He smiled, then opened the file again, picking up from where he'd left off. After a moment he looked up, nodding thoughtfully. Ebert had done him proud. There was everything here. Everything. The report Tolonen had made on the attack on the Project, the medical and psychological reports on Ward, and a full transcript of the debriefing. The only thing missing—and it was missing only because it didn't exist—was something to indicate just why Li Yuan had decided to ship the boy off to North America.
Well, maybe he could clarify things a little over the next few days. Maybe he could find out—through the Levers—what it was Li Yuan wanted. And at the same time he might do a little business on his own account: he would take up young Lever's invitation to meet his father and have dinner.
Yes, and afterward he would put his proposal to the son. Would see just how deep his enthusiasm for change was. And then . . . ?
He smiled and closed the file. And then he would begin again, building new shapes on a new part of the board, constructing his patterns until the game was won. For it would be won. If it took him a dozen lifetimes he would win it.
CHAPTER TEN
Ghosts
IT WAS A COLD, gray morning, the sky overcast, the wind whipping off the surface of the West Lake, bending back the reeds on the shoreline of Jade Spring Island. In front of the great pavilion—a huge, circular, two-tiered building with tapered roofs of vermillion tile—the thousand bright red-and-gold dragon banners of the T'ang flapped noisily, the ranks of armored bearers standing like iron statues in the wind, their red capes fluttering behind them.
To the south of the pavilion, a huge platform had been built, reaching almost to the lake's edge. In its center, on a dais high above the rest, stood the throne, a great canopy of red silk shielding it from the rain that gusted intermittently across the lake.
Li Yuan sat on the throne, his red silks decorated with tiny golden dragon-and-phoenix emblems. Behind him, below the nine steps of the great dais, his retainers and ministers were assembled, dressed in red.
Facing Li Yuan, no more than a hundred ch'i distant, a wide bridge linked the island to the eastern shore. It was an ancient bridge, built in the time of the Song Dynasty, more than a thousand years before, its white-stone spans decorated with lions and dragons and other mythical beasts.
Li Yuan stared at it a moment, then turned his head, looking out blank-eyed across the lake, barely conscious of the great procession that waited on the far side of the bridge. News had come that morning. Fei Yen had had her child. A boy, it was. A boy.
The music of the ceremony began, harsh, dissonant—bells, drums, and cymbals. At once the New Confucian officials came forward, making their obeisance to him before they backed away. On the eastern shore the procession started forward, a great tide of red, making its slow way across the bridge.
He sighed and looked down at his hands. It had only been two days since he had removed her wedding ring. A single day ... He shivered. So simple it had been. He had watched himself remove it from his finger and place it on the gold silk cushion Nan Ho held out to him. Had watched as Nan Ho turned and took it from the room, ending the life he had shared with her, destroying the dream for good and all.
He took a shuddering breath, then looked up again. This was no time for tears. No. Today was a day for celebrations, for today was his wedding day.
He watched them come. The heads of the three clans walked side by side at the front of the procession; proud old men, each bearing his honor in his face like a badge. Behind them came the ranks of brothers and cousins, sisters and wives, many hundreds in all; and beyond them the lung t'ing—the "dragon pavilions"— each one carried by four bare-headed eunuch servants. The tiny sedan chairs were piled high with dowry gifts for the T'ang: bolts of silk and satin, boxes of silver, golden plates and cups, embroidered robes, delicate porcelain, saddles and fans and gilded cages filled with songbirds. So much, indeed, that this single part of the procession was by far the longest, with more than a hundred lung t'ing to each family.
An honor guard was next. Behind that came the three feng yu, the phoenix chairs, four silver birds perched atop each canopy, each scarlet and gold sedan carried aloft by a dozen bearers.
His brides . . .
He had asked Nan Ho to get the heads of the three clans to agree to waive the preliminary ceremonies—had insisted that the thing be done quickly if at all—yet it had not been possible to dispense with this final ritual. It was, after all, a matter of face. Of pride. To marry a T'ang—that was not done without due celebration, without due pomp and ceremony. And would the T'ang deny them that?
He could not. For to be T'ang had its obligations as well as its advantages. And so here he was, on a cold, wet, windy morning, marrying three young women he had never seen before this day.
Necessary, he told himself. For the Family must be strong again. Even so, his heart ached and his soul cried out at the wrongness of it.
He watched them come, a feeling of dread rising in him. These were the women he was to share his life with. They would bear his sons, would lie beneath him in his bed. And what if he came to hate them? What if they hated him? For what was done here could not easily be undone.
No. A man was forgiven one failure. But any more and the world would condemn him, wherever lay the fault.
Wives. These strangers were to be his wives. And how had this come about? He sat there, momentarily bemused by the fact. Then, as the music changed and the chant began below, he stood and went to the top of the steps, ready for the great ceremony to begin.
An hour later it was done. Li Yuan stepped back, watching as his wives knelt, bowing low, touching their foreheads to the floor three times before him.
Nan Ho had chosen well, had shown great sensitivity; for not one of the three reminded him in the least of Fei Yen, yet each was, in her own way, quite distinct. Mien Shan, the eldest and officially his First Wife, was a tiny thing with a strong build and a pleasantly rounded face. Fu Ti Chang, the youngest, just seventeen, was also the tallest; a shy, elegant willow of a girl. By way of contrast, Lai Shi seemed quite spirited; she was a long-faced girl, hardly a beauty, but there was a sparkle in her eye that made her by far the most attractive of the three. Li Yuan had smiled when she'd pulled back her veil, surprised to find an interest in her stirring in himself.
Tonight duty required him to visit the bed of Mien Shan. But tomorrow? He dismissed his wives, then turned, summoning Nan Ho to him. "Chieh Hsia?"
He lowered his voice. "I am most pleased with this morning's events, Master Nan. You have done well to prepare things so quickly." Nan Ho bowed low. "It was but my duty, Chieh Hsia."
"Maybe so, but you have excelled yourself, Nan Ho. From henceforth you are no longer Master of the Inner Chamber but Chancellor."
Nan Ho's look of amazement was almost comical. "Chieh Hsia! But what of Chung Hu-yan?"
Li Yuan smiled. "I am warmed by your concern, Nan Ho, but do not worry. I informed Chung yesterday evening. Indeed, he confirmed my choice." Nan Ho's puzzlement deepened. "Chieh Hsia?"
"I should explain, perhaps, Master Nan. It was all agreed long before my father's death. It was felt that I would need new blood when I became T'ang, new men surrounding me. Men I could trust. Men who would grow as I grew and would be as pillars, supporting me in my old age. You understand?"
Nan Ho bowed his head. "I understand, Chieh Hsia, and am honored. Honored beyond words."