Nan Ho bowed. “So it is, Chieh Hsia. But today is a special day, neh? Besides, it would look well if your son sat beside you on the imperial dais.”
Li Yuan smiled. “Must there always be a political reason for doing something, Nan Ho?”
“You are a T’ang, Chieh Hsia. Everything you do is political.”
“Everything?”
“Well. . . almost everything. I understand the new maid was much to your satisfaction, Chieh Hsia.”
“And if she wasn’t?”
“I would find another who was, Chieh Hsia.”
“And one for me, I hope,” Tsu Ma said, laughing.
Nan Ho turned to him. “If that is the great Tang’s wish?” Tsu Ma raised an eyebrow at Li Yuan, then laughed again. “I might take you up on that, Master Nan . . . with my cousin’s permission, of course.” “Granted.”
Again Nan Ho cleared his throat.
“Yes, Master Nan? What is it now?”
“Forgive me, Chieh Hsia, but the tournament site is ready for your inspection.”
“Then lead on.”
The sun was still low to their left as they stopped at the top of the steps, looking out across the great Southern Lawn. Directly in front of them, and some half a li distant, the newly built landing strip had been decorated with the banners of the seven Cities, the big silk pennants flapping gustily in the early morning breeze. Closer to hand a dozen big hunting tents had been set up and a trail of servants could be seen going to and fro, ferrying huge silver platters into their interiors. In front of those an area had been cordoned off and a large number of couches had been set up on a semicircle of elevated platforms for the use of the Twenty-Nine, the Minor-Family princes, and their kin. Directly in front of them was the tournament platform, a huge circular stage decorated like a giant t’ai chi, ten thousand tiny black and white tiles forming the interlocking swirls of dark and light, two wei chi boards placed at the focal points. While play was in progress, pictures of each board would be captured by floater cameras and transmitted to the huge screens that were displayed prominently in more than a dozen places. To their left, in front of a huge marquee of golden silk, was the imperial enclosure. Here the five great T’ang would gather while their champions—and the champions of North America and the Australias—would play out their games.
“Excellent,” Li Yuan said, nodding his satisfaction. “It will be a marvelous spectacle for the masses, neh?” “It is to be hoped so, Chieh Hsia,” Nan Ho answered somberly.
Li Yuan looked to him, concerned. “Are things still bad, Master Nan?” “Oh”—Nan Ho tugged at his beard, then made a shrugging gesture with his face—“it is much better than it was, Chieh Hsia. We have reclaimed most of the areas we lost during the night. But there are still one or two problems. The real test will be tonight. Our forces cannot go forty-eight hours without sleep.”
“I see. . . .” He huffed out a breath. “Is there nothing else we can do to defuse the situation?”
Nan Ho sighed. “We have done all that is humanly possible, Chieh Hsia.
Time alone will tell if we have been successful.”
“And while we wait, we watch our Champions play games with stones.” “It is the oldest game,” Tsu Ma reminded him. “And for myself I cannot think of anything more fitting. There is nothing you or I can do, Yuan. For once things are in the hands of the gods.” He smiled. “You know the tale of the woodcutter, Wang Chih?”
Li Yuan frowned. “Remind me.”
“Well... it is said that Wang Chih went up into the mountains to cut wood, and on his way back he came upon two ancients playing wti chi upon a big flat stone. He stayed to watch, not knowing that the ancients were immortals, and when the game was finished he went on his way again. Down in the valley, however, things had changed. His village was not the same as he remembered it and none of his old neighbors was alive. When he looked at his ax he saw that the handle had rotted away, and when he asked what year it was, he was amazed to find that a thousand years had passed.” Li Yuan smiled, amused by the story. “Amazed? Or horrified?”
“Both, maybe.”
“And the point of your tale, cousin Ma?”
Tsu Ma smiled broadly. “Must a story always have a point?”
“Not always. But yours generally do.”
“Then maybe it’s this: that of all distractions none can enchant as much as the game of wei chi.”
“Unless it’s the game of red enters white, hard enters soft. . . .” Tsu Ma roared with laughter, while beside him even Nan Ho allowed himself a smile.
“A maid, cousin Ma. You must have one of my maids.”
“And if I tire her out?”
“Then you’ll have another, neh?”
And, clapping his cousin on the back, Li Yuan turned and led them back into the palace.
chen stopped, looking about him at the burned-out ruin of the main
corridor, then waved the first squad through. He was wearing full riot
gear, the big standard-issue automatic clipped to his chest. They had been
on duty now for fifteen hours and had cleared the best part of twenty
stacks. Casualties, fortunately, had been light—two dead and six
injured—but the night had taken its toll in other ways. What they had seen
had changed them. To have had to hurt children, however necessary it had
been to restrain them—that was something new, something he did not want to
have to do again, nor had he savored the look of madness he had seen in
many of the faces of the insurgents as they threw themselves at his
troops.
Chen pulled the visor of the bulky helmet up, then rubbed at his neck. He had been in riot situations before and had seen how otherwise sane men and women could cast off all inhibitions and act like savage animals, but nothing could have prepared him for this past night. It was as if they’d tapped some deeper, darker level—as if Hell itself had emptied out into this mundane world of levels. The Sickness, whatever it was, had unhinged them all, and their fear had led them to excesses beyond the experience of even the most jaded hand among his troops. Now things were calm again, for a time, and they could assess the full extent of the damage. From what he’d seen it was bad. There was barely a corridor left untouched, and many—like this—were totally gutted. If it were like this across the breadth and width of the City, then the cost of this night’s work would be unimaginable.
He licked at his lips, wondering how this would affect his plans: whether, after this, he would be able to move his family to the Plantations. Had they been affected? Had this madness spread to the great East European growing areas? If so then there was more trouble to come, for food shortages would feed this tide of chaos. He shuddered, realizing for the first time just how fragile a thing the City was. “Sir!”
He looked up. Two of his men were standing in a doorway halfway down, pale faced, beckoning to him. He walked across. “What is it?”
“We think you’d better see, sir!”
He went to go in, but his sergeant stopped him. “You’d best wear your visor down, sir. There are signs of the Sickness.” “Ah ...” He flipped it down again, clicking it tight, and took two deep breaths, making sure the filter was still working. Then, satisfied, he followed the sergeant through.
“In here, sir.”
It was a clinic—he saw that at a glance—but the machinery had been smashed, surgical instruments scattered everywhere. “In the back room, sir.”