by Peter May
Then suddenly, bizarrely, there came the electronic trill of a telephone ringing. There was a moment of confusion in Sophie’s face as she turned. Li was about ten feet away. In his right hand he held the sword that Professor Chang had been restoring. His left hand was fumbling to switch off the mobile phone on his belt. But it was all too late. Sophie’s face lit up in a savage smile. She fired, and Li spun away to his left, tumbling among the debris of the warriors.
Margaret screamed and staggered to her feet, clutching her arm, almost blinded now by her tears, and numb with terror. She stumbled towards the tunnel entrance at the rear. But she knew it was hopeless. She knew the gate there was locked. And even if it hadn’t been, how far would she have got before Sophie caught up with her? She waited for the bullet in her back, almost praying for it to release her from this hell. But it didn’t come. She reached the gate and shook it, as if perhaps she rattled it hard enough she could somehow make it open. Then she turned, her back to the bars, and saw Sophie walking slowly towards her. There was a strange, mad, fixed smile on Sophie’s face, like the face of a deranged child. She reached Margaret and looked into her eyes for a very long time before hitting her hard across the face with the barrel of her gun.
Margaret was almost blinded by the pain, and the light that seemed to fill her eyes. She felt her legs buckle, and she slid to the floor. She sensed the shadow of Sophie’s gun crossing her face, and she looked up to see the barrel of it staring back at her. ‘Bitch!’ Sophie said, and then her eyes and mouth opened wide, as if in great surprise. And she and Margaret both looked to see the long blade of a bronze sword projecting from her chest. She hung, as if suspended on it, for several moments, before the blade suddenly withdrew and she collapsed like a house of cards to reveal Li on his knees behind her, supporting himself on the sword, his white shirt soaked red with his own blood.
Margaret howled and scrambled towards him on her knees, in time to catch him as he fell. She fell with him, cushioning him against her breast. She managed to pull herself up into a half-sitting position, his head in her lap. Quickly, efficiently, she tore away his shirt, folding it into a thick wad and pressing it hard into the wound high on his chest. Her tears ran freely as she rocked him back and forth. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, Li Yan, I’m so, so sorry. I made such a mistake.’
His eyes flickered open and he looked up at her, shaking his head, almost imperceptibly. ‘My fault,’ he said. ‘I was stupid and did not follow my heart. Next time …’ He coughed and flinched from the pain and screwed his eyes shut.
She glanced back through the shadows of the warriors, and saw Michael lying dead in the debris. Poor, stupid Michael. And she knew what it was that had corrupted him most. It had been his innocence, his belief that somehow, like one of his stories, everything could be as simple as he wanted it to be. That stealing what no one knew existed wasn’t theft. That killing a man who had killed others wasn’t murder. That love could be secured with a ring and a proposal. Her own words came back to her from the night they had shared in the Muslim Quarter in Xi’an. She had said to him, None of us would ever embark on the journey if we thought too much about where it was going to end. Neither of them could have dreamed then that he would become the tragic end to his own story of Hu Bo, lying lifeless among the shattered remnants of the warriors of the fourth chamber.
She looked down at Li lying in her arms, his breathing shallow and erratic. She had always loved him. And all she had ever wanted him to do was love her back. ‘You know what this means?’ she said still sobbing.
He opened his eyes again. ‘No. What does it mean?’
‘It means I’m going to have to cancel another flight for you.’
He smiled. ‘You don’t have to cancel a flight just to come to my funeral.’
She laughed through her tears. ‘You stupid baby,’ she said. ‘You’re not going to die. I’m not going to let you die. But if I’m not around, who’s going to bring you your food in the hospital?’
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-748b68-62d3-cc4a-d394-cc31-45f8-784434
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 07.01.2014
Created using: calibre 1.18.0, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
May, Peter
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