Chapter 40

THE SCENT OF PLUM BLOSSOM

The big man came at Chen like an automaton, swinging and punching, kicking and butting, making Chen duck and bob and jump to evade the furious rain of blows. Back and back he was pushed until his shoulders thudded painfully against the wall. He ducked then kicked off from the wall, head first, aiming for the stomach of the big man. But he was too slow. The big man parried him, linking both hands to form a shield and thrust him down into the floor. Then, before Chen could get his breath, he was yanked up by one huge hand and pinned against the wall.

Chen chopped down against the arm desperately, but it was like hitting an iron bar. The arm quivered but held him firm. Chen swallowed and met the big man’s eyes, conscious of the power there, the control.

The big man drew back his free arm, his fist forming a phoenix eye – a feng huang yen ching – the knuckle of the first finger extended, ready to strike and shatter Chen’s skull.

Chen closed his eyes, then laughed. ‘It’s no good, my friend. I have no counter to your strength and skill.’

Karr held him there a moment longer, his fist poised as if to strike, then relaxed, letting Chen slide down onto the floor again.

‘Then we must work at it until you do.’

Chen squatted on his haunches, getting his breath. He looked up at Karr, smiling now. ‘I can’t see why. There’s only one of you, Shih Karr. And you’re on my side. For which I thank the gods.’

Karr’s sternness evaporated. ‘Maybe now, Chen, but one day they’ll make machines like me. I guarantee it. Things like those copies that came from Mars. Even now, I’d warrant, they’re working on them somewhere. I’d rather find an answer now than wait for them to come, wouldn’t you?’

They had spent the morning working out extensively, first with stick and sword and spear – kuai chang shu, tao shu and ch’iang shu – then with their bare hands, concentrating on the ‘hand of the wind’ – feng shou kung fu – style that Karr favoured. It was the first time the two men had seen each other in several months and they had enjoyed the friendly tussle, but Karr had not asked Chen here simply to polish his skills.

After they had showered they sat in the refectory, a large jug of hot sweet almond ch’a on the table between them – a delicacy Chen’s wife, Wang Ti, had introduced them to.

‘How is young Jyan?’ Karr asked. ‘I’ve meant to visit, but the T’ang has kept me busy these past months.’

Chen smiled and bowed his head slightly, but his eyes lit at the mention of his son. ‘Jyan is well. Only four and already he knows all the stances. You should see how well he executes the kou shih. Such balance he has! And when he kicks he really kicks! You should see the bruises on my legs!’

Karr laughed. ‘And Wang Ti?’

Chen looked down, his smile broadening. ‘Wang Ti is Wang Ti. Like the sun she is there each morning. Like the moon she shines brilliantly at night.’

Again the big man laughed, then grew quiet. ‘I hear you have news, Chen. The very best of news.’

Chen looked up, surprised, then smiled broadly. ‘Who told you, Shih Karr? Who ruined my moment? I wanted to tell you myself!’

Karr tilted his head. ‘Well… Let’s just say I heard, neh? You know me, Chen. There’s little that escapes my notice.’

‘Or your grasp!’

Both men laughed.

‘Anyway,’ said Karr, lifting his bowl in salute. ‘Here’s to your second child! May he be strong and healthy!’

Chen raised his bowl. ‘Thank you, my friend.’ He sipped, then looked directly at Karr. ‘This is very pleasant, Shih Karr. We do this too little these days. But tell me, why am I here? Is there a job for me? Something you want me to do?’

Karr smiled. ‘There might be.’

‘Might be? Why only might?’

The big man looked down, then reached across and filled his bowl again. ‘I’ve a lead on DeVore. I think I know where he is.’

Chen laughed, astonished. ‘DeVore? We’ve found him?’

‘Maybe. I’ve trailed him three years since he evaded us at Nanking spaceport. Three years, Chen. I’ve tracked down eight of the ten men who helped him get away that day, but not one of them knew a thing, not one of them helped me get a fraction closer. But now things have changed – now I think I have him.’

‘Then what’s the problem? Why don’t you just go in and finish him off?’

Karr sniffed deeply. ‘It’s difficult. The T’ang wants him alive. He wants DeVore to stand trial. If possible to provide us with conclusive evidence against the other Dispersionists.’

‘I see. Even so, what stops you from taking him?’

‘The House. The stink they would make if we went in and took the wrong man.’

Chen shook his head. Still he didn’t understand.

‘The man we believe to be DeVore is an overseer. Understand me, Chen? On one of the big East European plantations. And that’s a House appointment. If we go barging in there mistakenly the Dispersionists would have a field day attacking us for our heavy-handedness. And things are critical at the moment. The House is finely balanced and the Seven daren’t risk that balance, even for DeVore. So we must be certain this Overseer Bergson is our man.’

‘How certain?’

As certain as a retinal print could make us.’

Chen looked down into his ch’a and laughed. ‘And how do we do that? Do you think DeVore will sit there calmly while we check him out?’

Karr gave a tiny laugh and nodded, meeting his friend’s eyes again. ‘Maybe. Maybe that’s just what he’ll do. You see, Chen, that’s where I thought you might come in.’

Tolonen watched his nine-year-old daughter run from the sea, her head thrown back, exhilarated. Behind her the waves broke white on the dark sand. Beyond, the distant islands were dim shapes of green and brown in the haze. Jelka stood there at the water’s edge, smoothing her small, delicate hands through her hair. Long, straight hair like her mother’s, darkened by the water. Her pure white costume showed off her winter tan, her body sleek, childlike.

She saw him there and smiled as she came up the beach towards him. He was sitting on the wide, shaded patio, the breakfast things still on the table before him. The Han servant had yet to come and clear it all away. He set down his book, returning her smile.

‘What’s it like?’

‘Wonderful!’ Her laughter rippled in the air. ‘You should join me. It would do you good.’

‘Well…’ He shrugged. Maybe he would.

She sprawled in the lounger opposite him. A young animal, comfortable in her body. Unselfconscious. He looked at her, conscious more than ever that she was the image of her mother. Especially now, like this.

He had met her mother on an island similar to here. On the far side of the world from where he now sat. One summer almost thirty years before.

He had been a General even then. The youngest in the service of the Seven and the ablest. He had gone to Goteborg to see his father’s sister, Hanna. In those days he made the trip twice a year, mindful of the fact that Hanna had looked after him those times his mother had been ill.

For once he had had time to stay more than a day, and when Hanna had suggested they fly up to Fredrikstad and visit the family’s summer home, he had agreed at once. From Fredrikstad they had taken a motor cruiser to the islands south of the City.

He had thought they would be alone on the island – he, Hanna, and her two sons. But when the cruiser pulled up at the jetty, he saw that there were others there already. He had gone inside, apprehensive because he had not been warned there would be other guests, and was delighted to find not strangers but his oldest friend, Pietr Endfors, there in the low-ceilinged front cabin, waiting to greet him.

Endfors had married a girl from the far north. A cold, elegant beauty with almost-white hair and eyes like the arctic sea. They had an eight-year-old daughter, Jenny.

It had not happened at once. At first she was merely the daughter of an old friend; a beautiful little girl with an engaging smile and a warmth her mother seemed to lack. From the start, however, she had taken to him and by that evening was perched immovably in his lap. He liked her from that first moment, but even he could not tell how attached he would become.

When Pietr and his wife had died eight years later, he had become Jenny’s guardian. Four years later he had married her. He had been thirty years her senior.

He returned from the bitter-sweet reverie and focused on his daughter.

‘You’ve not been listening to a word, have you?’

He laughed and shook his head. ‘Just reminiscing.’ He sat up in his chair and reached across to feel the ch’a kettle. It was lukewarm. He grunted, then shouted for the servant.

‘I was just saying. We ought to go home. It seems time. Don’t you think?’

He looked sharply at her, then, confused by what she had said, shook his head. It was not so much a negative as an acknowledgment that he had not considered the matter. Go home? Why? Why was it time?

‘Are you tired of all this?’ he asked, almost incredulous. She seemed so happy here.

‘I’m happy enough. But it’s not me I’m thinking of, it’s you. You’re going soft here. Wasting away.’ She looked up at him, concern in her young eyes. ‘I want you to be as you were. I don’t want you to be like this. That’s all…’

He couldn’t argue with that. He felt it in himself. Each day it seemed to get worse. Sitting here with nothing to do. Ordered to do nothing. He felt more and more restless as the months passed; more and more impotent. That was the worst of exile.

‘What can I do? I have to be here.’

She could feel the bitterness in his voice, see the resignation in his hunched shoulders. It hurt her to be witness to such things. But for once she could help him.

‘Where is that bloody servant!’ he cried out, anger and frustration boiling over. She waited for him to finish, then told him that she had sent the servant away earlier.

‘I want to talk to you.’

He looked at her, surprised by the grown-up tone of her voice. ‘Talk, eh? What about?’

She looked away, stared out at the sea, the distant islands of the Kepulauan Barat Daya. ‘This is beautiful, isn’t it? The colours of the sky and sea. But it’s the wrong kind of beauty. It doesn’t…’ She struggled for some way of expressing what she was feeling, then shook her head.

He knew what she meant, though. It was beautiful. But it was a soft, pearled beauty. It didn’t touch his soul the way the fjords, the mountains touched him. The unvarying warmth, the mists, the absence of seasonal change – these things irked him.

‘I wish…’ he began, then shook his head firmly. There was no use wishing. Li Shai Tung had exiled him here. He would live out his days on this island.

‘What?’ she asked. She had stood and was waiting at his side, looking at him, her head on the level of his own.

He reached out a hand and caressed her cheek, then let his hand rest on her bare shoulder. The skin was cool and dry.

‘Why should I wish for anything more than what I have?’ He frowned, thinking that he might have been killed for what he had done; and then she would have been alone, an orphan. Or worse. He had acted without understanding that. In his anger he had gambled that the T’ang would act as he had. Yet it pained him greatly now to think what might have been: the hurt he could have caused her – maybe even her death.

She seemed to sense this. Leaning forward she kissed his brow, his cheek. ‘You did what you had to. Li Shai Tung understood that.’

He laughed at that. ‘Understood? He was furious!’

‘Only because he had to be.’

He removed his hand, leaned back in his chair. ‘What is this, Jelka? What have you heard?’

She laughed. ‘You were sleeping when he came. I didn’t want to disturb you. I know how bad the nights are for you.’

He reached out. ‘Who? Who has come?’

She reached up and took his hands from where they lay on her shoulders, then held them, turning them over. Strong, fine hands.

‘Well?’ he prompted, impatient now, but laughing too. ‘Tell me!’

‘General Nocenzi.’

He sat back heavily.

‘He’s in the house. Shall I bring him?’

He looked up at her distractedly, then nodded. ‘Yes. It will be good to see Vittorio again.’

He watched her go, then let his gaze drift out over the surface of the sea. Nocenzi. It could mean only one thing. They had come for his head.

Friends had kept him informed. They had told him of the growing demand for ‘justice’ in the Lehmann case. Lately there had been rumours that the House was about to indict him for the murder. Well, now the T’ang had succumbed to that pressure. And he, Tolonen, would be made to account for what he’d done.

He shivered, thinking of Jelka, then turned to see that Nocenzi was already there, standing on the sand by the corner of the house, his cap under his arm.

‘Knut…’

The two men embraced warmly and stood there a moment simply looking at each other. Then Tolonen looked down.

‘I know why you’ve come.’

Nocenzi laughed strangely. ‘You’ve read my orders, then, General?’

Tolonen met his eyes again, then shook his head. ‘Just Shih Tolonen. You’re General now, Vittorio.’

Nocenzi studied him awhile, then smiled. ‘Let’s sit, neh? Jelka said she’d bring fresh ch’a.’

They sat, not facing each other but looking outward at the sea.

Nocenzi noted the book that lay face down on the table. ‘What are you reading?’

Tolonen handed him the old, leather-bound volume and watched him smile. It was Sun Tzu’s Chan Shu, his ‘Art of War’, dating from the third century BC. The Clavell translation.

‘They say the Ch’in warriors were mad. They ran into battle without armour.’

Tolonen laughed. ‘Yes, Vittorio, but there were a million of them. Nor had they ever tasted defeat.’

There was a moment’s tense silence, then Tolonen turned to face his old friend. ‘Tell me straight, Vittorio. Is it as I fear? Am I to pay for what I did?’

Nocenzi looked back at him. ‘Lehmann deserved what you did to him. There are many who believe that.’

‘Yes,’ Tolonen insisted. ‘But am I to pay?’

Tolonen’s successor gazed back at the man he had served under for almost a quarter of a century and smiled. ‘You said you knew why I had come, Knut. But you were wrong. I haven’t come for your head. I’ve come because the T’ang has asked to see you.’

Li Yuan cried out and woke in the semi-darkness, his heart beating wildly, the feeling of the dark horse beneath him still vivid, the scent of plum blossom filling his nostrils.

He shivered and sat up, aware of the warm stickiness of his loins. Sweat beaded his brow and chest. The satin sheets were soaked about him. He moaned softly and put his head in his hands. Fei Yen… He had been riding with Fei Yen. Faster and faster they had ridden, down, down the long slope until, with a jolt and a powerful stretching motion he could feel in his bones even now, his horse had launched itself at the fence.

He threw the sheets back and, in the half-light, looked down at himself. His penis was still large, engorged with blood, but it was flaccid now. With a little shudder he reached down and touched the wetness. The musty smell of his own semen was strong, mixed with the lingering scent of plum blossom. He sniffed deeply, confused, then remembered. The silk she had given him lay on the bedside table, its perfume pervading the air.

He looked across at the broad ivory face of the bedside clock. It was just after four. He stood, about to go through and shower, when there were noises outside the door, then a muted knocking.

Li Yuan threw the cover back, then took a robe from the side and drew it on.

‘Come!’

Nan Ho stood in the doorway, head bowed, a lantern in one hand.

‘Are you all right, Prince Yuan?’

Nan Ho was his body servant; his head man, in charge of the eight juniors in his household-within-a-household.

‘It was…’ He shuddered. ‘It was only a dream, Nan Ho. I’m fine.’

He glanced round at the bed, then, slightly embarrassed by the request, added, ‘Would you bring clean sheets, Nan Ho. I…’

He turned away sharply, realizing he was holding Fei Yen’s silk.

Nan Ho looked to him then to the bed and bowed. ‘I’ll be but a moment, Prince Yuan.’ Then he hesitated. ‘Is there…?’ He moved his head slightly to one side, as if finding difficulty with what he was about to say. ‘Is there anything I can arrange for you, Prince Yuan?’

Li Yuan swallowed, then shook his head. ‘I don’t understand you, Nan Ho? What might you arrange at this hour?’

Nan Ho came into the room and closed the door behind him. Then, in a softer voice, he said, ‘Perhaps the Prince would like Pearl Heart to come and see to him?’

Pearl Heart was one of the maids. A young girl of fifteen years.

‘Why should I want Pearl Heart… ?’ he began, then saw what Nan Ho meant and looked away.

‘Well, Highness?’

He held back the anger he felt, keeping his voice calm; the voice of a prince, a future T’ang.

‘Just bring clean sheets, Nan Ho. I’ll tell you when I need anything else.’

Nan Ho bowed deeply and turned to do as he was bid. Only when he was gone did Li Yuan look down at the wet silk in his hand and realize he had wiped himself with it.

Chen stood there in the queue, naked, waiting his turn. The sign over the doorway read DECONTAMINATION. The English letters were black. Beneath them, in big red pictograms was the equivalent Mandarin. Chen looked about him, noting that it was one of the rare few signs here that had an English translation. The Lodz Clearing Station handled more than three hundred thousand people a day, and almost all of them were Han. It was strange that. Unexpected.

Beyond the doorway were showers and disinfectant baths: primitive but effective solutions to the problem of decontaminating millions of workers every week. He shuffled along, ignoring his nakedness and the nakedness of those on every side, resisting the temptation to scratch at the skin patch beneath his left ear.

A Hung Mao guard pushed him through the doorway brutally and, like those in front of him, Chen bowed his head and walked on slowly through the stinging coldness of the showers, then down the steps into the bath, holding his breath as he ducked underwater.

Then he was outside, in daylight, goose-pimples on his flesh. A guard thrust clothes into his arms – a loincloth, a drab brown overall and a coolie hat – and then he was queueing again.

‘Tong Chou?’

He answered to his alias and pushed through to the front to collect his ID card and his pack, checking briefly to make sure they had not confiscated the viewing-tube. Then he found a space and, holding the card between his teeth, the pack between his feet, got quickly dressed.

He followed the flow of people through, one of thousands, identically dressed. At the end of a long walled roadway the crowd spilled out into a wide arena. This was the embarkation area. Once more the signs were all in Kuo-yu, or Mandarin. Chen turned and looked back, seeing, for the first time, the wall of the City towering over them, stretching away whitely into the distance to either side. Then he looked down, searching for the pictogram he had learned – Hsia, the crab. Seeing it, he made his way across and up the ramp, stopping at the barrier to show his ID.

The train was packed. He squeezed in, smiling apologetically as he made his way through, then turned, waiting.

He had not long to wait. The train was crowded and extremely stuffy, the smell of disinfected bodies overpowering, but it was fast. Within the hour he was at Hsia Plantation, stumbling from the carriage, part of the crowd that made its way slowly down the ramp and out into the open.

There was a faint, unpleasant scent to the air, like something stale or overcooked. Chen looked up, then looked down again quickly, his eyes unused to the brightness. The sun blazed down overhead; a huge, burning circle of light – bigger, much brighter than he remembered it. Ahead of him the land stretched away forever – flat and wide and green. Greener, much greener, than he’d ever imagined.

He smiled. Wang Ti would have liked to have seen this. She had always said she would love to live outside, beneath the sun and the stars, her feet planted firmly on the black earth. As their forefathers had once lived.

For a moment Chen’s smile broadened, thinking of her and Jyan and the child to come, then his face cleared as he put all thought of her behind. He was Tong Chou now and had no family. Tong Chou, demoted from the levels. Tong Chou. Until this was over.

The crowd slowed. Another queue formed. Chen waited, patient, knowing that patience alone would carry him through the coming days. When he came to the barrier a guard babbled at him in Kuo-yu. He shook his head. ‘I’m new,’ he said. ‘I only speak English. You know, Ying Kuo.’

The guard laughed and turned to say something to one of his fellows, again in Mandarin. The other guard laughed and looked Chen up and down, then said something that made the first guard laugh crudely. They were both Hung Mao.

He handed the guard his permit, then waited while the man scrutinized it thoroughly and, with a show of self-importance, used his comset to double-check. He seemed almost disappointed to find nothing wrong with it.

‘Take care, Han,’ the guard said, thrusting his card back at him.

He moved on, keeping his head down, following the flow.

‘Chiao shen me ming tsu?’

Chen looked up, expecting another guard, but the young man who had addressed him wore the drab brown of a field worker. Moreover, he was Hung Mao. The first Hung Mao he had seen here who was not a guard.

He looked the youth up and down, then answered him. ‘I’m sorry. My Mandarin is very poor.’

The young man had a long face and round, watery blue eyes. His hair was dark but wispy and his mouth was crooked, as if he had suffered a stroke. But he was far too young, too fit, to be suffering from heart troubles. The crooked mouth smiled and the eyes gave Chen the same scrutiny Chen had given him.

‘I’m Pavel,’ the youth said, inclining his head the slightest degree. ‘I was asking what they called you.’

‘Tong Chou,’ Chen answered, then realized how easily it had come to his lips.

Pavel took one of his hands and turned it over, examining it. ‘I thought so,’ he said. ‘You’re new to this.’

Chen smiled. There were things that could not be faked, like calluses on the palms. ‘I’m a refugee from the levels,’ he said. ‘When my father died I got into debt over his funeral. Then I got in with a shark. You know how it is.’

Pavel looked at him a moment, his watery blue eyes trying to figure him; then his crooked mouth smiled again. ‘Come on, Tong Chou. You’ll need someone to show you the ropes. There’s a spare bed in our hut. You can kip down there.’

Pavel set off at once, moving away from the slow moving column of new recruits. Only as he turned did Chen notice something else about him. His back was hunched, the spine bent unnaturally. What Chen had taken for a bow of politeness was the young man’s natural gait. Chen followed him quickly, catching up with him. As they walked along the dirt path Pavel began to talk, explaining how things worked on the plantation.

‘How did you know I was new?’

Pavel glanced sideways at him. ‘The way you walk. The way you’re wearing those clothes. The way you squint against the sun. Oh, a hundred little signs. What were you up above? You’ve strong hands. They’re not an office-worker’s hands.’

‘But not a peasant’s either?’

Pavel laughed, throwing his head back to do so. Chen, watching him, decided he liked the youth. He looked a dull-wit, but he was sharp. Very sharp.

‘And where are you from, Pavel?’

Pavel sniffed, then looked away across the vast plain. ‘Me? I was born here.’

‘Here?’

Pavel smiled crookedly and nodded. ‘Here. In these fields.’

Ahead of them was a break in the green. A long black line that cut right across their path. The dirt track led out onto a wooden bridge. Halfway across the bridge Chen stopped, looking down.

Pavel came back to him and looked where he was looking, as if expecting to see something unusual in the water. ‘What is it?’

Chen laughed. ‘It’s nothing.’ But he had realized that he had never seen water flow like this before. Taps and baths and pools, that was all he had ever seen. It had made him feel strange. Somehow incomplete.

Pavel looked at him, then laughed. ‘What did you say you were?’

They went on. The field they had crossed had been empty, but beyond the bridge it was different. Long lines of workers – five hundred, maybe a thousand to each line – were stretched out across the vast green, hunched forward, huge wicker baskets on their backs, their coolie hats making them seem a thousand copies of the same machine. Yet each was a man or woman – a person, like himself.

Where the path met another at a crossroads, a group of men were lounging by an electric cart. They were dressed differently, in smart black trousers and kingfisher blue jackets. They wore black, broad-rimmed hats with silk tassels hanging from the back and most of them had guns – Deng rifles, Chen noted – strapped to their shoulders. As Chen and Pavel approached, they seemed to stir expectantly.

Pavel touched Chen’s arm, his voice a whisper. ‘Keep your head down and keep walking. Don’t stop unless they specifically order you to.’

Chen did as Pavel said. Even so, two of the men detached themselves from the group and came across onto the path, blocking their way. They were big, brutal-looking. Han, both of them.

‘Who’s this, Pavel?’ one of them asked.

The youth kept his head lowered. ‘This is Tong Chou, Shih Teng. I am taking him to register.’

Teng laughed caustically and looked at his fellow. ‘You’re quite a bit out of your way then, Pavel. Registration is back there, where you’ve just come from. Or have they moved it since I was last there?’

There was laughter from the men by the cart.

Chen glanced at the youth and saw how he swallowed nervously. But he wasn’t finished yet. ‘Forgive me, Shih Teng. That would be so normally. But Tong Chou is a replacement. He has been drafted to fill the place left by Field Supervisor Sung’s unfortunate death. I was told to take him direct to Acting Supervisor Ming. Ming is to fill out a special registration form.’

Teng was silent a moment, then he stepped aside. ‘Get moving, then. I want to see you both in the fields within the hour, understand me?’

Pavel dipped his head, then hurried on. Chen followed, keeping his eyes on the ground.

‘Who were they?’ Chen asked, when they were out of hearing.

‘Teng Fu and Chang Yan. They’re the Overseer’s men. Chang’s fairly docile. Teng’s the one you need to watch. He’s a vicious piece of work. Thinks he’s something special. Fortunately he knows very little about how this place works. But that’s true of most of them. There’s not one of those guards has any brains. Providing you keep your nerve you can convince them of anything.’

Chen nodded. ‘You were frightened, though. You took a risk for me. I’m grateful for that, Pavel.’

Pavel breathed deeply. ‘Not for you, so much, Tong Chou, but for all of us. They say the spirits of the dead have no shadows, but the death of Field Supervisor Sung and his wife have left a darkness here that no man can dispel.’

Chen looked thoughtfully at him. ‘I see.’

‘I’ll tell you some time,’ the youth said, glancing at him.

They walked on. Up ahead of them, maybe ten li or so in the distance, the straight line of the horizon was broken by a building; a huge, three-tiered pagoda.

‘What’s that?’ Chen asked.

Pavel didn’t even bother to look up. ‘That? That’s the Overseer’s House.’

As he watched a faint speck lifted from the fields close by the building and came towards them. A Security cruiser. The sound of its engines followed seconds later; muted at first, but growing louder by the moment. Minutes later it passed overhead, the shadow of the big craft sweeping across the fields.

Chen looked back at the Overseer’s House and nodded to himself. So that was where he was. Well, Shih Bergson, he thought, I’ll find out all I can about this place. Then I’ll pay you a visit. And find out if you are who we think you are.

DeVore looked down from the window of the craft as it swept south over the fields, the fingers of one hand absently tracing the surface of the object in the other.

‘What is that?’

The voice was cold, chillingly free of intonation, but DeVore was used to it by now. It was the voice of his dead friend. He turned and looked at Lehmann’s albino son, then handed him the tiny rose quartz snuff bottle.

‘It was a first meeting gift from Douglas. He saw me admiring it.’

Lehmann examined it, then handed it back. ‘What did you give him?’

‘I sent him a copy of Pecorini and Shu’s The Game Of Wei Chi. The Longman edition of 1929.’

Lehmann was silent a moment, considering. ‘It seems an odd gift. Douglas doesn’t play.’

‘No, but he should. All men – men of any ability – should play.’ DeVore tucked the bottle away in the pocket of his jacket. ‘Do you play, Stefan?’

Lehmann turned his head slowly, until he was facing DeVore. The albino’s dead eyes seemed to stare straight through him. ‘What do you think?’

DeVore smiled coldly. ‘I think you do. I’d say you were a good player. Unorthodox, but good.’

Lehmann made no reaction. He turned his head back, facing the front of the craft.

Like a machine, DeVore thought, chilled and yet strangely delighted by the boy. I could make something of you, given time.

They were flying down to the Swiss Wilds, to meet Weis and see how work was going on the first of the fortresses.

DeVore looked back out the window. Two figures trudged along one of the paths far below. Field workers, their coolie hats making them seem like two tiny, black wei chi stones against the criss-cross pattern of the fields. Then they were gone and the craft was rising, banking to the right.

He had been busy since the meeting at Douglas’s. The business with Lehmann’s son had taken him totally by surprise, but he had recovered quickly. Using his contacts in Security he had had the mother traced; had investigated her past and discovered things about her that no one in her immediate circle knew. His man had gone to her and confronted her with what they knew.

And now she was his. A handle. A way, perhaps, of controlling Stefan Lehmann should he prove troublesome.

DeVore smiled and turned back to the youth. ‘Perhaps we should play a game some time?’

Lehmann did not even look at him. ‘No.’

DeVore studied the youth a moment, then looked away. So he understands, he thought. He knows how much of a man’s character is reflected in the mirror of the board, the stones. Yet his refusal says a lot about him. He’s more cautious than his father. Colder. More calculating. Yes, I bet he’s very good at the game. It’s a shame he won’t play. It would have been a challenge.

The journey took them less than an hour. Weis met them in the landing dome, furred and gloved, anxious to complete his business and get away. DeVore saw this and decided to keep him – to play upon his fears, his insecurity.

‘You’ll eat with us, I hope, Shih Weis?’

He saw Weis’s inner hesitation; saw how he assessed the possible damage of a refusal and weighed it against his own discomfort. A banker. Always, first and foremost, a banker.

‘Well?’ DeVore insisted, loading the scales against refusal.

‘I have a meeting at six.’

It was just after one. DeVore took his elbow lightly and turned him towards the exit. ‘Then we have plenty of time, neh? Come. I don’t know about you, Shih Weis, but I’m famished.’

They were high up, almost thirteen thousand feet, and it was cold outside the dome of the landing platform, the sun lost behind thick cloud cover. Landeck Base was some way above them on the mountainside, a vast, flattened hemisphere, its brilliant whiteness blending with the snow and ice surrounding it. Beneath its cover, work had begun already on the fortress.

‘It’s a beautiful sight, don’t you think, Major?’ Weis said as he stepped out onto the snow, his breath pluming in the chill air.

DeVore smiled, then looked about him. ‘You’re right, Weis,’ he said, noting how Weis had used his real identity yet again. ‘It is beautiful.’ But he knew Weis was talking about the base up ahead of them, not the natural beauty of their surroundings.

They were on the eastern slope of a great glacial valley – a huge trench more than two li deep and one across. It ran north-west, ringed on all sides by the brutal shapes of mountains. Cloud obscured the distance, but it could not diminish the purity of the place. This land was untouched, elemental. He felt at home here.

He stopped in the snow field just beneath the Base and studied the great, shield-like dome, thinking of the seven great Security garrisons ringing the Swiss Wilds, like seven black stones placed on a giant board. The T’ang’s handicap. He laughed softly. Well, now he had placed the first white stone. The great game had begun.

Guards wearing full snow camouflage let them inside, then searched them. DeVore submitted patiently, smiling at the guard when he handed back the tiny snuff bottle. Only Weis seemed upset by the routine.

‘Is this really necessary?’ he huffed irritably, turning to DeVore as the soldier continued his body search.

‘It’s necessary, I assure you, Shih Weis. One small device could tear this place apart. And then your backers would be very angry that we had not taken such precautions.’ He laughed. ‘Isn’t that how you bankers think? Don’t you always assume the worst possible case and then act accordingly?’

Weis bowed his head, ceding the point, but DeVore could see he was still far from happy.

A door from the Secure Area led out into the dome itself. Mobile factories had been set up all over the dome floor and men were hard at work on every side – manufacturing the basic equipment for the Base. But the real work was being done beneath their feet – in the heart of the mountain. Down there they were hewing out the tunnels and chambers of Landeck Base from the solid rock. When it was finished there would be no sign from the air.

They crossed the dome floor. On the far side was an area screened off from the rest of the dome. Here the first of DeVore’s recruits were temporarily housed. Here they slept and ate and trained, until better quarters were hewn from the rock for them.

DeVore turned to Weis and Lehmann, and indicated that they should go through. ‘We’ll be eating with the men,’ he said, and saw – as he had expected – how discomfited Weis was by the news. He had thought that other arrangements – special arrangements – had been made.

DeVore studied him, thinking, Yes, you like your comforts, don’t you, Weis? And all this – the mountains, the cold, the busy preparations – mean very little by comparison. Your heart’s in Han opera and little boys, not revolution. I’ll watch you, Weis. Watch you like a hawk. Because you’re the weakest link. If things go wrong, you’ll be the first to break.

He went inside after them and was greeted by the duty officer. Normally the man would have addressed him as Major, but, seeing Weis, he merely bowed deeply, then turned and led them across to the eating area.

Good, thought DeVore. Though it matters little now, I like a man who knows when to hold his tongue.

They sat on benches at one of the scrubbed wooden tables.

‘Well, Shih Weis? What would you like to eat?’

The cook bowed and handed Weis the single sheet menu. DeVore kept his amusement hidden, knowing what was on the paper. It was all very basic fare – soldier’s food – and he saw Weis’s face crinkle with momentary disgust. He handed the sheet back and turned to DeVore.

‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather not. But you two go ahead.’

DeVore ordered, then turned and looked at Lehmann.

‘I’ll have the same.’

‘Good.’ He looked back at Weis. ‘So. Tell me, Shih Weis, what has been happening?’

Weis leaned forward, lowering his voice. ‘There’s been a problem.’

‘A problem?’

‘Duchek. He’s refused to pass the funds through the plantation accounts.’

‘I see. So what have you done?’

Weis smiled broadly, clearly pleased by his own ingenuity. ‘I’ve re-routed them – through various Security ordnance accounts.’

DeVore considered it a moment, then smiled. ‘That’s good. Much better, in fact. They’d never dream we’d use their own accounts.’

Weis leaned back, nodding. ‘That’s what I thought.’

Because of the vast sums involved they had had to take great care in setting up the routes by which the money got to DeVore. The finances of Chung Kuo were closely knit and any large movement was certain to be noted by the T’ang’s Ministry, the Hu Pu, responsible for monitoring all capital transfers and ensuring the T’ang received the fifty per cent due him on the profit of each and every transaction.

It had been decided from the outset that it would be safest to be open about the movements. Any attempt to siphon away sums of this size would be noticed and investigated, but normal movements – if the T’ang received his cut from them – would not be commented upon. It had meant that the T’ang would actually receive almost seventy-five per cent of everything they allocated, but this had been budgeted for.

Weis and his small team had worked directly with the sponsors to set things up. First they had had to break the transfers down into smaller, less noticeable sums, then disguise these as payments to smaller companies for work done. From there they were re-routed and broken down into yet smaller payments – this process being repeated anything between ten and fifteen times before they finally got to DeVore. Again, it was an expensive process, but necessary to protect the seven major sponsors from being traced. Palms had had to be greased all the way down the line, ‘squeeze’ to be paid to greedy officials.

Funded directly it would have cost a quarter of the sum DeVore had asked for. But the risk of discovery would have been a hundred times greater.

‘You’ve done an excellent job, Shih Weis,’ DeVore said, leaning back to let the cook set his plate down in front of him. ‘I have asked Shih Douglas if he could not show our appreciation in some small way.’

He saw how much that pleased Weis, then looked down and picked up his chopsticks, tucking into the heaped plate of braised beancurd and vegetables.

DeVore watched Weis’s craft lift and accelerate away, heading north, back to the safety of the City. The man’s impatience both irritated and amused him. He was so typical of his kind. So unimaginative. All his talk about The New Hope, for instance – it was all so much hot air. But that was fortunate, perhaps. For if they’d guessed – if any of them had had the foresight to see where all this really led…

He laughed, then turned to the youth. ‘Do you fancy a walk, Stefan? The cold is rather exhilarating, I find.’

‘I’d like that.’

The answer surprised him. He had begun to believe there was nothing the young man liked.

They went down past the landing dome and out onto a broad lip of ice-covered rock which once, long ago, had been a road. From that vantage point they could see how the valley began to curve away to the west. Far below them the mountainside was forested, but up here there was only snow and ice. They were above the world.

Standing there in the crisp air, surrounded by the bare splendour of the mountains, he saw it clearly. The New Hope was much more than a new start. For the Seven it would be the beginning of the end. His colleagues – Weis, Moore, Duchek, even Berdichev – saw it mainly as a symbol, a flagship for their cause, but it was more than that. It was a practical thing. If it succeeded – if new worlds could be colonized by its means – then control would slip from the hands of the Seven.

They knew that. Li Shai Tung had known it three years ago when he had summoned the leaders of the House to him and, unexpectedly, granted the concession. But the old man had had no choice. Lehmann’s murder had stirred the hornet’s nest. It was the only thing the T’ang could have done to prevent war.

Even so, none of his fellow conspirators had grasped what it really meant. They had not fully envisaged the changes that would come about – the vast, rapid metamorphosis that would sweep through their tight-knit community of thirty-nine billion souls. Science, kept in check by the Edict for so long, would not so much blossom as explode. When Mankind went out into the stars it would not, as so many had called it, be a scattering, but a shattering. All real cohesion would be lost. The Seven knew this. But few others had understood as yet. They thought the future would be an extension of the past. It would not. It would be something new. Something utterly, disturbingly new.

The new age, if it came, would be an age of grotesque and gothic wonders. Of magical transformations. Mutation would be the norm.

If it came.

‘What were you up to with Weis back there?’

DeVore turned and looked at the young man. He seemed perfectly suited to this environment. His eyes, the pallor of his flesh; neither seemed out of place here. He was like some creature of the wild – a pine marten or a snow fox. A predator.

DeVore smiled. ‘I’ve been told Weis is a weak man. A soft man. I wanted confirmation of that.’

‘What had you heard?’

DeVore told him about the tape he had acquired. It showed Weis in bed with two young boys – well-known Han opera stars. That was his weakness; a weakness he indulged in quite often, if the reports were accurate.

‘Can he be trusted?’

‘We have no option. Weis is the only one with both the know-how and the contacts.’

‘I see.’

DeVore turned and looked back at the view. He remembered standing here with Berdichev, almost a year before, when they had first drawn up their scheme; recalled how they had stood and watched the sunset together; how frightened Soren had been; how the sudden fall of dark had changed his mood entirely. But he had expected as much. After all, Berdichev was typical of the old Man.

Beneath it all they were still the same primitive creatures. Still forest dwellers, crouched on the treeline, watching the daylight bleed away on the plain below, fearful of the dark. Their moods, their very beings, were shaped by patterns older than the race. By the Earth’s slow rotation about the sun. By the unglimpsed diurnal round – cycles of dark and light, heat and cold. They could not control how they were, how they felt.

In the new age it would be different. There would be a creature free of this. Unshackled. A creature of volition, unshaped by its environment. A creature fit for space.

Let them have their romantic image of dispersion; of new, unblemished worlds. Of Edens. His dreams were different and rode upon their backs. His dream was of new men. Of better, finer creatures. Cleaner creatures.

He thought back to the tape of Weis; to the image of the financier standing there, naked, straddling the young boy, his movements urgent, his face tight with need. Such weakness, he thought. So pitiful to be a slave to need.

In his dream of the new age he saw all such weaknesses eradicated. His new Man would be purged of need. His blood would flow clean and pure like the icy streams of the far north.

‘It’s magnificent. So pure.’

He looked across at the youth, surprised, then laughed. Yes, they were all much the same – all the same, primitive Man, unchanged by long millennia of so-called civilization. All, perhaps, but this one. ‘Yes,’ he said, after a moment, feeling himself drawn to the boy. ‘It is magnificent, isn’t it?’

The gateway was an arch of darkness, leading out into a vast and dimly lit hall. For a moment Tolonen thought he had come out into the Clay itself. Broad steps led down onto bare earth. The ceiling was high above him. But it was too bright, however dim, too clean, however bare, to be the Clay. And there, less than half a li from where he stood, was the ancient stadium, its high, curved walls in partial shadow, the great curved arches of its mighty windows black as a moonless night.

The Colosseum. Heart of the old Ta Ts’in empire.

He went down and crossed the space, choosing one of the tall archways at random, knowing they all led inward to the centre.

Feeling exposed. Feeling like a man walking in death’s shadow.

He went inside, conscious of the sheer weight of stone above him as he stepped beneath the arch. The arch dwarfed him; was five times or more his height. Three great layers of arches, one above another, capped by a vast, uneven wall of ancient stone.

He had a sense of time, of power as old as time itself. This millennia-old edifice, monument to power and death and empire, awed him slightly, and he understood why the T’ang had chosen it for their meeting place.

‘So you’ve come…’

Tolonen stopped on the edge of the inner arch, squinting into the darkness at the centre, trying to make out the shape of his master.

‘Heavy-handed monsters, weren’t they?’

Li Shai Tung stepped out from the next archway. At a signal from him the lights were raised and the central amphitheatre was suddenly revealed. It was huge, monstrous, barbaric. It spoke of a crude brutality.

Tolonen was silent, waiting. And while he waited, he thought about the pain and death this place had been built to hold. So much raw aggression had been moulded into darkness here. So much warm blood spilled for entertainment.

‘You understand, then?’ said the T’ang, turning to face him for the first time. There were tears in his eyes.

He found he could barely answer him. ‘What is it, Chieh Hsia? What do you want from me?’

Li Shai Tung drew a deep breath, then raised a hand, indicating the building all about them. ‘They would have me believe you are like this place. As unthinkingly callous. As brutal. Did you know that?’

He wanted to ask, Who? Who would have you believe this?, but he merely nodded, listening.

‘However… I know you too well, Knut. You’re a caring man. A loving man.’

Tolonen shivered, moved by his T’ang’s words.

The T’ang moved closer; stood face to face with his ex-General, their breaths mingling. ‘What you did was wrong. Very wrong.’ Then, surprisingly, he leaned forward and kissed Tolonen’s cheek, holding him a moment, his voice lowered to a whisper. ‘But thank you, Knut. Thank you, dearest friend. You acted like a brother to my grief

Tolonen stood there, surprised, looking into his master’s face, then bowed his head, all the old warmth welling up inside him. It had been so long, so hard being exiled.

He went down onto his knees at Li Shai Tung’s feet, his head bowed in submission. ‘Tell me what you want, Chieh Hsia. Let me serve you again.’

‘Get up, old friend. Get up.’

‘Not until you say I am forgiven.’

There was a moment’s silence, then Li Shai Tung placed his hands on Tolonen’s shoulders. ‘I cannot reinstate you. You must realize that. As for forgiveness, there is nothing to forgive. You acted as I felt. I would need to forgive myself first.’ He smiled sadly. ‘Your exile is at an end, Knut. You can come home. Now get up.’

Tolonen stayed on his knees.

‘Get up, you foolish man. Get up. You think I’d let my ablest friend rot in inactivity?’ He was laughing now; a soft, almost childlike laughter. ‘Yes, you foolish old man. I have a job for you.’

It was a hot night. Nan Ho had left the door to the garden open. A gentle breeze stirred the curtains, bringing the scents of night flowers and the sound of an owl in the orchard. Li Yuan woke and stretched, then grew very still.

‘Who is it?’ he said, his voice very small.

There was a touch of warmth against his back and a soft, muted giggle, then he felt her pressed against him – undoubtedly her – and heard her voice in his ear.

‘Hush, little one. Hush. It’s only me, Pearl Heart. I’ll not bite you.’

He turned and, in the moon’s light, saw her naked there beside him in his bed.

‘What are you doing here, Pearl Heart?’ he asked, but his eyes were drawn to the firmness of her breasts, the soft, elegant slope of her shoulders. Her dark eyes seemed to glisten in the moonlight and she lay there, unashamed, enjoying the way he looked at her.

She reached out and took his hand and pressed it gently to her breast, letting him feel the hardness of the nipple, then moved it down, across the silken smoothness of her stomach until it rested between her legs.

He shivered, then looked to her eyes again. ‘I shouldn’t…’

She smiled and shook her head, her eyes filled with amusement. ‘No, perhaps you shouldn’t, after all? Shall I go away?’

She made to move but his hand held her where she was, pressing down against the soft down of her sex. ‘No… I…’

Again she laughed, a soft, delicious laughter that increased his desire, then she sat up and pushed him down, pulling back the sheet from him.

‘What have we here? Ah, now here’s the root of all your problems.’

She lifted his stiff penis gently between her fingers, making him catch his breath, then bent her head and kissed it. A small, wet kiss.

‘There,’ she said gently, looking up the length of his body into his eyes. ‘I can see what you need, my little one. Why didn’t you tell Pearl Heart before now?’ She smiled and her eyes returned to his penis.

For a moment he closed his eyes, a ripple of pure pleasure passing through him as she stroked and kissed him. Then, when he could bear it no longer, he pulled her up against him, then turned her over, onto her back, letting her hand help him as he struggled to find the mouth of her sex with the blind eye of his penis.

Then, with a sudden sense of her flesh parting before his urgent pressure, he was inside her and she was pushing back up against him, her face suddenly different, her movements no longer quite so gentle, her legs wrapped about his back. He thrust and thrust and then cried out, his body stiffening, a great hot wave of blackness robbing him momentarily of thought.

He slept for a while and when he woke she was there still, not a dream as he had begun to imagine but real and warm, her body beautiful, naked in the moonlight beside him, her dark eyes watching him. The thought – the reality of her – made his penis stir again and she laughed and stroked his cheek, his neck, his shoulder, her fingers moving down his body until they were curled about the root of him again.

‘Pearl Heart?’ he said, looking up from where her fingers played with him, into her face.

‘Hush,’ she said, her smile like balm. ‘Lie still and close your eyes, my little one. Pearl Heart will ease the darkness in you.’

He smiled and closed his eyes, letting the whole of him be drawn like a thread of fine silk into the contact of her fingers with his flesh. He gave a little shudder as her body brushed against his own, moving down him, then groaned as he felt her tiny, rosebud lips close wetly about the end of his penis.

‘Pearl Heart,’ he said softly, almost inaudibly. And then the darkness claimed him once again.

Chen leaned on his hoe, then looked up into the sky and wiped his brow with the cloth Pavel had given him.

‘This is harder than I thought it would be,’ he said, laughing.

The young man smiled back at him. ‘Would you like some water, Tong Chou?’

He hesitated, then gave a small bow. ‘That would be good. I’ve a thirst on me such as I’ve never had.’

‘It’s hot,’ Pavel said kindly. ‘You’re not used to it yet, that’s all. You’ll get the hang of it.’

Chen rubbed his back then laughed again. ‘Gods! Let’s hope so. I’ve a feeling I’m not so much breaking the earth as the earth’s breaking me.’

He watched Pavel go, then got down to it again, turning the dark, hard earth, one of a long line of workers stretching out across the huge, two-li-wide field. Then, only moments later, he looked up, hearing raised voices from the direction Pavel had gone. He turned and saw the youth had been stopped by the guards – the same two men who had stopped them on the path the day before.

‘What is it?’ he asked the woman next to him, then realized she didn’t speak English, only Mandarin. But the woman seemed to understand. She made a drinking gesture with one cupped hand, then shook her head.

‘But I thought…’

Then he remembered something Pavel had said earlier. They were only allowed three cups of water a day – at the allotted breaks. Curse him, the stupid boy! Chen thought, dropping his hoe and starting across the field towards the noise, but two of the field workers ran after him and held his arms until he returned to the line.

‘Fa!’ one of them kept saying. ‘Fa!’ Then, in atrocious English, he translated the word. ‘Pah-nis-men.’

Chen went cold. ‘I’ve got to stop it.’

One of the older men – a peasant in his late forties or fifties, his face deeply tanned and creased – stepped forward. ‘You cannot stop it,’ he said in a clipped but clear English. ‘Watch. They will summon some of us. They will make us form a circle. Then the punishment will begin.’ He sighed resignedly. ‘It is their way.’

On the far side of the field the shouting had stopped now and he could see Pavel, his arm held tightly by one of the men, his head bowed under the coolie hat.

‘Shit!’ he said under his breath. But the old man was right. He could not afford to get involved; neither, probably, would his involvement change anything. He was a field worker here, not kwai, and his job was to get at DeVore. He could not risk that, even to prevent this injustice.

The bigger of the two guards – the one Pavel had identified as Teng – strode out towards them. He stopped and, hands on his hips, ordered a number of them over to the water wagon.

Chen felt sick. This was his fault. But he could do nothing.

Pavel did not look at him. It was clear he had chosen not to say why he had gone to the wagon. Without being told, the ku – the field workers – formed a circle about the youth and the two guards. There was an awful silence. Chen looked around the circle and saw how most of them looked down or away, anything but look at what was happening at the circle’s heart.

Teng’s voice barked out again. ‘This man was disobedient. He knew the rules and yet he broke them.’ He laughed; a curt, brutal laughter. ‘He was stupid. Now he will be punished for his stupidity.’

Teng drew the long club from his belt and turned to face Pavel. Chang smiled and thrust the young man forward at his fellow.

Without warning, Teng lashed out, the club hitting Pavel on the back of the legs, making him fall down. The sound the boy made was awful; a frightened whimper.

Chen shuddered and gritted his teeth.

Teng stood over the youth now, smiling down at him. ‘Get up, Pavel. It’s not over yet.’

Slowly, his eyes never leaving Teng’s face, Pavel got to his feet again. Teng’s smile never wavered, but seemed to burn fiercely. It was clear he was enjoying himself hugely. He looked down at the club, then let fly again, this time catching Pavel across the side of the head.

The boy went down with a groan of pain. Chen could feel the indignation ripple about the circle. But still they were all silent. No one moved. No one did a thing.

Teng put the tip of the club against the young man’s head and pushed gently, making him fall backwards. Then he looked across at his fellow guard.

‘Chang! Pass me the rod!’

This time there was a low murmur from the circle. Teng turned, looking from face to face, then laughed. ‘If there’s anyone else who’d like a taste of this, just say.’

Chang went across and took the club from him, handing him a long, thin pole that was attached by a wire to a small box. Teng clipped the box to one of his jacket pockets, then pressed a button on the side of the rod. It hissed wickedly.

Teng looked across at Pavel. ‘Drop your trousers, boy!’

Chen saw Pavel swallow awkwardly. The youth was petrified. His fingers fumbled at the strings that held up his trousers, then managed to untie the knot. Then he stood, his head drooping, letting his trousers fall around his ankles.

Under the trousers he was quite naked. He trembled uncontrollably. His penis had shrivelled up with fear.

Teng looked at him and laughed. ‘We’re a fine big boy, aren’t we, Pavel? No wonder we’ve no girlfriend yet!’ Again his brutal laugh rang out. Then, cruelly, he touched the rod against the tip of the boy’s penis.

Pavel jerked back, but Teng had not activated the rod.

Teng looked across at Chang and both men laughed loudly at the joke. Then Teng pressed the button and thrust the rod into the young man’s groin. Pavel doubled up convulsively, then lay there as if dead. Teng must have had the rod set high, for the smell of burnt flesh was suddenly sharp in the warm, still air.

‘You dirty bastard!’

The words came from Chen’s left. He turned and saw it was the old man who had spoken to him earlier.

Teng had also turned and was looking at the man. ‘What is it, Fang Hui? You want to join the fun?’

Chang’s voice sounded urgently from behind Teng. ‘Use the club, Teng Fu. The rod will kill the old fool.’

But Teng wasn’t listening. He walked slowly across to the old man and stood there, facing him, head and shoulders bigger than him.

‘What did you say, old man? What did you call me?’

Fang Hui smiled bleakly. ‘You heard me, Teng.’

Teng laughed. ‘Yes, I heard you, Fang.’ He reached forward and grabbed the man’s face in one hand, forcing his mouth open, then thrust the rod inside, closing Fang Hui’s teeth upon it. Then he moved his hand away. One finger hovered above the button of the box.

‘You’d like a taste of this, Fang Hui?’

Fang’s eyes were wide with terror. Slowly Teng withdrew the rod from the old man’s mouth, a sadistic smile of enjoyment lighting his big, ugly features.

‘A good peasant is a quiet peasant, eh, Fang?’

The old man nodded exaggeratedly.

‘Good,’ Teng said quietly, then kicked out, sending Fang sprawling.

The old man lay there, gasping. Chen looked across at him, relieved he had come to no greater harm, then turned and looked back at Teng.

It had been hard. Hard not to add his voice to Fang Hui’s. Harder still just to stand there in the circle and do nothing. Pavel was stirring now. He lifted his head from the ground and looked up, his eyes unfocused, then let it fall back again.

Chang stepped up behind him, a cup of water in one hand, and poured it over the youth’s head. ‘Is this what you came for, Pavel?’ His action brought guffaws of laughter from the watching Teng.

Yes, thought Chen. I may have done nothing here today, but watch me, Teng. Be careful how you treat me. For I’ve every reason to kill you now for what you’ve done.

He thought of what Pavel had told him of the murders and knew now it was more than rumour. It was what had happened. He was sure of it.

Yes. Every reason.

The sound of laughter carried from the garden into the house through the wide, open doorway. Outside the morning was bright and warm; inside, where Li Yuan sat with his eight-year-old nephew, Tsu Tao Chu, it was cooler and in shadow.

They were playing wei chi, practising openings and corner plays, but Li Yuan seemed distracted. He kept looking out into the garden where the maids were playing ball.

The younger boy’s high, sing-song voice broke the silence that had lain between them for some time. ‘Your heart’s not in this, is it Yuan? It’s a lovely morning. Why don’t we go riding instead?’

Li Yuan turned and looked at him. ‘I’m sorry, Tao Chu. What did you say?’

‘I said…’ He laughed sweetly, then leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘Tell me, Yuan. Which one is it?’

Li Yuan blushed and set a white stone down. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Tao Chu.’

Tao Chu raised his eyebrows, then placed a black stone on the board, removing the six white captives he had surrounded.

‘I thought Fei Yen was your sweetheart, Yuan. It’s clear, though, that some other maiden has won your heart. Or if not your heart…’

‘Tao Chu!’ Li Yuan looked down at the board and saw the position was lost, his forces disrupted. He laughed. ‘Is it so obvious?’

Tao Chu busied himself removing the stones and returning them to the bowls, then set the situation up anew. He looked up. ‘Again?’

Li Yuan shook his head. Then he stood up and went over to the open doorway. The maids were out beyond the ornamental pool, playing catch with a ball of stitched silk. He watched them for a while, his eyes going time and again to Pearl Heart. At first he didn’t think she’d seen him, but then he saw her pick up the ball and turn, looking directly at him; her smile holding a special meaning, for him alone.

He lifted his head slightly, smiling back at her, and saw her pause, then throw the ball to one of the other maids, saying something that he couldn’t catch. Then he saw her go, between the magnolia and out down the pathway, heading towards his room.

He caught up with her in the corridor outside his room, and turned her, pulling her against him.

‘Not here,’ she said, laughing. ‘Inside, Li Yuan. Let’s get inside.’

He could barely wait for her. As she undressed he ran his hands across her skin, and pressed his face against her hair, which smelled of ginger and cinnamon. He would have taken her then, while he was still fully clothed, but she stopped him and began to undress him, her hands lingering against his painfully stiff penis. In daylight her body seemed different; harder, firmer, less melting than it had seemed in the darkness, but no less desirable. He let her draw him down onto the bed, then he was inside her, spilling his seed at once.

She laughed tenderly, no trace of mockery in her laughter. ‘I see I’ll have to teach you tricks, Li Yuan. Ways of holding back.’

‘What do you mean?’ He lay there against her, his eyes closed, letting her caress his neck, his shoulders, the top of his back.

‘There are books we can get. Chun hua. And devices.’

He shivered. The light touch of her fingers on his flesh was delicious, making him want to purr like a cat. ‘Chun hua?’ He had not heard of such things. ‘Spring pictures? What kind of spring pictures?’

She laughed again, then whispered in his ear. ‘Pictures of men and women doing things to each other. All kind of things. You’d not believe the number of ways it can be done, Li Yuan. And not just with two.’

She saw his interest and laughed. ‘Ah, yes, I thought as much. There’s no man living who has not desired two girls in bed with him.’

He swallowed. ‘What do you mean, Pearl Heart?’ But he was answered almost at once. From behind a screen on the far side of the room came the unmistakable sound of suppressed laughter.

Li Yuan sat up and looked across. ‘Who’s there? I demand to know…’

He fell silent. It was Sweet Rose, the youngest of his maids. She stepped out from behind the screen, demure but naked, a faint blush on her cheeks and at her neck. ‘May I join you on the bed, Li Yuan?’

Li Yuan shuddered, then turned and looked mutely at Pearl Heart. She was smiling broadly at him. ‘That’s what we’re here for. Didn’t you realize it, Li Yuan? For this time. For when you woke to your manhood.’

Pearl Heart leaned forward and summoned the younger girl, then drew Li Yuan back onto the bed, making Sweet Rose lie the other side of him. Then, with a shared, sisterly exchange of laughter, they began their work, stroking and kissing him, their skin like silk, their breath like almonds, enflaming his senses until he blossomed and caught fire again.

Nan Ho stood there outside the room, his head bowed, his manner apologetic but firm. ‘I am sorry, Lady Fei, but you cannot go inside.’

She looked at him, astonished. It was the second time he had defied her. ‘What do you mean, cannot? I think you forget yourself, Nan Ho. If I wish to see Li Yuan, I have every right to call on him. I want to ask him if he will ride with me this afternoon, that’s all. Now, please, stand out of my way.’

He saw it was hopeless to try to deny her any further and stood to one side, his head lowered. ‘I beg you, Lady Fei…’ But she brushed past him and opened the door to Li Yuan’s rooms.

‘Ridiculous man…’ she had started to say, then fell silent, sniffing the air. Then she noticed the sounds, coming from beyond the screen. Unusual sounds to be coming from the bedroom of a twelve-year-old boy. She crept up to the screen, then put her hand to her mouth to stifle her surprise.

It was Li Yuan! Gods! Li Yuan with two of his maids!

For a moment she stood there, mesmerized by the sight of his firm, almost perfect bottom jutting and rutting with one of the maids while the other caressed and stroked the two of them. Then she saw him stiffen and groan and saw the maid’s legs tighten momentarily about his back, drawing him down into her.

She shuddered and began to back away, then put her hand to her mouth to stop the laughter that had come unbidden to her lips. Li Yuan! Of all the cold fishes in the sea of life, imagine Li Yuan, rutting with his maids! The dirty little beggar!

Outside she looked at Nan Ho sternly. ‘I was not here, Nan Ho. Do you understand me?’

The servant bowed deeply. ‘I understand you, Lady Fei. And I will leave your message for the young prince. I am sure he would welcome the chance to ride with you this afternoon.’

She nodded, then turned, conscious of the blush that had come to her cheeks and neck, and walked quickly away.

Li Yuan! She gave a brief laugh, then stopped dead, remembering the sight of those small, perfectly formed buttocks clenching at the moment of his orgasm.

‘And I thought you so cold, so passionless. So above all this.’

She laughed again; a strange, querulous laugh, then walked on, surprised by what she was thinking.

‘Do you remember this place, Karr?’

Karr smiled and looked out from their private box into the pit with its surrounding tiers.

‘How could I forget it, General?’

Tolonen leaned back and sighed. ‘Men forget many things they’d do best to remember. They forget their roots. And when that happens they lose their ability to judge things true and clear.’

Karr smiled. ‘This business…’ He pointed to the brilliantly lit combat circle. ‘It had a way of clearing the mind of everything but truth.’

‘I can see that.’

Karr turned and faced Tolonen. ‘I’m glad you’re back, General. I mean no disrespect to General Nocenzi, but things haven’t been the same without you at the helm.’

The old man sniffed and tilted his head slightly. ‘I’ve missed it too, Karr. Missed it badly. But, listen, I’m not at the helm. Not in the sense that you’re probably thinking. No. This is something else. Something secret that the T’ang has asked me to organize.’

He spelled it out quickly, simply, letting Karr understand that he would be briefed more fully later.

‘This is a contingency plan, you understand. We hope never to have to use it. If the House votes in favour of the veto on space exploration – as it should – we can put this little scheme to the flame – throw it on the fire, so to speak.’

‘But you don’t believe that, do you, General?’

Tolonen shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. I think the T’ang hopes against hope. The House is no friend to the Seven.’

Below them, in the pit, the two contestants came out and took their places. The fight marshal read out the rules and then stepped back. The pit went deathly silent.

The fight was brief but brutal. In less than a minute one of the two men was dead. The crowd went mad, roaring its approval. Karr watched the stewards carry the body away, then shivered.

‘I’m glad I let you buy my contract out. That could have been me.’

‘No,’ Tolonen said. ‘You were the exception. No one would have carried you from the circle. Not in a hundred fights. I knew that at once.’

‘The first time you saw me?’ Karr turned to face the older man.

‘Almost…’

Karr was smiling. ‘I remember even now how you looked at me that first time – so dismissive, it was, that look – and then you turned your back on me.’

Tolonen laughed, remembering. ‘Well, sometimes it’s best not to let a man know all you’re thinking. But it was true. It was why I welcomed your offer. I knew at once I could use you. The way you stood up to young Hans. I liked that. It put him on his mettle.’

Karr looked down. ‘Have you heard that I’ve traced DeVore?’

Tolonen’s eyes widened. ‘No! Where?’

‘I’m not certain, but I think he’s taken an overseer’s job on one of the big plantations. My man, Chen, is investigating him right now. As soon as he has proof we’re going in.’

Tolonen shook his head. ‘Not possible, I’m afraid.’

‘I’m sorry, General, but what do you mean?’

Tolonen leaned forward and held the top of one of Karr’s huge arms. ‘I need you at once, that’s why. I want you training for this operation from this evening. So that we can put the scheme into operation at a moment’s notice.’

‘Is there no one else?’

‘No. There’s only one man in the whole of Chung Kuo who could carry out this scheme, and that’s you, Gregor. Chen will be all right. I’ll see he has full back-up. But I can’t spare you. Not this time.’

Karr considered a moment, then looked up again, smiling. ‘Then I’d best get busy, neh, General?’

Overseer Bergson looked up as Chen entered. The room was dark but for a tight circle of light surrounding where he sat at a table in the centre. He was bare-headed, his dark hair slicked back wetly, and he was wearing a simple silk pau, but Chen thought he recognized him at once. It was DeVore. He was almost certain of it. On the low table in front of him a wei chi board had been set up, seven rounded black stones placed on the handicap points, forming the outline of a huge letter H in the centre of the grid. On either side of the board was a tray, one filled with white stones, the other with black.

‘Do you play, Tong Chou?’

Chen met DeVore’s eyes, wondering for a moment if it was possible he too would see through the disguise, then dismissed the thought, remembering how DeVore had killed the man he, Chen, had hired to play himself that day five years ago when Kao Jyan had died. No, he thought, to you I am Tong Chou, the new worker. A bright man. Obedient. Quick to learn. But nothing more.

‘My father played, Shih Bergson. I learned a little from him.’

DeVore looked past Chen at the two henchmen and made a small gesture of dismissal with his chin. They went at once.

‘Sit down, Tong Chou. Facing me. We’ll talk as we play.’

Chen moved into the circle of light and sat. DeVore watched him a moment, relaxed, his hands resting lightly on his knees, then smiled.

‘Those two who’ve just gone. They’re useful men, but when it comes to this game they’ve shit in their heads instead of brains. Have you got shit in your head, Tong Chou? Or are you a useful man?’

‘I’m useful, Shih Bergson.’

DeVore stared back at him a moment, then looked down.

‘We’ll see.’

He took a white stone from the tray and set it down, two lines in, six down at the top left-hand corner of the board from where Chen sat – in shang, the South. Chen noticed how firmly yet delicately DeVore had held the stone between thumb and forefinger; how sharp the click of stone against wood had been as he placed it; how crisp and definite that movement had seemed. He studied the board a while, conscious of his seven black stones, like fortresses marking out territory on the uncluttered battle-ground of the board. His seven and DeVore’s one. That one so white it seemed to eclipse the dull power of his own.

Chen took a black stone from the tray and held it in his hand a moment, turning it between his fingers, experiencing the smooth coolness of it, the perfect roundness of its edges, the satisfyingly oblate feel of it. He shivered. He had never felt anything like it before; had never played with stones and board. It had always been machines. Machines, like the one in Kao Jyan’s room.

He set the stone down smartly, taking his lead from DeVore, hearing once more that sharp, satisfying click of stone against wood. Then he sat back.

DeVore answered his move at once. Another white stone in the top left corner. An aggressive, attacking move. Unexpected. Pushing directly for the corner. Chen countered almost instinctively, his black stone placed between the two whites, cutting them. But at once DeVore clicked down another stone, forming a tiger’s mouth about Chen’s last black stone, surrounding it on three sides and threatening to take it unless…

Chen connected, forming an elbow of three black stones – a weak formation, though not disastrous, but already he was losing the initiative; letting DeVore’s aggressive play force him back on the defensive. Already he had lost the corner. Six plays in and he had lost the first corner.

‘Would you like ch’a, Tong Chou?’

He looked up from the board and met DeVore’s eyes. Nothing. No trace of what he was thinking. Chen bowed. ‘I would be honoured, Shih Bergson.’

DeVore clapped his hands and, when a face appeared around the door, simply raised his right hand, two fingers extended. At the same time his left hand placed another stone. Two down, two in, strengthening his line and securing the corner. Only a fool would lose it now, and DeVore was no fool.

DeVore leaned back, watching him again. ‘How often did you play your father, Tong Chou?’

‘Often enough when I was a child, Shih Bergson. But then he went away. When I was eight. I only saw him again last year. After his funeral.’

Chen placed another stone, then looked back at DeVore. Nothing. No response at all. And yet DeVore, like the fictional Tong Chou, had ‘lost’ his father as an eight-year-old.

‘Unfortunate. And you’ve not played since?’

Chen took a breath, then studied DeVore’s answer. He played so swiftly, almost as if he wasn’t thinking, just reacting. But Chen knew better than to believe that. Every move DeVore made was carefully considered; all the possibilities worked out in advance. To play him one had to be as well prepared as him. And to beat him… ?

Chen smiled and placed another stone. ‘Occasionally. But mainly with machines. It’s been some years since I’ve sat and played a game like this, Shih Bergson. I am honoured that you find me worthy.’

He studied the board again. The corner was lost, almost certainly now, but his own position was much stronger and there was a good possibility of making territory on the top edge, in shang and chu, the west. Not only that, but DeVore’s next move was forced. He had to play on the top edge, two in. To protect his line. He watched, then smiled inwardly as DeVore set down the next white stone exactly where he had known he would.

Behind him he heard the door open quietly. ‘There,’ said DeVore, indicating a space beside the play table. At once a second, smaller table was set down and covered with a thin cloth. A moment later a serving girl brought the kettle and two bowls, then knelt there, to Chen’s right, wiping out the bowls.

‘Wei chi is a fascinating game, don’t you think, Tong Chou? Its rules are simple – there are only seven things to know – and yet mastery of the game is the work of a lifetime.’ Unexpectedly he laughed. ‘Tell me, Tong Chou, do you know the history of the game?’

Chen shook his head. Someone had once told him it had been developed at the same time as the computers, five hundred years ago, but the man who had told him that had been a know-nothing; a shit-brains, as DeVore would have called him. He had a sense that the game was much younger. A recent thing.

DeVore smiled. ‘How old do you think the game is, Tong Chou? A hundred years? Five hundred?’

Again Chen shook his head. ‘A hundred, Shih Bergson? Two hundred, possibly?’

DeVore laughed and then watched as the girl poured the ch’a and offered him the first bowl. He lowered his head politely, refusing, and she turned, offering the bowl to Chen. Chen also lowered his head slightly, refusing, and the girl turned back to DeVore. This time DeVore took the bowl in two hands and held it to his mouth to sip, clearly pleased by Chen’s manners.

‘Would it surprise you, Tong Chou, if I told you that the game we’re playing is more than four and a half thousand years old? That it was invented by the Emperor Yao in approximately 2,350 BC?’

Chen hesitated, then laughed as if surprised, realizing that DeVore must be mocking him. Chung Kuo itself was not that old, surely? He took the bowl the girl was now offering him and, with a bow to DeVore, sipped noisily.

DeVore drained his bowl and set it down on the tray the girl was holding, waiting for the girl to fill it again before continuing.

‘The story is that the Emperor Yao invented wei chi to train the mind of his son, Tan-Chu, and teach him to think like an emperor. The board, you see, is a map of Chung Kuo itself, of the ancient Middle Kingdom of the Han, bounded to the east by the ocean, to the north and west by deserts and great mountain ranges, and to the south by jungles and the sea. The board, then, is the land. The pieces men, or groups of men. At first the board, like the land, is clear, unsettled, but then as the men arrive and begin to grow in numbers, the board fills. Slowly but inexorably these groups spread out across the land; occupying territory. But there is only so much territory – only so many points on the board to be filled. Conflict is inevitable. Where the groups meet there is war: a war which the strongest and cleverest must win. And so it goes on, until the board is filled and the last conflict resolved.’

‘And when the board is filled and the pieces still come?’

DeVore looked at him a moment, then looked away. ‘As I said, it’s an ancient game, Tong Chou. If the analogy no longer holds it is because we have changed the rules. It would be different if we were to limit the number of pieces allowed instead of piling them on until the board breaks from the weight of stones. Better yet if the board were bigger than it is, neh?’

Chen was silent, watching DeVore drain his bowl a second time. I’m certain now, he thought. It’s you. I know it’s you. But Karr wants to be sure. More than that, he wants you alive. So that he can bring you before the T’ang and watch you kneel and beg for mercy.

DeVore set his bowl down on the tray again, but this time he let his hand rest momentarily over the top of it, indicating he was finished. Then he looked at Chen.

‘You know, Tong Chou, sometimes I think these two – ch’a and wei chi – along with silk, are the high points of Han culture.’ Again he laughed, but this time it was a cold, mocking laughter. ‘Just think of it, Tong Chou! Ch’a and wei chi and silk! All three of them some four and a half thousand years old! And since then? Nothing! Nothing but walls!’

Nothing but walls. Chen finished his ch’a and set it down on the tray the girl held out for him. Then he placed his stone and, for the next half-hour, said nothing, concentrating on the game.

At first the game went well for him. He lost few captives and made few trivial errors. The honours seemed remarkably even and, filled with confidence in his own performance, he began to query what Karr had told him about DeVore being a master of wei chi. But then things changed. Four times he thought he’d had DeVore’s stones trapped. Trapped with no possibility of escape. Each time he seemed within two stones of capturing a group; first in ping, the east, at the bottom left-hand corner of the board, then in tsu, the north. But each time he was forced to watch, open-mouthed, as DeVore changed everything with a single unexpected move. And then he would find himself backtracking furiously; no longer surrounding but surrounded, struggling desperately to save the group which, only a few moves before, had seemed invincible – had seemed a mere two moves from conquest.

Slowly he watched his positions crumble on all sides of the board until, with a small shrug of resignation, he threw the black stone he was holding back into the tray.

‘There seems no point.’

DeVore looked up at him for the first time in a long while. ‘Really? You concede, Tong Chou?’

Chen bowed his head.

‘Then you’ll not mind if I play black from this position?’

Chen laughed, surprised. The position was lost. By forty, maybe fifty pieces. Irredeemably lost. Again he shrugged. ‘If that’s your wish, Shih Bergson.’

‘And what’s your wish, Tong Chou? I understand you want to be field supervisor.’

‘That is so, Shih Bergson.’

‘The job pays well. Twice what you earn now, Tong Chou.’

Yes, thought Chen, so why does no one else apply? Because it is an unpopular job, being field supervisor under you, that’s why. And so you wonder why I want it.

‘That’s exactly why I want the job, Shih Bergson. I want to get on. To clear my debts in the Above and climb the levels once again.’

DeVore sat back, watching him closely a moment, then he leaned forward, took a black stone from the tray and set it down with a sharp click.

‘All right. I’ll consider the matter. But first there’s something you can do for me, Tong Chou. Two nights back the storehouse in the western meadows was broken into and three cases of strawberries, packed ready for delivery to one of my clients in First Level, were taken. You’ll understand how inconvenienced I was.’ He sniffed and looked at Chen directly. ‘There’s a thief on the plantation, Tong Chou. I want you to find out who it is and deal with him. Do you understand me?’

Chen hesitated a moment, taken by surprise by this unexpected demand. Then, realizing he had no choice if he was to get close enough to DeVore to get Karr his proof, he dropped his head.

‘As you say, Shih Bergson. And when I’ve dealt with him?’

DeVore laughed. ‘Then we’ll play again, Tong Chou, and talk about your future.’

When the peasant had gone, DeVore went across to the screens and pulled the curtain back, then switched on the screen that connected him with Berdichev in the House.

‘How are things?’ he asked as Berdichev’s face appeared.

Berdichev laughed excitedly. ‘It’s early yet, but I think we’ve done it. Farr’s people have come over and the New Legist faction are swaying a little. Barrow calculates that we need only twenty more votes and we’ve thrown the Seven’s veto out.’

‘That’s good. And afterwards?’

Berdichev smiled. ‘You’ve heard something, then? Well, that’s my surprise. Wait and see. That’s all I’ll say.’

DeVore broke contact. He pulled the curtain to and walked over to the board. The peasant hadn’t been a bad player, considering. Not really all that stimulating, yet amusing enough, particularly in the second phase of the game. He would have to give him nine stones next time. He studied the situation a moment. Black had won, by a single stone.

As for Berdichev and his ‘surprise’…

DeVore laughed and began to clear the board. As if you could keep such a thing hidden. The albino was the last surprise Soren Berdichev would spring on him. Even so, he admired Soren for having the insight – and the guts – to do what he had done. When the Seven learned of the investigations. And when they saw the end results…

He looked across at the curtained bank of screens. Yes, all hell would break loose when the Seven found out what Soren Berdichev had been up to. And what was so delightful was that it was all legal. All perfectly constitutional. There was nothing they could do about it.

But they would do something. He was certain of that. So it was up to him to anticipate it. To find out what they planned and get in first.

And there was no one better at that game than he. No one in the whole of Chung Kuo.

‘Why, look, Soren! Look at Lo Yu-Hsiang!’ Clarac laughed and spilled wine down his sleeve, but he was oblivious of it, watching the scenes on the big screens overhead.

Berdichev looked where Clarac was pointing and gave a laugh of delight. The camera was in close-up on the Senior Representative’s face.

‘Gods! He looks as if he’s about to have a coronary!’

As the camera panned slowly round the tiers, it could be seen that the look of sheer outrage on Lo Yu-Hsiang’s face was mirrored throughout that section of the House. Normally calm patricians bellowed and raged, their eyes bulging with anger.

Douglas came up behind Berdichev and slapped him on the back. ‘And there’s nothing they can do about it! Well done, Soren! Marvellous! I thought I’d never see the day…’

There was more jubilant laughter from the men gathered in the gallery room, then Douglas called for order and had the servants bring more glasses so they could drink a toast.

‘To Soren Berdichev! And The New Hope!’

Two dozen voices echoed the toast, then drank, their eyes filled with admiration for the man at the centre of their circle.

Soren Berdichev inclined his head, then, with a smile, turned back to the viewing window and gazed down on the scene below.

The scenes in the House had been unprecedented. In all the years of its existence nothing like this had happened. Not even the murder of Pietr Lehmann had rocked the House so violently. The defeat of the Seven’s veto motion – a motion designed to confine The New Hope to the Solar System – had been unusual enough, but what had followed had been quite astonishing.

Wild celebrations had greeted the result of the vote. The anti-veto faction had won by a majority of one hundred and eighteen. In the calm that had followed, Under Secretary Barrow had gone quietly to the rostrum and begun speaking.

At first most of the members heard very little of Barrow’s speech. They were still busy discussing the implications of the vote. But one by one they fell silent as the full importance of what Barrow was saying began to sweep around the tiers.

Barrow was proposing a special motion, to be passed by a two-thirds majority of the House. A motion for the indictment of certain members of the House. He was outlining the details of investigations that had been made by a secretly convened sub-committee of the House – investigations into corruption, unauthorized practices and the payment of illegal fees.

By the time he paused and looked up from the paper he was reading from, there was complete silence in the House.

Barrow turned, facing a certain section of the tiers, then began to read out a list of names. He was only part way into that long list when the noise from the Han benches drowned his voice.

Every name on his list was a tai – a ‘pocket’ Representative, their positions, their ‘loyalty’, bought and paid for by the Seven. This, even more than the House’s rejection of the starship veto, was a direct challenge upon the authority of the Seven. It was tantamount to a declaration of the House’s independence from their T’ang.

Barrow waited while the Secretary of the House called the tiers to order, then, ignoring the list for a moment, began an impassioned speech about the purity of the House and how it had been compromised by the Seven.

The outcry from the tai benches was swamped by enthusiastic cheers from all sides of the House. The growing power of the tai had been a longstanding bone of contention, even amongst the Han Representatives, and Barrow’s indignation reflected their own feelings. It had been different in the old days: then a tai had been a man to be respected, but these brash young men were no more than empty mouthpieces for the Seven.

When it came to the vote the margin was as narrow as it could possibly be. Three votes settled it. The eighty-six tai named on Barrow’s list were to be indicted.

There was uproar. Infuriated tai threw bench pillows down at the speaker, while some would have come down the aisles to lay hands on him had not other members blocked their way.

Then, at a signal from the Secretary, House security troops had come into the chamber and had begun to round up the named tai, handcuffing them like common criminals and removing their permit cards.

Berdichev watched the end of this process – saw the last few tai being led away, protesting violently, down into the cells below the House.

He shivered, exulted. This was a day to remember. A day he had long dreamed of. The New Hope was saved and the House strengthened. And later on, after the celebrations, he would begin the next phase of his scheme.

He turned and looked back at the men gathered in the viewing room, knowing instinctively which he could trust and which not, then smiled to himself. It began here, now. A force that all the power of the Seven could not stop. And the Aristotle File would give it a focus, a sense of purpose and direction. When they saw what had been kept from them there would be no turning back. The File would bring an end to the rule of Seven.

Yes. He laughed and raised his glass to Douglas once again. It had begun. And who knew what kind of world it would be when they had done with it?