DeVore turned, facing him. ‘Someone’s betrayed us! Sold us down the fucking river!’
Lehmann nodded. ‘They were Security,’ he said. ‘The craft I saw were special elite. That would take orders from high up, wouldn’t you say?’
There was an ugly movement in DeVore’s face. His incarceration in the tunnel had done nothing for his humour. ‘Ebert! What’s that bastard up to? What game’s that little fucker playing?’
‘Are you sure it’s him?’
DeVore looked away. ‘No. I can’t see what he’d gain from it. But who else could it be? Who else knows where we are? Who else could hit me without warning?’
‘So what are you going to do?’
DeVore laughed sourly. ‘Nothing. Not until I’ve spoken to the little weasel. But if he hasn’t got a bloody good explanation he’s dead. Useful or not, he’s dead, hear me?’
Hal Shepherd turned his head, looking up at the young T’ang, his eyes wet with gratitude.
‘Li Yuan… I’m glad you came.’
His voice was thin, almost transparently so, matching perfectly the face from which it issued: a thin-fleshed, ruined face that was barely distinguishable from a skull. It pained Li Yuan to see him like this. To see all the strength leached from the man and death staring out from behind his eyes.
‘Ben sent me a note,’ he said gently, almost tenderly. ‘But you should have sent for me before now. I would have spared the time. You know I would.’
The ghost of a smile flickered on Shepherd’s lips. ‘Yes. You’re like Shai Tung in that. It was a quality I much admired in him.’
It took so long for him to say the words – such effort – that Li Yuan found himself longing for him to stop. To say nothing. Simply to lie there, perhaps. But that was not what Shepherd wanted. He knew his death lay but days ahead of him and, now that Li Yuan was here, he wanted his say. Neither was it in Li Yuan’s heart to deny him.
‘My father missed you greatly after you returned here. He often remarked how it was as if he had had a part of him removed.’ Li Yuan looked aside, giving a small laugh. ‘You know, Hal, I’m not even sure it was your advice he missed, simply your voice.’
He looked back, seeing how the tears had formed again in Shepherd’s eyes, and found his own eyes growing moist. He looked away, closing his eyes briefly, remembering another time, in the long room at Tongjiang, when Hal had shown him how to juggle. How, with a laugh, he had told him that it was the one essential skill a ruler needed. So he always had been – part playful and part serious, each game of his making a point, each utterance the distillation of a wealth of unspoken thought. He had been the very best of counsellors to his father. In that the Li Family had always been fortunate, for who else, among the Seven, could draw from such a deep well as they did with the Shepherds? It was what gave them their edge. Was why the other Families always looked to Li for guidance. But now that chain was broken. Unless he could convince Hal’s son otherwise.
He looked back at Shepherd and saw how he was watching him, the eyes strangely familiar in that unrecognizably wasted face.
‘I’m not a pretty sight, I realize, Yuan. But look at me. Please. I have something important to say to you.’
Li Yuan inclined his head. ‘Of course, Hal. I was… remembering.’
‘I understand. I see it all the time. In Beth. You grow accustomed to such things.’
Shepherd hesitated, a brief flicker of pain passing across his face, then went on, his voice a light rasp.
‘Well… let me say it simply. Change has come, Yuan, like it or not. Now you must harness it and ride it like a horse. I counselled your father differently, I know, but things were different then. Much has changed, even in this last year. You must be ruthless now. Uncompromising. Wang Sauleyan is your enemy. I think you realize that. But do not think he is the only one who will oppose you. What you must do will upset friend as well as foe, but do not shrink from it merely because of that. No. You must steer a hard course, Yuan. If not, there is no hope. No hope at all.’
Hal lay there afterwards, quiet, very still, until Yuan realized that he was sleeping. He sat there, watching him a while. There was nothing profound in what Hal had said, nothing he had not heard
a thousand times before. No. What made it significant was that it was Hal who had said it. Hal, who had always counselled moderation, even during the long War with the Dispersionists. Even after they had seeded him with the cancer that now claimed him.
He sat there until Beth came in. She looked past him, seeing how things were, then went to the drawer and fetched another blanket, laying it over her husband. Then she turned, looking at Li Yuan.
‘He’s not… ?’ Li Yuan began, suddenly concerned.
Beth shook her head. ‘No. He does this often now. Sometimes he falls asleep in mid-sentence. He’s very weak now, you understand. The excitement of you coming will have tired him. But, please, don’t worry about that. We’re all pleased that you came, Li Yuan.’
Li Yuan looked down, moved by the simplicity of her words. ‘It was the least I could do. Hal has been like a father to me.’ He looked up again, meeting her eyes. ‘You don’t know how greatly it pains me to see him like this.’
She looked away, only a slight tightening of her cheek muscles revealing how much she was holding back. Then she looked back at him, smiling.
‘Well… let’s leave him to sleep, neh? I’ll make some ch’a.’
He smiled then gave the smallest bow, understanding now why his father had talked so much about his visit here. Hal’s pending death or no, there was contentment here. A balance.
And how find that for himself ? For the wheel of his own life was broken, the axle shattered.
He followed her out down the narrow twist of steps then stood there, staring out through the shadows of the hallway at the garden – at a brilliant square of colour framed by the dark oak of the doorway.
He shivered, astonished by the sight; by the almost hallucinatory clarity of what could be seen within that frame. It was as if, in stepping through, one might enter another world. Whether it was simply a function of the low ceiling and the absence of windows here inside and the contrasting openness of the garden beyond he could not say, but the effect took away his breath. It was like nothing he had ever seen. The light seemed embedded in the darkness, like a lens. So vivid it was. As if washed clean. He went towards it, his lips parted in wonder, then stopped, laughing, putting his hand against the warm wood of the upright.
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