Karr smiled. "It would, Chieh Hsia."
"And what would you say was the greatest problem confronting us?"
"Speaking from experience, Chieh Hsia, I'd say it was supplies. A war against Li Min . . . well, it would be even more difficult a logistics problem than the campaign in Africa. There we could at least stake out and clear a stack before each supply drop. Here in Europe . . . Well, it would be a war fought level by level on our own territory. Supplying our own forces while denying our enemies access to those same supplies—that would be an almost impossible task."
"I agree. If, that is, we were to fight a war on that basis."
"Chieh Hsia?"
"One last thing. How long would it take to prepare the three Banner armies in Africa for a new campaign?"
Karr considered, then shrugged. "Three days, Chieh Hsia."
"Good. Then that is all."
Karr bowed his head, then, as his T'ang stood, hastened to his feet.
"You have been most helpful," Li Yuan said, ushering Karr to the door. "If you would keep me advised on any developments with the boy."
"Of course, Chieh Hsia."
"Good. I understand your wife is here."
"That is so, Chieh Hsia."
"Then you must see her. Spend the night with her."
"Forgive me, Chieh Hsia, but I am on duty."
Li Yuan smiled and put his hand briefly on the giant's arm. "Go. I order it. I shall have Master Nan arrange cover for you. And make the best of it, neh? I fear you may have few such opportunities in the weeks to come."
AS THE EVENING LIGHT began to fade, Karr walked back slowly to the guards' quarters, his heart heavy, his mood darkened by what Li Yuan had said. He had known war would come—they all had—but it had always been at some vague time in the future, never soon—never only a matter of days away. He should have been ready for it, for he had seen much fighting in the African campaign, yet somehow this was different. War in City Europe; hand-to-hand fighting in the levels; all of that disruption, all of that chaos and carnage, the awful, barbaric brutality of it—it was hard to believe all that must come now to his homeland.
Marie was in the kitchen when he got there, singing to herself as she unpacked things from one of the big transit-boxes and put them away on shelves. He went across and put his arms about her waist, making her jump with surprise, then snuggle back against him.
"Where's May?" he asked, murmuring into her neck as he kissed it.
She turned and leaned back against the sink, smiling at him. "She's out in the gardens with the other children. It's like paradise for her. Why, she doesn't even seem bothered by the insects!"
He looked past her out of the half-open window, hearing the distant shrieks and laughter of the children. It was true. This was like paradise after the confinement of the levels, yet his pleasure at being there was muted by his knowledge of what lay ahead.
"What is it?" she asked, seeing the shadows in his face.
He met her eyes, pained by the simple strength and beauty of her. "It's war, my love."
Her breath caught. "Did he say that?"
"No. But I could see it in his eyes. He is determined on it. Something must have happened."
The light had gone out of her face. She looked away, then looked back at him, offering a tight smile. "Well, maybe it's best that we're here, then. Back there . . ."
Hejjodded, then reached out and held her once more, kissing her brow. "I'm off duty tonight," he whispered, smiling at her. "The T'ang has ordered it."
"Ah . . ." Her face lightened, her eyes widening, but still there was a darkness at the back of them. War . . . who knew what war would bring?
"I have some news too," she said, her smile broadening.
"News?"
"A baby," she said hesitantly. "We're going to have another baby, Gregor."
"That's great. . . ."
Inside, however, he felt himself go cold with fear. He had dismissed what Lehmann had said as idle talk, but the man had been right. Somehow he had known.
"Gregor? What is it?"
"I was told. Li Min told me."
She gave a small laugh. "He couldn't have. I only found out yesterday. I haven't told anyone, not even May. I was waiting to tell you first."
"He knew," he said quietly. "The bastard knew." He heaved a sigh then. "Look, stay here a moment, there's something I want to check."
He made to turn away but she called him back. "Gregor?"
"Yes?"
"Did you ... I mean, you did want another child?"
Looking at her, he realized suddenly how scared she was, how close she was to tears. He went to her and held her tightly, stroking her back, physically reassuring her. "Marie, Marie, my darling love, you know I do." He lifted her chin, making her look at him. "It's wonderful news. Really it is. But . . ." His smile slowly faded. "Get May in and settle her. Okay? I'll be back in a while."
Outside, in the imperial gardens the evening light was failing. Walking back to the duty room Karr ran a dozen different scenarios through his mind, yet he knew, even before Bremen confirmed it. They were dead; the surgeon and all his staff. Blown into the next world by a bomb planted in some new equipment they'd taken delivery of only that morning.
Returning to his rooms he rehearsed how he would tell her—how to reveal to her just how small, how vulnerable, they were—but facing her he found there was no need. She read his eyes and looked down, nodding.
"Where's May?" he said softly, wearily.
"Asleep. She tired herself out."
"Ah . . ." He nodded, then reached for her, holding her tightly against him, squeezing her arms, her back, reassuring himself that she was there, alive and warm—at least for this much longer—knowing suddenly how easily he could have lost her.
"We'll be safe here," he said. "War or no war, Tongjiang at least is safe."
She smiled, as if comforted by his words, yet something in her eyes mirrored back his own growing doubts. Nowhere was safe anymore. Nowhere. Not even Tongjiang.
THE MOON WAS FULL, burning a perfect circle of white in the blackness of the sky. Beside it the mountain glistened, its crooked peak thrust like an ice pick into the frigid air.
Lehmann stood on the slope on the far side of the valley, staring at the scene, his hood thrown back, his breath pluming in the air. It had been months since he had come out here. Months since he had seen anything so beautiful.
He shivered, more from awe than from the cold, then turned and looked to his lieutenant, Soucek, who had just arrived.
"Is there any word yet?"
Soucek rubbed his gloved hands together and shook his head inside the fur-lined hood. "Nothing."
"Ah." Lehmann turned back, distracted by the news. It was strange. Visak was normally so reliable.
"He's over two hours late," Soucek added, coming alongside him. "Do you think something's happened to him?"
He shrugged. For a moment he was silent, breathing in the pure, cold air, letting the inhuman perfection of the place fill him, then he turned, looking back at Soucek.
"It's almost time. You know that, don't you? All these years we've waited, and now . . . Well, now that it's here I hesitate. We have the means, the will, the strength, to beat Li Yuan. Even so, I hold back. And I don't know why. That's why we're here, Jiri. To try to see things clearly. To work out if there's anything we've overlooked."
"It's to be war, then?"
Lehmann nodded, his face masklike, almost transparent, in the moonlight, his eyes sparkling unnaturally, like a demon's. "Are you afraid, Jiri?"
Soucek hesitated, then nodded.
"Good. That's a fighter's emotion. To be afraid, yet to be in control of one's fear."
Soucek stamped his feet, the cold getting to him. "It seems a long time since we killed Lo Han. Seven years. . . . You know, I felt alive that day. I felt . . . well, close to something. Something I'd never experienced before. But these past few years, since we defeated Fat Wong and his cousins . . . Well, sometimes it's seemed like a dream. As if I wasn't fully awake."