"Okay," Uncle Cho said, stepping out and beginning to putt the gate open. "But make it quick now. I've had a long day."
Chuang putted the door to, so that she wouldn't be seen, then placed her ear to it, listening. There was the metallic dick of boots against the cobbles of the yard, the creak of the outer gate and then the sound of a cart being wheeled in.
For a moment there was silence, then came the sound of a heavy doth being pulled back.
Cho made a noise of surprise. "Aiya," he said softiy but distinctly. "What happened to them?"
"Never you mind. Just store them and burn them. And say nothing, understand? This is your clearance."
In her mind Chuang saw the officer hand across a document; saw her Uncle open and study it before he grunted his assent. "I can't argue with this," he said finally, a hint of resignation in his voice, "but I don't like it."
"You aren't asked to like it," another voice, more sophisticated than the first, said sharply. "Just do what you're paid for, Oven Man, and hold your tongue."
There were more noises - the shuffling of feet, booted footsteps, the creak of the outer gate - then silence.
She waited a moment then, slipping the catch, went out to him.
He was standing on the far side of the yard, half crouched over the cart. Hearing her he made to cover it over but she stayed his hand.
"Let me see," she said, stepping past him then walking round the cart, taking it att in.
She had seen many corpses - many more dead than living if she thought about it - but few that were as grotesque, as badly damaged as these. There was no doubt about it - they showed the signs of torture. Not only that but they had been strangled. The cords were stitt tight about their necks, their tongues poking black from their open mouths.
"Who were they?" she asked, looking to him.
He shrugged, unable to keep from looking at them, his eyes, which had seen so much, appalled by this. She leaned across and putted the rough doth over them once more.
"Lock the gate," she said, seeing how he was, mother to him at that moment.
He nodded then went to do as she said.
"Good," she said, watching him. "Then move the cart into the shed. Well deal with this in the morning."
Again he nodded, as if in trance.
She let a long breath hiss between her teeth then turned, looking at the covered cart. In the dim light of the lamp she saw how blood had dripped onto the wheels and pooled beneath the cart. No doubt a tiny trail of blood led to their door.
Fresh killed, she thought. Or else the blood would have congealed.
She shuddered. They had been touched tonight. Touched by the evil that emanated from that woman's palace. The shadows that flittered here and there about the City had tonight landed in their yard.
She looked up at the sky, remembering the butterfly. GenSyn it had been. A camera eye.
The cart creaked. She looked down in time to see the cart disappear inside the shed. A moment later the Oven Man emerged, closing the double doors behind him.
"Come, Uncle," she said, putting out a tiny hand for him to take, conscious suddenly of how small she was compared to him, how frail, and yet in this much stronger. "Let's get some sleep."
It was easy to do. Every house on Teng Sung Lane had a water barrel out in the front, facing the alleyway, where the water-bringer could fill them up each morning from his cart. There were filters, naturally, but they were intended to cope with dust and insects and the like, not with the malice of a wilful boy. It was simple to remove a filter and replace it afterwards. The poison was a white powder, tasteless and odourless - deliberately so, for rats had far more sensitive and discerning palates than humans - and it needed little to achieve its intended end.
From where he squatted on a first floor balcony at the far end of the alley, hidden from curious eyes behind the carved lattice, Josef watched the dawn come up and saw the water-bringer make his rounds. One house in particular - the house with the green doors halfway along the watt that ran the alley's length -
interested him more than the others. It was there he'd laid his bait. He watched the water-bringer park his shining metal cart beside it and lift the water-barrel's lid to fill it, unaware.
People came and went. An hour passed. Slowly the City woke, the alley filling with locals, shaking out rugs and greeting each other, stopping a moment to talk. There was the clatter of cooking utensils from within a dozen households, the sound of a baby crying. Below that there was the noise from a dozen screens, voices, an angry shout. Ordinary sounds. Sounds that one might hear throughout the width and breadth of the great city.
The green doors were the last to open. Josef 'leaned forward, suddenly intent, watching as the mother of the house - a tall Han in her forties - came out and filled a jug from the water-barrel. For a moment she stood there in the morning sunlight, her head thrown back, one hand on her hip as she talked to a neighbour, then she returned inside, the doors pulled shut behind her.
He waited, tensed now, expectant, imagining her actions. First she would boil the water, then she would add it to the pot to make the breakfast ch'a. Yes, he could see the fitted and steaming chung resting there in the middle of the kitchen table, innocuous yet deadly. .
For a time nothing, then, distinct above the other normal sounds, a groan - a groan so deep, so filled with pain that he knew without doubt it had begun. It came again, louder, longer than before. There was a shout, then the sound of someone retching. Josef pushed himself up, his tiny hands gripping the smooth edge of the lattice.
There was a fumbling at the latch and then the green doors burst open. A young man, naked from the waist up, staggered out into the alky and collapsed, his hands at his throat, as if he were choking himself to death. From inside there came the sound of screaming.
Josef watched, his eyes taking in everything, seeing how neighbours rushed to help. But there was nothing they could do. The poison was deadly and efficient. Whoever had drunk the ch'a would be dead by now.
As the young man shuddered and lay still, Josef turned and slipped away over the rooftops, picking his way barefoot across the tiles with the deftness of a cat.
Dropping into his yard, he heard his mother's voice at once, chiding his long-suffering father for not keeping a better eye on him.
"He's out of control, thatchild. . . you know it and I know it. If you don't do something ..."
"Do something? What can I do?He's a law unto himself, that one. Seven and you'd think he was seventy. He was born old, that one. Sometimes I think ..."
"What?" Josef could almost see her turn upon his father, her eyes glaring. "What do you almost think?"