Daylight on Iron Mountain (6 page)

Was it a snub? If so, why summon him halfway round the world to deliver it?

No. The more he thought about it, the more he felt it genuine. Something had come up. Something more urgent than a meeting with one of his lowly generals.

So what now? How long would it be until his audience was rescheduled? He had heard that Tsao Ch’un would sometimes keep a supplicant waiting for months, even years, before he’d see them. And then only for the briefest moment. But those were supplicants. Rich men who needed a favour from their Master, the Son of Heaven. He, Jiang Lei, was not here for favours. Not that he really knew quite why he had been summoned, only that it was not at his instigation. Tsao Ch’un
wanted
to see him. He would not waste his time otherwise.

So why not make a few visits?

Jiang tried to keep calm, but his heart was racing suddenly at the thought that had come into his head. He did not even know whether it would be allowed. But surely he had to try – while he was here?

He would visit Chun Hua. Would go to see her and his daughters.
If
it could be arranged.

Jiang stroked his beard, considering the problem. This was not something Steward Ho could do. Ho was of too low a status; far more crucially, he was too inexperienced to handle this. Then whom?

The answer came at once. Hsü Jung. Hadn’t Hsü always been the organizer among them – the one who had arranged things? Then why not ask him? If he couldn’t do it personally, then surely Hsü would know someone who could?

Back at his quarters, Jiang went straight to his desk, not even bothering to change. If this was to be done, it must be done now, before the second summons came.

Hsü Jung had left his contact number. Jiang typed it in then waited. The screen pulsed and then a face appeared, that of a young male Han, probably from Hsü’s household.

‘Forgive me, but could I speak to Hsü Jung?’

The face, expressionless but for the hint of a scowl, answered him.

‘I am afraid no one may talk with Master Hsü. He is currently under house arrest. But if you would leave a message…’

Jiang cut connection. Little good that that would do. They would have a trace on it for certain.

House arrest… It could be no coincidence. Indeed, it might explain the cancellation of the audience.

Jiang stood, pacing about, wondering what to do.

Just then Steward Ho came out and, surprised to see his Master there, gave a small gasp.

‘Ah… Ho… I have a problem…’

‘But Master, you should be…’

‘The audience was rescheduled. I am to see Tsao Ch’un another time. No, my problem is this. I wish to see my wife…’

‘But that is forbidden, Master.’

‘No, not forbidden… but I must get permission… and, well… I do not know who to approach or how to go about it.’

At that Steward Ho beamed. ‘Then you can leave it with me, Master.’

‘Leave it with
you
?’

Ho nodded enthusiastically. ‘I am your servant, neh? Then let me deal with such tiresome details. When do you wish to see her?’

‘This afternoon?’

‘I shall see what can be done.’

And with that Ho left the room. Jiang listened, heard a door on the far side of the suite of rooms bang shut.

He sat again, slumping in the chair. Hsü Jung arrested. That did not bode well. And Pan Tsung-yen?

He contacted Pan Tsung-yen’s number. As the screen lit and the same stranger’s face appeared, he cut at once.

Pan, too, then. Both under house arrest for seeing him.

Jiang sighed. If they had been arrested, then why not he also? What were they waiting for? Or were they on their way over right this moment?

He stood, agitated now. There was no doubt he was being watched. But at what level? Had Tsao Ch’un cancelled their meeting because of something he had said last night? Something he had overheard?

He could not think of anything seditious
he
had said, and the only things his friends had uttered that could be construed in that fashion were their final comments; their bitter warning to him to take care.

But what if this had nothing to do with Tsao Ch’un? What if this was the work of some officious minister, furthering some personal scheme at their expense? They had said it was a viper’s nest, after all, and you could be sure that not everything that happened in the court emanated from Tsao Ch’un.

Besides, why would Tsao Ch’un say he would reschedule if he did not mean it? There was no reason for the great man to make excuses. If Tsao Ch’un had suspected him of treachery, he’d have been in a cell by now, a hot brand searing his testicles, making him gibber like a monkey.

And house arrest… it wasn’t exactly being led off in chains.

No. But what worried him was the coincidence of events. He did not trust coincidence.

He went to the window and looked out. There were guards out there, their faces masked, anonymous. Two men – senior officials from their powder-blue gowns – walked slowly, deep in conversation.

Pei Ching
. North City. The last time he’d been here had been the last time he had seen Chun Hua. Four years ago. Ch’iao-chieh had been nine then, San-chieh five.

He looked down, saying in his mind the mantra that always gave him strength, that lifted him above his weakness.

The trouble was, he didn’t know what Ho could do. Very little, probably. Who did he know here, after all? And even if he did have contacts, how in heaven’s name would he arrange things? If he, Jiang Lei, a general in the Eighteenth Banner could not exert sufficient influence, how could lowly Ho?

No, he was mad even to think it might work.

Jiang Lei went through and poured himself a cup of wine. It was too early in the day for drink, but for once he felt the need. It wasn’t every day his friends were arrested.

He had finished his drink and poured himself a second when the comset buzzed and the screen lit up. Jiang hurried across.

It was Ho. Seeing his Master, he bowed low and then launched in, smiling as he told Jiang what he had arranged.

As he finished and the screen blanked, Jiang sat back, laughing with delight.

Steward Ho, it seems, had a cousin who knew a servant in the royal household. That servant had a friend – a very
close
friend, let it be understood – who looked after the needs of the junior minister in charge of a certain government department. A contact of the friend in that department had a brother who, at a price, would place Jiang’s request before another junior minister. While
that
junior minister was unable himself to give the requisite written permission for a visit, he might, for a ‘small’ consideration, place the matter urgently before
his
Master, the minister himself.

In short, four small, discreet payments and it would be done. He would get to see Chun Hua.

‘Ho,’ he said quietly, speaking to the air, ‘you are a genius.’

Maybe. But first he had to arrange these payments.

Ho returned a half an hour later, flushed at his success. Jiang greeted him, then handed him the four red packets, each marked with a different symbol, as Ho had asked.

Ho bowed low. ‘It is a great deal of money, Master. Are you sure…?’

Jiang nodded. ‘To see Chun Hua… I would pay ten times as much. But don’t tell them that, Ho. They would only raise their price.’

Thus it was that, an hour later, Jiang Lei slid down from inside the litter. Handing his documentation to the gate guard, he waited to be passed through.

He wanted it to be a surprise, so he had not notified Chun Hua of his coming. He wanted to see the joy on her face, hear his daughters squeal with delight as they saw him enter the room.

‘Is there something wrong?’

The gate guard had turned away and was talking into his handset, in a low murmur that Jiang was clearly not meant to hear.

The guard turned, gave him a contemptuous look, then turned away again.

‘Soldier!’

Jiang’s bark caught the guard totally unprepared. He turned back and, noticing the dress uniform for the first time, came to attention.

Jiang held himself straight, his full authority in his manner. ‘Are you going to let me go inside, or are you going to keep me out here all afternoon!’

The guard bowed again. ‘Forgive me, General, only I…’

At that moment there was a slamming of doors and, a moment later, the noise of several men shuffling quickly along on slippered feet. As Jiang looked past the guard, he saw five men – all Han, all wearing identical pale green
pau
– hurrying towards him down the broad, high-ceilinged corridor.

As the guard stepped aside, four of the five formed up behind the eldest, a greybeard – the number on his chest badge said ‘Number One’ – as if to block Jiang’s way.

‘What do you want?’ Number One bellowed, his face sneering and ugly, clearly angry at being disturbed.

Jiang looked to the guard. ‘Give him the permission.’

The gate guard handed it across, then stepped back. The look on his face seemed to suggest he was pleased to hand this over to another; that he had done his bit in stalling the stranger.

Jiang knew what this was. One last shake-down. Number One was yet another doorkeeper. He would say that the permission had not been properly verified and that it would cost a hundred
yuan
, maybe, to fix that.

Jiang dug his hand into his pocket. At once Number One stepped back, as if Jiang had drawn a gun. He yelled at Jiang.

‘What are you doing?’

Jiang winced. Was their whole conversation to be nothing but a shouting match?

‘I have come to see Chun Hua,’ he said, trying to remain calm, not to let himself be drawn down to this other’s level. ‘That in your hand is the minister’s permission. As you’ll see, it has his chop…’

‘His chop? Fuck his chop!’ the man said and tore the permission in half.

Jiang stared at him, shocked. ‘But you can’t…’

Jiang stopped. Maybe he could. That was, if he was Tsao Ch’un’s man, answerable to him alone. And that did make a kind of sense. Maybe Steward Ho had got it wrong. Maybe all that money had been spent for nothing.

Jiang took a long breath, then began again.

‘Forgive me, Steward…?’

‘Shao Shu… I am First Steward here. You want to see someone, you get
my
permission,
understand
?’

‘Forgive me, First Steward Shao. It is
my
misunderstanding. Only I wish to see Chun Hua.’

‘Chun Hua?’ The man’s face had a faint flicker of mockery in it that Jiang found troubling. He stroked his beard, as if considering. ‘Well, I don’t know, I…’

‘Is there a problem? She is here, I take it?’

‘Ah yes… only…’

How much?
he wanted to ask; only he knew he could not be that direct. Men like Shao liked to wrap their corruption up in the guise of necessity.

‘I understand,’ Jiang said. ‘There are expenses, neh? The preparation of the rooms… the attendance fee for your clerks…’

First Steward Shao smiled. ‘I am glad you understand, General. I will have my assistant draft an agreement.’

‘Oh…’ Jiang Lei frowned. ‘I thought maybe…’

‘We have your details, General. You have only to authorize the payment.’

Jiang blinked.
The bastard was tipped off. He knew I was coming.

But what could he do? Turn about and march away from there? Leave the odious little prick without his ‘fee’ ? But that would mean he’d not get to see Chun Hua, and that was worth a great deal to him right now.

He waited. Five minutes passed. Long, wordless minutes that stretched his patience, and then finally the clerk appeared.

As one of the younger servants knelt, his head bowed, to make a back for the document to be rested on for signature, Jiang looked to Shao Shu again. Shao was watching him intently now, to see how he’d react.

Even forewarned by that, the figure written on the sheet shocked Jiang Lei.

Fifty thousand yuan!

The involuntary intake of breath he took betrayed him. Even so, he kept his face blank, signing his name in both Mandarin and English, then appending his thumb print over Shao Shu’s chop.

Another of the First Steward’s men took the document at once and whisked it away. He was gone in a moment.

It was a full month’s salary. And though he could afford it, even though he was willing to pay twice that to see his beloved wife and daughters, Jiang was angry now. It was a clear abuse of Shao’s position.

The junior stewards stepped back to allow Jiang passage, while First
Steward Shao, all charm and smiles now that he’d been paid, bowed low and put out an arm, indicating to Jiang that he was to step through.

Inside, beyond the security gate, five whole levels at the very top of the stack – First Level as it was known – were occupied by a massive three-storey mansion built in the northern style. Its steeply sloping red tile roof was lit from overhead by panels that resembled the open sky. That was an illusion, of course, but it was a striking one, strengthened as it was by the call of birds in a nearby copse of trees, the branches of which swayed gently in the artificial wind.

Jiang caught his breath. The house and its surrounding gardens were beautiful. He could imagine Chun Hua and the girls enjoying life here.

‘Come,’ Shao said, walking towards a doorway to their right, which was accessible by a short flight of pale grey steps. ‘I will have them brought to you.’

Inside it was opulent, with an elegant, almost luxurious decor. The high-ceilinged rooms – all of them in a traditional Han style – had a spotless look to them.

‘Through here,’ Shao said, steering Jiang through a doorway framed with black lacquer, and into a small suite of rooms that were slightly more informal than those he had just passed through. ‘Take a seat,’ the First Steward said. ‘We will attend you shortly.’

As Jiang sat, he frowned, noticing how the furniture in these rooms had a much less elegant, more worn look to it than elsewhere. The massive rugs seemed frayed, the wall hangings older, dowdier,
cheaper
than outside.

His heart was beating fast now, his palms damp. He sat, then stood again, needing to pace, rehearsing in his head what he would say. Only he knew that the mere sight of her would make him wordless. It always had. And he the poet of his age.