He merely turned and, taking his heavy apron from the peg on the wall, slipped it on. Coming over to the slabs, he lifted the first of the corpses and, hefting it over his shoulder, went out into the yard, heading for the Ovens.
She followed him, standing there, watching while he piled the six bodies to one side, then prepared and lit the burners. So many times she'd seen him do this, yet still it held a morbid fascination.
Her eyes went up, tracing the narrow shape of the chimney in the air, noting how the air above it seemed to melt and distort, as if the souls of the departed danced there briefly before travelling on.
"Go inside," he said, turning to look at her, a strange anger in his eyes. "Go in and start the meal."
Yet even as she made to turn away, she knew it was not her he was angry with.
The thought troubled her, for she had never seen her Uncle quite so ill at ease. Looking at his eyes she knew that this matter ate at him. It made him feel used; part not of some natural process -for death was nothing if not natural - but of some evil outpouring emanating from the Imperial Palace. When men could be killed and dumped and burned and no trace of the event remain, what then did life - death's obverse - mean?
The number. It had to mean something. It had to be a due. But to what? And how did she find out?
She returned inside and, taking a pan down from the shelf, poured water from the jug and set it on the stove to bod, then turned, looking back down the hallway, seeing dearly in her mind the mark behind the dead man's ear. It had to mean something . ..
"Have you got it?"
Josef stared up at the boy, whose fingers dug into his neck, and nodded. Fumbling in his pocket he took out the crumpled five yuan notes and handed them across.
"Good," his tormentor said, releasing him, then cuffed him for good measure. "And I want the same next week, understand, littie scab?Right here. Same time, next week."
Josef nodded. Yes, he thought, but you'll not be here to collect it, not if you try to spend what you've just taken from me.
He scuttled away, one hand shielding his face as if he were crying, but in reality he was smiling. The notes were among those he had taken from the apothecary two days back and could be traced. He knew that because he had seen the lao jen painstakingly putting each note he handled through the note-tracer beside the till. It was a simple device, but effective, and security relied on it heavily to cut down the number of petty burglaries.
Well, this time they would find more than they had bargained for.
Stopping behind a bend in the watt, he counted ten then poked his head round, looking back. His tormentor was standing with two friends, laughing, the notes he'd taken held up triumphantly.
Josef watched Chou turn and walk away, and felt a flood of satisfaction wash through him.
The boy's name was Chou and he was a third year at the Seventh District School. A week ago he had ambushed Josef on his way back from the shops and taken money from him. In the brief scuffle the boy had lost his badge - the same badge that now lay in a sealed plastic bag in a security locker at the local Yamen.
Josef smiled, thinking how easy it had been. The robbery was nothing, the poisoning a trifle. Any fool could have done either. But to incriminate another in them, that was a trick that took imagination.
When Chou went to spend his blackmail money the notes would show up on the shop's tracer as stolen and he would be detained. Before long security would discover he was a pupU at Seventh District school and would remember the badge . . . his badge.
But it did not end there, for yesterday evening, while no one was in the building, Josef had gone to the Seventh District school and, climbing in through a skylight, had located Chou's locker. Making sure they were "well hidden" beneath a pile of Chou's sportswear, he had stashed away the remainder of the money -over seven hundred yuan - and the storage jar.
And now, finally, he laughed, picturing the look of astonishment on Chou's face as he watched the security guard pull out the incriminating items. The boy would swear blind he was innocent, of course, but the evidence was overwhelming. The badge, the stolen poison, the money in his locker and the notes he had tried to pass. No court in the entire city would fail to find him guilty.
And guilty meant dead. For murder was a capital offence, even for a thirteen-year-old.
You bit off more than you could chew, he thought, hurrying now, eager to get back home. Eager to await the evening MedFac news and word that a youth had been detained in connection with the poisoning of the family in Teng Sung Lane.
CHAPTER-4
into the black
I Ye sat back, letting the tension ease from him. The tape had ended and once more the room was silent but for his own ragged breathing. Behind him the door to the soundproofed cell was locked. In one corner, a boy lay bound and gagged upon a bench, a tightened cord about his neck, blood smearing his legs and back. I Ye's own hands were also smeared with blood. He stared at them a moment, then, with a shiver, went across and began to wash himself at the sink, studying his own face in the mirror as he did.
He was an ugly man, he knew that, even without the scars he'd picked up in his travels, but ugliness was no bar to advancement, not in Pei K'ung's court. Besides, he was useful to her. Very useful.
I Ye laughed, recalling what he'd seen. To be frank, he was surprised. Surprised not merely by the beauty of the legendary Fei Yen, but by the young T'ang's stamina. That was some performance, one he personally would have been proud of.
Yes, and Fei Yen had been a far from passive partner. The way she had snarled at Li Yuan and raked his back with her nails! He shivered, recalling it, seeing clearly in his mind that savage, almost feral look as she goaded on the young T'ang.
He looked down at his own flaccid manhood and nodded. Men, women, he did not care who he fucked. No, nor how. Yet some, he knew, were particular. Li Yuan, for instance. From what he'd heard the T'ang liked but a single type: young women barely out of puberty. Salacious innocents, like the maids who'd first seduced him in his early teens. In another man that could have been a problem, but for a Tang it was merely a matter of recruitment.
Again he laughed, wondering if the old dog were still as lusty, still as passionate as he'd been in those early days, or whether he'd grown jaded with the years. Did the young maids he took now to his bed merely keep him warm? It would be interesting to know.
I Ye sluiced himself down then turned from the mirror and reached out for a towel, looking across at the dead boy as he dried himself.
A thousand routes led to the Isle of Pleasure, and he was determined to take every one of them. He smiled. Yes, he would even fuck the old hag herself if she asked him. But Fei Yen . . . he felt his penis stiffen at the thought. . . that route he'd never travel, and for that - and that alone - he envied his Master.
He pulled on his uniform then went to the projector and removed the cassette. For a moment he stared at it thoughtfully, wondering how he might use this without endangering himself. Maybe he could incriminate Karr somehow? But how? Plant it on him? No. That was too crude. But there had to be a way.