"You'd like to live here, Haavikko?"
The ensign turned and looked back at the broad, empty corridor. The floor was richly carpeted, the high walls covered with huge, room-sized tapestries, the coloring subdued yet elegant. Bronze statues of dragons and ancient emperors rested on plinths spaced out the full length of the hallway. At the far end the doors of the elevator were lacquered a midnight-black. A solitary guard stood there, at attention, a deng "lantern gun" strapped to his shoulder. "They live well, sir."
DeVore smiled. He was a neat, compact-looking man, his jet-black hair almost Han in its fineness, his shoulders broad, almost stocky. On the chest of his azurite-blue, full-dress uniform he wore the embroidered patch of a third-ranking military officer, the stylized leopard snatching a bird from the air. He was a full head shorter than his ensign and his build gave him the look of a fighter, yet his manners, like his face, seemed to speak of generations of breeding—of culture.
"Yes. They do." The smile remained on his face. "These are extremely rich men, Haavikko. They would swallow up minnows like us without a thought were the T'ang not behind us. It's a different life up here, with different rules. Rules of connection and influence. You understand?"
Haavikko frowned. "Sir?"
"What I mean is ... I know these people, Haavikko. I know how they think and how they act. And I've known Under Secretary Lehmann's family now for almost twenty years. There are ways of dealing with them."
Haavikko puzzled at the words momentarily. "I still don't understand, sir. Do you mean you want to speak to him alone?"
"It would be best."
"But. . ." Haavikko hesitated a moment, then, seeing how his major was watching him, bowed his head. "Sir."
"Good. I knew you'd understand." DeVore smiled again. "I've harsh words to say to our friend the Under Secretary. It would be best if I said them to him alone. It is a question of face."
Haavikko nodded. That much he understood, orders or no. "Then I'll wait here, sir."
DeVore shook his head. "No, boy. I want you to be a witness, at the very least. You can wait out of earshot. That way you'll not be breaking orders, eh?"
Haavikko smiled, more at ease now that a compromise had been made.
Behind them the huge double doors to the first-level apartment swung open. They turned, waiting to enter.
Inside, the unexpected. A tiny wood. A bridge across a running stream. A path leading upward through the trees. Beside the bridge two servants waited for them, Han, their shaven heads bowed fully to the waist. One led the way before them, the other followed, heads lowered, eyes averted out of courtesy. They crossed the bridge, the smell of damp earth and blossom rising to greet them. The path turned, twisted, then came out into a clearing.
On the far side of the clearing was the house. A big two-story mansion in the Han northern style, white walled, its red tile roof steeply pitched.
DeVore looked at his ensign. The boy was quiet, thoughtful. He had never seen the like of this. Not surprising. There were few men in the whole of Chung Kuo who could afford to live like this. Four, maybe five thousand at most outside the circle of the Families. This was what it was to be rich. Rich enough to buy a whole ten-level deck at the very top of the City and landscape it.
Pietr Lehmann was Under Secretary in the House of Representatives at Weimar. A big man. Fourth in the pecking order in that seat of World Government. A man to whom a thousand lesser men—giants in their own households—bowed their heads. A power broker, even if that power was said by some to be chimerical and the House itself a sop—a mask to brutal tyranny.-DeVore smiled at the thought. Who, after all, would think the , Seven brutal or tyrannous? They had no need to be. They had the House between them and the masses of Chung Kuo.
They went inside.
The entrance hall was bright, spacious. To the left was a flight of broad, wood-slatted steps; to the right a sunken pool surrounded by a low wood handrail. The small, dark shapes of fishes flitted in its depths.
Their guides bowed, retreated. For a moment they were left alone.
"I thought. . ." Haavikko began, then shook his head. I know, DeVore mused; you thought he was Hung Mao. Yet all of this is Han. He smiled. Haavikko had seen too little of the world; had mixed only with soldiers. All this was new to him. The luxury of it. The imitation.
There was a bustle of sound to their right. A moment later a group of servants came into the entrance hall. They stopped a respectful distance from the two visitors and one of them stepped forward, a tall Han who wore on the chest of his pale green one-piece a large black pictogram and the number i. He was house steward, Lehmann's chief servant.
DeVore made no move to acknowledge the man. He neither bowed nor smiled. "Where is the Under Secretary?" he demanded. "I wish to see him."
The steward bowed, his eyes downcast. Behind him were lined up almost half of Lehmann's senior household staff, fifteen in all. They waited, unbowed, letting the steward act for them all.
"Excuse me, Major, but the master is out in the pagoda. He left explicit orders that he was not to be disturbed."
DeVore half turned and looked at his ensign, then turned back. "I've no time to wait, I'm afraid. I come on the T'ang's business. I'll tell your master that you did his bidding."
The steward nodded, but did not look up, keeping his head down as the Major and his ensign walked past him, out across the terrace and onto the broad back steps that led down to the gardens.
Lotus lay scattered on the lake, intensely green against the pale, clear water. Huge cream slabs of rock edged the waterline, forming a perfect oval. To the left a pathway traced the curve of the lake, its flower-strewn canopy ending in a gently arching bridge. Beyond the bridge, amid a formal garden of rock and shrub and flower, stood a three-tiered pagoda in the classic Palace style, its red-tiled roofs unornamented. Farther around, to the right of the lake, was an orchard, the small, broad-crowned trees spreading to the water's edge. Plum and cherry were in blossom and the still air was heavy with their fragrance.
It was early morning. From the meadows beyond the pagoda came the harsh, clear cry of a peacock. Overhead the light of a dozen tiny, artificial suns shone down from a sky of ice painted the pastel blue of summer days.
Standing on the topmost step, DeVore took it all in at a glance. He smiled, adjusting the tunic of his dress uniform, then turned to his ensign. "It's okay, Haavikko. I'll make my own way from here."
The young officer clicked his heels and bowed. DeVore knew the boy had been ordered by the General to stay close and observe all that passed; but these were his people; he would do it his way. Behind Haavikko the senior servants of the household looked on, not certain what to do. The Major had come upon them unannounced. They had had little chance to warn their master.
DeVore looked back past Haavikko, addressing them. "You! About your business now! Your master will summon you when he needs you!" Then he turned his back on them, dismissing them.
He looked out across the artificial lake. On the sheltered gallery of the pagoda, its wooden boards raised on stilts above the lake, stood three men dressed in silk pau. The soft murmur of their voices reached him across the water. Seeing him, one of them raised a hand in greeting, then turned back to his fellows, as if making his excuses.
Lehmann met him halfway, on the path beside the lake.
"It's good to see you, Howard. To what do I owe this pleasure?"
DeVore bowed his head respectfully, then met the other's eyes. "I've come to investigate you, Pietr. The General wants answers."
Lehmann smiled and turned, taking the Major's arm and walking beside him. "Of course." Light, filtering through the overhanging vines, made of his face a patchwork of shadows. "Soren Berdichev is here. And Edmund Wyatt. But they'll understand, I'm sure."