"Well . . . Go now. Chung Hu-yan has agreed to stay on as your advisor until you feel comfortable with your new duties. Then he is to become my Counselor."
Nan Ho gave the briefest nod, understanding. Counselor. It would make Chung virtually an uncle to Li Yuan; a member of Li Yuan's inner council, discussing and formulating policy. No wonder he had not minded relinquishing his post as Chancellor.
"And when am I to begin, Chieh HsJa?"
Li Yuan laughed. "You began two days ago, Master Nan, when you came to my room and took the book of brides from me. I appointed you then, in here." He tapped his forehead. "You have been my Chancellor ever since."
JELKA WAS STANDING at her father's side, among the guests in the great pavilion, when Hans Ebert came across and joined them.
"Marshal Tolonen . . ." Ebert bowed to the old man, then turned, smiling, to Jelka. In his bright-red dress uniform he looked a young god, his golden hair swept back neatly, his strong, handsome features formed quite pleasantly. Even his eyes, normally so cold, seemed kind as he looked at her. Even so, Jelka hardened herself against the illusion, reminding herself of what she knew about him.
He lowered his head, keeping his eyes on her face. "It's good to see you here, Jelka. I hope you're feeling better."
His inquiry was soft-spoken, his words exactly what a future husband ought to have said, yet somehow she could not accept them at face value. He was a good actor—a consummately good actor, for it seemed almost as if he really liked her— but she knew what he was beneath the act. A shit. A cold, self-centered shit.
"I'm much better, thank you," she said, lowering her eyes, a faint blush coming to her cheeks. "It was only a sprain."
The blush was for the lie she had told. She had not sprained her ankle at all. It was simply that the idea of seeing Hans Ebert made General in her father's place had been more than she could bear. To have spent the evening toasting the man she most abhorred!—she could think of nothing worse.
She kept her eyes averted, realizing the shape her thoughts had taken. Was it really that bad? Was Hans Ebert really so abhorrent? She looked up again, meeting his eyes, noting the concern there. Even so, the feeling persisted. To think of marrying this man was a mistake. A horrible mistake.
His smile widened. "You will come and dine with us, I hope, a week from now. My father is looking forward to it greatly. And I. It would be nice to speak with you, Jelka. To find out who we are."
"Yes . . ." She glanced up at him, then lowered her eyes again, a shiver of revulsion passing through her at the thought. Yet what choice had she? This man was to be her husband—her life partner.
Ebert lifted her hand, kissing her knuckles gently before releasing it. He smiled and bowed, showing her the deepest respect. "Until then . . ." He turned slightly, bowing to her father, then turned away.
"A marvelous young man," Tolonen said, watching Ebert make his way back through the crowd toward the T'ang. "Do you know, Jelka, if I'd had a son, I'd have wished for one like Hans."
She shivered. The very thought of it made her stomach tighten, reminded her of the mad girl in the Ebert Mansion and of that awful pink-eyed goat-baby. A son like Hans . . . She shook her head. No! It could never be!
IN THE SEDAN traveling back to Nanking, Jelka sat facing her father, listening to him, conscious, for the first time in her life, of how pompous, how vacuous his words were. His notion that they were at the beginning of a new "Golden Age," for instance. It was nonsense. She had read the special reports on the situation in the lower levels and knew how bad things were. Every day brought growing disaffection from the Seven and their rule, brought strikes and riots and the killing of officials; yet he seemed quite blind to all that. He spoke of growth and stability and the glorious years to come, years that would recapture the glory of his youth.
She sat a long while, simply listening, her head lowered. Then, suddenly, she looked up at him.
"I can't."
He looked across at her, breaking off. "Can't what.7" -
She stared back into his steel-gray eyes, hardening herself against him. "I can't marry Hans Ebert."
He laughed. "Don't be silly, Jelka. It's all arranged. Besides, Hans is General now."
"I don't care.'" she said, the violence of her words surprising him. "I simply can't marry him!"
He shook his head, then leaned forward. "You mustn't say that, Jelka. You mustn't!"
She glared back at him defiantly. "Why not? It's what I feel. To marry Hans would kill me. I'd shrivel up and die."
"Nonsense!" he barked, angry now. "You're being ridiculous! Can't you see the way that boy looks at you? He's besotted with you!"
She looked down, shaking her head. "You don't understand. You really don't understand, do you?" She shuddered, then looked up at him again. "I don't like him, Daddy. I ..." She gave a small, pained laugh. "How can I possibly marry someone I don't like?"
He had gone very still, his eyes narrowed. "Listen, my girl, you will, and sooner than you think. I've agreed to a new date for the wedding. A month from now."
She sat back, open-mouthed, staring at him.
He leaned closer, softening his voice. "It's not how I meant to tell you, but there, it's done. And no more of this nonsense. Hans is a fine young man. The very best of young men. And you're a lucky girl. If only you'd get these silly notions out of your head, you'd come to realize it. And then you'll thank me for it."
"Thank you?" The note of incredulity in her voice made him sit back, bristling.
"Yes. Thank me. Now no more. I insist."
She shook her head. "You don't know him, Father. He keeps a girl in his house— a mad girl whose baby he had killed. And I've heard—"
"Enough!"
Tolonen got to his feet, sending the sedan swaying. As it slowed, he sat again, the color draining slowly from his face.
"I won't hear another word from you, my girl. Not another word. Hans is a fine young man. And these lies—"
"They're not lies. I've seen her. I've seen what he did to her."
"Lies. . ." he insisted, shaking his head. "Really, I would not have believed it of you, Jelka. Such behavior. If your mother were alive . . ."
She put her head down sharply, trembling with anger. Gods! To talk of her mother at such a time. She slowed her breathing, calming herself, then said it one more time.
"I can't."
She looked up and saw how he was watching her—coldly, so far from her in feeling that it was as if he were a stranger to her.
"You will," he said. "You will because I say you will."
THE DOCTOR was still fussing over Karr's shoulder when they brought the man in. Karr turned, wincing, waving the doctor away, then leaned across the desk to study the newcomer.
"You're sure this is him?" he asked, looking past the man at Chen.
Chen nodded. "We've made all the checks. He seems to be who he claims he is."
Karr smiled, then sat back, a flicker of pain passing across his face. "All right. So you're Reid, eh? Thomas Reid. Well, tell me, Shih Reid, why are you here?"
The man looked down, betraying a moment's fear; then he girded up his courage again and spoke.
"I was there, you see. After you raided the fortress. I was there with the Man's lieutenant—"
"The Man?"
"DeVore. That's what we call him. The Man."
Karr glanced at Chen. "And?"
"Just that 1 was there, afterward. Lehmann and I—"
"Lehmann?"
"Stefan Lehmann. The albino. Under-Secretary Lehmann's son."
Karr laughed, surprised. "And he's DeVore's lieutenant?"
"Yes. I was with him, you see. We'd been off to deliver something for the Man. But when we got back, shortly after eight, we saw your transporters from some distance away and knew there had been trouble. We flew south and doubled back, crossing the valley on foot; then we climbed up to the ruins."