Wingrove, David - Chung Kuo 02 (25 page)

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THE
MUl TSAl
BOWED deeply, then backed away two paces, holding the door open
for him.

"Major
Ebert. Please, come in. My mistress offers her apologies. She is
afraid she will be late."

The girl kept
her head lowered, as if from politeness, but a faint flush at her
neck and cheeks betrayed her embarrassment at being left alone with
the young Major.

"Oh? Not
ill news, I hope."

"I believe
not, Excellency, but she was summoned urgently. She knew you would
understand."

Ebert moved past
her slowly, turning to keep his eyes on her. Yes, she was a pretty
young thing. Sixteen, seventeen at most. He could see the shape of
her breasts beneath the thin silk of the dress she wore, the fullness
of her hips. She was a peach. An absolute peach, ripe for the
picking.

He moved closer.
"How long will your mistress be?"

She turned to
face him, her eyes averted. "She said she would not be long,
Excellency. Fifteen minutes, perhaps. Twenty at the most. Her husband
. . ."

She fell silent,
looking up at him, surprised. Ebert had moved closer, taking her left
hand in his own, while with his other hand he held her breast.

"Good,"
he said, smiling. "Then come. There's time for other things,
neh?"

The linen
cupboard was in the next room—a tiny chamber in itself, wide
drawers and rows of silk chi
poo,
full-length elegant formal
dresses arrayed in a rainbow of stunning colors to either side. He
had noticed it on his previous visit, had seen the cushioned floor
and thought how nice it might be ...

He pushed the
girl down, onto the cushions, laughing softly, enjoying the way she
looked back at him, a strange wantonness in her dark eyes.

Afterwards they
lay there, the soft hiss of their breathing the only sound in the
silence. The scent of their lovemaking was mixed deliciously with the
faded perfumes of the dresses ranged on either side above them, a
sweet, musky smell that, with the warm presence of her naked body
beneath him, made him stir again.

She laughed
softly, then turned her head to look at him. "That was nice . .
."

"Yes. . ."
He let out a small, shuddering breath. Maybe he'd offer to buy her
from Chuang Lian . . .

He felt her
stiffen, then draw back from him, and opened his eyes. Then he heard
the sound. It came from the other room. The sound of rustling silks.

"Gods. . ."
the girl whispered anxiously, searching for her dress. But Ebert was
smiling. Had they been at it that long, then? Or had the Ministers
wife come back earlier than expected? He pulled his trousers up over
his knees, then climbed to his feet, beginning to button himself up.

The girl had
pulled the dress over her head and was fumbling at the fastenings.
Ebert turned to her and put his finger against his lips; then
reaching past her for his belt, he pushed her back into the linen
cupboard and closed the door.

Fastening the
last button, his belt in his hand, he went out into the other room.

"Lian, my
love . . ."

She turned,
clearly not expecting him, momentarily embarrassed by her state of
half-undress. Then, with a laugh, she let the garment fall from her
and, her breasts exposed, put out her arms to welcome him.

"Quickly,"
she said, drawing him down onto the bed, her hands fumbling with the
buttons of his trousers. "Gods, I've missed you . . ." She
looked up at him, her eyes filled with an unnatural agitation.

"Slowly . .
." he said, pushing her down, amused by the strange urgency of
her actions. "What's up, my darling? Why so tense?"

She paused, then
looked away, shuddering with disgust. "Of all the times . . ."
She looked back up at him, uncertain whether to say; then she looked
down again, sniffing, her hands reaching out to take his. "It
was my husband. He doesn't ask for me often, but when he does . . ."

Ebert laughed.
"So the old man still fucks you, eh?"

He saw the brief
flare of anger in her eyes. Then she relented and laughed. "He
tries. But it's like trying to fuck a goldfish . . ."

"Hmmm . .
." He thought of the girl, crouched still in the linen cupboard,
and felt a little shudder of desire wash through him. "And you
wanted a pike . . . ?"

Her eyes met
his, all pretense gone from them suddenly. But all he could see was
how lined she was, how
old;
how her breasts sagged, her flesh
folded upon itself at neck and stomach. He shivered, thinking of the
mui tsai,
of the taut silken surfaces of her young flesh, then
leaned closer, kissing the woman's cheek and neck, closing his eyes,
trying to imagine that it was Sweet Flute he was kissing. But the
scent of her was different—old and faded like her flesh, her
powder sickly sweet like the scent of a corpse.

He moved back,
shuddering, all desire suddenly dead in him. She had just come from
her husband; was unwashed from the old man's feeble groping. The
thought of it made his stomach churn. He could see her under him, the
old man's wrinkled, emaciated buttocks tightening as he came.

And was he to
take his place now? To be the man her husband clearly couldn't be?

"What is
it?" she said, her eyes narrowed, her whole body suddenly
tensed.

"I. . ."
He shook his head. "I'm tired, that's all. I..." He fished
for an excuse, then remembered the Han he'd beaten earlier. "I've
been on duty thirty hours. Something urgent came up and I had to see
to it. A number of Senior Company men were murdered . . ."

She swallowed
and looked down. "I heard . . ."

He looked at
her, suddenly disgusted, not only by her but by his involvement with
her. And when she reached out to touch and hold him, he drew back
sharply from her.

He saw her draw
her hand back, then, her face wrinkling, lift it to her nose. Her
mouth fell open; she jerked her head up and glared at him, her eyes
black with anger. "What's this? Is this what you mean by
duty!"
She nodded her head exaggeratedly. "Oh, I understand it now.
You've been screwing my mui tsai, haven't you? You've been having fun
here while I've been on my knees before my husband . . ."

He laughed,
delighted by the image that came to mind. "On your knees, Madam
Chuang?"

There was a dark
flash of fury behind her eyes; she swung her hand at him, trying to
slap his face, but he caught it easily and threw her back down onto
the bed. Oh, he could fuck her now. Could do it to her in anger. To
humiliate her. But from desire?

"What if I
have?" he taunted her. "What if I tell you that your
mui
tsai
fucks like a dream? That she's ten times the woman you are,
eh?"

She had bared
her teeth. "You're a liar. She's only a girl. . ."

He sneered at
her. "You think you were hot, eh? Is that it? You think you
could make me come just thinking about what you did to me, eh? Well,
let me tell you, Madam Chuang . . . you weren't so good. I've had
much better below the Net. Clapped out old singsong girls who'd do it
for a single yuan!" He saw how she started to answer him and put
his hand brutally over her mouth. "No ... it was simply the
thought of fucking a Minister's wife. Of shitting in his nest. It
amused
me. But now I'm bored. I've had enough of you, old
woman. Your haggard old frame bores me."

He stood,
fastening himself, pulling his belt about him, watching her all the
while, contempt burning in his eyes. He could see now how weak she
was, how frail under that brittle carapace of hers. She thought
herself so hard, so sophisticated, but she was just a spoiled little
girl grown old. Tediously old.

"I'll bury
you . . ." she said quietly, almost hissing the words through
her teeth. "You can smile now, but I'll destroy you, Hans Ebert.
Your name will be shit by the time I'm finished with you."

He laughed
dismissively. "And yours? What will your name be worth, Madam
Chuang, if the truth came out? How would you hold your head up in
company if it were known what appetites you harbored inside that
ancient, wizened skull of yours?"

"You
bastard . . ." She shivered and drew the blanket up about her
breasts. "I'll have you, Ebert. See if I don't."

He went to the
door, then turned, looking back in at her crouched there on the bed.
"You'll have me?" He looked down, laughing; then looked
back at her, his face suddenly hard, uncompromising. "You'll
have me?" He shook his head, then laughed: a cruel, dismissive
laugh. "Go suck on your husband's prick!"

* *
*

two HOURS later
, Klaus Stefan Ebert, Head of GenSyn, stood on the front steps of his
family's mansion, his broad hand extended to his old friend, Tolonen.
The Marshal had become a gray-haired stiff-mannered old man in the
fifty-odd years Ebert had known him, the uniform a second skin; but
he remembered a simpler, less-daunting fellow, the gay companion of
his adolescence.

The two men
embraced, the warmth of their greeting overriding the formality of
the occasion. This was more than politics. They grinned at one
another and slapped each other's back.

"I'm glad,"
said Tolonen, tears brimming in his eyes.

"And I,"
responded Ebert, holding him at arm's length and smiling fiercely
into his face. "This is a day to remember, Knut. Truly a day to
remember!"

Jelka stood
there at the bottom of the steps, a tall, willowy girl of fourteen
with long straight ash-blond hair and beautiful blue eyes. She was no
longer the child Ebert remembered so vividly. Now she was not far
from womanhood.

Ebert smiled and
nodded. She would make his son a perfect bride.

His son, Hans,
stood behind him at the top of the steps, a tall
twenty-eight-year-old, broad-shouldered yet lithe of build. He was
considered extremely handsome by those who dictated taste in the
Above; and as heir to the mighty GenSyn Empire, he was rated the most
attractive unattached male in City Europe.

Hans barely
looked at his bride-to-be. There was time enough for that. He stood
there, at ease, his dress uniform immaculate, his short blond hair
styled fashionably with a double pigtail. He watched the two men
embrace and recognized the significance of all this, his role in it.
The Marshal was like a second father to him, his Commanding Officer.

It was a perfect
match. Strategically, logically, it was the obvious thing to do; and
when his father had suggested it, ten years ago, he had agreed at
once.

As he stood
there he imagined the power he would one day wield, not merely as his
father's son, but as Commander of the forces of the T'ang. He had
dreams. Dreams he could not share. And they began here.

He looked at his
intended—the child. She was studying him: looking at him with a
critical eye, as if to sum and dismiss him. He glared at her, then
relented, remembering, letting his face form into a smile, as if the
first were only mischief.

He looked her up
and down. She possessed the unformed figure of a girl. Pretty enough,
but not a woman. Not a patch on the women he knew, anyway.

He smiled and
looked away. Still, he would arrange things. Make life pleasant for
himself. A wife was not a jailer, after all.

They went
inside, Jelka bowing her head, her cheeks flushed, as the contracts
were presented and endorsed by all parties.

He signed, then
straightened, looking across the table at her. In three years he
would be her husband. Three years. But who knew how things would be
in three years time? And the girl? In three years she would be
seventeen. Again he smiled, remembering the
mui tsai.
And you,
my little one? he wondered, looking across at the Marshal's daughter.
What will you be like on our wedding night? Are you the frigid,
nervous type, or is there fire in your loins? His smile broadened,
seeing how she looked away, the color deepening at her neck. Yes,
well, we'll see. And even if you prove a disappointment, there will
be others—plenty of others—to sweeten my nights.

And in the
meantime maybe he would buy the
mui tsai.
After all, it wasn't
every woman who could make love like that. Gifted, she'd been. He
turned, taking the Marshal's offered hand, smiling back fiercely at
the two old men. Yes, he would buy the
mui tsai.
And later,
when her temper had cooled, he would go and see Madam Chuang again,
and make it up with her.

* *
*

JELKA SAT at her
father's side, sipping at her bowl of
ch'a,
conscious of the
stifling opulence of the room. She looked about her, feeling an
unease that had nothing to do with her personal situation.

She shuddered
and looked down. The Eberts flaunted their wealth, displaying it with
an ostentation she found quite tasteless. Ornate Ming vases rested on
hideous plinths, heavy, brutal things in garish colors. In recesses
of the curiously shaped room, huge canvases hung in heavy gilt
frames, the pictures dark, suggestive of blood.

Across from her,
Hans's two sisters were staring at her with an unconcealed hostility,
the youngest a year or so older than Jelka, the oldest in her early
twenties. She tried not to look at them, knowing they saw her only as
a rival. More disconcerting was the creature serving them; a goatlike
being, grown in GenSyn's vats. She shivered when its pink-eyed stare
met her own and in a deep but toneless voice, it asked if she would
like more
ch'a.
She looked at its pinched, three-toed hand and
shook her head, noting the fine silk of its cuffs, the stylish cut of
its trousers.

She had the
oddest feeling of being in a dream, unreality piled upon unreality.
Yet this was real. Was the reality of power. She looked at her future
husband and saw him with a clarity that almost overwhelmed her. He
was a tall young man, taller than her father, and handsome. Yet there
was a cruelty, an arrogance in his handsomeness that made her
shudder. She could see his pride, his intense sense of
self-importance, in the way he held his head, in the cold
indifference of his eyes.