Beneath the Tree of Heaven

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

T’ieh Pi Pu Kai

The giant hologram stood between the dragon pillars, hands on its hips, staring down at the thousands of prisoners who knelt, naked, their hands tightly bound, in the body of the Great Hall. When it spoke its voice boomed, and when it moved, the air rustled, as if a great sail had been caught by the wind.

At first its face had been that of Li Yuan, but slowly it changed, until it was that of Tsu Ma. And as the face changed, so the body underwent a slow transformation, a broadening of the shoulders and chest, a thickening of leg and thigh. What did not alter was the sense of great dignity, of authority and power, that emanated from the huge figure. Li Yuan’s opening address had set the tone; now Tsu Ma filled in the substance of the declaration. The Ministry was disbanded, as was the Guild. Security was to be purged, and the great web of connections between them and the Minor Families investigated. Finally, all servants of the Ministry were to be held pending trial, and those already known to have been actively involved in the coup attempt were to be executed.

There was a low murmur of fear among the prisoners. For many their first knowledge of this had been when they’d been dragged from their beds. A few of those looked up, yet hopeful that something might be saved, but for others who had some inkling of events—who had glimpsed the vague shadow of the plot, if not its details—there was no hope and they hung their heads abjectly. They knew this was the end and that only death awaited them, whatever the formalities.

For once, the Seven had struck back at their enemies quickly and effectively. They had hit the central Ministry building two hours after dawn, taking away all its records and killing any who resisted. At the same time other forces had hit the regional offices. All Security officers with known Ministry connections had been disarmed and arrested, and all those members of the Minor Families known to be involved had been incarcerated. The swiftness of their action had, it seemed, preempted any real chance of a coup, yet the First Dragon himself, and many other important conspirators, remained at large, and while they did the Seven were unlikely to relax their vigilance.

As Tsu Ma concluded, he raised a fist larger than a man and brought it down like a hammer upon the air.

“T’ieh pi pu kai!”

For three thousand years government proclamations had ended with those words, yet for once they seemed momentous, ominous. The iron pen changes not. . . .

Iron ... it was the symbol of firmness and strength, of determination, integrity, and justice. Yes, and the means of execution. Tsu Ma stepped back, folding his arms into the silk of his sleeves, the yellow cloth glistening like the sun; then slowly, slowly, he faded, until there was only darkness between the great dragon pillars. From the far end of the hall came the sound of a scuffle, as guards grabbed two men by the hair and dragged them toward the doorway. The beheadings had begun.

nan ho studied the list, then looked back at the man who sat across from him.

An Sheng seemed relaxed, almost unconcerned by the accusations. He had denied them, of course, and claimed that his killing of Yin Tsu had been an act of blind passion resulting from a natural indignation, but Nan Ho did not believe him, And the list? . . . well, he denied any knowledge of it, naturally. The list, taken from the dead Shang Mu’s possession, was not in An Sheng’s hand—the scribe who had copied it was in all probability long dead—yet Nan Ho had no doubt it had been compiled at An Sheng’s instigation. Ever since that confrontation with Li Yuan in the Hall of the Seven Ancestors over the Willow Plum Sickness, An Sheng had been waiting to get back at the young T’ang, planning for the day when he might avenge his humiliation, and this— this sweeping obliteration not merely of Li Yuan but of all those who had stood by him—would have been the perfect vengeance.

Of course, it would be hard to prove An Sheng’s involvement in the coup. He had made sure his own hands were clean, and even where they weren’t—as in the case of Yin Tsu—he had been careful to make it a separate matter, and had claimed his right to be tried by a tribunal of his peers. Special circumstances notwithstanding, unless they could find a crack in the wall of silence that surrounded him, An Sheng would escape all taint of traitorous behavior. And, if precedent were anything to go by, he might yet evade the charge of murder too. Whatever they felt personally, it was unlikely that his peers would find him guilty. Of a lesser charge, perhaps. It was even feasible that they would make a deal—clearing him providing he stood down and let his eldest son, Mo Shan, take over as Head of Family in his place. And what real difference would that make? No wonder the bastard’s calm.

Nan Ho set the list aside, then cleared his throat. “You realize what has happened, Prince An?”

An Sheng shook his head disdainfully, refusing to meet the Chancellors eyes. “I understand only that I have been wrongly taken from my house and detained without explanation. I wish to register the strongest complaint—“ “Your words are noted, Prince An, but these are exceptional circumstances.

The Seven have met and—“

“Forgive me, Chancellor, but what has that to do with me? The matter with Yin Tsu was . . . unfortunate . . . but I have not denied anything. Nor have I hidden anything. The tapes of the incident have been handed to the Ting Wei, and I have placed myself at the mercy of my peers. What more could I do?”

Nan Ho bowed his head slightly, careful to conceal his irritation, then continued.

“As I said, the Seven have met and agreed on a special Edict. As of tenth bell this morning Chung Kuo has been under martial law. Furthermore, a special investigation into the activity of the Ministry is under way and it is in that regard that you are here.” An Sheng shrugged. “I repeat. What has any of this to do with me?” Nan Ho pulled a report sheet across, then tapped at his console. At once a record of An Sheng’s contacts with the First Dragon appeared on the screen beside him, complete with date and duration of each visit. “You knew the I Lung well, Prince An?”

“As well as any Minor-Family Head, Chancellor. It was my business to know him.”

“True ... yet I see you met him only a few days ago. He came to see you at your palace. Isn’t that. . . unusual?”

An Sheng tilted his head slightly. “Not unusual.” “No?” Nan Ho raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Twice in three years, I see, and the last time only days before the Ministry tries to overthrow the Seven. Tell me, Prince An, did the First Dragon seem . . . preoccupied?” He watched. An Sheng had not reacted to his mention of the coup, and that in itself was unnatural. Indeed, this whole pretense of calm had the air of a rehearsed ploy. An Sheng was walking on thin ice and he knew it. “I... noticed nothing. There was talk of the wei chi championships next year and who we thought might win . . . oh, and some gossip about the Lady Fei, but apart from that. . .” He shrugged, then looked down at his hands. Nan Ho followed his gaze. An Sheng’s hands rested lightly in his lap, the long nails painted with a pearl lacquer. As he watched, An turned one hand and flexed it like a claw, as if exercising it. . . . or finding some focus, perhaps, for all the tension in^ou. Nan Ho was silent a moment longer, then he tapped at the console, clearing the screen.

“That’s all, Prince An. You may go now. But please keep my office advised of where you are at all times. If I want to speak with you again—“ “You’ll find me at my palace, Chancellor,” An Sheng interrupted, standing abruptly. Then, with the very minimum acknowledgment of Nan Ho’s status, he turned and left the room.

Nan Ho sat back, letting his breath but in a long, exasperated sigh. He looked up at the camera.

“Well, Chieh Hsial”

“He is guilty,” Li Yuan answered. “I am certain of it now.” “And the Princess, Yin Fei Yen? Do you wish to see her and hear her evidence, Chieh Hsia?”

“No. I’ve heard enough. Now I must consult my cousins. I shall let you know what is decided, Master Nan. In the meantime step up the search for the I Lung. If we can take him the rest will follow.” “Yes, Chieh Hsia.”

There was the soft chime of the dismissal tone. Li Yuan had gone. Nan Ho sat there a moment longer, staring at An Sheng’s assassination list, then stood. For once there was no real point in acting upon the T’ang’s instruction—they had more than enough people out there looking for the First Dragon—yet if the T’ang said more, he would send out more. They would not find him, even so, for either he was dead already or he was off-planet—either way they would never know. At best they would capture one of his brothers, though even that was unlikely. And what now? Nan Ho asked himself, walking to the window and looking out across the sunlit gardens. Without the Thousand Eyes watching the levels, who would now guard the Great Secret of their collective past? Who now would keep the people ignorant? Would it stay there, buried in the darkness? Or would it all come seeping back now, like blood through a sheet?

He gritted his teeth. Uncertainties, that was all they had from here on. They had abandoned History and now it had abandoned them. There were no precedents for this, no handholds up the steep cliff-face of the future. It was all improvised from this point on. Each man for himself, and beware the man who falls.

Even so, to have survived at all was something. He went out, into the garden, and stood there a moment in the spring sunlight, his head tilted back, drinking in the freshness of the day. Yes, to have come this Jar. . .

He laughed; then, sobered by the thought of all that lay ahead, he made his way down the broad white steps and past the carp pond, heading for the cells.