Wingrove, David - Chung Kuo 02 (18 page)

At the top he
paused and turned, looking back across the ruins of the old town of
Ch'ing Tao. Beyond it the bay of Chiao Chou was a deep cobalt blue,
the gray-green misted shape of Lao Shan rising spectacularly from the
sea, climbing three
li
into the heavens. A thousand
li
to
the east was Korea and beyond it the uninhabitable islands of Japan.

It was a year
since he had last visited this place—a year and two days, to be
precise—but from where he stood, nothing had changed. For his
girls, however, that year had been long and difficult, a year of
exile from Tongjiang and the Prince they loved.

He sighed and
turned back, following the Grand Master through. This was the
smallest of the T'ang's summer palaces and had laid unused since his
greatgrandfathers days. It was kept on now only out of long habit,
the staff of fifty-six servants undisturbed by the needs of their
masters.

Such a shame, he
thought, as he made his way through the pleasantly shaded corridors
into the interior. Yet he understood why. There was danger here. It
was too open, too hard to defend from attack. Whereas Tongjiang . . .

He laughed. The
very idea of attacking Tongjiang!

The Grand Master
slowed and turned, bowing low. "Is anything the matter, Master
Nan?"

"Nothing,"
Nan Ho answered, returning the bow. "I was merely thinking of
the last time I was here. Of the crickets in the garden."

"Ah . . ."
The Grand Master's eyes glazed over, the lids closed momentarily;
then he turned back, shuffling slowly on.

The two girls
were waiting in the Great Conservatory, kneeling on the tiles beside
the pool, their heads bowed.

He dismissed the
Grand Master, waiting until he had left before he hurried across and
pulled the two girls up, holding one in each arm, hugging them
tightly to him, forgetting the gulf in rank that lay between them.

"My
darlings!" he said breathlessly, his heart full. "My pretty
ones! How have you been?"

Pearl Heart
answered for them both.

"Oh, Master
Nan . . . it's so good to see you! We've been so lonely here!"

He sighed
deeply. "Hush, my kittens. Hush now, stop your crying. I've news
for you. Good news. You're leaving this place. Two weeks from now."

They looked up
at him, joy in their faces, then quickly averted their eyes again.
Yes, they had changed, he could see that at once. What had the Grand
Master done to them to make them thus? Had he been cruel? Had there
been worse things than that? Well, he would find out. And if the old
man had misbehaved he would have his skin for it.

Sweet Rose
looked up at him hopefully. "Li Yuan has asked for our return?"

He felt his
heart wrenched from him that he had to disappoint her.

"No, my
little one," he said, stroking her arm. "But he wishes to
see you."
One last time,
he thought, completing the
sentence in his head. "And he has a gift for you both. A special
gift. . ." He shivered. "But he must tell you that. I come
only as a messenger, to help prepare you."

Pearl Heart was
looking down again. "Then she will not have us," she said
quietly.

He squeezed her
to him. "It would not be right. You know that. It was what we
spoke of last time we were here together."

He remembered
the occasion only too well. How he had brought them here in the dark
of night, and how they had wept when he had explained to them why
they must not see their beloved Prince again. He swallowed, thinking
of that time. It had been hard for Li Yuan, too. And admirable in a
strange way. For there had been no need, no custom to fulfill. He
recalled arguing with Li Yuan, querying his word to the point where
the Prince had grown angry with him. Then he had shrugged and gone
off to do as he was bid. But it was not normal. He still felt that
deeply. A man—a Prince, especially—needed the company of
women. And to deny oneself for a whole year, merely because of an
impending wedding! He shook his head. Well, it was like marrying
one's dead brother's wife; it was unheard of.

And yet Li Yuan
had insisted. He would be "pure" for Fei Yen. As if a
year's abstinence could make a man pure! Didn't the blood still flow,
the sap still rise? He loved his master dearly, but he could not lie
to himself and say Li Yuan was right.

He looked down
into the girls' faces, seeing the disappointment there. A year had
not cured
them
of their love. No, and nor would a lifetime, if
it were truly known. Only a fool thought otherwise. Yet Li Yuan was
Prince and his word was final. And though he was foolish in this
regard, at least he was not cruel. The gift he planned to give
them—the gift Nan Ho had said he could not speak of—was
to be their freedom. More than that, the two sisters were to be given
a dowry, a handsome sum, enough to see them well married, assured the
luxuries of First Level.

No, it wasn't
cruel. But neither was it kind.

Nan Ho shook his
head and smiled. "Still... let us go through. We'll have some
wine and make ourselves more comfortable," he said, holding them
tighter against him momentarily. "And then you can tell me all
about the wicked Grand Master and how he tried to have his way with
you."

* *
*

CHUANG LI AN ,
wife of Minister Chuang, lay among the silken pillows of her bed,
fanning herself indolently, watching the young officer out of
half-lidded eyes as he walked about her room, stopping to lift and
study a tiny statue or to gaze out at the garden. The pale-cream
sleeping robe she wore had fallen open, revealing her tiny breasts;
yet she acted as if she were unaware, enjoying the way his eyes kept
returning to her.

She was
forty-five—forty-six in little over a month—and was proud
of her breasts. She had heard how other women's breasts sagged,
either from neglect or from the odious task of child-bearing, but she
had been lucky. Her husband was a rich man—a powerful man—and
had hired wet nurses to raise his offspring. And she had kept her
health and her figure. Each morning, after exercising, she would
study herself in the mirror and thank Kuan Yin for blessing her with
the one thing that, in this world of Men, gave a woman power over
them.

She had been
beautiful. In her own eyes she was beautiful still. But her husband
was an old man now and she was still a woman, with a woman's needs.
Who could blame her if she took a lover to fill the idle days with a
little joy? So it was for a woman in her position, married to a man
thirty years her senior. Yet there was still the need to be discreet,
to find the right man for her bed. A young and virile man, certainly,
but also a man of breeding, of quality. And what better than this
young officer?

He turned,
looking directly at her, and smiled. "Where is the Minister
today?"

Chuang Lian
averted her eyes, her fan pausing in its slow rhythm, then starting
up again, its measure suddenly erratic, as if indicative of some
inner disturbance. It was an old game, and she enjoyed the pretense;
yet there was no mistaking the way her pulse quickened when he looked
at her like that. Such a predatory look it was. And his eyes, so blue
they were. When he looked at her it was as if the sky itself gazed
down at her through those eyes. She shivered. He was so different
from her husband. So alive. So strong. Not the smallest sign of
weakness in him.

She glanced up
at him again. "Chuang Ming is at his office. Where else would he
be at this hour?"

"I thought
perhaps he would be here. If I were he . . ."

His eyes
finished the sentence for him. She saw how he looked at her breasts,
the pale flesh of her thighs showing between the folds of silk, and
felt a tiny shiver down her spine. He wanted her. She knew that now.
But it would not do to let him have her straight away. The game must
be played out—that was half its delight.

She eased up
onto her elbows, putting her fan aside, then reached up to touch the
single orchid in her hair. "Chuang Ming is a proper
Lao Kuan,
a Great Official. But in bed . . ." She laughed softly, and
turned her eyes on him again. "Well, let us say he is
hsiao
jen,
neh? A little man."

When he laughed
he showed his teeth. Such strong, white, perfect teeth. But her eyes
had been drawn lower than his face, wondering.

He came closer,
then sat on the foot of the bed, his hand resting gently on her
ankle. "And you are tired of little men?"

For a moment she
stared at his hand where it rested against her flesh, transfixed by
his touch; then she looked up at him again, her breath catching
unexpectedly in her throat. This was not how she had planned it.

"I . . ."
But his warm laughter, the small movements of his fingers against her
foot, distracted her. After a moment she let herself laugh, then
leaned forward, covering his hand with her own. So small and delicate
it seemed against his, the dark olive of her flesh a stark contrast
to his whiteness.

She laced her
fingers among his and met his eyes. "I have a present for you."

"A
present?"

"A
first-meeting gift."

He laughed. "But
we have met often,
Fu Jen
Chuang."

"Lian . .
." She said softly, hating the formality of his "Madam,"
even if his eyes revealed he was teasing her. "You must call me
Lian here."

Unexpectedly he
drew her closer, his right hand curled gently but firmly about her
neck, then leaned forward, kissing her brow, her nose. "As you
wish, my little lotus . . ."

Her eyes looked
up at him, wide, for one brief moment afraid of him, of the power in
him; then she looked away, laughing, covering her momentary slip,
hoping he had not seen through, into her.

"Sweet
Flute!" she called lightly, looking past him, then looking back
at him, smiling again. "Bring the
ch'un tzu's
present!"

She placed her
hand lightly against his chest, then stood up, moving past him but
letting her hand brush against his hair, then rest upon his shoulder,
maintaining the contact between them, feeling a tiny inner thrill
when he placed his hand against the small of her back.

Sweet Flute was
her
mui tsai,
a pretty young thing of fifteen her husband had
bought Chuang Lian for her last birthday. She approached them now
demurely, her head lowered, the gift held out before her.

She felt the
young officer shift on the bed behind her, clearly interested in what
she had bought him; then, dismissing the girl, she turned and faced
him, kneeling to offer him the gift, her head bowed.

His smile
revealed his pleasure at her subservient attitude. Then, with the
smallest bow of his head, he began to unwrap the present. He let the
bright red wrapping fall, then looked up at her. "What is it?"

"Well, it's
not one of the Five Classics . . ."

She sat beside
him on the bed and opened the first page, then looked up into his
face, seeing at once how pleased he was.

"Gods . .
." he said quietly, then laughed. A soft, yet wicked laugh.
"What is this?"

She leaned into
him, kissing his neck softly, then whispered in his ear. "It's
the
Chin P'ing
Mei,
the Golden Lotus. I thought you
might like it."

She saw how his
finger traced the outlines of the ancient illustration, pausing where
the two bodies met in that most intimate of embraces. Then he turned
his head slowly and looked at her.

"And I
brought you nothing . . ."

"No,"
she said, closing the book and drawing him down beside her, her gown
falling open. "You're wrong, Hans Ebert. You brought me
yourself."

* *
*

THE eighth BELL
was sounding as they gathered in Nocenzi's office at the top of
Bremen fortress. Besides Nocenzi, there were thirteen members of the
General Staff, every man ranking captain or above. Ebert had been
among the first to arrive, tipped off by his captain, Auden, that
something was afoot.

Nocenzi was
grim-faced. He convened the meeting and came swiftly to the point.

"Ch'un
tzu,
I have brought you here at short notice because this
evening, at or around six, a number of senior Company
Heads—twenty-six in all—were assassinated, for no
apparent reason that we can yet make out."

There was a low
murmur of surprise. Nocenzi nodded somberly, then continued.

"I've
placed a strict media embargo on the news for forty-eight hours, to
try to give us a little time, but we all know how impossible it is to
check the passage of rumor, and the violent death of so many
prominent and respected members of the trading community
will
be
noticed. Moreover, coming so closely upon the attack on Helmstadt
Armory, we are concerned that the news should not further destabilize
an already potentially explosive situation. I don't have to tell you,
therefore, how urgent it is that we discover both the reason for
these murders and the identity of those who perpetrated them."

One of the men
seated at the front of the room, nearest Nocenzi, raised his hand.

"Yes,
Captain Scott?"

"Forgive
me, sir, but how do we know these murders are connected?"

"We don't.
In fact, one of the mysteries is that they're all so very
different—their victims seemingly unconnected in any way
whatsoever. But the very fact that twenty-six separate assassinations
took place within the space of ten minutes on or around the hour
points very clearly to a very tight orchestration of events, wouldn't
you say?"

Another hand
went up. Nocenzi turned, facing the questioner. "Yes, Major
Hoffmann?"

"Could this
be a Triad operation? There have been rumors for some time that some
of the big bosses have been wanting to expand their operations into
the higher levels."