An Inch of Ashes (24 page)

The great hall of the Jakobstad Terminal was uncharacteristically silent, the departure lounge emptied of its normal crowds, the doors barred and guarded by soldiers. As the tiny party came through, their footsteps echoed across the massive space. It was almost a
li
from landing pad to platform, but Tolonen had waved away the sedan and had led his party on by foot, marching quickly, his daughter just behind him, the twelve-man elite corps squad fanned out about them, prepared for anything.

The Marshal had taken extraordinary steps to bring his daughter home. Things were in flux again and if their enemies were to strike anywhere, they would strike here, at one of the terminals. Which was why he was taking no chances.

The ‘bolt’ was waiting for them, its normal crew of eighty pared down to ten trusted men, its usual complement of fifteen hundred passengers reduced to fourteen for this one journey. It was a fast-track monorail, cutting directly through the City, south to Turku, then east to Helsinki Terminal. From there they would commission another transporter and fly across the Baltic direct to Danzig.

Tolonen looked about him, tense despite his strict arrangements. For once he had chosen to trust no one; only he knew what he had planned. Even so, it would not be difficult for his enemies to second-guess him. If they could get into his home, what could they not do?

As they boarded the bolt he hesitated, scanning the platform both ways, then went inside. Jelka was already seated, her long legs stretched out in front of her. He smiled, studying her a moment, noticing how she had got a colour from being outside, how her hair seemed even blonder than usual. He sat, facing her, leaning forward, his hands clasped together between his knees.

‘Well?’

It was the first time they had relaxed together. On the flight across from the island he had been busy, taking reports and giving orders, but now he could take time to talk; to ask her how she had enjoyed her stay.

She looked back at him and smiled, her eyes sparkling. ‘It was beautiful, Daddy. Just beautiful.’

‘So you enjoyed it?’ He laughed. ‘That’s good...’

She looked away. For a moment there was a strange wistfulness in her eyes; a wistfulness he shared and understood.

For a moment he just looked at her, realizing how precious she was to him. She was so like her mother now. So like the woman he had loved.

‘You look tired,’ she said, concerned for him.

‘Do I?’ He laughed again, then nodded. ‘Well, perhaps I am.’ He smiled and leaned forward again, reaching out to take her hands in his. ‘Listen, we’ve got one stop-off to make, but then I’ve got the evening free. How do you fancy coming to the opera? I’ve booked a box. It’s the T’ang’s own company. They’re doing
The South Branch
.’

She laughed, delighted, for a moment forgetting her heaviness of heart. She had always liked the opera, and if
The South Branch
wasn’t the lightest of subjects, it was still opera.

‘Where are we going first?’

He sat back, relinquishing her hands. ‘It’s just business. It won’t take long. A half-hour at most. Then we can get back and get changed, neh?’

They felt the bolt judder then begin to move, picking up speed very quickly. Jelka looked away, watching the dragon pattern on the wall beyond the window flicker and then blur, until it was just seven lines of red and green and gold.

‘Did Uncle Jon tell you about the storm?’

‘No...’ He laughed. ‘There was a storm, was there?’

‘Yes.’ She turned, looking back at him. ‘It was so powerful. So...’

He looked down, as if disturbed. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘I’d forgotten.’

She stared at him a moment, surprised by his sudden change of mood. ‘What is it?’

He looked up at her again, forcing a smile. ‘Nothing... Just that it suddenly reminded me of your mother.’

‘Ah...’ She nodded. Then it was as her uncle had said. Yes, she could see it now; how different her father and mother had been, and yet how much in love.

She turned her head, seeing their reflections in the glass of the window, and smiled sadly. It must have been hard for him; harder even than his exile.

She pushed the thought away, trying to cheer herself with the prospect of the evening ahead, but then, raising her hand to touch her cheek, she caught the unexpected scent of burnt pine on her fingers and felt herself go still.

‘What is it?’ her father asked, his eyes never leaving her.

‘Nothing,’ she answered, turning, smiling at him again. ‘Nothing at all.’

‘Who’s that?’

Tolonen came back to the one-way mirror and stood beside his daughter. ‘That? Why that’s Ward. Kim Ward. He’s a strange one. Quite brilliant. They say his mind is quicker than a machine.’

She laughed, surprised. ‘You mean he’s one of the team?’

‘Yes, and probably the best, by all accounts. It’s astonishing, considering...’

Jelka looked up at him. ‘Considering what?’

Her father looked away, as if the matter were distasteful. ‘He’s Clayborn. Can’t you see it in him? That darkness behind the eyes. He’s been conditioned, but even so, it’s never quite the same, is it? There’s always that little bit of savagery left in them.’ He looked back at her, smiling. ‘Still... let’s get on, eh? I’ve done here now and Hans is waiting back home.’

She nodded vaguely, looking back at the boy, pressing her face close up against the glass to stare at him. She could see what her father meant. When he turned to face the glass it was as though something else – something other than the boy – looked back at her. Some wild and uncaged thing that owed nothing to this world of levels. She shivered, not from fear but from a sense of recognition. She laughed softly, surprised to find him here, when she had thought him left behind her on the island. Then, as if coming to herself, she pushed back slightly from the glass, afraid.

And yet it was true. She could see it, there, in his eyes. Clayborn, her father had said. But he was more than that.

‘Come, Jelka. Let’s get on.’

For a moment longer she hesitated, watching the boy, then turned, following her father, only then realizing what he had said earlier.

‘The gods preserve us...’ she said almost inaudibly. ‘Hans Ebert! That’s all I need!’

Kim turned, looking across the table at Hammond.

‘Who was that?’

‘Who?’

‘The girl. The one with Marshal Tolonen.’

Hammond laughed. ‘Oh, her... That was his daughter, didn’t you know?’

‘Ah...’ For a while he had thought it might have been his wife. It was the habit of such men, after all, to take young girls for wives. Or so he had heard. But he was strangely pleased that he’d been mistaken.

‘Did you hear the rumours?’ one of the other men said, keeping his voice low. ‘They say the
Ping Tiao
tried to assassinate her.’

Kim frowned. ‘It wasn’t on the news.’

‘No,’ one of the others said conspiratorially. ‘It wouldn’t be. Just now they want everyone to believe that things are quiet and that they’re in control. But I’ve heard... well, they say a whole squad of them attacked the Marshal’s apartment. She killed six of them before her father intervened.’

Kim felt a strange ripple of excitement – or was it fear? – move down his spine. He looked at Hammond again.

‘What’s her name?’

Hammond frowned. ‘I’m not sure. Jukka, or something.’

‘Jelka,’ one of them corrected him. ‘Jelka Tolonen.’

Jelka
. He shivered, then looked down. Yes, the name fitted her perfectly. Like something out of myth...

‘What’s going on here?’

Kim looked up, meeting Spatz’s eyes. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Nothing at all.’

‘Good. Then you can go now, Ward. I’ve no further use for you.’

He bowed slightly, keeping all expression from his face, but inwardly he felt elated. Spatz had had no choice other than to bring him into the laboratories for the duration of the Marshal’s visit and Kim had made the most of it, calling up files and asking questions until he was as fully briefed of developments as the best of them. Yet as he walked back down the corridor to his room he found himself thinking not of the Project but of the girl. Who was she? What was she like? What did she sound like when she spoke? How did her face change when she laughed?

He paused at his doorway, thinking of how she had stood there at her father’s side, her deeply blue eyes taking in everything. And then, briefly, her eyes had met his own and she had frowned. As if...

He shook his head, then palmed the lock and stepped inside as the door irised open. It wasn’t possible. It was only his imagination. And yet... well, for the briefest moment it had seemed that she had
seen
him. Not just the outward form of him, but his deeper self.

He smiled, dismissing the thought, then sat down on his bed, looking about him.
What would you make of this, Jelka Tolonen?
he wondered. It would be too alien, I’m sure. Too dull. Too esoteric.

Yes, for she was not of his kind. She was First Level; powerful, sophisticated, rich. No doubt she was in love with fine clothes and dances, opera and gallant young officers. It was ridiculous even to think...

And yet he
was
thinking it.

For a moment he closed his eyes, seeing her again: so straight and tall and perfectly proportioned, her skin so pure and white, her hair like gold and silver blended, her eyes...

He caught his breath, remembering her eyes.
Like something out of myth
.

Chapter 53

KING OF THE WORLD

T
su Ma stood on the grassy slope, looking south, the ruined monastery above him, at his back. He could see her in the distance, a tiny figure beneath the huge, cloudless sky, spurring her horse on along the narrow track between the rocks. For a brief moment he lost sight of her behind the great tor at the valley’s head, then she reappeared, closer now, her dark hair loose, streaming behind her as she leaned forward in the saddle, climbing the long slope.

He looked down, sighing. They had met here several times these last few weeks, and every time they had ended by making love, despite his resolve to cast her off and mend his ways. But this time it was different. This time he had to end it. To break off with her, before they were discovered.

He was still in love with her; there was no denying that. But love was not enough, he knew that now; for this love – a love that had begun in passion and bewilderment – had now become a torment, keeping him from sleep, distracting him at every moment, until he felt he had to halt it or go mad. He could not now meet with Li Yuan or his father without wanting to throw himself at their feet and beg forgiveness for the wrong he had done them both.

So now an end to it. While it was yet within his power to end it.

He watched her come on, hearing her voice now, encouraging the horse; saw how she sat up in the saddle, looking for him, then raised a hand in greeting. He returned the gesture uncertainly, steeling himself against the thoughts that came. Last time they had climbed the hill together, hand in hand, then gone inside, into the ruined temple, and lain there on his cloak three hours, naked, their eyes, their hands and lips, feasting upon each other’s bodies. The sweetness of the memory ate at him now, like sugar on a tooth. He groaned and clenched his fists against it. Even so, his sex stirred and his heart began to hammer in his chest.

He had never known how dreadful love could be; had never imagined how the heart could grieve and yet exult at the same time. But so his did.

She drew nearer, her horse labouring under her, snorting, straining to make the steep gradient. Seeing her thus reminded him of that first time, when she had ridden past him, ignoring his offer of help. Back then he had been thrilled by her defiance, for all he’d said to her of taking care, but now that recklessness in her seemed less attractive. Was the very thing, perhaps, that forged his determination to bring things to a head.

‘Tsu Ma!’

She jumped down and ran to him, throwing her arms about him, her lips seeking his, but he held still against her, as if made of stone. She drew back, astonished, her eyes wide, looking up into his face.

‘What is it, my love? What’s happened?’

He looked down at her, his hands trembling now, her beauty, the warmth of her hands where they touched him, almost robbing him of his senses. Her perfume was intoxicating, her eyes like oceans in which a man could drown.

‘I love you,’ he began, the full depth of what he felt for her concentrated in those few words.

‘I know,’ she interrupted him, pressing closer, relief flooding her face. ‘And I’ve news...’

‘Hear me out!’ he said harshly, then relented, his hand brushing against her face, his voice softening. ‘Please, my love, hear me out. This is difficult enough...’

Her face changed again. She tried to smile, then frowned. ‘Difficult?’

‘Yes. I...’ He swallowed. Never had anything been so difficult as this. Not even the death of his father and the ritual killing of the ‘copy’ had prepared him for the hardship of this moment.