Ben let his breath out slowly, watching the elders come on, their heads bowed, their eyes lowered before the great man.
Everything made sense. All but one thing. Were Virtanen successful then there was sure to be an inquiry; an in-depth investigation under Li Yuan's direct control. And, as things stood, the finger would point directly at Virtanen.
And that didn't make sense. A man like Virtanen, used to dealing with snakes—to making deals and covering his ass—had to have some kind of get-out.
Ben sat back, pondering the problem; considering what he would do in Virtanen's place. The man looked so confident, so totally at ease. He had to have a plan. He wasn't the kind to sacrifice himself simply for revenge. No, not after waiting so patiently to bring it about. He had had eight years now to brood on the question, so what had he come up with? What devious little scheme was he hatching?
Ben waited. One moment there was nothing, the next. . .
Of course, he thought, his eyes widening as, up on the screen, the elders knelt before Virtanen.
Two of the guards came across, moving between Virtanen and the elders, their guns raised threateningly. There was a moment's angry murmuring and then the elders backed off. As they did so there was a movement behind them, in the doorway of the meetinghouse. A man emerged, half hidden in the shadows; a tall man, maybe a full foot taller than Virtanen and broad at the shoulders. He wore dark silks and his hair was braided. In his hand was a slender silver rod.
Ben smiled, recognizing what it was. It was a piston. A piston from an old combustion engine.
As the man stepped down, a chant began from among the crowd. A low, almost bestial sound that filled the flickering darkness.
"Tewl. . . Tewl. . . Tewl. . ."
Ben switched between the remotes, setting one to track Virtanen's face, the other to focus on the newcomer. Halving the screen, he watched as the two approached each other. Finally they stood there, face to face, no more than an arm's length between them.
The chant died.
Seen from close up, Tewl was an ugly bastard. His broken nose seemed overlong, while his mouth, paralyzed on the left side, seemed to form a perpetually crooked smile. His eyes, however, were hard, and the look he gave Virtanen was like the cold, calculating gaze of a deep ocean predator.
Virtanen, clearly unused to such fierceness, looked aside momentarily, then forced himself to meet that unflinching stare.
"Tewl. . ."
The crooked smile widened, and then Tewl moved closer, embracing Virtanen.
"You came," Tewl said, moving back. And Ben, watching from the darkness miles away, mimicked the sound, the shape that twisted mouth made.
Virtanen's smile was forced. "Your people are ready, Tewl? They know what they have to do?"
Tewl looked past Virtanen at the crowd and nodded. "We know what we have to do. But you? You will keep your promise to us? There will be no more trouble from your forces?"
Virtanen lifted his chin slightly, clearly put out. "You keep your part of the bargain, Tewl, and I give my word. No one will trouble you. The valley will be yours."
Ben nodded. Yes, and as soon as Tewl and his people had taken the Domain, Virtanen would send in his troops. Too late to save the Shepherds, of course, but the intruders would be punished. Conveniently eradicated, down to the last man, woman, and child.
There would be "suicides" among the ranks of those who had served in the Domain; a serious fire at the Central Records Office. Crucial pieces of information would go missing. And a culprit from among the staff of Security would be found, his records conveniently doctored. And he too would be found to have swallowed cyanide rather than face questioning.
And in the end, the T'ang's inquiry would show that Virtanen had acted swiftly and correctly. That he had done all he could to try to save the Shepherds. A slight taint of suspicion would remain, but not enough to spur the T'ang to action. At least, not now when Virtanen's connections with the Triads were so important.
Ben studied the man. There were small signs of tension and unease, but no more than would be natural in such a situation. No. You might take Virtanen at face value. If you knew no better, you might even believe that his word was worth something.
If you knew no better.
Leaving the first remote focused on Virtanen, he switched to the second, turning it slowly, panning across the crowd, the guards, the elders. He was about to pan back when a movement on the far side of the clearing—in the doorway of one of the surrounding huts—caught his attention. He zoomed in.
The girl was standing just inside the door, one pale and slender hand resting on the upright. For a moment he wasn't sure whether it had been a trick of the light, but then, as she emerged again, he saw that he had not been mistaken. That same flame-red hair. Those same green, catlike eyes.
He caught his breath, astonished by the likeness. She was thinner and a good few inches shorter; even so, she could easily have been her sister.
"Catherine . . ." he whispered, staring into her face as if he stood directly before her.
It was as if she was staring past him. Looking out past his shoulder at what was happening on the far side of the clearing. Then, as if dismissing it from her mind, she turned away.
For a moment Ben stared at the empty screen, then he leaned forward, activating the remote, lifting it high above the clearing, then settled it, there on the upright of the doorframe where her hand had rested only moments before.
Across the clearing the two men were still talking. As the tiny, insectlike remote crawled slowly into the dark interior of the hut, Ben tapped into the audio output from the other eye.
Virtanen's voice seemed calm, but there was a tightly restrained anger underlying the words.
"You shouldn't have done it, Tewl. Sending in the raft ... It could have been dangerous. If you'd been seen . . ."
"I had to see," Tewl answered gruffly. "I had to be sure. Besides, my men were careful."
"Maybe so, but you must do what I say in future. One wrong move and all is undone. You understand me, Tewl?"
Inside, the darkness was intense. Ben boosted the image. Slowly the shadows took on a grainy, reddish form. The girl was in the far comer, seated on a low camp bed, her hand up to her neck. As he watched, she shook out her hair and, stretching her head forward, began to comb it through.
Silence. As the comb draws through the flamelike hair, Ben sits there in his father's study, watching, the past alive, vividly alive—in him.
And then darkness. A violent, searing darkness.
the BANGING woke him. Ben turned his head, then winced, the pain intense just above his left ear. Slowly he raised himself, letting his eyes grow accustomed to the darkness. The chair lay close by, the keyboard dangling from its arm. He pulled himself up, conscious of the tart smell of sickness in the room, the hiss of static from the neglected screens.
Like Time, bleeding from the darkness.
It was late. After eleven. He had been out for over two hours this time. It was over two weeks since the last fit, and then he had blacked out for two, three minutes at most. But this had been quite different.
Ben shivered, then put his fingers gently to the wound. The gash was deep, almost an inch long, but there seemed to be no real damage. The blood had clotted well. It felt more tender now than painful.
The banging came again. "Ben! Open up! Please!"
"Coming. . ."
He straightened up the chair and set the keyboard down on the desktop, then cleared the screens. He had no idea whether the remotes were still functioning, or whether anything had been recorded after his fall, but that would have to wait. First he had to see to Meg.
He unlocked the door and tugged it open. Meg was standing there, her face anxious.