Josef sculled backwards with his hands, his head tilted back, his knees bent, experimenting with his balance in the water. ‘Are you going to see the film tonight?’
Kim lifted his head and looked back at his friend, letting his feet drift slowly down. He was nine now but, like all of them, much smaller, lither than normal boys his age. He combed his hair back with his fingers, then gave his head a tiny shake. ‘What film is it?’
Anton laughed. ‘What do you think?’
‘Ah…’ Kim understood at once. They had been joking about it only yesterday. ‘Pan Chao…’
Pan Chao! It sometimes seemed as if half the films ever made had been about Pan Chao! He was the great hero of Chung Kuo – the soldier turned diplomat turned conqueror. In AD 73 he had been sent, with thirty-six followers, as ambassador to the King of Shen Shen in Turkestan. Ruthlessly defeating his rival for influence, the ambassador from the Hsiung Nu, he had succeeded in bringing Shen Shen under Han control. But this, his first triumph, had been eclipsed by what had followed. Over the next twenty-four years, by bluff and cunning and sheer force of personality, Pan Chao had brought the whole of Asia under Han domination. In AD 97 he had stood on the shore of the Caspian Sea, an army of 70,000 vassals gathered behind him, facing the great Ta Ts’in, the Roman Empire. The rest was history, known to every schoolboy.
For a moment the three boys’ laughter echoed from the walls.
In the silence that followed, Kim asked, ‘Do you think he really existed?’
‘What do you mean?’ It was Anton who answered him, but he spoke for both the boys. How could Pan Chao not have existed? Would Chung Kuo be Chung Kuo were it not for Pan Chao? It would be Ta Ts’in instead. A world ruled by the Hung Mao. And such a world was an impossibility. The two boys laughed, taking Kim’s comment for dry humour.
Kim, watching them, saw at once how meaningless such questions were to them. None of them shared his scepticism. They had been bewitched by the sheer scale of the world into which they had entered; a world so big and broad and rich – a world so deeply and thoroughly embedded in time – that it could not, surely, have been invented? So grateful were they to have escaped the darkness of the Clay, they were loath to question the acts and statements of their benefactors.
No, it was more than that: they had been conditioned not to question it.
‘Forget it,’ he said, and realized that even in that he differed from them. They could forget. In fact, they found it easy to forget. But he could not. Everything – even his mistakes – were engraved indelibly in his memory, almost as if his memory had greater substance – was more real – than their own.
‘Well?’ Anton persisted. ‘Are you going to come? It’s one we haven’t seen before. About the Fall of Rome and the death of Kan Ying.’
Kim smiled, amused, then nodded. ‘Okay, I’ll…’
He stopped.
The three boys turned in the water, looking.
The doors at the far end had swung open. Momentarily they stayed open, held there by a tall, spindly youth with long arms, a mop of unruly yellow hair and bright blue, staring eyes. It was Matyas.
‘Shit!’ said Josef under his breath and ducked beneath the water.
Matyas smiled maliciously then came through, followed by two other boys, smaller, much younger than himself. ‘Greaser’ and ‘Sucker’, Anton called them, though not in Matyas’s hearing: names that captured not only the subservient nature of their relationship to Matyas but also something of their physical appearance. Greaser – his real name was Tom – had a slick, rat-like look to him, especially in the water, while Sucker, a quiet boy named Carl, had a small, puckered face dominated by thick, fleshy lips.
It was whispered that the two of them ‘serviced’ Matyas in a most original manner; but how much of that was truth and how much it was influenced by Anton’s persuasively apt names was hard to gauge. All that was certain was that the two younger boys accompanied Matyas everywhere; were shadow and mirror to his twisted image.
Kim watched Matyas lope arrogantly along the edge of the pool, his head lowered, an unhealthy smile on his thin lips, until he stood across from him. There Matyas turned and, his smile broadening momentarily, threw himself forward into the water in an ungainly dive.
Kim glanced briefly at the two boys at his side. Like him, they had tensed in the water, expecting trouble. But it was always difficult to know with Matyas. He was no ordinary bully. Neither would he have got here and stayed here had he been. No, his deviousness was part of the fabric of his clever mind. He was a tormentor, a torturer, a master of the implicit threat. He used physical force only as a last resort, knowing he could generally accomplish more by subtler means.
However, Matyas had one weakness. He was vain. Not of his looks, which, even he would admit, tended towards ugliness, but about his intelligence. In that respect he had been cock of the roost until only a year ago, when Kim had first come to the Centre. But Kim’s arrival had eclipsed him. Not at once, for Kim had been careful to fit in, deferring to the older boy whenever they came into contact, but as the months passed and word spread that the new boy was something special, Kim saw how Matyas changed towards him.
Matyas surfaced directly in front of Kim, less than a forearm’s length away, and shook his head exaggeratedly, sending the spray into Kim’s face. Then he laughed and began to move around him in a leisurely but awkward breaststroke. Kim turned, keeping the older boy in front of him at all times.
‘And how’s golden boy, then?’ Matyas asked quietly, looking up and sideways, one intensely blue eye fixing the nine-year-old.
Matyas himself was fifteen, almost sixteen. On his birthday, in a month’s time, he would leave the Centre and begin his service in the Above, but until then he was in a kind of limbo. He had outgrown the Centre, yet the thought of losing his ‘position’ as senior boy both frightened and angered him. Ning wei chi k’ou mo wei niu hou, the Han said – ‘Rather be the mouth of a chicken than the hindquarters of a cow’ – and so it was with Matyas. He did not relish becoming a small fish once again – a ‘cow’s arse’. As a result, he had been restless these last few weeks – dangerous and unpredictable, his sarcasm tending towards open cruelty. Several times Kim had caught Matyas staring at him malevolently and knew the older boy would never forgive the newcomer for robbing him – unjustly, Matyas believed – of his intellectual crown.
It was why Matyas was so dangerous just now. It was more than jealousy or uncertainty or restlessness. He had lost face to Kim, and that loss burned in him like a brand.
Kim looked past him, noting how his followers, Tom and Carl, had positioned themselves at the pool’s edge, crouched forward, watching things closely, ready to launch themselves into the water at any moment. Then he looked back at Matyas and smiled.
‘Ts’ai neng t’ung shen,’ he said provocatively and heard Anton, behind him, splutter with surprise.
‘Shit!’ Josef exhaled softly, off to his right. ‘That’s done it!’
Kim kept the smile on his face, trying to act as naturally as he could, but the hair on his neck had risen and he could feel a tension in his stomach that had not been there a moment earlier. A golden key opens every door, he had said playing on Matyas’ use of ‘golden’. It seemed simple enough, innocuous enough, but the jibe was clear to them all. It was Kim to whom doors would open, not Matyas.
It seemed a reckless thing to say – a deliberate rubbing of salt into the open wound of Matyas’ offended pride – but Kim hoped he knew what he was doing. There was no avoiding this confrontation. He had half expected it for days now. That admitted, it was still possible to turn things to his advantage. A calm Matyas was a dangerous Matyas. Infuriated, he might prove easier to beat. And beat him Kim must.
Matyas had turned in the water, facing him, the leering smile gone, his cheeks red, his eyes wide with anger. Kim had been right – the words acted on him like a goad. Without warning he lashed out viciously with one arm, but the weight and resistance of the water slo
wed his movement and made the blow fall short of Kim, who had pushed out backwards, anticipating it.
There was a loud splash as Tom and Carl hit the water behind Kim. Without a moment’s hesitation Anton and Josef launched themselves into Kim’s defence, striking out to intercept the two boys. As he backed away, Kim saw Anton plough into Carl and, even as the boy surfaced, thrust his head savagely down into the water again before he could take a proper breath. But that was all he saw, for suddenly Matyas was on him, struggling to push Kim down beneath the surface, his face blind with fury.
Kim kicked out sharply, catching Matyas painfully on the hip, then wriggled out under him, twisting away and down. He kicked hard, thrusting himself down through the water, then turned and pushed up from the floor of the pool, away from the figure high above him.
For the moment Kim had the advantage. He spent far more time in the pool than Matyas and was the better swimmer. But the pool was only so big, and he could not avoid Matyas indefinitely. Matyas had only to get a firm grip on him and he was done for.
He broke surface two body lengths from the older boy and kicked out for the steps. He had to get out of the water.
Kim grabbed the metal rungs and hauled himself up, but he had not been quick enough. Desperation and anger had made Matyas throw himself through the water, and as Kim’s back foot lifted up out of the water, Matyas lunged at it and caught the ankle. He was ill balanced in the water and could not hold it, but it was enough. Tripped, Kim sprawled forward, slamming his forearm painfully against the wet floor and skidding across to the wall.
Kim lay there, stunned, then rolled over and sat up. Matyas was standing over him, his teeth bared, eyes blazing, water running from him. In the water the others had stopped fighting and were watching.
‘You little cockroach,’ Matyas said, in a low, barely controlled voice. He jerked forward and pulled Kim to his feet, one hand gripping Kim’s neck tightly, as if to snap it. ‘I should kill you for what you’ve done. But I’ll not give you that satisfaction. You deserve less than that.’
A huge shudder passed through Matyas. He pushed Kim down, onto his knees. Then, his eyes never leaving Kim’s face, his other hand undid the cord to his trunks and drew out his penis. As they watched, it unfolded slowly, growing huge, engorged.
‘Kiss it,’ he said, his face cruel, his voice low but uncompromising.
Kim winced. Matyas’ fingers bit into his neck, forcing Kim’s face down into his groin. For a brief moment he considered not resisting. Did it matter? Was it worth fighting over such a thing as face? Why not kiss Matyas’ prick and satisfy his sense of face? But the thought was fleeting. Face mattered here. He could not bow to such as Matyas and retain the respect of those he lived with. It would be the rod the other boys would use to beat him. And beat him they would – mercilessly – if he capitulated now. He had not made these callous, stupid rules of behaviour, but he must live by them or be cast out.
‘I’d as soon bite it,’ he said hoarsely, forcing the words out past Matyas’ fingers.
There was laughter from the water. Matyas glared round, furious, then turned back to Kim, yanking him up onto his feet. Anger made his hand shake as he lifted Kim off the floor and turned, holding him out over the water.
Kim saw in his eyes what Matyas intended. He would let him fall, then jump on him, forcing him down, keeping him down, until he drowned.
It would be an accident. Even Anton and Josef would swear to the fact. That too was how things were.
Kim tried to swallow, suddenly, unexpectedly afraid, but Matyas’ fingers pressed relentlessly against his windpipe, making him choke.
‘Don’t, Matyas. Please don’t…’ It was Josef’s voice. But none of the boys made to intercede. Things were out of their hands now.
Kim began to struggle, but Matyas tightened his grip, almost suffocating him. For a moment Kim thought he had died – a great tide of blackness swept through his head – then he was falling.
He hit the water gasping for breath and went under. His chest was suddenly on fire. His eyes seemed to pop. Pain lanced through his head like lightning. Then he surfaced, coughing, choking, flailing about in the water, and felt someone grab hold of him tightly. He began to struggle, then convulsed, spears of heated iron ripping his chest apart. For a moment the air seemed burnished a dull gold, flecked with tiny beads of red and black. Lights danced momentarily on the surface of his eyes, fizzling and popping like firecrackers, then the blackness surged back – a great sphere of blackness, closing in on him with the sound of great wings pulsing, beating in his head…
And then there was nothing.
‘Have you heard about the boy?’
T’ai Cho looked up from his meal, then stood, giving the Director a small bow. ‘I’m sorry, Shih Andersen. The boy?’
Andersen huffed impatiently, then glared at the other tutors so that they looked back down at their meals. ‘The boy! Kim! Have you heard what happened to him?’
T’ai Cho felt himself go cold. He shook his head. He had been away all day on a training course and had only just arrived back. There had been no time for anyone to tell him anything.
Andersen hesitated, conscious of the other tutors listening. ‘In my office, T’ai Cho. Now!’
T’ai Cho looked about the table, but there were only shrugs.
Andersen came to the point at once. ‘Kim was attacked. This morning, in the pool.’
T’ai Cho had gone cold. ‘Is he hurt?’
Andersen shook his head. He was clearly angry. ‘No. But it might have been worse. He could have died. And where would we be then? It was only Shang Li-Yen’s prompt action that saved the boy.’
Shang Li-Yen was one of the tutors. Like all the tutors, part of his duties entailed a surveillance stint. Apparently he had noted a camera malfunction in the pool area and, rather than wait for the repair crew, had gone to investigate.
‘What did Shang find?’
Andersen laughed bitterly. ‘Six boys sky-larking! What do you think? You know how they are – they’d sooner die than inform on each other! But Shang thinks it was serious. Matyas was involved. He was very agitated when Shang burst in on them; standing at the poolside, breathing strangely, his face flushed. Kim was in the water nearby. Only the quick actions of one of the other boys got him out of the water.’ Anger flared in the Director’s eyes. ‘Fuck it, T’ai Cho, Shang had to give him the kiss of life!’
‘Where is he now?’ T’ai Cho asked, trying to keep his emotions in check.
‘In his room. But let me finish. We had Kim examined and there were marks on his throat and arms and on his right leg consistent with a fight. Matyas also had some minor bruises. But both boys claim they simply fell while playing in the pool. The other boys back them up, but all six stories differ widely. It’s clear none of them is telling the truth.’
‘And you want me to try to find out what really happened?’
Andersen nodded. ‘If anyone can get to the bottom of it, you can, T’ai Cho. Kim trusts you. You’re like a father to him.’
T’ai Cho lowered his eyes, then shook his head. ‘Maybe so, but he’ll tell me nothing. As you said, it’s how they are.’
Andersen was quiet a moment, then he leaned across his desk, his voice suddenly much harder, colder than it had been. ‘Try anyway, T’ai Cho. Try hard. It’s important. If Matyas was to blame I want to know. Because if he was I want him out. Kim’s too important to us. We’ve got too much invested in him.’
T’ai Cho rose from his seat and bowed, understanding perfectly. It wasn’t Kim – the boy – Andersen was so concerned about, it was Kim-as-investment. Well, so be it. He would use that in Kim’s favour.
Kim’s room was empty. T’ai Cho felt his stomach tighten, his pulse quicken. Then he remembered. Of course. The film. Kim would have gone to see the film. He glanced at his timer. It was just after ten. The film was almost finished. Kim would be back in fifteen minutes.
He looked about the room, noting as ever what was n
ew, what old. The third-century portrait of the mathematician Liu Hui remained in its place of honour on the wall above Kim’s terminal, and on the top, beside the keyboard, lay Hui’s Chiu Chang Suan Shu, his ‘Nine Chapters On The Mathematical Art’. T’ai Cho smiled and opened its pages. Kim’s notations filled the margins. Like the book itself, they were in Mandarin, the tiny, perfectly formed pictograms in red, black and green inks.
T’ai Cho flicked through inattentively and was about to close the book when one of the notations caught his attention. It was right at the end of the book, amongst the notes to the ninth chapter. The notation itself was unremarkable – something to do with ellipses – but beside it, in green, Kim had printed a name and two dates. Tycho Brahe. 1546 – 1601.
He frowned, wondering if the first name was a play on his own. But then, what did the other mean? Bra He… It made no sense. And the dates? Or were they dates? Perhaps they were a code.
For a moment he hesitated, loath to pry, then set the book down and switched on the terminal.
A search of the system’s central encyclopedia confirmed what he had believed. There was no entry, either on Tycho or Brahe. Nothing. Not even on close variants of the two names.
T’ai Cho sat there a moment, his fingers resting lightly on the keys, a vague suspicion forming in his head.
He shook his head. No. It wasn’t possible, surely? The terminal in T’ai Cho’s room was secretly ‘twinned’ with Kim’s. Everything Kim did on his terminal was available to T’ai Cho. Everything. Work files, diary, jottings, even his messages to the other boys. It seemed sneaky, but it was necessary. There was no other way of keeping up with Kim. His interests were too wide ranging, too quicksilver to keep track of any other way. It was their only means of controlling him – of anticipating his needs and planning ahead.
Ice and Fire: Chung Kuo Series Page 14