Back at the apartment, he went through to the end bedroom. Wang Ti was sitting on the bed, packing his kit.
"Where is he?" he said quietly.
She looked up at him, then pointed to the closed door of Jyan's room. There, she mouthed. But leave him be.
He looked at her, then looked down, sighing heavily. Seeing that, she stopped and came across, holding him to her. "What is it?" she asked quietly.
He closed the door, then told her what had happened, explaining what he planned to do. If he acted now, they could trace the note to the youths. That and the evidence of the camera eye would be enough to have the boys demoted to a lower deck. It was the proper way of doing things. The effective way, for it rid the level of that kind of scum. But for once he felt a strong sense of dissatisfaction.
"You were right, Chen," she said softly, her face close to his. "And what you did was right. There must be laws. We cannot live as they did in the old days. It would be like the Net up here if it were otherwise."
"I know," he said, "but I let him down. I could see it in his face. He thinks I am a coward. He thinks I didn't have the guts to face them out."
Wang Ti shook her head, a momentary pain in her eyes. "And you, Chen? Do you consider yourself a coward? No. And nor do I. You are kwai, husband. Whatever clothes you wear, beneath it you will always be kwai. But sometimes it is right to step back, to avoid trouble. You have said so yourself. Sometimes one must bend like a reed."
"A* ya . . ." He turned his head aside, but she drew it back gently.
"Let him be, Chen. He'll come around. Just now his head is filled with heroics. That film you took him to see. His imagination was racing with it. But life is not like that. Sometimes one must concede to get one's way."
He stared back at her, knowing she was right, but some part of him couldn't help thinking that he should have acted. Should have crushed the boy's hand and broken a few of their hot heads. To teach them a lesson.
And impress his son . . .
He looked down. "It hurts, Wang Ti. To have him look at me like that. To have him say those things . . ."
She touched his cheek tenderly, her caress, like her voice, a balm. "I know, my love. But that, too, is a kind of bravery, no? To face that hurt and conquer it. For the good. Knowing you did right." She smiled. "He'll come around, Chen. I know he will. He's a good boy and he loves you. So just leave him be a while, neh?"
He nodded. "Well... I'd best get Deck Security onto it. I've got to report back in a few hours, so there's not much time."
She smiled and turned away, returning to her packing. "And Chen?"
"Yes?" he said, turning at the door, looking back at her.
"Don't do anything silly. Remember what I said. You know what you are. Let that be enough, neh?"
He hesitated, then nodded. But even as he turned away he knew it wasn't.
Damn them! he thought, wondering what it was that twisted men's souls so much that they could not exist without tormenting others.
IN the LONG, BROAD HALLWAY that led to the Hall of the Serene Ultimate it was cool and silent and dimly lit. From the dark, animal mouths of cressets set high in the blood-red walls, naked oil-fed flames gave off a thin watery glow that flickered on the tiled mosaic of the floor and gave a dozen wavering shadows to the slender pillars that lined each side. The long shapes of dragons coiled upward about these pillars in alternating reds and greens, stretching toward the heavens of the ceiling, where in the flicker of dark and light a battle between gods and demons raged in bas relief.
Between the pillars stood the guards, unmoving, at attention, in seven rows of eight, the variations of their ceremonial uniforms noticeable even at first glance. Light glimmered dimly on their burnished armor, revealing the living moistness of their eyes. They faced the outer doors prepared, their lives a wall, defending their lords and masters.
At their back was a second double door, locked now. Beyond it, the Seven sat in conference. There it was warmer, brighter. Each T'ang sat easy in a padded chair, relaxed, his ceremonial silks the only outward sign of ritual. Wang Sau-leyan, host of this Council, was talking now, discussing the package of proposals Li Yuan had set before them.
Li Yuan sat facing Wang, a hard knot of tension in his chest. Earlier, he had been taken aback by the unexpected warmth of the young T'ang of Africa's greeting. He had come expecting coldness, even overt hostility, but Wang's embrace, his easy laughter, had thrown him. And so now. For while his words seemed fair—seemed to endorse, even to embrace Li Yuan's scheme for the days ahead—Li Yuan could not shed the habit of suspicion. Wang Sau-leyan was such a consummate actor—such a natural politician—that to take anything he did or said at face value was to leave oneself open, unguarded, vulnerable to the next twist or turn of his mood.
Li Yuan eased back into the cushions, forcing himself to relax, trying to see through the veil of Wang's words. Beside him, he could sense Tsu Ma shift in his chair. He had glanced at him earlier and seen his own unease mirrored in his cousin's face.
"And so . . .*^Wang said, looking across at Li Yuan again, his smile clear, untroubled. "My feeling is that we must support Li Yuan's ideas. To do otherwise would be unwise, maybe even disastrous." He looked about him, raising his plump hands in a gesture of acceptance. "I realize that I have argued otherwise in the past, but in the last six months I have wrestled with these problems and have come to see that we must face them now, before it is too late. That we must deal with them, resolutely, with the will to overcome all difficulties."
Li Yuan looked down, aware of how closely Wang's words echoed his father's. But was that deliberate on Wang's part or mere unconscious echo? He drew a long breath, deeply uncertain. He had come prepared to fight Wang, to lay siege to his fortress and batter down the door, but Wang had put up no fight. His fortress was unmanned, the great door open.
He looked up, noting how Wang was watching him, and nodded.
"Good," Wang said, turning his head, looking first to Wu Shih, then to Wei Feng, understanding that those two alone remained to be convinced. "In that case, I propose that we draft a much fuller document to be agreed and ratified by us at the next meeting of this Council."
Li Yuan looked to Tsu Ma, surprised. Was that it? Was there to be no sting in the tail?
Tsu Ma leaned forward, a soft laugh forming a prologue to his words. "I am glad that we see eye to eye on this matter, Cousin, but let me make this clear. Are you proposing that we adopt Li Yuan's package of measures, or are you suggesting some . . . alteration of their substance?"
Wang Sau-leyan's smile was disarming. "In essence I see nothing wrong with Li Yuan's proposals, yet in matters of this kind we must make sure that the fine details—the drafting of the laws themselves—are to our satisfaction, neh? To allow too little would be as bad as to allow too much. The changes to the Edict must be regulated finely, as must the laws on population growth. The balance must be right, would you not agree, Wei Feng?"
Wei Feng, addressed unexpectedly, considered the matter a moment. He was looking old these days, markedly tired, and for the last meeting he had let his eldest son, Wei Chan Yin, sit in for him. But this time, in view of the importance of the meeting, he had decided to attend in person. He sat forward slightly, clearly in pain, and nodded.
"That is so, Wang Sau-leyan. And I am gratified to hear you talk of balance. I have heard many things today that I thought not to hear in my lifetime, yet I cannot say you are wrong. Things have changed these last ten years. And if it takes this package of measures to set things right, then we must pursue this course, as my cousin Wang says, resolutely and with the will to overcome all difficulties. Yet we would do well to take our own counsel on the extent and nature of these changes before we make them. We must understand the likely outcome of our actions."