She looked down at that, her hands clenched beneath the table. Your kind, she thought, the ugliness of the words resonating deep within her. But what did he mean by that? Her race? Or did he just mean Michael’s faction—the New Republicans?
“I’ll listen,” Michael said, folding his hands before him on the table. “But I’ve not come to make deals.” Nan Ho chuckled. “Deals. Is that all you think of?” Michael stared, silent, until Nan Ho shrugged. At that moment the waiter returned with a tray of wine cups and an open bottle. As he set the cups down and poured, Nan Ho looked between them, smiling. Then, as the waiter returned to the shadows, he lifted his cup, toasting them.
“To America’s perfect couple!”
Michael fingered the rim of his cup, his eyes narrowed. “So what do you want?”
“Me?” Nan Ho sipped at his wine, then sat back slightly, as if this were merely an evening out and he was a regular customer of the restaurant. He looked about him briefly, then fixed his gaze on Michael once more. “I’ll tell you. I want peace.”
“Peace? That’s all?”
Nan Ho nodded. “Yes, but there’s a problem with that. You see, the House wants real power, and if it gets real power, then there won’t be peace. So”—he sipped again, smiled—“I cannot let it have real power. You see my problem?”
Michael leaned in toward him, his face suddenly bright beneath the lamp.
“I see it, but I can’t see how you can prevent it. Things are changing.
The House will attain real power. If not this year, then next.” “That soon?” Nan Ho’s face wrinkled momentarily in thought. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. “Maybe I ought to start packing now, neh?” Michael stared a moment, then, catching the man’s mood, began to smile. “Better,” Nan Ho said, leaning in toward him. “You came here full of hostility toward me. Full of tension and false expectations. That display outside—for which, incidentally, I apologize most profoundly—was meant to pander to them. But we are not like that. We are not simple, abstract forces. We are people, and we want what people want. When I talk of peace, it is not some vague ideal I seek, it is peace as you or I would understand the term. Freedom from violence, from tyranny and need. Freedom to marry whom we will and raise a family. Freedom—“ “I take your meaning,” Mary said rather sharply, interrupting him, “but don’t your policies contradict your stated desire?” “Not at all. The problems we face are many, but the solutions are few. There are too many people, therefore we must limit the number of children we are having. Food supply regularly falls below demand, therefore we must either grow more food—almost an impossibility, I think you’d agree—or, again, limit the number of people. And as for overcrowding . . . well, you take my point, I’m sure. All of our problems have but a single cause—there are too many of us. Many too many. If we want peace—and I’m sure you, as much as I, want peace—then we must do something about it.” Michael went to speak, but again Mary was in before him. “Yes, but why limit the statute to the bottom hundred and fifty? Why not make it one law for all? That, surely, is much fairer?”
“Fairer? Maybe. Though not much. Our problem is in the lowest hundred and fifty. It’s there that the population levels are spiraling out of control. But there’s another factor involved, which I’m sure you understand, and that’s the power of vested interests. And that”—he paused, looking from one to the other again—“is where you come in.” She sat back, eyeing him, not certain yet whether to like this man or not.
“What do you mean?”
Nan Ho was watching her now, a look resembling respect in his eyes. “I watched you,” he said solemnly. “I saw what you tried to do in America. It was a brave attempt, a genuinely innovative reaction to a difficult situation. And it would have worked, too, given time. You would have changed things, Mary Lever. I’m certain of it. Just as I’m certain that you could do it over here. You and Michael both.”
Michael laughed. “We’re not even citizens—“
Nan Ho turned, snapped his fingers. At once a servant appeared, head bowed, a glossy black folder in his hand. Nan Ho took it from him, then turned back, offering it to Michael.
Michael took it, opened it, showed the sealed documents to her.
“A bribe?” he asked, looking back at Nan Ho. “No. You would have got them anyway. Oh, and before you ask, you get to keep them, whether you do as I suggest or not.” He smiled. “Then again, I ask nothing of you but that you do what you once chose to do freely—to influence people for the good.”
“And this?” she asked, holding up a sheet of paper which had been inside the folder. “Is this part of the deal?”
Michael took it from her, reading it through. It was a note regarding a Mansion that was for sale. He looked up. “Well?” Nan Ho smiled, then beckoned a waiter, taking a menu and handing it across to Mary.
“It’s not on the market yet, but I understand the asking price is very reasonable.” The Chancellor’s smile was urbane, gentle, yet behind il she sensed a steel-trap mind. “You’ll need such a place if you are tc entertain people. And if you’re to influence them, you’ll need tc entertain them, neh?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Cities of the Plain
LO WEN TIGHTENED THE GIRTH and ran down the stirrups, then looped the reins and placed them in the boy’s right hand. “Are you ready, Kuei Jen?”
The young prince shook his head, a look of keen resentment in his eyes. “I don’t want to. . . .” he murmured.
Lo Wen straightened, his face on the level of the boy’s. “It is not what we want, Prince Kuei, but what we need. If you are to be a good horseman, you must learn the disciplines from an early age. You must become part of the horse.”
Kuei Jen wriggled in the saddle, uncomfortable.
“Hold still, Kuei Jen! You will make the horse uneasy.” The young prince looked down, feeling angry and hurt. How dare the man speak to him like that? How dare he!
“I won’t,” he said stubbornly, giving another wriggle and feeling the horse move beneath him. “I don’t want to.” “You will and you must. Your father has commanded.” Kuei Jen glared at him, then jutted out his chin and dug his heels hard into the pony’s flanks. At once the pony whinnied and began to kick. “Damn you, boy!” Lo Wen yelled, grabbing the harness while also trying to keep the young prince from falling. “What in the gods’ names are you playing at! You could kill yourself!”
“I won’t!” Kuei Jen shouted back. “I don’t want to go riding!” Lo Wen calmed the horse, but his face was dark with anger now. He pulled Kuei Jen down from the saddle and set him aside, then signaled for one of the grooms to take the horse.
Turning, he faced the young prince again. Kuei Jen stood there, hands on hips, staring back at him defiantly. “I won’t,” he said again. “I won’t.”
Lo Wen took a breath, then nodded. “You won’t, eh? You would disobey your father, neh?”
Kuei Jen shook his head. “He wouldn’t make me. . . . It’s you.” Lo Wen raised his voice, angry now. “You will do as I say, Kuei Jen, or else ...”