Ice and Fire: Chung Kuo Series (42 page)

‘Maybe so…’ But he was thinking,
Why this
? For he knew the rest of the story – how Lord Yi’s wife, Chang-e, goddess of the
moon, had stolen the herb of
immortality and fled to the moon. There, for her sins, she had turned into a toad,
the dark shadow of which could be seen against the full moon’s whiteness. And Lord
Yi? Was he hero or
monster? The legends were unclear, contradictory, for though he had completed all
of the great tasks set him by Pan Ku, the Creator of All, yet he was an usurper who
had stolen the wives of many
other men.

Ben surely knew the myth. He knew so much, how could he not know the rest of it? Was
this then some subtle insult? Some clever, knowing comment on his forthcoming marriage
to Fei Yen? Or was it
as he said – the innocent setting down of a dream?

He could not say. Neither was there any certain way of telling. He stared at the drawing
a moment longer, conscious of the silence that had grown about him, then, looking
back at Ben, he
laughed.

‘You know us too well, Ben Shepherd. What you were talking of – the essence behind
the form. Our faces are masks, yet you’re not fooled by them, are you? You see right
through
them.’

Ben met his eyes and smiled. ‘To the bone.’

Yes,
thought Li Yuan.
My father was right about you. You would be the perfect match for me. The rest are
but distorting mirrors, even the finest of them, returning a pleasing image to
their lord. But you… you would be the perfect glass. Who else would dare to reflect
me back so true?

He looked down, letting his fingers trace the form of the archer, then nodded to himself.
‘A dream…’

Klaus Ebert roared with laughter, then reached up and drew his son’s head down so
that all could see. ‘There! See! And he’s proud of it!’

Hans Ebert straightened up again, grinning, looking about him at the smiling faces.
He was in full uniform for the occasion, his new rank of major clearly displayed,
but that was not what his
father had been making all the fuss over – it was the small metal plate he wore, embedded
in the back of his skull; a memento of the attack on Hammerfest.

‘The trouble is, it’s right at the back,’ he said. ‘I can’t see it in the mirror.
But I get my orderly to polish it every morning. Boots, belt and head, I say to
him. In that order.’

The men in the circle laughed, at ease for the first time in many months. Things were
at a dangerous pass in the world outside, but here at Tongjiang it was as if time
had stood still. From here
the War seemed something distant, illusory. Even so, their conversation returned to
it time and again; as if there were nothing else for them to talk of.

‘Is there any news of Berdichev?’ Li Feng Chiang, the T’ang’s second brother, asked.
His half-brothers, Li Yun-Ti and Li Ch’i Chun, stood beside him, all three of
Li Yuan’s uncles dressed in the same calf-length powder blue surcoats; their clothes
badges of their rank as Councillors to the T’ang.

‘Rumours have it that he’s on Mars,’ General Nocenzi answered, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
‘There have been other sightings, too, but none of them confirmed.
Sometimes I think the rumours are started by our enemies, simply to confuse us.’

‘Well,’ Tolonen said. ‘Wherever he is, my man Karr will find him.’

Tolonen was back in uniform, the patch of Marshal on his chest, the four pictograms
–
Lu Chun Yuan Shuai
– emblazoned in red on white. It had been the unanimous decision of
the Council of Generals, three months before. The appointment had instilled new life
into the old man and he seemed his fierce old self again, fired with limitless energy.
But it was true also what
the younger officers said: in old age his features had taken on the look of something
ageless and eternal, like rock sculpted by the wind and rain.

Klaus Ebert, too, had been promoted. Like Li Yuan’s uncles, he wore the powder blue
of a Councillor proudly, in open defiance of those of his acquaintance who said a
Hung Mao
should
not ape a Han. For him it was an honour – the outward sign of what he felt. He smiled
at his old friend and leaned across to touch his arm.

‘Let us hope so, eh, Knut? The world would be a better place without that carrion,
Berdichev, in it. But tell me, have you heard of this new development? These “messengers”,
as
they’re called?’

There was a low murmur and a nodding of heads. They had been in the news a great deal
these last few weeks.

Ebert shook his head, his features a mask of horrified bemusement, then spoke again.
‘I mean, what could make a man do such a thing? They say that they wrap explosives
about themselves,
and then, when they’re admitted to the presence of their victims, trigger them.’

‘Money,’ Tolonen answered soberly. ‘These are low-level types you’re talking of, Klaus.
They have nothing to lose. It’s a way of ensuring their families can climb
the levels. They think it a small price to pay for such a thing.’

Again Ebert shook his head, as if the concept were beyond him. ‘Are things so desperate?’

‘Some think they are.’

But Tolonen was thinking of all he had seen these last few months. By comparison with
some of it, these ‘messengers’ were decency itself.

A junior minister and his wife had had their six-month-old baby stolen and sent back
in a jar, boiled and then pickled, its eyes like bloated eggs in the raw pinkness
of its face. Another man
– a rich
Hung Mao
who had refused to cooperate with the rebels – had had his son taken and sold back
to him, less his eyes. That was bad enough, but the kidnappers had sewn
insects into the hollowed sockets, beneath the lids. The ten-year old was mad when
they got him back: as good as dead.

And the culprits? Tolonen shuddered. The inventiveness of their cruelty never ceased
to amaze and sicken him. They were no better than the half-men in the Clay. He felt
no remorse in tracking
down such men and killing them.

‘Marshal Tolonen?’

He half turned. One of the T’ang’s house-servants was standing there, his head bowed
low.

‘Yes?’

‘Forgive me, Excellency, but your daughter is here. At the gatehouse.’

Tolonen turned back and excused himself, then followed the servant through and out
into the great courtyard.

Jelka was waiting by the ornamental pool. She stood there in the shade of the ancient
willow, dropping pebbles into the water and watching the ripples spread. Tolonen stopped,
looking across at
his daughter, his whole being lit by the sight of her. She was standing with her back
to him, the white-gold fall of her hair spilling out across the velvet blue of her
full-length cloak. Her two
bodyguards stood nearby, looking about them casually, but as Tolonen came nearer they
came to attention smartly.

Jelka turned at the sound and, seeing him, dropped the stones and ran across, a great
beam of a smile on her face. Tolonen hugged her to him, lifting her up off the ground
and closing his eyes
to savour the feel of her arms about his back, the softness of her kisses against
his neck. It was a full week since they had seen each other last.

He kissed her brow, then set her down, laughing softly.

‘What is it?’ she said, looking up at him, smiling.

‘Just that you’re growing so quickly. I won’t be able to do that much longer, will
I?’

‘No…’ Her face clouded a moment, then brightened again. ‘I’ve brought Li Yuan and
his betrothed a gift. Erkki has it…’ She turned and one of the two
young guards came across. Taking a small package from his inner pocket, he handed
it to her. She smiled her thanks at him, then turned back to her father, showing him
the present. It fitted easily
into her palm, the silk-paper a bright crimson – the colour of good luck and weddings.

‘What is it?’ he asked, letting her take his arm as they began the walk back to the
palace buildings.

‘You’ll have to wait,’ she teased him. ‘I chose them myself.’

He laughed. ‘And who paid for them, may I ask?’

‘You, of course,’ she said, squeezing his arm. ‘But that’s not the point. I want it
to be a surprise, and you’re useless at keeping secrets!’

‘Me?’ He mimed outrage, then roared with laughter. ‘Ah, but don’t let the T’ang know
that, my love, or your father will be out of a job!’

She beamed up at him, hitting him playfully. ‘You know what I mean. Not the big ones
– the little secrets…’

They had come to the main entrance to the Halls. While a servant took Jelka’s cloak,
Tolonen held the tiny package. He sniffed at it, then put it to his ear and shook
it.

‘It rattles…’

She turned and took it back off him, her face stern, admonishing him. ‘Don’t! They’re
delicate.’

‘They?’ He looked at her, his face a mask of curiosity, but she only laughed and shook
her head.

‘Just wait. It won’t be long…’

Her voice trailed off, her eyes drawn to something behind him.

‘What is it?’ he said quietly, suddenly very still, seeing how intent her eyes were,
as if something dangerous and deadly were at his back.

‘Just something you were saying, the last time General Nocenzi came for dinner. About
all the ways there are of killing people.’

He wanted to turn – to confront whatever it was – but her eyes seemed to keep him
there. ‘And?’ he said, the hairs at his neck bristling now.

‘And Nocenzi said the simplest ways are always the most effective.’

‘So?’

‘So behind you there’s a table. And on the table is what looks like another gift.
But I’m wondering what a gift is doing, lying there neglected on that table. And why
it should
be wrapped as it is, in white silk.’

Tolonen turned and caught his breath. ‘Gods…’

It was huge, like the great seal the T’ang had lifted earlier, but masked in the whiteness
of death.

‘Guard!’ he barked, turning to look across at the soldier in the doorway.

‘Sir?’

‘Who left this here?’

The look of utter bemusement on the soldier’s face confirmed it. It was a bomb. Someone
had smuggled a bomb into the Palace.

‘No one’s been here,’ the soldier began. ‘Only the T’ang’s own servants…’

Tolonen turned away, looking back up the corridor. There were three other guards,
stationed along the corridor. He yelled at them. ‘Here! All of you! Now!’

He watched as they carried the thing outside, their bodies forming a barrier about
the package. Then, his heart pounding in his chest, he turned to Jelka, kneeling down
and drawing her close to
him.

‘Go in. Tell the T’ang what has happened. Then tell Nocenzi to get everyone into the
cellars. At once. Interrupt if you must. Li Shai Tung will forgive you this once,
my little
one.’

He kissed her brow, his chest rising and falling heavily, then got up. She smiled
back at him, then ran off to do as he had told her. He watched her go – saw her childish,
slender figure
disappear into the Hall – then turned and marched off towards the Gatehouse, not knowing
if he would ever see her again.

Nocenzi and young Ebert met him returning from the Gatehouse.

‘Is it a bomb?’ Nocenzi asked, his face grim.

‘No…’ Tolonen answered distractedly, but his face was drawn, all colour gone from
it.

Nocenzi gave a short laugh of relief. ‘Then what is it?’

Tolonen turned momentarily, looking back, then faced them again, shaking his head.
‘They’re bringing it now. But
come. I have to speak to the T’ang. Before he sees it.’

Li Shai Tung got up from his chair as Tolonen entered and came across the room. ‘Well,
Knut, what is it?’

‘
Chieh Hsia
…
’
Tolonen looked about him at the sea of faces gathered in the huge, lantern-lit cellar,
then bowed his head. ‘If I might speak to you
alone.’

‘Is there any danger?’

‘No, Chieh Hsia.’

The T’ang breathed deeply, then turned to his son. ‘Yuan. Take our guests back upstairs.
I will join you all in a moment.’

They waited, the T’ang, Tolonen, Nocenzi and the young Major, as the guests filed
out, each stopping to bow to the T’ang before they left. Then they were alone in the
huge, echoing
cellar.

‘It was not a bomb, then, Knut?’

Tolonen straightened up, his face grave, his eyes strangely pained. ‘No,
Chieh Hsia
. It was a gift. A present for your son and his future bride.’

Li Shai Tung frowned. ‘Then why this?’

‘Because I felt it was something you would not want Li Yuan to have. Perhaps not even
to know about.’

The T’ang stared at him a moment, then looked away, taking two steps then turning
to face him again.

‘Why? What kind of gift is it?’

Tolonen looked past him. There were faint noises on the steps leading down to the
great cellar. ‘It’s here now,
Chieh Hsia
. Judge for yourself.’

They brought it in and set it down on the floor in front of Li Shai Tung. The wrapping
lay over the present loosely, the white silk cut in several places.

‘Was there a card?’ The T’ang asked, looking up from it.

Tolonen bowed his head. ‘There was,
Chieh Hsia
.’

‘I see… But I must guess, eh?’ There was a hint of mild impatience in the T’ang’s
voice that made Tolonen start forward.

‘Forgive me,
Chieh Hsia
. Here…’

Li Shai Tung studied the card a moment, reading the brief, unsigned message, then
looked back at Tolonen. He was silent a moment, thoughtful, then, almost impatiently,
he crouched down on his
haunches and threw the silk back.

Li Shai Tung looked across at Tolonen. The Marshal, like Nocenzi and young Ebert,
had knelt, so as not to be above the T’ang.

The T’ang’s eyes were filled with puzzlement. ‘But this is a
wei
chi board, Knut. And a good one, too. Why should Li Yuan not have this or know of
it?’

In answer Tolonen reached out and took the lids from the two wooden pots that held
the stones.