"Prayers, cousin Ma?" Li Yuan laughed gently. "Has it come to that?"
Tsu Ma met his eyes somberly. "Maybe that's the answer, Yuan. Prayers and chanting, bells, icons and incense ... as in the old days."
Wu Shih, watching him, frowned. "Are you serious, Tsu Ma?"
Tsu Ma turned, smiling bleakly. "No, my dear friend. I would sooner allow our cousin Wang to cut my throat than have us return to those dreadful times. Yet from recent reports it seems that such thinking is rife, even as high up as the Mids. There is a need among them. Something that the City does not satisfy."
Li Yuan nodded. "I too have heard such things. Of new cults, new movements in the lowers. My forces try the best they can to uproot such growths, yet the garden is long untended, the weeds many. I fear the day will come when we must relinquish such regions to the darkness."
Wu Shih sighed. "I confess that is how I also feel. I tell myself that we must prevail, yet in my heart of hearts 1 am uncertain."
Tsu Ma nodded. "We must face the truth, cousins. It is as Wang said, that day at Astrakhan when we first saw how things were to be among us. We live in new times. There are new ways of thinking and behaving. It is said that in my great-grandfather's day everything under Heaven, yes, even the wan wu, the ten thousand things themselves, would bow before the sound of his voice, the solemn glare of his eye. But now?" He laughed sourly. "Well, our eyes have lost their fierce glow, our voices their terrifying power. Or so it would seem, neh? And our Cities . . . our Cities are filled with the shadows of fear and ignorance and hatred. And how can one fight such shadows?"
"And yet we must."
"Yes, cousin Yuan. And we must also guard against these other, inner shadows—the shades of fear and despair. For we who rule are not as other men. If we fall, who will stand in our place? If we fall, all is lost."
A heavy, brooding silence fell, and then, unexpectedly, the screen behind them lit up once more.
"Cousins..."
It was Wang Sau-leyan. His moon-shaped face filled the great screen, smiling, as if he saw them.
"Wu Shih . . . you spoke well tonight. Indeed, you spoke for us all when you said that this was a new beginning, a new chance to make things right. So it is, cousin. So it is. But time alone will show just how important this moment is. It is a joyous moment, a truly great moment for the Seven and for the people of Chung Kuo. Let us go forward from this moment and build upon that vision of a new age. I, for one, will not hesitate to strive toward that goal. You can be assured of my continued support in Council for all measures designed to bring that aim about."
The smile broadened momentarily, like a fracture in that pallid expanse of flesh, and then, unexpectedly, Wang bowed his head.
"And so I bid you good night, cousin Wu. Likewise to my cousins, Tsu Ma and Li Yuan. May the gods protect you and your loved ones."
The screen blanked. Below it the three T'ang sat in stunned silence, staring at each other. At last Tsu Ma broke the spell.
"Now what in the gods' names was that about? What is that calculating bastard up to now?"
"Whatever it is," Wu Shih said irritably, "you can be certain of one thing—that our effusive cousin means not a single word of what he said."
"Maybe not," said Li Yuan thoughtfully, "but now, at least, we are forewarned."
"True," said Tsu Ma, leaning back in his chair, a sudden twinkle in his eye. "And there's one, at least, who casts a shadow large enough to fight."
THERE WAS A SUDDEN , violent banging at the door. Emily woke, groping for the gun she always kept at her bedside, her heart hammering. For a moment she thought herself back in her tiny apartment in Munich Hsien, then she realized where she was—America—and sat up, suddenly alert.
There was no gun, only the bedside timer. It was after four and the apartment was in total darkness. For a moment she sat there, breathing shallowly, listening, wondering if she had imagined it, and then it came again.
Mach. It had to be. Security wouldn't have bothered knocking.
She hissed out her anger, then got up quickly and threw on a robe. He had better have a good excuse for waking her at this hour. A fucking beauty of an excuse.
She stabbed the view button angrily, studying herself briefly in the wall-length mirror beside the door, then looked back at the screen.
"Michael..."
Michael was leaning against the wall beside the door, his closely cropped head lowered, his body slumped forward, as if he were ill. As she watched he swayed back slightly and looked up at the camera, bleary eyed.
No, not ill. Drunk.
She studied herself in the wall-length mirror, wondering what he wanted of her, then, with a tiny shudder, slammed her hand over the door-release pad.
He stood there unsteadily, simply looking at her. She made to chastise him, then stopped, catching her breath.
"Michael. . ." she said, pained by the sight of him. "What is it?"
He looked away, then looked back at her, tears welling in his eyes.
She had never seen him like this. Never seen him anything but strong, resourceful, positive, even when things had seemed hopeless. But that look in his eyes had been dreadful. She had never seen such misery, such a vast, despairing sense of loss.
"Come on," she said gently, putting her shoulder under his arm to support him. She drew him inside and closed the door behind them. "Let's have some ch'a. You can tell me all about it."
"It's finished," he said, shuddering, his face screwed up in sudden torment. "There's no going back. It's ended between us."
She stared at the side of his face, wondering what he meant.
"Who . . . ?" she began, then understood.
"He pissed on me, Em. The old fucker pissed on me."
The words were angry, accusing. But the anger of the woros was underlaid with a raw hurt that genuinely surprised her.
She sat him down in the kitchen in one of the big chairs, then began to prepare the ch'a, her mind racing.
"It was Kennedy," he said, telling her what she already knew. "It was his idea. He thought it would help things. Take the pressure off. Give us some breathing space in which to raise some funds and develop our campaign. It seemed like a good thing to do at the time. But I didn't. . ."
Again his voice broke, betraying him. He closed his eyes, squeezing the lids tightly shut, but still the tears came, defying his every effort to hold them back.
"I didn't know," she said softly, sympathetically. "I thought you hated him."
"Hated him?" He laughed and opened his eyes again, staring at her almost soberly. "I could never hate him, Em. Never. He's my father. He's. . ."
Again he could not go on.
"So what happened?" she asked, coaxing him gently. "What did he say?"
He took a deep, shuddering breath, then shook his head. "It wasn't what he said, it was how he did it. He had his cronies there. You know, that crowd he's roped in to fund his immortality project. I wanted to speak to him alone, but he wouldn't have it. He wouldn't even let me into the room. And then. . ." He licked his lips, then carried on. "Well, it was hopeless. He doesn't want to know." He looked up at her forlornly. "He wants me to be a slave to him—to do everything he says. And I can't do that, Em, I can't! He asks too much. He always has."
"I see . . ." But she didn't. Not yet. This was something specific. Something he was holding back from her.
She turned away, busying herself a moment, pouring the ch'a. When she turned back it was to find him leaning forward in the chair, watching her strangely.
"What is it?" she said, setting the bowl down on the table beside him. "What aren't you telling me?"
He laughed, but it was a strangely forlorn sound. "You're a good woman, Em. And not just good at your job. There's something about you. Some quality . . ." He shrugged and sat back slightly, his movements awkward, slightly exaggerated, as if he were trying hard to control himself. "I saw it from the first. Even before you started working for me. I noticed you. Did you know that? 1 used to look out for you in my father's offices. I..."