Wasted, she thought. He’s been wasted all these years. Like so much else in her world his talents had been squandered—had been used not positively, creatively, to bring something new and vibrant to the world, but to service the stale bones of the Great Lie: to bury that old, progressive world that had preceded theirs beneath a thick, muffling layer of ice. She carried the tray across to the low table at the center of the room, then knelt to pour.
“What will you do, afterward?”
He stared back at her. “Afterward?” It was clear he had not thought beyond telling the T’ang. He frowned. “It will be the end of it all. The Lie . .
.”
“We’re well rid of it.”
But she could see from his face that he was not so sure as she. Yet that was understandable. All his life he had worked to preserve the one great secret of his world—had based his life, his whole philosophy, on it. And now he was about to throw all that away: to betray all that he had lived by. It was not so easily done.
She picked up one of the bowls and carried it to him. “And what of your wife?”
There was a moments confusion in his face, and then he realized. “Aiya!
I’d not thought!”
If the I Lung were found guilty of treason—and there was little doubt that he would, should her father get to speak to Li Yuan—then she, as his sister, would, in all probability, be found guilty too. To the third generation. That was the law. Unless . . . “A deal,” he said, thinking aloud. “I’m certain I could make some kind of deal.”
“You want that?”
“I...” His eyes looked to her, then away, uncertainty eating at him. She knew he had never loved his second wife. The marriage had always been political in essence, a cementing of ties—a guarantee, to put it crudely, of his loyalty to the I Lung. Yet he had had two children by her, and though he saw little of them, it was no easy thing to cast them off. “How long will this friend of yours be?”
“Major Kao? He said he’d be here as soon as he could. When he hears what has happened, he’ll help us. I know he will.” “He is a good man, this Major? An honest man?”
She nodded.
“Strange. I had begun to think there were no honest men left in our world. I have seen so much, Hannah. Oh, I could not begin to tell you. Corruption and greed, murder and betrayal. Such behavior is endemic. Wherever you turn there are cold eyes and grasping hands.” He sighed, then sipped from his bowl. “Good ch’a,” he said, smiling at her. Then, “I have not been a good father to you, have I?” She reached out and touched his cheek, her voice softer than before. “Nonsense. You’ve been the very best of fathers. If you weren’t here much, that wasn’t your fault. I always knew you loved me.” He looked at her a long while, then nodded. “When I look at you, I understand why I loved your mother so much. She was like you, Hannah. I lost much when I lost her.”
Hannah shivered, close to tears. Yes, she thought, you and I both.
the first man slipped from the shadows and ran across. For one brief moment he was in full sight of the overhead camera, then he was inside, the door to Shang Mu’s Mansion irising open about his disappearing back. The second assassin followed a moment later. The hallway was mainly in shadow. A small night-light on the wall to the left gave a little illumination. Beneath it, on a low couch, lay a servant. Sensing something the man stirred and looked up sleepily. For the briefest moment his eyes opened wide, then he made a small strangled noise as the wire was looped tightly about his throat from behind. Move, the first assassin mouthed, pointing to the door to the right. Check it out.
He ran across. Inside, on the far side of what looked like a storeroom, two young servants were sleeping, back to back on a broad bed. Quickly, expertly, he dealt with them.
Outside his companion was waiting patiently, crouched beside the big double doors that led through into the main living quarters. He raised two fingers to indicate the tally, then ran across and crouched beside his partner.
Three dead now. Which meant that the other two servants were inside. Unless Chili Huang Hui had taken her body servant with her, in which case there was only the daughter’s maid.
He looked down. It was as well that the I Lung’s sister was elsewhere tonight, for, whatever the necessity, neither of them fancied the task of explaining her death to the First Dragon. Reaching up, the first assassin tried the handle. Slowly, soundlessly, it turned. They went inside.
A long corridor stretched away in front of them, lit by four wall-lamps spaced left and right. At the far end were another set of doors. To the left were Shang Mu’s rooms, to the right his wife’s. They took three steps, then froze. There, halfway down on the right, on a couch beside Chih Huang Hui’s door, lay another of the servants. The lady of the houses body servant, by the look of it.
The first assassin frowned deeply, then waved his companion across, watching as he crouched over the sleeping figure and did his work. There was the faintest tremor of the upper torso, a tiny kicking of the left foot, and then the body lay still. The second assassin turned, looking to him.
Inside, he mouthed, indicating the door to Chih Huang Hui’s rooms. His fellow nodded, then turned back, reaching for the handle. It could not be helped, but at least the woman was an invalid. She would be no trouble.
He ran across and, as his fellow slipped into the darkened room across from him, stood by the door to Shang Mu’s apartments, his ear pressed close, listening.
As he’d thought, there was nothing. The message they’d intercepted had come from the daughter’s rooms. In all likelihood they were there. But it was best to be certain.
He reached down, trying the handle. It was locked. Double-locked by the feel of it. Good. He would leave it and . . . There was a shot, the noise startling in the stillness of the great House.
He turned, astonished. No...
at the sound of the shot Shang Mu looked up, the ch’a bowl falling from his grasp.
Hannah, pouring a second bowl for herself, froze, staring at the doorway. “Aiya ...” she whispered, wondering for a moment if she had been wrong about Kao Chen. Then, stirring herself, she went across and turned the lock, then reached up to pull the bolt across. She turned, facing her father. “Go through!” she whispered urgently, pointing to the inner door. “Quick now!”
He swallowed, then did as he was told.
No, she thought. Not Chen. But someone else. Someone who’s found out what we planned.
She shivered. Yes, but who?
It came to her at once. Someone employed by the I Lung... by the Thousand Eyes.
She cursed her own stupidity. She should have known! The First Dragon would never have been so careless. Her father would have been watched carefully. That was the way of it, after all, to set spies upon the spies. She hurried after him, pulling the inner doors closed and locking them. Then, calming herself, she looked about her, wondering what, if anything, she could do.
he went in slowly, cautiously feeling his way blindly across the floor, alert to the smallest sound.
At first he could see nothing. Then, hearing a low groan from just in front of him, he froze, narrowing his eyes. His partner seemed to be sitting against the wall just inside the bedroom doorway. As he watched there was a cough, and the body slumped slowly to one side.
He made to move, then held still, a second sound coming to his notice.
Breathing. A shivered, irregular sound.