The Broken Wheel

by David Wingrove

  ‘I am certain of it, my lord. You would be the first to hear were your father ill.’

  ‘Yes…’ He looked down at Minister Heng’s memorandum again, then nodded. ‘It’s interesting, this business with the Shepherd boy, don’t you think?’

  ‘My lord…’ Chang Shih-sen was watching him, smiling.

  Li Yuan laughed. ‘All right. I know when I’m being bullied for my own good. I’ll go, Shih-sen. But make sure you get an acknowledgment off to Heng Yu this afternoon. I’ve kept him waiting two days as it is.’

  ‘Of course, my lord. Now go. Enjoy the sunshine while you can.’

  Li Yuan went out into the brightness of the Eastern Courtyard, standing there a moment at the top of the broad steps, his hand resting on the cool stone of the balustrade. He looked about him, feeling totally at peace with the world. There was such order here. Such balance. He stretched, easing the tiredness of sitting from his limbs, then went down, taking the steps two at a time before hurrying across the grass, his silk pau flapping about him.

  There was no sign of Fei Yen and her maids in the gardens, or in the long walk. The ancient, wall-enclosed space was still and silent. At the stone arch he turned, considering whether he should go to her rooms, then decided not to. She needed her rest. Now more than ever. For their son’s sake.

  As ever, the thought of it made him feel strange. He looked across at the ancient, twisted shapes of the junipers that rested in the shade of the palace walls, then turned his head, tracing the curved shape of the pool with his eyes. He held himself still, listening, and was rewarded with the singing of a bird, the sound distant, from across the valley. He smiled, sniffing the cool, late morning air, finding a faint scent of herbs underlying it.

  It was a good day to be alive.

  He turned, looking at the great upright of the arch, then let his fingers trace the complex, interwoven patterns in the stone. All this had stood here a thousand years and yet the pattern seemed freshly cut into the stone. As if time had no power here.

  He turned, making his way towards the stables. It had been some time since he had seen his horses. Too long. He would spend an hour and make a fuss of them. And later, perhaps, he would exercise Fei’s horse, Tai Huo.

  The great barn of the stables was warm and musty. The grooms looked up from their work as he entered, then hurried forward to form a line, bowing from the waist.

  ‘Please …’ he said. ‘Carry on. I’ll not disturb you.’

  They backed away respectfully, then turned, continuing with their chores. He watched them a while, some part of him envying the simplicity of their existence, then he looked upwards, drawing in the strong, heady scents of the barn – scents that seemed inseparable from the darkly golden shadows of the stalls.

  Slowly he went down the line, greeting each of the horses in its stall. The dark-maned barb, Hei Jian – ‘Black Sword’ – lifted her broad muzzle in greeting, letting him pat then smooth her flank. Mei Feng – ‘Honey Wind’ – the elegant Akhal-teke, was more skittish, almost petulant, but after a moment he relented, letting Li Yuan smooth the honey-gold of his flank, his sharp ears pricked up. He was the youngest of the six horses, and the most recently acquired, a descendant of horses that had served the wild herdsmen of West Asia thousands of years earlier.

  Next was his brother’s horse, the black Arab he had renamed Chi Chu – ‘Sunrise’. He spent some time with it, rubbing his cheek against its neck, feeling a kinship with the mare that he felt with none of the others. Beside it was the white Arab, the horse he had bought for Fei Yen, Tai Huo – ‘Great Fire’. He smiled, seeing the creature, remembering the night he had brought Fei Yen blindfolded to the stables to see him for the first time. That time they had made love in the stall.

  He turned, looking past the horse’s rump, then frowned. The fifth stall was empty. The Andalusian – his father’s present to him on his twelfth birthday – was not there. He went out and stood there at the head of the stall, looking into the empty space, then turned, summoning the nearest of the grooms.

  ‘Where is the Andalusian?’

  The groom bowed low, a distinct colour in his cheeks. ‘I… I…’ he stammered.

  Li Yuan turned, looking back at the stall, his sense of wrongness growing. From outside he heard a clamour of voices. A moment later a tall figure appeared in the great doorway. Hung Feng-chan, the Chief Groom.

  ‘My lord…’ he began hesitantly.

  Li Yuan turned, facing him. ‘What is it, Hung?’

  Hung Feng-chan bowed low. ‘The Andalusian is being… exercised, my lord.’

  Li Yuan frowned, his eyes returning to the empty stall. ‘Exercised? I thought they were only exercised first thing. Is something wrong with the animal?’

  ‘My lord, I –’

  ‘The gods help us, Hung! What is it? Are you keeping something from me?’

  He looked about him, seeing how the grooms had stopped their work and were looking on, their flat Han faces frightened now.

  ‘Is the horse dead, Hung? Is that it?’

  Hung bowed his head lower. ‘No, my lord –’

  ‘Then, in the gods’ names, what is it?’

  ‘Nan Hsin is being ridden, my lord.’

  Li Yuan straightened up, suddenly angry. ‘Ridden? Who gave permission for anyone to ride the beast?’

  Hung Feng-chan was silent, his head bowed so low that it almost touched his slightly bent knees.

  Li Yuan’s bark of anger was unexpected. ‘Well, Hung? Who is riding Nan Hsin? Or must I have it beaten from you?’

  Hung raised his head, his eyes beseeching his young master. ‘My lord, forgive me. I tried to talk her out of it…’

  ‘Tried to…’ He stopped, sudden understanding coming to him. Fei Yen. He was talking about Fei Yen. It couldn’t be anyone else. No one else would have dared countermand his orders. But Fei was seven months pregnant. She couldn’t go riding, not in her condition. The child…

  He rushed past the Chief Groom and stood in the great doorway, looking out. The palace was to his left, the hills far off to the right. He looked, scanning the long slope for a sight of her, but there was nothing. Then he turned back, concern for her making him forget himself momentarily, all control gone from his voice, naked fear shaping his words.

  ‘Where is she, Hung? Where in the gods’ names is she?’

  ‘I… I don’t know, my lord.’

  Li Yuan strode across to him and took his arms, shaking him. ‘Kuan Yin preserve us, Hung! You mean you let her go out, alone, unsupervised, in her condition?’

  Hung shook his head miserably. ‘She forbade me, my lord. She said…’

  ‘Forbade you? What nonsense is this, Hung? Didn’t you realize how dangerous, how stupid this is?’

  ‘My lord, I –’

  Li Yuan pushed him away. ‘Get out of my sight!’ He looked about him, furious now. ‘Go! All of you! Now! I don’t want to see any of you here again!’

  There was a moment’s hesitation, then they began to leave, bowing low as they moved about him. Hung was last.

  ‘My lord…?’ he pleaded.

  But Li Yuan had turned his back on the Chief Groom. ‘Just go, Hung Feng-chan. Go now, before I make you pay for your foolishness.’

  Hung Feng-chan hesitated a moment longer, then, bowing to the back of his prince, he turned and left dejectedly, leaving Li Yuan alone.

  Hans Ebert ran up the steps of the Ebert Mansion, grinning, immensely pleased with his day’s work. It had been easy to manipulate the old men. They had been off balance, frightened by the sudden escalation of events, only too eager to believe the worst-case scenario he had spelled out for them. But the truth was otherwise. A good general could police the East European Plantations with a mere hundred thousand men, and at a cost only a tenth of what he had mentioned. As for the effect on the levels, that too had been exaggerated, though even he had to admit that it wasn’t known precisely what effect such an attack would have at the lowest levels of the City.

&nb
sp; He went through to his suite of rooms to shower and change. As he stripped off, he stood over his personal comset, scrolling through until he came upon a cryptic message from his uncle.

  Beattie asks if you’ll settle his bar bill for him. He says a thousand will cover it.

  Love, your Uncle Lutz.

  Beattie was DeVore. Now what did DeVore want ten million for? Ebert kicked off his shorts and went across to the shower, the water switching on as soon as he stepped beneath the spray. Whatever DeVore wanted, it was probably best to give him just now. To pacify him. It would be easy enough to reroute that much. He would get on to it later. Just now, however, he felt like making his regular sacrifice to the gods of the flesh. He closed his eyes, letting the lukewarm jets play on him invigoratingly. Yes, it would be good to have an hour with the mui tsai. To get rid of all the tensions that had built up over the last few days.

  He laughed, feeling his sex stir at the thought of her.

  ‘You were a bargain, my lovely,’ he said softly. ‘If I’d paid ten times as much, you’d have been a bargain.’

  The thought was not an idle one. For some time now he had thought of duplicating her. Of transferring those qualities that made her such a good companion to a vat-made model. After all, what wouldn’t the Supernal pay for such delicious talents? GenSyn could charge five times the price of their current models. Fifty times, if they handled the publicity properly.

  Yes, he could see the campaign now. All the different, subtle ways of suggesting it without actually saying it: of hiding the true function of their latest model and yet letting it be known…

  He laughed then stepped out, into the drying chamber, letting the warm air play across his body. Or maybe he would keep her for himself. After all, why should every jumped-up little merchant be able to buy such pleasures?

  He threw on a light silk gown and went through, down a small flight of steps into the central space. The mansion was shaped irregularly, forming a giant G about the gardens. A small wooden bridge led across a narrow stream to a series of arbours. Underfoot was a design of plum blossom, picked out in small pale pink and grey pebbles, while on every side small red-painted wooden buildings, constructed in the Han style, lay half-hidden among the trees, their gently sloping roofs overhanging the narrow ribbon of water that threaded its way backwards and forwards across the gardens.

  The gardens were much older than the house. Or at least their design was, for his grandfather had had them modelled on an ancient Han original, naming them the Gardens of Peace and Prosperity. The Han character for longevity was carved everywhere, into stone and wood, and inlaid into mosaic at the bottom of the clear, fast-running stream. Translucent, paper-covered windows surrounded the garden on all sides, while here and there a moon door opened on to new vistas – another tiny garden or a suite of rooms.

  Hans stopped in the middle of the gardens, leaning on the carved wooden balustrade, looking down at his reflection in the still, green water of the central pond. Life was good. Life was very good. He laughed, then looked across at the three ancient pomegranate trees on the far side of the pool, noting how their trunks were shaped like flowing water; how they seemed to rest there, doubled in the stillness of the water. Then, as he watched, a fish surfaced, rippling the mirror, making the trees dance violently, their long, dark trunks undulating like snakes.

  And then he heard it, unmistakable. The sound of a baby crying.

  He turned, puzzled. A baby? Here? Impossible. There were no children here. He listened then heard it again, clearer now, from somewhere to his left. In the servants’ quarters.

  He made his way around the pool and across the high-arched stone bridge, then stood there, concentrating, all thoughts of the mui tsai gone.

  A baby. It was unmistakably a baby. But who would dare bring a baby here? The servants knew the house rules. His mother’s nerves were bad. They knew that, and they knew the rules…

  He pulled the robe tighter about him, then climbed the steps, hauling himself up on to the terrace that ran the length of the servants’ quarters. The sound came regularly now; a whining, mewling sound, more animal than human. An awful, irritating sound.

  He went inside, finding the first room empty. But the noise was louder here, much louder, and he could hear a second sound beneath it – the sound of a woman trying to calm the child.

  ‘Hush now…’ the voice said softly. ‘Hush, my pretty one.’

  He frowned, recognizing the voice. It was Golden Heart, the girl he had bought from Mu Chua’s sing-song house ten years back. The girl he had taunted Fest with before he’d killed him.

  Yes, Golden Heart. But what was she doing with a baby?

  He made his way through, slowly, silently, until he stood there in the doorway of her room, looking in. The girl was crouched over a cot, her back to him, cooing softly to the child. The crying had stopped now and the baby seemed to be sleeping. But whose child was it? And who had given permission for it to be brought into the house? If his mother found out she would have them dismissed on the spot.

  ‘Golden Heart?’

  The girl started, then turned to face him, the blood drained from her face.

  ‘Excellency…’ she said breathlessly, bowing low, her body placed between him and the cot, as if to hide the child.

  He stepped into the room, looking past her. ‘What’s happening here?’

  She half turned her head, clearly frightened, taking one small step backwards so that she bumped against the edge of the cot.

  ‘Whose child is that?’

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear. ‘Excellency…’ she repeated, her voice small, intimidated.

  He saw and understood. He would get nothing out of her by frightening her, but it was important that he know whose child it was and why it had been brought here. Whoever it was, they would have to go, because this was too serious a breach of house rules to be overlooked. He moved closer, then crouched down before the girl, taking her hands and looking up into her face.

  ‘I’m not angry with you, Golden Heart,’ he said softly, ‘but you know the rules. The child shouldn’t be here. If you’ll tell me who the mother is, I’ll arrange for her to take the child away, but you can’t keep her here. You know you can’t.’

  He saw doubt war with a strange, wild hope in her face and looked down, puzzled. What was happening here? He looked up at her again, his smile encouraging her.

  ‘Come, Golden Heart. I’ll not be angry. You were only taking care of it, after all. Just tell me who the mother is.’

  She looked away, swallowing almost painfully. Again there was that strange struggle in her face, then she looked back at him, her eyes burning wildly.

  ‘The child is yours. Your son.’

  ‘Mine?’ He laughed sourly, shaking his head. ‘How can it be mine?’

  ‘And mine,’ she said softly, uncertainly. ‘Our child…’

  He stood, cold anger spreading through him. ‘What is this nonsense? How could you have a child? You were sterilized years ago.’

  She bowed her head, taken aback by the sudden sharpness of his voice. ‘I know…’ she said. ‘But I had it reversed. There’s a place…’

  ‘Gods!’ he said quietly, understanding what she had done. Of course. He saw it now. She must have stolen some jewellery or something to pay for it. But the child…

  He pushed past her, looking down at the sleeping infant. It was a large baby, five or six months in age, with definite Eurasian features. But how had she kept him hidden? How kept her pregnancy from being noticed?

  ‘No… I don’t believe you.’

  She came and stood beside him, resting her hands against the rail of the cot, her chest rising and falling violently, a strange expectation in her face. Then she bent down and lifted the child from the cot, cradling him.

  ‘It’s true,’ she said, turning, offering the child to him. ‘He’s yours, Hans. When I knew I’d fallen I had him removed and tended in a false uterus. After the birth I had him pla
ced in a nursery. I’d visit him there. And sometimes I’d bring him back here. Like today.’

  ‘Secretly,’ he said, his voice calm, distant, a thousand li from his thoughts.

  ‘Yes…’ she said, lowering her head slightly, willing now to be chastised. But still she held the child out to him, as if he should take it and acknowledge it.

  ‘No,’ he said, after a moment. ‘No, Golden Heart. You had no child. Don’t you understand that? That thing you hold doesn’t exist. It can’t be allowed to exist. GenSyn is a complex business and you had no right to meddle in it. That thing would be an impediment. A legal nightmare. It would… inconvenience things. Can’t you see that?’

  A muscle twitched beneath her left eye, otherwise she made no sign that she had understood the meaning of his words.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘You won’t be punished for your foolishness. But this…’ he lifted his hand vaguely, indicating the sleeping child ‘…this can’t be allowed. I’ll have someone take it now and destroy it.’

  Her whimper of fear surprised him. He looked at her, saw the tears that were welling in her eyes, and shook his head. Didn’t she understand? Had she no sense at all?

  ‘You had no right, Golden Heart. You belong to me. You do what I say, not what you want. And this… this is ridiculous. Did you really think you could get away with it? Did you really believe for a moment…?’

  He laughed, but the laughter masked his anger. No. It was not on. And now his mood was broken. He had been looking forward to the mui tsai, but now even the thought of sex was suddenly repugnant to him. Damn her! Damn the stupid girl with her addle-brained broodiness! He should have known something was up. Should have sensed it. Well, she’d not have another chance, that was certain. He’d have the doctors make sure of it this time. Have them make it irreversible.

  And the child? It was as he’d said. The child didn’t exist. It could not be allowed to exist. Because GenSyn would be threatened by its existence, the very structure of the company undermined by the possibility of a long, protracted inheritance battle in the courts.