"Perhaps."
Li Yuan studied his father, knowing from his uncertainty that this was a course he had been talked into, not one he was happy with.
The T'ang stared away broodingly into the far corner of the room, then turned, facing his son again.
"Wang Hsien was a good man, Yuan. A strong man. I depended on him. In Council he was a staunch ally, a wise counselor. Like a brother to me, he was. The death of his sons ... it brought us very close."
He shook his head, then turned away, suddenly angry, a tear spilling down his cheek. "And now Wang Ta-hung is T'ang! Ta-hung, of all the gods' creations! Such a weak and foolish young man!" He turned back, facing Li Yuan, anger and bitterness blazing in his eyes. "Kuan Yin preserve us all! This is an ill day for the Seven."
"And for Chung Kuo."
When his father had gone Li Yuan got up and pulled on his robe, then crossed the room and stood by the window, staring out into the moonlit garden. It was as his father said, the Seven were made much weaker by this death. Yet Wang Hsien had been an old man. A very old man. They would have had to face the consequences of his death some day or other, so why not now? Wang Ta-hung was weak and foolish, that was true; but there were six other T'ang to lead and guide him. That was the strength of the Seven, surely? Where one might fall, the Seven would stand. So it was. So it would always be.
He turned and looked down. There, on the low table by the window, was his bow, the elegant curve of it silvered by the moonlight. He bent down and lifted it, holding the cool smooth surface of the wood against his cheek a moment. Then, abruptly, he spun about, as he'd been taught, the bow suddenly at his waist, the string tensed as if to let fly.
He shivered, then felt himself grow still, looking back.
He had not thought of it in a long time, but now it came clear to him, the memory released like an arrow across the years. He saw himself, eight years old, sat beside Fei Yen in the meadow by the lake. He could smell the faint sweet scent of jasmine, see the pale cream of her sleeve, feel once more the shudder that had run through him as it brushed deliciously against his knees. Across from them sat his brother, Han Ch'in, his booted feet like two young saplings rooted in the earth, his hands placed firmly on his knees.
Wang Sau-leyan . . . Yes, he remembered it now. Fei Yen had been talking about Wang Sau-leyan and how he had been caught in his father's bed. Ten years old, he had been. Only ten, and to be caught with a girl in his father's bed!
Li Yuan frowned, then swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, remembering how Fei Yen had laughed, not shocked but amused by the tale. He recalled how she had fanned herself slowly, how her eyes had looked briefly inward before she raised her eyebrows suggestively, making Han guffaw with laughter. Fei Yen. His brother's wife. And now his own betrothed. The woman he would be marrying only weeks from now.
And Wang Sau-leyan? Yes, it all made sense. He remembered how Wang Hsien had exiled his youngest son, had sent him in disgrace to his floating palace, a hundred thousand li above Chung Kuo. And there the boy had stayed a whole year, with only the T'ang's own guards for company. A year. It was a long, long time for such a spirited child. An eternity, it must have seemed. Long enough, perhaps, to break the last thin ties of love and filial respect. What bitterness that must have engendered in the boy—what hatred of his captors.
Li Yuan looked down at the bow in his hands and shivered violently. That day with Fei Yen, it had been the day of the archery contest—the day she had let his brother best her. And yet, only two days later, Han Ch'in was dead and she a widow.
He shuddered, then saw her smile and tilt her head, showing her tiny perfect teeth. And wondered.
SUN li hua , Master of the Inner Chamber, stood by the door, watching as the doctors examined the body. He had made his statement already, sat beneath the glaring lights of the Security cameras while monitors tested his vital body signs for abnormalities. He had passed that test and now only one thing stood between him and success.
He saw them mutter among themselves, then Fischer turned and came across to him.
"It tests out, Master Sun," he said, making a small bow. "The ho yeh was pure." "I did not doubt it," Sun answered, allowing a slight trace of indignation to enter his voice. "Doctor Yueh is a trusted servant. He had served the T'ang for more than forty years."
"So I understand. And yet men can be bought, can they not?" Fischer smiled tightly, then bowed again and walked on, leaving the room momentarily. Sun watched him go. What does it matter what he suspects.7 he thought. He can prove nothing.
He turned, then went across to where the doctors were busy at their work. One cradled the T'ang's head, while a second delicately examined the area where the ear had been cut away. They would make new ears from the T'ang's own genetic material, for a T'ang must be buried whole. But as to where the originals had gone, there was no sign as yet, just as there was no sign of Fu or Chai.
A mystery . . .
Sun Li Hua stared down into the old man's vacant face and took a deep breath, filled suddenly with a sense of grim satisfaction. Yes, old man, he thought, you humiliated me once, before your sons. Refused to promote my brothers. Held down my family. But now you're dead and we will rise in spite of you. For another has promised to raise the Sun family high, to make it second family in all of City Africa.
He turned away, smiling beneath the mask of grief. It had been so easy. Fu and Chai—what simpletons they'd been! He thought back, remembering how he had drugged them and taped them murdering the copy of the T'ang. But they knew nothing of that, only that they were being sought for a crime they had no memory of committing.
Trust—it was a fragile thing. Break it and the world broke with it. And Wang Hsien had broken Sun Li Hua's trust in him some years ago.
He glanced across and saw himself in the wall-length mirror opposite. Do I look any different? he wondered. Does my face betray the change that's taken place in me? No. For I was different that very day, after he'd spumed me. It was then I first stuck the knife in him. Then. For the rest was only the fulfillment of that first imagining. He turned and saw Fischer standing there, watching him from the doorway. "Well, Captain, have you found the murderers?" "Not yet, Master Sun, but we shall, I promise you."
Fischer let his eyes rest on Sun a moment longer, then looked away. It was as DeVore said: Sun Li Hua was the murderer. While Sun had been in his office Fischer had had his lieutenant take a sample of his blood under the pretext of giving him a sedative. That sample had shown what DeVore had said it would show, traces of CT-7, a drug that created the symptoms of acute distress.
His shock, his overwhelming grief—both had been chemically faked. And why fake such things unless there was a reason? And then there was the camera. There was no way of proving it had been tampered with, but it made sense. Apart from himself, only Sun Li Hua knew the combination; only Sun had the opportunity. It was possible, of course, that they had simply not seen Fu and Chai go into the room, but his lieutenant was a good man—alert, attentive. He would not have missed something so obvious. Which meant that the tape of the murder had been superimposed.
But whose hand lay behind all this? Hung Mien-lo? It was possible. After all, he had most to gain from Wang Hsien's death. Yet he had seen with his own eyes how fair, how scrupulous, Hung had been in dealing with the matter. He had let nothing be rushed or overlooked, as if he, too, were anxious to know who had ordered the T'ang's death.