Wingrove, David - Chung Kuo 02 (84 page)

"Forgive
me, Prince Yuan," he began, without preamble, "but your
father has asked me if you would excuse him for an hour or so. A
small matter has arisen, inconsequential in itself, yet urgent."

Yuan hesitated,
wondering how far he could push Hu-yan on this, but again Hu-yan
pre-empted him.

"It is
nothing you can help him with, Prince Yuan, I assure you of that. It
is a ...
personal
matter, let us say. No one has died, nor is
the peace of Chung Kuo threatened, yet the matter is of some
delicacy. In view of special circumstances your father thought it
best that he consult his cousin Tsu Ma and the Marshal. You
understand, I hope?"

Yuan stood there
a moment longer, trying to read something in Chung Hu-yan's deeply
creased face, but the old man's expression was like a wall, shutting
him out. He laughed, then nodded.

"I am
relieved, Hu-yan. I had thought. . ."

But he had no
need to say. It had been on all their minds these past few months.
Where would their enemies strike next? Who would they kill? In many
respects this peace was worse than the War that had preceded it; a
tenuous, uncertain peace that stretched the nerves almost to breaking
point.

He smiled
tightly, then turned away, hearing the door pulled closed behind him.
But even as he walked back he was beginning to wonder what it was
that might have brought Tsu Ma so urgently to his father's summons. A
personal matter. . .
He turned, looking back thoughtfully,
then shrugged and turned back, making his way past bowing servants
and kneeling maids, hurrying now.

Maybe Fei Yen
knew something. She was always hearing snippets of rumor that his own
ears hadn't caught, so maybe she knew what this was. And even if she
didn't, she had ways of finding such things out. Women's ways.

He laughed and
broke into a run. And then maybe he would take her out in the
palanquin. One last time before she was too far advanced in her
pregnancy. Up to the monastery, perhaps. Or to the beacon.

Yes, they could
make a picnic of it. And maybe, afterward, he would make love to her,
gently, carefully, there on the grassy hillside, beneath the big open
sky of northern China. One last, memorable time before the child
came.

He stopped
before her door, hammering at it and calling her name, laughing, all
of his earlier fears forgotten, his head filled with the thought of
the afternoon ahead.

"What is
it, Yuan?" she asked, opening the door to him almost timidly,
her smile uncertain. "Are you drunk?"

In answer he
drew her to him, more roughly than he had meant, and lifted her up,
crushing her lips with his own. "Not drunk, my love. No. But
happy.

Very happy. . .
."

* *
*

Li SHAI TUNG had
taken his guests through to the Summer House. Servants had brought
ch'a
and sweetmeats and then departed, leaving the three men
alone. Tolonen stood by the window, looking down the steep slope
toward the ornamental lake, while Tsu Ma and Li Shai Tung sat, facing
each other, on the far side of the room. So far they had said nothing
of importance, but now Li Shai Tung looked up at Tsu Ma and cleared
his throat.

"Do you
remember the first time you came here? That day you went riding with
Yuan and the Lady Fei?"

Tsu Ma met his
gaze unflinchingly. "That was a good day. And the evening that
followed, out on the lake."

Li Shai Tung
looked down. "Ah yes, Yuan told me of that. . . ." He
smiled; sourly, Tsu Ma thought, fearing the worst.

The old T'ang
raised his head again, the smile fading altogether. "And you
recall what we spoke of that day?"

Tsu Ma nodded,
his mouth dry, wishing the old man would be more direct. If he knew,
why didn't he say something? Why this torment of indirectness? "We
spoke of Yuan's Project, if I remember accurately," he said,
looking across at Tolonen momentarily, recalling that they had
appointed the old man to oversee the whole business. But what had
this to do with Fei Yen and him? For surely that was why he had been
summoned here this morning at such short notice. He looked down,
filled with shame for what he had done. "I am sorry, Shai Tung,
I—"

But Li Shai Tung
seemed not to have heard. He carried on, as if Tsu Ma had said
nothing.

"We spoke
afterward, too, didn't we? A week or so later, if I recall. At which
time I made you a party to my thoughts."

Tsu Ma looked
up, frowning. He had heard of indirection, but this . . . Then he
understood. This had nothing to do with Fei Yen and him. Nothing at
all. He laughed, relief washing through him.

Li Shai Tung
stared at him, astonished. "I am afraid I find it no laughing
matter, cousin." He half-turned, looking at the Marshal. "Show
him the file, Knut."

Tsu Ma felt
himself go cold again. He took the file and opened it, the faintest
tremor in his hands. A moment later he looked up, his face a picture
of incomprehension.

"What in
Hell's name is all this?"

The old T'ang
held his head stiffly, his anger barely controlled. "Inventions.
Machines. Devices that would be the ruin of Chung Kuo. Every last one
of them breaking the Edict in a dozen, maybe twenty, different ways."

Tsu Ma glanced
through the file, amazed by what he saw, then shook his head. "But
where did they come from? Who invented them? And why?"

Tolonen spoke up
for the first time. "They're SimFic mainly. From the traitor
Berdichev's papers. We saw them long ago—three, maybe even
four, years ago— but in a different form. Li Shai Tung ordered
them destroyed. But here they are again, the same things but better
than before."

"Better?"

Li Shai Tung
nodded. "You recall that we talked of a young boy. A clever one,
by the name of Kim Ward. Well, this is his work. Somehow he got hold
of these papers and worked on them. The improvements are his. In one
sense it's quite amazing, in another quite horrifying. But the fault
does not lie with the boy."

Tsu Ma shook his
head, still not understanding how all of this connected, or why Li
Shai Tung should consult him on the matter. "Then who?"

"That's
exactly what I asked the Marshal to find out. He came upon these
files by accident, you understand. Six months had passed and I wanted
to know what was happening with Yuan's Project. So, secretly, without
the Project Director's knowledge, the Marshal trawled the Project's
files."

Tsu Ma leaned
back in his chair. "I see. You didn't want Yuan to know that you
were checking up on him?"

Li Shai Tung
nodded. "It seemed best. It was not that I felt he would lie to
me, just that he might act as a ... as a filter, let's say. But this.
This shocked me."

"Then Li
Yuan is responsible for this file? It was he who gave the originals
to the boy to work on?"

"Yes. . .
." Bitterness and anger were etched starkly in the old man's
face.

"I see."

He understood.
Li Shai Tung had asked for him because he alone could be trusted, for
he alone among the Seven knew of the existence of the Project. Even
Wu
Shih
was under the impression that Li Shai Tung was only
considering matters. Yes, and he understood the necessity for that;
for were it to become common knowledge it could only do them harm.
Wang Sau-leyan, certainly, could be counted on to use it to ferment
trouble in Council and try to break the power of the Li family.

But that was not
really the issue at hand. No. The real problem was that Li Shai Tung
felt himself affronted. His son had not acted as a son should act. He
had lied and cheated, no matter the good intent that lay behind the
act. Indeed, to the old man that was probably the worst of it. Not
that these things existed, for they could be destroyed, as if they
had never been, but that Li Yuan had sought to conceal them from him.
It was this part of it on which he sought Tsu Ma's advice. For who
was closer to his son than Tsu Ma? As close, almost, as a brother.
...

Li Shai Tung
leaned closer. "But what should I do, Tsu Ma? Should I confront
him with these . . . things?"

"No. . . ."
Tsu Ma took a breath. "I would say nothing."

"Nothing?"

He nodded,
holding the old man's eyes. "What good would it do? Yuan acted
from your best interests. Or so he believes. So I'm sure he believes.
There was no desire to harm you, only an ... an eagerness, let us
call it, an impatience in him, that can be set down to his
youthfulness. Look upon these as folly. Arrange an accident and have
all record of these things destroyed. The Marshal could arrange
something for you, I'm certain. But say nothing. Do not damage what
is between you and your son, Shai Tung."

The old man
shook his head, momentarily in pain. "But he has lied to me.
Deceived me."

"No. . . .
Your words are too strong."

"It is
unfilial…"

Tsu Ma
swallowed, thinking of his own far greater deceit, then shook his
head again. "He loves you, Shai Tung. He works hard for you.
Unstintingly hard. There is nothing he would not do for you. In that
he is anything but unfilial. So let things be. After all, no real
harm is done."

His words came
strong and heartfelt, as if it were himself he was pleading for, and
when Li Shai Tung looked up at him again there were tears in the old
man's eyes.

"Maybe
you're right. Maybe I am being too harsh." He sighed. "You
are a good friend to him, Tsu Ma. I hope, for his sake, you are ever
so." He turned, looking at the Marshal. "And you, Knut?
What do you say?"

Tolonen
hesitated, then lowered his head. "Tsu Ma is right. I had come
here ready to argue otherwise, but having heard him I am inclined to
agree. Say nothing. The rest I will arrange."

"And the
boy?"

Tolonen looked
briefly to Tsu Ma, then met his master's eyes again. "I would
leave the boy for now,
Chieh Hsia.
Li Yuan will discover for
himself how dangerous the boy is. And who knows, that may prove the
most important thing to come from all of this, neh? To learn that
knowledge is a two-edged sword?"

Li Shai Tung
laughed; but it was an unhealthy, humorless sound. "Then it will
be as you say, good friends. It will be as you say."

* *
*

FEI yen had been
quiet for some while, staring out across the circular pool toward the
distant mountains. Now she turned, looking back at him.

"Why did
you bring me here?"

Li Yuan met her
eyes, smiling vaguely, unconscious, it seemed, of the slight edge to
her voice.

"Because
it's beautiful. And . . ." He hesitated. A strange, fleeting
expression crossed his features, then he looked down. "I haven't
said before, but Han and I used to come here as boys. We would spend
whole afternoons here, playing among the ruins. Long ago, it seems
now. Long, long ago." He looked up at her again, searching her
eyes, as if for understanding. "When I rode out this morning, I
knew I had to come here. It was as if something called me."

She turned,
shivering, wondering still if he was playing with her. If, despite
everything, he
knew.
Behind him the ancient Buddhist stupa
stood out against the blue of the sky, its squat base and ungainly
spire like something alien in that rugged landscape. To its left
rested the pale yellow silk palanquin he had insisted she be carried
in, its long poles hidden in the waist-length grass, the six runners
squatting nearby, talking quietly among themselves, their eyes
averted. Farther up the hillside she could see the entrance to the
ruined monastery where she had come so often with Tsu Ma.

It had all come
flooding back to her; all of the old feelings reawakened, as sharp as
ever.
Why now?
she had asked herself, horrified.
Why, when
I have finally found peace, does it return to
torment
me?
She
had listened to Yuan abstractedly, knowing Tsu Ma was once more in
the palace, and had found herself wanting to run to him and throw
herself upon his mercy. But it could not be. She was this man's wife.
This
boy's
wife. So she had chosen. And now it could not be
undone. Unless that was why the old man had summoned Tsu Ma.

For one brief,
dreadful moment she imagined it undone. Imagined herself cast off,
free to marry Tsu Ma, and saw the tiny movement of denial he would
make. As he had done that time, here, beside the pool. She caught her
breath, the pain of that moment returned to her.

I should have
been your wife, Tsu Ma. Your strength. Your second self.

Aiya,
but
it was not to be. It was not her fault that she had fallen for Tsu
Ma. No. That had been her fate. But this too was her fate. To be
denied him. To be kept from him forever. To be married to this child.
She looked down, swallowing back the bitterness.

"What is
it, my love?"

She looked at
him, for the moment seeing nothing but his youth, his naivete; those
and that awful old-man certainty of his. Then she relented. It was
not his fault. He had not chosen to fall in love with her. No, he had
been nothing but kindness to her. Even so, her heart bled that it was
he and not Tsu Ma who had brought her here today.

"It's
nothing," she answered him. "Only the sickness."

He stared at
her, concerned, real sympathy in his expression as he struggled to
understand her. But he would never understand.

"Should we
go back?" he asked softly, but she shook her head.

"No. It's
all right. It'll pass in a while."

She looked away
again, staring out toward the south and the distant beacon, imagining
him there, waiting for her, even now. But there were only ghosts now.
Distant memories. Those and the pain.

She sighed. Was
it always so? Did fate never grant a full measure? Was it the lot of
everyone to have this lesser satisfaction—this pale shadow of
passion?