The old man smiled, raising a hand to summon one of his servants from the shadows. "Well, Howard? How did you get on?"
DeVore smiled. Lever was referring to the return match against Kustow's wei chi champion.
"I was very fortunate. I lost the first two. But then . . ."
Lever raised an eyebrow. "You beat him?"
DeVore lowered his head, feigning modesty, but it had been easy. He could have won all five. "As I say, I was fortunate."
Michael Lever stared at him, surprised.
"Your friends were most hospitable," DeVore said. "They're good fellows, Michael. I wish we had their like in City Europe."
"And you, Howard? Did you win your money back?"
DeVore laughed. "Not at all. I knew how weak Kustow's man was. It would not have been fair to have wagered money on the outcome."
Michael Lever nodded. "I see . . ." But it was clear he was more impressed than he was willing to say. So it had been with the others last night: their eyes had said what their mouths could not. DeVore had seen the new respect with which they looked at him. Ten stones he had won by, that last game. Kustow's champion would never live it down.
The old man had been watching them from the far end of the table. Now he interrupted.
"It's a shame you're not staying longer, Howard. I would have liked to take you to see our installations."
DeVore smiled. He had heard rumors of how advanced they were, how openly they flouted the Edict's guidelines. But then, the War with the Dispersionists, which had so completely and devastatingly crushed the Above in City Europe, had barely touched them here. Many of the Dispersionists' natural allies here had kept out of that war. As a result, things were much more buoyant, the Company Heads filled with a raw self-confidence that was infectious. Everywhere he'd been there was a sense of optimism; a sense that here, if nowhere else, change could be forced through, Seven or no.
He looked back at Old Man Lever, bowing his head. "I would have liked that, Charles. But next time, perhaps? I've been told your factories are most impressive: a good few years ahead of their European counterparts."
Lever laughed, then leaned forward. "And so they should be! I've spent a great deal of money rebuilding them these past few years. But it hasn't been easy. No. We've had to go backward to go forward, if you see what I mean."
DeVore nodded, understanding. Indeed, if he needed any further clue to what Lever meant, he had only to look about him. Mementos of the American Empire were everywhere in the room, from the great spread eagles on the backs of the chairs to the insignia on the silverware. Most prominent of all was the huge map on the wall behind Old Man Lever: a map of the American Empire at its height in 2043, five years after the establishment of the sixty-nine States. The year of President Griffin's assassination and the Great Collapse.
On the map, the red, white, and blue of the Empire stretched far into the southern continent. Only the triple alliance of Brazil, Argentina, and Uruguay had survived the massive American encroachments, forming the last outposts of a onetime wholly Latin continent, while to the north the whole of Canada had been swallowed up, its vastness divided into three huge administrative areas.
He looked down. To him such maps were vivid testimonies to the ephemerality of Empires, the certain dissolution of all things human in the face of Time. But to Lever and his kind they were something different. To them the map represented an ideal, a golden age to which they must return.
America. He had seen how the word lit them from within, how their eyes came alive at its sound. Like their European cousins, they had been seduced by the great dream of return. A dream that his gift of the Aristotle File was sure to feed, like coals on the fire of their disaffection, until this whole vast City erupted in flames.
He sighed. Yes, the day would come. And he would be there when it did. To see the Cities in flames, the Seven cast down.
He turned in his chair, taking a cup of coffee from the servant, then looked across again, meeting Lever's eyes. "And the boy? How was your dinner? I understand you took him to the Kitchen."
Lever smiled thoughtfully. "It went well. He's sharp, that one. Very sharp. And I'm grateful for your introduction, Howard. It could prove a most valuable contact."
"That's what I thought—"
"However," Lever interrupted, "I've been wondering."
DeVore took a sip of his coffee and set the cup down, pushing it away from him. "Wondering?"
"Yes. Think a moment. If the boy is so valuable, then why has Li Yuan sent him here? Why hasn't he kept him close at hand, in Europe, where he can use him?"
DeVore smiled. "To be honest with you, Charles, I'm not sure. I do know that the old T'ang intended to have the boy terminated. Indeed, if it hadn't been for the attack on the Project, the boy wouldn't be here now. It seems Li Yuan must have reconsidered."
"Yes. But what's he up to now?"
DeVore laughed. "That's what we'd all like to know, neh? But to be serious, I figure it like this. The boy suffered a great shock. Certain psychological blocks that were induced in him during his personality reconstruction aren't there any longer. In a very real sense he's not the same person he was before the attack. Li Yuan has been told that. He's also been told that, as a result, the boy is not one hundred percent reliable. That he needs a rest and maybe a change of setting. So what does he do? He ships the boy off here, with a complete medical backup, hoping that the trip will do him good and that he'll return refreshed, ready to get to work again."
Lever nodded thoughtfully. "So you think Li Yuan will use him, after all?"
DeVore raised his eyebrows. "Maybe. But then maybe not. I have heard rumors."
"Rumors?"
DeVore smiled, then shrugged apologetically. "I can't say just yet. But when I hear more I'll let you know, I promise you."
Lever huffed impatiently, then turned in his chair, snapping his fingers. "Come! Quickly now! I'm starving."
Across from him his son laughed. "But, Father, you only ate three hours back. How can you be starving?"
Lever stared back at his son a moment, then joined his laughter. "I know. But I am, all the same." He looked back at DeVore. "And you, Howard, what will you eat?"
DeVore smiled. The world, he thought. I'll eat die world. But aloud he said, "Coffee will do me fine, Charles. I've no appetite just now. Maybe later, neh?"
He turned, looking at the son. "Are you eating, Michael, or can I interest you in a breath of air?"
The young man sat back, drawing one hand through his short blond hair. "I was going to get a few hours sleep, but half an hour won't make much difference." He turned, looking across. "You'll excuse us, Father?"
Lever nodded. "That's fine, Michael. But remember there's a lot still to be done before Friday night."
Young Lever smiled. "It's all in hand."
"Good!" Lever lifted his fork, pointing at DeVore. "Why don't you change your mind and stay over, Howard? We're holding a Thanksgiving Ball. You could see how we Americans celebrate things. Besides, there'll be a lot of interesting and important people there. People you ought to meet."
DeVore bowed his head. "Thanks, but I really must get back tonight. Another time, perhaps?"