Carefully he felt beneath the waterline, tracing the wound tenderly with his fingers. He shuddered. It was bad. Very bad. But he wasn't helping himself by staying here. Gritting his teeth, bracing himself against the pain he knew would come, he began to swim, leaning over to one side, doing a kind of lopsided doggie-paddle that took the strain off his injured side.
Several times on that long and painful swim he thought of giving up, of relaxing and letting himself be sucked beneath the cold, clear water, but something kept him from succumbing, kept him doggedly pressing on, until, at last, he crawled up onto the beach, the outward wash forming long ribbons of silver laced with red at the side of his legs. Slowly, feeling close to exhaustion now, he pulled himself up out of the water, then turned to examine the gash properly.
The wound looked smaller than it had felt, and not so deep. Miraculously it had missed the bone. The rock had sliced into the flesh of his left side between the edge of the pelvis and the outer cage of the ribs. The seawater had washed it clean and the flow of blood from it had eased.
He had been lucky. Very, very lucky.
For the first time in what seemed an eternity, Tao Chu smiled. Somehow he had missed the rocks. Somehow he had fallen between those hard, cruel points of darkness. As he rested there, taking long, sweet breaths of the salty air, a sense of elation, of pure joy at having survived his own stupidity, washed over him. He laughed.
He was still laughing when a call came from the rocks overlooking the small bay he had swum to. Awkwardly, still in some pain, he turned and looked. Three men, servants of his uncle, were standing there. One of them waved, calling out his reassurances as they began to hurry down the slanting, rock-strewn face toward him.
Tao Chu let them lift him and carry him carefully back to the cliffs summit. There one of them examined the wound again, wincing to himself, and removed his jacket, tearing it into strips which he then bound about Tao Chu. Then they began to carry him again, hurrying now. They were halfway across the long, flat stretch of grass that led to the orchards when Tao Chu saw his mount.
"Stop!" he cried. They set him down, then made small murmurs of protest when he told them to catch and bring his pony. There was a moment's muttering between them then one of them scurried off and, after some trouble, brought the reluctant, skittish pony back.
Tao Chu stared at the beast, delighted. "Now help me mount her,"
he ordered, struggling up into a sitting position. This time there was open protest from the men, but Tao Chu insisted, his voice taking on the tone of command. The men looked among themselves again, then shrugged. One held the horse steady while the others helped Tao Chu into the saddle.
Fresh blood stained the bindings at his side, but Tao Chu felt strangely better now that he was mounted. He smiled fiercely, doing his sixteen-year-old best to ignore the pain that was now a horribly nagging ache. Seated thus he let them lead him on, one drawing the horse by its harness while the other two walked either side of him, ensuring he did not fall, their hands supporting him in the saddle.
Coming into the courtyard of his uncle's palace, he saw his half-brother, Kung-chih, over by the stables. He made to call to him, then stopped, frowning. Kung-chih was standing with his back to him, talking to a small baldheaded man. Kung's presence in the stables was not unusual, nor was the fact that he was talking to a servant, but the servant was neither groom nor stable hand, he was Hwa Kwei, one of Tsu Ma's most trusted men, the Chief Steward of his bedchamber. What was the eunuch doing talking to Kung-chih? And why here, in the stables? Kung-chih made a furtive gesture with one hand and Hwa Kwei scuttled away. Then Kung-chih himself strode purposefully across the cobbled space and into a side door, far from the one Hwa Kwei had taken.
Concerned, Tao Chu looked down at the men surrounding him, but they seemed to have noticed nothing. He grimaced, the pain starting up again more fiercely than before.
"Help me down," he said quietly.
WHEN KUNG-CHIH came to see him later Tao Chu said nothing of what he had seen. Tsu Ma was sitting in the room with them, concerned for his favorite nephew. Tao Chu had told him everything, omitting nothing, and had seen his uncle frown and then laugh with pride as he told him about mounting his horse and riding home.
"That is indeed how a Prince should act!" Tsu Ma had said, delighted. "And do not worry, Tao Chu, I shall not punish the men for your obstinacy!"
But Kung-chih was quieter, somehow less attentive than he might usually have been. He had said little since that day on the cliff tops— had made no threats nor shown any disrespect to Tsu Ma. He had been kind, almost his old self, yet in small ways he had changed. He no longer confided in Tao Chu; no longer shared his hopes and fears with his young half-brother. He had become insular and broody and subject to sudden moods. Seeing him with Hwa Kwei had therefore awoken Tao Chu's suspicions. He was sure that Kung-chih was up to something.
"How are you, little brother?" Kung-chih said on entering the room. "I hear you have been swimming."
It was an attempt at the old banter that had once existed between them, but now it fell strangely flat.
"I was stupid," Tao Chu said, sighing. "I ought to be dead. I'll not be so lucky twice in my life!"
The comment was not meant to carry any other meaning, yet as Tao Chu looked up into his brother's face he saw how Kung-chih's eyes moved away sharply, as if stung by the words. There was a momentary sourness in his expression, but then he looked back at Tao Chu and, softening, smiled. "Still . . . I'm glad you're safe."
Are you? thought Tao Chu, seeing that all-too-familiar face in a different light, as if with new-created eyes; seeing the softness, the weakness there. But it was an unworthy, an uncharitable thought, and he felt guilty, knowing that for all his half-brother's self-preoccupation, his love was genuine. Reaching out, he took his hand and pressed it gently.
"I know," he said, and in his mind added, because you need me, Tsu Kung-chih. Need me to save you from yourself. To keep you from falling.
That was, if it wasn't already too late.
JELKA LOOKED UP from the screen and rubbed her eyes. She had been working on the tapes most of the day, selecting and editing those parts he'd find of interest, determined that she would finally get them done.
She had frozen the tape at an image of Titan she had taken when they'd been heading back on the Meridian. The orange surface of the moon was hazed in cloud, the dark red collar in its northern hemisphere showing up strongly. Beyond it, seeming to spear it, Saturn's rings swept in a glorious arc through the star-spattered blackness, the great gas giant itself just out of shot. The sight of it had taken her back to that moment, sending a strange thrill through her.
If only you could have been there with me, Kim. If only you could have seen it as I saw it.
She turned, looking across at the picture of her in her spacesuit taken on the steps of the Meridian. It was strange how comfortable she had felt in it—odd how something in her had responded to the icy coldness of the outer planets.
She turned back, stretching, nodding to herself, then took a print of the image. She would have it blown up and hung on the wall behind her desk. The rest . . . well, the rest was for Kim.
She let the film run, listening to her own voice as she repeated for the camera what she'd been told, facts and figures flowing from her tongue effortlessly. This was the last of them—the last of a dozen eight-hour tapes she had compiled for him from what had been months of material. For almost a year now she had spent at least an hour a day preparing them, but now they were almost done. Another few hours at most.