Wingrove, David - Chung Kuo 02 (5 page)

Hung Mien-lo let
his breath out. "You knew?" He looked down. There, beneath
him on the cushion, lay the T'ang's hairbrush. He leaned forward and
picked it up, studying it a moment, appreciating the slender elegance
of its ivory handle, the delicacy of its design. He was about to set
it down when he noticed several strands of the old T'ang's hair
trapped among the darkness of the bristles—long white strands,
almost translucent in their whiteness, like the finest threads of
ice. He frowned then looked back at Wang Ta-hung. "How do you
feel,
Chieh Hsia
? Are you well enough to see others, or shall
I delay?"

Wang Ta-hung
looked about him, then turned and stared down at his father. He was
still, unnaturally calm.

Perhaps this is
it, thought Hung. Perhaps something has broken in him and this
calmness is the first sign of it. But for once there seemed no trace
of madness in Ta-hung, only a strange sense of dignity and distance,
surprising because it was so unexpected.

"Let the
others come," he said, his voice clear of any shade of fear, his
eyes drinking in the sight of his murdered father. "There's no
sense in delay."

Hung Mien-lo
hesitated, suddenly uncertain, then turned and went to the door,
telling the guard to bring Fischer and Sun Li Hua. Then he went back
inside.

Wang Ta-hung was
standing at the bedside. He had picked something up and was sniffing
at it. Hung Mien-lo went across to him.

"What is
this?" Ta-hung asked, handing him a bowl.

It was a perfect
piece of porcelain. Its roundness and its perfect lavender glaze made
it a delight to look at. Hung turned it in his hands, a faint smile
on his lips. It was an old piece, too.
K'ang Hsi
perhaps ...
or perhaps not, for the coloring was wrong. But that was not what
Ta-hung had meant. He had meant the residue.

Hung sniffed at
it, finding the heavy, musky scent of it strangely familiar; then he
turned, hearing voices at the door. It was Sun Li Hua and the
Captain.

"Master
Sun," he called out. "What was in this bowl?"

Sun bowed low
and came into the room. "It was a sleeping potion,
Chieh
Hsia
." he said, keeping his head bowed, addressing the new
T'ang. "Doctor Yueh prepared it."

"And what
was in it?" Hung asked, irritated by Sun's refusal to answer him
directly.

Sun Li Hua
hesitated a moment. "It was ho
yeh,
for insomnia,
Chieh
Hsia
."

"Ho
yeh
and what?" Hung insisted, knowing the distinct smell of
lotus seeds.

Sun glanced
briefly at the young T'ang, as if for intercession, then bent his
head. "It was mixed with the T'ang's own
yang
essence,
Chieh Hsia
."

"Ah . . ."
He nodded, understanding.

He set the bowl
down and turned away, looking about the room, noting the fresh
flowers at the bedside, the T'ang's clothes laid out on the dresser
ready for the morning.

He looked across
at Fischer. "Has anything been disturbed?"

"No . . .
Excellency."

He noted the
hesitation and realized that although they knew how important he had
suddenly become, they did not know quite how to address him. I must
have a title, he thought. Chancellor, perhaps. Some peg to hang their
respect upon.

He turned,
looking across at the open door that led out onto the balcony. "Was
this where the murderer entered?"

Fischer answered
immediately. "No, Excellency."

"You're
certain?"

"Quite
certain, Excellency."

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 somewhere. 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 onto 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 besides
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 he, 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 harbored 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 counselor. Like a brother to me, he was.
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 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, sat 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 had been. Only ten, and to be 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
she raised 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 among 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.