"They were weak and careless," he said gruffly, as if that were all there was to say, but Hsueh Chi, Boss of the southern Hsien and half-brother of the great Warlord Hsueh Nan stepped forward, scratching his ample stomach.
"Forgive me, but I knew Fat Wong and he was neither weak nor careless. Caution was his byword. And yet Li Min proved too cunning for him. He waited, building his strength, biding his time, then took Wong Yi-sun on when he least expected it—against the odds—and beat him. He and his fellow Bosses. So we might do well to listen to what our cousin Fu says. It seems to me that we must act together or not at all."
Yang Chih-wen laughed dismissively. "You talk as if he were a threat, Hsueh Chi, but what kind of danger does he really pose? Ambushing Fat Wong and his allies was one thing, but taking Africa . . ." He shook his great bearlike head. "Why, the full might of Li Yuan's armies cannot shake our grip. What then could this pai nan jen—this pale man—do?"
There was an air of challenge, of ridicule, in these final words that was aimed directly at Hsueh Chi. Noting it, Fu Chiang hurriedly spoke up, trying to calm things down.
"Maybe my cousin Yang is right. Maybe there is no threat. But it would be foolish to repeat past mistakes, surely? Besides, we need decide nothing here today. We are here only to listen to the man, to find out what he has to say. And to judge for ourselves what kind of man this 'White Tang' really is."
While the talk had gone on, Sheng Min-chung had gone out onto the balcony. For a while he had stood there, his hands on the rail, looking down into the dark, steep-sided pit. Now he came back into the room.
"We will do as Fu Chiang says."
Yang opened his mouth as if to debate the matter further, but at a glance from Sheng he closed it again and nodded. Though they were all "equals" here, Sheng Min-chung was more equal than the rest.
The Big Boss of East Africa was a strange one. As a child he had been raised by an uncle—touched, some said—who had dressed him as a girl. The experience had hardened Sheng. Then, at thirteen, he had lost his right eye in a knife fight. Later, when he'd become Red Pole of the Iron Fists, he had paid to have his remaining eye enhanced, leaving the other vacant. Ever since it was said that his single good eye saw far more clearly—and farther—than the two eyes of a dozen other men.
One-Eye Sheng moved between them, his long silks swishing across the marble floor, then turned, facing them.
"And ch'un tzu , . . let us show our friend Li Min the utmost courtesy. What a man was bom, that he cannot help, but what he becomes, through his own efforts"—his one eye glared at Yang Chi-wen—"that, I would say, demands our respect."
The bearlike Yang stared back at Sheng a moment, then nodded, and Fu Chiang, looking on, smiled broadly, moved by Sheng's words.
Respect. Yes, without respect a man was nothing. To gain and hold respect, that was worth more than gold. Whatever transpired today and in the days to come, much would depend on establishing a common trust—a solid bridge of mutual respect—between themselves and Li Min.
Fu Chiang smiled, pleased that he, of all of them, had been the one Li Min had chosen, for to him would be given the credit for this momentous event. He turned his head, looking about him, pride at his own achievements filling him. Ten years ago he had been nothing. Nothing. But now he was Head of the Red Flower, a Great Man with the power of life and death over others. Sheng Min-chung had spoken true. It was not what a man had been born, it was what he became.
Fu Chiang, "the Priest," Big Boss of the Red Flower Triad, puffed out his chest, then looked to his fellow Lords, gesturing for them to follow him through into the banquet hall.
"Ch'un tzu . . ."
ROCKET LAUNCHERS SWIVELED AUTOMATICALLY, tracking Lehmann's cruiser as it came in over the mountains, while from the cockpit's speakers came a constant drone of Mandarin.
"Impressive," Lehmann said tonelessly, looking past the pilot at Fu I's fortress. Beyond its sturdy walls and watchtowers the Atlas Mountains stretched into the misted distance, while beneath it a sheer cliff dropped four thousand ch'i into a wooded valley.
Visak, in the copilot's seat, took a brief peek at his Master's face, then turned back, swallowing nervously.
"You know what to do?" Lehmann asked.
Visak nodded. He was to do nothing, not even if they threatened Lehmann. He wanted to question that—to say, Are you sure?—but Lehmann had given his orders and they were not to be questioned or countermanded. Not for any reason.
The pilot leaned forward, flicked one of the switches on the panel in front of him, then nodded. "Hao pa . . ." Okay. He looked up at Lehmann. "We've got clearance to land. You want to go in?"
Lehmann nodded, watching as the massive stone walls of the fortress passed beneath them. And all the while the rocket launchers tracked them. At any moment they could be shot from the sky.
He gets off on this! Visak thought, stealing another glance. He actually likes risking his life!
Slowly, very slowly, they moved out over the drop.
Visak took a long breath. If they shoot us now we'll fall five li. That was, if there was anything to fall.
The pad came into sight, farther down the ragged crest of the peak. Five sleek black cruisers sat there already. Between the oval pad and the fortress a transparent lift-chute climbed the sheer rock face.
Impressive's an understatement, Visak thought, certain now that they'd made a mistake.
If he got out of this alive, he would quit at the earliest opportunity. Get his face changed and leave Europe on the first flight out. Away, far away from this madman and his insane, life-endangering risks.
He flexed his hands, realizing he had been clenching them, then looked up again. Lehmann was watching him.
"You okay?"
He nodded. Through the screen of the cockpit the rock face came closer and yet closer. For a moment the whine of the engines rose, drowning the chatter of the speakers, and then, with the faintest shudder, the craft set down.
The engines whined down through several octaves, then fell silent. A moment later there was a sharp click and the door hissed open.
"Okay," Lehmann said, patting his shoulder. "Let's do business."
IT WAS A SMALL COURTYARD, no more than five ch'i to a side, set off from the rest of the palace and reached through a moon door set into a plain white wall. Shadow halved the sunlit space, its edge serrated, following the form of the ancient, steep-tiled roof. In one corner, in a simple rounded pot with lion's feet, was a tiny tree, its branches twisted like limbs in agony, its tight leaf-clusters separate, distinct from one another so that each narrow, wormlike branch stood out, stretched and melted, black like iron against the background whiteness. In the center of the courtyard was a tiny fountain, a shui shih, its twin, lion-headed jets still—two tiny mouths of silence.
Gregor Karr stood there in full Colonel's uniform, waiting for Li Yuan, conscious of the peacefulness, the harmony, of this tiny place at the heart of the ancient palace of Tongjiang. A leaf floated in the dark water of the fountain's circular pool like a silver arrowhead. Karr looked at it and smiled, strangely pleased by its presence. Sunlight fell across his shoulders and warmed the right side of his face. It was an oddly pleasant sensation, and though he had been often outside the City, he had never felt so at ease with only the sky above him.
He was looking up when Li Yuan stepped through the great circular space of the moon door and came into the courtyard. The T'ang smiled, seeing the direction of his Colonel's gaze, then lifted his own face to the sky.