Ben was right. Night had already fallen, and he must learn now to embrace the darkness—to see through it with a clearer, colder eye. Necessity must now become his byword. Even so, he would hold some part of himself secure against the dark, against the guttering of the light. For there would surely come a time . . .
He looked to Ben once more. “Less of a man and more . . . that’s what you’d have me be, neh, Ben Shepherd?”
But Ben said nothing. He simply stood there beneath the Tree of Heaven, his face pale and shining like the moon, his eyes like doors leading into the darkness . . . and smiled.
hung mien-lo hurried along the vaultlike corridor and down the broad steps, his body hunched into his cloak as if he were cold. Four hours the bastard had kept him waiting! Four hours! While all around his City fell apart!
As the guards hastened to pull back the great doors before him, he waved them aside, dispensing with formalities, squeezing through the slowly widening gap and out into the Great Hall. He took two steps, a third . . . and stopped dead, astonished.
On the far side of the Hall, beneath a great array of red silk banners, Wang Sau-leyan stood beside the Hung Mao woman, two New Confucian officials murmuring the final words of a familiar ritual. He stared, aghast, recognizing the symbols of dragon and phoenix that decorated the Hall on every side. Seeing, from the bright red silks the couple wore, and from the way Wang stood there, that he was already too late.
“Chieh Hsia ...” He gasped.
Wang half turned. “Ah, Chancellor Hung, come across. We’re almost done.”
He walked, slowly, as if in a dream, until he stood beside the couple.
“Well, Hung?” Wang said impatiently. “On your knees before your Empress!” Hung looked to the priests, who had closed their books and were silent now, but the two men looked away.
Gods, he thought. The bastard has gone mad! Wang turned, lifting his bride’s hand, like a bloated spider dancing with a cricket. “Well, man?”
Hung fell to his knees, bowing low before the woman. “Your . . .
Highness!”
He raised his head slightly. Wang was looking at his bride, his face lit with a strange intoxication. Does he know how grotesque he looks? Hung wondered. Then, remembering why he’d come, he hauled himself to his feet again.
“Chieh Hsia ... we have to talk. It’s chaos out there—absolute chaos!” Wang smiled at him tolerantly. “In a while, Master Hung. Have you no sense of... propriety? I am a married man. Will you not congratulate me?” “Con-congratulations,” he stammered, more convinced than ever that Wang had gone mad. First the attack, and now this. He would do for them all, see if he didn’t!
“Good. Now let us go through and share a cup of wine. It is not every day a great Tang marries.”
Hung backed off, his mind racing. If Wang were mad. . . Then, bowing again, he moved back farther, letting the pair pass. He followed, anxiety making him clench his hands. If reports were true, they had already lost control over large parts of the southern City, and the Fifth Banner . . . “Chieh Hsia!” he said, his anxiety finding voice. “You must act!” Wang stopped and turned, his face dark with anger. “Never tell me what I should or should not do, Chancellor Hung! Not if you value your life.” Hung stood there a moment, horrified, then threw himself down, pressing his forehead to the floor. “Forgive me, Chieh Hsia! I am but a lowly beetle!”
He lifted his head slightly, waiting, then heard the T’ang turn, his tread move slowly away. Letting out a long sigh of relief he clambered up again, running after his Master, quite certain now that he was mad.
“Chen? Is that you?”
Wang Ti came out of the kitchen in her dressing gown and, seeing Chen standing in the doorway, rushed across, embracing him. “Chen?” she said, kissing him, then moved back slightly to look at him.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he said, smiling, returning her kiss. “Were you worried?” “I’d heard ...” She turned. The children were in the kitchen doorway behind her, looking on. She laughed. “Shoo . . . Leave us alone a moment. There’s plenty of time to greet your father.”
She turned back, hearing the door pull shut behind her.
“So, Kao Chen . . . what happened?”
“I gave General Rheinhardt the letter,” he said. “I’ve done it, Wang Ti.
I’ve quit the service.”
“And what did he say?”
Chen looked away, thoughtful a moment, then looked back. “He wished me good luck ...”
“Good luck?”
“. . . and a reduced pension!”
“Ah . . .” She laughed. “Never mind. We would find it hard to spend all that money where we’re going, neh?”
He smiled, then kissed her again, a passionate kiss this time, which she returned. “Shall we ... ?”
She shook her head, smiling gently at him. “Not now. Later. First see your children. Tell them what you’ve done. Then . . . well, maybe I’ll send them to see their aunt Marie, neh?”
He laughed and held her tighter. “I’d like that . . . oh, and Wang Ti . .
. ?”
“Yes, husband?”
“Have I told you lately that I love you?”
wang sat back heavily onto his throne, then beckoned for his Chancellor.
“Now, Hung, what did you wish to see me for?” Hung shook his head, unable to believe the T’ang could be so calm. He watched as Wang took a peach from the bowl, turned it to examine it for blemishes, and bit deep into the flesh—to the stone—the juice dribbling down his many chins.
“The attack, Chieh Hsia ... on Li Yuan’s estate at Tongjiang.”
“What of it?”
What of it? He found himself stammering again. “Y-you kn-know of it?” “Of course I kn-know of it, you idiot! Who do you think planned it and ordered it?” He bit again, speaking with his mouth half full of peach. “Well? How did it go? Did I get them all?”
“Chieh Hsia?”
“My cousins . . . did I kill them all?”
Hung stood there, his mouth open. “I”—he shook his head, trying to keep the conversation rational—“I don’t think so, Chieh Hsia. There’s been little firm news. The media have had a total news blackout the past four hours. But. . . well, I think some of them must have survived.” Wang eyed him curiously. “Why?”
He looked down. Now that he was asked, he didn’t know exactly why. Yet it wasn’t just a hunch. He had done his job too long not to know the signs. They were alive. Or some of them, at least. Unless it were just Tolonen, holding things together while they tried to salvage something from the ruins. But he didn’t think so. In fact, the more he thought of it, the more he was certain.
“I don’t know, Chieh Hsia,” he answered finally, making an effort to control himself. “It’s just my judgment.” “Your judgment. . .” Wang spat out the stone, then looked at Hung again.
“And your spies, Hung Mien-lo? Can’t they find out?”
“My spies are dead, Chieh Hsia.”
“Ah . . .” Wang smiled. “Then we must wait, neh?” “Wait, Chieh Hsia?” The thought of waiting any longer appalled him. He was about to tell Wang he should act, then remembered the last time he had uttered the words and let the thought skitter away from him. “If—if we could attend to matters in our own City, Chieh Hsia,” he began. “If they’re dead,” Wang said, speaking over him, “if they are actually dead, then I inherit all. Did you know that, Hung?” “Chieh Hsia?”
“It was bold, neh, Hung? Direct.”
Hung nodded, seeing it suddenly as Wang Sau-leyan saw it. “Audacity, that’s what it takes, little Hung. And Vision. And Will. Three qualities that my cousins did not possess.” And a cold, reptilian nature . . .