He had never been into one of the Imperial Solariums before. Even as district magistrate, responsible for the lives of the twenty thousand people in his deck, he had lacked the status to enter such a place. Now, however, as third secretary to Yang Lai, he had been permitted to place his name on the list. But the list was a list, like all the others in this world—interminable. It would be many years and several more promotions before he would find himself inside for reasons of leisure.
The outer doors slid back and he made to go through.
An armed guard barred his way, indicating with his gun that Pi Ch'ien should go into the antechamber to his left. With a bow Pi Ch'ien did as he was bidden. Inside, in front of a vast, brightly colored tapestry that filled the whole of the back wall, an official sat at a desk. The man scanned the screen in front of him, then looked up, smiling.
"Good evening, Third Secretary Pi. I am First Steward Huong. Might I ask the purpose of your visit?"
Pi Ch'ien bent his head respectfully.
"Greetings, First Steward Huong. I have but a trivial message to deliver. For His Serene Excellency, Junior Minister Yang Lai. Ten thousand pardons for imposing on you like this, for it is a matter of the least urgency."
He looked up, holding out the almost translucent message card for the Steward's inspection. Both men knew it was immensely important.
"Forgive me, Third" Secretary Pi, but might I have that?"
Again Pi Ch'ien lowered his head. "My deepest apologies, First Steward Huong. Nothing would please me more than to oblige you, but I am afraid that is not possible. I was instructed to place the message, unimportant as it is, only in the hands of the most illustrious Junior Minister himself."
Steward Huong stood, then came around his desk to stand beside Pi Ch'ien. "I understand, Third Secretary Pi. We are but our masters' hands, eh?" He smiled again, all courtesy now. "If you would be so kind as to permit me, I shall inform the Junior Minister."
Pi Ch'ien bowed, feeling a pang of disappointment. He was not to go inside, then?
"Please, follow me, Third Secretary," the Steward said, making the slightest bow, his head barely lowered as befitted their relative positions. "Junior Minister Yang is witr* the Minister himself and may not be disturbed at once. However, I will have a maid come and serve tea for you while you wait."
Pi Ch'ien bowed again, delighted by the courtesy he was being shown. He followed the official out and down a wide, high-ceilinged corridor, on the walls of which hung a series of huge shanshui landscape paintings, depicting rugged peaks and pleasantly wooded valleys.
Where the corridor turned he had a brief glimpse of another, more ornate passageway lined with bronze statues of gods and dragons, and at its end, a huge, brightly lit chamber—the solarium itself. They walked on until they came to a small but plushly decorated room, hung with colorful tapestries.
First Steward Huong turned to him and smiled, indicating that he should enter and take a seat. "Please be assured, I will keep you no longer than I must, Third Secretary. The maid, meanwhile, will see to all your needs." Then, with a bow, he was gone.
Almost at once a maid entered from a door to one side. She was wearing powder-blue er-silks with a pattern of tiny yellow sunflowers. Smiling, she set down the tray she was carrying on a low table at Pi Ch'ien's side, then knelt and bowed low to him. Straightening up, she poured the ch'a and offered it to him, her eyes averted. He took the cup, studying her closely. She was a pretty little thing, her skin almost'white, her dark, fine hair tied with silk ribbons of blue and yellow. He looked down at her feet and saw, with satisfaction, how petite she was.
"You would like something else, sir?"
He leaned forward and gently drew§ back the hair to reveal her neck. It was as he had thought. There was a small circular mark low down on the left hand side of the neck, close to the collarbone. A capital G with a smaller S inside, the letters English, but the style—the brushwork of the design—pure Han. She was GenSyn. Artificial.
He hesitated, not knowing how long the Junior Minister would be, nor what etiquette prevailed here. Then he remembered the First Steward Huong's words. The maid will see to all your needs. Screwing up his courage, he told the girl to close the door.
As she turned to face him again, he beckoned her back. Then, making her bow before him, he opened the front of his cloak and drew her head down into his naked lap.
"Here, girl. See to me."
THE THREE MEN in the craft had been masked and silent. Even so, Kao Jyan had recognized them as Hung Mao— whites—from the sour, milky scent of their sweat. It had surprised him. His own guesses had taken him in another direction. But even as the craft set down on the roof of the City he was adding this new fragment to what he already knew.
When the door hissed open he went through quickly, followed by Chen. The dome of the Imperial Solarium was directly ahead of them, no more than a Ji—five hundred meters— distant; a vast hemispherical blister, lit from within. Half a li farther on was the maintenance shaft. The two assassins ran, side by side, in silence, knowing that if others hadn't done their work properly they were already as good as dead.
But it would be dkay. Jyan sensed it. Every step he took made him more certain of it. He was beginning to see how things connected; could even begin to make guesses as to names and motives.
There were those who would pay well to know such things. Who would grant amnesties, perhaps, to those who were merely the tools of other men.
Coming closer to the dome Jyan slowed, looking about him. The moon was much lower now, over to the right of them. In its light it seemed as,though they were running on the surface of a giant glacier.
"Circle left," he said softly to Chen. But it was unnecessary. Chen was already moving out around the dome toward the shaft. It was his job to secure it while Jyan was at work.
Jyan stopped, looking down at the dragon on his wrist. Timing was crucial now. He had four minutes to climb the outer wall, then three minutes apiece after that to position and set each of the four charges. That left nine minutes to get into the shaft and away. If all went well it would be easy.
If aft went well Jyan took a deep breath, steeling himself.
He knelt, then reached behind him. Four catches fastened the lightweight parcel. Gently his fingers released the catches and eased the cloth-wrapped package from his back. Carefully he laid it in his lap and, with delicate, practiced movements, drew back the thin folds of cloth.
The four plate-sized hoops had been bound together tightly with a hair-fine wire. They were a dull bronze in color, unmarked except in one place, where it seemed the finger-thick cords joined upon themselves, like snakes swallowing their tails. Quickly, carefully, he untied the wire knots and separated the hoops into two piles on his upper thighs. They were warm to the touch, as if alive. With the slightest shudder he pulled two of them up over his left arm, looping them gently over his shoulder, then did the same with the others, securing them about his right shoulder.
Taking a deep breath, he stood again. Chen was out of sight, behind the dome. Quickly Jyan ran the final distance to the dome's base and crouched there, breathing easily. From the pocket over his heart he took out the claws and clicked them open. Separating them, he eased them onto his hands, respecting the razor-sharpness of their tips. That done, he began to climb.
LWO RANG, son of Lwo Chun-Yi and Minister of the Edict, sat back in his tall-backed chair and looked around the circle of men gathered about him. The folds of his salmon-pink pau hung loosely about him and his olive flesh glistened damply in the dome's intense light. He had a strong but somehow ugly fece;. his eyes too big, his nose too broad, his ears too pendulous. Yet when he smiled the faces of the dozen men seated about him returned his smile like mirrors. Just now, however, those men were silent and watchful, conscious that their lord was angry.