Shepherd winked at him. ‘Mother won’t know.’
He handed the boy a glass, then poured one for himself and sat, facing the T’ang across the fire. Maybe it was time to force the pace; time to draw the T’ang out of himself.
‘Something’s troubling you, Shai Tung.’
The T’ang looked up from his glass almost distractedly and gave a soft laugh. ‘Everything troubles me, Hal. But that’s not what you mean, is it?’
‘No. No visit of yours is casual, Shai Tung. You had a specific reason for coming to see me.’
The T’ang’s smile was filled with gratitude. ‘As ever, Hal, you’re right. But I’ll need no excuse to come next time. I’ve found this very pleasant.’
‘Well?’
The T’ang took a long inward breath, steeling himself, then spoke. ‘It’s Tolonen.’
For some time now the T’ang had been under intense pressure from the House to bring the General to trial for the murder of Under Secretary Lehmann. They wanted Tolonen’s head for what he’d done. But the T’ang had kept his thoughts to himself about the killing. No one – not the Seven or Hal Shepherd – knew how he really felt about the matter, only that he had refused to see Tolonen since that day; that he had exiled him immediately and appointed a new General, Vittorio Nocenzi, in his place.
Shepherd waited, conscious of how tense Li Shai Tung had suddenly become. Tolonen had been of the same generation as the T’ang and they shared the same unspoken values. In their personal lives there had been parallels that had drawn them close and formed a bond between them; not least the loss of both their wives some ten years back. In temperament, however, they were ice and fire.
‘I miss him. Do you understand that, Hal? I really miss the old devil. First and foremost for himself. For all that he was. Loyal. Honest. Brave.’ He looked up briefly, then looked down again, his eyes misting. ‘I felt he was my champion, Hal. Always there at my side. From my eighteenth year. My General. My most trusted man.’
He shuddered and was silent for a while. Then he began again, his voice softer, yet somehow stronger, more definite than before.
‘Strangely I miss his rashness most of all. He was like Han Ch’in in that. What he said was always what part of me felt. Now I feel almost that that part of me is missing – is unexpressed, festering in the darkness.’
‘You want him back?’
Li Shai Tung laughed bitterly. As if I could. No, Hal, but I want to see him. I need to speak to him.’
Shepherd was silent for a time, considering, then he leaned forward and set his glass down on the table at his side. ‘You should call him back, Shai Tung. For once damn the House and its demands. Defy them. You are T’ang, and thus above their laws.’
Li Shai Tung looked up and met Shepherd’s eyes. ‘I am T’ang, yes, but I am also Seven. I could not act so selfishly.’
‘Why not?’
The T’ang laughed, surprised. ‘This is unlike you, Hal. For more than twenty years you have advised me to be cautious, to consider the full implications of my actions, but now, suddenly, you counsel me to rashness.’
Shepherd smiled. ‘Not rashness, Shai Tung. Far from it. In fact, I’ve thought of little else this past year.’ He got up and went across to a bureau in the corner furthest from the fire, returning a moment later with a folder which he handed to the T’ang.
‘What is this, Hal?’
Shepherd smiled, then sat again. ‘My thoughts on things.’
Li Shai Tung stared thoughtfully at Shepherd a moment, then set his glass down and opened the folder.
‘But this is handwritten.’
Shepherd nodded. ‘It’s the only copy. I’ve said things in there that I’d rather not have fall into the hands of our enemies.’
He looked briefly at his son as he said the last few words, conscious that the boy was watching everything.
Li Shai Tung looked up at him, his face suddenly hawk-like, his eyes fiercer than before. ‘Why did you not mention this before?’
‘It was not my place. In any case, it was not ready before now.’
The T’ang looked back down at the folder and at the summary Shepherd had appended to the front of his report. This was more than a simple distillation of the man’s thoughts on the current political situation. Here, in its every detail, was the plan for that ‘War of Levels’ Shepherd had mentioned earlier. A scheme which would, if implemented, bring the Seven into direct confrontation with the House.
Li Shai Tung flicked through the pages of the report quickly, skimming, picking out phrases that Shepherd had highlighted or underlined, his pulse quickening as he read. Shepherd’s tiny, neat handwriting filled almost forty pages, but the meat of it was there, in that opening summary. He read once more what Shepherd had written.
Power is defined only through the exercise of power. For too long now we have refrained from openly exercising our power and that restraint has been taken for weakness by our enemies. In view of developments it might be argued that they have been justified in this view. However, our real weakness is not that we lack the potential, but that we lack the will to act.
We have lost the initiative and allowed our opponents to dictate the subject – even the rules – of the debate. This has resulted in the perpetuation of the belief that change is not merely desirable but inevitable. Moreover, they believe that the natural instrument of that change is the House, therefore they seek to increase the power of the House.
The logic of this process is inexorable. There is nothing but House and Seven, hence the House can grow only at the expense of the Seven.
War is inevitable. It can be delayed but not avoided. And every delay is henceforth to our opponents’ advantage. They grow while we diminish. It follows that we must pre-empt their play for power.
We must destroy them now, while we yet have the upper hand.
Li Shai Tung closed the file with a sigh. Shepherd was right. He knew, with a gut certainty, that this was what they should do. But he had said it already. He was not simply T’ang, he was Seven, and the Seven would never act on this. They saw it differently.
‘Well?’
‘I can keep this?’
‘Of course. It was meant for you.’
The T’ang smiled sadly, then looked across at the boy. He spoke to him as he would to his own son, undeferentially, as one adult to another. ‘Have you seen this, Ben?’
Shepherd answered for his son. ‘You’ve heard him already. He thinks it nonsense.’
Ben corrected his father. ‘Not nonsense. I never said that. I merely said it avoided the real issue.’
‘Which is?’ Li Shai Tung asked, reaching for his glass.
‘Why men are never satisfied.’
The T’ang considered a moment, then laughed softly. ‘That has always been so. How can I change what men are?’
‘You could make it better for them. They feel boxed in. Not just physically, but mentally, too. They’ve no dreams. Not one of them feels real any more.’
There was a moment’s silence, then Hal Shepherd spoke again. ‘You know this, Ben? You’ve talked to people?’
Ben stared at his father momentarily, then turned his attention back to the T’ang. ‘You can’t miss it. It’s there in all their eyes. There’s an emptiness there. An unfilled, unfulfilled space deep inside them. I don’t have to talk to them to see that. I have only to watch the media. It’s like they’re all dead but they can’t see it. They’re looking for some purpose for it all and they can’t find it.’
Li Shai Tung stared back at the boy for a moment, then looked down, chilled by what Ben had said. Was it so? Was it really so? He looked about the room, conscious suddenly of the lowness of the ceiling, of the dark oak beams that divided up the whitewashed walls, the fresh-cut roses in a silver bowl on the table in the corner. He could feel the old wood beneath his fingers, smell the strong pine scent of the fire. All this was real. And he, he too was real, surely? But sometimes, just sometimes…
And you thin
k we could give them a purpose?’
‘No. But you might give them the space to find one for themselves.’
Ah. Space. Well, Ben, there are more than thirty-nine billion people in Chung Kuo. What practical measures could we possibly take to give space to so many?’
‘You mistake me, Li Shai Tung. You take my image too literally.’ He put a finger to his brow. ‘I meant space up here. That’s where they’re trapped. The City’s only the outward, concrete form of it. But the blueprint – the paradigm – is inside their heads. That’s where you’ve got to give them room. And you can only do that by giving them a sense of direction.’
‘Change. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?’
‘No. You need change nothing.’
‘Then I don’t understand you, Ben. Have you some magic trick in mind?’
‘Not at all. I mean only that if the problem is in their heads then the solution can be found in the same place. They want outwardness. They want space, excitement, novelty. Well, why not give it to them? But not out there, in the real world. Give it to them up here, in their heads.’
‘But don’t they get that? Doesn’t the media give them that now?’
‘No. I’m talking of something entirely different. Something that will make the walls dissolve. That will make it real to them.’ Again he tapped his brow. ‘Up here, where it counts.’
The T’ang was about to answer him when there was a knock on the door.
‘Come in!’ said Shepherd, half turning in his seat.
It was the T’ang’s steward. He bowed low to Shepherd and his son, then turned, his head still lowered, to his master. ‘Forgive me, Chieh Hsia, but you asked me to remind you of your audience with Minister Chao.’ Then, with a bow, the steward backed away, closing the door behind him.
Li Shai Tung looked back at Shepherd. ‘I’m sorry, Hal, but I must leave soon.’
‘Of course…’ Shepherd began, but his son interrupted him.
‘One last thing, Li Shai Tung.’
The T’ang turned, patient, smiling. ‘What is it, Ben?’
‘I saw something. This afternoon, in the town.’
‘You saw something?’
‘An execution. And a suicide. Two of the elite guards.’
‘Gods!’ The T’ang sat forward. ‘You saw that?’
‘We were upstairs in one of the shops.’
Shepherd broke in. ‘We. You mean Meg was with you?’
Ben nodded, then told what he had seen. At the end Li Shai Tung, his face stricken, turned to Shepherd. ‘Forgive me, Hal. This is all my fault. Captain Rosten was acting on my direct orders. However, had I known Ben and Meg would be there…’ He shuddered, then turned back to the boy. ‘Ben, please forgive me. And ask Meg to forgive me, too. Would that I could undo what has been done.’
For a moment Ben seemed about to say something, then he dropped his eyes and made a small movement of his head. A negation. But what it signified neither man knew.
There was another knock on the door; a signal that the T’ang acknowledged with a few words of Mandarin. Then the two men stood, facing each other, smiling, for a brief moment in perfect accord.
‘It has been an honour to have you here, Li Shai Tung. An honour and a pleasure.’
The T’ang’s smile broadened. ‘The pleasure has been mine, Hal. It is not often I can be myself
‘Then come again. Whenever you need to be yourself
Li Shai Tung let his left hand rest on Shepherd’s upper arm a moment, then nodded. ‘I shall. I promise you. But come, Hal, I’ve a gift for you.’
The door opened and two of the T’ang’s personal servants came in, carrying the gift. They set it down on the floor in the middle of the room, as the T’ang had instructed them earlier, then backed away, heads lowered. It was a tree. A tiny, miniature apple tree.
Shepherd went across and knelt beside it, then turned and looked back at Li Shai Tung, clearly moved by the T’ang’s gesture.
‘It’s beautiful. It really is, Shai Tung. How did you know I wanted one?’
The T’ang laughed softly. ‘I cheated, Hal. I asked Beth. But the gift is for you both. Look carefully. The tree is a twin. It has two intertwined trunks.’
Shepherd looked. ‘Ah, yes.’ He laughed, aware of the significance. Joined trees were objects of good omen; symbols of conjugal happiness and marital fidelity. More than that, an apple – p’ing, in Mandarin – was a symbol of peace. ‘It’s perfect, Li Shai Tung. It really is.’ He shook his head, overwhelmed, tears forming in his eyes. ‘We shall treasure it.’
And I this.’ Li Shai Tung held up Shepherd’s file. He smiled, then turned to the boy. ‘It was good to talk with you, Ben. I hope we might talk again some time.’
Ben stood and, unexpectedly, gave a small bow to the T’ang.
‘My father’s right, of course. You should destroy them. Now, while you still can.’
Ah…’ Li Shai Tung hesitated, then nodded. Maybe so, he thought, surprised yet again by the child’s unpredictability. But he said nothing. Time alone would prove them right or wrong.
He looked back at Shepherd who was standing now. ‘I must go, Hal. It would not do to keep Minister Chao waiting.’ He laughed. ‘You know, Chao has been in my service longer than anyone butTolonen.’
It was said before he realized it.
‘I forget…’ he said, with a small, sad laugh.
Shepherd, watching him, shook his head. ‘Bring him back, Shai Tung,’ he said softly. ‘This once, do as your heart bids you.’
The T’ang smiled tightly and held the file more firmly. ‘Maybe,’ he said. But he knew he would not. It was as he had said. He was T’ang, yes, but he was also Seven.
When the T’ang had gone they stood at the river’s edge. The moon was high overhead – a bright, full moon that seemed to float in the dark mirror of the water. The night was warm and still, its silence broken only by the sound – a distant, almost disembodied sound – of the soldiers working on the cottage.
Shepherd squatted down, looking out across the water into the darkness on the other side.
‘What did you mean, Ben, earlier? All that business about dissolving walls and making it real. Was that just talk or did you have something real in mind?’
Ben was standing several paces from his father, looking back up the grassy slope to where they had set up arc lamps all around the cottage. The dark figures of the suited men seemed to flit through the glare like objects seen peripherally, in a dream.
‘It’s an idea I have. Something I’ve been working on.’
Shepherd turned his head slightly and studied his son a moment. ‘You seemed quite confident. As if the thing existed.’
Ben smiled. ‘It does. Up here.’
Shepherd laughed and looked down, tugging at the long grass. ‘So what is it? I’m interested. And I think the T’ang was interested, too.’
‘What did he want?’
A faint breeze ruffled the water, making the moon dance exaggeratedly on the darkness. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Why was I there?’
Shepherd smiled to himself. He should have known better than to think Ben would not ask that question.
‘Because he wanted to see you, Ben. Because he thinks that one day you might help his son.’
‘I see. And he was assessing me?’
‘You might put it that way.’
Ben laughed. ‘I thought as much. Do you think he found me strange?’
‘Why should you think that?’
Ben looked directly at his father. ‘I know what I am. I’ve seen enough of the world to know how different I am.’
‘On a screen, yes. But not everything’s up there on the screen, Ben.’
‘No?’ Ben looked back up the slope towards the cottage. They were hauling the first of the thin, encasing layers over the top of the frame, the heavily suited men pulling on the guide ropes. ‘What don’t they show?’
Hal laughed, but let the query pass. Ben was right.
He did know what he was, and he was different. There was no point in denying that.
‘You’ve no need to follow in my footsteps.’
Ben smiled but didn’t look at him. ‘You think I’d want that?’
Shepherd felt a twinge of bitterness, then shook his head. ‘No, I guess not. In any case, I’d never force that on you. You know that, don’t you?’
Ben turned and stared out across the water fixedly. ‘Those things don’t interest me. The political specifics. The who-runs-what and who-did-what. I would be bored by it all. And what good is a bored advisor? I’d need to care about those things, and I don’t.’
‘You seemed to care. Earlier, when we were talking about them.’
‘That was something different. That was the deeper thing.’
Shepherd laughed. ‘Of course. The deeper thing.’
Ben looked back at him. ‘You deal in surfaces, father, both of you. But the problem’s deeper than that. It’s inside. Beneath the surface of the skin. It’s bred in the blood and bone of men, in the complex web of nerve and muscle and organic tissue. But you… Well, you persist in dealing with only what you see. You treat the blemished skin and let the inner man corrupt.’
Shepherd was watching his son thoughtfully, aware of the gulf that had grown between them these last few years. It was as if Ben had outgrown them all. Had done with childish things. He shrugged. ‘Maybe. But that doesn’t solve the immediate problem. Those surfaces you dismiss so readily have hard edges. Collide with them and you’ll realize that at once. People get hurt, lives get blighted, and those aren’t superficial things.’
‘It wasn’t what I meant.’
‘No. Maybe not. And maybe you’re right. You’d make a lousy advisor, Ben. You’ve been made for other things than politics and intrigue.’
He stood, wiping his hands against his trousers. ‘You know, there were many things I wanted to do, but I never had the time for them. Pictures I wanted to paint, books I wanted to write, music I wanted to compose. But in serving the T’ang I’ve had to sacrifice all those and much else besides. I’ve seen much less of you and Meg than I ought – and far, far too little of your mother. So…’ He shrugged. ‘If you don’t want that kind of life, I understand. I understand only too well. More than that, Ben, I think the world would lose something were you to neglect the gifts you have.’
Ice and Fire: Chung Kuo Series Page 5