Turning sideways, he ducked inside, moving slowly down the cramped passageway, his head scraping the ceiling. Halfway down he stopped, listening again. The sound was closer now, its regular pattern unmistakable. Reaching out, his fingers connected with a grille. He recognized it at once. It was a storage cupboard inset into the wall, like those they had in the dormitories.
Slipping his fingers through the grille, he lifted it, easing it slowly back and up into the slot at the top. He paused, listening again, his hand resting against the bottom edge of the niche, then began to move his fingers inward, searching. . .
Almost at once they met something warm. He drew them back a fraction, conscious of the slight change in the pattern of the woman's breathing. He waited for it to become regular, then reached out again, exploring the shape. It was a hand, the fingers pointing to the left. He reached beyond it, searching, then smiled, his fingers closing about a harder, colder object. Her gun.
For a moment he rested, his eyes closed, listening to the simple rhythm of the woman's breathing, the deep reverberation of the pumps. In the darkness they seemed to form a kind of counterpoint and for a moment he felt himself at ease, the two sounds connecting somewhere deep within him, yin and yang, balancing each other.
The moment passed. Karr opened his eyes into the darkness and shivered. It was a shame. He would have liked it to end otherwise, but it was not to be. He checked the gun, then pulled his visor down, clicking on the lamp. At once the cramped niche filled with light and shadow.
Karr caught his breath, studying the woman. She lay on her side, her face toward the entrance, one hand folded across her breasts. In the pearled glow of the lamp she was quite beautiful, her Asiatic features softened in sleep, her strength—the perfect bone structure of her face and shoulders—somehow emphasized. Like Marie, he thought, surprised by the notion. As he watched she stirred, moving her head slightly, her eyes flickering beneath the lids in dream.
Again he shivered, remembering all he had learned about her in the past few days—recalling what the guard Leyden had said about her, and what the two boys had told Chen. At the same time he could see the murdered youth at the Dragonfly Club and the soft, hideous excess of that place, and for a moment he was confused. Was she realty his enemy? Was this strong, beautiful creature really so different from himself?
He looked away, reminding himself of the oath of loyalty he had made to his T'ang. Then, steeling himself, he raised the gun, placing it a mere finger's length from her sleeping face and clicking off the safety.
The sound woke her. She smiled and stretched, turning toward him. For a moment her dark eyes stared out dreamily, then with a blink of realization, she grew still.
He hesitated, wanting to explain, wanting, just this once, for her to understand.
UT ')
"Don't. . ." she said quietly. "Please . . ."
The words did something to him. He drew the gun back, staring at her, then, changing its setting, he leaned forward again, placing it to her temple.
Afterward he stood there, out in the darkness of the main shaft, the mesh overhead glittering in the upturned light from his visor, and tried to come to terms with what he'd done. He had been resolved to kill her; to end it cleanly, honorably. But faced with her, hearing her voice, he had found himself unmanned— incapable of doing what he'd planned.
He turned, looking back at the shadowed entrance to the passageway. All this| while he had been out of contact—operating under a communications blackout— so in theory he might still kill her or let her go and no one would be the wiser. But he knew now that he would do what duty required of him—and deliver her, stunned, her wrists and ankles bound, into captivity.
Whether it felt right or not. Because that was his job—the thing Tolonen had chosen him to do all those years ago.
Karr sighed; then raising his right hand, he held down the two tiny blisters on the wrist, reactivating the built-in comset.
"Kao Chen," he said softly, "can you read me?"
There was a moment's silence, then the reply came, sounding directly in his head. "Gregor . . . thank the gods. Where are you?"
He smiled, comforted by the sound of Chen's voice. "Listen. I've got her. She's bound and unconscious, but I don't think I can get her out of here on my own. I'll need assistance."
"Okay. I'll get onto that straight away. But where are you? There's been no trace of you for almost two hours. We were worried."
Karr laughed quietly. "Wait. There's a plaque here somewhere." He lowered his visor, looking about, then went across. "All right. You'll need two men and some lifting equipment—pulleys and the like." "Yes," Chen said, growing impatient. "I'll do all that. But tell me where you are You must have some idea."
"It's Level Thirty-one,» Karr said, turning back, playing the beam onto the surface of the plaque, making sure. "Level Thirty-one, Dachau Hsien."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Dead Brother
LI YUAN STOOD on the high terrace at Hei Shui, looking out across the lake. He had come unannounced, directly from a meeting with his ministers. Behind him stood eight of his retainers, their black silks ______merging with the shadows.
A light breeze feathered the surface of the lake, making the tall reeds at the shoreline sway, the cormorants bob gently on the water. The sky was a perfect blue, the distant mountains hard, clear shapes of black. Sunlight rested like a honeyed gauze over everything, glinting off the long sweep of steps, the white stone arches of j the bridge. On the far bank, beyond the lush green of the water meadow, Fei Yens f maids moved among the trees of the orchard, preparing their mistress for the audience to come.
From where he stood he could see the child's cot—a large, sedanlike thing of ~4 pastel-colored cushions and veils. Seeing it had made his heart beat faster, the darkness at the pit of his stomach harden like a stone.
He turned, impatient. "Come," he said brusquely, then turned back, skipping down the broad steps, his men following like shadows on the white stone.
They met on the narrow bridge, a body's length separating them. Fei Yen stood there, her head lowered. Behind her came her maids, the cot balanced between four of them.
As Li Yuan took a step closer, Fei Yen knelt, touching her head to the stone. Behind her her maids did the same.
"ChiehHsia. . ."
She was dressed in a simple chi poo of pale lemon, embroidered with butterflies. Her head was bare, her fine, dark hair secured in a tightly braided bun at the crown. As she looked up again, he noticed a faint color at her neck.
"Your gift—" he began, then stopped, hearing a sound from within the cot.
She turned her head, following his gaze, then looked back at him. "He's waking." He looked at her without recognition, then looked back at the cot. Stepping past her, he moved between the kneeling maids and, crouching, drew back the veil at the side of the cot. Inside, amid a downy nest of cushions, young Han was waking.
He lay on his side, one tiny, delicate hand reaching out to grip the edge of the cot.
His eyes—two tiny, rounded centers of perfect liquid blackness—were open, staring up at him.
Li Yuan caught his breath, astonished by the likeness. "Han Ch'in . . ." he said softly.
Fei Yen came and knelt beside him, smiling down at the child, evoking a happy gurgle of recognition. "Do you wish to hold him, Chieh Hsial"
He hesitated, staring down at the child, engulfed by a pain of longing so strong it threatened to unhinge him, then nodded, unable to form the words.
She leaned past, brushing against him, the faint waft of her perfume, the warmth of the momentary contact, bringing him back to himself, making him realize that it was she there beside him. He shivered, appalled by the strength of what he was feeling, knowing suddenly that it had been wrong for him to come. A weakness. But now he had no choice. As she lifted the child and turned toward him, he felt the pain return, sharper than before.