The Middle Kingdom

by David Wingrove

  His voice gave out again and he looked down sharply, shuddering.

  ‘Then this is real.’

  There was a tense silence in the room, then Lehmann spoke again. ‘Well, Barrow Chao? What do you reckon?’

  Barrow dropped his head and nodded.

  Lehmann straightened. ‘The question is – how do we fight this?’

  Wyatt looked up at him. ‘Fight it?’

  Lehmann was quiet a moment, concentrating, then gave the slightest nod. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We’ll hide you. All of us. We could do it. We could keep Tolonen from serving the warrant.’

  Lehmann gazed about him defiantly, looking from face to face, challenging anyone to gainsay him, but the mood was in his favour now.

  Wyatt got up, then came round and stood there, facing Lehmann. ‘No, Pietr. I won’t hide. That’s what he wants. That’s why he came here first, don’t you see? He wanted that. Wanted me to run. That way he could put another warrant out. Have me killed without trial. No, let him serve his warrant. I’ve nothing to fear. I’ve done nothing.’

  Lehmann laughed sourly. ‘And what does that mean, Edmund? The T’ang wants payment for his Minister’s life. Retribution. Right or wrong is an irrelevance in this instance. It doesn’t matter that you’re innocent. He wants you. Don’t you see that?’ His voice was stern now, unyielding. ‘And he’ll find all the evidence he needs to get you.’

  There was a loud murmuring, but no disagreement.

  Wyatt turned away. ‘When does he plan to serve the warrant?’

  Lehmann looked about him, seeing how open each man’s face now was; how starkly etched their anger and resentment, their concern and indignation. Then he turned back.

  ‘Midday tomorrow,’ he said. ‘At your apartment.’

  ‘I see.’ Wyatt looked down. ‘Then I’ll be there. T’ang or not, he’s wrong, Pietr. I’m innocent. You know I am.’

  Lehmann turned, looking back at him, then reached out and touched his shoulder. ‘I know.’

  ‘Minister Heng.’

  The T’ang’s Chancellor, Chung Hu-Yan, bowed stiffly, his face expressionless, then turned, inviting the Minister to follow him.

  Astonished, Heng returned the Chancellor’s bow. He had barely arrived a minute before, and here was Chung trying to rush him into audience. Was there to be no ritual of preparation? No honour guard? He stood there a moment, as if he had not heard the words, looking about him, surprised by the emptiness of the great entrance hall. It was strangely disconcerting, as if the T’ang’s servants had been sent elsewhere. But why? And why the unseemly haste?

  ‘Please…’ Chung Hu-Yan bowed a second time, then repeated the gesture of invitation, making it clear that it had been no mistake.

  ‘Forgive me,’ Heng said, bowing again, his composure slipping. ‘Of course…’

  He followed the Chancellor through, under the great lintel and into the Hall of Eternal Truth. But he had taken only three steps into the great hall when he stopped, taken aback. There, alone beneath the empty Presence Throne, stood General Tolonen; tall, white-haired and elegant in his peacock blue dress uniform. Heng Chi-Po frowned then walked on, conscious for once of the unfavourable contrast he made to the haughty Hung Mao, his hand momentarily straying to the crane patch on the chest of his dark blue pau, symbol of his status as an official of the first rank.

  Facing the General, Minister Heng stopped and bowed, but Tolonen stared through him coldly, not even the smallest flicker of recognition in his eyes.

  The T’ang’s Chancellor waited, watching the exchange carefully. Then, rather stiffly, he bowed. ‘Forgive me, Minister Heng, but the T’ang awaits you. Please… if you would follow me.’

  Heng turned angrily and followed Chung Hu-Yan into a room to the right of the throne. The T’ang was waiting for him there, standing amongst the tall-leafed plants at the edge of a small, decorative carp pond.

  ‘Chieh Hsia,’ he said, bowing deeply, ‘I hope you are in good health.’

  Li Shai Tung turned from his contemplation of the fish. ‘Come in, Minister Heng. Please, take a seat. We’ve business to discuss.’

  Heng sat, his back to the unlit fire, looking about him, noting with pleasure the simple luxuries of the room. There was a tall screen across the centre of the room, a delightful thing of brightly coloured silk, and next to it a low, squat vase, rounded like the belly of a wrestler, its glaze the sweetest, softest lavender he’d ever seen.

  ‘This is a beautiful room, Chieh Hsia.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the T’ang, smiling. ‘It was my grandfather’s favourite room. His picture hangs behind you.’

  Heng turned and looked up, first at Wen Ti, then at the painting beside it, conscious at once of the strength, the raw vitality of the man portrayed. ‘Ah yes. He has your eyes, Chieh Hsia.’

  ‘My eyes?’ The T’ang looked down, thoughtful. ‘They say he had perfect vision all his life. That at seventy he could see what type of bird was nesting in a tree more than two li distant. But there’s seeing and seeing, neh, Heng?’ He met the Minister’s eyes again, a wry yet challenging look in his own.

  Heng bowed, conscious of the exaggeration and suddenly wary of its meaning. ‘As you say, Chieh Hsia.’

  ‘Yes… As I say.’ The T’ang looked past him, up at the painting of his ancestor. ‘And if I say Heng Yu is not appointed in Lwo Kang’s place?’

  Heng Chi-Po stiffened in his seat, then forced himself to relax. ‘Then that too is as you say. One does not question the word of a T’ang.’

  Li Shai Tung sat back. ‘No,’ he said, watching his Minister closely. ‘But that is what you came for, is it not?’

  Heng looked up again. ‘It was, Chieh Hsia. But as you’ve made your decision…’

  The T’ang raised his chin slightly. ‘There was nothing else, then? No other matter you wished to speak to me about?’

  Heng kept his face a blank. ‘Nothing that cannot wait for the next meeting of the Council of Ministers. I thought to plead on my nephew’s behalf. To put his qualities before you. He is a good man, a capable man, Chieh Hsia.’

  Strangely, the T’ang laughed. ‘You are quite right, Minister Heng. He is a good man. Which is why I saw him this very morning.’

  The look of surprise on Heng’s face was unfeigned.

  ‘Chieh Hsia?’

  ‘And appointed him.’

  Heng’s mouth fell open. ‘But you said…’

  The T’ang clicked his fingers. Two guards came in and stood there at either end of the screen. Heng looked across at them, frowning, not understanding, then looked back at the T’ang.

  ‘Yes. I spoke to him at length. I questioned him about the five classics. Then, finally, I set him a riddle.’

  ‘A riddle, Chieh Hsia?’

  Li Shai Tung stood up and went over to the screen. ‘I put this problem to him. If one knows a man is guilty yet has no proof, how can one act and yet be considered just?’

  Heng lowered his eyes.

  ‘You see my drift, Minister Heng? You understand me?’

  The T’ang’s voice was suddenly harsher, colder.

  Heng glanced up; saw how closely the T’ang was watching him now. No proof, he thought. You have no proof!

  The T’ang continued. ‘Your nephew considered a moment, then asked me how it was I knew and yet could not prove the matter? Was I, then, not witness to the guilty act? No, I had to answer. What then? he asked. Was there another, perhaps, whose word meant less in the eyes of the world than that of the guilty man? Were the scales of accusation and denial tipped unevenly in the latter’s favour? I smiled and nodded. But so it ever is. How to balance them?’

  Heng had gone cold.

  ‘And do you know what he said?’

  The Minister looked up. He hesitated, then found his voice. ‘No, Chieh Hsia.’

  The T’ang laughed sourly. ‘No, you wouldn’t, would you, Heng?’

  He snapped his fingers again, then moved aside as the guards lifted and carried the screen away.
>
  Heng gasped. His face blanched. Then he looked down sharply, swallowing loudly.

  The T’ang came closer and stood over him. ‘You’re a clever man, Heng Chi-Po. Too clever to leave your print on things. But I know you for what you are. I’ve seen it here, with my own eyes. Your guilt is as clear on you as the glaze on this vase.’

  He turned and looked across to where Pi Ch’ien sat, hands in his lap, silently watching, then looked back down at his Minister.

  ‘Over there, in the corner, is a desk. On the desk you will find an ink block, brushes, writing paper and your seal of office. I want you to write a letter to me explaining that you have been suffering from ill-health these last few months. So much so that you must, with great sadness naturally, resign your post.’

  There was the smallest movement of Heng’s head as if to protest, then he nodded.

  ‘Good. In which case there will be no loss of pension, no public loss of face. As for your Family, they will gain a better man as Minister. Heng Yu will be appointed in your place.’

  Heng Chi-Po looked up mutely, miserably, then bowed his head again and went to do as he was bid.

  Heng Kou waved the servant away, then leaned across to lock and seal the carriage.

  ‘What is it, first brother? What has happened?’

  For a moment Heng Chi-Po was unable to speak. His face was mottled with fury and his hands pulled convulsively at each other. Then he leaned forward across the gap between them until his face was almost touching Kou’s.

  ‘This is Tolonen’s doing.’ Heng Chi-Po blinked angrily, then leaned back again. For a moment he was silent, staring away into the distance, his whole face fixed in a mask of purest hatred. Then he turned and faced his brother again.

  ‘I saw it in his eyes. That man has never liked me, Kou. And now he has poisoned the T’ang against me.’

  Kou frowned. ‘Poisoned… How?’

  ‘The insect tricked me. Trapped me…’ Heng Chi-Po’s chest rose and fell violently now. Sweat beads stood out at his forehead.

  Heng Kou began to understand. Gods! Heng Chi-Po was out. That was it, wasn’t it? For some reason he was out. Nothing else could have brought him to this state. But was this a tragedy for Chi-Po alone or for the whole family? Was all lost? Or could the damage be contained? He had to know.

  Heng Kou calmed himself and leaned forward, forcing his brother to look at him. ‘Tell me what happened, eldest brother. What misfortune has befallen our great family?’

  Heng Chi-Po tried to meet his eyes, then looked down sharply, his voice suddenly bitter with shame. He was close to tears.

  ‘I am no longer Minister. Li Shai Tung has stripped me of my office.’

  ‘Stripped you…’ Heng Kou feigned speechlessness. Then he found his voice again. ‘He forced you to resign, you mean?’

  Heng Chi-po nodded, the first tears rolling down his cheeks. ‘But there’s more, Kou. He has appointed nephew Yu in my place. Can you believe that? The humiliation of it! We shall be laughing stocks!’

  Heng Kou’s mind reeled. Nephew Yu! After the first shock of it he wanted to laugh aloud, but he hid both his delight and his relief. ‘That’s outrageous!’ he said. ‘It is an insult, elder brother. A slur upon us all.’ But he was already considering how to act to minimize the damage to the family.

  Heng Chi-Po leaned forward again, his red-rimmed eyes suddenly angry again. ‘I’ll have him, Kou! I’ll have the carrion dead, understand?’

  For a moment Heng Kou was too shocked for words, but then he saw that his brother didn’t mean the T’ang.

  ‘Leave it, brother. Please. It’s done. You can’t undo it thus.’

  Heng Chi-Po shook his head violently. ‘No, Kou. I want Tolonen dead.

  By tomorrow evening. Understand me? I want that bastard obliterated. I want him non-existent. I want…’

  Heng Kou shivered, then bowed his head. ‘As you wish, my brother.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll incarcerate me, Pietr? Do you think they’ve proof to hold me until the trial?’

  Lehmann smiled and touched Wyatt’s shoulder. ‘We’ve the best advocates in the seven cities, Edmund. I’m sure they’ll keep you from the cells. But even if they can’t, it won’t be so dreadful. Privilege is privilege, even behind bars. You’ll not lack for comforts.’

  Wyatt smiled, but shadows gathered beneath the firm and pleasant line of his mouth, clouding the attractive sparkle of his eyes. Many old friends had come to visit him this morning. More friends than he’d thought he had. For a time he had let himself be buoyed by their good wishes, but now they were gone and he was alone with Lehmann.

  ‘You know, this frightens me, Pietr. I couldn’t sleep last night thinking of it. Wondering how I would handle myself. How I would bear up before all these lies and smears. Wondering what kind of man I would be at the end of it.’

  ‘You’ll be your father’s son, Edmund. You’re like him. You have his strength.’

  Wyatt looked down. ‘Maybe.’

  He said no more, but Lehmann, who knew him as well as any man, could sense what he was thinking. Wyatt’s father had been strong but inconsiderate, his mother weak and conciliatory. She had died when Edmund was only five, leaving him almost defenceless against his hectoring father. That he had grown up such a sane and balanced individual was testimony to the influence of his sisters and aunts.

  Lehmann glanced down at the ornate timepiece inset at his wrist. ‘The General will be here soon, Edmund. We should get ready for him.’

  Wyatt nodded abstractedly, then turned to face him. ‘It’s not myself I’m afraid for, it’s them.’ He shivered, then wrapped his arms about himself. ‘It’s why I couldn’t bear to have them here with me today. If I lose this – if, inexplicably, they find me guilty of Lwo Kang’s murder…’ He looked down, all colour gone from his cheeks. ‘Well, their lives would be forfeit, too, wouldn’t they? It’s the law. A traitor and all his family…’

  Lehmann breathed shallowly, forcing himself to meet Wyatt’s eyes. ‘That’s so. To the third generation.’

  ‘Still…’ Wyatt forced a smile, then came across and held Lehmann to him tightly. ‘I’m grateful, Pietr,’ he said more quietly. ‘Truly I am. However this turns out, I…’

  Lehmann felt Wyatt’s body shudder in his arms and steeled himself against all feeling. Even so, he answered Wyatt gently.

  ‘You would have helped me, wouldn’t you?’

  Wyatt moved slightly back from him. There were tears in his eyes. ‘I’d kill for you, Pietr. You know I would.’

  Necessary. He heard DeVore’s voice saying it and felt a shiver run down his spine. It’s easy for you, Howard, he thought; you never liked him.

  Lehmann smiled. ‘Let’s talk of living, neh?’

  There was a pounding on the mansion’s huge front doors.

  Wyatt looked up, past him. ‘They’re early. I didn’t think they’d be early.’

  They went through, out into the marbled hallway. Wyatt’s chamberlain, a stout, middle-aged Han, greeted them with a bow.

  ‘Shall I open the door, master?’

  Wyatt shook his head. ‘No. Let them wait, Fu Hsien.’

  There were footsteps on the stairs overhead and a murmur of talk.

  ‘Ch’un tzu!’ Lehmann went to the foot of the stairs and greeted the three elderly Han as they came down to him. It had cost him over a million yuan simply to bring them here this morning. If the case went on for months, as it was likely to do, it would cost his faction somewhere between thirty and fifty million. Wyatt had been told nothing of this, but his sisters and aunts had been briefed already. In time they were certain to let Wyatt know whose money it was that was paying for his defence.

  Lehmann turned, smiling, and watched the three greybeards greet Wyatt once again. At the introduction, earlier, all three advocates had seemed impressed by Wyatt’s protestations of innocence. As indeed they ought. Edmund didn’t merely seem innocent, he was. The full force of his self-belief had carried any remaining
doubts the three had had. They had agreed to take the case.

  But things were not as simple as they seemed. On paper Wyatt’s case seemed good. In court he would make a fine impression. Public sympathy was sure to be in his favour. But Wyatt had to lose. He had to be made to seem a victim of conspiracy and power-broking.

  New evidence would be introduced as and when necessary, for his good friend, Edmund Wyatt, was to be a martyr.

  The hammering came again. A voice shouted from behind the door. ‘Open up! We come on the T’ang’s business!’

  Again the chamberlain looked at Wyatt. This time he nodded.

  Tolonen came through first, in full dress uniform, the chi ling or unicorn patch of a first-rank officer resplendent on his chest. Behind him strode two officers and an elite squad of eight armed soldiers.

  ‘General Tolonen,’ said Wyatt, with cold politeness, offering his hand. But Tolonen walked past him, ignoring him.

  ‘Who represents the prisoner?’ he demanded brusquely.

  One of the three Han stepped forward. ‘I am Advocate Fou, General. I act for Shih Wyatt in this matter. And I’ll remind you that my client is not a prisoner but should be addressed as the accused.’

  Tolonen snorted and turned away. One of the officers at once handed him a long, silvered tube. He hefted it a moment, then passed it to the advocate.

  ‘Please read the document. All three of you, if necessary. Copies will be provided at your offices.’

  Advocate Fou tipped the scroll out into his hand, passed the tube to one of his colleagues, then unfurled the document. Wyatt moved past Tolonen and stood at the advocate’s side, trying to make sense of the sheet of blood-red pictograms.

  ‘It’s in Mandarin,’ he said. ‘That’s illegal, isn’t it?’

  Advocate Fou shook his head, then muttered something in Han to his colleagues and rolled the document up again.

  ‘What is it?’ Lehmann asked, coming up beside Wyatt.

  The advocate looked across at Tolonen, then back at Lehmann. ‘I am afraid we cannot help you, Under Secretary. I am most sorry. This matter has been taken out of the jurisdiction of the Courts. Please…’ He handed the document across to Wyatt. ‘Our apologies, Shih Wyatt. We wish you luck. If innocence has weight in law you will triumph yet.’