The White Mountain (35 page)

Chen considered. It sounded dangerous, but no more dangerous than before. He nodded. ‘And when I have to come out – what do I do?'

‘You'll send a message. A letter to Wang Ti. And then we'll come in and get you out.'

‘I see…' Chen sat back, looking past the big man thoughtfully. ‘And the woman, Ywe Hao… am I to intercede?'

Karr dropped his eyes. ‘Not in any circumstances. You are to observe, nothing more. Our involvement must not be suspected. If the T'ang were to hear…'

‘I understand.'

‘Good. Then get on home, Kao Chen. You'll want to be with Wang Ti and the children, neh?' Karr smiled. ‘And don't go worrying. Wang Ti will be fine. I'll keep an eye on her while you're gone.'

Chen stood, smiling. ‘I am grateful. That will ease my mind greatly.'

‘Good. Oh, and before you go… what did you find out down there? Who had Ywe Hao been meeting?'

Chen reached into his tunic pocket and took out the two framed pictures he had removed from the uncle's apartment: the portraits of Ywe Hao's mother with her husband, and that of Ywe Hao with her brother. He looked at them a moment, then handed them across.

Karr stared at the pictures, surprised. ‘But they're dead. She told me they were dead.'

Chen sighed. ‘The father's dead. The brother too. But the mother is alive, and an uncle. That's who she went to see. Her family.'

Karr stared at them a moment longer, then nodded. ‘All right. Get going, then. I'll speak to you later.'

When Chen had gone, Karr got up and went to the prow of the stone boat, staring out across the water at the Stone. He could not save her. No. That had been taken out of his hands. But there was something he could do for her: one small but significant gesture, not to set things right, but to make things better – maybe to give her comfort at the last.

He looked down at the portraits one last time, then let them fall into the water, smiling, knowing what to do.

Li Yuan looked about him at the empty stalls, sniffing the warm darkness. On whim, he had summoned the Steward of the Eastern Palace and had him bring the keys, then had gone inside, alone, conscious that he had not been here since the day he had killed the horses.

Though the stalls had been cleaned and disinfected, the tiled floors cleared of straw, the scent of horses was strong; was in each brick and tile and wooden strut of the ancient building. And if he closed his eyes…

If he closed his eyes
… He shivered and looked about him again, seeing how the moonlight silvered the huge square of the entrance; how it lay like a glistening layer of dew on the end posts of the stalls.

‘I must have horses…' he said softly, speaking to himself. ‘I must ride again and go hawking. I have kept too much to my office. I had forgotten…'

Forgotten what?

How to live
, came the answer.
You sent her away, yet
still
she holds you back. You must break the chain, Li Yuan. You must learn to forget her. You have wives, Li Yuan – good wives. And
soon
you will have children
.

He nodded, then went across quickly, standing in the doorway, holding on to the great wooden upright, looking up at the moon.

The moon was high and almost full. As he watched, a ragged wisp of cloud drifted like a net across its surface. He laughed, surprised by the sudden joy he felt, and looked to the north-east, towards Wang Sau-leyan's palace at Tao Yuan, fifteen hundred
li
in the distance.

‘Who hates you more than I, cousin Wang? Who hates you enough to send your brother's ghost to haunt you?'

And was it that which had brought this sudden feeling of well-being? No, for the mood seemed unconnected to event – was a sea change, like the sunlight on the waters after the violence of the storm.

He went out on to the gravelled parade ground and turned full circle, his arms out, his eyes closed, remembering. It had been the morning of his twelfth birthday and his father had summoned all the servants. If he closed his eyes he could see it; could see his father standing there, tall and imperious, the grooms lined up before the doors, the Chief Groom, Hung Feng-chan, steadying the horse and offering him the halter.

He stopped, getting back his breath. Had that happened? Had that been him that morning, refusing to mount the horse his father had given him, claiming his brother's horse instead? He nodded slowly. Yes, it had.

He walked on, stopping where the path fell away beneath the high wall of the East Gardens, looking out towards the hills and the ruined temple, remembering.

For so long now he had held it all back, afraid. But there was nothing to be afraid of. Only ghosts. And he could live with those.

A figure appeared on the balcony of the East Gardens, above him and to his left. He turned, looking up. It was his First Wife, Mien Shan. He went across and climbed the steps, meeting her at the top.

‘Forgive me, my lord,' she began, bowing her head low, the picture of obedience. ‘You were gone so long. I thought…'

He smiled and reached out, taking her hands. ‘I had not forgotten, Mien Shan. It was just that it was such a perfect night I thought I would walk beneath the moon. Come, join me.'

For a time they walked in silence, following the fragrant pathways, holding hands beneath the moon. Then, suddenly, he turned, facing her, drawing her close. She was so small, so daintily made, the scent of her so sweet that it stirred his blood. He kissed her, crushing her body against his own, then lifted her, laughing at her tiny cry of surprise.

‘Come, my wife,' he said, smiling down into her face, seeing how two tiny moons floated in the darkness of her eyes. ‘I have been away from your bed too long. Tonight we will make up for that, neh? And tomorrow… Tomorrow we shall buy horses for the stables.'

The morph stood at the entrance to the cave, looking out across the moonlit plain below. The flicker of torches, scattered here and there across the darkened fields, betrayed the positions of the search parties. All day it had watched them, as they had criss-crossed the great plain, scouring every last copse and stream on the estate. They would be tired now and hungry. If it amplified its hearing it could make out their voices, small and distant on the wind – the throaty encouragement of a sergeant or the muttered complaints of a guard.

It turned, focusing on the foothills just below where it stood. Down there among the rocks, less than a
li
away, a six-man party was searching the lower slopes, scanning the network of caves with heat-tracing devices. But they would find nothing. Nothing but the odd fox or rabbit, that was.
For the morph was cold, almost as cold as the rocks surrounding it, its body heat shielded beneath thick layers of insulating flesh.

In the centre of the plain, some thirty
li
distant, was the palace of Tao Yuan. Extending its vision, it looked, searching, sharpening its focus until it found what it was looking for – the figure of the Chancellor, there in the south garden, crouched over a map table in the flickering half-light of a brazier, surrounded by his men.

‘Keep looking, Hung Mien-lo,' it said quietly, coldly amused by all this activity. ‘For your master will not sleep until I'm found.'

No, and that would suit its purpose well. For it was not here to hurt Wang Sau-leyan but to engage his imagination, like a seed, planted in the soft earth of the young T'ang's mind. It nodded to himself, remembering DeVore's final words to it on Mars.

You are the
first
stone, Tuan Wen-ch'ang. The first in a whole new game. And whilst it may be months, years even, before I play again in that part of the board, you are nonetheless crucial to my scheme, for you are the stone within, placed deep inside my opponent's territory – a single white stone, embedded in the darkness
of his skull,
shining like a tiny moon
.

It was true. He was a stone, a dragon's tooth, a seed. And in time the seed would germinate and grow, sprouting dark tendrils in the young T'ang's head. And then, when it was time…

The morph turned, its tautly muscled skin glistening in the silvered light, the smooth dome of its near-featureless head tilted back, its pale eyes searching for handholds, as it began to climb.

Chapter 75

WHITE MOUNTAIN

T
he rocket came down at Nairobi, on a strip dominated by the surrounding mountains. It was late afternoon, but the air was dry and unbearably hot after the coolness of the ship. Chen stood there a moment, then made hurriedly for the shelter of the buildings a hundred
ch'i
off. He made it, gasping from the effort, his shirt soaked with sweat.

‘Welcome to Africa!' one of the guards said, then laughed, taking Chen's ID.

They took a skimmer south-east, over the old, deserted town, heading for Kibwezi. Chen stared out through one of the skimmer's side windows. Below him was a rugged wilderness of green and brown, stretching to the horizon in every direction. Huge bodies of rock thrust up from the plain, their sides creased and ancient-looking, like the flanks of giant, slumbering beasts. He shivered and took a deep breath. It was all so raw. He had been expecting something like the Plantations. Something neat and ordered. He had not imagined it would be so primitive.

Kibwezi Station was a collection of low buildings surrounded by a high wire fence, guard towers standing like machine-sentinels at each corner. The skimmer came in low over the central complex and dropped on to a small, hexagonal landing pad. Beside the pad was an incongruous-looking building; a long, old-fashioned construction made of wood, with a high, steeply sloping roof. Two men stood on the verandah, watching the skimmer land. As it settled one of them came down the open, slatted
steps and out on to the pad; a slightly built
Hung Mao
in his late twenties. As Chen stepped down, the man moved between the guards and took his pack, offering a hand.

‘Welcome to Kibwezi, Tong Chou. I'm Michael Drake. I'll be showing you the ropes. But come inside. This damned heat…'

Chen nodded, looking around him at the low, featureless buildings. Then he saw it.
‘Kuan
Yin!' he said, moving out of the skimmer's shadow. ‘What's that?'

Drake came and stood beside him. ‘Kilimanjaro, they call it. The White Mountain.'

Chen stared out across the distance. Beyond the fence the land fell away. In the late afternoon it seemed filled with blue, like a sea. Thick mist obscured much of it, but from the mist rose up a giant shape of blue and white, flat-topped and massive. It rose up and up above that mist, higher than anything Chen had ever seen. Higher, it seemed, than the City itself. Chen wiped at his brow with the back of his hand and swore.

Drake smiled and touched his arm familiarly. ‘Anyway, come. It's far too hot to be standing out here.'

Inside, Chen squinted into shadow, then made out the second man, seated behind a desk at the far end.

‘Come in, Tong Chou. Your appointment came as something of a surprise – we're usually given much more notice – but you're welcome all the same. So… take a seat. What's your poison?'

‘My… ?' Then he understood. ‘Just a beer, if you have one. Thanks.' He crossed the room and sat in the chair nearest the desk, feeling suddenly disoriented, adrift from normality.

There was a window behind the desk, but like all the windows in the room it had a blind, and the blind was pulled down. The room was chill after the outside, the low hum of the air-conditioning the only background noise. The man leaned forward, motioning to Drake to bring the drink, then switched on the old-fashioned desk lamp.

‘Let me introduce myself. My name is Laslo Debrenceni and I'm Acting Administrator of Kibwezi Station.'

The man half rose from his chair, extending his hand.

Debrenceni was a tall, broad-shouldered
Hung Mao
in his late forties, a few strands of thin blond hair combed ineffectually across his sun-bronzed pate.
He had a wide, pleasant mouth and soft green eyes above a straight nose.