Days of Bitter Strength

It was after eleventh bell and the sun was slowly climbing to its zenith. Just now it lay directly behind the Clayborn, its light reflected in the surface of the lake.

In reality, the "lake" was little more than a massive ornamental pond, strewn with giant white lilies; the bridge a narrow path of pale stone, curving in five graceful spans across the water.

"SMh Ward?"

Kim looked up from the book, then gave a brief, apologetic laugh. "Forgive me. I was miles away."

"Miles?" Ben smiled, then. "I hoped we would meet last night. I was disappointed not to talk with you."

Kim returned Ben's easy smile. "And I you. You're Ben Shepherd, no?"

Ben extended a hand. "I am."

Kim clasped and shook it. "Well met."

"Well met, indeed."

Both men laughed.

"That was some scene last night," Kim said.

Ben nodded. "The Empress was not amused."

"No . . ." Kim studied him briefly. There was an intensity about his eyes - about the whole man, in fact - that was unmistakable. He had a driven, almost haunted look.

"Things appear to be happening very quickly," Kim ventured. "I've been away only a month, yet in that time things seem . . . transformed."

"That's so," Ben said with apparent candour. "But you'll hear more in that regard this afternoon. Li Yuan has called a special meeting of the Advisory Council."

Kim appeared shocked. "A meeting? But I've heard nothing."

Ben stared out across the water. "No. I've come from Li Yuan this very moment."

"Ah. So the rumours are true."

"About War you mean?" Ben looked to him, then looked away again. "Not of necessity."

"No?" Kim narrowed his eyes. "I thought the matter was decided. There is a point, then, to our discussions this afternoon?"

"There is a point to everything that's happening." Ben glanced at him, a faint smile on his lips. "But don't look to surfaces, Kim Ward. What's happening runs deep. Like that show last night."

Kim laughed. "I did wonder." He tapped the book against his upper thigh. "And your work? How goes that?"

"My work?" Ben looked back, his eyes once more raking Kim with their intensity. They were like cameras, like dark, voracious lenses sucking in the light. He did not "look" as other men looked, he saw. "My work goes tolerably well. And yours?"

"One step forward, two back."

Ben nodded. "It is the way sometimes. The second law of thermodynamics rules us all, neh?" Then, unexpectedly, he reached out and touched Kim's arm. "You must come to my studio while you're here, Kim. I'd like to show you around, to get your views on certain things. It's not often I have intelligent company."

Kim smiled. "Thank you. I'd like that."

"Good." For a moment it seemed that Shepherd was about to walk on, then he gave a soft laugh. "It's strange, don't you think, about our sons?"

"Strange?"

"How they took to each other so quickly. You'd have thought they'd known each other years. Tom . . . well, Tom is not the most communicative child, as you can imagine, though I suspect sometimes that his silence is a matter of choice, not nature."

"Ah .. ." Kim frowned. The subject disturbed him for some reason he had not yet come to grips with. "My wife, Jelka, thinks they must have met up on the Net. Sampsa spends a lot of time on it."

Ben laughed. "Maybe. That said, I don't think I've ever seen Tom go near a computer. As far as I've observed, he seems to spend most of his time out in the woods. Or did. He's changing. Growing up. I thought he'd be a child forever."

Kim nodded. "So it was with Sampsa. These last few months . . ." He laughed. "Look, I must be getting on. Jelka's expecting me. But I'll come and visit you. Tomorrow, perhaps?"

"Tonight would be better. It's when I work. I like the darkness."

Kim smiled. "Tonight then. At eleven, say?"

"Eleven would be fine."

"Good." Kim nodded, smiled. "I shall look forward to it."

"And I."

They walked on, not looking back; two strangers, heading in opposite directions; two men who, until that moment, had never passed a word or met each other's eyes.

They went on, the days ahead cloaked from them, not knowing the significance of that chance meeting.

This is it! Tom cried, his voice a veritable shout in Sampsa's head as he looked about him at the open space of the riverside park. It's there! Just over there!

"Thank the gods for that!" Sampsa said quietly, watching Tom run down the path toward the bridge, his friend's excitement a warm tingling that rippled through his nerve ends. "I was beginning to think . . ."

And then it hit.

Tom stopped dead, as if he'd run into a wall of glass, the shock breaking against Sampsa's senses like a huge wave against a sea wall.

He staggered, gasping as if he'd been punched in the stomach. Ahead of him, Tom groaned silently and fell onto his knees.

Sampsa whimpered, then screwed his eyes tight shut against the wash of raw pain that was bleeding from Tom's head.

Tom? He groaned. What is it, Tom?

At once he saw. The flower-boats were gone. Or rather, they weren't gone, they were still there, but they had been burned out. Their blackened hulks rested in the water like a child's crude charcoal sketches; eight empty eyes, mirroring the sky.

"Aiya," Sampsa said in a whisper, walking over to where Tom knelt, eyes wide, mouth gaping. "Aiya . . ."

Tom slowly shook his head, too shocked to think coherently. His head was full of jumbled images - a lamp reflected in the black surface of the water, the plucked sound of a Chinese lute, a voice, an oval face smiling up at him in the lamplight.

Sampsa shuddered, then reached down, pulling Tom to his feet. Shaking him, he spoke into his face.

"Come on. Let's find out what happened. Someone must know."

They went out onto the bridge. From the rail it looked much worse. Blackened spars could be glimpsed beneath the water-line. Beneath them was a clutter of debris. Anything light -anything that floated - had been washed away by the current.

Tom shuddered and looked to him, his face wet with tears. She's dead, Sampsa . . . Dead.

"You don't know that," he said quietly, resting his hands on Tom's shoulders. "We don't know what happened yet. It might have been an accident. They might all have got out safely."

But something about the scene suggested that this had been no accident. Tom stared at him and saw the thought in his head.

She's dead! he cried out, beginning to panic again. She's dead! I know she is!

"No," He said gently, holding Tom to him, his hand smoothing his back. "No, she's fine. I'm sure she's fine."

As he spoke, his eyes traced the eight dark outlines in the water, then moved across, looking towards the left-hand bank. There was a low stone wall and beyond it a dull red gravel path. Though it was still early, a number of people were about. Some strolled idly along the path, children in tow, others stopped to stare at the burned-out hulks, turning to exchange a word or two with other bystanders.

Tom, watching through his eyes, grew calm.

Okay, he said clearly in Sampsa's head, answering the unspoken thought.

They made their way down, onto the path.

There'll be rumours, Sampsa said silently. Someone will have heard something.

While Tom stood by the wall, Sampsa went among them, fishing for news.

"It was the Yellow Cranes," one old man said, with a decisive nod, but immediately a younger man corrected him.

"No, lao jen. You are mistaken. The Yellow Cranes owned these boats! Would they burn their own boats? No. It was the Iron Fist did this. There is bad blood between them and the Yellow Cranes. Only last week one of the Iron Fist's runners was badly beaten and another stabbed. This was their revenge."

"That's true," another chipped in, a small crowd beginning to form about Sampsa. "Things are getting worse by the day. They used to respect each other's borders, but now . . ." He turned his head and spat, then looked back at Sampsa. "Some say that more than a dozen have been killed already!"

"Were any killed here?" Sampsa asked, conscious that, though Tom had his back to him and was actually looking out across the river, he was there too, inside his head, watching from behind his eyes.

"Six, I heard," someone said from the back of the crowd, but he was immediately shouted down.

"No one's sure," a young woman said, to his right. "It was four in the morning when it happened. We saw the flames."

He turned to her. "You saw it?"

She half turned, pointing back across the park. "We live over there, in Florsheim. My old man got up to piss and saw it through the window. He woke me and we watched it from up on the roof. The whole sky seemed on fire."

Sampsa had the sudden image of himself, standing among the little crowd, and realised Tom had turned to watch. Yet even as he made to ask another question, Tom's voice filled his head urgently.

It's him! There!

He turned, startled, trying to work out who he was supposed to be looking at.

The old man, Tom said, his eyes following a hunched figure who was shuffling away from the crowd toward the gate. It's the boatman! The one who rowed Yun and me across to the flower-boats . . .

Sampsa spun round then saw him. "Excuse me," he said, looking about him, then moved quickly between them. "You!" he called, running after the old man. "Yes,jyow! I want a word!"

He saw himself running. Saw the crowd watch, wide-eyed as he caught up with the old man and, laying a hand on his shoulder, span him about.

"You're the boatman, aren't you?"

The old man glared at him, then, mumbling something in Mandarin, made to turn away.

Sampsa reached out, stopping him. "No. You are. I know you."

"Well, I don't know you, young man. Now leave me be." The old man pulled away, then turned, making to go.

"You want me to hand you over to Security?"

The old man hesitated, then turned back, facing Sampsa once again. For a moment he searched Sampsa's eyes, trying to make out who he was and what he really wanted.

"Who are you?" he asked suspiciously.

"A friend," Sampsa said, taking a five yuan coin from his pocket and pressing it into the old man's palm.

The old man stared at the coin, bit it, then nodded, pointing over to the bridge. "Okay. But not here. In my hut."

The boatman's hut was a makeshift affair tucked into the shadows beneath the bridge. While the old man primed his stove and prepared a meal of soup for himself, he spoke to the two young gentlemen, telling them what he knew.

From where he sat on a stool in the corner, Sampsa watched Tom carefully, concerned; for as the old man's story went on, Tom grew more and more agitated; convinced in his mind that the very worst had happened.

"That late," the old man said, crouching, checking that the stove was properly lit, "we normally only have two guards on. There's not a lot of custom that time of the morning and we weren't expecting trouble."

He straightened up, one hand on his back. "I'd gone to bed, you see. So I was in my hut when I heard the shouts."

"Shouts?" Sampsa prompted.

The old man nodded thoughtfully. "I thought at first it was one of the young gentlemen, playing up. Maybe one of the girls had tried to rob him, or maybe he'd just had too much to drink, but when I popped my head out I saw straight away what was happening."

"What exactly did you see?"

The old man's face creased thoughtfully in the lamplight. "Thirty, maybe forty men, armed with clubs and knives. The sight of it made me move back quick, into the shadows. It wasn't my argument, after all."

"And the guards? What did they do?"

The old man cleared his throat noisily, then continued. "First thing I heard after that warning shout was a double splash as the two of them dived off the boats and into the river. Can't blame them, I say. They weren't going to stop and have their throats cut, now were they?"

"So the girls were left undefended."

"And their clients. Poor bastards." He chuckled. "I watched them being taken off the boats, half of them drunk or woken from a dead sleep. The runners beat them - had a lot of fun with them, they did - then sent them off as they were, buck naked. That was a sight, I tell you! As for the girls . . ."

Sampsa looked up at Tom, who stood in the doorway, one hand gripping the lintel tightly as he listened.

"What about them?" Sampsa coaxed gently.

"What do you think? They were men, after all, and these were whores. They had their fun for a time. You should have heard the noise. The shrieks, the laughter. I'm surprised no one came to find out what was going on. Then again, who'd bother, that time in the morning? It's not as if some rich man's house were being attacked, was it? Anyway, when they'd had their fun, they set to work dousing the boats with fuel. And a rare old bonfire it made, too."

"And the girls?" Sampsa asked, Tom's concern shaping the question. "What happened to them?"

The old man shrugged, then turned his attention to the soup, which had begun to bubble. "They tied their hands and took them away. They've got them working somewhere, I imagine." He looked from Sampsa to Tom, as if, as young men of the world, they understood. "I mean, why waste good young flesh? But if s a shame. They were a nice bunch of girls."

"And you, old man? What will you do now?"

"Me?" he laughed; the laugh becoming a hacking cough. "I'll travel down river. I've family near Rheinstetten. They'll put me up until I find something else."

"Good." Sampsa smiled and nodded, then stood. "Thank you. You've been most helpful. Here . . ."

He handed him another coin, this time a ten. The old man looked at it, wide-eyed, then bowed, his eyes shining with gratitude.

"Take care, young gentlemen," he said, as they ducked out of the hut. "And give my regards to that scoundrel Yun when you see him!"

Sampsa, who had been about to walk away, stopped dead, looking to Tom. Yun! Of course! Why hadn't he thought of Yun before? If anyone could find out what had happened, Yun could.

He turned back. "You wouldn't, by any chance, know where Yun stays when he's not working the Imperial barge. He said he had family hereabouts."

The old man laughed. "The only family that one's got are street girls! If I were you, I'd try trawling the sing-song houses."

Sampsa looked to Tom then back to the old man. "Are there any you'd suggest?"

The boatman considered a moment, his jaw making a chewing movement as he thought, then he nodded. "You might try Madam Ho's in Hattersheim. It's in Green Dragon Lane. I'm told he's sweet on one of the girls there."

"Thanks," Sampsa said again, and then, because Tom was mentally urging him, handed the old man a third coin - another five.

The old man bowed low, muttering his thanks, unable to believe his good fortune, but the two young men were already hastening away.

It's not far, Sampsa said into Tom's head. We can be there in less than an hour.

Tom looked to him, despairing. But Yun . . . what will Yun know?

More than us, Sampsa answered, determined that he'd make the bastard talk. A damn sight more than us!

"Li Yuan?"

Surprised, Yuan turned, dropping the porcelain figure he'd been studying. It shattered at his feet.

"What are you doing here? I told Master Nan . . ."

" . . .that you were not to be disturbed. I know." Dragon Heart smiled, then, closing the door behind her, came across the room. "I told him I had an urgent message from my sister."

She bent down, beginning to pick up fragments of the broken statuette.

"And he believed that?"

She looked up at him and laughed. "Master Nan is a good servant, neh? And a good servant sees more than most men."

Li Yuan stared at her a moment, then crouched down, helping her.

"What was this?" she asked, examining one of the delicate painted pieces. Li Yuan glanced at the ancient fragments, conscious that he had just dropped five million yuan's worth of porcelain, then smiled.

"Nothing," he said. "Nothing at all." He reached out and gently touched her neck below her ear, his fingertips tracing the line of her shoulder, her upper arm.

She closed her eyes, like a cat being petted.

"I dreamed of you," he said softly.

Her eyes opened, looking straight into his, so clear and dark they took his breath. He leaned forward, gently brushing her lips with his own.

"I dreamed of geese," she said.

"Geese?"

"Two pure white geese, flying together into the southern sunlight. I was one of them. I could feel my wings beating strongly in the air. And beside me . . ."

He smiled. "Let me guess. It was me."

"You had the dream, too?"

He shook his head. "No. But I wish I had been there with you in your dream."

"Maybe you will. Maybe you'll dream it tonight."

"Tonight?" His smile slowly faded. A tiny shiver passed through him. "Why don't you come to me tonight? No one will know."

Her smile did not waver. "That is not true, Li Yuan. I would know. Besides, I cannot come tonight. I must be with my sister tonight. Tomorrow, after all, is her wedding day."

"Ah . . ." The disappointment he felt was immense. He sighed heavily.

She put her hand out, her fingers softly caressing his cheek. "But I am here now, neh? You could lock the door and draw the blinds . . ."

He stared at her. Then, as if in trance, he stood and went across, turning the key in the lock.

"Blinds down," he said, speaking to the house computer. At once the room began to darken as the big, slatted blinds came down.

He walked to his desk and put on the lamp, then turned, looking to her. She was picking up more pieces, collecting them in her cupped left hand.

"Leave that," he said. "Come here."

She stood and came across. Brushing the broken fragments onto the desk top, she turned her head, looking at him, her youthful face more serious than before - something determined in its expression.

"What do you want, Li Yuan?"

He hesitated, then said it, the words barely a whisper. "I want to make love to you, Dragon Heart. Right here, on the floor beside my desk."

"No," she said. "Anything but that."

"Anything?"

Slowly she began to unbutton her dress, then let it fall from her. Beneath it she was naked.

"Anything," she said once more, seeing how his eyes feasted on her; how his whole body was tensed with wanting her. She stepped toward him, then reached up, putting her arms about his neck. "Anything at all."

Handing Madam Ho a twenty yuan chip, Sampsa winked at her then, putting a finger to his lips, opened the door.

The room was in darkness, the shutters closed. The sound of snoring came from somewhere on his left. He went across silently then stood there, over the bed, looking down. In the light from the corridor outside he could make out the young man's features, recognising Yun from Tom's memories.

Yun lay on his back in the abandonment of sleep, naked to the waist, his spectacularly ugly face tipped back, mouth open.

Sampsa leaned across him and, taking both his shoulders firmly, began to shake him.

"Wake up! Wake up, you miserable little piece of shit!"

"Wha . . .?" Yun shook off his hands irritably and, sitting up, knuckled his eyes.

"Who the fuck are you?" he asked, glaring at Sampsa.

"A friend," Sampsa said. "Now, if you know what's good for you, you'll help me."

"Help you?" Yun laughed sourly. "I don't know you from Wen Ti! Why should I fucking help you?"

Sampsa leaned in close, so that his breath hissed into Yun's face. "Because if you don't, I'll carve my name right there. .." he tapped Yun's forehead smartly, "between your fucking eyes!"

Yun blinked, reassessing things, then nodded. "Okay... but let me get dressed first, all right?"

"Sure." Sampsa stepped back.

"You mind?" Yun asked, standing.

"Mind?"

Yun gestured toward the door. "You give me some privacy, neh?"

Sampsa looked about the room, then nodded and stepped outside, but he'd only been there a moment when he heard the faint but unmistakable sound of the shutters being opened.

He rushed in, just as Yun disappeared out the window onto the roof.

Sampsa followed, scrambling down the sloping roof, then dropping into the backyard, just in time to catch Yun scrabbling to free the latch. Grabbing him by the scruff of the neck, he frog-marched him back inside.

Tom, who had been waiting in the tawdry downstairs reception, stood up as Sampsa entered, dragging the still-struggling Yun.

"Master Tom!" Yun cried, grinning suddenly as he saw who it was, then turned to Sampsa. "Why you not say you with Master Tom? I thought you were Security!"

You thought nothing of the sort, you littie fucker, Sampsa thought, bringing a smile from Tom.

"So . . ." Sampsa said, pushing him down onto one of the sofas and holding him there. "You're going to help us, right?"

"Sure!" Yun acted nonchalant. "What you want?"

"The girls . . . you know, from the burned-out flower-boats. You know where they are?"

Yun went to shrug, but something in Sampsa's eyes - something hard and uncompromising - made him change his mind.

"I might," he said, looking from Tom to Sampsa, trying to assess just how important all this was.

"Good," Sampsa said. "Then take us there right now."

"Now? But. . ."

"Now," Sampsa said insistently. "Or you'll find yourself explaining to I Ye just why you took one of the great Tang's guests to visit some low-life brothel!"

Yun swallowed, then nodded, the mention of I Ye clearly having done the trick. "Okay. I take you there."

Papers of State lay scattered about the floor, rumpled and torn, their wax seals ripped from them. Nearby a footstool was overturned, its dragon-head carvings staring sightlessly across the bright red carpet. Beside the massive, dark wood desk fragments of a broken porcelain figurine lay mixed with the delicate multi-coloured shards of a shattered glass glowlamp, while on the floor beneath the Chair of State the silk pillow on which the Great Seal of Office normally rested, had been carelessly dropped, its blue and yellow surface stained with semen.

Close by, discarded clothes - male and female garments, velvets and silks, leather boots and a fan, and some soft black satin briefs - were littered across the floor.

In the shadowy half-light of the overcast afternoon the room had an air or ruin or abandonment. The only sign of life came from the Chair of State itself where Li Yuan sat, completely naked, his hands tied with silk ribbons to the chair above and behind his head, the girl's face buried in his lap, her tiny, childlike hands gripping his hips, her dark hair spread like seaweed across his upper thighs. His head was turned to the side, the neck muscles tensed like hawsers, his eyes closed in pained ecstasy. His grunts of pleasure came quicker now; little whimpers of sound that grew more urgent as each moment passed.

As he came, her fingers raked his sides then moved across, pinching his nipples hard as his whole body spasmed. His hands rugged at their silk restraints.

His groans were like the groans of a dying man.

She moved her head back, staring up the length of his body, her eyes laughing and lascivious.

"There," she said softly. "I told you you weren't finished."

"Gods . . ." he answered breathlessly, staring at her in astonishment. "Kuan Yin preserve me from you!"

Her smile was knowing. "You want me to go away, Li Yuan? You want me to go and never come back?"

"No . . ." He shuddered violently. "No . . ."

He closed his eyes, letting his heartbeat slow, his breathing return to normal.

Aiya, he thought, thinking of all they'd done. Things he would not himself have dreamed of trying.

His eyes slowly opened again, looking at her. Her hands were in his lap now, cupped about his shrivelled manhood, as if petting a baby bird in its nest, the brush of her fingers like all else about her . . . delightful.

Yes, but she was no innocent, he knew that now. Why, a thousand years of knowledge seemed behind her every movement. She was innately sexual; more so than any woman he had ever known. She looked a child, yet behind that mask of physical perfection - behind that childlike innocence she so perfectly portrayed - lay a natural perversity that set his every nerve on fire.

She had brought him off with her hands, her breasts and finally her mouth. Three times he'd come, and still she played him, tirelessly, relentlessly.

I am an old man, he wanted to say, let me be, but still her fingers held him in a spell, making him dance like a corpse on a wire. He was drained, but still he ached for her.

He turned his head, looking up to where the silk bindings cut into his wrists. His fingers were smeared with her blood where he had touched her intimately.

Yes, he knew her now. Knew her almost as well as any man could know a woman. Yet still it was not enough. He wanted to lay with her. Wanted to feel their bodies moulded to each other. Wanted to lose himself in her and become her at that moment of release.

There was a sudden knocking at the door. A harsh and urgent knock.

"Unfasten me!" he hissed, wanting no one to find him like that.

Slowly, letting her naked body slide against his own enticingly, she reached up and freed his hands.

"Thank you," he said, his mouth opening to hers, her lips brushing one last time against his own before she stood back.

His eyes were drawn to her breasts, to the stiffness of her huge, dark nipples.

The knocking came again, and this time a voice. "Chieh Hsia\ Are you all right?"

Li Yuan stretched and stood. His body ached. He flexed his hands then, stooping, picked up his cloak, draping it about him.

"Heng Yu?" he called. "Is that you?"

"Yes, Chieh Hsia."

Li Yuan walked to the door. "So, Master Heng, what is it makes you hammer on my door so urgently? Has something happened?"

"Forgive me, Chieh Hsia, but the Council is met. They but await your presence."

"The Council . . ." He turned, staring at her. Shit! He had forgotten it completely. She had driven it from his mind.

Help me, he mouthed at her, then, turning back, he called out to Heng Yu once again. "Return to the chamber, Master Heng and tell them I am on my way. I... I overslept. I shall be but a moment or two."

"Chieh Hsial" He heard Heng"s footsteps recede and heaved a great sigh of relief.

"Aiyal" he said, as she brought his clothes across and, kneeling before him, began to dress him. "Aiya!"

She let him out then pushed the door tight shut and locked it. Turning, she looked out across the littered surface of the room and smiled to herself. She had done well. This afternoon she had almost got him there. Her hook was through his gills. Yes, but the fish was not landed yet. There was still more work -more reeling in - to be done.

Laughing, she gathered up her clothes, then, naked, pressing them to her stomach, she walked through into his private suite, heading for the shower.

He would be gone now several hours, making his plans and scheming his schemes, but she - and she laughed softly at the thought, a vixen's laugh - she would be in his bed when he returned.

Li Yuan looked about the table, then, with a broad smile, opened the proceedings.

"Most of you have met before, but as there are guests at our table, let me briefly introduce them."

He gestured towards Hans Ebert who sat once more directly opposite him, at the far end of the table.

"First, let me welcome our good friend and ally, Hans Ebert to this Council. Along with his companion Aluko Echewa, Hans represents the interests of the Osu and the African settlers."

Ebert gave a tiny nod of his head. "Thank you for inviting us, Li Yuan. We shall be interested to hear what you have to say."

Li Yuan returned Ebert's smile, then turned in his seat, gesturing to his right where his son, Kuei Jen, sat beside his young American friend.

"And may I also welcome Mark Egan to this Council. Mark is the grandson of Josiah Egan, Head of the NorTek Corporation of America, and is present here as representative of the New England Enclave, of which his grandfather is one of the four Executives."

There were looks of mild surprise at that. Many had thought the young man merely a companion to Kuei Jen; yet he had the bearing of a prince and had been clearly bred to power. Young Egan smiled and bowed his head to Li Yuan.

"I am most honoured to be here, Chieh Hsia. My grandfather and his fellow executives have asked me to pass on their sincere and heartfelt best wishes to the Tang and his family."

Li Yuan smiled. "That is most kind, Mark. Now, as for the rest, to my immediate right here is Heng Yu, my Chancellor. Beside him we have my trusted friend and confidant, Kim Ward, Head of NorTek Europe, and beside him my son, Prince Kuei Jen. Next to Shih Egan, standing in for Marshal Karr, who is currently otherwise engaged, we have our Head of Internal Security, Colonel I Ye."

Li Yuan shifted in his chair, gesturing now to his right where Nan Fa-hsien sat uncomfortably between the Osu and the Empress. Though young Master Nan was well-informed in all matters of policy, he had only recently been appointed to the Advisory Council and this was his first meeting.

"May I welcome Nan Fa-hsien, Master of the Inner Chambers, to the table. Master Nan's father, as you might recall, served me well as Chancellor for many years."

He shifted his eyes, looking with unconcealed distaste at the horse-like countenance of his wife. "Beside Master Nan we have, of course, my wife, the Empress, Pei K'ung. And finally, to my immediate left, as ever, we have my close friend and Chief Advisor, Ben Shepherd."

"Must that man be here?"

Li Yuan looked to his wife again. She was staring down at her hands, her face tight. There was an empty chair between her and Shepherd - a chair where normally Ming Ai would have sat - but the distance between the two, as Li Yuan knew, was far greater than mere physical appearance would have it. To tell the truth, she loathed Shepherd.

Li Yuan smiled politely. "You want him to leave?"

She hesitated, then nodded tautly.

The smile remained fixed on his features like a painted mask. "I am very sorry, Pei K'ung, but I am afraid I cannot do that. Shih Shepherd is an appointed member of this council. He has a voice here."

She glared at him, half-rising from her seat as if to leave, but his answering expression brooked no argument. A commanding nod told her to sit again. She sat.

"Now ... if you would begin the proceedings?"

She swallowed the bile that had risen to her throat, then, drawing towards her the golden-covered folder on the table before her, she opened it.

All about the table, there was the sound of folders being opened, pages rustling. Of the eleven, only Ward had a direct input socket, and he alone took the tiny wafer-thin datacard from his folder and, pinching the skin behind his ear, slipped it into the fleshy slot.

"You may have heard rumours," Pei K'ung began, her voice loud and confident, more like the voice of a man than a woman. "Well, rumours are rumours, the facts are as follows. For some time now we have been considering a campaign to reclaim and unify the Asian lands; to return civilization to those entrapped and unfortunate people. Until recently, however, circumstances have proved extremely difficult and the possibility of undertaking such a campaign with any chance of success has been small. That now has changed. For the first time in many years we find ourselves in a position where - so my experts confidently inform me - we could carry out a campaign with an almost guaranteed certainty of a successful, not to say highly beneficial, outcome."

Pei K'ung looked about her, her eyes glowing. As she got further into her argument, so she grew more confident, more passionate. All eyes were on her now, ignoring the open folders, even Shepherd's, though there was a kind of listless-ness about the way he looked at her that, to a more watchful eye, might have seemed strange.

She continued. "The reasons for carrying out such a campaign are threefold. First, by so doing we shall be reclaiming our hereditary rights over the Asian territories and thereby fulfilling one of the central terms of the ancient constitution of Chung Kuo. Second, by subjugating these areas, we shall reintroduce large numbers of our former citizens to the rule of law and order. And third, by bringing these lands under our control, we shall be able to guarantee trade and, it is hoped, increase its levels substantially, to the benefit of all."

She looked about her, her long face smiling broadly, as if all of this were unquestionably self-evident.

"Of course," she went on, "such a campaign has to be paid for, hence the new levies, but the potential benefits outweigh such temporary measures many times over. Though the people might grumble a little now, they will be cheering when our victorious Banners return triumphant."

Across from her I Ye nodded enthusiastically, but others about the table seemed more cautious, less carried away by her rhetoric.

"Forgive me," Ward said, leaning towards her across the table, "but might I speak?"

Her eyes went to Li Yuan then back to Ward. She nodded.

"Thank you." Ward composed himself a moment, then, looking about him, began to speak, the extended forefinger and middle finger of his right hand touching his mouth every so often, then moving out into the air above the table to emphasise each point he made.

"I hear what the Empress, Pei K'ung, is saying. I hear her when she says there are reasons for such a campaign and that there are possible benefits to be derived from waging war on our Asian neighbours. What I do not hear from her are any counter-reasons. Nor do I hear of the possible disadvantages -in human, economic and social terms - that might result from pursuing such a policy."

He turned, looking directly at Li Yuan. "Forgive me, Chieh Hsia, if what I am about to say seems either discourteous or... well, disloyal, but I feel it must be said."

Li Yuan smiled graciously. "You are my Advisor, Kim Ward. What you say here shall be taken in an advisory manner. You must speak openly and fearlessly."

"Thank you, Chieh Hsia."

Kim turned back, looking about him again, his fingers brushing his lips briefly before he spoke. "Let me, then, deal firstly with the reasons for such a campaign, and let me give three reasons of my own for not embarking on this venture.

"First, let me speak concerning the matter of hereditary rights. Whilst it is true that Li Yuan is the sole remaining member of the Seven and that in him, therefore, resides the attributes of their power, as far as territorial claims are concerned - considering him solely as the senior male of the Li clan - it might be argued that such claims extend only as far as the borders of City Europe. Asia - east and west - is not and never was part of his family's domain. I would even go so far as to contend that others - even those Warlords who, as ex-Minor Family princes, have shown extreme disloyalty to the Seven in the person of Li Yuan - might possess a better claim in law."

Pei K'ung made to speak, but a look from Li Yuan silenced her.

"Continue," the T'ang said calmly.

"Second, as regards the question of law and order. In the course of my trade I have found it necessary to travel to various of the states of both West and East Asia - to Sichuan, Anhui, Kashmir and the Kirgiz Enclave, to mention just four of many - and whilst those states have codes of law which I personally would neither endorse nor care to live under, there is - throughout Asia - a degree of order which other continents, South America and Australasia, certainly, would envy. To state, therefore, that one of our prime objectives is to bring law and order to the Asian peoples is, with respect, a misleading notion. In truth, we would be merely replacing their codes of law with our own."

Kim paused. "These two matters aside, it is on the third and final count that I find myself - as a businessman - objecting most strongly. Pei K'ung has stated that - and I quote her verbatim - 'by bringing these lands under our control, we shall be able to guarantee trade and, it is hoped, increase its levels substantially.' Well, forgive me, Chieh Hsia, but I find this notion not merely mistaken but absurd. War will destroy trade. It will undo all of the good and patient work we have done these past ten years, beginning with these foolish new taxes. . ."

"Foolish?' Pei K'ung could hold her peace no longer. "What do you mean, foolish?"

Ward turned to face her, undaunted by the anger in her eyes, the way her thin, bloodless lips were pursed against him, concentrating on his argument. "I make no apology for the word. Taxing the common people is a foolish, misguided and ultimately divisive tactic. It will do nothing but harm the state. To begin with - and I feel this is self-evident - it will reduce the amount of spending money circulating within our city. As a consequence, everyone - from the humblest street trader to the great Heads of Companies themselves - will suffer. But that will be as nothing beside the consequences of pursuing a prolonged military campaign in Central Asia.

"Prolonged?" I Ye chipped in from Kim's right. "Who said it would be prolonged? Have you not read the report, Shih Ward? Why, by even the most conservative estimate, we shall have reunified the continent within eighteen months. And what's eighteen months?"

Kim stared at I Ye a moment, then, sighing, shook his head. "I have scanned the figures, Colonel I, and to be frank I find them ludicrous."

"Ludicrous?" I Ye bristled. "So Shih Ward is an expert on military matters now!"

"I am no expert, I admit," Kim began.

"Then bow to those who are," I Ye said aggressively, "as we bow to you on matters more . . . esoteric."

Kim looked down. "Tell me, I Ye, how long did it take the great tyrant, Tsao Ch'un, to conquer all of Asia?"

I Ye shrugged. "Four years?"

"Six." Kim met his eyes. "And he held China already. Six years it took him, and it should be remembered that he faced no serious military opposition."

"He was slow."

"He had to be slow. One cannot simply move through territory. One must hold it and police it. One must administrate and coordinate. And then there are small matters of supply-lines to maintain, the question of sufficient manpower. Asia is a huge place, Colonel I. One might lose such a tiny city as ours in its wastes."

Pei K'ung leaned forward, interrupting. "Your argument has some merit, Shih Ward, but we have already considered all such matters carefully. It is why, at this very moment, Marshal Karr is in Mashhad seeking an alliance with Warlord Hu." She smiled fiercely. "We shall move only when it is safe to move, strike only when the time is right to strike."

"And if they strike back?" Kim asked.

Her smile was contemptuous. "You really think we should fear such rabble, Shih Ward? After all, our men are highly trained, our weaponry state-of-the-art. That much you should know, at least. After all, you helped design it."

"More's the pity," Kim murmured, regretting the words even as he uttered them. He turned and looked to Li Yuan. "What I mean, Chieh Hsia, is that I designed those weapons to be used as deterrents, in a defensive capacity ... to help prevent war, not wage it!"

"Can one choose how a weapon is used, Shih Ward?" Pei K'ung said, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "Weapons, surely, are neutral things? Besides, surely such a campaign as we suggest will prove the best defence in the long term? After all, it is only a matter of time before the Warlords ally with each other and gang up on us."

"You believe that?" Kim asked, astonished that she was so out of touch with things. "Why, from what I've seen, they can't even agree between them what gauge of rail to use for their new fast-track systems!"

Pei K'ung made to answer, but Li Yuan leaned forward, his hand raised. At once she fell silent.

"Backtracking a moment, Kim," Li Yuan said, his face expressionless, "you were talking a moment ago about the possible consequences of pursuing a long military campaign. I would like to hear your views on that."

"Chieh Hsia," Kim answered, nodding to him. "As I was saying . . . should the campaign be prolonged for some reason - because of some unexpected military upset, perhaps - then the effect on trade could well be catastrophic. Not that even a small, swift war would be to our advantage economically - not in present circumstances. A long, drawn-out war, however, a war of attrition, would not only destroy the great web of trading links that have grown up between ourselves and the East Asian states these past ten years, but would undermine the very structure of City Europe. There would be unrest on a scale we have not seen since before the Fall. We would be back to square one ... or worse."

"Worse? Come now, Shih Ward," Pei K'ung said, sitting back, relaxing now. "This scaremongering does not become you. Our City is strong, our economy sound. Standards of health and education are at a level we have not seen for a hundred, a hundred and fifty years."

Kim nodded emphatically. "So why risk all of that? Why gamble on some profitless, destructive gesture?" He sighed, then looked about him, appealing to them all. "The gods help us ... what about all the people that will die? What of all the widows, the orphans, the maimed and the sick that will result from such a war? Must we forever be the cause of such things? Why can't we go on as we are, building patiently and peacefully? Why must we always have wars and yet more wars?"

Hans Ebert spoke up. "Shih Ward speaks for many here. I endorse what he says. K you would have my advice, Li Yuan, it would be to listen to this one wise voice among your counsellors."

"The military expert!" I Ye said, folding his arms and sitting back.

Ebert turned to his left, focusing his attention on his neighbour. "You have fought in many campaigns, then, Colonel I?"

I Ye squirmed inwardly. "That is not the point."

"Then take your own advice and listen to an expert. As someone who was once the T'ang's General, what Shih Ward says makes a great deal of sense. To take and hold Asia - Asia, dammit! - is not an easy thing, and if Tsao Ch'un achieved that task in six short years, then credit goes to Tsao Ch'un as a military commander, if for no other reason."

I Ye's mouth opened, then closed with a tiny snap.

Ebert turned back, smiling first at Ward, then at Li Yuan. "We Osu have fought our fair share of petty wars these past ten years and would gladly fight no more. That said, we owe the Tang a debt. If he calls, we shall come. Yet we would prefer not to have to come.''

"I thank you, Hans," Li Yuan said, nodding to him, as though to an equal, "but we have heard only half the voices." He looked to his son. "Kuei Jen . . . have you anything to offer this debate?"

Kuei Jen looked to his father and smiled. "For myself, no. It would be presumptuous of me to offer an opinion. My role, as I see it, is to listen to the advice of my father's council and learn from that. However, there is one here who wishes to make a contribution." Kuei Jen turned, putting out a hand to introduce his friend, Egan.

"Might I, Li Yuan?" Egan asked, his bright blue eyes suddenly alert.

"Of course ..."

Yet before Egan could speak, Pei K'ung spoke up. "Forgive me for interrupting at this point, husband, but might I mention something that has been troubling me for some time now. I understand why our friends from Africa are at the table - we owe them much, and they ought to be consulted before we take so great a step - yet I am far from certain why our young friend here has been granted access to this council. I do not wish to offer him, nor the faction he represents, any insult or offence, but it is unusual, surely?"

Li Yuan nodded, as if acceding the point, then looked to the young American once more.

"Shih Egan, if you would enlighten my wife."

"Why, certainly, Lord Li." Egan turned and looked to Pei K'ung, smiling charmingly at her as he began to speak. "As you know, Empress, your stepson, the Prince Kuei Jen has spent the last eighteen months in North America. The great majority of that time has been spent with us in the New England Enclave. In the course of our discussions we covered much ground and discovered a great many areas of agreement." He looked to Kuei Jen briefly, his smile broadening. "The Executive Council was much impressed by your stepson, Lady. So much so, that when he broached the matter of an alliance . . ."

"An attiancel" Pei K'ung was on her feet, leaning over the table, looking to Li Yuan. "Why was I not consulted about this, Li Yuan?"

He stared back at her blankly. "You are being consulted. Now sit down and listen to our guest. You will have your chance to speak when Shih Egan has finished."

She slowly sat again, but she was clearly far from happy. Now when she looked at Egan, it was with a suspicious glare. Yet Egan seemed unperturbed.

"As I was saying, when Prince Kuei broached the possibility of an alliance between our States, my grandfather and his co-Executives discussed the matter with great seriousness. As you might know, we are a proud people and we value our independence greatly. Indeed, we have fought for it at great cost these past two decades. There is not a person in any of the five cities of the Enclave who has not lost someone dear to them in that struggle. But now, thanks chiefly to your son's most eloquent persuasion, we have decided to end our isolation and offer the hand of friendship."

Egan reached into his tunic pocket and drew out four silk-paper envelopes. Leaning across the table, he pushed them toward Li Yuan. The T'ang smiled and gave a tiny nod of his head, then gathered up the letters, studying the seals. With a satisfied gleam in his face, Li Yuan fanned them out, so that Pei K'ung could see them clearly. There was the blue star on white of WesCorp, the black on yellow of RadMed, the bright red eagle of NorTek and the blood red circling atom on pale green of AmLab. Seeing them, Pei K'ung's eyes widened, impressed.

"Those," Egan said on cue, "are the personal pledges of the four Executives."

"Pledges?" Heng Yu asked, looking first to Egan, then to his T'ang. "I don't understand, Chieh Hsia."

Li Yuan looked at him and smiled. "Pledges of personal loyalty, as from a subject to his T'ang." He looked to Egan. "Are you prepared, Shih Egan?" "I am, Li Yuan." "Then come."

Egan rose to his full five ch'i in height, then came round the table and, with a stiff bow, knelt and placed his forehead to the floor before Li Yuan. At this, Li Yuan stood and, turning to face him, extended his foot and gently pressed it to the young man's neck.

"Chieh Hsia," Egan said. As Li Yuan removed his foot, he slowly crawled backwards a little way then lifted his head.

Li Yuan turned, looking to his wife. "You understand, Pei K'ung?

She understood all right. Shih Egan's gesture was as a surrogate. By his action, and by those four pledges, the Executives of the East Coast Enclave had become Li Yuan's vassals, answerable to him. And by the same token he had become their protector, responsible for their safety and well-being. By that single gesture he had sealed the alliance.

She swallowed, then nodded, clearly shocked by this sudden turn of events.

"Return to your seat, Shih Egan. You have more to tell us, I understand."

"Chieh Hsia." Egan resumed his seat, then, clearing his throat, continued. "As a token of our gratitude, and of our loyalty, it has been decided that an army of eighty thousand men will be despatched to aid the great Tang's forces in the campaign in the East. Furthermore, we pledge a considerable stock of state-of-the-art weaponry for the furtherance of that campaign - details of which are included in a separate letter I have been instructed to hand over to this Council."

I Ye, seated beside the young man, sat back and nodded. Across from him Pei K'ung's surprise had given way to delight.

"Eighty thousand men. . . and new weaponry? What kind of weapons?"

In answer, Egan reached inside his other pocket and, removing a larger package, pushed it across the table to her. While she slit it open and removed the document, Egan spoke on.

"Twenty years of warfare have not been wasted on us. We have come a long way in the art of weaponry. Those years of constant struggle were also years of great technological advancement. With respect to Shih Ward, I believe we have advanced the science of warfare more than any other state in history. Transformed it, you might say."

Pei K'ung, who had been flipping through the pages of diagrams and specifications, now looked back at Egan.

"Why?"

"I beg pardon, Mistress?"

"Why do you need this alliance? Eighty thousand men . . . and this. Why? What do you want?"

Egan smiled. "It's very simple, Mistress. We want peace. And there will be no peace, not until the world is as it once was under the Seven. Not until a single man rules it all with an iron fist. Our Council realises that now - understands it, let us say -and rather than fight you and destroy both of our great states, we would prefer to fight alongside you to guarantee that future world."

There was silence about the table as the full importance of what Egan had said sank in.

"And your promise, Li Yuan?" Ebert said, his face troubled.

"My husband kept his promise," Pei K'ung answered, turning to face the blind man. "He pulled down the old City and rebuilt it on a more human scale. Yet even you must see that what Shih Egan says makes sense. Peace cannot be guaranteed until the world is unified again . . . until it is once more Chung Kuo and not a rabble of minor states. You of all people ought to understand that, Shih Ebert!"

"You wish, then, to make things as they were again?"

She shook her head slowly. "Not as they were, no. But to have a single ruler, that makes sense, surely?"

"So Asia is just a start?" Ben Shepherd said quietly, speaking for the first time.

Pei K'ung kept her back to him, pointedly snubbing him, speaking to the rest of the table. "If Asia is ours, the rest will join willingly. We have only to destroy the power of the Warlords and unification will once more be in our grasp."

"And if we fail in our initial aims?" Shepherd asked, his raised voice cutting through her rhetoric. "If Asia doesn't simply crumble before our forces?"

He laughed bleakly. "What if it all goes wrong, Pei K'ung? What if our plans are thwarted and our armies defeated in battle? What if our allies turn against us suddenly? What if... well, what if only one or two of the thousand things that can go wrong in a campaign actually do go wrong? What then? Has anybody thought that through? Has anybody sat down and worked out just how fragile we are as a society, how quickly all that we've so patiently built these past ten years could be destroyed? Has anybody calculated that?"

"Of course . . ." Pei K'ung began, yet Shepherd raised his voice once more, speaking over her, not allowing her to have her say.

"Have you read no history, Pei K'ung? Have you no idea how often schemes like yours have turned to dust? Does the shining light of possible victory blind you to the dark possibility of annihilation?"

She turned, glaring at him, then looked to her husband. "A vote, Li Yuan. I demand a vote."

"Demand?" He laughed, then, all amusement draining from his face, gave a tiny shrug. "All right. So be it. A vote." He sniffed and looked about the table. "All those in favour of this action - of a campaign to unify Asia under our sovereign power - raise your hands."

Pei K'ung, I Ye, Prince Kuei and Egan raised their hands at once. A moment later, Heng Yu's joined them.

"Five," Li Yuan said, smiling. With eleven seated at the table, that left six yet to vote. "And those against?"

Ward, Ebert and Echewa raised their hands at once, but after a moment's wait no further hands went up to join them.

"Shih Shepherd?" Kim asked. "Surely you are opposed to this nonsense?"

Ben smiled. "In theory, certainly. But Li Yuan knows my position on such matters. I am an advisor, not a formulator of policy. When it comes to a vote, I will always abstain, whatever my personal opinion."

Kim turned, looking to Nan Fa-hsien. "And you, Master Nan?"

Nan Fa-hsien did not meet Kim's eyes, but looked to Li Yuan. "I am my Master's hands," he said quietly.

"Then it is passed, five votes to three," Li Yuan said.

"But Chieh Hsia . . ." Kim began.

"It is passed, Shih Ward," Pei K'ung said, watching her husband rise and leave the table. "You had your say and were outvoted. Now accept the decision of the Council or resign."

"Resign?" Kim looked to her, then across to Shepherd, who smiled apologetically. Then, saying no more, he got to his feet and followed Li Yuan from the room, his face greatly troubled.

"Colonel I!"

I Ye stopped, a profound sense of apprehension gripping him. He knew that tone. Knew it could only mean trouble. He turned and bowed low.

"Mistress?"

The meeting had ended only moments before and they were barely outside the Council chamber.

"In my rooms! Nowl"

He bowed low once more, then hurried after her.

The meeting had gone well, or so he thought. Pei K'ung had wanted a campaign for a long time and now she had one - yes, and eighty thousand American troops, too! But strangely she didn't seem too pleased.

Back in her study she slammed the door and turned on him.

"I have changed my mind."

He had no idea what she was talking about. "Mistress?"

"About Shepherd. About discrediting him."

"Ah. . ." He felt relief flood through him. Thank the gods for that, he thought. The old crow's come to her senses at last!

"I don't want him discredited," she said, looking clearly, almost icily, at him. "I want him killed."

It was a moment or two before it hit him. "Kitted?'

"Killed," she repeated. "I want him to have ... an accident."

He felt numb. Kill Shepherd? Kill Li Yuan's Chief Advisor? Why, if anything even vaguely suspicious happened to Shepherd, Li Yuan would stop at nothing to find out the why and the who of it. Why, killing Shepherd was tantamount to putting a gun to his own head. Besides which, he didn't understand this sudden switch of mood. The man had abstained, damn it! So what had he missed? What in the gods' names had he missed?

"Well?" she said, still staring at him. "You are very quiet, Colonel I. Did you not understand my order?"

He lowered his head and clicked his heels together. "It shall be done, Mistress."

"Good." She turned away, moving toward her desk. "I don't care how and I don't want to know. I just want it done, understand me, Colonel?"

He kept his head down, his smile a rictus. Oh, he understood all right - the gods knew he understood! What he didn't understand - what he hadn't worked out yet - was how he was going to wriggle his way out of this one.

Kitting Shepherd. He shuddered, then hurried from the room. How the fuck was he going to do that and survive?

Costas and James helped Calder take the woman from the cart and carry her inside. There, Eva took over, laying the stranger on the bed to examine her, wincing as she saw the extent and nature of the woman's injuries. She turned to Calder, her eyes dark with sympathetic pain.

"Who did this to her?"

"Brothers of ours, so-called. They were led by an old man named Lu Song."

"Ahh . . ." There was a look of understanding in her eyes.

"You know him?"

She nodded. "And the woman?"

Calder swallowed. "She's one of I Ye's agents."

"I Ye! Are you mad?"

"She's a human being, Eva. I just couldn't let those butchers ..."

She touched his arm. "Ifs okay. I understand. But it complicates things."

"Complicates them? How?"

She sighed, then, with a glance at the other two, came out with it "A lof s been happening, Alan. Our plans. . . Well, we've had to change our plans. To hasten things. We'd have discussed it with you, but you weren't here, and now there's little time."

"Little time? What do you mean?"

"Marshal Karr is here."

"Here? What... in Mashhad?"

"He arrived this morning. He's been in talks with Hu Wang-chih all day. There's a strong rumour that Warlord Hu is to form an alliance with Li Yuan."

"An affiance?"

She nodded. "Word is they plan a war against the other Warlords."

"But. . ." Then he saw it. Saw it all. Right now Hu Wang-chih was deeply unpopular; his internal policy depended on severe repression of his people. Right now his assassination would be a popular act. But given a successful war all that would change. With popular feeling united against a common enemy, Warlord Hu would become a hero overnight. Or if not overnight, within months of the war commencing. It was how, after all, he had risen to power - on a wave of blood and euphoria.

"So when is it to be?" he asked, conscious of how all three of them were looking at him.

"Tomorrow," she said.

"Tomorrow?" He gave a laugh of disbelief. "But we haven't raised the money. How will we pay the assassin?"

"We won't."

"What do you mean, we won't?"

"We won't because we won't be using an assassin. I'm going to do it."

He stared at her, his whole face frozen into immobility. "But you can't. I mean. . . you couldn't harm a fly. I know you, Eva. To kill a man . . ." He shuddered, then looked down, slowly shaking his head.

"I can," she said clearly. "I can because I have to. Because if I don't then all of those deaths, all of that suffering, will have been for nothing. Besides, who better? As his maid, I have direct access to him. No one would suspect me."

"No," he said, looking at her. "You can't."

"I have to." She took his arms and looked into his face, forcing him to look back at her. "We knew there'd be risks, Alan. When we decided to do this, we knew we might all end up dead, but we went ahead anyway. When I stole those tapes, that was a risk. When you went to Li Yuan's city . . ."

"Yes, but thisl"

She stared at him earnestly. "You want to stop, Alan? You want to call it a day, now, when we're so close? Because, if you do, you might as well declare for him. We would be condoning all he's done. . . yes, and all he's yet to do. Do you forget what happened to your wife, your daughters?"

He swallowed bitterly. There was no need to answer.

"Tomorrow, then," she said, the matter settled. "In the meantime, let's see what we can do for the woman here."

Where Huan T'an Avenue met Stone Lane there was a clear change of architectural style. Whereas Huan T'an Avenue was clearly residential, with its flat-fronted single storey brick houses, Stone Lane was commercial, a riot of signs and colourful banners hung above its doors. What shops there were in Huan T'an Avenue were of the usual sort - essentially a single room with a shuttered front, locked up each night, the two rooms overhead reserved for the trader's family. The shops in Stone Lane, however were more varied. Stepping from one into the other the regularity of the suburban streets gave way to a mish-mash of styles, old and new. Moreover, what was intrinsically Han here gave way to what was quite clearly - and, one might say, brashly - Hung Mao.

This was the heart of the old pre-City town of Frankfurt and many of the buildings here had been rebuilt from the shells of the old. Between, a number of garish structures had arisen, notable more for their architectural strangeness, their use of glass and plastic, than for any other feature. Hung Mao merchants had built this part of Li Yuan's city - Dispersionists, it was rumoured - using old plans, old designs. But the Han had taken over here as everywhere. No Western faces stared out from its doors or windows. At least, none they could see.

It was growing dark. Night would be on them in an hour. Yun turned and smiled broadly at the two young men.

"Well, Masters. Here we are."

Sampsa looked about him, certain now that nothing good would come of this adventure. "And where's here?"

Yun laughed and sketched a crude triangle in the air, as if to encompass the territory facing them. "Yinmao," he answered. "We are in Green Lamp Lanes here, along with the god with white eyebrows."

Sampsa understood at once; but Tom's voice sounded in his head.

What the hell does he mean?

He means it's one huge great knocking shop!

And Yinmao . . . that's its name?

Sampsa smiled and shook his head. Yinmao is pubic hair.

Ah...

Sampsa gestured towards the nearest shop. The pull-down shutter was half-lowered. In the shadows beyond an old man, his black pau buttoned to the neck, sat behind a small table, inhaling a stick-drug. In a doorway to the side a younger woman stood. Her manner, her make-up and her clothes left no doubt as to what she was. A whore. A common men hua. Elsewhere along the narrow lane others stood idly by, awaiting custom.

"Not busy now," Yun said with a grin. "Later get very busy. Many people come. Much fun. Much money pass hands, neh?"

"Neh," Sampsa said, disliking the young cook more by the moment. Let's get on with it, he said silently, turning to Tom. Let's find her and get out of here.

Tom gripped his arm. And if we do find her? What then?

Sampsa grinned. Why, we buy her, idiot! We pay off whoever owns her.

They'll let us do that?

Why not? Trade's trade, after aH. Providing our offer's good enough, they'll not reject our moneyl Yun spoke, breaking into their silent exchange. "You strange, you two. The way you look at each other. It give me fucking creeps!"

Sampsa looked to Yun and glared. "Just take us to her, if you know what's good for you!"

Yun shrugged. "But you here. If she here, you find her, neh? If not. . ."

Sampsa grabbed him by the neck, the strength of his fingers surprising the young cook. "If not, you're in trouble, brother Yun. Big, deep, wide trouble. You know what I Ye likes to do to little fish like you?"

Yun put his hands up. "Okay! Okay! Be patient. She here, I find her for you. But no guarantees. This hunch, okay? Educated guess."

Uneducated bollocks, Sampsa said silently, but Tom was too concerned to laugh. His fear for the girl's safety overrode every other consideration in his head. For Sampsa, experiencing it second-hand, it was like a constant mental tremor, a faint trembling in the nerves and muscles that - after a time - grew quite disconcerting.

"Come on," he said, patting Yun's shoulder in a conciliatory fashion. "You find her, we'll reward you."

Yun grinned, all sign of reluctance suddenly, almost magically gone from him at the mention of money. "Why you not say that before! I carrot man, neh? You dangle, I run . . ." He pantomimed it, then, shaking his head. "My father beat me badly when I boy. I very stubborn. I..."

"On\" Sampsa urged, giving him a gentle shove. "Now. Before the light gives out."

7 Ye pulled on his skin-tight gloves, then stepped inside the cell. He looked about him, surprised, then stepped across, staring down at the IMe girl who sat, her hands manacled, in the corner chair.

"Is this the prisoner?" he asked, looking to one of the two guards who stood, masked and ominous, behind the chair.

"Yes, sir!"

He returned his attention to the girl. "So you are Chuang Kuan Ts'ai?"

She looked up at him and nodded.

"Aiya'" He turned, looking to his Sergeant in the doorway. "How old is this girl?"

"Seven, sir."

"Seven ..." 7 Ye's expression was one of disgust and anger. "You bring me a seven-year-old child to question. What kind of fucking moron are you?"

"But the Librarian ..."

"You want to make me a laughing-stock, Sergeant? You want word to go out that I Ye has taken to torturing children?"

The Sergeant lowered his head sharply. "No, sir."

"Then take her home. . .and make sure she comes to no harm."

"Sir!"

But I Ye was not finished. "As for the other matter, consider it dealt with. But next time you pick a quarrel with one ofKarr's lieutenants make certain it's for a damn sight better reason than this. You understand me, Sergeant?"

"Sir!"

I Ye turned, looking at the girl, shaking his head at the sight of the heavy manacles on those slender, childish wrists.

"Overkill," he muttered, turning away. "Seven-year-olds! Whatever fucking next?"

"I won't leave," she said dearly, making him turn back.

"I beg pardon?"

"I won't leave until my Uncle is freed as well."

"Your Uncle?" I Ye stepped closer, frowning, then looked to the Sergeant. "What's this about an Uncle? Have we the whole fucking family in here?"

"The Lu Nan Jen. . . the Oven Man. He's in the other cell, sir."

"He resisted arrest, I take it?"

"No, sir, he . . . well, one of my men had to restrain him."

I Ye stared at his Sergeant, then slowly shook his head. "You mean, he cashed him from behind?"

"Sir!"

"Kuan Yin preserve us!" I Ye murmured, then, louder, "Free the man. And give him fifty yuan for his trouble. No . . . make that one hundred, to be docked from your wages, Sergeant!"

"Sir?" For a moment the man stared at his Colonel in disbelief, then he lowered his head. "Sir!"

"Good. And let no harm come to either of them. I'll have no one say that I Ye is an unfair man."

"Sir!"

But as I Ye left the cell, peeling the gloves from his hands as he went, the Sergeant's eyes followed him, a sullen resentment burning in them.

"Unbind her!" he yelled, gesturing toward one of his men. "You heard the Colonel. We are to take the young lady home."

Yes, he thought, turning to stare at the empty doorway, but you'll pay for this humiliation, I Ye. You are a careless man. I was loyal and you treated me like shit. Well, shit is as shit does and henceforth 111 be as loyal as any jackal's loyal to its carrion.

Loyal until death . . .

The thought calmed him, brought an unexpected smile to his face.

"Okay," he said, relaxing, "bring the Lu Nan Jen and let's get moving. And let no harm come to him. After all, our Master is a fair man. A very fair man."

They had sealed the main shaft at both ends and stationed men at all the access hatches. If there was anyone down there - and rumour was that it was a regular littie rat's nest - then they would get them.

"Okay," the Hsien L'ing said, looking up from the map that was spread out over the hood of his hover-car, signalling to his Wei - his Captain of Security - to begin. "Let's flush the little buggers out!"

At a signal from the Wei, the two guards at the first access hatch, lifted it and, while one covered the entrance with his laser, the other climbed down the runged ladder into the shaft, one of the sniffers under his arm.

The sniffers were automated trackers, designed to seek out and destroy rodents and other pests that had come back with a vengeance since the new city had been buUt. These, however, had been adapted for slightly larger prey.

At the bottom of the tunnel, the guard set down the sniffer then stood back, raising an arm. Ahead of him the main shaft stretched away for just over five li, smaller spurs branching off in a huge web of shafts that shadowed the streetplan of the city overhead.

The guard by the hatch turned to face the Wei and raised his arm.

"Okay," the Wei said. "Activate the sniffer."

Hsien L'ing Wang watched as another three of the automated hunters were passed down and activated. Then, satisfied that all had gone well, he ordered the guard back up.

All they had to do now was wait. Either their prey would try to come up for air. . . or they would die down there in the tunnels.

He smiled, thinking of the speech he'd give that evening in the Market Square. Why, it would be worth every fen he'd spent hiring the sniffers to see the merchants faces when he told them he'd eradicated the problem.

Maybe he'd even display the corpses. Rub their noses in it. Especially that bastard Hei Fong who was always complaining. Yes .. .he'd make sure Hei Fong dug deep in his pocket to pay for this!

Wang laughed, then, reaching across to take a bottle and two wine cups from the basket, walked across to his Wei.

"You want a wager, Kan?"

"A wager, Hsien L'ing?"

"On how many we get."

"Ah ..." The Wei stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Twenty-five?"

Wang laughed. "Come now. As few as that? I reckon sixty. No. Sixty-eight."

Kan shrugged. "Okay. How much?"

"A hundred?"

"Make it two." The Wei smiled broadly. "Corpses? Or live ones, too?"

"Corpses, naturally. You think I'd cheat a friend?"

It had come upon them silently, a deadly, impersonal killer, picking them off with ease as the boys panicked, their screams filling that cramped and enclosed space as they tried to make their escape. Now only Josef remained, pinned down beneath the corpse of Judd, his lieutenant of six hours, trying to make no movement that might alert the sniffer's primitive sensors.

The air was hot, the smell of scorched flesh and faeces so strong it was hard not to gag.

He had once seen a programme on the sniffers and knew he would be safe if he kept still. Despite its name, the machine could not smell him, nor could it hear his quiet breathing. Other models registered body heat, but this one dearly didn't. This worked by discriminating patterns of light and dark - by sensing changes in those patterns and thus discerning motion. His slightest movement would trigger a response: a blinding flash - a bolt, it seemed - of light. One move and he would be fried alive, like the others had been.

Right now the sniffer was perched on the edge of the access tunnel, its squat silver shape framed by the dark circle of the opening. It had been there several minutes now, its eyes - two light-sensitive panels - scanning the interior of the Nest. In his head Josef counted. When he reached one hundred and eighty-five he heard a tiny double thud as the sniffer jumped down onto the floor of the Nest.

He dosed his eyes, knowing what was to come. There was the dack-dack-dack of its metallic feet on the ash-strewn floor, then a slow metallic whirr. There was a sickening squelch - the sound of flesh being drilled - as its rotor arm burrowed into one of the corpses. It moved on, operated, he knew, at a distance.

Whirr, dock-dock. Whirr. A pause as it changed direction. Clack-clack-clack. Whirr.

The last was dose. He steeled himself.

Clack-clack. Whirr.

Hefdtjudd's corpse move on top of him, pushed back by the force of the metal drilling arm. Something passed dose by his ear, its passage marked by a disturbance of the air. Specks of fresh blood spattered his face and neck. The corpse juddered again as the drilling arm withdrew.

Clack-clack. Whirr.

He heard it jump; heard the metallic ring of it as it landed on the edge of the opening and slid down the exit tunnel into the shaft below.

Josef let a long shuddering breath escape him, then hauled himself up from beneath the burned and mangled corpse of Judd.

For the moment he was safe. For the moment he could stretch his limbs and move without fear. But a momentary safety was not enough. There were other machines, after all, and they were programmed to keep searching until anything that moved was eradicated. To survive, he would have to do more than just hide.

He smiled, knowing what he would do. After aU, they were only machines.

Back in the silence of the house, Chuang went straight through into the kitchen and, pulling the stool across, climbed up and filled the kettle at the sink.

Cho had been silent throughout the journey home, staring morosely at his hands all the while as the Security van bounced along the lanes.

As she put the kettle on the hob and lit it, she heard the door to the laying-out room creak open down the hall. He had been

working on a body when the Sergeant had come - deaning and preparing the corpse of a teenage boy who had drowned in the canal the previous day. The cremation was scheduled for tomorrow morning and he had barely begun the work when I Ye's thugs had interrupted him. He would have to work late now to catch up.

She made ch'a, then set the chung and a dean bowl on a tray and carried it through. Yet, on entering the room, she saw at once that he was not working. He was standing over the body, his back to the door, his shoulders hunched forward, sobbing.

Setting the ch'a down on the side, she hurried across, squeezing in between him and the table and putting her arms about him tightly, pressing her tiny head into his ample stomach.

"It's okay," she said. "We're safe now. Safe. You heard what I Ye said."

But Cho seemed inconsolable. The tears ran down his face like drips from a leaking tap; as if he were crying for all the corpses he had ever burned.

"You must be strong, Cho Yao," she said, moving back and looking up at him, a lump in her throat at the sight of his sad, defenceless face. But the words were really for herself. It was she who had to be strong henceforth, for both of them, for this business had hurt Cho badly; had undermined his trust in the world. Something had broken in him these past few days. Something he could not live without.

After a moment he put his arms down, holding her.

"I'm fine," he said at last, a tiredness in his voice. "Come. You tidy up, my peach, I'll finish here."

She looked back up at him and smiled bravely. "Not too late, though," she said, playing the lit&e mother. "You need your sleep."

"Ah . . . sleep." His sigh was Weariness itself. "I wish I could sleep. These past few days ..."

"Ill make you something," she said. "I'll..."

They both stiffened, hearing a banging at the outer gate. It came again; loud, insistent.

"Who is it?" he whispered, looking to her fearfully. "Who'd come at this hour?"

It was not unusual. People often came. As Cho said, death did not keep office hours. Even so, the events of the past few days had made them both wary of callers in the night.

"Ill go," she said, smiling at him again, trying to exude more confidence than she felt. "It's probably a delivery."

"Ah ..." The thought seemed to calm him. "Of course. An Oven Man's task is unending, neh?"

Maybe, she thought; at least, until the last man dies.

He put his face down to hers, so she could kiss him, then planted his own soft kiss on her brow.

"Go answer it," he said, smiling wearily at her. "Ill wipe my face then come through. They'll need help with the cart."

I Ye waited in the shadows until the cart had gone through, then sent his men forward, surprising the Oven Man at the door. As he stepped through the gate he glimpsed the girl on the far side of the yard as she disappeared out of sight, pursued by one of his men. A moment later she was carried out, struggling furiously against the iron grip of her captor. He smiled inwardly, admiring her spirit. The Oven Man, however, stood where they had come upon him, his arms hanging limply at his side, his head lowered dejectedly. The guards to either side of him held him loosely.

"Well," I Ye began, dismissing the two men who 'd brought the cart with an abrupt gesture. "It seems I made a mistake letting you two go."

He had indeed. In fact, it was only because Dawes had pointed out the connection that he was here at all. An enigma, that man. But useful, as it turned out, because now he could solve two problems with a single solution.

"You!" He pointed to the girl. "You are under arrest for treason against the State."

The Oven Man jerked his head up at that, then turned and looked at the child, open-mouthed.

"But you . . ."I Ye now pointed to the Lu Nan Jen. "You can help her."

The Oven Man looked back at him. "How?" he asked quietly.

"By doing your job."

"My . . ." A look of understanding registered in the Oven Man 'sface. He turned, looking to the child, who shook her head.

I Ye smiled. "You can refuse. That's your right. But you should understand what will happen if you do."

"Oh, I think I understand," the Oven Man answered unexpectedly.

I Ye's smile broadened. So the Lu Nan Jen wasn't quite beaten yet.

"You refuse, then?"

The Oven Man swallowed. "No. I'll do it. Whatever it is. But I must have your guarantee."

"My word?"

"No. Something written. Something official."

I Ye considered briefly. Something like that could be used as evidence against him if things went wrong. Then again, he didn't intend to allow anything to fall into the wrong hands, not even the Oven Man, so what was a piece of paper?

"Okay," he said.

"Now," the Oven Man said insistently.

"I could have you both executed, right here and now, for what you've done."

"So why don't you?"

I Ye laughed humourlessly. "No more games. Have we a deal?"

The girl, who had been silent until now, cried out to him. "No, Uncle Cho. You mustn't help them! You mustn't!"

Cho Yao looked across at her and shrugged helplessly. "We have no choice, my peach. I have to."

She swallowed, tearful now, and once more shook her head, but I Ye, watching the exchange, knew he had got what he wanted.

"Okay," he said brusquely, speaking to the guard who held the child. "Take her to Edingen." He turned, stepped up to the Lu Nan Jen and spoke into his face. "Ill come inside and write your guarantee. Your wording, Oven Man. All right?"

But the Oven Man's eyes looked past him, never leaving the child; watching, deeply pained, as she was taken from the yard, out into the shadows beyond.

"All right," he said finally, looking back at I Ye, his voice a bitter whisper. "Let's make our deal."

Hsien L'ing Wang looked on from beneath the arc-lights he'd had set up above the main access hatch, smiling, as masked guards brought out the tiny bodies. They had stacked up over forty already, and still they came. He turned, looking to the Wei, who shrugged, then came across, reaching inside his tunic to putt out his wallet.

"Who would have guessed?" Kan said, handing over the four fifty yuan notes. "The tunnels must have been teeming with them!"

"Like rats. But easier to catch!"

He took the money, then looked past the Wei. A small crowd had formed behind the barrier, keen to see the outcome of the purge. Many were shopkeepers, who, their day's work finished, had hurried across town. They had suffered greatly from the petty thievery of the vagrants these past few months so few of them had any sympathy for them.

"About time!" one called.

"A job wett done!" another cried, and others took up the cry, praising and congratulating the Hsien L'ing for his firm action. Wang smiled and raised a hand, acknowledging their praise. But praise was merely praise. In the longer term it was their money he was after, and this show - effective as it was - served other purposes.

He turned back, looking to the Wei again. "Did you send someone to Hei Fong, as I asked?"

The Captain nodded. "I did, Master."

"Good, good ..." Wang looked about him distractedly. Despite a faint evening breeze, it was still too warm for his liking and the smell from the bodies . . . well, it was disgusting. The sooner Hei Fong and the other merchants saw them, the sooner they could burn them and get on with things. He unfurled his fan and wafted it before his face, but it made little difference; the stench remained.

He turned back. "Kan! Send another messenger to Hei Fong. Tell him his presence is required."

The Wei came to attention, then turned and gave the order to a nearby guard.

"If he doesn't come soon ..."

Hsien L'ing Wang stopped. The crowd had gone silent. The Wei was staring past him. He turned.

"What. . ?" Then he saw what it was. He gasped. "Kuan Yin! What happened?"

The guard came right up to him, then threw down the two sniffers. In the glare from the arc-light Wang could see the precise nature of the damage. Both cases were badly dented, the legs snapped off, the drilling mechanism jammed at an odd angle, the delicate lenses of the "eyes" smashed.

The Wei came and stood alongside him. "Aiya'" he said. "What in hell's name did that?"

The guard shrugged. "We don't know, sir. But whatever it is, it's still down there."

"You mean, the operatives didn't see anything?"

"No, sir. Whatever it was must have dropped on them and blinded them. One moment we had a signal, the next . . . nothing."

Kan swallowed. "Okay. Get the men out at once. Recall the other sniffers. Then seal it att. We'll go in with gas."

The Hsien L'ing reached out, gripping his arm. "No, Wei Kan. Gas won't work. It's too big, too well ventilated down there for gas to be effective. I think this is one for I Ye and his men."

"I Ye?" The Wei looked troubled at the mention. "But we can handle it. I know we can."

Wang lowered his voice. "And if you can't? If word gets out that there really is a monster down there in the tunnels? Something that can destroy an automated tracker? Think, man. Think how word would spread. Why, before we knew it there would be panic throughout the city, and then you and I would be in the shit up to here."

He poked Kan's neck savagely.

"Now get on to I Ye's office, and do it at once. I want this thing sorted out, and I want it done tonight!"

Senior Warden Chao bowed low, his shaven head bobbing like a large ivory egg, then backed off apace, inviting Shepherd into his luxuriously decorated office. The hangings on the watt were real antiques from before the time of the City, the porcelain figurines in the glass-fronted display cabinet behind his desk expensive collector's pieces. Above the cabinet, a portrait of Chao Chung, in his ceremonial regalia, a plumed hat surmounting his bare dome, stared down at visitors; the image possessed a gravity, a stature the man did not have in life.

Ben, looking about him, understood at once. None of this had been paid for out of a Senior Warden's salary. AH of this was the fruit of squeeze - the result ofsordidUttie deals with the relatives and loved ones of the prisoners in his care. Yes, even as he took his seat across from Chao Chung he was conscious of the man's avaricious eyes on him, calculating the potential profit from this meeting.

"Wett, Shih Shepherd," Chao began, his smile, like his voice, emanating a false friendliness. "How can I be of service?"

Ben met the man's eyes coldly, then handed him Li Yuan's handwritten letter, conscious of how, in that brief instant in which their eyes had met, Chao Chung had understood - as dearly as if he'd spelt it out at length - that not only was he not fooling his visitor with this act, but that he was held beneath contempt for even attempting such familiarity. Even so, Chao Chung maintained the smiling mask, if only because he knew no better tactic. It was important, from his viewpoint, not to offend this most important of visitors, for to give offence to Shepherd would be taken as giving offence to his benefactor, Li Yuan, and that - in Chao's position - would be, quite literally, suicidal.

With a bow to Shepherd, he slit open the letter and began to read. He had only got halfway down when he stopped, looking up in surprise.

"But you only had to say ..."

Chao stood, gesturing towards the door to his left, inviting Ben to join him.

"Condemned prisoners only," Ben said, standing.

Chao smiled once more, his thin, bloodless lips stretched into a grotesque rictus. "That goes without saying, Shih Shepherd. Here they are all condemned."

They went through, down a narrow, dingy corridor lit by a single wall-mounted lamp and out into a busy Control Room. As they entered, the Duty Captain looked up, then hurriedly took his feet from the table and stood, snapping to attention.

"Senior Warden!"

"Captain Lauther," Chao said, turning to smile obsequiously at Shepherd, as if to excuse his Captain's slackness. 'Shih Shepherd wishes to look at some of our wards."

"Certainly . . ."Lauther looked to Shepherd and bowed, then put a hand out, offering his chair. "If the ch'un tzu would be seated, I'll show him what we have."

Ben took the Captain's seat, facing a bank of four screens which showed various shots of the prison. Views which changed randomly from time to time.

"Could I ask what exactly you're looking for, Shih Shepherd? It might speed things up."

"I'm in no hurry, "Ben answered, looking about him languidly.

"Ah ..." Lauther grimaced, then looked to his Senior Warder for instructions.

"Perhaps you would like to see the latest arrivals first, Shih Shepherd?" Chao said, bowing slightly, his hands folded before him. "We have had some interesting additions since the Edict."

Shepherd's grunt was noncommittal. Hearing it, Chao gestured to his Captain, indicating that he should just get on with it.

"Forgive me, Shih Shepherd," Chao said, his smile wearing thin, "but there is a great deal of paperwork to be got through. If you do not need me . . ."

"Of course," Ben said, not even deigning to look at Chao, dismissing him with the most casual of gestures. "I'm sure Lauther here will find me what I want."

"Of course." And, bowing, Chao Chung backed away, annoyed by Shepherd's treatment of him, yet relieved to have escaped his company.

When Chao was gone, Ben turned and looked up at the Captain. "Kuan Yin preserve us from such fools, neh, Lauther? Now, show me what you've got."

The two soldiers crouched beside the hatch, examining the battered sniffer, then turned and looked to Wang, shaking their heads.

"I am afraid this lies outside our jurisdiction, Hsien L'ing Wang," the most senior of the two - the Captain - said, wiping his hands on his uniform trousers. "You would be better off referring this matter to the company who built this thing. I'd sue them, if I were you. You would at least get compensation."

Wang bristled. "Forgive me, but you miss my point, Captain. It is not the sniffers I'm worried about, it's what did that to them."

"WeU ..." Again there was a considered shaking of heads from the two. "I'd say that that was a matter for your Wei, Hsien L'ing Wang. We deal only with matters of State security."

"But surely this is just such a matter?" Wang said, exasperated now, conscious of his old rival, Hei Fong smirking at his shoulder. "If word of this gets out, if the perpetrator is not caught . . . weU, who knows what wiH happen. If there is a monster in the tunnels ..."

The Captain stood, then took several paces towards him, his hands on his hips.

"You aren't suggesting that, are you, Hsien L'ing Wang? A monster? In the tunnels? I would think twice before I said such things, for to ferment unrest is a capital offence."

"But ..." Wang feU silent, then turned and, pointedly ignoring Hei Fong, looked to his Wei.

"Okay, Captain Kan," he said, reining in his anger and frustration. "Get as many men as you can in there at once. I - want every ts'un of that network searched, and I want it done by morning."

He turned back, lifting his head proudly, giving I Ye's Captain a look of pure disdain. "Whatever others chose to do, I want no man to say that Hsien L'ing Wang does not know where his duty lies."

Then, with a tiny shudder of indignation he walked away,

letting his Wei get on with it.

CHAPTER-8

night

The midnight tolling of a distant bell carried across the still night air to where Emily sat on the rotting stump at the edge of the frozen lake, her face buried in her hands. She was crying; mainly for Ji, who had experienced so little of life when he'd been taken, but also for all the other unloved and abandoned children - the progeny of this careless, bastard world which treated people like insects, crushing them thoughtlessly beneath its heel. Tears had never come easy to her, anger had always been her response, but now she cried and cried and cried, as if she'd never stop.

For the spoiled promise of the world. And for herself.

After a while she raised her head and looked about her, surprised almost to find the world still there, unchanged. The wind whispered through the trees behind her, a sound like the constant fall of water. She shivered, then shook her head.

She hadn't thought. When they'd fled she'd thought only in the short term - of escape - but now she had to make plans for the longer term. For a moment she thought of the Hsien L'ing and what he'd done, not understanding, for it was he, surely, who had precipitated all of this, and yet it was he who had then let them escape.

She wondered what had happened to him. Whether he was now rotting in some dark and fetid cell for what he'd done.

I should hand myself in, she thought. Yes, but what would that solve? Nothing. They would execute her, and then they would execute Lin. Yes, and the boys too.

She clenched her fists and groaned. She hadn't thought it through. She should have left them. Someone would have taken them in. And even if they hadn't, they'd have been better off than they were now, because now they were implicated in her crime.

She sighed. Yes, but to simply leave them - abandon them -that would have been equally unthinkable. They would have ended in a work-camp. No, they would head south, out of the City, and find some place where she wasn't known; somewhere they could live safely, quietly; where Lin could mend things and her boys could grow tall and straight like trees.

She stood, wringing her hands, tormented by the thought. It was so little to ask for. So fucking little.

"Mama Em?"

Emily turned. Lin was standing there, a dozen paces from her, a bandaged hand resting on the bark of a young pine. How long he'd been there she didn't know; she knew only that she hadn't heard him approach.

"Are you okay, Mama Em?"

She tried to smile, to reassure him that all was well, but the hurt she felt was so vast, so all-encompassing that the mere sight of him - of the simple, uncritical love, the sympathy in his eyes - triggered something in her. She began to cry again.

He came across and, holding his damaged hands out away from her, embraced her. She clung to him, sobbing helplessly, while he, bewildered, tried to comfort her.

"It's okay, Mama Em. It's okay . . ."

She sniffed deeply, then moved her face back from his, wiping her hand across her face. "No," she said, taking a shuddering breath. "No, it's not okay. We can't stay here. We're already running out of food. We have to go."

"Go?" His eyes were fearful. "Go where?"

"South," Emily answered, seeing what must be done even as she said it. She shivered again, then nodded. "We'll set off early, before dawn. If we make for the southern edge of the forest we can camp there until if s dark, then traverse the Karlsruhe corridor overnight. We could be out of the City in two days."

She saw the sudden hope in his eyes and looked away, wishing she hadn't seen it. In the circumstances it was better to be without hope.

She swallowed bitterly. She had made it sound easy, but Security was alerted to her existence now. They would be looking out for her. And there was that little matter of the reward. A million yuan. There would be a lot of people out there who'd sell their own brothers to have a share of a million yuan.

"Come," she said, letting him know nothing of her thoughts. "Let's get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long day."

He nodded, then, uncharacteristically, leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "It'll be okay," he said, as if saying it enough would make it happen. "You'll see, Mama Em. You'll see."

Let's go, Sampsa said, turning away, sickened by the sight. We've seen enough, surely?

No, Tom said, staring unflinchingly at the girl. She's here somewhere. I know she is.

Sampsa closed his eyes, but still he saw. As long as Tom looked he could not help but see the poor creature.

Tom, he pleaded. Please . . .

Tom looked away, releasing him from the sight. Even so, the memory tormented him. Cripples. Even cripples . . .

He shuddered, then made his way to the door, anxious to get away. It was true, after all: one could buy anything in the Yinmao - anything at all. GenSyn sports, children barely old enough to walk, old women, dribbling from senescence, cripples from the War, machines and things that were part machine, part living organism - hybrids from the vats of the new companies that had sprung up these past few years, the sick toys of fevered imaginations - all these and more they'd seen these past few hours.

"Well?" Yun asked as they emerged from the dingy room. "You find her?"

His eternal, smiling optimism was beginning to piss Sampsa off in a major way.

"No, you little fuckhead," he answered moodily. "Nor are we likely to. You knew damn fucking well she wouldn't be here, didn't you?"

Tom reached out, touching Sampsa's arm. No . . .

"What do you mean, no?" he said, rounding on Tom, forgetting for an instant that he hadn't spoken aloud - that Yun was present. "This fuckhead is giving us the run-around, don't you understand that? Yes, and taking a cut from all his friends here, you can be sure!"

Sampsa turned back, glaring at the young Han cook, but Yun was shaking his head. "You do me wrong, Master Sampsa. I try help Tom. You think I take money from a friend?"

"I think you'd steal from a friend and sell your sister if you saw a profit in it!"

Yun blinked, then shook his head, angry now. "You fucking weird, man! You one chip short of a full circuit! I help you and you fuck me over!"

Sampsa reached out suddenly, grasping Yun's neck, his fingers closing on his scrawny windpipe.

No!

He turned, staring at Tom, then let his grip relax.

Yun fell to his knees, coughing.

No. We need him. She's here. I know she is.

No, Tom. She isn't here. You just want her to be here. If she was here we'd have found her. But she isn't.

Tom pointed at Yun. Ask him. Ask him if there's a special place. Somewhere we haven't been. Somewhere . . . unusual.

This whole fucking place is unusual.

Ask him!

Sampsa raised his hands. "Okay . . ."

He knelt. "Look., I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

Yun looked up at him and glared. There was real hatred in his eyes now. "You fucking madman!"

Sampsa nodded. "Yes . . . still." He took a fifty note from his pocket and stuffed it into Yun's top pocket. "That's for medical expenses. Now listen up. My friend here wants to have one last try at finding his girlfriend. He wants . . . well, he wants to know if there's somewhere special. Somewhere . . . unusual."

Yun swallowed, one hand stroking his neck tenderly, then, his eyes glancing at the note stuffed into his top pocket, he nodded. "Yes. But it cost you, right?"

"Right."

Sampsa stood back, letting Yun get to his feet, then, taking out his wallet, looked to Yun. "How much?"

"Five hundred."

"Five . . ." Sampsa laughed and looked to Tom. He's taking the piss now, Tom. Let's go. Let's leave the little fucker here and just go.

No. Pay him. I'll pay you back.

He hesitated, then, counting out the notes, handed them across. Yun counted them, then looked to him again. "And a hundred for me. As guide."

This time he didn't even consult Tom. He peeled off two more fifties, staring stonily at Yun.

"Okay, Tom's friend," he said acidly. "Take us there. And this better be good, understand me? This better be really special."

Yun grinned. "Oh, this special, all right. This ve-ry bloody special."

The heavy, slatted blinds were drawn over the wall-to-ceiling windows of the studio room, each lacquered slat as broad as a man's forearm, each night-black polished surface delicately hand-painted by palace craftsmen. Inside the cavernous room itself, a single lamp burned at the far end where, behind a thick cloth screen the height of two men, Ben Shepherd was at work, surrounded by machines and frames and tables upon which were scattered pens and massive, leather-covered ledgers marked Thanatos, fragments of wire and glass and tubing, and other miscellaneous items of strange appearance.

Right now he was reaching up, adjusting the settings on one of the nine screens that rested in a bank against the wall. All of them showed variations of an outline skull. Behind him, at the centre of the work space, lay the shell; a large, jet black sarcophagus, its upper casing raised like a beetle's wing. Inside, nested within the cushioned interior, lay the child, her ivory nakedness rendered almost abstract by the metal cranial band, the tangle of wires and pads that linked her to the machine.

She lay still, unblinking, only the slight rise and fall of her chest betraying the life that lingered in her. Nearby, stretched out in perfect mimicry, the morph lay in its cradle, a thick red and black striped cable linking it to the shell.

Overhead, polished mirrors reflected back the scene, while in the corner, on top of a softly-humming generator, the wide-angle lens of a camera captured everything.

Ben turned from the screens and went to the nearest table, turning the big, square pages of the ledger until he came to the most recent workings. Taking a pen he made a few notations -coded symbols on a time-line graph that had meaning only to himself. Satisfied, he threw the pen down and turned, looking across at the girl.

The preliminary results were good. She gave a good clear signal, her brain responding perfectly to the fine-wire stimulation. She was sharp, this one - intelligent. He'd not expected that.

And pretty too, he thought. Why, it was almost a shame.

The Letter of Permission was in his trouser pocket, signed by the Senior Warder and co-signed by Li Yuan less than an hour back. Effectively the girl was dead. She had ceased to be the instant Li Yuan had signed the Letter. From that moment she had become his property, to do with as he would.

Fate, it had been.

Ben chuckled, remembering how he'd seen her on the screen in the control room at Edingen and asked her name.

"Chuang Kuan Ts'ai," the Captain of the guard had said. Coffin-filler.

"How apt," he'd answered. "And when does she die?"

"In the morning."

"Then she's perfect."

And so he'd taken her. To give her, if not life, then the immortality of death. For she would be the first of his experiments. He would cast her like bait into the darkened pool and wait, watching to see whether the great pike, Death would rise and take her in its mouth.

A fisherman. He laughed. The shepherd becomes a fisher of men. Now, where have I heard that before?

But was it possible? Was it really possible to reel Death in? To capture him on camera?

Again he laughed; a short, single sound. He would go down with her; would sink through the layers of darkness with her, his consciousness attached to hers, until . . .

Until the darkness changed and became something else. Some other kind of darkness, perhaps. And on the third day . . .

There was a knocking on the outer door.

He looked up distractedly and frowned, then, taking off the headset, stepped out, pulling the screen to behind him.

"Who is it?" he called, turning, looking across at the door, his mind still musing on the dark.

"It's me," came the muted answer. "It's Kim. . . Kim Ward."

"Ward. . . Ah, of course." Ben went across and drew the bolt back from the top of the door. "Come in," he said, wiping his hands, giving Kim a tight smile. "Forgive me a moment. I must just finish this . . ."

Kim smiled. "I understand."

"Take a seat. I'll not be long."

Kim watched Ben go behind the screen, then looked about him at the massive room. Three mahogany-framed armchairs with red velvet upholstery were placed about the ornamental fireplace. In that large, definitively Han room they looked strangely out of place.

He went across and sat, waiting, listening to the faint noises from behind the screen. A moment later Ben emerged, offering an apologetic smile.

"It's not that I'd forgotten," he said, "it's just that it got so late I didn't think you'd come."

"I almost didn't. My daughter wasn't well."

"Ah..." Ben seemed uncomfortable with the notion. "Is she all right?"

"Yes ... Li Yuan's surgeon sent something. She's sleeping now."

"Good, good ..."

"But I wanted to talk to you," Kim said, before he could speak again. "About the meeting."

Ben smiled. "You want to know why I didn't vote with you. Why I abstained."

Kim shrugged. "That... and other things. Mainly I want to know what's going on."

Ben came across and sat in one of the chairs, facing Kim.

"All right," he said, looking down at his hands, then back at Kim. "What I said in council, I said to draw Pei K'ung, to force her to say openly what she might not otherwise have said. That lady is used to dealing through intermediaries - through the likes of I Ye and Ming Ai - while she keeps her own hands clean. But those days must end. As must her rule."

"Her rule?" Kim's laugh had an edge of incredulity. "But surely Li Yuan rules?"

"Does he?" Ben smiled wryly. "So it might seem. After all, his name is on the Edicts, neh? His seal at the bottom of all documents. But whose policy is being pursued? Whose minions occupy most of the important positions in our State?"

Kim stared at him, aghast. "It's surely not that bad."

"No?" Ben stood, then went across and pressed a summons bell on the wall. He turned, looking back down at Kim, his eyes burning intensely now. "I thought much as you do, six months back. I too thought everything was fine. That was before I came to the San Chang and experienced things for myself."

Ben paused, then came and sat again, leaning toward Kim, his voice low, confidential. "For ten years now she has built her web, replacing this official, passing that law, patiently, oh so patiently constructing it, until. . . Well, let us put it this way, Kim Ward. Li Yuan has lost control and he knows it. If he were to die tomorrow - yes, and Kuei Jen with him - then the reins of government would pass without a hiccup to our Mistress."

Kim stared back at him in disbelief. "Are you saying Li Yuan is threatened?"

"Not yet. At least, not so far as our spies can ascertain. Yet who knows how much longer she'll be satisfied to play the shadow's role. She has the taste for power now. The taste, but not the name, the spectacle. And that, my Clayborn friend, is what she longs for."

"You're serious?"

"Never more so. Pei K'ung has become vain in her latter years. Why, there is even a rumour that she has had her ceremonial clothes made, awaiting the day she will be crowned in Li Yuan's place."

Kim shook his head. "This sounds like fantasy!"

"You think so?" Ben turned as someone entered on the far side of the room, then waved the man across. "And yet you saw her for yourself. Saw how keen she is to unify Chung Kuo."

"For Li Yuan and his son, surely?"

Ben laughed. "She doesn't give a shit about Li Yuan or his son! The truth is, she wants it all for herself. Megalomania, that's what it is. Classic megalomania."

"Like Ming the Merciless, you mean?"

Ben laughed. "Why, you're a regular storehouse of useless knowledge, Kim Ward! I thought. . ."

"You thought you were the only one who knew of such things?" Kim shook his head. "We share much, Ben Shepherd, a true knowledge of the past - the buried past - among them."

Ben stared at him a moment, then turned, looking to the waiting servant. Only then, as he took his attention from Shepherd, did Kim realise what the man was. Clayborn. It was unmistakable.

"Scaf . . . would you bring us a jug of lime cordial and two glasses. Oh, and ice. Plenty of ice. The freezing water kind."

Scaf smiled at the old, familiar joke, then bowed awkwardly and slowly limped away. Kim watched him all the way to the door.

"You like my servant?" Ben asked.

Kim met Ben's eyes. "You gave him that name? Quick?"

Ben nodded. "Scaf always was the most nimble of my daymen. Agile of mind, quick of movement. He lost much when he was injured in the Clay. I tried to rebuild him, but he was never the same. He's old now. Nearly thirty."

Kim shivered, affected by this strange reminder of his origins. "Might I talk to him sometime?"

"Of course. But lef s return to the matter in hand. You wanted to know what was going on. Well, it's pretty straightforward, really, though I'd prefer it if you kept this to yourself. You're loyal to Li Yuan, I take it?"

Kim laughed, as if the question were absurd. "Li Yuan gave me my chance, my life. I owe him everything."

"Then listen, and try to understand. Li Yuan's rule is tainted by his association with Pei K'ung. If she fell, he too would fall. Unless ..." "Unless what?"

"Unless he could discredit her and then, at that very moment, abdicate his throne."

"What?' Kim was out of his seat. "Abdicate? A Son of Heaven?"

Ben smiled. "Why so surprised, Kim Ward? The history of the Han is filled with such instances. And think of the advantages. Pei K'ung would be gone, and with her all that was bad about the City. In her place would be a new young T'ang, handsome and strong of mind and body, together with his beautiful young bride. He would be a new broom, sweeping clean, untainted by anything that had gone before."

Kim sat, astonished. "If this were so, then why hasn't Li Yuan acted before now?"

"It was judged that the time was not yet ripe. We felt that if we acted precipitately it might leave Pei K'ung in power, stronger than ever. Killing her was no solution either, for the general consensus is that what Pei K'ung does, she does by Li Yuan's sanction." "Is that not so?"

"Not at all. Li Yuan conceded power - real power - to her many years ago."

Kim stared at him gravely now. "So what's left?" "What's left is what we're doing. We work to undermine the Lady Pei."

"Undermine her? How?"

Ben laughed. "I am surprised, my friend. I thought you'd see it straight away. The campaign's the key. You see, we aim to lose the war."

"Lose ..." Kim sat there, thunderstruck.

The door on the far side of the room opened and Scaf appeared once more, carrying a tray. He brought it across and set it down on the low table at Ben's side. For a moment Ben busied himself, pouring two cups of cordial, then he looked back at Kim, offering him one.

"You seem surprised."

"Shocked is more like it. Are you serious? Have you no idea what effect such a setback would have on us?"

Ben nodded soberly. "We have a reasonable idea. That's why we've involved the Americans. To cushion the blow. We plan to blame them for defeat."

Kim shook his head. This was more outrageous by the moment! "And what do Kuei Jen and his American friend Egan think of this plan?"

"They know nothing of it. As far as they're concerned things are exactly as they seem. Kuei Jen has no inkling of what his father plans."

"Aiya . . ." Kim let out a long, sighing breath, then sipped at his cordial. "I wish you had consulted me before this."

"So you could counsel us against such action?"

"Of course." Kim stared at him. "Pei K'ung must be stopped, that much I understand. And I see that Li Yuan is tainted by association. But why can't Li Yuan just abdicate?"

Shepherd stared at him urbanely. "Why? What reason would he give?"

Kim thought a moment, then shrugged. "Surely he could think of one?"

"We thought long and hard about it. But for Li Yuan to step down from the Dragon Throne there must be a great and grave reason, and what greater and graver than defeat in war?"

"But how?" Kim shook his head, exasperated now. "You said it yourself in council. How could you possibly manipulate events in such a way that you could guarantee the result you want? What if things go well for our armies? What if they should win? Or what, if you do succeed, the Warlords decide to invade and destroy our City?"

"There are risks, naturally . . ."

"Risks?' Kim sat forward, the liquid splashing from his cup. "I'd say there were risks! Risks of civil insurrection, of social collapse, of... oh, of a hundred different scenarios." He put a hand to his brow. "You say you've thought this through?"

Ben nodded.

"And you think this course - fraught as it is with risks - a better one to take than to simply let things be?"

"We let things be and this City will be a hell-hole within five years. Pei K'ung is ripe, like a female spider waiting to hatch her brood."

Kim shuddered at the thought. "I didn't know. I thought.. ."

"You thought we were safe, neh, Kim Ward? You thought it was enough to tear down the City." Ben shook his head sombrely. "No. We have completed but half the task. We have removed Man from the City - at least, from that monstrous box my forefathers built - but we have not yet removed the city from the man. There must be one more war. You understand that, Kim Ward? A war to destroy the very idea of Chung Kuo - of an ordered Chinese world state. Only then can we properly begin."

Kim looked up, surprised. As he watched, Ben twitched, his face convulsing briefly. Then he was himself again.

"Forgive me," Ben said, "it's just that I've started working again ..." He paused, began again. "I'm off my medication, you see. It always makes me a little cranky."

"Cranky?"

"I have fits, sometimes .. ."

"Ah .. ." Kim frowned. "I didn't know." Then, "What's it for?"

"The medication? It's a bit of a cocktail, actually. Chlorpro-mazine, perphenazine and haloperidol. For schizophrenia."

"Ah," Kim nodded, but he felt like he'd come to the edge of an unexpected abyss.

"We all had it. All us Shepherds, even Amos. Two-faced we are, like the legendary Janus, though in our case it's almost literal. Jekyll and Hyde, we are. Frankenstein and his Monster."

"I understand. I ..." Kim looked down, embarrassed, finding a need to confess what only those closest to him knew. "I have it too, you see." He looked up and met Ben's eyes. "There are two of me in my head. Gweder and Lagasek."

"Mirror and Starer."

Kim stared at him, surprised. "You know Cornish?"

"Covath dywysyk gwanscryfa orth skyans'n." Ben reached out, topping his glass up from the jug. "Memory faithful scrivener to the eyes ... Ah yes, Kim Ward, I have been deep inside the Clay. I have even been to see the Myghtern's capital. Why, I was briefly a guest in the Myghtern's cells."

Kim shuddered. "I was born there, in the Myghtern's capital."

"Yes. So Li Yuan told me."

There was silence between them, then Ben spoke again. "You mean to bind the stars with chains, I hear."

"With light," Kim said. "Why? Do you think it can't be done?"

"Not at all. A man should dream. And such men as you and I ought to dream big. Our intellects demand it, no?"

"Maybe." Kim looked away, uncomfortable beneath Ben's ferocious stare. Sometimes it seemed almost as if Shepherd were not real, but some strange machine in human form - a device for seeing and storing and calculating; for turning life into artifice. Sometimes it felt as though the form before him were merely a front, rooted in this dimension, and that behind that form of flesh and bone was a gateway into otherness - a vacuum through which pure darkness could be glimpsed.

"Don't get me wrong," Ben said after a moment. "I have great respect for your work, Kim Ward. We are both poets, neh, in the oldest sense of that word. Makers. Our poesy but takes a different form."

Kim sipped at his drink, then looked back. "You think my work a kind of art, then?"

"And mine a kind of science. The borders have blurred, don't you think? To be a great scientist one must be a visionary, no? A kind of artist. Likewise, to be a great artist in this age of machines one must have a scientist's knowledge, a technician's confidence and innovatory skills. To be otherwise is to regress. You know that as well as I. Before we came along, both arts and sciences were static. But now . . . well, look at the revolutions we have caused, you and I. Look at the ripples we have made! Falling stones, we are! Falling stones!"

Kim smiled, but still he felt uncomfortable. There was something very odd in the way that one moment Shepherd could win you over with his charm, while the next he scared one to the core. Mad. There was no doubting he was mad. But sanely mad. Like a skilled charioteer he rode the two horses of his being with a confidence, an arrogance that came from years of practice.

"You seem to know a great deal about me," Kim said, setting his cup down. "But what of you, Ben Shepherd? What do you want from your art?"

Ben's smile was dark, enigmatic. "I long to reach a place where nothing shines at all."

Kim nodded, then uttered the matching line. "Then you must step out from that quiet to the quivering air."

Ben stared at him, impressed. "You know your Dante, then."

"Like you, I am a storehouse. I know much that I have no cause to use. But why that?"

"Why Hell, you mean?"

"No. Why the darkness. What do you see in it?"

"Nothing. It's what I hope to see in it. I want to penetrate the hidden places, you see, to move into absences."

"Absences . . ." Kim nodded. Something in what Ben had said struck a chord in him. "So you think there's something there, then, behind the darkness?"

"I think there is, but who can tell? Like you, I follow instinct. Besides, why bother with what is known. Let lesser men do that. We are explorers, no? It is our task to draw an outline on the unmapped chart, to extend into the whiteness."

"Or into the black."

Ben laughed. "So it is. You the one, I the other. Inward and outward. It is our fate, neh? And who are we to fight it?"

"Who indeed?" Kim smiled, then shrugged apologetically. "Well, I really ought to go. I've taken up far too much of your time as it is. Maybe we can talk again another time."

Ben stood. "Are you sure you won't stay a moment longer?" He turned, gesturing towards the curtain. "Perhaps you'd like to see what I'm working on?"

Kim, who had stood ready to leave, hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. But then I must go. I'd like to check on Mileja."

"Of course." Ben walked across and tugged the curtain aside.

Kim stepped up beside him, looking in. "I've often wondered."

"Wondered?"

"How you worked." He smiled. "Personally, I use a pool."

"A pool?" Ben looked to him, interested.

"I find it liberates my thoughts. Floating there, free of normal restraints. I don't know why, but there it is. Back home I've got a big circular pool. I've had it built inside a planetarium. If I've a problem - something I'm stuck on and can't find a way round - I'll go in there, turn off the lights and simply float there on my back, staring up at the stars for an hour or two. Nine times out of ten it does the trick."

Ben nodded, then stepped inside, going across to the shell. He turned, looking to Kim again.

"You've been in one of these?"

"Once or twice."

"And?"

Kim shrugged. "Not my thing, I'm afraid. I felt. . . cut off"

"I see." Ben looked down through the darkened glass, then touched the forefinger of his right hand to his lips thoughtfully.

"The word 'shell' is interesting, don't you think?" he said, beginning to walk around the huge, sarcophagus-like receptacle. "It originates with the Germanic word skal, meaning to divide or separate, and is the base for the Old English word scylfe, meaning a partition. So you could, in that purely etymological sense, argue that my art divides."

Ben had reached the far end of the shell. He stopped, looking back at Kim. "However, I like to see things in a different light. I prefer to see what I'm doing as the culmination of an evolutionary process that has been going on ever since Man first began to think in abstract terms. As I see it, art seeks to provide the common man with an understanding of the world and its ways through a process of selective mimicry. In that sense art is always a reinterpretation of the world, and the more realistic its rendition, the more persuasive it can be. As Nietzsche said, 'the more abstract the truth you want to teach the more you must seduce the senses to it.'"

"Maybe so. But where does seduction end and addiction begin?"

"Addiction?" Ben laughed. "You think my art a kind of drug, then, Kim Ward?"

Kim glanced aside. "I... found it so."

Ben's eyes watched him hawkishly now. "It disturbed you, then?"

Kim nodded, not daring to meet those eyes.

"That" s interesting. You think art should be more comforting, perhaps?"

"Comforting, no. If s just. . ."

"Just what?"

Kim shrugged. "I found it awkward. Embarrassing, I'd guess you'd say. The woman ..."

"Meg, you mean?"

Kim looked up, then nodded. "I.. ."

"You found that disturbing, right? Making love to her? But why should it worry you? After all, it was only a fiction. You didn't really make love to her."

"Maybe not. Yet it seemed real. I..."

"You enjoyed it, right? You wanted to make love to her? Well, fine. What's wrong with that? Men have their dreams, their desires. They always have had. I simply make those dreams accessible. And where's the harm in that?"

Kim stared at Ben, conscious of a sudden edge to their talk. "Look, what is this? What do you want from me? I didn't like it, okay? I found it... intrusive."

Ben raised a hand. "I understand. You love your wife, your children. You have a good life. A very good life, indeed. You have no need for fictions. But what of those who don't have any of that? What about those poor sad bastards who've had nothing but bad breaks in their lives? Why should they be stuck with mundane reality? Why can't they have a taste of something better now and then?"

"I didn't say that."

"No?" Relenting, Ben shook his head, then smiled. "No, you didn't. Forgive me. I didn't mean to suggest..."

"If s okay." Kim looked at him again. "And now I really must go. The hour's late. But thanks."

"Thanks?"

"For confiding in me."

"Any time," Ben said, walking across, then escorting him to the door. "Any time."

Ben stared at the door a moment after Ward had gone, then, with a shudder of distaste, went back across the room. The shell was as he'd left it. The girl lay still and silent beneath the darkened glass, the thick leather restraint stretched tight across her mouth. Tonight, he thought, a shiver of anticipation passing through him. We 'U try for it tonight.

Yes, and maybe he would send Ward a copy. If only to disturb him. To jolt him from his complacency.

Yes, and to feed the darkness in you. To give Gweder more of what he craves.

He laughed. Maybe he ought to send Meg with the tape when it was done. That would unnerve the little bastard. Yes, and it might even bring him down a peg or two.

Ben swallowed angrily, recalling what had passed between them. How dare the little cunt take up that high moral stance? How dare he even think to judge his betters?

Why, for all his intellectual tricks, Ward was no better than Scaf when it came down to it. Clay he was, and Clay he remained. For all his talk of linking up the stars, Ward was inherently - instinctively - a little man. Why, Ward would never think to go where he was about to go. He'd never darel Yes, Ben thought, beginning to unfasten the catches that held the shell's lid in place. And when you limit what you dare, then you limit what you are.

Limits. He smiled, then pushed back the lid, getting down to work again. There were no limits when it came down to it.

The young lieutenant stopped and, pulling back his cuff, checked the time. It was ten after three. He sighed, then turned wearily and signalled to his men to move on.

The forest here was dense and dark, the path between the trees narrow. Even with lanterns, they could barely see ten ch'i front or back, so it was like walking in a tunnel. He hated it; hated these late patrols. If they ever got into trouble - red trouble, of the kind these patrols were supposed to anticipate -there would be little they could do. By the time help came they'd all be dead, their throats slit, the renegades vanished into the trees as if they'd never been there.

He shivered, looking about him uneasily, then walked on, trailing the six men in his command.

A waste of time, he thought, slapping at an insect that had landed on his neck. With their lanterns they could be seen coming half a U away, whereas their prey - whoever that might be - had merely to wait among the trees, shrouded by the darkness, until they'd passed. But orders were orders. And besides, he suspected this, like so many of the tasks he undertook, was really only for show, so that when his superiors were asked by someone higher up what was being done about security in the forests, they could point to the patrols and claim that the problem was being dealt with.

As to whether a problem actually existed, who could tell? As far as he could make out, there were very few renegades. Most wanted criminals went south, out of the City, or hid out in the seedier areas of town. Few of them actively welcomed the inconvenience of rough-living.

And who can blame them? he thought, feeling the strain on his calves as they continued to climb uphill. Even prison would be preferable to this.

At the top of the hill was a small clearing. On the far side of the clearing stood the hermit's "house". Usually the makeshift shelter was dark and uninhabited; tonight, however, the hermit was at home.

"Sir?" one of his men said, coming across. "It seems he wants to talk to you."

"Talk to me?" The lieutenant strode between his men and stopped, facing the hermit. His face, in the lantern's light, seemed like something carved from wood, all angles and sharp shadows.

"Well?" he asked. "What do you want?"

"Strangers," the man said, grasping the lieutenant's hand firmly, the feel of his bony, unwashed fingers making the soldier squirm. "Strangers in the wood."

He freed his hand. "Where?"

"Over there," the hermit said, turning and pointing. "Beside the place. You know, the place of staring faces." He looked back at the lieutenant, his eyes fearful. "She saw me."

"She?"

"The woman."

He looked to his Sergeant. "What¹ s over that way?"

The Sergeant thought a moment, then, "Rudesheim."

"Rudesheim?"

"It's a village. Or was. Ruins now. They might be camped out there."

"Okay," he said, excited by the prospect of some proper action. "Douse the lanterns. visors down. Let's do this properly."

He turned, looking to the hermit. "Thanks. You'll get your cut."

The man shrugged. "You just make them go, okay?"

"Okay." Then, dousing his own lantern and slipping his night visor down, he hurried on, getting ahead of his men, leading them on at a brisk pace, the world transformed into a simple pattern of red and black, hot and cold, hunters and hunted, the coded recognition symbols of his men glowing vividly from their uniform jackets as they moved stealthily through the dark.

They came out of the Yinmao and along a dark, partly-lit alleyway that sloped down towards the river and the high-rise towers of the business district. After the bright-lit bustle of the Yinmao, it was a dismal, mournful place, haunted by the sound of early morning traffic on the river, the metallic hiss and whoosh of a fast-track cutting the distant skyline like a brilliant silver snake.

Rain had been falling and the ground was slick and wet underfoot. Sampsa looked to Tom, the doubt in his eyes reflecting what he was feeling at that moment.

If this is some kind of trick, III break the little bastard's neck.

And then he saw it - the place Yun had mentioned - the sign glowing red on black, the legend written both in Mandarin and English:

Ch'a Hao T'ai. The Directory.

Yun turned to face him, smiling. "You see?"

"I see," he said sourly, thinking, This had better be good.

But Tom's hopes had risen at the sight. That hope flooded Sampsa now, colouring his scepticism.

"You wait here," Yun said. "I go in. Make sure they see you, neh?"

"Neh," Sampsa said, then, as Yun made to go across, reached out and grasped his arm. "And no tricks, you little fuckhead. You go straight out the back way and you're dead. Understand? And you pay the man the money, as agreed. I don't want any funny business once we're inside. Okay?"

Yun freed his arm from Sampsa's grip. "I man of my word. I say I get you in, I get you in. But they fussy, this place. Not everyone get the nod, you understand, Master Sampsa?"

There was an edge to Yun's voice - an uncertainty - that had not been there before. Why? Sampsa wondered, watching the young Han turn and make his way across. Then he understood. When it came down to it, Yun was little more than a cheap hustler. He was perfectly at home in the Yinmao, but here . . . well, this was a different thing altogether. This was class. In fact, thinking about it, it was almost a certainty that Yun had never come here, never stepped across the threshold of the Ch'a Hao T'ai before tonight.

He smiled to himself, watching as the security camera over the big double doors swivelled round to focus on Yun.

Look! He's shitting himself.

Can't you leave him be? He's keeping his word.

Only under threat.

Maybe. But don't push so hard.

Sampsa turned, looking to his friend. "We're here, no?" he said quietly. "You think he'd have brought us this far if I hadn't pushed?"

Tom looked down. Maybe not. But...

He relented. "Look, it's okay. But if she's not here then we call it a night, okay?"

Tom looked back at him, gratitude in his eyes. Okay.

He turned back just in time to see Yun disappear inside, as a big man, clearly a guard of some kind, stepped out and gave them the visual once-over before he went back in, pulling the door to.

And so they waited, ten, almost fifteen minutes before the door opened again and Yun stepped out, beckoning them across.

"Well?" Sampsa said, conscious of a smartly-dressed young Han standing in the doorway at the far end of the entrance hall.

"It okay," Yun said, grinning first at him, then at Tom. "They let you go in. But only one. They have room where other one wait, neh? Unless you want pay more."

Sampsa looked to Tom. You want to go in?

No. I'll wait.

You sure?

Tom nodded. You just find her for me, okay?

He smiled. Okay. Then, turning back to Yun. "All right. I'll go in. Tom will wait."

Yun nodded, then turned and went to speak to the young Han. There was a brief exchange then Yun returned.

"He say okay. You go through. He see to you. Everything paid for, neh?"

Sampsa eyed him suspiciously, but Tom touched his arm.

"Okay," Sampsa said. Then, reaching into his pocket, he took out another fifty note and handed it to Yun. "You stay somewhere we can find you, right? And maybe we hire you again."

"Maybe." And, snatching the note, Yun was on his way, swift as a thief in the night.

Sampsa turned. The smart young Han was waiting for them, smiling and beckoning them forward, the door held open for them.

Are you sure you want to do this? Sampsa asked.

Are you?

Sampsa laughed silently. In for a penny . . .

.. .in for five hundred yuan\

It was the closest Tom had got to a joke all night. Smiling, they went across.

"Welcome, young Masters," the young Han said, bowing politely. From his polished accent it was clear he was no child of the Lowers, or if he was, then he had somehow raised himself beyond that level. "I understand that you, Master Sampsa, wish to experience the delights of our humble establishment. And you, Master Tom . . . you wish to wait, is that right?"

Sampsa answered for him. "I am afraid my friend is a mute. But yes, he'll wait."

The young Han smiled and bowed to Tom. "In which case, I shall have one of the servants escort you to the lounge and arrange refreshments for you. If you wish to sleep there are beds there also. Or if you change your mind . . ."

"No," Sampsa said. "But thank you for your kindness. My friend is ... tired. He'd like to rest."

"Of course." The young Han smiled, then reached out and pulled a nearby bell pull that hung from the ceiling. "My name, by the way, is Joseph. Joseph Harris."

Both boys stared at him, surprised.

"My father was Hung Mao, you understand."

"Ah . . ." Sampsa nodded to him. "You speak well, Joseph."

He nodded. "Thank you. But I cannot claim much credit for that fact. I was tank-educated."

"Tank-educated?"

Tom's voice filled his head. Shells ... he's talking about shells. My father had a hand in it. They call them fasHearning tanks. It's supposed to cut down the time it takes to learn something by a factor of ten.

"Ah, of course," Sampsa said, looking about him at the plushness of the entrance hall. "Even so, it's pleasant, after the evening we've spent, to come upon so refined an establishment."

Harris laughed. "You've been in the Yinmao. After that, even the night soil carts would smell sweet, neh?"

Sampsa chuckled, relaxing, finding he liked this young man.

Watch him, Tom said, sounding a warning note.

Like a hawk, Sampsa answered silently. Now go and rest. Ill do the looking for you.

Tom smiled, then turned, following the servant who had appeared, ghost-like, at his elbow.

Sampsa?

Yes? he answered, as they went their separate ways through the building.

Try not to enjoy yourself too much!

You can always dose your eyes.

And Sampsa?

Yes, Tom?

Find her for me . . .

The lieutenant saw her from the far side of the frozen lake, walking alone between the trees. Changing the visor to normal night-sight and enhancing the image, he focused on her face.. . and felt himself go very still, his pulse beginning to race. It was her! - there was no doubt about it. Why, he had seen the printout only that afternoon.

Saying nothing, he sent two of his men off to the right to cross the strip further down and circle back, then waited for the woman to return to the ruined village.

A million yuanl He'd see only a small part of that, of course, but even so. He whistled to himself, then, setting the thought aside, set about concentrating on the task ahead.

He watched her turn then begin to make her way back.

"Go!" he said, waving two of his men across. Then, at a second signal, he sent the final two off to the left. They knew what to do, where to take up their positions. Now it was up to him.

He walked slowly across the ice, his heart pounding, keeping his eyes focused on her back all the while.

Don't look down, he told himself, recalling the last time he'd walked across; how unnerved he'd been by the sight. Usually he skirted the strip, crossing it at its narrowest point, near the path, but this time he had no choice. Even so, it spooked him to be walking on the faces of the dead. Try as he might, he could still see them down there, trapped, their fingers groping for the surface, their eyes bulging, their faces contorted in perpetual torment.

A reminder.

As he stepped off the ice he let out a shuddering breath. After this he would ask for a new posting - demand it, maybe. After all, his actions here would make his superiors rich - very rich indeed - and they could easily afford to grant him a favour or two in return.

He walked on slowly, careful now, aware of her just ahead of him, of the first of the ruined buildings there, no more than fifty ch'i away between the trees.

An awful place, he thought. No wonder their forefathers had wanted to build over it all. Forests and ruins ... He shuddered again, then drew his gun, checking the side panel to make sure it was fully charged.

He was no more than thirty ch'i from her when she stopped. Moving back behind one of the larger pines, he watched. She was speaking, her voice low, almost a whisper, as if afraid to wake someone. He craned his neck, trying to see, then switched back to infrared, but the low wall obscured any trace of other bodies.

They were there though. They had to be. Because where she was, they too would be.

He moved closer, edging slowly now, trying not to make a sound. Ten ch'i from her, he stepped out, his gun raised, pointed at her head.

"Move and I shoot you dead."

She made to turn, then tensed, understanding the situation. Two heads popped up, staring past her at him. Boys' heads.

"Do nothing," she told them, in a low, firm voice.

"It's over," he said, taking a step closer, his left hand signalling for his men to close the net.

"Over?" She laughed, then turned to face him. "Why, it hasn't yet begun. I had such hopes. . ." Her laughter broke into despair. "Such hopes."

She looked at him, her eyes pleading now. "I just wanted to help them. Can you understand that, lieutenant? They were orphans. No one loved them, not until I came along. No one cared. But we cared. We took them in. We raised them, Lin and I."

She swallowed, then took a step toward him, raising her hands in appeal. "Let me go. Please. Let me take them from here. No one would know."

He forced himself to feel nothing for her. "I can't. I have no choice. I have to take you in."

She stared at him a moment, then nodded. Her head dropped, her shoulders sagged. It was done.

He watched her a moment, then, stirring himself, gave a short, sharp whistle. At once his men moved in, three of them covering the party with their high velocity rifles while the others went among the boys, cuffing them and pulling them up, forming a rough line of them out to the right of the building.

They left him to cuff her.

"Sorry," he said, as he clicked the lock. But she said nothing, merely stared back at him, her face closed, her eyes like the eyes of the dead beneath the ice.

"So," Sampsa said, looking about him at the spartanly-furn-ished room, noting the wall-to-wall screens, the long, body-mould lounger seats, the silver cranial units nestling in the oval ceiling cavity, "where are the girls?"

Harris turned to him and smiled his best, enigmatic oriental smile. "Did your friend not tell you? There are no girls here."

"No girls? Then what. . ."

He pieced it together in an instant. "Pai pi," he said.

Harris gave a nod, impressed. "You know the term, then."

"The Hundred Pens." Sampsa looked about him again, seeing it all anew. Shells, Tom said inside his head, staring out through his eyes, his curiosity matching Sampsa's. "Then the girls . . ."

"Are stored," Harris finished for him. "We have over eighty thousand on our books. You want it, we have it."

You want to see this? Sampsa asked, glimpsing at that moment the room where Tom sat, a ch'a bowl on the table by his side.

There's a chance, Tom said.

A dim one, don't you think?

Maybe. But seeing as we've paid . . .

"You know what type you'd like?" Harris asked, walking across and indicating the screens. As he did they filled with the images of a hundred different naked women.

Sampsa looked from screen to screen, impressed by the wide variety of female forms displayed there. There was something strangely honest about this - something they'd not encountered in the Yinmao, where such common trade had masqueraded as exoticism or, at worst, romance. This was a cattle market.

You want fuck my sister?

Not funny, Tom answered, considering . . .

Forgive me. I forgot about your mother.

It's okay. Tom seemed suddenly more relaxed. Was that tiredness? Or had the sharp edge of his obsession been blunted by the Yinmao?

Not at all, Tom answered him. I know now. We'll find her here. I'm sure of it.

A tape of her, perhaps.

It'd be a start. Then, Wett? Go on. Ask him!

Sampsa looked to Harris. "That girl there. She's close to what I want. Perhaps a slightly smaller build. Prettier. Younger, too."

"How young?" Harris was smiling now; a smile of encouragement.

How many times had he done this? Sampsa wondered. How many times had he stood here, like Mephistopheles, offering Faust the world.

And in return? Tom asked.

We've paid, Sampsa reminded him.

Have we?

Sampsa laughed silently. Don't go att philosophical on me, my friend. You want her, let me find her for you.

Then lead on, my Virgil.

The images changed. A hundred new girls were now displayed, much more homogenous a group than the last -dark-haired young Han of roughly the right height and build, approximately the right age. Sampsa scanned the screens quickly, then shook his head.

She's not there, Tom said.

I know.

Then . . .

Leave it to me. Please, Tom. I know what she's like. I've seen her through your eyes, remember? Gods! How could I forget?

Tom was silent.

Okay . . . Look, I'm sorry. He sighed, then shook his head.

"I know what I'm looking for," he said, turning to Harris. "These are . . . close. But it's a specific type of girl."

"I understand," Harris said, unfazed by the request. He looked up, speaking to the ceiling. "Switch to search mode. Voice-activated. Code to our guest here."

Sampsa scanned the screens a second time, then selected one of the girls high up and to the right of where they stood. Her?

Yes, Tom said. The eyes ...

I know. He looked to Harris, then pointed. "Her."

The hundred images dissolved, reducing down to a single large screen on the facing wall. On that screen was the image he'd selected.

"Okay," Harris said, indicating the figure displayed at the foot of the screen. "The Directory has given us a further three hundred and eighty four close matches. We'll work through one by one. You see something you like, just say 'Store' and we can come back to it later on."

"And to move on?"

"A simple 'no' will do." Harris smiled. "After all, none of the girls will be offended."

He had tried to sleep, but sleep had run ahead of him, gaining all the while, until, despairing of ever getting a moment's sleep again, he gave up the chase and rose, leaving Jelka to dream her way to morning, her soft snores filling the darkened room as he stood in the doorway, looking back.

He had hoped to find her awake when he got back; had wanted to go over what he and Ben had discussed, but she had already been asleep.

Switching the light on in the hall, he walked through into the lounge. His staff had set up a mobile communications centre in one corner - a mini office, complete with desks and screens. It sat there on the far side of the unlit room, the muted glow of its panels reassuring in the darkness. He went over and sat, leaning across to remove the message-chip, slipping it into the slot behind his right ear.

Kirn's eyes glazed over briefly, then focused again. Routine matters, mainly. Reports from Wen Ch'ang back on Ganymede. Nothing urgent. He squeezed the flesh either side of the slot and jettisoned the chip.

He sat there, staring blankly at the black reflecting surface of the window, recalling the sight of Shepherd, standing beside the frame, his eyes like the eyes of an intelligent tiger, and as he did so the words of Dante's poem came to him:

"My nature, by God's mercy, is made such As your calamities can nowise shake,

Nor these dark fires have any power to touch."

He let out a long breath. Ben's illness - his schizophrenia - both fascinated and disturbed him, as did Ben's disposition towards the dark. For some time he had believed that he and Shepherd were quite similar - outsiders, creators, architects of the greater life of their society - but now he was forced to re-evaluate. Now, without question, he understood. They were as different as they could possibly be. When Ben put back his head and stared up at the night he saw only the immeasurable darkness, whereas he himself saw only light - the light of four hundred billion stars: a burning web of light so radiant it seared the conscious mind.

It's why we're blinkered, he thought. It's why we can't bear to think of it too often, lest we realise just how small we really are within that mighty scheme, how dark.

He stood, then walked to the window, standing there with his hand against the cool ice-glass pane, looking out across the moonlit darkness of the gardens.

Was it just circumstance that had made them so? Or had the seed of what each was been planted long before their births? After all, born into darkness, he had forever sought the light, whereas Shepherd, born into the light. . .

Kim shook his head, frowning at his reflection in the darkened glass. The explanation didn't suffice. It simply didn't begin to explain how things were. Even so, there was some truth in it. At some point their directions had been fixed - his upward, toward the blinding light, Ben's downward to the earth and darkness. And implicit in those directions was the idea of expansion and enclosure, separation and connection.

Shells and webs . . .

Kim nodded to himself, seeing it clearly for the first time; understanding, in that instant, why such a gulf existed between him and Shepherd. Why he didn't like the man.

He shivered then drew an unseen line upon the glass. It was a contest, he understood that now: a contest, not for the soul of a single man, but for all mankind. What Ben sought was to isolate the individual, to enslave the whole species, each in their own tiny, doorless room. His art - great as it undoubtedly was - was, when it came down to it, little more than a snare, a prison for the senses, and he the Puppetmaster God who danced and capered in each tiny room.

Indeed, Shepherd's vision was ultimately no more sane than DeVore's. Each dreamed of populating worlds with their own copies!

And you, Kim Ward? What do you want?

He heard the words as if Ben Shepherd had spoken them inside his skull.

Connection, he answered. An end to walls and illusions and fake ideals.

And yet you sought the Light. Wasn't that a fake ideal? Or do you forget where you first had your vision?

Kim nodded to his image in the glass, remembering the moment clearly. That moment in the Clay when, bathing his face in the pool beside the Gate, he had first glimpsed the giants from Above with their heads of shining glass and their bodies of sinuous, flexing silver. He remembered the blinding brilliance of that light as it poured out from the Gate and shimmered in the surface of the pool like some living force. Yes, and he remembered how their shadows had breached that burning, shimmering mirror. Three kings, he'd thought they were. Three kings! He laughed. How little he'd known back then. How little he'd understood. And yet the moment retained its purity, its power over him.

No, for all he had discovered since regarding men and their ways, he had not been wrong. Even when, after the Gate had closed, he had groped blindly in the mud for those tiny fragments, those pearls of light - even then he had not been wrong. Mistaken, maybe, but wrong?

"No," he said softly, and smiled, realising suddenly just how small Shepherd's world-view really was, how little it encompassed.

To know so much and understand so little, that surely was a curse? For understanding - true understanding - meant stepping beyond the limits of one's isolate self. It entailed embracing otherness. But Ben .. . Again he sighed. Ben craved a world of compliant mannequins - a host of empty heads that he could fill.

He thinks my instincts for the good are counterfeit because he thinks aft men are shaped in his own image. He thinks, because there is dark in each of us, that darkness is all, yet it's surely the balance of dark and light within a man -yes, and in a woman, too, for there's another half he fails to see - that matters more than anything. We are each of us a tiny battlefield. In each frail soul this contest must be fought, a direction chosen.

Kim laughed, then spoke quietly, admonishing himself. "What? Must you become as bad as him, Kim Ward? Must you always overstate your case? Light without shadow . . . what's that but another form of darkness?"

And with those words came the determination to go back and speak with Shepherd again - to confront him with this new-won knowledge and see what argument - what sophistries - he'd set against it.

He nodded, then turned, making his way across the room and out. Yes. He'd do it now, while the mood was on him. Before circumstance parted them for another forty years.

Guards made to challenge him as he ran down the empty, echoing corridors, then stood back, seeing who it was. Outside Shepherd's suite, he slowed, wondering briefly if it were not perhaps too late.

He made to knock, then stopped, noticing that the door was open.

He looked round, suddenly aware that there were no guards here. Frowning, he pushed the door back slowly, the hairs on his neck rising, old instincts switching in.

The reception room was dark. On the far side, the door to the lounge was open just a crack, light from the room beyond -from Ben's study - picking out the door's edge.

Kim crouched, then crossed the room quickly, silently. Something was wrong. Something was badly wrong.

As he looked through the gap he saw the faintest movement to his left, a shadow against shadows.

Shao tin, Kim thought. An assassin. But why?

For the briefest instant he hesitated, wondering what to do. Did he call out? Did he warn Shepherd? It seemed the simplest thing to do. But what if Shepherd couldn't hear? In all likelihood Ben was wearing his headset. If he shouted and Ben didn't hear, then his best chance of saving him would have gone. The assassin would kill him first, then go back and finish off Shepherd.

Which left him with a single, simple option. He had to kill the man, or at least disable him, before he could get to Shepherd.

Imagine it's Jelka in there, he told himself. Or Mileja.

A shadow split the line of light as the assassin peered around the door.

Now! Kim told himself, hit him now! But he was too slow. The crack widened briefly as the assassin slipped inside.

Picking his way quickly across the darkened room, Kim stopped beside the crack and peered inside.

The assassin was already halfway across the room, his all-black figure crouched behind the armchair in which Kim had sat not two hours earlier. Beyond him, on the far side of the open shell, was Shepherd. Ben stood there, the headset covering his ears as he leaned over the casing to make some fine adjustment. Just now he faced the assassin, who was less than twenty ch'i from him, yet the bank of screens was just behind him, and when he turned . . .

Kim looked about the room, trying to formulate some plan of action. One thing alone was certain: the assassin would not strike until he was sure of success. But how he'd strike, that was a different matter. Was he armed? Undoubtedly. But with what? A gun? No. Too noisy. A knife or a garotte were the more likely options. It would be a while, after all, before the body would be found. Time in which he could make his escape.

Kim flexed his hands, preparing himself, then stood, pushing the door wide open.

For a moment neither Shepherd nor the assassin saw him. Then, as he looked up, Shepherd noticed him. He began to smile, then stopped, noting something in Kim's face.

Kim took one step ... a second . . .

Glancing round the chair, the assassin saw the look in Shepherd's face and spun about.

"You've failed," Kim said, trying to keep any trace of fear out of his voice; at the same time reminding himself just how deadly was the man who stood before him. With a frightening clarity, he saw the knife in the assassin's left hand - a short, double-edged knife with a curving blade. Dark eyes stared out from the two narrow slits in the man's mask - Han eyes that watched him coldly, calculating what manner of risk he represented. Briefly he glanced round, checking on Shepherd, then, making no noise, he launched himself at Kim, his knife arm raised.

The moment seemed unreal, dreamlike. Time did not slow so much as slip into another, wholly different, dimension. As the assassin ran towards him, Kim moved forward and to the left, pure instinct overriding his thinking self. In an instant the assassin had checked and changed direction, yet even as he swung his arm toward Kim, even as the blade hissing through the air, Kim's palm connected squarely with his wrist, sending the knife spinning away.

Thrown off balance, the assassin tumbled, rolled, then quickly turned, facing Kim once more, crouched like a fighter. "Stay exactly where you are," Shepherd said from somewhere at the back of Kim. "Move and I'll blow a hole clean through your head." The assassin grinned.

"It's what he wants," Kim said, his stance mirroring the assassin's, his eyes watching his assailant's every move. "Kill him and we won't know why." "You want to die, Kim Ward?"

Kim swallowed. The assassin was watching him very closely now. "No."

"Then let me blow his head off. I could tape it." "You're fucking sick. You know that, Ben Shepherd?" Shepherd laughed. "So I've been told. I'd call it a healthy curiosity, myself."

The assassin's eyes had changed. That unexpected note of humour had unnerved him. Even so, he was still deadly. The situation being what it was, dying was the easy option as far as he was concerned. Living, being caught - that, for him, would be a problem.

The assassin made a feint to the right, another to the left. Any moment, Kim thought, feeling the adrenaline surge through him, every muscle in his body twitching, wanting the release of action.

There was a strange noise, like the noise of a man spitting. Once, twice, a third time. "Kimr He almost missed it, it was so fast. As the assassin's foot came up, he jerked his head back. An instant later and he would have been dead without a doubt, his neck broken. As it was, it connected against the side of his head with a sickening crack that sent him sprawling backwards.

He lay there, dazed, his eyes closed, hands raised, waiting for the finishing blow, his whole body tensed against it.

For a moment the room was deathly silent. Then, with a strange, inhuman sound, the assassin groaned. Kim let his eyes ease open.

Close by, two, three paces at most from where Kim lay, the assassin knelt, his face, where he'd removed the mask, ash-white, one hand clutching his chest.

Kim tried to speak, but couldn't. There was a ringing in his head and he could feel the blood pulsing through the veins in his skull like water through a hose. As he blacked out he heard, or thought he heard, the sound of Li Yuan's voice.

Not possible, he thought, as consciousness leaked from him. Not possible . . .

Li Yuan stood there a moment, looking past the fallen man at Shepherd, astonished by the sight.

"What in the gods' names has been happening here?"

"A little local difficulty," Ben answered, setting the gun down. "You'd better get help for Ward. That was some blow he took."

"Of course." Li Yuan turned and gestured to his servants. At once they hurried to Ward's assistance.

Li Yuan turned back. "When the alarm went, I thought. . ."

"An assassin," Ben said, pointing to the man. "He's stunned. But otherwise . . ."

There was a noise behind Li Yuan. He turned to find himself facing I Ye.

I Ye's eyes searched the T'ang's, concerned. "Are you all right, Ckieh Hsia? The alarm . . ."

"We've had a scare, that's all, Colonel I. The matter is in hand."

"A scare?" He looked past Li Yuan. "Who's this? An intruder?"

Ben laughed. "An assassin, no less. But not a good one, neh? The good ones we never know about . . . not until it's too late."

I Ye looked to Shepherd, then quickly looked away. "You wish me to deal with him, Ckieh Hsia? To wring some answers from him?"

Li Yuan's smile gave nothing away. "This one I would like to interrogate myself. But you can accompany us, Colonel I." He looked to Ben and winked. "I would welcome your advice."

"Chieh Hsial"

I Ye clicked to attention, his head bowed, but his eyes, looking to the prone figure of the assassin, were deeply troubled.

The assassin was chained to the wall, his hands stretched out above his head, his feet pinned by iron brackets inches from the floor. He was already in pain, his naked body sheened in sweat, long, nasty-looking weals striping him from neck to groin where he'd been beaten with the whip, yet up until now the two guards had been merely toying with him. The "real fun", they whispered tauntingly, was yet to start.

"Speak now and make it easy for yourself," the shorter of the guards said, his voice seductively soft, like a woman's. "Tell us who hired you and we'll make it easy." He showed the assassin the narrow-bladed stiletto. "I'll make it quick, I promise. Just tell us."

The prisoner stared back at him, stony-faced, saying nothing.

"Let him rot," the other guard said after a moment, glaring at the man with undisguised contempt. "Let him rot in the darkness like the insect he is. Let him die slowly. He deserves no less. If it were up to me I'd inject him with beetle larvae and let the little bastards eat away at him from the inside."

"No, brother," the first said. "You're wrong. Our friend here's no common scum. He's special. He'd have to be to be chosen for this task. He'd have been trained. Disciplined. Why, I bet if he were free right now, he'd see us both off in an instant. An artisan, that's what I'd say he was. An artisan."

"Bollocks!" the second answered. "He's a slit-throat and no more! You can dress it up any way you like, brother, but he's scum all the same! Death's too good for this cunt. I'd hand him over to GenSyn, myself. Let those bastards use him for their experiments. Or give him to one of their ox-men. Foul things, they are, with foul habits. Mind . . . you'd have to widen a few of his orifices before you let one of those things loose on him!"

Both laughed at that. The prisoner closed his eyes. "Do what you will," he said. "You'll get nothing from me."

The guards stopped laughing; turned to look at him.

"So you have got a tongue after all," the big one said. "At least, you have right now!"

And again their laughter rang out in that tiny cell. They were still laughing when the lock clicked and the door swung back.

They turned, kneeling and pressing their foreheads to the cold stone floor as Li Yuan stepped inside, followed by I Ye and Shepherd.

"Has he spoken yet?" Li Yuan asked, walking straight up to the assassin and staring at him eye to eye.

"Yes, Chieh Hsia," the short guard answered, keeping his head lowered, "though nothing of use."

"No names yet?"

"No names, Chieh Hsia."

Oddly, Li Yuan smiled. "How brave are you?" he asked, addressing the prisoner. "Brave enough to die, certainly. But to live? Are you brave enough to trust me? Brave enough to take a chance on my word?"

The man stared back at Li Yuan silently, determined to concede nothing, but his eyes had changed subtly. There was doubt there now. Not much - just the slightest glint - yet enough. Seeing it, Li Yuan began to work on it.

"At times like these I find the world a strange place to inhabit. For most of the time my power is a ritual thing, it serves a purely ceremonial purpose. Yet at times like these." He nodded thoughtfully, then turned away, looking first to Ben and then to I Ye. Though the room was cool, I Ye was sweating.

"At times like this," he went on, pretending he had seen nothing, "I find myself . . . elevated. Raised up out of myself, you might say."

He looked back at the prisoner. "Perhaps you've felt the same thing when you've killed someone. Yet what I feel is different, quite different, because for me there's no fear of being caught, no fear of reprisal. More than that, I have a power you don't possess. The power to make a dead man live."

The prisoner gave a little shudder, his eyes following Li Yuan now, attending to the T'ang's every word.

"You, you see, are a dead man. The moment you were caught you were dead. How you died, that was the only question that remained to be answered. And maybe when. But you were dead, and you knew that. In fact, knowing that gave you your strength. But what you didn't know - what you couldn't possibly know -was that I can take away that strength."

Li Yuan smiled. "Oh, yes. I can see you understand me. You can live. I can let you live."

He took a step closer then lay his bare hand flat on the man's chest, above his heart. The prisoner closed his eyes and groaned.

"Can you feel that, my friend? Can you feel your heart beating? And your thoughts . . . can you feel the thoughts circling in your head?" He let his hand slide down until it rested over the man's shrivelled manhood. "Can you not feel the urge toward life that's in you? That's in every single cell, every single atom of your being? Can you not feel that?"

The prisoner shuddered, his eyes popped open. "What do you want?"

"A name," Li Yuan answered. "One name and you can go from here, a free man, my letter of safe passage in your pocket."

The man's Adam's apple bobbed. His eyes searched Li Yuan's. Then, lowering his head, he nodded.

"Well?" Li Yuan said. "You have my word. Now tell me who hired you and you can walk from here."

Yet, even as he said it, he heard the brazier go over, heard someone grunt and call a muffled warning, and turned to find I Ye facing him, a heated brand in his hand. Both guards were sprawled, unconscious, on the floor.

"Forgive me, Chieh Hsia," he said, a servant to the last. Yet even as he made to thrust the brand into Li Yuan's chest, he was knocked to the side.

Li Yuan watched, astonished, as Ben grasped the winded I Ye by his collar and banged his head smartly once, then a second time against the wall.

He let him fall, then stood, wiping his hands, pleased with himself.

Li Yuan stared at Shepherd, conscious of how close he'd come to dying. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"You should thank Ward," Ben answered, "for saving me."

The T'ang nodded, then stepped across, looking down at I Ye. "I should have known."

"Your wife," Ben said. "She must have ordered it."

Li Yuan stared at him, surprised. "Why?"

"Because of what I said. I challenged her, and she'll take that from no man, not even you."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

"And I Ye? What should I do with him?"

"I'd keep him safe if I were you, Yuan. Somewhere where Pei K'ung can't get to him. And then I'd try him - secretly, of course. It would not do to make public what he knows. Not yet, anyway. If things go wrong - if Pei K'ung should somehow triumph after all - then this carrion might yet prove the saving of you. Or, at least, of your son, the prince. But don't let the bastard know that. He must be made to believe his Mistress has forsaken him. Further, he must believe he is being kept alive only because you wish to torment him."

Li Yuan considered that, then nodded. "It shall be as you say."

He turned, looking to the guards, who were struggling to their feet, wheezing loudly. "You two. Take Colonel I to Edingen. And stay with him - in his cell, if necessary. No one is to even speak to him without my permission. Sealed orders will be with you before the dawn."

They bowed as one. "Chieh Hsia?' Then, turning to I Ye, they bent down and, taking an arm each, unceremoniously dragged him from the cell, the traitor's head bumping on the stone flags and the step.

"Alive!" Li Yuan called after them, yet his eyes when he looked to Shepherd were amused.

"She's mine," he said softly, then began to chuckle. "I do believe the bitch is finally mine!"

As the guards hurried to open the doors to her private suite, Pei K'ung swept through, tying the sleeping robe about her as she went, her hair untended, her face unpainted.

"What time is it there?" she asked of Heng Yu as he met her at the door.

Chancellor Heng straightened and, turning to follow his Mistress through into her study, answered her.

"Er. . . just after eight, I think. It's four hours different, so.. ."

Taking her seat behind the desk she looked at him sharply. Heng Yu fell silent, then raised a hand to his mouth, stifling a yawn.

"Okay," she said, turning to face the huge screen that was slowly descending from the ceiling to her left. "Patch the Marshal through."

Karris face appeared at once, only the bottom half of it - the firm chin, the mouth, the tip of the nose - visible at first, the eyes and brow slowly coming into sight as the rest of the screen emerged from the ceiling.

"Mistress!" Karr said, bowing his head.

"Well, Marshal?" she asked, conscious of how she must appear to him. "What is it?"

"Forgive the lateness of the hour," Karr began, "but you said you wanted to know the moment there was news."

"So speak," she said, sitting up attentively. "Did you talk with Warlord Hu?"

"With his Chancellor," Karr answered, "an hour back."

"And?"

Karr smiled cautiously. "The news is good, Mistress. Hu Wang-chih has agreed the draft of the alliance document. We are to sign it in the morning."

She clapped her hands, delighted. "Excellent news, Marshal Karr. And did Ming Ai play a part in the negotiations?"

Karr looked down momentarily. "Ming Ai is . . . indisposed, Mistress. He did not meet Warlord Hu."

"Indisposed?" The news was a surprise to her. "He didn't. . .?" She shook her head. "I don't understand."

"Hu's surgeons are tending to Ming Ai at this very moment. He has a stomach complaint."

She stared at Karr, then looked down. Composing herself, she looked back at the screen.

"All is agreed, Marshal Karr? The terms . . .?"

"Are as per your instructions, Mistress. It would seem Warlord Hu is keen on the alliance. Very keen indeed. He has scores to settle with his neighbours. Besides which, he has problems here at home, too - problems which foreign adventures could well cure."

She nodded, deciding not to push the matter of Ming Ai, especially if all was as Karr said. She forced a smile. "You have done well, Marshal. You have done us all a great service."

"Mistress!" he said, bowing his head.

She cut connection.

For a moment she sat there, very still, considering the matter of Ming Ai. As far as she knew, the man had never had a day's illness in his life. Was it coincidence, then? Or was some deeper game being played here? Then, suddenly aware that Heng Yu was still standing by the door, watching her, she stood and went across to him.

"Good news, neh, Master Heng?"

His smile was weary. "Good news, indeed, Mistress."

But there was something about the way he said it that made her query it. "What is it, Master Heng?"

"Mistress?"

"Has something happened?"

He hesitated, then nodded.

"So? Must I drag it from you?"

Heng seemed to back away from her, though he did not move a fraction. He flinched without moving. "It is I Ye, Mistress."

"I Ye? What of him?"

"He has been arrested."

The expected explosion did not come. Instead, she seemed to shrink, to deflate before his eyes.

"Ah . . ." she said. Then, "Ah ... I see," almost as if the news was something she'd anticipated. No details asked, just, "Ah . . ."

Then, as though Heng Yu had said nothing of significance, she smiled at him and, touching his arm briefly, began to walk away.

"Good night, Master Heng," she said.

"Good night, Mistress," he answered, staring after her in astonishment. "Or rather," he added, so low she did not hear him, "good morning . . ."

Sampsa stood there, patting Tom's back as he leaned over the low stone parapet of the Nidda, retching. It was low tide and the river was a narrow line of silver between dark banks of mud, the current sluggish where it ran south to meet the River Main. Workers, making their way to their early shifts, stopped to stare at them as they passed, then walked on, chuckling to themselves, thinking them merely two young bucks who had drunk too much. But they were wrong.

As Tom retched noisily, Sampsa shuddered, remembering.

They had found her. Almost as soon as they'd begun their search, her face had come up on the screen.

There! Tom had shouted in his head. That's her!

Some part of him had known at once, but Tom's excitement - his joy at finding her again - had masked it from him. Recalling the moment now - seeing the image of her vividly in memory - he could see the fear in her eyes, the unmistakable tension in her facial muscles.

And beneath the image, her name. Ho Ko. Harmonious Song.

In those first few moments he had tried to urge caution, but Tom was not listening. After the evening's frustrations he was not about to wait.

He had raised his hand. "Pause there."

You want to go in? he asked Tom silently.

Tom hesitated, uncertainty flickering in his head. No . . . no, you'd better go and speak with her.

He turned, looking to Harris. "Yes. She's the one."

Harris had smiled and nodded, then, as the image faded from the wall, he put out an arm. Across from him a door irised open.

Sampsa had followed, innocent still, not knowing; some part of him guessing, perhaps, but not yet knowing. He had followed, down a plushly carpeted corridor and out into a spacious hexagonal hall. As they crossed the hallway he had looked down. Beneath his feet a marbled mosaic depicted the naked figures of a man and woman coiled about each other in a blatantly pornographic variant on the tai ch'i.

"In here," Harris said, unlocking the door with an old-fashioned key, then holding it open for him.

He stepped inside. Music was playing softly. The lights were dim. In the centre of the room was a long, black leather body-mould lounger. On the far side of the room stood a masked figure; a young, part-naked man, perfumed and silent. As Sampsa stared at him, he bowed.

"One of the house eunuchs," Harris said quietly. "If you want, he'll help you with the attachments. Or would you rather / assisted you?"

He hesitated, then waved Harris away. As the eunuch came across, he raised his arms, letting the man undress him, as if this were something he did quite regularly; as though the acute embarrassment he felt at that moment didn't matter.

For Tom, he thought, but Tom was silent.

He had lain down in the lounger, letting the eunuch attach the pads and wires to his naked body. The man's touch had been gentle, like a woman's touch, his hands warm, their movements unthreatening, yet there was something about it that had unnerved him. The scent of the man, the basic angularity of his body, these things he found disturbing.

And yet these people knew their clientele. This choice of eunuchs was deliberate, almost ritualistic. They paid for something different here in the Cha hao t'ai - something they couldn't get in the Yinmao.

Sex and all the variants on sex - those could be had anywhere, and cheaply, so it seemed. So what was different about this? What made their clients come here time and again at five hundred yuan a time?

He had heard the door click shut as the eunuch stepped outside. A moment later the music faded, the lights dimmed further, until it was dark.

He lay there expectantly, the soft leather surface of the viewer comfortably tight across his upper face.

The tingling began all over his body as his nervous system was stimulated at the eighty-one separate points where the machine was attached to him. For a moment it felt as though he were a simple vessel, a hollow, empty thing: a porcelain skeleton held together with wires. Then, before that feeling could become too frightening, too uncomfortable, it changed. It was like being filled with a warm, silken fluid. After that momentary hollowness the sensation of it made his nerve ends tingle with pleasure. And then it began.

He was climbing the wooden steps up the outside of an old, traditional Chinese house of stone and tile. The day was bright and warm, the sunlight on his bare arms pleasant. Street noises - the cries of children, the rumble of a cart - came to him from behind his back. The sound of his footsteps on the steps, the springy solidity of the wood beneath his feet, both were convincing. He could smell distant burning, the scent of camphor in the air. Far off, a tug boat hooted on the river. It all felt real. Very real.

At the top of the steps a door, red painted, the paint faded and flaking in places. He reached up, his arm stretching, his hand grasping a cheap brass knocker.

His heart was pounding now, expectantly. He could feel Tom in his head, a silent passenger, sharing the experience.

He let the knocker fall. From inside came the sound of movement; the click of an inner door opening, the swish of material against the uncarpeted floor. And then the door opened.

It was an old man, bald and wispily bearded. Her father, so it seemed. Sampsa was suddenly conscious of how well he was dressed in comparison to the old man; how much above him in status he was. As the old man bowed low and backed away, he dug into his pocket and fished out a coin - a big, solid thing, unlike anything that existed in reality. Solid and golden, it glinted briefly before disappearing into the folds of the old man's greasy jacket.

He stepped inside, the old man closing the door behind him, ushering him through a curtained partition to a room at the end of a short corridor.

"Wait here," he said. "I bring her."

He looked about him at the cheap furnishings, the gaudy popular prints that hung on the walls, the sight of them familiar. He came here often, it seemed - twice a week, when his wife was out at market.

These memories seemed clear, yet a moment earlier they had not existed. Chemicals, pumped straight into his brain, provided him with these false layers of recollection, strengthening the illusion, bonding him to it.

He went to the stool in the corner and sat, as he always did. There was the faint smell of perfume in the room; an old and faded smell.

Her smell.

Through the wall he heard an exchange of voices. A door slammed. A moment later the door to the room swung open. As she stepped inside he stood.

"Why are you here? Why have you come again? I told you. . ."

"I'm sorry," he began, the sudden memory of what he'd done last time coming to him; a vivid, disturbing image of the girl pinned down beneath him, her naked buttocks exposed to him as he struck her again and again.

Beneath his own surprise, he felt Tom recoil in shock.

"I still hurt," she said, turning, pushing her rump out towards him and pouting. "You bad man, Mister Sampsa. You very naughty man."

Unable to prevent himself, he stepped across the room and, putting out his hand, rested it on the rounded curve of her rump, feeling the warmth beneath the thin cloth.

"Let me see," he said, his mouth forming the words without volition, his eyes meeting hers.

She stared back at him uncertainly, then nodded. Slowly she eased the skirt down, exposing herself to him.

The weals were dark and painful-looking. Fresh blood in the cuts revealed that they were almost new. Seeing them, he winced inwardly. Yet in the shell he put his hand out, touching one of them, tracing its course across her flesh, ignoring the girl's discomfort. Enjoying it.

New chemicals were pumping through him now. Stimulants. The thought of her pain excited him suddenly. The thought of what he'd done.

No, Tom was saying, over and over again. No.

He reached out and grabbed her neck, then threw her down onto the bed. She cried out, but he ignored her. He had paid. The old man had his money. Now she would do exactly as he said.

Holding her down with one hand, he began to free himself, tugging his swollen penis from his trousers. The girl was struggling now - really struggling, her eyes badly frightened as she turned her head to plead with him, but it was as if he couldn't hear her anymore. An awful madness was on him suddenly; a dark rage that would not let him be until it had been fed.

He was hitting her now, slapping her and punching her even as he tore at her clothes, grunting and snarling at her like a wild thing as he entered her and began to thrust, not caring that he was hurting her, excited by her frightened whimpering, her little cries of panic.

No ... No ... No ... No ...

He was tearing at his belt now, pulling it loose. Reaching down, he grasped her hair and pulled her head back savagely, then slipped the belt about her throat and fastened it. Slowly, very slowly, he began to tighten it.

Stop! Tom was shouting. For God's sake, Sampsa, stop!

But Sampsa couldn't stop. Appalled, he felt his excitement mount, felt his body move more and more urgently, the girl's violent struggles feeding something dark and hideous inside him. Beneath him the girl was dying. He could see the blood draining from her face; could see her eyeballs bulging, yet still he held her down.

He'd paid! The old man had his money!

With a faint shudder she died, and as she died he came, the sensation exploding at every nerve-end in a terrible ecstasy of release.

Release, and, as conscious slipped away, a tiny, despairing voice echoing in his skull.

No!.. . No!. . . Oh, Jesus help us, no\

Tom had stopped retching. As he straightened up he looked to Sampsa.

That was real.

"I know."

They must have wired-up the killer. Taped his responses.

Sampsa nodded. But even talking about it made him uncomfortable. It was as if the experience had somehow poisoned him. He had done nothing, and yet he felt responsible for the girl's death. Guilty. And no amount of rational argument could dislodge that feeling.

It had made him realise how few things had really touched him in his life, how few scars there were on his psyche. Now all that had changed. In the space of one night he had lost something of his eternal flippancy, his naivety. He was no longer innocent. Now he knew. Oh, he had always "known" in some distanced, cerebral kind of fashion, but now he knew, as if it were now encoded in his cells. Hands on, as it were. Yes . . . the stench of it still filled his nostrils.

"I killed her," he said softly, seeing himself through Tom's eyes even as he spoke.

No, Tom answered, yet the denial was unconvincing. Tom felt as he felt.

"So what now?" he asked.

Tom stared at him. Give me the tape.

Sampsa hesitated, then felt inside his jacket pocket for the tiny chip. He had paid them twenty thousand yuan for it. All he'd had on him. According to Harris it was the original - the only print. But who knew?

He looked back at Tom, trying to read him, but Tom wasn't letting him in.

Give it to me.

"What are you going to do?"

Tom shook his head, then put out his hand. Please . . .

He looked down, staring at the chip thoughtfully. "You could give it to your father. He could make a shell for you. A good shell. Maybe you could . . ."

Abruptly, Tom reached out and snatched it from him.

No, he answered, his face showing what he thought of the idea. No. Then, turning to face the river, he hurled it out into the darkness.

Sampsa sighed.

We didn't kill her, Tom said, turning to face him again. We might feel as if we did, but it wasn't us!

"No . . ." Sampsa swallowed, then. "Look, maybe we should get back."

Yes, Tom said, reaching out to touch Sampsa's arm, let's do that. But the openness had gone between them. After tonight nothing would be the same. From here on there would always be walls between them.

Rain was falling as the transporter set down on the strip outside the massive walls of Edingen Prison.

As the iron gates swung open, Emily and the boys were herded through, stumbling, the heavy chains linking them all. Lin, who had collapsed on the journey, followed a moment later on a motorised stretcher, an oxygen-mask over his face.

As the rain fell harder, unfriendly hands shoved them into a yard where, beneath the glare of arc-lights and surrounded by high walls painted midnight black, the Senior Warder waited to greet them.

"Ah . . . new guests," he said, rubbing his hands together; unperturbed, it seemed, by the downpour, his polished head gleaming wetly, his thin-lipped mouth smiling at Emily as if welcoming a friend. "Your rooms are awaiting you," he said, and laughed. An unpleasant laugh.

The boys looked to her forlornly. Chia and Sung began to cry, but she could not comfort them now. The very worst had happened. Now only pain and darkness lay ahead. Even poor Lin's fate seemed beyond her concern now. She had fallen -fallen into the abyss. Even Ji's death had been as a rehearsal for this moment.

She put her face up to the sky and groaned. The gods help me in my torment!

But the Senior Warder, seeing her gesture, merely laughed. "Pray all you will, Emily Ascher, but you are beyond all help. Here you are beyond the world."

She stared at him, then, swallowing, nodded. Yet even as she looked, she saw a movement in his face. He lifted a hand to the faint slit behind his right ear, as if listening, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Well, well. . ." he said, his face suddenly lighting up with pleasure. "It seems you are not the only new guests tonight." He wiped the wetness from his face, then stepped across and, giving her a little bow, said. "Forgive me, Nu Shi Ascher, but I must leave you for a little while. Relax. Enjoy the view. It's better than the view you'll have."

And with that he hurried off, guards running to him as he went.

She turned, watching him, then stared at the chains about her wrists. Dead. They were all dead. They only seemed alive. She shivered then looked about her, trying to recognise those she was chained to, her mind fighting against the darkness that sought to engulf it.

Boys . . . My boys . . .

Yet even that simple thought threatened to unhinge her. If she thought for a moment about what lay ahead for them, if she let herself think . . .

A tiny whimper of fear escaped her. My boys . . .

They were all crying now, some, like Chia, quietly, his head bowed, others, like young Teng, wailing like a baby. The sound of it was awful, dreadful. It tore at her.

Stop it, she thought. Please stop it. Before I go mad.

"Dead," she whispered, trying to convince herself of it. Trying to find some consolation in the thought.

There were sudden shouts, then urgent whispering in the gallery overhead. She heard the sound of someone running, their boots clicking on the wet stone, then the slam of a door.

Turning, she looked up, trying to see through the glare of the lights. Then, through the same door through which they had passed but a moment before, strode I Ye, wearing nothing but a pair of loose-fitting trousers. Rain ran freely down his bare, well-muscled chest. Behind him, two guards looked on without expression.

For a moment she misunderstood. For a moment she thought he had come to torture her, then she saw the chains about his wrists, linked to the restraining harness about his neck, and caught her breath.

I Ye!. . . a prisoner!

The rain fell, harder now, beating down on them through the layers of light and dark, as I Ye looked across at her and, without knowing who she was, lifted his chin and smiled arrogantly.

Tunnels. There was no end to the tunnels. Beneath the City was an endless labyrinth of ancient ways - of drains and sewers, abandoned railway lines, heating ducts and secret cellars. Some were water-logged, but that was no barrier to him as it might have been to others. Holding his breath, he'd dare such channels, and so come upon secret places where he could hide. Places no one but he had knowledge of.

On that first evening, hiding from the Hsien L'ing's troops, he came upon one such place. Breaking surface, he gasped for air, then, pushing up the broken drainage cover, he climbed up and, switching on the torch he'd stolen from the soldier, shone it into that dark, enclosed space.

It was a room. A tiny cellar room. The light fell upon a wooden chair, a rusted iron bed, and then . . .

Josef laughed, then went across to look at them. The three skeletons sat together against the watt, their fleshless arms about each other: father and mother and, between them, its skeleton almost as small as his own, their child. In their rotted threads they made a touching littie group, sitting there, staring into eternity.

"Smile," he said, and, as if the torch were a camera, pretended to look through it, clicking the switch as if taking a photograph.

In the momentary darkness he turned his head, sniffing at it, taking in its damp yet musty scent, then clicked the torch back on.

"Still here?" he asked, then, laughing, climbed up onto the bed and lay there on the rusted springs.

Revenge. He'd get revenge for what they'd done. Not for the boys they'd killed - who cared what came of them? - but for himself. He looked to his grinning companions and smiled.

"Watch me," he said, his mind already hatching new schemes, new ways of making mischief up above. "You just sit there and watch, eh?"

Then, with a chuckle, he lay down, resting, knowing there was time - all the time in the world.

CHAPTER-9

A death, a gift, a marriage

Pei K'ung supervised the search herself, standing there in the centre of I Ye's apartment while her men went through every drawer and every file, pulling up floor tiles and poking at the walls with metal rods, making sure there were no hidden compartments. Only then, when she was satisfied that she had got everything there was to get, did she wave them out and, locking and barring the doors behind her, return to her study.

Chu Po was waiting for her there. When she swept in, he was sitting in the tall-backed leather chair beside the darkened window, smoking a cigar and watching her with amused eyes as her servants piled chest after chest of papers and tapes and files onto her desk.

"Well?" she said, looking to him. "Aren't you going to help?"

"Help?" He made a face. "I'll only get in your way if I try to help. You know how I am."

"Yes," she said, quelling the irritation she felt for him at that moment, then turned, looking from chest to chest, wondering where to begin.

"Besides," he went on, "I thought I'd take a stroll in the gardens. Watch the sun come up."

She turned her head and answered acidly. "They say a man should see the sunrise at least once in his life."

"Indeed." He slowly hauled himself up out of the seat and, fastening the sash to his silks tightly about his waist, walked to the door and stepped out, into the pre-dawn darkness.

She watched him go, feeling bone-tired and haggard. Twice this night she had dragged herself out of bed to deal with urgent matters. Right now she felt on edge and in a mood to spit and snarl if she didn't get her own way. But Chu Po was right. He'd be no help. He was a gadfly not a clerk.

She yawned deeply then called Ming Ai's assistant, Cheng Nai shan, across.

"Cheng! I want four clerks. Men you can trust implicitly. I want them to take a chest each and work through. Anything that looks even vaguely interesting they refer. Everything else goes straight back in the chest. All right?"

"Mistress!" Bowing low, Cheng hurried off to summon his clerks.

She didn't have long, she knew that. Why, she had almost overlooked it. If Chu Po had not suggested searching I Ye's rooms, she might still be in her bed, the chance gone. More than that, she was fortunate Li Yuan hadn't beaten her to it. Then again, Li Yuan had I Ye, and I Ye was worth a whole library of incriminating evidence.

She shivered, then put her right hand to her mouth, chewing at a nail. It was her own fault. She hadn't been specific enough in her instructions to I Ye. She had let her temper get the better of her. She should have specified that the attempt on Shepherd's life be carried out in the Domain, far from these halls. Then again, how could she have known that I Ye would be so stupid as to try to pull it off within the walls of the San Chang itself?

She grimaced, then went back to her desk, pulling one of the chests toward her, thinking things through as she got down to work.

I Ye deserved whatever fate awaited him. She felt no pity for him. The only question was what he would tell her husband of her schemes, for I Ye was certain to try and bargain for his life A DEATH, A GIFT, A and, being without influence or connection, the only thing he had to offer was information.

She looked up, knowing what must be done. She had to have him killed, and at once. Li Yuan would know, of course, but that could not be helped. She could not risk the chance of I Ye's loose tongue spilling all to Li Yuan's torturers.

And Li Yuan, if he was half the man she thought he was, would know she would try. In his place, she would try to move I Ye beyond her reach.

She reached out, placing her hand firmly on the summons button. A few seconds passed and then the door on the far side of the room opened and Cheng Nai Shan stepped in, bowing low.

"Mistress?"

"Cheng . . . who did Colonel I deal with when he wanted something special done?"

Cheng looked up, a query in his eye. "Special, Mistress?" But, seeing the look in her eye, he understood. "Ah. . . special."

"Well? Can you arrange something at short notice, Cheng?"

Cheng considered a moment, then nodded. "I could set up a meeting within the hour, Mistress. But it would be advisable if you yourself were not to be involved. These people are not. . ."

"I understand," she said, raising a hand. For a moment she stared out into the slowly growing dawn light of the gardens, then smiled to herself.

"Okay. Arrange it at once. I'll send Chu Po. The bastard can earn his keep for once. And Cheng . . ."

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Find out where they've taken Colonel I."

"That I can answer at once, Mistress. I Ye was taken straight to Edingen. There he shares a cell with two of your husband's bodyguards."

"His torturers, you mean?"

Cheng hesitated, then nodded.

"Good . . . That's good." She nodded, satisfied, then waved him away. But he hesitated a moment. "Well? Is there something more?"

Cheng lowered his head. "My clerks, Mistress. I have them waiting outside."

"Ah . . ." She smiled, pleased that he at least was thinking clearly. "Send them in. They can work on the floor, here before my desk."

"As you wish, Mistress."

"And Cheng . . . tell me once something is arranged."

He bowed to the waist. "As you wish, Mistress."

Karr strode into the room, then came to attention, bowing stiffly. Warlord Hu was sitting in a chair beside the unmade bed, one of his maids dressing him, buttoning his shirt, while another fed him with her fingers from a porcelain bowl. Pushing her hand aside, Hu Wang-chih looked up at Karr and smiled broadly.

"Ah, Marshal Karr. And how are you, this fine morning? Did you sleep well? Did my servants look after you adequately?"

Karr hesitated, then chose to answer diplomatically. "I slept very well indeed, Excellency."

Warlord Hu chuckled. "The sleep of the just, eh?" He lifted his chin, letting the girl thread the last of the pearl buttons through the tiny loop, then waved her away. Joining the other maid she bowed, then went through into the nearby bathroom.

Hu looked to Karr. "You are ready, then?"

"Ready, Excellency?" Karr met the man's hazel eyes.

"To sign." Hu turned and snapped his fingers. At once his Chancellor, who had been standing silently in the corner of the room, brought across two furled scrolls. Hu took them, then offered one to Karr.

Unrolling it, Karr quickly glanced down the document, noting that Hu's own signature was already on the paper, beneath his seal. He looked back at Hu. "The wording?"

"Is as we agreed. To the letter. Your Master's terms are acceptable in full. You might tell him that when we meet in the Autumn, I am ready to bow my knee before him and kiss his ring-finger."

Karr nodded, inwardly surprised. He had not expected Hu to accept that term without at least a murmur of objection; then again, why should he be surprised? The Han respected strength and, as a race, they seemed to desire the ordered structure of a hierarchy. To be the servant of a High Lord was an honourable calling among the Han, especially if one were a Lord in one's own right. To be a king who served a greater king was no small thing, and in this world of uncertainties, the iron-cast certainty that Li Yuan represented was a welcome thing, even to an independent-minded Warlord such as Hu. He saw how dangerous the future was - he had said as much to Karr last night. Why, there had been eight small wars in the region in the last two years alone and tension throughout Asia was growing by the week. As Hu said, one had two choices, to face the tiger, or ride it.