Only six hours ago he had contemplated this meeting with some misgivings, but now he felt confident, almost elated, the frustrations of the past three days behind him. He held DeVore's file tightly in his lap, smiling inwardly. I've got you now, he thought. Both of you. You won't wriggle out of this one.
He gazed ahead fixedly. Facing him, some fifty paces distant, was the entrance to the Hall of Eternal Truth, where the T'ang held audience.
The double doors were massive, twice as tall as they were broad. In silver across the black leather surface, its circumference five times the height of a man, was drawn a great circle of seven dragons. At its center the snouts of the regal beasts met, forming a roselike hub, huge rubies burning fiercely in each eye. Their lithe, powerful bodies curved outward like the spokes of a giant wheel while at the edge their tails were intertwined to form the rim. It was the Ywe Lung, the Moon Dragon, symbol of the Seven. Tblonen could never look at it without a feeling of great pride—glad beyond words that it had fallen to him to play so large a part in defending that great and powerful circle; that his T'ang honored him so.
Two bells sounded, the first sweet and clear, the second deep and resonant. Slowly, noiselessly, the great doors swung back.
The General stood, then stepped down from the dais, the file and the other papers held tightly against his breast. He turned to his left, then to his right, bowing his head stiffly to the two lieutenants, then marched forward ten paces and stopped, letting the honor guard form up behind him.
The doors were fully open now. He could see the T'ang at the far end of the Hall, seated on the high throne, atop the Presence Dais.
The T'ang's Chamberlain, Chung Hu-yan, came forward, greeting him.
"General Tolonen," he said, smiling and bowing low. "You are most welcome. The T'ang is expecting you."
"It is good to see you, Hu-yan," the General said quietly, returning both smile and bow. "I hope you're well. And all your family."
"And yours, Knut," he answered softly, straightening up. "But come. YouVe waited far too long already."
Chung Hu-yan turned, facing the T'ang again. He bowed low, going down onto his knees and pressing his forehead briefly against the tiled floor. Then he stood and walked slowly into the Hall. The General moved forward, following him. Beneath the great lintel he halted and made his own obeisance to the T'ang, the whole of the honor guard behind him making the gesture at the same moment, then rising when he rose. But when he moved forward again they stayed where they were. No one—not even a member of the honor guard—was allowed into the Hall without the T'ang's express permission.
At the foot of the steps Tblonen paused, the Chamberlain to the left of him, others of the T'ang's retinue gathered to the right of the Dais.
"Chieh Hsia," he said, making his k'o t'ou a second time.
The literal translation of the Mandarin was "below the steps," but the phrase had long acquired a second, more important meaning—"Your Majesty." "Chieh Hsia" dated from those ancient days when ministers, summoned to an audience with the emperor, were not permitted to address the Son of Heaven directly, but spoke through those officials gathered "below the steps" of the high-raised throne.
The T'ang rose from his throne and started down the broad steps of the Presence Dais.
"Knut. I'm sorry I kept you waiting."
Li Shai Tung was wearing his official robes; long, flowing silks of pale gold, trimmed with black, and honey-colored boots of soft kid. His fine gray hair was pulled back severely from his forehead and bound tightly at the back of his head. He wore a simple necklet of gold and, on the fingers of his right hand, two rings; the first a simple band of thin white gold, his dead wife's wedding gift; the other a heavier, thicker ring of black iron, bearing on its face a silvered miniature of the Ywe Lung, the seal of power.
Li Shai Tung was a tall man; as tall as his General, but willowy. He came down the twelve steps briskly, his movements lighter, more energetic, than one might have expected from a man of sixty years. It was often said that the T'ang moved like a dancer, elegantly, powerfully—and it was so; his athletic grace a result of the rigorous training he put himself through each morning. But there was also a dignity to his bearing—an authority—that only those bom to rule seem to possess.
Facing his General, he reached out to touch Tolonen's arm, his pale, lined face breaking into a smile. Then the hand fell back; moved to touch, then stroke, his long but neatly trimmed beard. "I've been kept busy, Knut. This matter of the vacancy. Four families have petitioned me for the appointment. I have been seeing the candidates this very morning."
"Then what I have to say will be of interest, Chieh Hsia."
Li Shai Tung nodded, then looked about him. Besides the Chamberlain there were a dozen others in the Hall; members of his private staff. "How confidential is this matter?"
The General smiled, understanding. "It would not do for all to know it yet."
The T'ang smiled back at him. "I understand. We'll speak alone. In my grandfather's room." He motioned to his Chamberlain. "Hu-yan. You will stand at the door and make certain no one disturbs us until we are done."
They went through, into one of the smaller rooms at the back of the Hall. The T'ang pulled the doors closed behind him, then turned, looking at Tolonen, his expression unreadable. He crossed the room and sat beneath the twin portraits of his grandfather and Wen Ti, motioning for his General to come to him.
"Sit there, Knut. Facing me."
Tolonen did as he was bid, yet he felt awkward, being seated in his T'ang's presence. He looked at the nearby fire and unconsciously put out-one hand toward its warmth.
The T'ang smiled, seeing the gesture. "You have something new, then? Something more than when we last spoke?"
"Yes, Chieh Hsia. I know who ordered Lwo Kang killed."
The T'ang considered. "Enough to prove this thing in law?"
The General nodded. "And maybe cause the fall of a Great Family."
"Ah. ..." Li Shai Tung looked down, into his lap. "Then the Minister is involved in this?"
Tblonen leaned forward and passed across the file, leaving the other papers in his lap. "It is all in there, Chieh Hsia. All the evidence. Trading connections. Payments and names. Who was used and when. Yang Lai, Fu Lung-ti, Hong Cao, Cho Hsiang—a whole network of names and dates, connecting all the levels of the thing. It was well orchestrated. Too well, perhaps. But we would never have made these connections unless my man DeVore had followed his nose. Wyatt was the hub—the center of this web of dealings."
The T'ang nodded, then looked down at the document. For the next fifteen minutes he was silent, reading. Then, finished, he closed the file and looked up. "Yes," he said softly, almost tiredly. "This is good, Knut. This is what I wanted. You have done very well."
The General bowed his head. "Thank you, Chieh Hsia. But as I said, the praise is not mine. This is Major DeVore's work."
"I see." The T'ang looked back down at the document. "Then I shall see that the Major is rewarded."
"Thank you. And the Minister?"
Li Shai Tung gave a short, humorless laugh. "Heng Chi-Po is a careful man, as this document bears out. Though the finger points at him, at no point does it touch." He shook his head. "No matter the weight of circumstantial evidence, we have nothing substantial."
"Yet it was he who warned Yang Lai. Who sent the message."
"Maybe so. But it would not hold. Assumptions, that's all we have when it comes down to it, Knut. Junior Minister Yang Lai is missing and the message card Pi Ch'ien held on to was blank. It is not strong evidence."
The General was quiet a moment. It was true. The message card that Pi Ch'ien had carried from Minister Heng to Yang Lai was worthless as evidence, the message it held having decayed within thirty seconds of Yang Lai activating it with his thumb-print.