Выбрать главу

“You thought what?” Chen turned, studying his old friend, his dark eyes strangely alive. “A lot happened while you were down-level, Gregor Karr, and not all of it reported on the media. There were moments when I thought it was all up for me. But here we are, you and I. We’re alive, neh? And not merely in the flesh.”

Karr was about to ask what he meant by that when a camera swiveled overhead, and with a faint clicking the gate juddered and began to slide back.

Inside, two liveried servants bowed low before them. “Major Kao,” the more senior of them said, then turned slightly, his arm outstretched, inviting them to cross the open space to the main Mansion. “We were not expecting you.”

“Forgive me, Steward Tse. If I’d known beforehand I was coming . . .” He paused, remembering his manners. “This, by the way, is Major Karr, of the Tang’s Imperial Elite.”

The Steward bobbed his head lower, then glanced up at Karr, clearly impressed by the big man. “Is this ... an official visit?” Chen smiled. “No. Not at all. Is Nu Shi Shang at home?” “Of course. She is working just now, but I shall tell her you are here. If you would come through.”

While they waited in the marbled entrance hall, Chen staring down into a sunken pool of carp, Karr spoke quickly to him, his voice lowered. “Well? What’s going on?”

Chen turned, smiling. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you. But. . . well, you’ll see.”

“See what?”

“Something you’ve probably not seen for some while. Something that’s not visible to the common eye.”

Karr laughed. “Have you been drinking, Chen? Or have you suffered a bad case of mysticism since I’ve been away?”

Chen raised one eyebrow. “And if I had? Would that be such a bad thing?”

“A bad thing? Why . . .”

Karr stopped. The Steward had reappeared at the doorway on the far side of the entrance hall.

“Ch’un tzu? If you would follow me.”

Karr gave Chen one long, hard look, then, shaking his head, followed Chen and the Steward through.

Inside it was cool and shadowed. A long corridor led to a pair of tall doors which opened at their approach. Beyond them was a formal dining room, at the center of which stood a young woman, her long, jet-black hair tied into a single ponytail, her hands folded before her. She was simply yet elegantly dressed, yet what struck Karr immediately was the sheer warmth of her smile on seeing Chen. It was the kind of smile one couldn’t feign. As the doors closed behind them, she put out her hands to Chen and came forward, taking his hands and leaning forward to kiss him on both cheeks.

“Chen! How wonderful to see you!” She turned, facing Karr. “And you, too, Major Karr. I’m very pleased to meet you at last. Chen’s told me a great deal about you.”

Karr laughed, his discomfort returning. “He has, has he?”

“Oh, nothing bad. At least, nothing I’d take as bad.” Her eyes were shining mischievously as she said this last, and her grip on his hands was unexpectedly strong.

“Come,” she said, ushering them through into a smaller, more feminine-looking room furnished in soft pastels. “I’ll have the servants bring ch’a.” She turned her head, flashing a smile at Karr. “You’re quite an expert, I’m told, Major. I hope you’ll like our humble brew.” Karr gave a slight bow of his head. “I am sure it will be delightful.”

“And if it isn’t? Would you tell me?”

Karr looked to Chen, then looked back. “Would you wish that? I mean, some might take it as an impertinence ... an affront.” She looked to Chen, then met Karr’s eyes again. “He hasn’t said, has he?

He’s just brought you here, right?”

Karr nodded, a faint smile appearing on his lips. She turned, wagging a finger at Chen, like a mother-in-law scolding her son’s daughter. “Why, Kao Chen, that’s very bad of you, to keep Major Karr guessing. You should have prepared him.”

Chen laughed. “And spoil my fun? No way!” She turned back, facing Karr. “Your friend Chen is a remarkable man, Major. I owe him a great deal. My liberty. Certainly my life.” It was an impassioned little speech that made Karr frown and try to reassess just what the relationship between the two was. He had begun to think . . .

“I—I don’t understand.”

“No,” she said, smiling again, gesturing toward one of the couches. “But all will be revealed, neh? Now, let me order that ch’a, then we can sit and talk.”

the stones swam before the man’s eyes, blurring, merging into each other, like a solid line of troops, a great white wall surrounding him. Sweat dripped from his brow onto the board, drip, drip, as if he were being slowly dissolved; as if, before the final stone could be played, there would be nothing of him but a pool of salted water. He swallowed dryly. It was impossible. There was no way out. Master Hsu had a four-stone advantage at the very least, and if he lost this group, then there was no hope.

His eyes lifted from the board, traveled across the room, and rested on the two bodies that lay there in the corner. So still they were. So perfectly, awfully still. Such stillness as the great Tuan Ti Fo had once reputedly possessed.

He looked back, trying to concentrate, yet he was close to fainting. The heat... It was so hot in here suddenly. As if... He remembered. The game. He had to win the game. Black. I am playing black, he reminded himself. But it was no use. His concentration had gone. The pressure. The pressure was too much. Last time, when he had realized he’d won, he had felt such relief flood through him. Such happiness! But now . . .

He looked up, meeting Master Hsu’s eyes. Nothing. They, too, were like walls, shutting him out, denying him.

It’s a game, he wanted to scream. It’s only a game! But the rules had been changed. Then, suddenly, he understood.

This is what this game is really about. Life and death. A struggle. And only one survivor And the loser?

Yes. He understood.

He moved back slightly from the board, wiping his face on the silk of his sleeve. For a moment longer he studied the board, then, drawing himself up, he gave his old friend Hsu the slightest of nods, accepting what the stones had already told him. He had lost. Six maybe eight stones ago he had lost, and he had known it then. But he had played on, hoping against hope. For once, however, hope wasn’t enough. For once the game was black and white.

He almost laughed at that. But it was no time for laughter. It was a time for dignity. Dignity . . . and inner strength. He turned, looking across at the great T’ang. Wang Sau-leyan was looking away, his great jowls chewing on some delicacy. Then, as if sensing something was happening, he turned his head and looked. “Is it over?”

The man nodded.

“Good.” And with the most casual of gestures Wang waved his guards across. He turned back, studying the board one final time, realizing for the first time just how deeply, how intimately, he had woven his life into the patterns of the game. He had been a child of four when he’d first been apprenticed, eight when he’d won his first professional competition, twenty-six when he’d first been made a Master. All his life he had struggled for perfection, but until today he had sought it in vain. He stared at the stones, his mouth open in wonder. No ... no game had ever been so intense. Not one had ever possessed even a glimpse of such rare and delicate beauty, such clarity . . . such power. He shivered and looked across at Hsu, bowing his head low, honoring the man. If only every game could have been so meaningful. If only he had had a thousand lives to lose. Or maybe not. Maybe that was why. He felt their rough hands on him, felt them lift him and carry him across, felt. . .