"You like?"
Tom grinned and nodded. He liked.
Suddenly Old Wen lifted both oars, letting the rowboat slide smoothly between the high-sided lantern-boats. As it slowed to a halt, he dug the right-hand oar deep into the flow and turned the boat about, bringing it close in against the side of one of the outer boats, then reached up to grasp a securing rope. A short rope ladder led up. Yun pointed, indicating that Tom should climb it, and stepped past Old Wen, placing something in his palm as he did, then held the bottom of the ladder taut as Tom climbed.
As Tom poked his head up over the side, it was to be met with a unexpected sight. There, playing cards at a silk-covered table on the deck, were four young Han women. Seeing Tom emerge, they set their cards down and leaned in toward each other, giggling. There was a brief exchange - too low for Tom to catch - and then one of them came across, even as Yun climbed up alongside him.
"You, boy!" she said, facing him arrogantly, the faintest smile on her lips. "You want fuck?"
He looked to Yun, bewildered, but Yun was laughing -looking past him at the young girl and laughing quietly.
"Tie Ning!" he said, scolding her. "You must treat our guest much better, okay? Tom here is ch'un tzu. Great man."
He extended his arms as if to describe a huge figure of a man, then reached out to touch Tom's arm.
"Choose one, Tom. Go on."
Tom stared at the girl, then back at Yun, not understanding.
"What matter with your friend?" Tie Ning said, a petulant expression settling on her face. "He dumb or something?"
Yun stepped past Tom, taking the young girl's arm and placing his head close to hers to whisper.
Freed from her fixed stare, Tom was able to see her properly for the first time.
Her clothes were curiously old-fashioned, like something from a trivee costume drama, the full length dress made of a cheap ersilk that was brightly coloured and diaphanous in places. Her long, black hair was done up in a bun, fixed with ribbons and wires, while behind her right ear she wore a salmon pink paper chrysanthemum. In the coloured lantern-light her face seemed pale, almost ghost-like, the bones fine, the eyes large. A pretty face, but worn, mistrustful.
He looked about him, taking in details, noticing for the first time how it all connected. And slowly, very slowly, it dawned on him. Laochu, they were. Sing-song girls. And the boat - the boat was one of the "flower-boats" he'd read of in his father's books - a floating brothel. He looked down, blushing fiercely.
There was a sudden waft of perfume then he felt the girl's fingers brush against his arm.
"Forgive me, Master Thomas," she said softly, giving a small curtsey, her head lowered, demure suddenly, all arrogance gone from her - like an actress changing roles. "If I had known . . ."
She could not help herself. Placing a hand to her mouth, she giggled. Behind her, at the table, the others joined in. Tom looked up, seeing how she was watching him, sympathetic suddenly and curious. Unable to prevent himself, Tom smiled.
"That better, neh?" she said, letting her hand rest gently on his shoulder. "You okay. Yun vouch for you. He say you nice boy."
She turned, clicking her fingers, then looked back at him. "We find you nice girl, neh?"
Some part of him, remembering the Stim - the awful, degrading feel of it - wanted to draw back, to refuse what was being offered here, but the sheer proximity of her, the warmth, the perfumed smell of her, was like a trigger, freeing him from restraint.
For the briefest moment he was confused, uncertain. He looked to Yun.
"It okay," Yun said, as if he sensed Tom's hesitation. "This one on me, neh? You choose which girl you like. She do whatever you wish. Suck your cock all night, if make you happy!"
The spell dissolved. Tom looked about him, seeing it all for what it was; seeing how cheap the girls' silks were, how the shabbiness of the boat was masked by the coloured light from the lanterns. It was a web, a sticky web, there to rob him of his senses. He shook his head, No, he thought. Not like this. I want . . .
From one of the nearby boats he heard, once more, the music of thep'ip'a. He turned, looking toward the sound, listening.
It was a song he knew - the nostalgic "Like Waves Against Sand". For a moment he held himself perfectly still, enchanted by the music, his eyes half-lidded, in a trance, then felt a touch upon his arm.
Yun was standing next to him. He leaned close, speaking to Tom's ear. "You want meet her, Tom? You want meet girl who make music?"
Tom hesitated, then gave a single nod.
Yun laughed, relieved. "Okay. You follow me. As I say, all paid for. Anything goes. You hear me, Tom? Anything goes."
But Tom could hear nothing. Nothing but the clear notes of the ancient lute, carrying across the water from the nearby boat, like waves lapping against the shore of his consciousness.
The day was done, the boys were all asleep, the insect nets pulled across the open fronts of the stalls. Standing there in the cobbled outer courtyard, in the faint light cast by the lamp above the compound gate, Emily looked about her, listening to the soft snores of her boys, conscious of the unfamiliar vastness of the open sky above.
She looked up. The moon was bright and almost full, the sable sky dusted with stars.
It was beautiful. So peaceful. And this place . . . She smiled to herself. She had never thought she could feel so content, so satisfied with life. To want nothing but this - to need nothing beyond this - that surely was fulfilment.
It hadn't always been so. More had died in the first few years after the city's fall than in all the wars that had gone before; maybe nine-tenths of the population, from disease and starvation. DeVore had indeed unleashed the Four Horsemen, and when they were done, a great mountain of bones had filled the southern lands. Here in the north things had been better, but only just.
Emily remembered those times vividly. She had only to smell the sickly-sweet scent of slightly rotting meat and it all came back to her with a nightmare clarity. The rotting bodies, the big-wheeled death carts stacked high with lifeless bodies, the sight of hundreds, thousands, driven mad by despair; the awful sense they'd all had that this was somehow the judgement of the gods. And maybe that was why they'd made a go of it these past ten years - because of that memory: a memory etched deep within the consciousness of those who had survived. The city was a far better place to live these days. There were exceptions, of course - mainly the great urban centres like Frankfurt and Berlin, where the Triads had reestablished themselves - but in the suburbs, among the genteel poor, life was good. There was crime, certainly - such things were universal, after all - but it was mainly petty stuff, the exception rather than the rule, and generally one could trust one's neighbour.
The paranoia of that great World of Levels had been ended, washed away in a great tidal wave of blood and suffering.
And now, without doubt, they had a new chance; and not just for some, but for everyone. There was room enough, food enough, work enough for all. Each passing month saw an improvement in their lot. Her boys were fed and educated. If they were sick, there was enough to pay for a doctor to call, if a doctor was needed. Times were good. The best she'd known them.
The thought made her feel... No, there was no word for it. This little island of being, this sanctuary, had become the focus, the epicentre of her life. Having this, she wanted nothing else - neither riches nor revenge. For her, time had ended, the circle had closed. She could live her life like this and be content, knowing that in dying she had fulfilled her destiny, her fate.
Before this she had been restless, discontented. She had sought constantly to fill the raging void within her - that same void that had been inside them all when they were yet prisoners of the World of Levels. But now that world had gone, vanished like some evil dream conjured from the dark.