“Perfect,” she said.
“Just speak clearly to it. It’s programmed to show all the First Level channels.”
“Thank you.”
“Is there anything else? Ch’a, perhaps?”
“Yes. That would be very welcome, thank you.” Number One turned and muttered a few sharp phrases of Mandarin to his assistant, who bowed low, then hurried off back the way he had come. “It will be but two minutes, Madam Lever.” “That’s fine.” She reached into her pocket, removed a coin, and handed it to him. “Now perhaps you’d leave me.”
“Of course, Madam Lever.”
He bowed deeply, backed off a pace, then went through, disappearing through the door behind her.
Thank the gods, she thought, a shudder passing through her. If anything, that was the worst of it. The obsequious servants, the fawning hangers-on, the lickspittle half-men who would do anything—anything—for a share of the spoils.
She huffed, angry with herself, then sat back, staring up at the screen. “Give me First News Interactive. I want a briefing on what’s been happening at Weimar.”
The screen lit up. A handsome anchorman—a green-eyed, blond-haired Hung Moo of roughly her own age—looked down at her. “Madam Lever,” he said, inclining his head and smiling as if he recognized her. “What would you like to know?”
She hesitated, wondering if she should ask it to reprogram itself as a gray-bearded Han, then dismissed the idea. “How did the vote go? Was it close?”
The anchor smiled, showing perfect teeth. “It’s just been declared. The earliest showings had the ‘No’ faction marginally ahead, but a late block vote by the Dispersionists clinched it. Even so, the final margin was only seven in favor of a ‘Yes.’ It seems the amendment—“ “Amendment?” she sat forward slightly, her smile slowly fading. “What amendment?”
“The amendment Representative Kennedy introduced at the final reading.
Would you like me to read it out to you?”
“No. Just print it up. I can read it myself.”
At once the anchor’s face was replaced by the amendment. She read it, a cold certainty forming in her. Deals. Kennedy had been making last-minute deals.
“That last bit,” she said, frowning. “It isn’t clear what’s meant by the new level of subsidies—is that an increase or what?” The face returned. “There was a secondary document. It was issued by the office of Wu Shih’s Chancellor, Fen Cho-hsien. It reads—“ “Was it an increase or a decrease?”
“A decrease, Madam Lever. Of two point six percent.” She sat there, stunned, slowly shaking her head. He’d sold out. The bastard had sold them all out! No decreases in the food subsidies to the Lowers, he’d sworn. Not even half a percent. And now this! She clenched her fists and stood, blind rage making her unaware of the hiss of the end door as it opened and Number Seven came through carrying the tray of ch’a. “The bastard . . .” she said quietly. “I knew it! I fucking knew it! The conniving First Level bastard!”
The young Steward stopped, his mouth agape, staring at her, the paper smile he’d been wearing ripped from his face by her angry outburst. He swallowed deeply, then began to stammer. “Are—are y-you all right, M-M-Madam Lever?”
She turned staring at him, her eyes wild with anger, then pointed up at the screen. “No! I’m fucking well not! Look! Look what that bastard’s done!”
“Chieh Hsia?”
Wu Shih turned, looking back up the path between the mulberry trees. His Chancellor was standing just in front of the moon gate, his head lowered, his hands folded into his silken sleeves. “Yes, Cho-hsien. What is it?”
“There is news, Chieh Hsia. From Weimar.” “Ah . . .” He looked down at the pink and white blossoms scattered on the red-tiled path. “Was the proposal passed?” “It was, Chieh Hsia.”
“And the amendment?”
“That, too,.Master.”
He looked up. “So why the long face, Cho-hsien? What ill news accompanies the good?”
Fen Cho-hsien came forward, then bowed and handed his T’ang a sheet of paper. Wu Shih read it through, then looked up, a heaviness descending on him. It was the draft of a proposal to be put before the House within the month—a proposal to increase the powers of the House and give them a say in the financial arrangements of government—arrangements which at present were the sole concern of the Seven. Put simply, it was a grab for power, real power.
“This is new, I assume.”
“It is, Chieh Hsia.”
The old T’ang took a long breath, then shook his head. “I am surprised, and disappointed. I thought—“ “It was Kennedy, Chieh Hsia.”
Wu Shih smiled weakly. He had not needed his Chancellor to tell him who was behind this.
“He calls our bluff, neh?”
Fen Cho-hsien said nothing, but his eyes, watching his master, were eloquent. You must act, they said. You must do something now. Wu Shih turned, looking out across the great gardens of Manhattan, the perfect blue of the sky, the fresh-washed greens of the trees no longer exerting their calming spell over him. He had thought to find peace here—to inure himself against the news, whatever it was, that came from Weimar. But this . . .
He looked back at his Chancellor, feeling suddenly weary beyond his years. “If we allow this to be put before the House, there will be chaos within the year.”
“And if we refuse to allow it?”
“It will come sooner.”
“Then what are we to do?”
Wu Shih shrugged. For once he did not know. “Has my cousin, Tsu Ma, contacted me yet?”
“Not yet, Chieh Hsia.”
“Ah . . .” He sighed, his left hand pulling at his beard. “Tell him I wish to see him. Tell him—tell him we need to talk.” “Chieh Hsia.”
Fen Cho-hsien bowed low, then turned away, disappearing through the moon gate. A moment later he could be seen climbing the steps to the palace. Wu Shih sighed deeply. So the day had come at last. The day he had tried so carefully to avoid. But part of him had always known. A man like Kennedy ... it was difficult to bridle such a one. Yes. But what was he to do? It was as he’d said to his Chancellor. Kennedy had called his bluff and now he must either carry out his threat or lose his hold over the man. And if he carried out his threat. . . He let his breath whistle between his teeth. Not yet. I’ll not decide it yet. Then, as if he had made some kind of decision, he nodded and walked on. But as he made his way along the path his tread was heavier and his head hung despondently, as if a great weight were pressing down upon his shoulders.
michael poked his head round the bedroom doorway, looking in at her. Mary was sitting at her dressing table, her back to him. “Em. We’ve got to talk this through. Now. Before Joe arrives. All this”—he threw his hands up in despair—“it’s not going to solve anything!” He took two paces into the room, then stopped. He could see her face now in the mirror. She was looking down, angry, her mouth set, her fists bunched in her lap like a fighter’s.
“Em ...” he pleaded. “We’ve a houseful of guests. You can’t just sit there and ignore them.”
He stood there, waiting for her to respond, but there was nothing. She was like a statue, impermeable. He sighed resignedly. “Okay . . . come when you’re ready. But understand this. I’m as pissed off as you about that amendment. Joe had no right. But tonight—well, tonight’s not the right time to raise it.”