The Middle Kingdom (25 page)

"Yes,"
DeVore said softly, moving closer. "And now you do understand,
eh?" He reached out and put his'fingers gently to the weal on
Wyatt's cheek. "We'll find the truth of this, you and I. We've
time, you know. Plenty of time."

And in the end,
he thought, even you will believe you ordered Lwo Kang's death.

FROM HIGH ABOVE
it seemed insignificant, a tiny circular blemish in the vast field of
whiteness, yet as the craft dropped the circle grew and grew until it
seemed to fill the whole of the viewing window with its blackness.

The big
transporter set down on the roof of the City, close to the circle's
edge. Only paces from its struts the surface of the roof was warped,
the ice dented and buckled by the vast heat of the explosion. Seen
from this close the huge dark circle revealed another dimension. It
was a dish—an enormous concave dish, like some gigantic
alchemist's crucible; the dark and sticky sludge of its residue
already sifted and searched for clues.

They climbed
down from the transporter, looking about them; sixty men from the
lower levels, white-cloaked and hooded. Others handed down tools from
inside the big, insectile machine; shovels and brushes; sacks and
other containers. Old-fashioned tools. Nothing modern was needed now.
This was the simplest part of all. The final stage before rebuilding.

They got to work
at once, forming three chains of twenty men, three from each chain
filling sacks at the edge of the sludge pool and handing them back to
the others in the line. And at the top two anchormen moved backward
and forward between the human chain and the big machine, passing the
sacks up into the interior.

A wind was
blowing from the mountains. At the top of the right-hand work-chain
one of the men—a big shaven-headed Han—turned and looked
back at the distant peaks. For a moment he could relax, knowing no
sack was on its way. Taking off a glove he pulled down his goggles
and wiped at his brow. How cool it was. How pleasant to feel the wind
brushing against the skin. For a moment his blunt, nondescript face
searched the distance, trying to place something, then he shrugged.

Looking down he
noticed something against the dark surface. Something small and green
and fragile-looking. He bent down and picked it up, holding it in his
bare palm. It was a budding seed.

He looked up,
hearing the cry of birds overhead, and understood. It was from the
mountainside. A bird must have picked it up and dropped it here. Here
on the lifeless surface of the City's roof.

He stared at it
a moment longer, noting the shape of its twin leaves, the hardness of
its central pip. Then he crushed it between his fingers and let it
drop.

Kao Chen,
kwai,
onetime assassin, looked up. Clouds, mountains, even the flat,
open surface of the City's roof—all seemed so different in the
daylight. He sniffed in the warm air and smiled. Then, hearing the
grunts of the men below him, pulled up his goggles, eased on his
glove, and turned back.

When
I was alive, I wandered in the streets of the Capital;

Now
that I am dead, I am left to He in the fields. In the morning I drove
out from the High Hall; In the evening I lodged beneath the yellow
springs. When the white sun had sunk in the Western Chasm I hung up
my chariot and rested my four horses. Now, even the Maker of AH Could
not bring the life back to my limbs. Shape and substance day by day
will vanish: Hair and teeth will gradually fall away. Forever from of
old men have been so: And none born can escape this thing.

—MIU
HSI,
Bearer's Song
(from Han
Burial
Songs)

IT
WAS SPRING in Sichuan Province and the trees of the orchard at
Tongjiang were ablaze with blossom beneath a clear blue sky. The air
was clear, like a polished lens. In the distance the mountains thrust
into the heavens, knife-edged shapes of green and blue.

At the orchard's
edge four servants waited silently, their heads bowed, heavily laden
silver trays held out before them.

Beneath the
trees at the lake's edge the two princes were playing, their laughter
echoing across the water. The eldest, Li Han Ch'in, evaded his little
brother's outstretched arm and, with a swift, athletic movement,
grasped an overhead branch and swung up into the crown of the apple
tree. Li Yuan rushed at the tree, making trial jumps, but the branch
was too high for him to reach.

"That isn't
fair, Han!" Yuan said breathlessly, laughing, his eyes burning
with excitement. In the tree above him Han Ch'in was giggling, his
head tilted back to look down at his brother, a sprig of pure white
blossom caught in his jet-black hair.

"Come up
and get me!" he taunted, letting one leg dangle, then pulling it
up quickly when his brother jumped for it.

Yuan looked
about him a moment, then found what he was looking for. He turned
back. "Come down! Come down or I'll beat you!" he
threatened, one hand holding the thin switch, the Other on his hip;
his expression part stern, part amused.

"I won't!"
said Han, pulling himself up closer to the branch, trying to work his
way farther up the tree.

Laughing
excitedly, Yuan stepped forward, flicking the leafy switch gently
against his brother's back. The older boy yelled exaggeratedly and
kicked out wildly, his foot missing by a breath. The boy on the
ground screeched, enjoying the game, and hit out harder with the
branch. There was another yell from above and again the foot struck
out wildly. But this time it connected, sending the small boy
crashing backward.

Han Ch'in
dropped down at once and went over to where his brother lay,
unmoving, on the earth beside the bole.

"Yuan!
Yuan!"

He bent down,
listening for his brother's breath, his head dropping down onto the
small boy's chest.

Yuan rolled,
using his brother's weight, as he'd been taught, and came up on his
chest, his knees pinning down Han's arms. For a moment he was on top,
his face triumphant. Then Han pushed up, throwing him off sideways.
Yuan turned and began to scramble away, but Han reached out and
grabbed his leg, slowly dragging him back.

"No, Han
... no ... please!" But Yuan's protestations were feeble. He
could barely speak for laughing.

"Say it!"
Han demanded, pinning the small boy's arms against his sides, his
arms wrapped tightly about his chest. "I order you to say it!"

Yuan shook his
head violently, his laughter giving way to hiccups. But as Han's arms
squeezed tighter he relented, nodding. The grip slackened but
remained firm. Yuan took a breath, then spoke. "You are my
master"—he coughed, then continued—"and I
promise to obey you."

"Good!"

Han Ch'in
released him, then pushed him away. The small boy fell against the
earth and lay there a moment, breathing deeply. For a while they were
quiet. Birds called in the warm, still air.

"What do
you think of her, Yuan?"

Li Yuan rolled
over and looked up at his brother. Li Han Ch'in was kneeling, looking
out across the lake toward the terrace. The sprig of blossom still
clung to the side of his head, pure white against the intense
blackness of his hair. There was a faint smile on his lips. His dark
eyes looked far off into the distance. "Do you think she's
pretty?"

The question
brought color to Yuan's cheeks. He nodded and looked down. Yes, he
thought. More than pretty. Fei Yen was beautiful. He had known that
from the first moment he had seen her. Fei Yen. How well the name
fitted her.
Flying swal' low. . . .

He looked up to
find Han Ch'in staring at him, his brow furrowed.

"I was
thinking, Yuan. Wondering what it would be like to have several
wives. A different woman, perhaps, for every night of the week."
He laughed strangely, a tense, high-pitched sound, then looked down,
pulling at the grass. "I'm sorry. I forget sometimes. You seem
so old. So full of wisdom. Like father." Han fell silent, then
looked up again, smiling. "I guess it doesn't touch you yet.
Never mind. You'll understand it when you're older."

Li Yuan watched
his brother a moment longer, then looked down. Sunlight through the
branches dappled the earth beside his hand. Leaf shadow lay across
his flesh like a discoloration of the skin. He shivered and closed
his eyes. Sometimes he felt he understood too well. If he were in
Han's place, Fei Yen would have been enough for him; he would have
needed no other. He looked back at his brother, keeping his thoughts
to himself, knowing that Han would only tease him if he knew. You're
only eight,
he would say.
What could you possibly know of
love?

"Even so,"
Han said, looking at him again, "Fei Yen will be special. My
first wife. And her sons shall inherit." He nodded, satisfied
with the justice of the words. Li Yuan saw how his brother was
watching him—smiling, a deep love in his eyes— and looked
down, warmed by it.

"They'll be
fine sons, Yuan. Good, strong sons. And the first of them will have
your name."

Han Ch'in
reached out and held his brother's ankle. "He'll be strong, like
me. But I hope he'll also be wise, like you."

"And
pretty, like Fei Yen," Yuan said, looking up at his brother
through his long, dark eyelashes.

Han looked away
into the distance, a faint smile on his lips, then nodded. "Yes
. . . like Fei Yen."

"Do you
mind if I sit here?"

Wang Ti blushed
and looked down, cradling the child to her and rocking it gently. All
four tiers of Chang's Restaurant were packed, few spaces remaining at
the tables. Her table, on the second tier, overlooking the bell
tower, was one of the few not fully occupied.

"No. Please
do."

She had seen the
man much earlier, moving between the crowded market stalls at the end
of Main. Like the others in the crowd, she had watched him
momentarily, then turned back to her shopping, impressed by the sheer
size of him. Now, as he sat across from her, she realized just how
big he was; not just tall but broad at the shoulder and the chest. A
real giant of a man.

"What's
good here?"

She looked up
and met his eyes. Blue Hung Moo eyes.

"It's all
good. Chang's is the best here on Twenty-six. But you might try his
green jade soup."

The big man
nodded and half turned in his seat, summoning the nearest girl.

"Master?"

"I'm told
the green jade soup is good. Bring me a large bowl. Oh, and some
chicken drumsticks and noodles."

The girl bowed,
then turned and went back inside to the kitchens.

"Do you eat
here often?"

He was facing
her again, a faint, polite smile on his lips.

She looked down
at the sleeping child, safe in the harness at her chest. "When I
can afford to," she answered quietly. "Which is not often,
I'm afraid."

The man followed
her gaze, smiling. "He's a good child. How old is he?"

She stroked the
child's brow, and looked up, her smile broadening momentarily. "Ten
months."

He leaned
forward, looking into the child's sleeping face. "I bet he's his
father's darling."

She laughed.
"Yes! Chen's like a child himself when he's with Jyan."

"Jyan? A
pretty name for a child."

She smiled. "And
you? You speak like a man who has sons."

The big man sat
back and laughed. "Me? No . . . one day, perhaps. But for now .
. . well, my job keeps me on the move. It would not do to have ties."

She looked at
him sympathetically a moment, noticing his features properly for the
first time. He had a big, open face, the long nose blunted at its
tip, his jaw pronounced and his lips full. His dark hair was cut
brutally short, making her wonder for a moment what it was he did.
But it was not an unkind face. When he smiled it softened. She
decided she liked him.

"And that's
what brings you here?"

"My job?
No, not this time. I'm looking for someone. A relative."

She laughed
again; softly, so as not to wake the child. "I think I'd have
seen any relative of yours about."

His smile
broadened. "Oh, don't judge all my clan by me. This"—he
put one hand on his chest—"they say I inherited from my
grandfather. My father's father. My mother was a small woman, you
see. Small in size, I should say, for she was a giant to her sons."

She looked down,
pleased by his filial piety. "And your father?"

For a moment the
big man looked away. "I never knew my father. He left before I
was two years old."

"Ah . . .
like my Chen."

The giant looked
back at her, his eyes narrowed slightly. "You understand, then?"

She bowed her
head slightly. "It
^r
s sad. ..."

"Yes, well.
. ."He turned. The serving girl was standing at his side, a tray
of steaming food balanced on one hand. He moved back from the table,
letting her set out the bowls in front of him. "You've eaten?"
He looked at the woman facing him, concerned. "If not, might I
buy you lunch?"

She shook her
head hastily. "Please, I ... well, I thank you kindly, but Chen
would not permit it."

He raised a
hand. "I understand. Forgive me. ..."

She looked up,
smiling. "Thank you. But we have eaten. And now.. ."

The big man was
already spooning his soup down vigorously. "Hmm. This is
delicious. As good as anything I've tasted."

She smiled,
watching him, enjoying his enjoyment. "As I said. Chang's is the
best."