And if it drove him mad?
Hung Mien-lo smiled to himself, then stepped inside the room. Kings had been mad before. What was a king, after all, but a symbol—the visible sign of a system of government? As long as the City was ruled, what did it matter who gave the orders?
He stopped beside the old man's chair, watching the youth approach the bed. Surely he's seen? he thought. Yet Ta-hung was too still, too composed. Then the young T'ang turned, looking back at him.
"I knew," he said softly. "As soon as you told me, I knew he had been murdered."
Hung Mien-lo let his breath out. "You knew?" He looked down. There, beneath him on the cushion, lay the T'ang's hairbrush. He leaned forward and picked it up, studying it a moment, appreciating the slender elegance of its ivory handle, the delicacy of its design. He was about to set it down when he noticed several strands of the old T'ang's hair trapped among the darkness of the bristles—long white strands, almost translucent in their whiteness, like the finest threads of ice. He frowned then looked back at Wang Ta-hung. "How do you feel, Chieh Hsia? Are you well enough to see others, or shall I delay?"
Wang Ta-hung looked about him, then turned and stared down at his father. He was still, unnaturally calm.
Perhaps this is it, thought Hung. Perhaps something has broken in him and this calmness is the first sign of it. But for once there seemed no trace of madness in Ta-hung, only a strange sense of dignity and distance, surprising because it was so unexpected.
"Let the others come," he said, his voice clear of any shade of fear, his eyes drinking in the sight of his murdered father. "There's no sense in delay."
Hung Mien-lo hesitated, suddenly uncertain, then turned and went to the door, telling the guard to bring Fischer and Sun Li Hua. Then he went back inside.
Wang Ta-hung was standing at the bedside. He had picked something up and was sniffing at it. Hung Mien-lo went across to him.
"What is this?" Ta-hung asked, handing him a bowl.
It was a perfect piece of porcelain. Its roundness and its perfect lavender glaze made it a delight to look at. Hung turned it in his hands, a faint smile on his lips. It was an old piece, too. K'ang Hsi perhaps ... or perhaps not, for the coloring was wrong. But that was not what Ta-hung had meant. He had meant the residue.
Hung sniffed at it, finding the heavy, musky scent of it strangely familiar; then he turned, hearing voices at the door. It was Sun Li Hua and the Captain.
"Master Sun," he called out. "What was in this bowl?"
Sun bowed low and came into the room. "It was a sleeping potion, Chieh Hsia." he said, keeping his head bowed, addressing the new T'ang. "Doctor Yueh prepared it."
"And what was in it?" Hung asked, irritated by Sun's refusal to answer him directly.
Sun Li Hua hesitated a moment. "It was ho yeh, for insomnia, Chieh Hsia."
"Ho yeh and what?" Hung insisted, knowing the distinct smell of lotus seeds.
Sun glanced briefly at the young T'ang, as if for intercession, then bent his head. "It was mixed with the T'ang's own yang essence, Chieh Hsia."
"Ah . . ." He nodded, understanding.
He set the bowl down and turned away, looking about the room, noting the fresh flowers at the bedside, the T'ang's clothes laid out on the dresser ready for the morning.
He looked across at Fischer. "Has anything been disturbed?"
"No . . . Excellency."
He noted the hesitation and realized that although they knew how important he had suddenly become, they did not know quite how to address him. I must have a title, he thought. Chancellor, perhaps. Some peg to hang their respect upon.
He turned, looking across at the open door that led out onto the balcony. "Was this where the murderer entered?"
Fischer answered immediately. "No, Excellency."
"You're certain?"
"Quite certain, Excellency."
Hung Mien-lo turned, surprised. "How so?"
Fischer glanced up at the camera, then stepped forward. "It is all on tape, Excellency. Sun Li Hua's assistants, the brothers Ying Fu and Ying Chai are the murderers. They entered the room shortly after Master Sun had given the T'ang his potion."
"Gods! And you have them?"
"Not yet, Excellency. But as no one has left the palace since the murder they must be here somewhere. My men are searching the palace even now to find them."
Ta-hung was watching everything with astonishment, his lips parted, his eyes wide and staring. Hung Mien-lo looked across at him a moment, then turned back to Fischer, giving a curt nod. "Good. But we want them alive. It's possible they were acting for another."
"Of course, Excellency."
Hung Mien-lo turned and went to the open door, pulling back the thin see-through curtain of silk and stepping out onto the balcony. It was cool outside, the moon low to his left. To his right the beam of the distant lighthouse cut the darkness, flashing across the dark waters of the Nile delta and sweeping on across the surrounding desert. He stood there a moment, his hands on the balustrade, staring down into the darkness of the river far below.
So, it was Fu and Chai. They were the hands. But who was behind them? Who besides himself had wanted the old man dead? Sun Li Hua? Perhaps. After all, Wang Hsien had humiliated him before his sons when Sun had asked that his brothers be promoted and the T'ang had refused. But that had been long ago. Almost three years now. If Sun, why now? And in any case, Fischer had said that Sun had been like a madman when he'd come to him, feverish with dismay.
Who, then? Who? He racked his brains, but no answer sprang to mind. Wang Sau-leyan? He shook his head. Why should that no-good wastrel want power? And what would he do with it but piss it away if he had it? No, Ta-hung's little brother was good only for bedding whores, not for intrigue. Yet if not he, then who?
There was an anguished cry from within the room. He recognized it at once. It was Ta-hung! He turned and rushed inside.
Ta-hung looked up at him as he entered, his face a window, opening upon his inner terror. He was leaning over his father, cradling the old man's head in the crook of his arm.
"Look!" he called out brokenly. "Look what they've done to him, the carrion! His ears! They've taken his ears!"
Hung Mien-lo stared back at him, horrified, then turned and looked at Sun Li Hua.
Any doubts he had harbored about the Master of the Inner Chamber were dispelled instantly. Sun stood there, his mouth gaping, his eyes wide with horror.
Hung turned, his mind in turmoil now. His ears! Why would they take his ears? Then, before he could reach out and catch him, he saw Ta-hung slide from the bed and fall senseless to the floor. :
"Prince Yuan! Wake up, your father's here!"
Li Yuan rolled over and sat up. Nan Ho stood in the doorway, a lantern in one hand, his head bowed.
"My father?"
A second figure appeared behind Nan Ho in the doorway. "Yes, Yuan. It's late, I know, but I must talk with you at once."
Nan Ho moved aside, bowing low, to let the T'ang pass; then backed out, closing the door silently behind him.
Li Shai Tung sat on the bed beside his son, then reached across to switch on the bedside lamp. In the lamp's harsh light his face was ashen, his eyes red-rimmed.
Li Yuan frowned. "What is it, Father?"
"Ill news. Wang Hsien is dead. Murdered in his bed. Worse, word of it has got out, somehow. There are riots in the lower levels. The Ping Tiao are inciting the masses to rebellion."
"Ah . . ." Li Yuan felt his stomach tighten. It was what they had all secretly feared. The War had left them weak. The Dispersionists had been scattered and defeated; but there were other enemies these days, others who wanted to pull them down and set themselves atop the wheel of state.
He met his father's eyes. "What's to be done?"
Li Shai Tung sighed, then looked aside. "I have spoken to Tsu Ma and Wu Shih already. They think we should do nothing, that we should let the fires burn themselves out." He paused, then shrugged. "Tensions have been high lately. Perhaps it would be good to let things run their course for once."