"So?" he asked gently, coaxing her, when she said no more. "In what way were they strange?"
She made a tiny moue with her lips. "Just that it was so vivid. So ... real. While I was in the dream, it was like it was really happening. But it couldn't happen. Not that."
The slightest tenseness in her voice revealed just how much she'd been disturbed by it. Her previous cheeriness had vanished, as if it had been an illusion. Kim went across and knelt, staring up into that perfect, unlined face, conscious of how large and dark her eyes were. He took her hand gently.
"Do you want to tell me about it?"
She shrugged, then looked past him. "I don't know. I ..." Her eyes met his own again. "It was about Jelka, you see."
"Ah . . ." For some reason he felt his stomach muscles clench. Only natural, he reassured himself. After all, she's so far away.
He forced himself to smile. "And?"
"At first I thought they were statues . . ."
"Statues?"
"They were gold, you see. As if they'd been gilded. And so stiff, too."
"They?"
"Yes. Both Jelka and Mileja. They were in a room. A sealed room, like in a spacecraft. The walls were bright, metallic, and there were no windows." She frowned, as if seeing it again. "They were so still ... so still ... In the dream I seemed to float within the room, like a bug . . . you know, one of those camera eyes, like they use in the new tunnels when they're digging."
He nodded, feeling cold now, numbed. "And then?"
"Nothing. I ..." She swallowed and clenched her hands together. "It was like they were dead, Papa Kim. But not ordinary dead. Their eyes . . . their eyes were like steel ball-_ bearings. Featureless. It... frightened me."
He held her, comforting not only her but himself; his own anxiety fed by her words. Dreams... He shivered. What in the Maker's name was the meaning of dreams?
"You're just afraid, that's all," he said, after a while. "I am, too. If s only natural. The dreams . . . well, they're an expression of your anxiety. We all have them."
"But it was so real" she insisted.
"Yes," he said, her certainty disturbing him. "But you mustn't worry. They're okay. They'll be okay."
She moved back a little from him, smiling at him, reassured by his words, then looked about her again. "Did she grow up here?"
"Jelka?" Kim shook his head. "No. She lived in Bremen, in quarters there with her father."
"Ah . . ." Chuang nodded, as if she suddenly remembered. That much Jelka and Chuang had in common; neither had known their mother, and both had been brought up by men. Perhaps it was why they got on so well together.
Kim stood. "You want to see the rest of the house?"
She nodded then jumped up, taking his hand again. "Okay," she said, suddenly much brighter. "Let's start with the tower."
But as Kim led her from the room, he felt his own mood darkened by the memory of the dream.
He could always ask Wen Ch'ang to contact her, of course, as a matter of urgency. But what would he say? That young Chuang had had a dream and he was worried? No. Jelka would only think him silly and absurd.
I'll wait, he thought, looking at the timer set into his left wrist. After all, it was only four hours until her regular call. Even so, the shadow remained.
So still they were. . . like golden statues. . . their eyes like steel bad-bearings . . .
He shuddered, then, shaking off the mood, squeezed Chuang's hand.
"Come on, then," he said, leading her through the glass-panelled door that led into the tower. "I'll show you where Jelka watched the storm."
Li Yuan was finishing off, signing the last of that day's documents and preparing to join his wife, when the screen to his left lit up.
He looked up, surprised to find himself staring into a face he had last seen two years before.
"SW Egan ..."
"Li Yuan," Old Man Egan said, looking fit and bronzed, not aged a day since Li Yuan had last seen him. "I'm sorry to call so late, but I've news."
"News?" Li Yuan pushed the document aside, then gestured to Cheng Nai shan to clear the room. "What kind of news?"
Josiah Egan smiled broadly, showing perfect white teeth. "Why, nothing but good news, Li Yuan. You are a grandfather."
Li Yuan sat back, astonished. "Kuei Jen has a child?"
"An hour back. A son. Eight catties he weighs."
Li Yuan laughed. "A son . . . My son has a son!" Then, realising the significance of it, he leaned toward the screen. "The mother . . . who is the mother?"
"You mean, you did not know, Li Yuan?" Egan smiled. "Why the mother was Kuei Jen."
"Kuei. . ." Li Yuan frowned. "I beg pardon . . .?"
"Your son," Egan's smile broadened until it seemed to bum whitely at the centre of the screen. "Your son was the mother. And my grandson, Mark . . ."
Aiya! Li Yuan thought, seeing it in an instant.
His mouth was suddenly dry. On the screen Egan grinned and grinned, tanned and eternal.
"Oh, and one further thing," Egan said, as if only then remembering. "I have a message from an old friend of yours. He says, look to the skies . . ." And, chuckling, he cut contact.
Shocked beyond all words, Li Yuan sat back, staring at the blank screen. Aiya! he thought. Aiya!
Ben stood by the fence at the end of the garden, looking out across the river as darkness fell.
Li Yuan had just been on, his pale, shocked face almost comical as he spoke stumblingly of what had happened.
It might have been worse; he might have laughed, for it was very funny, after all; even so, Li Yuan had broken contact after less than five minutes, enraged that he was not more sympathetic.
But what was he supposed to say? I'm sorry for you, Li Yuan, but at least you have the grandson you always wanted? Or was he supposed to wave his magic wand and set it all right for him?
And that was the trouble with Li Yuan; he was always wanting others to bail him out of situations he had created for himself. As long as he'd known him it had been the same - rash decisions followed by long periods of remorse. But this time remorse was insufficient. He had driven his son into the arms of a deadly rival, and now that rival had taken the opportunity to get back at him.
He smiled, imagining Li Yuan's surprise. Yes, and what a bold stroke on Old Man Egan's part! What imaginative audacity! Not that it surprised him as much as it did Li Yuan; after all, he had seen at once which way the wind blew between Kuei Jen and the young American. The only surprise was that the manly Kuei Jen should have been the one to have the operation. He'd have thought the softer, more effeminate Egan would have been the better mother, but then, that would not have suited Old Man Egan's purpose - and it was absolutely certain that Egan knew what effect the news would have before he called to congratulate Li Yuan.
Ben chuckled softly. What could be worse for a proud Han ruler than to have one's cock cut off? Only one thing - to have one's son emasculated! Yes, and Egan had gone one better, for to all intents and purposes he had not merely castrated Li Yuan's family line, he had usurped it by having his grandson plant his seed in Kuei Jen's belly.
Why, had the Old Man buggered Li Yuan himself, it could not have been more blatant!
War. It had to be war. Only Li Yuan didn't know that yet. He was still in shock. But when he began to think again . . .
Ben turned, looking back up the slope toward the cottage. There were lights on now in several of the downstairs rooms. To the left, through the latticed window of the kitchen he could see Meg at work, preparing the supper, while through the long window of the living room he could see Catherine, walking back and forth, the new child cradled on her shoulder.