"That is one possibility, Chieh Hsia, but there is another. What if someone close to your brother took a sample of his skin or blood before his death? Took it and kept it?"
Wang shook his head. "That's absurd. I know my brother was a weakling and a fool, but even he would not sit still and let a servant take a sample of his blood."
"Again, that is not what I meant, Chieh Hsia. What if your brother had a small accident and one of his servants tended to him? And what if that servant kept the materials they used to tend your brother's wound—a piece of bloodied gauze, perhaps, or a bowl with bloodied water?"
Wang narrowed his eyes. "And you think that's what happened?"
Hung nodded. "That is exactly what happened, Chieh Hsia. We have a signed confession."
"A confession? And how was this confession obtained? By your usual means?"
Hung turned, taking the scroll from his secretary, then handed it across.
"Wu Ming!" Wang laughed with disbelief. "And is that all the proof you have— Wu Ming's confession?"
Hung Mien-lo shook his head. "I am afraid not, Chieh Hsia. I went back through the household records for details of any small accident to your brother. It seems there were several such incidents over the past five years, but in all but one instance the materials used to tend his wounds were properly incinerated."
"And that single instance where it was not—that involved Wu Ming, I take it?"
"Yes, Chieh Hsia. Wu Ming and one other. The traitor Sun Li Hua."
Wang made a noise of surprise. "This is certain?"
"Absolutely, Chieh Hsia. We have a tape of the incident, showing Wu and Sun tending to your brother, but no subsequent record of the dressings being destroyed."
"Ah . . ." Wang turned, looking down at the corpse again, his fingers reaching out to touch and trace the contours of his brother's face. "Then it was my cousin's hand behind all this," he said softly. "This was Li Yuan's doing."
"So it seems, Chieh Hsia."
"So it seems . . ." Yet something still nagged at him. He turned back, facing his Chancellor. "How long ago did this happen?"
"Two years ago, Chieh Hsia."
"Two years, or almost two years? Be precise, Hung Mien-lo."
"Twenty-two months, to be exact, Chieh Hsia."
"A month before his death?"
"That is so, Chieh Hsia."
Wang took a deep breath, satisfied. Any earlier and it would have made no sense, for his father would still have been alive and Li Yuan would have had no motive for his actions. As it was . . .
He smiled. "You have done well, Chancellor Hung. You have more than repaid my trust in you. But there are still two things that remain to be answered. First, how did the creature get into the tomb without the cameras seeing it? Second, where is the body of my dead brother?"
Hung Mien-lo bowed low. "Both questions have troubled me greatly, Chieh Hsia, but I think I have the answer."
Straightening up, he drew something from his pocket and held it out, offering it to his T'ang. It was a small, glassy circle, like the lens cap to a camera.
Wang turned it in his hand, then looked back at his Chancellor. "What is this?"
"It is an imager, Chieh Hsia. Placed over a camera lens, it fixes the image in the camera's eye and maintains it for a predetermined period. After that time, the imager self-destructs—at a molecular level—dispersing in the form of a gas. While it is there, over the lens, you can walk about quite freely before the camera without fear of it registering your presence, and afterward it leaves no trace."
"I see. And you think a similar kind of thing—or several of them—was used to mask the cameras about the tomb?"
Hung smiled. "It would explain how the tomb door was opened without the cameras seeing anything."
"And my brother's body?"
"Of that there is no sign, Chieh Hsia. However, we did find a trace of ashes in a hollow near a stream to the north of the palace. Halfway between here and the foothills."
"So the creature burned the body?"
Hung gave a slight shrug. "I am not so sure. If he did, then why did we see no sign of it? It takes a great deal of heat to consume a human body and from the moment the alarms were sounded, every guard in the palace was on alert for anything suspicious. If the creature had burned the body, we would have seen it. So no, Chieh Hsia. I would guess that the ashes were from something else—some small religious ceremony, perhaps. As for the body, I think it is still out there, hidden somewhere."
Wang considered a moment, then laughed. "Which is where we shall let it rest, neh? Amongst the rocks and streams, like an exiled minister." Again he laughed, a fuller, richer laughter now, fed by relief and an ancient, unforgiving malice. He turned, looking down at the corpse and the box holding his brother's face. "As for these things, have them burned, Chancellor Hung. Outside, before the palace gates, where all can see."
IT WAS quiet in the lobby of the Medical Center. As Chen entered, the nurse behind the desk looked up, smiling, but Chen walked straight by, pushing through the gate in the low barrier, heading for where he knew they kept their records.
Someone called out to him as he passed, but Chen ignored it. There was no time for formalities. He wanted to know right now who had killed his child, and why.
Two men looked up from behind their screens as he entered the records room, surprised to see him there. One began to object, then fell silent as he saw the gun.
"I want details of a child mortality," Chen said, without preamble. "The name is Kao. K-A-O. A week ago it was. A female child. Newborn. I want the registered time of death, the precise time the call-out inquiry was made at this office, and a duty roster for that evening, complete with duty records for all on the roster."
The clerks glanced at each other, not sure what to do, but Chen's fierce bark made them jump. He pointed his gun at the most senior of the two. "Do it. Now! Hard print. And don't even think of fucking me around. If I don't get what I want, I'll put a bullet through your chest."
Swallowing nervously, the man bowed his head and began to tap details into his comset.
As the printout began to chatter from the machine, there was a noise outside. Chen turned. Three of the orderlies—big, heavily built men—had come to see what was happening. From the way they stood there, blocking the way, it was clear they had no intention of letting him leave.
"Get back to work," he said quietly. "This is none of your business."
He looked back. The younger of the clerks had his fingers on the keys of his machine. Chen shook his head. "I wouldn't, if I were you . . ."
The man desisted. A moment later the other machine fell silent.
Chen reached out, taking the printout from the tray. A glance at it confirmed what he had suspected. Jyan had been right. At the time of his daughter's death, no less than four of the medical staff had been free. So why hadn't they answered the emergency call? Or rather, who had instructed them to ignore it?
He would visit Surgeon Fan, the senior consultant of the Center—the man who should have come at Wang Ti's summons. He would find him and wring a name from him. Then he would find out who it was and kill them. Whoever they were.
Chen turned, facing the orderlies again. "Did you not hear me, ch'un tju? Go back to work. This does not concern you."
He could see how edgy they were at the sight of his gun. Edgy but determined. They thought they could jump him. Well, they could try. But they were mistaken if they thought sheer determination would triumph over him.
He tucked the gun into its holster, then reached down, taking the long, sharp-edged knife from his boot.
"You want to stop me, is that it? Well, let's see you try, eh? Let's see you try."
MINUTES LATER he was hammering at the door of Fan Tseng-li's apartment, conscious that a Security alert would have been put out already. He could hear movement inside and the babble of voices. Fearful, panicky voices. He called to them, letting his voice fill out with reassurance.