He looked up. All four men were waiting to see what he would say—Nan Ho with certainty, the other three, it seemed, hoping he would gainsay his Chancellor. He smiled, knowing how fortunate he was to have such good men serving him.
“It is as Master Nan says. Our hands are tied. We cannot act.” “But, Chieh Hsia . . . Each day his power grows, and at our expense. Why, the drug revenue alone allows him to add a hundred men to his private army every day. Soon the whole of the Lowers will be his, and then—“ Li Yuan raised a hand, silencing Tolonen. “That may be so, Knut, but you forget what happened on Mars and in my cousin’s City.” “That last was an accident, Chieh Hsia.”
“Maybe. But an accident waiting to happen, neh?” Tolonen shook his head, his granite features regretful. “We should have crushed him when we could. After the war between the brotherhoods.” Li Yuan smiled sadly. “I gave the order. Remember? But then the storm hit Nantes.” He sighed. “So it is. We cannot deal with every problem as if it were the only one. Things never happen in isolation. Priorities. It is always a question of priorities, and right now our priority is to maintain the peace at all costs.”
He paused, looking about him sternly. “However, do not mistake my hesitancy for weakness. I will strike when I must. But not now. As Sun Tzu reminds us, to be cautious can also be a virtue.”
when they were gone , Li Yuan turned to his Chancellor, letting a great sigh of relief escape him.
“They are right, of course. The situation is intolerable.” Nan Ho, serious throughout the meeting, allowed himself the luxury of a smile.
“Not so intolerable, Chieh Hsia. It is not all doom and gloom. My scheme—“ “—is a good one, and before you say another word, I agree to it. Arrange to meet the man and put the deal before him. But first there’s another matter I wish you to set in motion.”
Nan Ho’s brows furrowed. For once he was at a loss. “Another matter, Chieh Hsia?”
Li Yuan looked about him, gesturing at the silent solemnity of it all. “Empty rooms, Master Nan. I have had my fill of empty rooms. It is time I had a wife again.”
walking down the long corridor that led to his suite of offices, Nan Ho mulled the matter over in his mind. After the death of Li Yuan’s wives he had not pressed the matter, knowing just how deeply the young T’ang had been hurt. But lately he had been wondering whether he should raise the matter.
To have a single son—that was a dangerous weakness. But to have five or six...
As the great doors swung open before him, he clicked his fingers, summoning his Principal Secretary.
“Hu Ch’ang, bring me the Book of Dragon and Phoenix, And send Pi Kung, I need to talk to him at once.”
He sat, conscious of all the urgent matters there were to deal with. Since Li Yuan had handed over power to him, he had had little time to himself. He had neglected family matters badly. His wife, his children—he had not seen them in ... what? A week. He looked about his desk, studying the great piles of official documents, then hauled one bulky folder toward him. It was the application for citizenship he had been looking at before the meeting. He flipped it open, then reached across for his seal, inking the great chop before bringing it down on the bottom of the official form. He peeled it off the paper and set it back on its stand, then studied the glistening imprint. There. As simple as that. Now he had only to arrange the meeting. Quickly he took paper from the drawer, then inked his brush and, with a haste that was uncharacteristic, wrote out the summons. “Tonight...” he murmured to himself as Hu Ch’ang came back into the room. “I beg pardon, Excellency?” Hu Ch’ang said, stopping halfway across the room, the huge book balanced on his arms. “Oh, nothing, Hu Ch’ang. I was merely talking to myself.” “Ah . . .” Hu Ch’ang averted his eyes, then came across, waiting as Nan Ho cleared a space for the great book. As Hu Ch’ang set the book down, Nan Ho looked up at him.
“It’s been some years, neh? You realize, what this means?”
Hu Ch’ang blushed. “That you are taking a second wife, Excellency?” Nan Ho started forward slightly. “No. I...” But the idea wasn’t such a bad one. Maybe Nan Tsing would welcome the company of a younger woman? And maybe he could do with the regenerative effects of a new wife in his bed? He stared at the cover of the book, tracing the dragon-and-phoenix design inlaid in gold in the blood-red velvet, and nodded. No, not such a bad idea at all!
“It is not I who need a wife but our Master.”
“The great T’ang ... he is to be married again?” “Yes, Hu Ch’ang. And it is our task, our sacred task, to choose him a lifetime’s mate. A woman of discretion, demure but strong. Attractive, but not beautiful.”
“Not beautiful, Excellency? I do not understand. ...” Nan Ho opened the great book, exposing the first of the many faces within—the faces of all the Minor-Family Princesses who were eligible to be married—then looked up at Hu Ch’ang again.
“Beauty fades. . . . Other qualities . . . well, they grow stronger as the years pass. If the great Pang wants beauty, we can recruit a dozen maids to keep his bed warm and a smile on his face. But a wife—a wife is a different thing.” He laughed. “A wife is like a good Chancellor, neh?
two hours later it was done, the official invitations sent out to six of the young princesses to attend Nan Ho at the palace. He sat there, satisfied, for once feeling positive about something. Too often these days the burden of governing the great City simply oppressed him. In another age, perhaps, he might have found it a joyful, an exhilarating task, but right now it was like being Supervisor of Dams in a time of floods. The most he could do was to contain the damage and save a field or two. Things were bad—worse than he’d ever known them— and in his heart of hearts he felt not the steersman of some great social enterprise, but the custodian of decline.
There was a knock. A moment later a tall, slender-looking man in his mid-twenties came into the room. He came forward two paces, then dropped to his knees, placing his forehead to the thickly carpeted floor. “You sent for me, Excellency?”
“Yes, Pi Kung. I have a job for you. There is a man I want killed. A great man. A very special man, so I am told. Is there someone . . . special you could find for the task?”
Pi Kung lifted his head and smiled broadly. “Ah, yes, Excellency. I know just the man.”
karr leaned back in his chair and roared with laughter. Across the kitchen table from him sat Chen, a bowl of ch’a at his elbow, an almost inane grin lighting his plain features.
Karr leaned forward again and nodded, his eyes filled with a natural warmth. “Ah, Chen, it’s good to see you again. I’ve missed your company badly. Down there . . . acch . . . it’s hard to say how foul I found it all. That man, Li Min, he’s a cold bastard. I met him twice, and to be honest with you, he sent the chills through me.” Chen frowned, his voice taking on a friendly, mocking tone. “The chills? I don’t believe it, Gregor. You . . . frightened of another human being?” “Frightened? Did I say frightened? No, brother Chen. But there’s something about the man that reminds you of Yen Wang, the King of Hells. And his two henchmen, Soucek and Visak. . . Ox-head and Horse-face they are! Niu T’ou and Ma Mien themselves! Yes . . . the chief constables of Hell.” Chen laughed, then grew more serious. “And yet the T’ang does nothing.” Karr shrugged. “What can he do? Even if he had the will, it would take all we’ve got to subdue the Lowers, and what then? Without Li Min there keeping the peace we would have to police the Lowers again—a hundred men a deck, maybe more. And in the meantime our enemies—our real enemies—would take the opportunity to destroy us.”