"Kuan Yin!" said another of the captains, a man named Russ. "Don't tell me, and then you had all three at once."
Ebert laughed and finished his drink. "I'm afraid not. The old girl was just about to take her turn when I noticed what time it was. 'Sorry,' I told her, 'I didn't realize the time. I have to go. The T'ang awaits me.' "
"Gods!" Scott spluttered, then shook his head. "You're not kidding us, Hans. That really happened?"
"Less than six hours back."
"And what did she say?" < •
Ebert laughed. "What could she say? You don't keep a T'ang waiting."
"And your promise?" said Russ. "You promised you'd fuck her if she showed she loved her maids."
Ebert reached out and tipped more wine into his glass. "I'm a man of my word, Captain Russ. As you all know. When we've finished here I'll be returning to fulfill my promise."
"And her husband?" Scott asked. "Where was he while all of this was going on?"
"In his study. Reading the Analects."
There was a great guffaw of laughter at that, which made heads turn at nearby tables.
"Power. That's what it's really all about," said Ebert, his eyes half-closed, a faintly sybaritic smile on his lips. "That's the key to sex. Power. It's something young Li Yuan will learn this very night. Master your sexuality and the world is yours. Succumb to it and . . ."He shrugged. "Well. . . look at Fest here!"
The laughter rolled out again, dark, suggestive.
At that moment, on the threshold of the great doorway to the club, a rather dour-looking, almost ugly man, a Han, paused, looking in, his eyes drawn momentarily toward the laughter at the table to his right. He was different from the other Han inside the club in that he wore the powder-blue uniform of a Security officer,
his chest patch showing him to be a Captain. But he was a Han all the same, and when he took a step across that threshold, a duty officer stepped forward, intercepting him.
"Excuse me, sir, but might I see your pass?"
Kao Chen stopped, then turned and faced the man, keeping his feelings in tight check. The man was within his rights, after all. He gave a terse bow and took his permit card from the top pocket of his tunic, then handed it to the officer. As the man studied the card intently, Kao Chen was aware that other, non-Han officers went through unhindered, even guests from other Security forces. But he had half-expected this. The color of his skin, the fold of his eyes—both were wrong here. The officer class of Security was almost totally made up of Hung Mao, descendants of the mercenary armies who had fought for the Seven against the tyrant Tsao Ch'un. Here Han were secondary; servants, not rulers. But he was an officer and he was thirsty. He had a right to sit and have a beer. And so he would.
The officer handed him back his pass, then gave a brief, almost slovenly salute. In terms of rank, Chen was his superior, but he was not Hung Moo, and so the rank meant little.
"Thank you, Lieutenant," he said tightly, then made his way through, down the plushly carpeted steps and out into the main body of the club.
He was halfway across the floor before he realized who he was walking toward. He saw Ebert's eyes widen in recognition and decided to walk past quickly, but he was not to be so fortunate. Three paces past the table he was called back. "Hey, you! Han! Come here!"
Chen turned slowly, then came back and stood in front of Ebert, his head bowed. "Major Ebert."
Ebert leaned back arrogantly in his chair, a sneering smile on his face. "What in fuck's name do you think you're doing, Han?"
Chen felt himself go cold with anger, then remembered he was kwai. These were but words. And words could not hurt him. Only a knife could hurt a kiwi. He answered Ebert calmly, civilly.
"I've just come off duty. I was hot and thirsty. I thought I would have a beer or two at the bar."
"Then you can think again. There are rules in this place. No women and no Han."
"No Han?"
He realized as soon as he said it that he had made a mistake. He should have bowed, turned around, and left. Now it was a question of face. His words, correct enough, innocuous enough in themselves, had challenged what Ebert had asserted. It did not matter that he, Kao Chen, had the right to use the club. That was no longer the issue.
Ebert leaned forward slightly, his voice hardening. "Did you hear me, Han?"
3"
Chen hesitated, then lowered his head slightly, afraid to let the anger in his eyes show. "Excuse me, Major, but I am an officer in the service of the T'ang.
Surely . . ."
Ebert leaned forward and threw his drink into Chen's face.
"Are you stupid? Don't you understand me?"
Chen was silent a moment, then bowed again. "1 apologize, Major. It was my fault. Might I buy you another drink before I leave?"
Ebert gave him a look of profound disgust. "Just go, little Han. Now. Before I beat you senseless."
Chen bowed low and backed away, mastering the pain, the fierce stinging in his eyes, his face perfectly controlled. Inside, however, he seethed; and at the doorway he looked back, hearing their laughter drift outward from the table, following him.
Laugh now, he thought; laugh good and long, Hans Ebert, for I'll not rest until my pride's restored and you lie humbled at my feet.
At the table all eyes were once again on Ebert.
"The nerve of some of them," he said, filling his glass again. "Anyway. Where were we? Ah yes. . ." He stood up, then raised his glass. "To Li Yuan and his bride! May this evening bring them clouds and rain!"
The answering roar was deafening. "To Li Yuan!" they yelled. "Clouds and rain!"
THE CEREMONY was over; the last of the guests had departed; the doors of the inner palace were locked and guarded. Only the two of them remained.
Li Yuan turned from the doorway and looked across. Fei Yen sat in the tall-backed chair at the far side of the room, on the dais, as if enthroned. A chi poo of brilliant red was draped about her small and slender figure, while her dark hair was braided with fine strands of jewels. A thin cloth of red and gold veiled her features, an ancient kai t'ou, as worn by the brides of the Ching Emperors for almost three centuries. Now that they were alone, she lifted the veil, letting him see her face. She was beautiful. More beautiful than ever. His breath caught as he looked at her, knowing she was his. He knew now how his brother, Han Ch'in, must have felt in his final moments, and grieved less for him. It would be fine to die now, knowing no more than this.
He walked across to her, hesitant, aware of her eyes upon him, watching him come.
He stopped at the foot of the steps, looking at her. The huge throne dwarfed her. She seemed like a child sitting in her father's chair. Three steps led up to the dais, but standing there, his face was on the level of Fei Yen's. He studied her, conscious that in the years since he had first seen her she had grown to the fullness of womanhood.
His eyes narrowed with pain, looking at her, seeing how dark her eyes were. How deep and beautiful they were. How delicate the lashes. How finely drawn the curves of skin about the liquid centers. Eyes so dark, so vast, he felt he could lose himself in their depths.
"Well?" Fei Yen leaned forward. She was smiling at him, her hand extended. "What does my husband command?"
He felt a fresh thrill of delight course through his blood, at the same time hot and cold, both exquisite and painful. Her eyes held him, making him reach out and take her hand.
He looked down at her hand. So small and fine it was. Its warmth seemed to contradict its porcelain appearance, its strength oppose its apparent fragility. Her hand closed on his, drawing him up the steps to where she sat. He knelt, his head in her lap, her hands caressing his neck. For a moment it was enough. Then she lifted his head between her hands and made him move back, away from her.