It might have ended there, but eight years ago, Su Chun, passing through the district on his way to deliver a package to a "friend" in Mainz, had stopped for a bite in the marketplace of Weisenau and - to his astonishment - had glimpsed, seated in splendour in an official sedan, his double. After making his delivery, he had come back and, once he'd established without doubt that this was the twin his mother had so often talked to him about, had returned a week later with his half-brother, Su Yen.
That day had been a great one for the Su family and the celebrations had gone on long into the second week of their reunion. But Su Ping was a cautious man, and though family feeling was strong in him, he had his twin checked out -discreetly, of course, making sure no word of it got back to Su Chun.
What he discovered worried Su Ping greatly. He had always tried to be a good and honest man, and his official record was, if undistinguished, also unblemished. His brother, in contrast, had been in and out of trouble all his life, and while no definite proof existed, word was that he was linked at the highest levels to the great brotherhoods, the Triads, which organised almost all of the major criminal activity in the city.
Put briefly, Su Ping had been faced with a dilemma. Should he carry out his official duties and expose his brother for what he was - a minor tong boss, stealing and killing to his masters' orders? Or should family obligation override such considerations?
The fact that Su Chun was, in almost every sense, a stranger to him, made it curiously worse. If he had known Chun all his life, if he had shared his twin brother's fortunes and been made to face the same harsh choices, would he still have been the same good man he was? Or would adversity have shaped him just as it had shaped Chun?
In the end, he decided to do nothing; to simply watch and wait and try to do his duty to both government and family. And thus far he had succeeded. But now there was this other matter - this matter of Su Chun's political ambitions for their half-brother Yen.
Su Ping pulled himself up, half out of the water, onto the top step, then turned and gestured with his hand. At once a servant hurried up and handed him a towel. Su Ping pulled it about his shoulders, then stood, looking down at the fourth of them there.
"Will you share a chung of ch'a with me before you retire, Rung Chia?"
Kung Chia turned his close-shaven head slowly and looked up at the Hsien L'ing, a lazy smile on his face.
"Forgive me, but not tonight, Su Ping. I have other things to do."
"Ah . . ." Su Ping stared a moment at his Wei - his Captain of Security - then shrugged. "As you wish. Su Chun . . . Su Yen. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, brother," Su Chun answered softly, his half-lidded eyes studying Kung Chia thoughtfully.
As the doors at the far end slammed shut, Su Chun lifted himself a step and leaned forward. His words, like the faint light from the glow-lamp, were shrouded in secrecy.
"Thank the gods the old fool's gone. Now listen, and listen carefully . . ."
Tom forced his way through the packed crowd in the narrow street and grabbed Yun's arm, pulling him back.
The young Han turned, surprised. To either side of them people pressed close, the noise, the physical presence of them overwhelming, the strong scent of exotic spices spilling from the shops to either side, filling the warm night air.
"S'Okay," Yun said, answering Tom's unspoken query. "We almost there."
Yes, thought Tom, for once frustrated by his inability to speak, but where is "there"?
They had walked for almost an hour, through busy thoroughfares and narrow hutong where whole families crouched before cheap trivees, past long rows of food stalls and soup kitchens, past endless hawkers with their trays of wares, and cripples - some blind, some lame - who'd called to him from where they lay, rattling their cups and moaning piteously. And always there were the children, the endless unwashed, unwanted children. He had seen sights and smelled scents he had never experienced before, but now he was tired. Tired, and just a little apprehensive.
Where are we? he wondered, wishing Sampsa were there in his head to reassure him. Where in the gods' names are we?
"Come on," Yun urged. "Two minutes and we there."
Tom sighed, then walked on, following close, knowing now that he should never have agreed to come.
The backstreet opened out into a square. Beyond it, beneath an ornate arch decorated with coiled dragons, was a park. Tom looked about him, frowning, trying to place himself, but it was impossible. Even with his perfect memory it was hard to know precisely how far he'd come or what directions he had taken. If he had studied a map of the district beforehand it might have been different, but he'd never thought. . .
Again he sighed, more heavily this time. How close was the river? How far was he from the barge?
And how much danger am I in?
He slowed, looking up at the arch as he passed beneath it. Yun had walked on - was disappearing into the darkness beyond. Tom hurried to catch up, then slowed, catching his breath.
Why, it's beautiful. . .
Just ahead, beyond the courting couples and the old men strolling along the milk-white gravel path, the land fell away -the grass slope silver-black beneath the moon - to a canal.
Yun turned to him and called. "Come on! We here!"
Tom walked slowly down the path, between the whispering willow. trees in the moonlit evening's warmth, entranced. Directly ahead of him, the path ended in a curved white bridge. The lamps on the bridge shone brightly, reflected in the water. But his eyes were drawn beyond that, to the right. There, less than fifty ch'i from the bridge, drawn up in ranks of two against the far bank, a line of old-fashioned junks were moored, their decks lit with brightly coloured lanterns.
He walked down onto the bridge, stopping beside Yun who was leaning on the polished balustrade, watching as a tiny rowboat crossed the space between them and the moored lantern-boats.
As the craft came closer, Yun hailed it.
"Lao Wen!"
The rower - an old Han, grey-bearded and bent like an ancient tree - glanced up. He gave a single, decisive nod, then, digging his right oar deep into the water, slowly turned the boat toward the shore.
"Quickly," Yun said, turning to Tom and taking his arm. "We go meet him."
They went down to the bank and, while Yun held the gunwale, Tom climbed in, clambering behind the old Han as Yun pushed off and jumped into the swaying boat.
Tom sat, staring at the back of the old man's shaven head. Was this where Yun's family lived? And the old man . . . was he an uncle? If so, did all of Yun's family smell as bad? Tom looked past him to Yun, hoping to take some cue from his face, but Yun was turned away, looking back at the retreating bridge.
Slowly the boat came about until they were heading directly for the first of the lantern-boats. As they slid past into the shimmering, coloured water-passage between the two lines of boats, Tom could hear voices - high-pitched female voices -and, from within one of the cabins, the sound of a Chinese lute, ap'ip'a. There was laughter and the sweet scent of perfume.
He leaned past the old man, seeking Yun's eyes. This time Yun beamed back at him.