Yes, it had been immensely satisfying. Fan's face had been a perfect picture as he attempted to swallow his massive pride and come to terms with the fact of the boy's influence. He had been almost apoplectic with unexpressed anger.
Heng Yu gave a little chuckle, then turned to face his young cousin.
"Something amuses you, Uncle?"
"Yes, Chian-ye. Some business I did earlier. But come now, I need you to take these documents for me." He picked up two of the copies and handed them across. "This first copy must be handed directly to Chung Hu-yan and no one else, and this to Nan Ho at Tongjiang. Both men will be expecting you."
"Is that all, Uncle Yu?"
Heng Yu smiled. It was a moment for magnanimity. "No, Chian-ye. I am pleased with the way you have served me this past week. In view of which I have decided to review the matter of your allowance. In respect of past and future duties as my personal assistant, you will receive an additional sum of twenty-five thousand yuan per year."
Heng Chian-ye bowed low, surprised yet also greatly pleased. "You are most generous, Uncle Yu. Be assured, I will strive hard to live up to the trust you have placed in me."
"Good. Then get going, Chian-ye. These papers must be in the hands of their respective agents within the next six hours."
Heng Yu watched his cousin leave, then stood, stretching and yawning. There was no doubting it, this matter—of little substance in itself—had served him marvelously. He laughed, then looked about him, wondering momentarily what his uncle, Chian-ye's father, would have made of it.
And the matter of the Melfi Clinic?
That, too, could be used. Was something to be saved until the time was ripe. For though his uncle Heng Chi-po had been a greedy, venal man, he had been right in one thing. Information was power. And those who had it wielded power.
Yes. And never more so than in the days to come. For Chung Kuo was changing fast. New things were rising from the depths of the City. Things he would do well to know about.
Heng Yu, Minister to the T'ang, nodded to himself, then reached across and killed the light above his desk.
Which was why, in the morning, he had arranged to meet the merchant Novacek. To offer him a new arrangement—a new commodity to trade in, one he would pay handsomely to possess.
Information.
EPILOGUE I SUM HER 2207
Fallen Petals
The guests are gone from the pavilion high,
In the small garden flowers are whirling around.
Along the winding path the petals lie;
To greet the setting sun, they drift up from the ground.
Heartbroken, I cannot bear to sweep them away; From my eager eyes, spring soon disappears. I pine with passing, heart's desire lost for aye; Nothing is left but a robe stained with tears.
—LI SHANG-YIN, Faffing Flowers, ninth century A.D.
LI YUAN reined in his horse and looked up. On the far side of the valley, beyond the tall, narrow spire of Three Swallows Mount, a transporter was banking, heading for the palace, two li distant. As it turned he saw the crest of the Ywe Lung emblazoned on its fuselage and frowned, wondering who it was. As far as he knew his father was expecting no one.
He turned in his saddle, looking about him. The grassy slope led down to a dirt track that followed the stream for a short way, then crossed a narrow wooden bridge and snaked south toward Tongjiang. He could follow that path back to the palace or he could finish the ride he had planned, up to the old monastery, then south to the beacon. For a moment longer he hesitated, caught in two minds. It was a beautiful morning, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue; the kind of morning when one felt like riding on and on forever, but he had been out three hours already, so maybe it was best if he got back. Besides, maybe his father needed him. Things had been quiet recently. Too quiet. Maybe something had come up.
He tugged at the reins gently, turning the Arab's head, then spurred her on with his heels, leading her carefully down the slope and along the path, breaking into a canter as he crossed the bridge. He was crossing the long meadow, the palace just ahead of him, when a second transporter passed overhead, the insignia of the Marshal clearly displayed on the undersides of its stubby wings. Yuan slowed, watching as it turned and landed on the far side of the palace, a cold certainty forming in his guts.
It had begun again.
At the stables he all but jumped from the saddle, leaving the groom to skitter about the horse, trying to catch hold of the reins, while he ran on, along the red-tiled path and into the eastern palace.
He stopped, breathless, at the door to his fathers suite of rooms, taking the time to calm himself, to run his fingers quickly through his unruly hair; but even as he made to knock, Chung Hu-yan, his father's Chancellor, drew the door of the anteroom open and stepped out, as if expecting him.
"Forgive me, Prince Yuan," he began, without preamble, "but your father has asked me if you would excuse him for an hour or so. A small matter has arisen, inconsequential in itself, yet urgent."
Yuan hesitated, wondering how far he could push Hu-yan on this, but again Hu-yan pre-empted him.
"It is nothing you can help him with, Prince Yuan, I assure you of that. It is a ... personal matter, let us say. No one has died, nor is the peace of Chung Kuo threatened, yet the matter is of some delicacy. In view of special circumstances your father thought it best that he consult his cousin Tsu Ma and the Marshal. You understand, I hope?"
Yuan stood there a moment longer, trying to read something in Chung Hu-yan's deeply creased face, but the old man's expression was like a wall, shutting him out. He laughed, then nodded.
"I am relieved, Hu-yan. I had thought. . ."
But he had no need to say. It had been on all their minds these past few months. Where would their enemies strike next? Who would they kill? In many respects this peace was worse than the War that had preceded it; a tenuous, uncertain peace that stretched the nerves almost to breaking point.
He smiled tightly, then turned away, hearing the door pulled closed behind him. But even as he walked back he was beginning to wonder what it was that might have brought Tsu Ma so urgently to his father's summons. A personal matter. . . He turned, looking back thoughtfully, then shrugged and turned back, making his way past bowing servants and kneeling maids, hurrying now.
Maybe Fei Yen knew something. She was always hearing snippets of rumor that his own ears hadn't caught, so maybe she knew what this was. And even if she didn't, she had ways of finding such things out. Women's ways.
He laughed and broke into a run. And then maybe he would take her out in the palanquin. One last time before she was too far advanced in her pregnancy. Up to the monastery, perhaps. Or to the beacon.
Yes, they could make a picnic of it. And maybe, afterward, he would make love to her, gently, carefully, there on the grassy hillside, beneath the big open sky of northern China. One last, memorable time before the child came.
He stopped before her door, hammering at it and calling her name, laughing, all of his earlier fears forgotten, his head filled with the thought of the afternoon ahead.
"What is it, Yuan?" she asked, opening the door to him almost timidly, her smile uncertain. "Are you drunk?"
In answer he drew her to him, more roughly than he had meant, and lifted her up, crushing her lips with his own. "Not drunk, my love. No. But happy.
Very happy. . . ."
* * *
Li SHAI TUNG had taken his guests through to the Summer House. Servants had brought ch'a and sweetmeats and then departed, leaving the three men alone. Tolonen stood by the window, looking down the steep slope toward the ornamental lake, while Tsu Ma and Li Shai Tung sat, facing each other, on the far side of the room. So far they had said nothing of importance, but now Li Shai Tung looked up at Tsu Ma and cleared his throat.