There was the faint rustle of a curtain to his left. Fat Wong turned, facing it, one hand on the knife at his belt, then he relaxed. A scantily dressed young woman stood there, her head bowed.
"Might I take your cloak, Wong Yi-sun?"
Fat Wong studied the girl, noting how delicately she was formed, wondering briefly whether that delicacy were a product of chance or of human manufacture, then he nodded, letting her take the silk from his shoulders. As he turned back, Whiskers Lu appeared on the far side of the room, coming across to embrace him.
"Yi-sun . . ." he said, holding Fat Wong at arm's length, as if he had not seen him in a long while. Then, with a flourish of his arm, he turned, inviting Wong to go through.
Again Wong hesitated, the habit of suspicion shaping his response, then let himself be led through. In a room at the center of the House the other four Bosses were waiting, sitting about in huge, comfortable chairs, drinks and trays of sweetmeats on low tables at their sides. As he entered, they called out, greeting him, as if they were old friends and this a chance to drink and eat and talk of women and past times, whereas the truth was that what they were to discuss today was of the utmost importance, heralding a new phase in their relationship with the Above.
Fat Wong smiled, letting himself fall into the role, accepting the tumbler of wine Whiskers Lu held out to him, knowing that his stomach implant would neutralize its effects. He sat, looking about him, conscious yet again of the refinement of the decor. He had had his advisors dig back into the history of this place and had learned what had happened here with the old Madam, Mu Chua, and the Minor-Family Prince, Hsiang K'ai Fan. It was Mu Chua who had built this place and established its reputation, running the House for more than thirty years. Her death—her throat slit by Hsiang K'ai Fan even as he was fucking her—might easily have been a disaster for Whiskers Lu, but the intercession of Li Yuan's General, Hans Ebert, had saved Lu's skin. In a secret deal negotiated by Ebert, the Hsiang family had agreed to pay Lu Ming-shao twenty-five million yuan in compensation, provided he took no retributive action. With those funds Whiskers Lu had rebuilt the House of the Ninth Ecstasy and installed a new Madam. He had also imported one or two "oddities," things accepted from the Hsiang family in lieu of cash. Among those oddities were one of the GenSyn ox-men and five of GenSyn's famous "Imperial Courtesan" line—the model with the two additional orifices. Such "treasures" had won a new clientele to the House and things were almost as they were.
Whiskers Lu came close, leaning over Wong, his voice lowered to a whisper. "If there is anything you would like to try while you're here, Yi-sun, you are most welcome."
Fat Wong smiled, as if pleased by the offer, but it was yet another instance of Lu Ming-shao's poor breeding. Or his naivete. He studied Whiskers Lu a moment, noting the changes that this last year had brought. Gone was the ragged fur he had once sported about his shoulders; gone too the wild-barbarian look. Lately he had taken to wearing his hair slicked back, his mustache trimmed and waxed. Lu thought it made him look more refined, but the truth was otherwise; it only made his masklike face look more artificial, more foolish. Wong smiled inwardly, then looked past Lu. There, in the comer of the room, was a u«i chi board, set up as if midway through a game. He had heard that Lu Ming-shao had recently taken up the game and this seemed to confirm it. Rumor had it, however, that Whiskers Lu was very bad at the game and had killed two opponents in fits of temper. If so, it was but another thing against him. The time was coming fast when Lu Ming-shao would prove too great an embarrassment to the Hung Mun, and when that day came he, Wong Yi-sun, would be the first to act.
It was another hour before they came to business. Between times there was the usual sparring—the sounding-out of positions before the hard bargaining began. This once, however, there was little to debate and they came quickly to agreement. The matter was a simple one. In a year's time the House at Weimar would be reopened. Before then, candidates had to be selected, elections held. It was an ideal opportunity for the Hung Mun to buy their way in. Rumor had it that the new House would have real power, real influence. If so, it was to the advantage of them all to gain a foothold. The only question was how big a foothold and how much that would cost.
Li the Lidless was speaking, reading from a special report he had had his advisors draw up.
". . . it is also felt that any attempt to spread our net too wide might not only prove a strain upon current resources but might also result in a diminishment of effective influence. It is suggested, therefore, that each of the six brotherhoods concentrate on acquiring the friendship of five Representatives. The resultant pressure group within the House—funded centrally and with the capacity to 'extend' its influence on certain matters within the House; that is, to buy the votes of responsive members—ought to provide a solid foundation for our continued expansion up the levels."
Li Chin sat back, looking about the circle of his fellow 4895. "Long years we have waited in the darkness down below. Now our time has come. We must climb. Up, into the light."
Fat Wong leaned forward, conscious of the receptive mood Li's words had created. "Then we are agreed? Thirty Representatives, to be controlled directly by this Council. Policy and funding to be as outlined in Li Chin's report."
He looked about the circle, seeing how enthusiastically they nodded; how willingly they embraced this next step. For once the potential benefits for all outweighed the petty needs of individual Triads. But how long would that last? How long would it be before one or the other of them tried to win a greater share of influence than their fellows? Once already he had had to deal with such divisions, enlisting Li Yuan's aid to crush his rival, Iron Mu. But next time would be more difficult. Next time he might have to fight them all. Which was why it was important to pacify them just now, to seem to be working with them closely, hand-in-hand, so that he might build up his strength.
Because ultimately he did not want what Li Chin wanted. No. He wanted it all.
Fat Wong turned, looking across at Whiskers Lu once more, and, smiling, his manner deceptively casual, said what had been on his mind all along.
"I hear there has been trouble among your tong, Lu Ming-shao. They say there is a new man, cutting in. I wondered . . ."
He saw the agitated movement of Lu's good eye, the sense of turmoil beneath the glassy mask of his face, and knew he had touched a nerve. But when Whiskers Lu spoke, it was in the same almost-bantering tone he always used.
"It is so, Wong Yi-sun, but when is there not trouble among the lower orders? Besides, the matter is already settled, a new balance found. One must let the little men fight their battles, neh?"
They were good words, and Fat Wong bowed his head, acknowledging them, but all there were aware of the significance of the exchange, for while the rest of them had worked their way up the levels of their respective brotherhoods, Whiskers Lu alone had won his post by conquest. He had not entered the brotherhood as a child, nor was he steeped in the ancient rituals of the Hung Mun. No. Like the "new man" Wong had mentioned, Whiskers Lu was an outsider, a usurper,
and had bullied his way into a position of power. The reminder was thus unwelcome.
"Well, brothers," Whiskers Lu said, standing, his whole manner suggesting that he had already forgotten what had just been said, "now that we are agreed, let us retire to the next room. I have arranged an entertainment. Something rather special. Something ...different."