The ceiling of the Great Hall was festooned with broad silk banners that hung in elegant sweeps between the dragon-encircled pillars. Huge, man-sized bronze urns were set at intervals along the walls, each filled to overflowing with giant blooms. Beneath the banners and between the blooms, the floor of the Great Hall was filled with guests. Han Ch’in stood at the top of the steps beside his father, looking down on everything. Two colours dominated, red and gold; auspicious colours – red for good fortune, gold for a future emperor.
At their appearance the great buzz of conversation died and, at a signal from the chamberlain, all below the steps knelt to the T’ang and his first son, their heads lowered.
Tolonen, behind them, watched the huge crowd rise again, a low buzz of expectation rising from their midst. Then Li Shai Tung began to descend, his son three steps behind him.
Li Yuan was waiting at the bottom of the steps to greet his father formally with a full k’o t’ou. Behind him stood his uncles – his father’s brothers and half-brothers – and with them a dark-haired Hung Mao; a slender, handsome man, unfashionably bearded. An ‘Englishman’ as he liked to term himself. These were the T’ang’s chief advisors. As Li Yuan rose, so the three brothers bowed, bending fully to the waist before they straightened up. Only the Hung Mao remained unbowed, a faint smile on his face. The T’ang smiled, acknowledging all four, then turned to let Han Ch’in come up beside him. Tolonen, following them, paused halfway down the steps and looked out across the mass of heads. Everyone who was anyone in City Europe was here today. Representatives and Heads of Corporations, Chief Magistrates and Administrators, Ministers and Executives. Men of power and their consorts. Li Yuan was the only child there.
Below the steps all formalities were over for the moment. ‘Have you seen them, Yuan?’ Han asked eagerly. ‘They’re huge. Three times your size!’
Li Yuan’s eyes lit up. ‘Is it true what Hsueh Chai said? Do they smell?’
In answer Han Ch’in bent down and whispered something in his brother’s ear. Yuan laughed, then glanced guiltily at the Englishman, who was now deep in conversation with the T’ang. ‘Like Hung Mao,’ Han had whispered. And it was true of most. But some – like the General and Hal Shepherd – refrained from eating milk-based products. They smelt like Han, not beasts.
‘What will you do with them?’ Yuan asked. ‘Will you give them to Fei Yen?’
Han Ch’in looked aghast. ‘Gods! I never thought! What will she say?’
‘You could always ask her. After all, she’ll be here any time now.’
Han Ch’in made a face, then laughed again. Both knew what ritual lay before him. All that bowing and nodding. All that ch’un tzu insincerity as he and his future wife accepted the best wishes of almost three thousand loyal subjects.
He was about to make some comment on the matter when all about them the crowd grew quiet again as Fei Yen appeared at the head of the stairs on her father’s arm. This time, as she descended, the guests remained standing. Only the T’ang and his eldest son bowed to her, honouring her.
Li Yuan gazed at Fei Yen, stilled by the beauty of her. It was as though a craftsman – a master artisan – had given her some final, subtle touch – one single deft and delicate brushstroke – that made of her perfection. Her hair had been put up, its fine coils of darkness speared by slender combs of ivory shaped like dragonflies. Beneath its silken splendour, her face was like the radiant moon, shining cold and white and brilliant, the fineness of her cheekbones balanced by the soft roundness of her chin and the unmarked perfection of her brow. She wore a simple erh tang of red jade and silver in each lobe and a ying lo of tiny pearls about her neck, but in truth her face needed no adornment.
He stared at her as she came down the steps towards him, fascinated, drinking in the sight of her.
Her ears were tiny, delicate, her lips like folded petals, softly roseate, as if awaiting the dawn’s moist kiss, while her nose was so small, so fine, the roundness of the tip so perfect, it seemed unreal, like porcelain. All this he saw and noted, pierced by the beauty of it, yet all the while his gaze was drawn to her eyes – to those dark, sweet, almond eyes that were unearthly in their beauty. Eyes that seemed to stare out at him from the other side of the heavens themselves, fierce and strong and proud. Eyes that seemed to burn within the cold and fragile mask of her face, making him catch his breath.
He shivered then looked down, noting the pale lilac silks she wore, the fine layers of material specked with tiny phoenixes in a delicate dark blue lace. He studied her tiny, perfect hands and noticed how she held the ceremonial fan, her fingers gently curled about the red jade handle, each one so fine and white and delicate. Again he shivered, overcome by her. She was magnificent. So small and fine and perfect. So unutterably beautiful.
The crowd’s dull murmur rose again. Li Yuan felt a touch on his arm and turned to see who it was.
‘Hal…’
Hal Shepherd smiled and inclined his head slightly, as if amused by something. ‘Come, Yuan,’ he said, taking the boy’s hand. ‘Let’s seek our entertainment over there.’
Yuan looked, then mouthed the word. ‘Berdichev?’
Shepherd nodded, then leaned forward slightly, speaking in a whisper. ‘Your father wants me to sound the man out. I think it could be fun.’
Yuan smiled. Shepherd had been his father’s chief advisor for almost twenty years, and though he was some years the T’ang’s junior, Li Shai Tung would not act on any major issue without first consulting him. Shepherd’s great-great-great grandfather, Amos, had been the architect of City Earth and had been granted certain rights by the tyrant, Tsao Ch’un, amongst them the freedom from bowing to his lord. When the Seven had deposed the tyrant they had honoured those rights to the last generation of Shepherds. They alone could not be ordered. They alone could talk back to the T’ang as equal. ‘Only they, of all of them, are free,’ Li Shai Tung had once said to his sons. ‘The rest do not own the bones in their own skins.’
Yuan glanced at Fei Yen momentarily, then looked back at Shepherd. ‘What does my father want?’
Shepherd smiled, his dark eyes twinkling. ‘Just listen,’ he said softly. ‘That’s all. I’ll say all that needs to be said.’
Yuan nodded, understanding without needing to be told that this was what his father wanted. For the past four months he had worked hard, studying thousands of personal files, learning their details by heart until, now, he could put a name to every face in the Great Hall. A name and a history.
Berdichev was with his wife, Ylva, a tall, rather severe-looking woman some ten years younger than him. Beside them was one of the Eastern Sector Administrators, a covert Dispersionist sympathizer named Duchek. Making up the group was Under Secretary Lehmann.
‘Shepherd,’ said Berdichev, on his guard at once. ‘Li Yuan,’ he added quickly, noticing the Prince behind Shepherd and bowing deeply, a gesture that was copied immediately by all in the immediate circle.
‘We’re not interrupting anything, I hope?’ said Shepherd lightly, disingenuously.
‘Nothing but idle talk,’ Lehmann answered, smiling coldly, his manner matching Shepherd’s.
‘Idle talk? Oh, surely not, Under Secretary. I thought such important men as you rarely wasted a word.’
‘It was nothing,’ said Berdichev touchily. ‘But if it interests you so much, why not ask us? We have nothing to hide.’
Shepherd laughed warmly. ‘Did I say you had? Why no, Soren, I meant nothing by my words. Nothing at all. This is a social occasion, after all. I meant merely to be sociable.’
Yuan looked down, keeping the smile from his face. He had seen how Berdichev had bridled when Shepherd used his first name; how his eyes had lit with anger behind those tiny, rounded glasses he so affectedly wore.
‘We were talking of the world,’ said Lehmann, meeting Shepherd’s eyes challengingly. ‘Of how much smaller it seems these days.’
Shepherd hesitated as if considering the matter, then nodded. ‘I would hav
e to agree with you, Under Secretary. In fact, I’d go further and argue that we’ve actually lost touch with the world. Consider. What is City Earth, after all, but a giant box on stilts? A huge hive filled to the brim with humanity. Oh, it’s comfortable enough, we’d all agree, but it’s also quite unreal – a place where the vast majority of people have little or no contact with the earth, the elements.’
Shepherd looked about the circle, half-smiling, meeting each of their eyes in turn. ‘Isn’t that how it is? Well, then, it’s understandable, don’t you think, that feeling of smallness? Of being contained? You see, there’s nothing real in their lives. No heaven above, no earth below, just walls on every side. All they see – all they are – is an illusion.’
Lehmann blinked, not certain he had heard Shepherd right. What had been said was unorthodox to say the least. It was not what one expected to hear from someone who had the T’ang’s ear. Lehmann looked across and saw how Berdichev was looking down, as if insulted. His company, SimFic – Simulation Fictions – provided many of the ‘illusions’ Shepherd was clearly denigrating.
‘Men have always had illusions,’ Berdichev said fiercely, looking up again, his eyes cold behind their glasses. ‘They have always made fictions. Always had a desire for stories. Illusion is necessary for good health. Without it…’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Shepherd interrupted. ‘I’m sure I worry far too much. However, it does seem to me that this world of ours is nothing but illusion. One giant, complex hologram.’ He smiled and looked away from Berdichev, focusing on Lehmann once again. ‘It’s all yin and no yang. All male and no female. We’ve lost contact with the Mother, don’t you agree, Under Secretary?’
It was Duchek who answered him, his eyes flaring with passionate indignation. ‘It’s all right for you, Shih Shepherd. You have the Domain. You have your Mother!’
For a moment there was a tense, almost shocked silence in their circle. It was a fact, and all of them knew it, but it was rarely mentioned in polite company. The Domain, where Shepherd lived, like the estates of the Seven, was an exception. Barring plantation workers, no one of any stature was allowed to live outside the City. There was, of course, good reason for this, for most of the land outside the City was under intense cultivation, organized into huge 10,000 mou fields planted with super-hybrids, not a mou wasted. Even so, a great deal of jealousy existed in the Above. There were many, Berdichev and Lehmann amongst them, who would have given half their wealth to live outside, under the sun.
‘Well, it’s true!’ said Duchek after a moment, embarrassed by his slip, but unapologetic. ‘It’s easy for him to criticize. He can get out!’
Lehmann studied Duchek a moment, then turned back to Shepherd, still intrigued by what he had heard him say. ‘I’m surprised to hear you talk this way, Shih Shepherd. You sound…’ he laughed,‘… almost dissatisfied.’
Shepherd glanced briefly at Li Yuan, noting how intently the young boy was following things, then smiled and answered Lehmann. ‘Should I be satisfied? Should I, as a man, just accept what is without question?’ He laughed softly. ‘Why, we would still be in the caves, or in the woods if that were so. There would be no civilization. No Chung Kuo.’
Yuan, whose eyes caught everything, saw how Lehmann made to answer, then checked himself, as if he had suddenly realized what was happening. Hal Shepherd’s words, whilst passionately spoken, were suspiciously close to Dispersionist orthodoxy and their creed of ‘Change and Expand’. Lehmann hesitated, then laughed casually and turned to take a fresh tumbler of wine from a passing servant.
‘So you advocate change?’
Shepherd’s face changed subtly; the smile, the patina of charm remained, but behind it now lay something much harder and more ruthless. ‘You mistake me, Pietr. I do not like change, neither do I welcome it. But if I could change one thing, I would change that. I would give men back their contact with the earth.’ His smile hardened, and a trace of sadness and regret lingered momentarily in his eyes. ‘However, the world is as it is, not as it ought to be. There are too many of us now. The earth could not support us in the old way.’
Again it was a fact. Even though every cultivable piece of land outside the City was in use, still only sixty per cent of Chung Kuo’s demand was met that way. The rest was synthesized within the City or grown in the giant orbital farms. And as the population grew the problem grew with it. How to feed the many mouths of Chung Kuo?
Yuan felt himself tense, knowing that Shepherd was coming to the nub of it. Through Shepherd, his father was fishing for something; some concession, maybe. Some way of healing the anticipated breach, of keeping Chung Kuo from war.
‘But there are other ways, neh?’
Lehmann let the words lie there between himself and Shepherd. He sipped at his wine and looked across at Berdichev, a faint smile on his lips.
Shepherd tilted his head slightly, as if considering Lehmann’s words. Then he sighed and shook his head. ‘The T’ang himself has tried to make changes. For three years now he has tried to persuade the Council to take certain measures. But they are reluctant. They do not feel the House would give its full support to such changes.’
Yuan had seen how Lehmann’s eyes had widened at Shepherd’s use of the word ‘changes’ in the context of his father and the Council; had seen how surprised both Berdichev and Duchek also were.
Lehmann spoke for them. ‘Changes? I don’t understand you, Shih Shepherd. What changes?’
‘Controls. Concessions. A deal, you might call it.’
‘A deal?’ Lehmann’s mouth twisted almost scornfully. ‘I thought the Seven were above deals. What could they possibly want from the House?’
Shepherd looked at each of the men in turn, then smiled. ‘Population controls. Perhaps even reductions?’
Lehmann’s laughter made heads turn nearby. He leaned towards Shepherd and almost spat the word back at him. ‘Impossible!’
‘So you say, but what if…’
But Shepherd never got to finish his sentence. Yuan felt a touch on his shoulder and knew at once it was Han Ch’in. No one else would have dared lay a hand on him.
‘Hal! Hal! Have you seen them? Have you seen my ox-men? They’re marvellous!’
Shepherd drew back from the edge. Calmly he turned to Han Ch’in and smiled. ‘So that’s what they were, Han. I did wonder. I thought perhaps you had invited a few brutes up from the Clay!’
The rest of the circle had bowed at Han Ch’in’s sudden entry into their ranks. Now Shepherd’s comment drew their laughter. But Han Ch’in himself was more thoughtful.
‘It must be awful, Hal, being born down there.’
Berdichev, who, with Lehmann and Wyatt, had been beneath the City’s floor into the Clay and seen it for himself, bowed again, then answered Han.
‘It would be, were they really conscious of their misery. But it’s all they know. In any case, they’re really little more than animals. They don’t live long enough to consider how awful their lives truly are.’
‘We should gas them,’ said Duchek. ‘We should pump the Clay full of gas and clean it up.’
Han Ch’in looked sharply at the Administrator but said nothing.
‘It would, perhaps, be best,’ said Lehmann, coming to Duchek’s aid. ‘After all, it would ease their suffering. And we could use the land down there for other things.’
‘So I understand,’ Han Ch’in answered, his distaste for Lehmann quite open. ‘You have argued for it in the House often enough.’
Lehmann bowed his head then looked at Shepherd, his frustration at being interrupted at such a crucial moment threatening, for an instant, to goad him into an impropriety. Then he relaxed again and smiled at the T’ang’s eldest son.
‘I am honoured that the Prince pays such attention to my humble affairs. You may be sure I am no less your own admirer.’
Han Ch’in stared back at him a moment, nothing but coldness in his eyes, then he turned to Shepherd and laughed.
‘You know, H
al, I can’t get over how marvellous my ox-men are. They even talk. Baby talk, admittedly, but it’s talk of a kind, eh? And you should smell them. Rich, they are! Ripe!’ He looked meaningfully around the circle, then back at Shepherd. ‘Perhaps I should have uncle Klaus make more of them for me. Then I could form my own House and watch the beasts debate.’
Tolonen’s eyes took in everything about him. He had a sense of where each person was within ten paces of the T’ang; how far away the nearest of them were; how casually or otherwise each stood. As for himself, he stood there, seemingly at ease, a drink in his left hand, his right hand resting against his thigh. Casual. Listening, or so it seemed, to every word that was being said. Indeed, at any moment he might have repeated anything that had just been said by the T’ang and his party, yet his attention was split. He watched, attentive to every sign, knowing that this, the safest place, was also the most dangerous. They could never take Li Shai Tung by force. But surprise?
Earlier that afternoon he had checked out the servants for himself, trusting no one. He had had every servo-mechanism checked for programme quirks, every GenSyn neuter for behavioural deviancy. And then, at the last moment, he had brought in his own guards. It was they who now went amongst the guests, serving drinks and offering spiced delicacies. At any moment Tolonen could tune in to any conversation and hear whatever was being said through the direct relay in his head. His guards picked up all talk, positioning themselves so that not a word in the Great Hall would be missed. It would all be replayed and investigated for significance later. For now, however, only one thing mattered. He had to keep Li Shai Tung alive.
For years now he had learned to outguess his enemies, to anticipate their next move. But now things were changing, the situation escalating, and in his heart of hearts he knew that the tenuous peace that had existed for more than a century was about to be broken. The Dispersionists, a covert, loosely knit organization before the arrest of Edmund Wyatt, were now an open faction in the House, not merely respected but heavily supported. Their strength had upset the traditional balance. In the last two years they had radicalized the House and brought the clamour for Change to a head.
The Middle Kingdom Page 21