The moon was high. Was a perfect circle of whiteness in the velvet dark. Chen stared at it a moment, mesmerized, held by its brilliant, unseeing eye, then looked down, his fingers searching amongst the ashes.
He turned, looking across at Karr, then lifted the shard of broken glass, turning it in his hand, remembering.
"What is this place?" Karr asked, coming closer, his face cloaked in shadow.
Chen stared at him a while, then looked away.
"This is where it began. Here on the mountainside with Kao Jyan. We lit a fire, just there, where you're standing now. And Jyan . . . Jyan brought a bottle and two glasses. I remember watching him."
A faint breeze stirred dust and ash about his feet, carrying the scent of the Wilds.
He stood, then turned, looking north. There, not far from where they stood, the City began, filling the great northern plain of Europe. Earlier, flying over it, they had seen the rebuilt Imperial Solarium, which he had helped bomb a dozen years before. Chen took a long breath, then turned back, looking at the big man.
"Did you bring the razor, as I asked?"
Karr stared at him fixedly a moment, then took the fine blade from his tunic. "What did you want it for?"
Chen met his eyes. "Nothing stupid, I promise you."
Karr hesitated a moment longer, then handed him the razor. Chen stared at it a moment, turning it in the moonlight, then tested it with the edge of his thumb. Satisfied, he crouched again, and, taking his queue in the other hand, cut the strong dark hair close to the roots.
"Kao Chen He looked up at the big man, then, saying nothing, continued with the task. Finished, he stood again, offering Karr the blade, his free hand tracing the shape of his skull, feeling the fine stubble there. Karr took the razor, studying his friend. In the moonlight, Chen's face had the blunt, anonymous look of a thousand generations of Han peasants. The kind of face one saw everywhere below. A simple, nondescript face. Until one met the eyes . . .
"Why are we here, my friend? What are we looking for?"
Chen turned, looking about him, taking in everything: the mountains, the sky, the great City, stretched out like a vast glacier under the brilliant moon. It was the same. Twelve years had done little to change this scene. And yet it was quite different. Was, in the way he saw it, utterly transformed. Back then he had known nothing but the Net. Had looked at this scene with eyes that saw only the surfaces of things. But now he could see right through. Through to the bone itself.
He nodded slowly, understanding now why he had had to come here. Why he had asked Karr to divert the craft south and fly into the foothills of the Alps. Sometimes one had to go back—right back—to understand.
He shivered, surprised by the strength of the returning memory. It was strange how clearly he could see it, even now, after almost thirty years. Yes, he could picture quite vividly the old Master who had trained him to be kwai; a tall, willowy old Han with a long, expressionless face and a wispy beard and who always wore red. Old Shang, they had called him. Five of them, there had been, from Chi Su, the eldest, a broad-shouldered sixteen-year-old, down to himself, a thin-limbed, ugly little boy of six. An orphan, taken in by Shang.
For the next twelve years Old Shang's apartment had been his home. He had shared the kang with two others, his sleeping roll put away at sixth bell and taken out again at midnight. And in between, a long day of work; harder work than he had ever known, before or since. He sighed. It was strange how he had hidden it from himself all these years, as if it had never been. And yet it had formed him, as surely as the tree is formed from the seed. Shang's words, Shang's gestures had become his own. So it was in this world. So it had to be. For without that a man was shapeless, formless, fit only to wallow in the fetid darkness of the Clay.
He turned, meeting Karr's eyes. "He had clever hands. I watched him from where you're standing now. Saw how he looked into his glass, like this, watching the flames flicker and curl like tiny snakes in the darkness of his wine. At the time I didn't understand what it was he saw there. But now I do."
Karr looked down. It was Kao Jyan he was talking about. Kao Jyan, his fellow assassin that night twelve years ago.
"A message came," he offered. "From Tolonen."
Chen was still looking back at him, but it was as' if he were suddenly somewhere else, as if, for that brief moment, his eyes saw things that Karr was blind to.
"He confirms that Li Yuan has ordered the closure of Kibwezi."
"Ah . . ." Chen lowered his eyes.
Karr was silent a moment, watching his friend, trying to understand, to empathize with what he was feeling, but for once it was hard. He crouched, one hand sifting the dust distractedly. "Your friend, Kao Jyan . . . what did he see?"
Chen gave a small laugh, as if surprised that the big man didn't know, then looked away again, smoothing his hand over the naked shape of his skull.
"Change," he said softly, a tiny tremor passing through him. "And flames. Flames dancing in a glass."