If need be the Dragon Cloud could seat five thousand. More than enough, one would have thought, to cater to the surrounding levels. Even so, it was packed when they got there, not a table free. Chen looked about him, then looked back at Karr.
"Let's go elsewhere, Gregor. It'll be an hour at least before we get a table."
Karr turned, beckoning to one of the waiters. Chen saw how the man came across, wary of Karr, eyeing the big man up and down as if to assess how much trouble he might be. Behind him, at the counter, several of the other waiters, mostly Han, turned, following him with their eyes.
Chen watched; saw Karr press something into the waiter's hand; saw the man look down, then look up again, wide-eyed. Karr muttered something, then pressed a second tiny bundle into the man's hand. This time the waiter bowed. He turned, and summoning two of his fellows across, hurried away, whispering something to his companions.
In a little while the waiter was back, bowing, smiling, leading them up two flights of steps to a table at the center of the house. As they moved between the tables, three elderly Han came toward them, bowing and smiling.
Chen leaned toward Karr, keeping his voice low. "You bought their table?"
Karr smiled, returning the old gentlemen's bows before allowing one of the waiters to pull a chair out for him. When Chen was seated across from him, he answered.
"I've heard that the Dragon Cloud is the cultural center of these levels. The place where everybody who is anybody comes. Here, if anywhere, we shall hear news of the boy. You understand?"
"Ah . . ." Chen smiled and sat back, relaxing. It was not like Karr to use his privilege so crudely and for a moment he had been concerned by his friend's behavior.
"Besides," Karr added, accepting the ch'a menu the waiter held out to him, "I have heard that the Dragon Cloud is the paragon among teahouses. Its fame spreads far and wide, even to the Heavens."
This was said louder, clearly for the benefit of the waiters. The one who had first dealt with Karr bowed his head slightly, responding to his words.
"If the ch'un tzu would like something . . . special?"
Karr leaned back. Even seated he was still almost a head taller than the Han.
"You would not have a hsiang p'ien, by any chance?"
The waiter bowed his head slightly lower, a smile of pleasure splitting his face. "It is the speciality of the Dragon Cloud, ch'un tzu. What kind of Hsiang p'ien would you like?"
Kan- looked across at his friend. "Have you any preference, Kao Chen?"
Chen studied the menu a moment, trying to recognize something he knew among the hundred exotic brews, then looked up again, shrugging. "I don't know. I guess I'll have what you have."
Karr considered a moment, then turned his head, looking at the waiter. "Have you a ch'ing ch'a with a lotus fragrance?"
"Of course, Master. A poo yun, perhaps?"
Karr nodded. "A Jeweled Cloud would be excellent."
The man bowed, then, his head still lowered, took the ch'a menus from them. "I will have the girl bring the ch'a and some sweetmeats. It will be but a few minutes, ch'un tzu." He bowed again, then backed away.
Chen waited until the man had gone, then leaned across, keeping his voice low. "What in the gods' names is a hsiang J/ien?"
Karr smiled, relaxing for the first time in almost twelve hours of searching. "Hsiang p'ien are flower ch'a. And a ch'ing ch'a is a green, unfermented ch'a. The one we're having is placed into a tiny gauze bag overnight with the calix of a freshly plucked lotus." He laughed. "Have you not read your Shen Fu, Chen?"
Chen laughed and shook his head. "When would I have time, my friend? With three children there is barely time to shit, let alone read!"
Karr laughed, then studied him a moment. He reached out and touched his arm gently. "Maybe so, Kao Chen, but a man ought to read. I'll give you a copy of Shen Fu sometime. His Six Records of a Floating Life. He lived four centuries ago, before the great City was built. It was another age, I tell you, Chen. Cruder, and yet in some ways better than ours. Even so, some things don't change. Human nature, for instance."
Chen lowered his head slightly. So it was. He looked about him, enjoying the strange peacefulness of the place. Each table was cut off from the next by screens of greenery; even so, from where he sat he had a view of what was happening at other tables and on other levels. Above the nearest serving counter a huge banner portrait of the ch'a god Lu Yu fluttered gently in the breeze of the overhead fans. It was an image that even Chen recognized, flying, as it did, over every teahouse in Chung Kuo.
"Where do we begin?" Chen asked after a moment. "I mean, we can't simply go from table to table asking, can we?"
Karr had been staring away almost abstractedly; now he looked back at Chen. "No. You're quite right, Chen. It must be done subtly. Quietly. If necessary, we will sit here all day, and all tomorrow too. Until we hear something."
"And if we don't?" Chen shook his head. "Besides, I hate all this sitting and Chen ten 131
waiting. Why don't we just empty this whole deck and search it room by room?"
Karr smiled. "You think that would be a good idea, Chen? And what reason would we give?"
"What reason would we need to give? We are on the T'ang's business, surely?"
Karr leaned toward him, lowering his voice to a whisper. "And if rumor were to go about the levels that the T'ang has lost something important and would clear a deck to find it? Surely such a rumor would have a price? Would find ears we'd rather it didn't reach?"
Chen opened his mouth then closed it again. "Even so, there must be something else we can do."
Karr shook his head. "The trail has gone cold. It would not do to rush about blindly elsewhere. The boy is here somewhere. I know he is. The only course now is to wait. To bide our time and listen to the faint whispers from the tables."
Chen leaned forward, about to say something, then sat back again. One of the waiters was approaching their table—a woman this time, a tall, blond-haired Hung Mao. He glanced at her as she set the tray down on the table between them, then frowned, seeing how Karr was staring at her.
"Your hsiang p'ien," she said, moving back slightly from the table, her head bowed. "Shall I pour for you, ch'un tzul" Karr smiled. "That would be most pleasant."
The teapot was square in shape with a wicker handle; a white-glazed ceramic pot with a blue circular pattern on each side—the stylized pictogram for long life. Beside it was a chung, a lidded serving bowl, and two ordinary ch'a bowls. Moving forward, the woman poured some of the freshly brewed ch'a into their bowls, then the rest into the chung, putting the lid back on.
She was a big woman, yet her movements were precise, almost delicate. She touched the bowls as if each were alive, while the ch'a itself fell daintily, almost musically into the bowls, not a drop splashed or spilled.
Chen, watching Karr, saw a small movement in the big man's face; saw him look up at the woman appreciatively.
"Thank you," Karr said, smiling up at her. "It is good to be served by someone who cares so much for the art."
She looked at him for the first time, then lowered her eyes again. "We try our best to please, ch'un tzu."
"And these bowls . . ." Karr continued, as if reluctant to let her go. "I have rarely seen such elegance, such grace of line, such sobriety of color."