"Go," Kim said, urging Jelka forward, then pushing Sampsa after her. "Go and greet your grandfather, boy."
He watched, as Jelka crouched over the unit; saw the brief shock there in her face, the brave smile that quickly replaced it; saw the old man's golden hand lift from within the litter and grip hers weakly, the fingers visibly trembling with the effort.
The gods help us, Kim thought, disturbed and moved by what he saw.
Such joy and pain as were in her face at that moment made his stomach clench in sympathy. At such moments he could not love her more. And the boy . . .
He heard himself laugh as Sampsa leaned into the litter and placed a kiss on his grandfather's brow. So unexpected a gesture . . . And then the old man laughed—a laugh like a startled cough.
You should have seen him, Sampsa, he thought, recalling what a rock Tolonen had seemed when first he'd met him. But now . . .
As the unit floated across he saw him for the first time in daylight and caught his breath in shock.
Out in the light Tolonen looked a corpse, the flesh melted from the bone, his skin so transparent, one seemed to stare right through him into the earth in which he'd shortly lie.
Aiya, he thought, reaching out to take the old man's outstretched, trembling hand; seeing the gratitude in his watery eyes.
"Home," Tolonen murmured, the words as thin and pale as the flesh he so loosely wore. "I'm home."
Kim smiled and gently squeezed the hand, then looked to Jelka. She was sobbing now, the tears slowly coursing down her cheeks. He shuddered and looked back.
"We've prepared a room downstairs for you," he said, speaking slowly, loudly, so that the old man could hear. "It has a view of the sea and the cliff garden."
Again the old man smiled, like a pale sun glimpsed through thick cloud. "Thank you," he mouthed. Then, unexpectedly: "You're a good son, Kim Ward. A good son."
lin SHANG knelt on the littered floor, his hands bound tightly behind his back, his hair disheveled. Soucek, standing over him, scratched his chin, then, leaning closer, smiled.
"You're lucky, little Lin. We've found her. If we hadn't, I'd have had to kill you."
Lin winced but did not meet his tormentor's eyes. With the age-old stoicism of his kind—the five-thousand-year-old patience of the Han—he kept his head down and his mouth shut.
"I'm told you mend things," Soucek said, straightening up and looking about him at the shelves. "I'm told you have clever hands."
He drew his knife, then, reaching behind the kneeling man, grasped the rope and, slipping the knife between Lin's wrists, slit it. Sheathing his knife, he pulled Lin's right hand into view, holding it between his own to study it, his left hand on the wrist, the right curled about the four fingers.
"Yes," he said, nodding. "Clever hands . . ." Then, with a quick, hard movement—a technique he had learned from watching Lehmann—he tugged at the fingers, feeling the bones jump from the knuckles with a sharp resounding crack.
Lin's scream was the first sound he had made since Soucek had come into the room. Then he fell forward, unconscious.
Soucek stepped back, then looked to his two henchmen.
"Smash it all!" he said. Then, putting all his weight on his left foot, he stepped onto Lin's undamaged left hand, crushing it.
LEHMANN LOOKED UP from his desk as Soucek came into the room, the writing stylus hesitating in the air. The woman was already there, seated in the comer, bound and gagged. Mach was due any moment.
"It's dealt with," Soucek said simply, standing to the side across from the woman.
He saw she was watching him; trying to gauge what his role in this was. He saw the contempt there, too, and wanted to tell her what he'd done to her boyfriend, but Lehmann would not have approved.
"Okay," Lehmann said, signing the document he had been reading and setting it aside. He stood and came around the desk, stopping beside Soucek to consider the woman.
"Mach's been delayed."
"Delayed?" Soucek looked to his master, but the albino's face was expressionless.
"Take the gag off. I want to talk to her."
This wasn't how they'd planned it, but Soucek did as he was told, standing back as she worked her jaw to ease the muscles.
"You're quite a celebrity, aren't you, Mary?" Lehmann said. "Or should I call you Rachel?"
"It's Emily," she said, meeting his eyes defiantly. "Emily Ascher."
"Ah . . ." There was sudden understanding in Lehmann's eyes. "So that's the connection. Mach was your friend. You were in the Ping Tiao together, weren't you?"
"Mach's a traitor!"
Unexpectedly, Lehmann laughed. "Mach's a useful man. He helped me find you." She shrugged.
Lehmann turned and took the handbill from where it lay on his desk then held it out in front of her.
Soucek watched, seeing how her eyes widened, but also how quickly she controlled her emotions. It was impressive.
"I know you," she said, looking up past the paper at Lehmann. "You're DeVore's shadow. He grew you from a polyp on his ass!"
Soucek stepped past his master and swung his arm, slapping her so hard she fell from the chair. For a moment she lay there, stunned, then, turning her head, she laughed.
"The God of Hell's fecal puppet . . ."
Lehmann stepped forward, staying Soucek's hand. "It's okay, Jiri," he said softly. "Let her speak. Her words can't harm me. Nor will they help her."
He crouched over her, breathing into her bloodied face. "We've made a deal."
She swallowed painfully, then made a small gesture of negation. "Michael would never deal with you."
"No?" He crumpled Michael Lever's poster in his hand, then pushed it brutally into her mouth, making her gag.
She spat the paper out and took a breath. Her eyes were angry now. "You don't frighten me, Lehmann. I've seen too much."
Lehmann studied her a moment, his face impassive, then he shrugged, as if it meant nothing to him.
"Your husband's a man of high principles, I understand. He must want you very much to have agreed to my terms."
Soucek saw how the words took the fire out of her. She closed her eyes, suddenly subdued, suddenly, unexpectedly defeated.
"Take her away," Lehmann said, straightening up. "And clean up her face. We don't want Lever saying we mistreated her."
AFTER THEY'D GONE Lehmann sat there staring at the door, seeing nothing, thinking nothing; then, returning to himself, he looked down at the message Michael Lever had sent back to him earlier.
No deals, it read.
No deals, eh? he thought, screwing the piece of paper up and throw-
ing it across the room. Well, we'll see about that. Maybe when you start getting bits of her through the mail you'll change your mind!
Deals . . . Everyone made deals. Kings more than most.
"Get me Fu Chiang," he said to the air, waiting as the screen came down. And as he waited, he thought: I need a fortress. Somewhere more secure than this. Maybe at Odessa . . .
"Master?"
The face on the screen was that of his ambassador to Fu Chiang's court, Cheng Lu.
"What's happening, Lu?"
"They're summoning Fu Chiang right now, Master. But I thought I should have a word with you about the situation here before you did. Things have been happening. Fu Chiang—"
"Is here," Fu interrupted, his image abruptly replacing Cheng Lu's. "Now, to what do I owe this unexpected call, Cousin Stefan?"
Lehmann raised an eyebrow. "We are still cousins, then?"
"Kissing cousins. The kind that kiss and die."
"Yet if we were to come to an arrangement?"
Fu Chiang's laughter was acerbic. He stared back at Lehmann scornfully. "You must really think me a fool."
"But a meeting—"
"Would resolve nothing between us. We are enemies, Stefan Lehmann. Implacably so. You played the friendship card once already, or do you forget?"