Karr turned back to the woman. ‘Is there anything you need?’
She looked at him a moment. ‘My freedom? A new identity, perhaps?’ She fell silent, a look of sour resignation on her face. ‘No, Major Karr. There’s nothing I need.’
He hesitated, then nodded. ‘We’ll move you in the next hour or so. Then, later, I’ll be back to question you. We know a great deal anyway, but it would be best for you…’
‘Best for me?’ She stared back at him, a look of disbelief in her eyes. ‘Do what you must, Major Karr, but never tell me what’s best for me. Because you just don’t know. You haven’t any idea.’
He felt a shiver pass through him. She was right. This much was fated. Was like a script from which they both must read. But best…? He turned away. This was their fate, but at least he could make it easy for her once they had done – make it painless and clean. That much he could do, little as it was.
In Tao Yuan, in the walled burial ground of the Wang clan, it was raining. Beneath a sky of dense grey-black cloud, Wang Sau-leyan stood before the open tomb, his cloak pulled tight about him, staring wide-eyed into the darkness below.
Hung Mien-lo, watching from nearby, felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. So it was true. The tomb had been breached from within, the stone casket that had held Wang Ta-hung shattered like a plaster god. And the contents?
He shuddered. There were footprints in the earth, traces of fibre, but nothing conclusive. Nothing to link the missing corpse with the damage to the tomb. Unless one believed the film.
On the flight over from Alexandria they had talked it through, the T’ang’s insistence bordering on madness. The dead did not rise, he argued, so it was something else. Someone had set this up, to frighten him and try to undermine him. But how? And who?
Li Yuan was the obvious candidate – he had most to gain from such a move – but equally he had had least opportunity. Hung’s spies had kept a close watch on the young T’ang of Europe and no sign of anything relating to this matter had emerged – not even the smallest hint.
Tsu Ma, then? Again, he had motive enough, and it was true that Hung’s spies in the Tsu household were less effective than in any other of the palaces, but somehow it seemed at odds with Tsu Ma’s nature. With Tsu Ma even his deviousness had a quality of directness to it.
So who did that leave? Mach? The thought was preposterous. As for the other T’ang, they had no real motive – even Wu Shih. Sun Li Hua had had motive enough, but he was dead, his family slaughtered, to the third generation.
All of which made the reality of this – the shattered slabs, the empty casket – that much more disturbing. Besides which, the thing was out there somewhere, a strong, powerful creature, capable of splitting stone and lifting a slab four times the weight of a man.
Something inhuman.
He watched the T’ang go inside and turned away, looking about him at the layout of the rain-swept garden. Unless it was the real Wang Ta-hung, it would have had to get inside the tomb before it could break out so spectacularly, so how would it have done that?
Hung Mien-lo paced to and fro slowly, trying to work things out. It was possible that the being had been there a long time – placed there at the time of Wang Ta-hung’s burial ceremony, or before. But that was unlikely. Unless it was a machine it would have had to eat, and he had yet to see a machine as lifelike as the one that had burst from the tomb.
So how? How would something have got into the tomb without them seeing it?
He called the head of the team across and questioned him. It seemed that the security cameras here worked on a simple principle. For most of the time the cameras were inactive, but at the least noise or sign of movement they would focus on the source of the disturbance, following it until it left their field of vision. In the dark it was programmed to respond to the heat traces of intruders.
The advantage of such a system was that it was easy to check each camera’s output. There was no need to reel through hours of static film; one had only to look at what was there.
Hung could see how that made sense… normally. Yet what if, just this once, something cold and silent had crept in through the darkness?
He went across, looking down into the tomb. At the foot of the steps, in the candlelit interior, Wang was standing beside the broken casket, staring down into its emptiness. Sensing Hung there, above him, Wang Sau-leyan turned, looking up. ‘He’s dead. I felt him. He was cold.’
The T’ang’s words sent a shiver down his spine. Something cold… He backed away, bowing low, as Wang came up the steps.
‘You’ll find out who did this, Master Hung. And you’ll find that thing… whatever it is. But until you do, you can consider yourself demoted, without title. Understand me?’
Hung met the T’ang’s eyes, then let his head drop, giving a silent nod of acquiescence.
‘Good. Then set to it. This business makes my flesh creep.’
And mine, thought Hung Mien-lo, concealing the bitter anger he was feeling. And mine.
Since the fire that had destroyed it, Deck Fourteen of Central Bremen stack had been rebuilt, though not to the old pattern. Out of respect for those who had died here, it had been converted into a memorial park, landscaped to resemble the ancient water gardens – the Chuo Cheng Yuan – at Su Chou. Guards walked the narrow paths, accompanied by their wives and children, or alone, enjoying the peaceful harmony of the lake, the rocks, the delicate bridges and stilted pavilions. From time to time one or more would stop beside the great t’ing, named ‘Beautiful Snow, Beautiful Clouds’ after its original, and stare up at the great stone – the Stone of Enduring Sorrow – that had been placed there by the young T’ang only months before, reading the red-painted names cut into its broad, pale grey flank. The names of all eleven thousand and eighteen men, women and children who had been killed here by the Ping Tiao.
Further down, on the far side of the lotus lake, a stone boat jutted from the bank. This was the teahouse, Travelling by Sea. At one of the stone benches near the prow Karr sat, alone, a chung of the house’s finest ch’a before him. Nearby two of his guards made sure he was not disturbed.
From where Karr sat, he could see the Stone, its shape partially obscured by the willows on the far bank, its top edge blunted like a filed tooth. He stared at it a while, trying to fit it into the context of recent events.
He sipped at his ch’a, his unease returning stronger than ever. However he tried to argue it, it didn’t feel right. Ywe Hao would never have done this. Would never, for a moment, have countenanced killing so many innocent people. No. He had read what she had written about her brother and been touched by it. Had heard what the guard, Leyden, had said about her. Had watched the tape of Chen’s interview with the two boys – her young lookouts – and seen the fierce love for her in their eyes. Finally he had seen with his own eyes what had happened at the Dragonfly Club, and in his heart of hearts he could find no wrong in what she had done.
She was a killer, yes, but, then, so was he, and who was to say what justified the act of killing, what made it right or wrong? He killed to order, she for conscience’s sake, and who could say which of those was right, which wrong?
And now this – this latest twist. He looked down at the scroll on the table beside the chung and shook his head. He should have killed her while he’d still had the chance. No one would have known. No one but himself.
He set his bowl down angrily, splashing the ch’a. Where the hell was Chen? What in the gods’ names was keeping him?
But when he turned, it was to find Chen there, moving past the guards to greet him.
‘So what’s been happening?’
‘This…’ Karr said, pushing the scroll across to him.
Chen unfurled it and began to read.
‘They’ve taken it out of our hands,’ Karr said, his voice low and angry. ‘They’ve pushed us aside, and I want to know why.’
Chen looked up, puzzled by his friend’s reaction. ‘All it says here is t
hat we are to hand her over to the T’ing Wei. That is strange, I agree, but not totally unheard of.’
Karr shook his head. ‘No. Look further down. The second to last paragraph. Read it. See what it says.’
Chen looked back at the scroll, reading the relevant paragraph quickly, then looked up again, frowning. ‘That can’t be right, surely? SimFic? They are to hand her over to SimFic? What is Tolonen thinking of?’
‘It’s not the Marshal. Look. There at the bottom of the scroll. That’s the Chancellor’s seal. Which means Li Yuan must have authorized this.’
Chen sat back, astonished. ‘But why? It makes no sense.’
Karr shook his head. ‘No. It makes sense. It’s just that we don’t know how it fits together yet.’
‘And you want to know?’
‘Yes.’
‘But isn’t that outside our jurisdiction?’
Karr leaned towards him. ‘I’ve done a bit of digging and it seems that the Ting Wei are to hand her over to SimFic’s African operation.’
Chen frowned. ‘Africa?’
‘Yes. But listen. It seems she’s destined for a special unit in East Africa. A place named Kibwezi. The gods alone know what they do there or why they want her, but it’s certainly important – important enough to warrant the T’ang’s direct intervention. And that’s why I called for you. I’ve another job for you – another task for our friend Tong Chou.’
Tong Chou was Chen’s alias. The name he had used in the Plantations when he had gone in there after DeVore.
Chen took a long breath. Wang Ti was close to term: the child was due some time in the next few weeks and he had hoped to be there at the birth. But this was his duty. What he was paid to do. He met Karr’s eyes, nodding. ‘All right. When do I start?’
‘Tomorrow. The documentation is being prepared. You’re to be transferred to Kibwezi from the European arm of SimFic. All the relevant background information will be with you by tonight.’
‘And the woman? Ywe Hao? Am I to accompany her?’
Karr shook his head. ‘No. That would seem too circumstantial, neh? Besides which, the transfer won’t be made for another few days yet. It’ll give you time to find out what’s going on over there.’
‘And how will I report back?’
‘You won’t. Not until you have to come out.’
Chen considered. It sounded dangerous, but no more dangerous than before. He nodded. ‘And when I have to come out – what do I do?’
‘You’ll send a message. A letter to Wang Ti. And then we’ll come in and get you out.’
‘I see…’ Chen sat back, looking past the big man thoughtfully. ‘And the woman, Ywe Hao… am I to intercede?’
Karr dropped his eyes. ‘Not in any circumstances. You are to observe, nothing more. Our involvement must not be suspected. If the T’ang were to hear…’
‘I understand.’
‘Good. Then get on home, Kao Chen. You’ll want to be with Wang Ti and the children, neh?’ Karr smiled. ‘And don’t go worrying. Wang Ti will be fine. I’ll keep an eye on her while you’re gone.’
Chen stood, smiling. ‘I am grateful. That will ease my mind greatly.’
‘Good. Oh, and before you go… what did you find out down there? Who had Ywe Hao been meeting?’
Chen reached into his tunic pocket and took out the two framed pictures he had removed from the uncle’s apartment: the portraits of Ywe Hao’s mother with her husband, and that of Ywe Hao with her brother. He looked at them a moment, then handed them across.
Karr stared at the pictures, surprised. ‘But they’re dead. She told me they were dead.’
Chen sighed. ‘The father’s dead. The brother too. But the mother is alive, and an uncle. That’s who she went to see. Her family.’
Karr stared at them a moment longer, then nodded. ‘All right. Get going, then. I’ll speak to you later.’
When Chen had gone, Karr got up and went to the prow of the stone boat, staring out across the water at the Stone. He could not save her. No. That had been taken out of his hands. But there was something he could do for her: one small but significant gesture, not to set things right, but to make things better – maybe to give her comfort at the last.
He looked down at the portraits one last time, then let them fall into the water, smiling, knowing what to do.
Li Yuan looked about him at the empty stalls, sniffing the warm darkness. On whim, he had summoned the Steward of the Eastern Palace and had him bring the keys, then had gone inside, alone, conscious that he had not been here since the day he had killed the horses.
Though the stalls had been cleaned and disinfected, the tiled floors cleared of straw, the scent of horses was strong; was in each brick and tile and wooden strut of the ancient building. And if he closed his eyes…
If he closed his eyes… He shivered and looked about him again, seeing how the moonlight silvered the huge square of the entrance; how it lay like a glistening layer of dew on the end posts of the stalls.
‘I must have horses…’ he said softly, speaking to himself. ‘I must ride again and go hawking. I have kept too much to my office. I had forgotten…’
Forgotten what?
How to live, came the answer. You sent her away, yet still she holds you back. You must break the chain, Li Yuan. You must learn to forget her. You have wives, Li Yuan – good wives. And soon you will have children.
He nodded, then went across quickly, standing in the doorway, holding on to the great wooden upright, looking up at the moon.
The moon was high and almost full. As he watched, a ragged wisp of cloud drifted like a net across its surface. He laughed, surprised by the sudden joy he felt, and looked to the north-east, towards Wang Sau-leyan’s palace at Tao Yuan, fifteen hundred li in the distance.
‘Who hates you more than I, cousin Wang? Who hates you enough to send your brother’s ghost to haunt you?’
And was it that which had brought this sudden feeling of well-being? No, for the mood seemed unconnected to event – was a sea change, like the sunlight on the waters after the violence of the storm.
He went out on to the gravelled parade ground and turned full circle, his arms out, his eyes closed, remembering. It had been the morning of his twelfth birthday and his father had summoned all the servants. If he closed his eyes he could see it; could see his father standing there, tall and imperious, the grooms lined up before the doors, the Chief Groom, Hung Feng-chan, steadying the horse and offering him the halter.
He stopped, getting back his breath. Had that happened? Had that been him that morning, refusing to mount the horse his father had given him, claiming his brother’s horse instead? He nodded slowly. Yes, it had.
He walked on, stopping where the path fell away beneath the high wall of the East Gardens, looking out towards the hills and the ruined temple, remembering.
For so long now he had held it all back, afraid. But there was nothing to be afraid of. Only ghosts. And he could live with those.
A figure appeared on the balcony of the East Gardens, above him and to his left. He turned, looking up. It was his First Wife, Mien Shan. He went across and climbed the steps, meeting her at the top.
‘Forgive me, my lord,’ she began, bowing her head low, the picture of obedience. ‘You were gone so long. I thought…’
He smiled and reached out, taking her hands. ‘I had not forgotten, Mien Shan. It was just that it was such a perfect night I thought I would walk beneath the moon. Come, join me.’
For a time they walked in silence, following the fragrant pathways, holding hands beneath the moon. Then, suddenly, he turned, facing her, drawing her close. She was so small, so daintily made, the scent of her so sweet that it stirred his blood. He kissed her, crushing her body against his own, then lifted her, laughing at her tiny cry of surprise.
‘Come, my wife,’ he said, smiling down into her face, seeing how two tiny moons floated in the darkness of her eyes. ‘I have been away from your bed too long. Tonight we will
make up for that, neh? And tomorrow… Tomorrow we shall buy horses for the stables.’
The morph stood at the entrance to the cave, looking out across the moonlit plain below. The flicker of torches, scattered here and there across the darkened fields, betrayed the positions of the search parties. All day it had watched them, as they had criss-crossed the great plain, scouring every last copse and stream on the estate. They would be tired now and hungry. If it amplified its hearing it could make out their voices, small and distant on the wind – the throaty encouragement of a sergeant or the muttered complaints of a guard.
It turned, focusing on the foothills just below where it stood. Down there among the rocks, less than a li away, a six-man party was searching the lower slopes, scanning the network of caves with heat-tracing devices. But they would find nothing. Nothing but the odd fox or rabbit, that was. For the morph was cold, almost as cold as the rocks surrounding it, its body heat shielded beneath thick layers of insulating flesh.
In the centre of the plain, some thirty li distant, was the palace of Tao Yuan. Extending its vision, it looked, searching, sharpening its focus until it found what it was looking for – the figure of the Chancellor, there in the south garden, crouched over a map table in the flickering half-light of a brazier, surrounded by his men.
‘Keep looking, Hung Mien-lo,’ it said quietly, coldly amused by all this activity. ‘For your master will not sleep until I’m found.’
No, and that would suit its purpose well. For it was not here to hurt Wang Sau-leyan but to engage his imagination, like a seed, planted in the soft earth of the young T’ang’s mind. It nodded to himself, remembering DeVore’s final words to it on Mars.
You are the first stone, Tuan Wen-ch’ang. The first in a whole new game. And whilst it may be months, years even, before I play again in that part of the board, you are nonetheless crucial to my scheme, for you are the stone within, placed deep inside my opponent’s territory – a single white stone, embedded in the darkness of his skull, shining like a tiny moon.
The White Mountain Page 25
