Heng Yu straightened. "But tell me, what brings you here, Uncle?"
"I'm sorry, Yu, but I bring bad news. Your uncle Chi-Po is unwell."
Heng Yu started. "Unwell?"
"Please . . ." Heng Kou bowed and moved aside. "I felt you should come yourself. At once. My own doctors are seeing to him even now. But..."
Heng Yu gave the slightest nod. "I understand. Please, lead me to him."
Heng Chi-Po's bedroom was dimly lit. The four doctors stood at one end of the room, beside the only light source. Seeing the two men in the doorway, they came across.
"How is my uncle?" asked Heng Yu at once, concerned.
The most senior of them bowed low, then answered him.. Like all four of them he had been briefed beforehand concerning Heng Yu's new status in the household.
"I regret to say that your uncle passed away five minutes ago. His heart failed him."
Heng Kou, watching, saw Heng Yu's mouth fall open, his eyes widen in surprise; saw the real pain he felt at the news and knew he had been right not to involve him in the scheme. Let him believe things are as they are. That disappointment killed my brother. Only I and these four men know otherwise.
Heng Yu had a servant bring them a lamp, then they went over to where Heng Chi-Po lay on his oversized bed. His eyes had been closed and his face now was at peace. The flesh of his arms and chest and face was pale and misted with a fine sheen of sweat.
"Did he suffer much?" Heng Yu asked.
Heng Kou saw how the doctors looked at htm, then looked away.
"Not at all," he lied, remembering how it had taken all five of them to hold him down while the poison had taken effect. "Of course, there was pain at first, but then, thankfully, it passed and he lapsed into sleep."
Heng Yu nodded then turned away with a tiny shudder.
Heng Kou remained a moment longer, looking down at the brother he had always loathed; the brother who, since he had been old enough to walk, had bullied him and treated him like the basest servant. He smiled. You would have had us kill Tolonen, eh? You would have brought us all down with your foolishness?
Yes, but you forgot who held the power.
He turned, indicating to the doctors that they should leave. Then, when they were gone, he went to where Heng Yu was standing. He was about to speak when Heng Yu surprised him, raising a hand to silence him.
Heng Yu's whole manner had changed. His voice was low but powerful. "Don't think me blind, Uncle Kou. Nor dull witted. I know what happened here."
"And?"
Kou held his breath. If Heng Yu insisted, all would be undone.
"And nothing, Uncle. Understand me?"
Heng Kou hesitated, studying the smooth lines of his nephew's face; seeing him for the first time as the T'ang must have seen him.
He smiled, then bowed low. "I understand, Minister Heng."
THE DOOR slammed shut. DeVore turned and looked back across the .cell at Wyatt. They were alone now. Just the two of them.
"Shouldn't there be others?" Wyatt said, watching him warily. "I thought it was usual for there to be several officers at an interrogation."
DeVore laughed. "You don't understand, do you? You still think you're safe. In spite of all that's happened."
Wyatt turned away. "If you mistreat me—"
DeVore interrupted him. "You really don't understand, do you?"
He moved closer, coming around the side of Wyatt until he stood there face to face with the slightly taller man. "Let me explain."
Wyatt had turned his face slightly, so as not to have to meet DeVore's eyes. But the suddenness of the slap took him by complete surprise. He staggered backward, holding his cheek, staring at DeVore, his eyes wide with astonishment.
"Strip off!" DeVore barked, his face suddenly mean, uncompromising. "Everything. Top clothes. Underclothes. Jewelry. We'll remove your electronic implants later."
Wyatt shook his head uncertainly. "But you can't do this."
"Do what?" DeVore laughed. "You're a murderer. Understand? You killed the T'ang's minister. You'll be tried and found guilty. And then we'll execute you."
DeVore took a step closer, seeing how Wyatt flinched, ex-, peering another blow. His cheek was bright red, the weal the shape of DeVore's hand, each finger clearly delineated. "That's the truth of this, Edmund Wyatt. You're a dead man. When you killed Lwo Kang you stepped outside the game. You broke all the rules. So now there are no rules. At least, none that you would recognize."
He reached out and took Wyatt's wrists, savagely pulling him closer, until Wyatt's face was pressed against his own.
"Are you beginning to understand?"
Wyatt shivered and made an awkward nod.
"Good." He thrust Wyatt back brutally, making him fall. "Then strip off."
He turned his back. The cell was bare. He could almost see Wyatt look about him, hesitating. Then he heard the jingle of his thin gold bracelets as he set them down on the floor, and smiled. I have you now, my proud false Chinaman. I'll strip the Han from you, pigtail, pau, and all. Yes, and we'll see how proud you are when I'm done with you.
When he turned back. Wyatt was naked, his clothes neatly bundled on the floor beside him. His white, soft body seemed so frail, so ill suited to the trial that lay ahead: already it seemed to cower, to shrink back into itself, as if aware of what was to come. Yet when DeVore looked up past the narrow, hairless chest and met Wyatt's eyes he was surprised to find defiance there.
So, he thought. That first. They say the Han are strong because they resign themselves to fate. In thirty centuries they have never fought fate, but have been its agents. Flood, famine, and revolution have all been as one to them. They have bowed before the inevitability of death and so survived, stronger for their long and patient suffering. So it will be with you, Edmund Wyatt. I'll make a true Han of you yet—stripped bare of all you were; resigned and patient in your suffering.
He smiled. "You knew Yang Lai? Lwo Kang's junior minister?"
Wyatt looked up sharply, real hatred in his eyes. "He's dead. You know he's dead. He died with Lwo Kang in the solarium."
"That's not what I asked. Did you know him well?"
"He was a friend. A good friend. I was at college with him."
DeVore laughed coldly. "How good a friend, would you say?"
Wyatt swallowed, then lowered his head. "He was my lover."
"You admit it?"
Angered, Wyatt yelled back at him. "Why not? I expect you knew already! Anyway, what has Yang Lai to do with this?"
DeVore smiled and turned away. "Yang Lai was murdered. Three days after the assassination. The only thing we found on the body was a small hologram of you."
Wyatt had gone very still. When DeVore next looked at him he was surprised to find tears in his eyes.
"There," said Wyatt softly. "Surely that says something to you? Would I kill a man I loved, then leave my hob on him?"
DeVore shook his head. "You don't understand."
Wyatt frowned. "What do you mean?"
"He had it up his ass."
Wyatt looked away. A shuddering breath racked his body.
"Oh, and there's more. Much more. Kao Jyan's tape. Your trading connections with Hong Cao and Cho Hsiang. The internal flight schedules which coincide perfectly with our reconstruction of the attack on the solarium. Your company's experiments with harmonic triggers. And, of course, your secretary Lung Ti's evidence."
Wyatt looked back at DeVore blankly. "Lung Ti?"
This was DeVore's masterstroke; the thing that had cemented it all in place. Lung Ti had been with Wyatt from his tenth year. He was his most trusted servant. But eight years ago DeVore had found Lung Ti's weakness and bought him. Now Lung Ti was his creature, reading from his script.
DeVore let the silence extend a moment longer, then lowered his head. "Lung Ti has confessed to his part in everything. He is to give evidence under the T'ang's pardon."
Wyatt's mouth worked loosely, but no sound came out.