"He's beautiful, Yuan. Really beautiful." She shivered, looking back at the horse, her hand resting in its mane, then lowered her head slightly. "You shouldn't have, my love. I have a horse already."
Yuan swallowed, moved by her reaction. "I know, but I wanted to. As soon as I saw him I knew you'd love him." He moved closer, into the dimness of the stall itself, and stood there beside her, his hand resting gently on the horse's flank.
She looked up at him, her eyes smiling through the tears. "Has he a name?"
"He has. But if you want to you can rename him."
She looked back at the Arab. "No. Look at him, Yuan. He is himself, don't you think? A T'ang among horses."
He smiled. "That he is, my love. An Emperor. And his name is Tai Huo."
She studied the Arab a moment longer, then turned back, meeting Li Yuan's eyes again. "Great Fire . . . Yes, it suits him perfectly." Her eyes searched Yuan's face, awed, it seemed, by his gift. Then, unexpectedly, she knelt, bowing her head until it touched her knees. "My husband honors me beyond my worth . . ."
At once he pulled her up. "No, Fei Yen. Your husband loves you. I, Yuan, love you. The rest. . ." he shuddered, "well, I was mistaken. It was wrong of me."
"No." She shook her head, then lifted her eyes to his. "I spoke out of turn. I realize that now. It was not my place to order your household. Not without your permission."
"Then you have my permission."
His words brought her up short. "Your permission? To run your household?"
He smiled. "Of course. Many wives do, don't they? And why not mine? After all, I have a clever wife."
Her smile slowly broadened; then, without warning, she launched herself at him, knocking him onto his back, her kisses overwhelming him.
"Fei Yen!"
There was laughter from the nearby stalls, then a rustling of straw as the watching grooms moved back.
He sat up, looking at her, astonished by her behavior; then he laughed and pulled her close again, kissing her. From the stalls nearby came applause and low whistles of appreciation. He leaned forward, whispering in her ear. "Shall we finish this indoors?"
In answer she pulled him down on top of her. "You are a Prince, my love," she said softly, her breath hot in his ear, "you may do as you wish."
JOEL hammond stood in the doorway, watching the boy unpack his things. They had barely spoken yet, but he was already conscious that the boy was different from anyone he had ever met. It was not just the quickness of the child, but something indefinable, something that fool Spatz hadn't even been aware of. It was as if the boy were charged with some powerful yet masked vitality. Hammond smiled and nodded to himself. Yes, it was as if the boy were a compact little battery, filled with the energy of knowing; a veiled light, awaiting its moment to shine out and illuminate the world.
Kim turned, looking back at him, as if conscious suddenly of his watching eyes.
"What did you do before you came here, Shih Hammond?"
"Me?" Hammond moved from the doorway, picking up the map Kim had set down on the table. "I worked on various things, but the reason I'm here is that I spent five years with SimFic working on artificial intelligence."
Kim's eyes widened slightly. "I thought that was illegal? Against the Edict?"
Hammond laughed. "I believe it was. But I was fortunate. The T'ang is a forgiving man. At least, in my case he was. I was pardoned. And here I am."
He looked back down at the map again. "This is the Tun Huang star chart, isn't it? I saw it once, years ago. Back in college. Are you interested in astronomy?"
The boy hesitated. "I was." Then he turned, facing Hammond, his dark eyes looking up at him challengingly. "Spatz says he's going to keep me off the Project. Can he do that?"
Hammond was taken aback. "1—"
The boy turned away, the fluidity of the sudden movement—so unlike anything he had ever seen before—surprising Hammond. A ripple of fear passed down his spine. It was as if the boy were somehow more and, at the same time, less human than anyone he had ever come across. For a moment he stood there, his mouth open, astonished; then, like a thunderbolt, it came to him. He shuddered, the words almost a whisper.
"You're Claybom, aren't you?"
Kim took a number of books from the bottom of his bag and added them to the pile on the desk, then looked up again. "Yes. I lived there until I was six."
Hammond shuddered, seeing the boy in a totally new light. "I'm sorry. It must have been awful."
Kim shrugged. "I don't know. I can't remember. But I'm here now. This is my home."
Hammond looked about him at the bare white walls, then nodded. "Yes. Yes, I suppose it is." He put the chart down and picked up one of the books. It was Liu Hui's Chiu Chang Suan Shu, "Nine Chapters on the Mathematical Art," the famous third-century treatise from which all Han science began. He smiled and opened it, surprised to find it in the original Mandarin. Flicking through, he noticed the notations in the margin, the tiny, beautifully drawn pictograms in red and black and green.
"You speak Kuo-yu, Kim?"
Kim straightened the books, then turned, looking back at Hammond. He studied him a moment, intently, almost fiercely; then he pointed up at the overhead camera. "Does that thing work?"
Hammond looked up. "Not yet. It'll be two or three days before they've installed the system."
"And Spatz? Does he speak Kuo-yu—Mandarin?"
Hammond considered a moment, then shook his head. "I'm not sure. I don't think so, but I can check easily enough. Why?"
Kim was staring back at him, the openness of his face disarming Hammond. "I'm not naive, Shih Hammond. I understand your position here. You're here on sufferance. We're alike in that. We do what we're told or we're nothing. Nothing."
Hammond shivered. He had never thought of it in quite those terms, but it was true. He put the book down. "Yes. But I still don't follow you. What is all this leading to?"
Kim picked the book up and opened it at random, then handed it back to Hammond.
"Read the first paragraph."
Hammond read it, pronouncing the Mandarin with a slight southern accent, then looked back at Kim. "Well?"
"I thought so. I saw how you looked at it. I knew at once that you'd recognized the title."
Hammond smiled. "So?"
Kim took the book back and set it beside the others on the shelf. ,;
"How good is your memory?" i > . , :•
"Pretty good, I'd say."
"Good enough to hold a code?" , •
"A code?"
"When you go back, Spatz will order you not to speak to me about anything to do with the Project. He'll instruct you to keep me away from all but the most harmless piece of equipment."
"You know this?"
Kim looked round. "It's what he threatened shortly before you arrived. But I know his type. I've met them before. He'll do all he can to discredit me."
Hammond laughed and began to shake his head; then he stopped, seeing how Kim was looking at him. He looked down. "What if I don't play his game? What if I: refuse to shut you out?"
"Then he'll discredit you. You're vulnerable. He knows you'll have to do what he-says. Besides, he'll set a man to watch you. Someone you think of as a friend."
"Then what can I do?"
"You can keep a diary. On your personal comset. Something that will seem completely innocent when Spatz checks on it."
"I see. But how will you get access?"
"Leave that to me." Kim turned away, taking the last of the objects from the bag and putting it down on the bedside table.
"And the code?"
Kim laughed. "That's the part you'll enjoy. You're going to become a poet, Shih Hammond. A regular Wang Wei."
devore sat at his desk in the tiny room at the heart of the mountain. The door was locked, the room unlit but for the faint glow of a small screen on one side of the desk. It was late, almost two in the morning, yet he felt no trace of tiredness. He slept little—two or three hours a night at most—but just now there was too much to do to even think of sleep.