The Middle Kingdom (40 page)

He winked and
let Li Yuan go, watching him run off down the narrow, tree-lined path
and through the small gate that led down to the Lodge of
Nature-Nourishment. Then, realizing the newlyweds were almost on him,
he straightened up, turning toward them.

Chao Yang was a
tall, handsome man in his mid-thirties; the product of his father's
first marriage. Easygoing, intelligent, and with a reputation for
knowing how to enliven a dull occasion, he was welcomed in all the
palaces and had had Above tongues wagging many times with his reputed
intrigues. His own wives, three in number, stood behind him now as he
was introduced to the newlyweds. With smiles and bows he summoned
each for-

ward in turn,
his senior wife, Ye Chun, Han's natural sister, first to be
presented. That duty done, he was free to make less formal
conversation.

"It's good
to see you again, Chao Yang," said Han Ch'in, shaking his hands
vigorously. "You should come visit us once we've settled in. I
hear you like to ride."

Chao Yang bowed
deeply. "I am honored, Li Han Ch'in. I'd like to ride with you."
Then, leaning closer, he lowered his voice. "Tonight, however,
you ride alone, eh?"

Han Ch'in roared
with laughter. "Trust you, Chao Yang! You would lower the tone
at a funeral."

Chao Yang
laughed. "That depends on what was being buried, eh, my young
friend?"

He saw Fei Yen
lower her eyes to hide her amusement and smiled inwardly as he bowed
to her. But as he straightened he experienced a slight giddiness and
had to take a step backward, steadying himself. He had been feeling
strange all day. Earlier, dressing himself, he had reached out to
take a hairbrush from the table next to him. But his hand had closed
on nothing. He had frowned and turned his head away, surprised. But
when he had looked again, he had seen that there really was nothing
on the table. He had imagined the brush. At the time he had shaken
his head and laughed, in self-mockery, but he had been disturbed as
well as amused.

Chao Yang bowed
once more to the couple, then watched them move away, conscious of
Han Ch'in's nervousness, of Fei Yen's beauty. The latter stirred him
greatly—he could taste her perfume on his tongue, imagine the
olive pallor of her flesh beneath the gold and crimson cloth. Again
he smiled. No. Best not even think what he was thinking, lest in wine
such thoughts slipped out, betraying him.

Han had stopped
a few paces on. For a moment Chao Yang studied the side of his face
in the lantern light, noticing how the shape of Han's ear and chin
and neck were like those of his wife, Ye Chun. Then something
peculiar began to happen. Slowly the flesh about the ear began to
flow, the ear itself to melt and change, the skin shriveling up like
a heated film of plastic, curling back to reveal, beneath, a hard,
silvered thing of wires and metal.

Chao Yang
staggered back, horrified, gagging.

"Han Ch'in
..." he gasped, his voice a whisper. "Han Ch'in!"

But it wasn't
Han Ch'in.

Chao Yang cried
out, his senses tormented by the smell of burning plastic, the odor
of machine oils and heated wiring. For the briefest moment he
hesitated, appalled by what he saw, then he lurched forward and threw
himself at the thing, grasping it from behind, tugging hard at the
place where the false flesh had peeled back. He faltered momentarily
as Fei Yen leapt at him, clawing at his eyes, but he kicked out at
her brutally, maintaining his grip on the machine, dragging it down,
his knee in its back. Then something gave and he was rewarded with
the sweet burning smell of mechanical malfunction.

The thing gave a
single, oddly human cry. Then nothing.

Now, as it lay
in his arms, it felt strangely soft, curiously warm. Such a perfect
illusion. No wonder it had fooled everyone.

He let the thing
slide from him and looked about, seeing the expression of horror on
the faces surrounding him. So they had seen it too. He smiled
reassurance but the oddness, that strange feeling of forgetfulness,
was returning to him. He tried to smile but a curious warmth budded,
then blossomed in his skull.

Pei Chao Yang
knelt there a moment longer, his eyes glazed, then fell forward onto
his face, dead.

TOLONEN had
moved away, toward the steps, when it be-gan. The first scream made
him turn the chair, his heart pounding, and look back to where the
sound had come from, his view obscured by trees and bushes. Then he
was up out of the chair and running, ignoring the pain in his side,
the life-link stuttering, faltering in his head. The screams and
shouting had risen to a crescendo now.
Shoo lin
were running
from every side, their swords drawn and raised, looking about them
urgently. With one arm Tolonen pushed through the crowd, grimacing
against the pain in his chest and shoulder each time someone banged
against him.

Abruptly the
life-link cut out. He tapped the connection in his head, appalled,
then stumbled on, his mind in turmoil.

What had
happened? What in the gods' names had happened? His heart raced
painfully in his chest. Let it all be a mistake, he pleaded silently,
pushing through the last few people at the front. Let it all be a
malfunction in the relay. But he knew it wasn't.

He looked around
him, wide eyed, trying to take in what had happened. Fei Yen lay off
to one side, clutching her side and gasping, in extreme pain, one of
her maids tending to her. A few paces from her lay Han Ch'in.

"Medics!"
Tblonen yelled, horrified by the sight of Han lying there so
lifelessly. "In the gods' names get some medics here! Now!"

Almost at once
two uniformed men appeared and knelt either side of Han Ch'in. One
ripped Han's tunic open and began to press down urgently on his chest
with both hands while the other felt for a pulse.

Tolonen stood
over them, his despair almost tearing him apart. He had seen enough
dead men to know how hopeless things were. Han lay there in an
unnatural pose, his spine snapped, his neck broken.

After a moment
one of them looked up, his face ashen. "The Lord Han is dead,
General. There is nothing we can do for him."

Tolonen
shuddered violently. "Get a life-preservation unit here. Now! I
want him taken to the special unit. The T'ang's own surgeons will see
to him at once!"

He turned and
looked down at the other body, knowing at once who it was. Gods! he
thought, pained by the sight of his godson, Pei Chao Yang. Is there
no end to this? He looked about him anxiously, searching the faces of
the onlookers.

"Who did
this? Who saw what happened?"

There was a
babble of contesting voices. Then one came clear to him. Fei Yen's.
"It was Chao Yang," she said, struggling to get the words
out. "Chao Yang was—was the killer."

Tolonen whirled
about, confused. Pei Chao Yang! No! It couldn't be! It was
impossible!

Or was it?

Quickly he
summoned two of the
shoo
tin and had them turn Chao Yang over.
Then he took a knife from one of them and knelt over the body,
slitting open Chao Yang's tunic. For a second or two he hesitated,
then he plunged the knife into the chest and drew it to left and
right.

His knife met
only flesh and bone. Blood welled out over his hands. He dropped the
knife, horrified, then looked across at Fei Yen.

"You're
certain?"

She lowered her
head. "I am."

There was a
commotion just behind her as the crowd parted. Li Shai Tung stood
there, his horror-filled eyes taking in the scene. Those near to him
fell back slowly, their heads bowed.

"Chieh
Hsia,"
Tolonen began, getting up. "I beg you to return
to your place of safety. We don't know—"

The Tang raised
a hand to silence him.

"He's
dead?"

Li Shai Tung's
face was awful to see. He had lifted his chin in that familiar way he
had when giving orders, but now he was barely in command, even of
himself. A faint tremor in the muscles at his neck betrayed the inner
struggle. His lips were pinched with pain, and his eyes . . .

Tolonen
shuddered and looked down. "I am afraid so,
Chieh Hsia."

"And the
killer?"

The General
swallowed. "I don't know,
Chieh Hsia
. It seems—"

Fei Yen
interrupted him. "It was ... Pei Chao Yang."

The T'ang's
mouth opened slightly and he nodded. "Ah ... I see." He
made to say something more, then seemed to forget.

Tolonen looked
up again. He could hardly bear to meet the T'ang's eyes. For the
first time in his life he knew he had let his master down. He knelt,
his head bowed low, and drew his ceremonial dagger, offering its
handle to the T'ang in a gesture that said quite clearly,
My life
is yours.

There was
silence for a moment, then the T'ang came forward and put his hand on
Tolonen's-shoulder. "Stand up, Knut. Please, stand up."

There was
anguish in Li Shai Tung's voice, a deep pain that cut right through
Tolonen and made him tremble. He had caused this pain. His failure
had caused it. He stood slowly, feeling his years, his head still
bowed, the dagger still offered.

"Put it
away, old friend. Put it away."

He met the
T'ang's eyes again. Yes, there was grief there—an awful, heavy
grief. But behind it was something else. An acceptance of events. As
if Li Shai Tung had expected this. As if he had gambled and lost,
knowing all the while that he might lose.

"The fault
is mine," Li Shai Tung said, anticipating the General. "I
knew the risks." He shivered, then looked down. "There has
been death enough today. And I need you, Knut. I need your knowledge,
your ability, your fierce loyalty to me."

He was silent a
moment, struggling to keep control, then he looked up again, meeting
Tolonen's eyes. "After all, Knut, I have another son. He'll need
you too."

More rrtedics
came, wheeling a trolley. The General and T'ang stood there a moment
in silence, watching as they placed Han Ch'in in the unit and sealed
the lid. Both knew the futility of the gesture. Nothing would bring
Han back now. When Li Shai Tung turned to face Tblonen again, his
fists were clenched at his sides. His face was a mask of pain and
patience.

"Find out
who did this. Find out
how
they did it. Then come to me. Do
not act without my order, Knut. Do not take it on yourself to avenge
me." He shivered, watching the medics wheel the trolley past.
"Han must not die in vain. His death must mean something."

Tolonen saw that
the T'ang could say no more. He was at his limit now. His face showed
signs of crumpling and there was a fierce movement about the eyes and
beneath the mouth that revealed the true depths of what he was
feeling. He made a brief, dismissive gesture of his hand, then turned
away.

The General
sheathed his dagger and turned to face the guests. Already the news
of Han Ch'in's death would be spreading through the levels of Chung
Kuo. And somewhere, he was certain, a group of men would be
celebrating: smiling cruelly and raising their glasses to each other.

Somewhere. . . .
Tblonen shuddered, grief giving way to anger in him. He would find
the bastards. Find them and kill them. Every last one of them.

THEY
HAD sedated the boy and moved him to the observation center on the
island of Corsica, three thousand Ji distant. There they cleaned and
inoculated him, and put him in a cell.

It was a bare,
unfurnished cell, a cube fifteen ch'i to a side. The ceiling was lost
in the darkness overhead and there was no door, though a small window
high up in one of the smooth, dark walls suggested that there was at
least a way outside. From ceiling and window came a faint glow,
barely enough to warrant the name of light, while from the center of
the ceiling hung a six-eyed camera on a long, flexible neck.

The boy huddled
against the wall beneath the window, staring up at the camera, his
face both curious and hostile. He did not move, for when he did the
camera would turn to follow him, like something living, two of its
eyes focused constantly on him. He knew this because he had
experimented with it; just as he had tried to climb the wall beneath
the window.

In an adjacent
room a man sat at a control desk, watching the boy on a screen.
Behind him stood another. Both men were dressed in identical,
tight-fitting suits of black. A fine gauze mesh of white was
stretched across each of their faces like masks, showing only the
eyes with their ebony lenses.

For a time there
was nothing. Then the boy spoke.

"Bos agas
pen gweder? Bos eno enawy py plas why dos mes?"

The seated man
translated for the benefit of the other. "Is your head made of
glass? Is there light where you come from?"

T'ai Cho
laughed. He was growing to like the boy. He was so quick, so bright.
It was almost a pleasure to be his partner in these sessions. He half
turned, looking up at the standing man, who grunted noncommittally.

"I need to
see more, T'ai Cho. Some clear sign of what he's capable of."

T'ai Cho nodded,
then turned back to the screen. "Ef bos enawy," he answered
pleasantly.
He be light,
it meant, translated literally,
though its sense was It is light. "Pur enawy," he went on.
Very light.
"Re rak why gordhaf whath, edrek."
Too
much for you to endure, I'm sorry.
"Mes bos hebask. Abrys
why mynnes gweles py plas my dos mes."
But be patient. In
good time you will see where I come from.

The boy
considered, then nodded, as if satisfied. "Da," he said.
Good.