by G R Matthews
I followed him out of the courtyard and found Chunhua stood next to the screen which shielded the entrance from view.
“Hello, Corin,” she said as I approached. She looked calm and contained. Her hair had been brushed and tied up into a pony tail and she wore a silk top with delicate flowers upon it that shimmered in the light. A pair of jeans and some dark trainers completed the casual look. I’d bet, despite the look, it cost an absolute fortune. Nothing about the Hai San leader’s household said cheap. The tea, the courtyard and the bedroom I’d stayed in last night, it all screamed of luxury and expense.
“Hi.” I waved in return. “How’s Lijuan?”
“She is fine,” Chunhua replied. “A little tired still. It seems that late nights, fleeing for her life and seeing her father again have exhausted her.”
“Strange that.” I smiled. “I’m told you’re going to give me a tour of the city?”
“Yes, would you like that?”
“How much of it is just to get me out of the way?”
Her eyes widened and a smile played at the corner of her mouth. “Probably some.”
The guard behind me coughed.
“I did a little reading on the sub journey. I’ve never been in a Water City before,” I said, turning the conversation away from dangerous ground.
“Then I will show you all I can,” she said.
“Lead the way.” We walked around the screen and out of the gate, its round doors opening as we approached.
The city street was calm and quiet. To the left and right the road ran in a straight line, intersections were formed by the corners of the plots and houses. This was a rich area, which wasn’t a surprise. The roof was high and domed. I knew we were too deep for natural sunlight to reach us, but the dome glowed a subtle blue, imitating the sky I’d seen in old pictures, paintings and far too many clips shows to count.
There were few other people about, and all had a guard with them. A man or woman and dressed in dark clothes who followed them silently, eyes constantly moving, scanning the roads and houses that lined the way.
“Come on,” Chunhua said and started off down the street. “The original Nanxun was a water city, a town based around rivers and canals where traders came and fortunes were made and lost. This one isn’t built on the same plans or anything like that, but the architects were instructed to mirror those ideas in any and every way they could.”
She was in full tour guide mode. As we walked she pointed out the homes of the rich and famous, none of whom I knew so she told me what they were actually famous for, or had got rich doing. Some of it made sense, whilst some must have been lost in cultural translation. The real excitement was saved for the moment we exited the little gated community.
Right outside there was a river. A river in a domed city. Looking to the right I could see it meandered a little between the communities and areas and turned out of view some distance away. We turned left, walking along the pavement that ran beside the river. The builders had helpfully placed an ornate rail alongside the water to prevent any mishaps or accidents. If I’d had this as a child, I’d have been jumping in it every day. I saw none of that here.
Bushes, flowers and vines trailed from lamp-posts. Some reached the water and floated upon its surface amongst the lily-pads and lotus blooms. Either side of the channel, rounded bricks, each the length and width of a hand, formed the banks. It was tranquil and restful. No one shouted. No one screamed. No traders hawked their wares and no bright neon signs promised delights and devilment for the adventuresome traveller.
“The river flows through all the domes, they are connected by it,” she was saying as we paused to lean out over the river, resting our arms upon the rail. “The building of the domes took over twenty years and the river was the first thing put in. Before the homes and siheyuan areas were constructed, the river was here.”
“The what?” I interrupted, picking up on the one word I didn’t understand.
“The Siheyuan are the courtyard houses, like Hai San’s. They are an ancient design from our homeland above the waves.”
“Why do you call him Hai San? I thought that was the name of the society?”
“It is, but the leader takes the name and identity of the society. He had a name before, but no one uses it now. He is Hai San and the Hai San,” she said.
“Did you know him before?”
“Before what?”
“Before he became the Hai San?” And I realised how difficult I could be sometimes. For some reason the thought made me smile. Perhaps she had already spent too long with me. I missed having a child. It was a hole in my life and I’d had a few days, admittedly of terror, pain and sleepless nights, to relive those times again.
“He is my uncle,” Chunhua said.
Chapter 39
“Mr Hayes,” the soft voice said from behind my closed door.
It was a struggle to get out of bed and I lost. The bed was warm, I was tired, and maybe the voice was a dream. Coming up with excuses not to get up isn’t difficult. I’m not a morning person. Their sole purpose is, as far as I can determine, to give you something to suffer through before it is socially acceptable to start drinking again.
“Yes,” I coughed back. It came out muffled and I lifted my head from the soft pillow and called again.
“Hai San requests your presence for breakfast,” the voice said.
“Be right there,” I answered and rolled out of bed. My legs did their job and stopped me from hitting the wood effect floor. On the dresser, an ornate, ancient and probably real wood affair, a bowl of water had been left by someone last night. It hadn’t been there when I’d returned from Chunhua’s tour of the city. I dipped my hands in, surprised to find the water warm, and splashed some on my face, running the last of it through my hair. The mirror reflected the truth of my existence back at me, unshaven and looking the worse for all the years and kilometres. I turned away.
They’d provided some clothes and I felt an utter fraud dragging on the dark blue trousers with a soft rope belt and the similarly coloured top which was fastened by buttons and toggles. There were some thin slippers, black, to complete the outfit. I looked like I was wearing pyjamas, and I hadn’t worn those since I’d hit my teenage years. The funny thing was, the whole outfit looked a lot better and more appropriate on everyone else.
A few minutes after staggering out of bed and finding myself sadly sober, I opened the door to see the servant waiting for me.
“This way, sir,” the old man bowed as he spoke.
“Lead the way,” I answered, hoping I could keep up as the last vestiges of sleep clung to my legs in a vain but alluring attempt to entice me back to bed.
We wended our way through the courtyard house. Corridors turned at right angles past open spaces with flower beds, ponds and thick wooden poles driven into the floor. I could see the purpose of the first two, but the third eluded me. There were closed doors everywhere along the route and from behind some I could hear noises though I’d no idea what they were. Occasionally there would be the waft of food and cooking. I hadn’t realised how large the house was yesterday. If all of the abodes on this guarded and gated estate where like this I was in the presence of some truly wealthy people. Not the normal level of stinking rich, but the super stars of wealth. These people owned the rubbish tip upon which the merely wealthy lived. These were not slum landlords though I’d bet they owned a Box or three, just a side business to keep the cash rolling in and cementing their position at the top of the food chain.
Hai San, though I still thought of him as Lijuan’s father first and foremost, sat at the long table in a chair of deep red. The table itself was darkest black and the walls were panelled wood, or at least had the appearance of it, and some exquisite paintings were hung in the shallow recesses. Lights illuminated them to best effect. I walked over the nearest and peered at it through still blurry eyes.
“It is called The Rolling Hills,” Hai San said. “Sadly, not the original but an excel
lent reproduction. We lost a lot of great art in the move below the oceans. I commissioned that one to be made from materials as close to the original as possible. You remember me mentioning my ancient ancestor, Xi Jang? He owned that painting at one time, though no one is quite sure where it is now.”
The fascination with his history and the old lands he had come from were reflected in the building of the city itself. That desire to return was strong amongst the people here. In NOAH we’d given up hope of that so long ago that you’d be hard pressed to find any sane person, not the returners, who’d give it a moment’s thought. Maybe we missed something of ourselves by living under the water, maybe we’d lost something important but I couldn’t tell you what it was. Life was life, it tolerated you it as long as it could and then it let you go.
“It’s nice,” I answered because it was. It wouldn’t fit in my apartment. The lack of wall space would be the first problem and amongst the rest of the mess it would just look out of place.
“Yes, it is nice. Come, sit and eat.” He gestured to the chair next to his. “The meeting will begin in less than an hour and I’d rather have a full stomach.”
“Yunru’s here?” I sat and a servant appeared at my elbow, placing a selection of white fleshed steamed buns in front me. A small cup of tea, green and fragrant was put down next to it. There was no cutlery in sight and I waited a moment expecting some to appear. None did, not even those sticks that a lot of folks seemed to use.
“Eat, Corin. I had my chef prepare something a little more to your tastes. At least I hope so. And yes, Yunru is here and the meeting time is set,” he lifted one his own buns to his mouth and bit into it. A veil of steam rose to obscure his face for a moment.
“Where?” I picked up one of my own buns. The outside was warm, not hot, and under my fingers it felt soft and inviting. My first bite released the steam which cooled into droplets of flavour the instant they touched my tongue and the inside of my mouth. A moment later, the distinct saltiness of bacon overwhelmed my taste buds and I was transported to heaven. Not quite the breakfast sandwiches of home, but something even better. This was real bacon, it had to be. Nothing else could taste that good.
I pulled the bun away and stared at it. My teeth chewed on rapturous auto-pilot. The white flesh was thick, soft and warm, but in the middle were the shredded flecks of bacon. I raised it to my nose and sniffed, filing the scent away for the future. This was what luxury and good living smelled like.
“Here.” Hai San said, smiling at me. “Good?”
“Very.” I answered. “Here? Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Tradition, Corin. Meetings are always held in the home to evoke a sense of trust,” he answered, taking another bite of his breakfast.
“And because it gives you an advantage? Your land. Your home. All those security devices, bodyguards, tricks and traps.”
“There is that too,” he said. “That is why meetings are a rare occurrence. Usually carried out between intermediaries or trusted ambassadors.”
I took a sip of my tea. It was a subtle taste, more for the nose than the palate but it swept the bacon taste out of my mouth, clearing it away, refreshing it for another taste of the mana from heaven.
“But she’ll know where you live?”
“We each know where the other lives,” Hai San said. He wiped his mouth with the napkin and set it down on the table next to him. “There are few secrets these days that cannot be wormed out. Something as simple as my home is not worth defending. Other things however, they are worth much more of our time.”
“I bet,” I said.
“Quite,” he smiled.
“The girls?”
“Are out for the day. If things go well we will dine with them tonight and see you on your way tomorrow.”
“And if they don’t?” I said, looking him in the eye. He knew they weren’t going to go well. There are somethings you just can’t hide and worry for a child is one of them. It was there, in the corner of his eye, a small knot of terror that was threatening to come untangled and take over his thoughts.
“If they don’t,” he took a deep breath, “then some of those other things will come into play. Today is not my worry. Tomorrow is.”
“I always take care of my todays first,” I answered. “That way I can put off worrying about tomorrow until tomorrow.”
“I wish I had that luxury,” he answered. “Come, we need to prepare.”
“You want me there?”
“I don’t think I can avoid it,” he said, pushing back his chair and standing.
I picked up the bowl of steamed buns and followed him out.
Chapter 40
I’m not sure what I expected, but a boardroom with a large Panel on the wall, a long table, executive chairs, jugs of water, and coffee almost on tap was certainly low on my list.
Hai San sat in the centre, flanked by two of his aides, lieutenants, enforcers, bodyguards, accountants, lawyers or whatever they were, all dressed in the same black suit. Only Hai San and I were dressed differently, both in a more traditional style of clothing. If there was some significance to this I couldn’t read it.
We sat in silence for ten minutes before the double doors were swung open on noiseless hinges and Yunru along with her supporters swept into the room. Bojing, my untrustworthy translator, entered as did the assassin from the submarine. The rest of them were unknown to me, but that didn’t mean much either. I was out of my depth here and sinking fast.
Hai San rose to greet her, as did everyone else on my side of the table. I didn’t. For some unearthly reason I lose all respect for those who put me in prison, try to kill me and go after children. Call me old fashioned, stuck in my ways, but it’s who I am and change doesn’t come easy. I settled for a gaze of contained anger and tried really hard not to put my feet up on the table. Disrespect to Yunru was one thing, to Hai San something completely different. He deserved better, mostly. No one gives their child away for monetary gain.
This was a nest of sea snakes. Every single one of them would, for all their sophistication, wealth and manners, sink their venomous fangs into the other with barely a moment’s thought and no regrets.
The Sio Sam Ong took their places at the table, facing their opposite number. There was even one for me, the man from the submarine. I gave him a smile, a stretch of my lips over clenched teeth, without humour or warmth.
“Welcome, Honoured Yunru, to my home,” Hai San said in clear, calm voice.
“You do us an honour, Hai San,” Yunru replied, her own voice brittle and cold. She bowed. Her command of a language she’d hardly used in my presence was flawless. Cunning bitch.
“Please, be seated. Tea will be served in a moment,” Hai San said, returning the bow.
There was a scraping of chairs and everyone sat. It was a strange sight. On both sides, the aides waited for their superior to sit and only then followed suit. It was as if a stone had been dropped into water, the ripple of seated people emanated from the pebbles of Yunru and Hai San.
From the doors at either end servants entered bearing pots and those small tea cups I’d sipped from this morning. They proceeded to pour hot water onto the leaves within. Steam rose and the scent of life, green and vibrant, filled the room.
No one reached for a cup.
The moment stretched out, uncomfortable and long. Every member of Sio Sam Ong stared without expression, impassive, at the Hai San members. Across from me, submarine man did the same. I stuck my tongue out at him. Socially awkward and prone to displays of childishness it said in every school report and even on some of my military reviews.
I ignored his reaction and turned my attention to Yunru. The seconds lingered on the air, embarrassed to be present, hoping someone would do something to let them go, to escape. Slow, at a speed tectonic plates would outpace, Yunru raised her hand, extended two fingers and tapped them on the table top.
Everyone followed suit and the seconds could escape the room with their lives intact.
Yunru bowed, a slight nod of her head only. “My personal favourite.”
“An honour,” Hai San replied and everyone else took up their cup and drank. I was last, waiting to see if anyone keeled over, spitting froth from their mouth and clutching their belly. No one did, so I drank too. It was all right, as tea goes.
When the cups clinked down onto the table, the masks fell away and niceties appeared to be over. The servants swept in and, without meeting anyone’s gaze, collected the tea cups and departed.
“It should not have come to this,” Hai San said. “The deal was made and I met my obligations.”
“You met your obligations, Hai San? Yet at this table I see the man who stole the ancient sword. What conclusions can I draw but that you planned this? That you have the sword and your daughter. Now you intend to exploit the resource with another society or on your own.”
“The sword would have been a powerful symbol that would have brought more societies, big and small, to our table. However, I do not have it and neither do you,” Hai San said, his voice still calm. “Your promise was to recover the sword and deliver it to me. This promise you have not honoured.”
There was a sharp gasp from the people at the table at his words.
“He,” Yunru pointed down the table to me, “stole the sword.”
“You have some proof of this?” Hai San replied. “I would be happy to see and hear of that. A war between the Hai San and Sio Sam Ong is the last thing I wish.”
Yunru gestured to Bojing who reached under the table and produced the box in which I’d been told the sword was to be found. “This is what he brought back from the ship. The case was open and the sword gone.”
“It proves the sword is not in the case,” Hai San said, placing the fingertips of one hand upon the table. “Not that the sword was ever in it, nor that it was stolen.”
“The sword was in there,” Yunru’s whispered voice cut through the room like a sharp claw. “All the records prove that. Hai San, let us not forget that you had your own checks carried out on the location of the sword. All the societies did. The sword was in there and the only person who has been on that ship since it sunk is sat there.”