The Middle Kingdom (4 page)

Chen did not
answer. Looking past him, Jyan saw how the dark, steep slopes of the
valley framed a giant, flat-topped arrowhead of whiteness. It was
like a vast wall—a dam two ii in height—plugging the end
of the valley. Its surface was a faintly opalescent pearl, lit from
within. Ch'eng, it was. City and wall. The same word in his mother
tongue for both. Not that he knew more than a smattering of his
mother tongue.

He turned his
head and looked at Chen again. Brave Chen. Unimaginative Chen. His
blunt face rounded like a plate, his bull neck solid as the rocks
surrounding them. Looking at him, Jyan put aside his earlier
misgivings. Chen was
kwai,
after all—a trained knife—and
kwai
were utterly reliable. Jyan smiled to himself. Yes, Chen
was all right. A good man to have at your back.

"You're
ready?" he asked.

Chen looked back
at him, his eyes firm, determined. "I know what I have to do."

"Good."

Jyan looked down
into his glass. Small tongues of flame curled like snakes in the
darkness of the wine; cast evanescent traces on the solid curve of
transparency. He threw the glass down into the fire, then stared into
the flames themselves, aware for the first time how evasive they
were; how, when you tried to hold their image clear in mind, it
slipped away, leaving only the vaguest of impressions. Not real at
all, for all its apparent clarity.

Perhaps that's
how the gods see us, he thought; as mere traces, too brief for the
eye to settle on.

There was a
sharp crack as the glass split and shattered. Jyan shivered, then
looked up, hearing the low drone of the approaching craft.

"They're
here," said Chen, his face impassive.

Jyan looked
across at the
kwai
and
nodded. Then, buttoning their
one-pieces at the neck, the two assassins made their way toward the
ship.

"Your pass,
sir?"

Pi Ch'ien, third
secretary to Juni6r Minister Yang, glanced up at the camera, noting
as he did the slow, smooth movement of the overhead trackers, the
squat, hollowed tongues of their barrels jutting from the mouths of
stylized dragons. Bowing low he took the card from his robe and
inserted it into the security slot. Placing his face against the
molded pad in the wall, he held his left eye open against the camera
lens. Then he stepped back, looking about him.

He had never
been into one of the Imperial Solariums before. Even as district
magistrate, responsible for the lives of the twenty thousand people
in his deck, he had lacked the status to enter such a place. Now,
however, as third secretary to Yang Lai, he had been permitted to
place his name on the list. But the list was a list, like all the
others in this world—interminable. It would be many years and
several more promotions before he would find himself inside for
reasons of leisure.

The outer doors
slid back and he made to go through.

An armed guard
barred his way, indicating with his gun that Pi Ch'ien should go into
the antechamber to his left. With a bow Pi Ch'ien did as he was
bidden. Inside, in front of a vast, brightly colored tapestry that
filled the whole of the back wall, an official sat at a desk. The man
scanned the screen in front of him, then looked up, smiling.

"Good
evening, Third Secretary Pi. I am First Steward Huong. Might I ask
the purpose of your visit?"

Pi Ch'ien bent
his head respectfully.

"Greetings,
First Steward Huong. I have but a trivial message to deliver. For His
Serene Excellency, Junior Minister Yang Lai. Ten thousand pardons for
imposing on you like this, for it is a matter of the least urgency."

He looked up,
holding out the almost translucent message card for the Steward's
inspection. Both men knew it was immensely important.

"Forgive
me, Third" Secretary Pi, but might I have that?"

Again Pi Ch'ien
lowered his head. "My deepest apologies, First Steward Huong.
Nothing would please me more than to oblige you, but I am afraid that
is not possible. I was instructed to place the message, unimportant
as it is, only in the hands of the most illustrious Junior Minister
himself."

Steward Huong
stood, then came around his desk to stand beside Pi Ch'ien. "I
understand, Third Secretary Pi. We are but our masters' hands, eh?"
He smiled again, all courtesy now. "If you would be so kind as
to permit me, I shall inform the Junior Minister."

Pi Ch'ien bowed,
feeling a pang of disappointment. He was not to go inside, then?

"Please,
follow me, Third Secretary," the Steward said, making the
slightest bow, his head barely lowered as befitted their relative
positions. "Junior Minister Yang is with the Minister himself
and may not be disturbed at once. However, I will have a maid come
and serve tea for you while you wait."

Pi Ch'ien bowed
again, delighted by the courtesy he was being shown. He followed the
official out and down a wide, high-ceilinged corridor, on the walls
of which hung a series of huge
shanshui
landscape paintings,
depicting rugged peaks and pleasantly wooded valleys.

Where the
corridor turned he had a brief glimpse of another, more ornate
passageway lined with bronze statues of gods and dragons, and at its
end, a huge, brightly lit chamber—the solarium itself. They
walked on until they came to a small but plushly decorated room, hung
with colorful tapestries.

First Steward
Huong turned to him and smiled, indicating that he should enter and
take a seat. "Please be assured, I will keep you no longer than
I must, Third Secretary. The maid, meanwhile, will see to all your
needs." Then, with a bow, he was gone.

Almost at once a
maid entered from a door to one side. She was wearing powder-blue
er-silks with a pattern of tiny yellow sunflowers. Smiling, she set
down the tray she was carrying on a low table at Pi Ch'ien's side,
then knelt and bowed low to him. Straightening up, she poured the
ch'a
and offered it to him, her eyes averted. He took the cup,
studying her closely. She was a pretty little thing, her skin
almost'white, her dark, fine hair tied with silk ribbons of blue and
yellow. He looked down at her feet and saw, with satisfaction, how
petite she was.

"You would
like something else, sir?"

He leaned
forward and gently drew back the hair to reveal her neck. It
was as he had thought. There was a small circular mark low down on
the left hand side of the neck, close to the collarbone. A capital G
with a smaller S inside, the letters English, but the style—the
brushwork of the design—pure Han. She was GenSyn. Artificial.

He hesitated,
not knowing how long the Junior Minister would be, nor what etiquette
prevailed here. Then he remembered the First Steward Huong's words.
The maid will see to all your needs.
Screwing up his courage,
he told the girl to close the door.

As she turned to
face him again, he beckoned her back. Then, making her bow before
him, he opened the front of his cloak and drew her head down into his
naked lap.

"Here,
girl. See to me."

THE THREE MEN in
the craft had been masked and silent. Even so, Kao Jyan had
recognized them as
Hung Mao
— whites—from the sour,
milky scent of their sweat. It had surprised him. His own guesses had
taken him in another direction. But even as the craft set down on the
roof of the City he was adding this new fragment to what he already
knew.

When the door
hissed open he went through quickly, followed by Chen. The dome of
the Imperial Solarium was directly ahead of them, no more than a
Ji—five hundred meters— distant; a vast hemispherical
blister, lit from within. Half a
li
farther on was the
maintenance shaft. The two assassins ran, side by side, in silence,
knowing that if others hadn't done their work properly they were
already as good as dead.

But it would be
okay. Jyan sensed it. Every step he took made him more certain of it.
He was beginning to see how things connected; could even begin to
make guesses as to names and motives.

There were those
who would pay well to know such things. Who would grant amnesties,
perhaps, to those who were merely the tools of other men.

Coming closer to
the dome Jyan slowed, looking about him. The moon was much lower now,
over to the right of them. In its light it seemed as,though they were
running on the surface of a giant glacier.

"Circle
left," he said softly to Chen. But it was unnecessary. Chen was
already moving out around the dome toward the shaft. It was his job
to secure it while Jyan was at work.

Jyan stopped,
looking down at the dragon on his wrist. Timing was crucial now. He
had four minutes to climb the outer wall, then three minutes apiece
after that to position and set each of the four charges. That left
nine minutes to get into the shaft and away. If all went well it
would be easy.

If all went
well.
Jyan took a deep breath, steeling himself.

He knelt, then
reached behind him. Four catches fastened the lightweight parcel.
Gently his fingers released the catches and eased the cloth-wrapped
package from his back. Carefully he laid it in his lap and, with
delicate, practiced movements, drew back the thin folds of cloth.

The four
plate-sized hoops had been bound together tightly with a hair-fine
wire. They were a dull bronze in color, unmarked except in one place,
where it seemed the finger-thick cords joined upon themselves, like
snakes swallowing their tails. Quickly, carefully, he untied the wire
knots and separated the hoops into two piles on his upper thighs.
They were warm to the touch, as if alive. With the slightest shudder
he pulled two of them up over his left arm, looping them gently over
his shoulder, then did the same with the others, securing them about
his right shoulder.

Taking a deep
breath, he stood again. Chen was out of sight, behind the dome.
Quickly Jyan ran the final distance to the dome's base and crouched
there, breathing easily. From the pocket over his heart he took out
the claws and clicked them open. Separating them, he eased them onto
his hands, respecting the razor-sharpness of their tips. That done,
he began to climb.

LWO RANG, son of
Lwo Chun-Yi and Minister of the Edict, sat back in his tall-backed
chair and looked around the circle of men gathered about him. The
folds of his salmon-pink
pau
hung loosely about him and his
olive flesh glistened damply in the dome's intense light. He had a
strong but somehow ugly fece;. his eyes too big, his nose too broad,
his ears too pendulous. Yet when he smiled the faces of the dozen men
seated about him returned his smile like mirrors. Just now, however,
those men were silent and watchful, conscious that their lord was
angry.

"You talk
of accommodation, Shu San, but the Edict is quite clear on this. We
are not here to interpret but to implement. We do as we are told,
yes?"

To Lwo Kang's
left Shu San bowed his head abjectly. For a moment all eyes were on
him, sharing his moment of shame. Minister Lwo sniffed, then spoke
again.

"Only this
afternoon two of these businessmen—Lehmann and Berdichev—came
to me. We talked of many things in the course of our audience, but
finally they presented me with what they termed an 'ultimatum.' "
Lwo Kang looked sternly about the circle of his junior ministers.
"They said that certain factions were growing impatient. Hsien
Sheng
Lehmann even had the impudence to claim that we have
been subjecting them to unnecessary delays. He says that our
officials have been over-zealous in their application of the Edict's
terms."

There was an
exchange of glances between the seated men. None had missed that the
Minister had used the term Hsien Sheng for Lehmann—plain Mister
Lehmann, not even the commonplace Shih, or "Master"—when
proper etiquette demanded the use of his full title, Under Secretary.
It was a deliberate slight.

Lwo Kang laughed
sharply, sourly, then shook his head in an angry gesture. "The
impertinence of these men! Because they have money they think
themselves above the laws of other men!" His face formed a sneer
of disgust. "
Hsin
fa ts'ai!"

This time there
was mild laughter from some quarters. Others, not understanding the
term, looked about them for guidance, and formed their faces into
smiles, as if half-committed to the joke.

Again Lwo Kang
sniffed and sat back a little in his chair. "I'm sorry. I
forgot. We are not all
ch'un tzu
here, are we?"

Lwo Kang looked
about him. Hsin
fa
ts'ai. Social upstarts. Ch'un tzu.
Gentlemen. These were Kuan hua, or Mandarin terms. But not all who
sat about him were bred to the tongue. More than half the men here
had come up through the levels; had schooled themselves in the five
Confucian classics and climbed the ladder of the examination system.
He did not despise them for that; quite the contrary, he prided
himself on promoting men not through connection but because of their
natural ability. However, it sometimes made for awkwardnesses. He
fixed his gaze on Shu San.

"We will
say no more of this, Shu San. You know now how I feel. We will have
no further talk of accommodation. Nor will I see these men again."

Shu San bowed
his head, then met his lord's eyes, grateful for this second chance.
He had come expecting less.

Lwo Kang smiled
and looked away, his whole manner changing, relaxing. He had the
reputation of being a scrupulously fair man, honest beyond reproach
and incorruptible. But that was not to say he was liked. His
appointment, three years earlier, had surprised some who saw family
connection as a more important quality in a man than honesty or
competence. Nonetheless, Lwo Kang had proved a good choice as
minister responsible for the implementation of the Edict.