The Middle Kingdom (96 page)

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

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

He could not
say. Nor was there any certain way of telling. He stared at the
drawing a momertt longer, conscious of the silence that had grown
about him; then, looking back at Ben, he laughed.

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

Ben met his eyes
and smiled. "To the bone."

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

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

KLAUS EBERT
roared with laughter, then reached up and drew his son's head down so
that all could see. "There! See! And he's proud of it!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Well,"
Tolonen said, "wherever he is, my man Karr will find him."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Some think
they are."

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

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

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

"Marshal
Tolonen?"

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

"Yes?"

"Forgive
me, Excellency, but your daughter is here; At the gatehouse."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You'll
have to wait," she teased him. "I chose them myself."

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

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

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

She beamed up at
him, hitting him playfully. "You know what I mean. Not the big
ones—the little secrets."

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

"It
rattles."

She turned and
took it back from him, her face stern, admonishing him. "Don't!
They're delicate."

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

"Just wait.
It won't be long now. . . ."

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

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

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

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

"And
Nocenzi said the simplest ways are always the most effective."

"So?"

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

Tblonen turned
and caught his breath. "Gods. . . ."

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

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

"Sir?"
The guard came across at once.

"Who left
this here?"

The look of
utter bemusement in the soldier's face confirmed it for him. It was a
bomb. Someone had smuggled a bomb into the Palace.

"No one's
been here," the soldier began. "Only the Tang's own
servants. . . ."

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

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

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

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

NOCENZI and
young Ebert met him returning from the Gatehouse.

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

"No. . . ."
Tolonen answered distractedly, but his face was drawn, all color gone
from it.

Nocenzi gave a
short laugh of relief. "Then what is it, Knut?"

Tolonen turned
momentarily, looking back, then faced them again, shaking his head.
"They're bringing it now. But come. I have to speak to the Tang.
Before he sees it."

LI SHAI TUNG got
up from his chair as Tolonen entered and came across the dimly lit
room to him. "Well, Knut, what is it?"

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

"Is there
any danger?"

"No, Chieh
Hszo."

The Tang
breathed deeply, then turned to his son. "Yuan. Take our guests
back upstairs. I will join you all in a moment."

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

"It was not
a bomb, then, Knut?"

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

Li Shai Tung
frowned. "Then why this?"

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

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

"Why? What
kind of gift is it?"

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

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

"Was there
a card?" The Tang asked, looking up from it.

Tolonen bowed
his head. "There was,
Chieh Hsia.
"

"I see. . .
. But I must guess, eh?" There was a hint of mild impatience in
the Tang's voice that made Tolonen start forward.

"Forgive
me,
Chieh Hsia.
Here. ..."

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