The Art of War (5 page)

Hung Mien-lo turned, surprised. ‘How so?’

Fischer glanced up at the camera, then stepped forward. ‘It is all on tape, Excellency. Sun Li Hua’s assistants, the brothers Ying Fu and Ying Chai, are the murderers. They entered the room shortly after Master Sun had given the T’ang his potion.’

‘Gods! And you have them?’

‘Not yet, Excellency. But as no one has left the palace since the murder they must be here. My men are searching the palace even now to find them.’

Ta-hung was watching everything with astonishment, his lips parted, his eyes wide and staring. Hung Mien-lo looked across at him a moment, then turned back to Fischer, giving a curt nod. ‘Good. But we want them alive. It’s possible they were acting for another.’

‘Of course, Excellency.’

Hung Mien-lo turned and went to the open door, pulling back the thin, see-through curtain of silk and stepping out on to the balcony. It was cool outside, the moon low to his left. To his right the beam of the distant lighthouse cut the darkness, flashing across the dark waters of the Nile delta and sweeping on across the surrounding desert. He stood there a moment, his hands on the balustrade, staring down into the darkness of the river far below.

So, it was Fu and Chai. They were the hands. But who was behind them? Who beside himself had wanted the old man dead? Sun Li Hua? Perhaps. After all, Wang Hsien had humiliated him before his sons when Sun had asked that his brothers be promoted and the T’ang had refused. But that had been long ago. Almost three years now. If Sun, why now? And in any case, Fischer had said that Sun had been like a madman when he’d come to him, feverish with dismay.

Who, then?
Who?
He racked his brains, but no answer sprang to mind. Wang Sau-leyan? He shook his head. Why should that no-good wastrel want power? And what would he do with it but piss it away if he had it? No, Ta-hung’s little brother was good only for bedding whores, not for intrigue. Yet if not him, then who?

There was an anguished cry from within the room. He recognized it at once. It was Ta-hung! He turned and rushed inside.

Ta-hung looked up at him as he entered, his face a window, opening upon his inner terror. He was leaning over his father, cradling the old man’s head in the crook of his arm.

‘Look!’ he called out brokenly. ‘Look what they’ve done to him, the carrion! His ears! They’ve taken his ears!’

Hung Mien-lo stared back at him, horrified, then turned and looked at Sun Li Hua.

Any doubts he had harboured about the Master of the Inner Chamber were dispelled instantly. Sun stood there, his mouth gaping, his eyes wide with horror.

Hung turned, his mind in turmoil now.
His ears! Why would they take his ears?
Then, before he could reach out and catch him, he saw Ta-hung slide from the bed and fall senseless to the floor.

‘Prince Yuan! Wake up, your father’s here!’

Li Yuan rolled over and sat up. Nan Ho stood in the doorway, a lantern in one hand, his head bowed.

‘My father?’

A second figure appeared behind Nan Ho in the doorway. ‘Yes, Yuan. It’s late, I know, but I must talk with you at once.’

Nan Ho moved aside, bowing low, to let the T’ang pass, then backed out, closing the door silently behind him.

Li Shai Tung sat on the bed beside his son, then reached across to switch on the bedside lamp. In the lamp’s harsh light his face was ashen, his eyes red-rimmed.

Li Yuan frowned. ‘What is it, Father?’

‘Ill news. Wang Hsien is dead. Murdered in his bed. Worse, word of it has got out, somehow. There are riots in the lower levels. The
Ping Tiao
are inciting the masses to rebellion.’

‘Ah…’ Li Yuan felt his stomach tighten. It was what they had all secretly feared. The War had left them weak. The Dispersionists had been scattered and defeated, but there were other enemies these days; others who wanted to pull them down and set themselves atop the wheel of State.

He met his father’s eyes. ‘What’s to be done?’

Li Shai Tung sighed, then looked aside. ‘I have spoken to Tsu Ma and Wu Shih already. They think we should do nothing. That we should let the fires burn themselves out.’ He paused, then shrugged. ‘Tensions have been high lately. Perhaps it would be good to let things run their course for once.’

‘Perhaps.’

Li Yuan studied his father, knowing from his uncertainty that this was a course he had been talked into, not one he was happy with.

The T’ang stared away broodingly into the far corner of the room, then turned, facing his son again.

‘Wang Hsien was a good man, Yuan. A strong man. I depended on him. In Council he was a staunch ally, a wise counsellor. Like a brother to me. The death of his sons... it brought us very close.’

He shook his head, then turned away, suddenly angry, a tear spilling down his cheek. ‘And now Wang Ta-hung is T’ang! Ta-hung, of all the gods’ creations! Such a weak and foolish young man!’ He turned back, facing Li Yuan, anger and bitterness blazing in his eyes. ‘Kuan Yin preserve us all! This is an ill day for the Seven.’

‘And for Chung Kuo.’

When his father had gone Li Yuan got up and pulled on his robe, then crossed the room and stood there by the window, staring out into the moonlit garden. It was as his father said, the Seven were made much weaker by this death. Yet Wang Hsien had been an old man. A very old man. They would have had to face the consequences of his death some day or other, so why not now? Wang Ta-hung was weak and foolish, that was true – but there were six other T’ang to lead and guide him. That was the strength of the Seven, surely? Where one might fall, the Seven would stand. So it was. So it would always be.

He turned and looked down. There, on the low table by the window, was his bow, the elegant curve of it silvered by the moonlight. He bent down and lifted it, holding the cool, smooth surface of the wood against his cheek a moment. Then, abruptly, he spun about, as he’d been taught, the bow suddenly at his waist, the string tensed, as if to let fly.

He shivered, then felt himself grow still, looking back.

He had not thought of it in a long time, but now it came clear to him, the memory released like an arrow across the years. He saw himself, eight years old, sitting beside Fei Yen in the meadow by the lake. He could smell the faint, sweet scent of jasmine; see the pale cream of her sleeve – feel once more the shudder that had run through him as it brushed deliciously against his knees. Across from them sat his brother, Han Ch’in, his booted feet like two young saplings rooted in the earth, his hands placed firmly on his knees.

Wang Sau-leyan... Yes, he remembered it now. Fei Yen had been talking about Wang Sau-leyan and how he had been caught in his father’s bed. Ten years old, he’d been. Only ten, and caught with a girl in his father’s bed!

Li Yuan frowned, then swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, remembering how Fei Yen had laughed, not shocked but amused by the tale. He recalled how she had fanned herself slowly; how her eyes had looked briefly inward before raising her eyebrows suggestively, making Han guffaw with laughter. Fei Yen. His brother’s wife. And now his own betrothed. The woman he would be marrying, only weeks from now.

And Wang Sau-leyan? Yes, it all made sense. He remembered how Wang Hsien had exiled his youngest son; had sent him in disgrace to his floating palace, a hundred thousand
li
above Chung Kuo. And there the boy had stayed a whole year, with only the T’ang’s own guards for company. A year. It was a long, long time for such a spirited child. An eternity, it must have seemed. Long enough, perhaps, to break the last thin ties of love and filial respect. What bitterness that must have engendered in the boy – what hatred of his captors.

Li Yuan looked down at the bow in his hands and shivered violently. That day with Fei Yen. It had been the day of the archery contest – the day she had let his brother best her. And yet, only two days later, Han Ch’in was dead and she a widow.

He shuddered, then saw her smile and tilt her head, showing her tiny, perfect teeth. And wondered.

Sun Li Hua, Master of the Inner Chamber, stood by the door, watching as the doctors examined the body. He had made his statement already, sat beneath the glaring lights of the Security cameras while monitors tested his vital body signs for abnormalities. He had passed that test and now only one thing stood between him and success.

He saw them mutter amongst themselves, then Fischer turned and came across to him.

‘It tests out, Master Sun,’ he said, making a small bow. ‘The
ho yeh
was pure.’

‘I did not doubt it,’ Sun answered, allowing a slight trace of indignation to enter his voice. ‘Doctor Yueh is a trusted servant. He had served the T’ang for more than forty years.’

‘So I understand. And yet men can be bought, can they not?’ Fischer smiled tightly, then bowed again and walked on, leaving the room momentarily.

Sun watched him go.
What does it matter what he suspects?
he thought.
He can prove nothing
.

He turned, then went across to where the doctors were busy at their work. One cradled the T’ang’s head while a second delicately examined the area where the ear had been cut away. They would make new ears from the T’ang’s own genetic material – for a T’ang must be buried whole. But as to where the originals had gone, there was no sign as yet, just as there was no sign of Fu or Chai.

A mystery...

Sun Li Hua stared down into the old man’s vacant face and took a deep breath, filled suddenly with a sense of grim satisfaction.
Yes, old man
, he thought,
you humiliated me once, before your sons. Refused to promote my brothers. Held down my family. But now you’re dead and we will rise in spite of you. For another has promised to raise the Sun family high; to make it second family in all of City Africa.

He turned away, smiling beneath the mask of grief. It had been so easy. Fu and Chai – what simpletons they’d been! He thought back, remembering how he had drugged them and taped them murdering the copy of the T’ang. But they knew nothing of that, only that they were being sought for a crime they had no memory of committing.

Trust. It was a fragile thing. Break it and the world broke with it. And Wang Hsien had broken his trust in him some years ago.

He glanced across and saw himself in the wall-length mirror opposite.
Do I look any different?
he wondered.
Does my face betray the change that’s taken place in me? No. For I was different that very day, after he’d spurned me. It was then I first stuck the knife in him. Then. For the rest was only the fulfilment of that first imagining.

He turned and saw Fischer standing there, watching him from the doorway.

‘Well, Captain, have you found the murderers?’

‘Not yet, Master Sun, but we shall, I promise you.’

Fischer let his eyes rest on Sun a moment longer, then looked away. It was as DeVore said: Sun Li Hua was the murderer. While Sun had been in his office Fischer had had his lieutenant take a sample of his blood under the pretext of giving him a sedative. That sample had shown what DeVore had said it would show: traces of CT-7, a drug that created the symptoms of acute distress.

His shock, his overwhelming grief – both had been chemically faked. And why fake such things unless there was a reason? And then there was the camera. There was no way of proving it had been tampered with, but it made sense. Apart from himself, only Sun Li Hua knew the combination; only Sun had the opportunity. It was possible, of course, that they had simply not seen Fu and Chai go into the room, but his lieutenant was a good man – alert, attentive. He would not have missed something so obvious. Which meant that the tape of the murder had been superimposed.

But whose hand lay behind all this? Hung Mien-lo? It was possible. After all, he had most to gain from Wang Hsien’s death. Yet he had seen with his own eyes how fair, how scrupulous, Hung had been in dealing with the matter. He had let nothing be rushed or overlooked – as if he, too, was anxious to know who had ordered the T’ang’s death.

As he would need to. For he would know that whoever killed a T’ang might kill again.

No.
Would
kill again.

‘Captain Fischer...’

He turned. It was Wang Ta-hung. Fischer bowed low, wondering at the same time where Hung Mien-lo had got to.

‘Yes,
Chieh Hsia
?’

‘Have you found them yet?’

He hesitated. It had been almost thirty minutes since they had begun searching for Sun’s two assistants and still there was no trace of them.

‘No,
Chieh Hsia.
I’m afraid...’

He stopped, astonished. A man had appeared in the doorway at Wang Ta-hung’s back, his hair untidy, his clothing torn. In his hand he held a bloodied knife.

‘Wang Sau-leyan!’

Ta-hung spun round and cried out, then took two faltering steps backward, as if he feared an attack. But Wang Sau-leyan merely laughed and threw the knife down.

‘The bastards were hiding in my rooms. One cut me, here.’ He pulled down his
pau
at the neck, revealing a thin line of red. ‘I stuck him for that. The other tried to take my knife from me, but he knew better after a while.’

‘Gods!’ said Fischer, starting forward. ‘Where are they?’

Wang Sau-leyan straightened up, touching the wound gingerly. ‘Where I left them. I don’t think they’ll be going far.’

Fischer turned and looked across at the doctors. ‘Quick now! Come with me,
ch’un tzu
! I must save those men.’

Wang Sau-leyan laughed and shook his head. He was staring at his brother strangely. ‘Do what you must, Captain. You’ll find them where I left them.’

Fischer turned, facing the new T’ang. ‘
Chieh Hsia
, will you come?’

Wang Ta-hung swallowed, then nodded. ‘Of course.’

They met Hung Mien-lo in the corridor outside.

‘You’ve found them, then?’

Fischer bowed, then glanced at Wang Sau-leyan. ‘The Prince found them, in his quarters. He has incapacitated them, it seems.’