"Things can be smoothed over, surely, Chieh Hsia7. A gift, perhaps . . ."
Li Yuan shook his head. "I made him challenge me. And then I broke him before his equals. It had to be done, but there is no repairing it. No, so we must watch ourselves from that quarter henceforth. Wang Sau-leyan is sure to hear of what happened here today. No doubt he will try to exploit the division between Hsiang and me."
The Chancellor shook his head, then looked up again. "Forgive me, Chieh Hsia, but do you not think death too extreme a penalty? After all, it was not their fault that they picked up this sickness. Have you not considered, perhaps, castrating those found with the virus? Those, that is, who would not die of it anyway."
"No, Master Nan. Had they been servants we might well have done that, but these are Family. Such a humiliation would be worse than death for them. Besides, what of the women they have infected? What are we to do with them? Sew them up?"
Nan Ho gave a brief, uncomfortable laugh, then bowed his head. "I had not thought, Chieh Hsia."
Li Yuan smiled sadly. "Never mind. Go now, Master Nan. Go and supervise the screening. I will expect you three hours from now to give your report on the proceedings."
"Chieh Hsia . . ."
Li Yuan sat back. There were other things to consider now; other sicknesses to rid the world of. The Young Sons, for instance, and the virus of the Aristotle File. He sighed and leaned forward again, punching in the code that would connect him with Tsu Ma in Astrakhan.
It was time to act. Time to draw in the nets and see what fish they had caught.
W u s h I h, T'ang of North America, raised his eyes from the small screen inset into his desk and looked across at the huge image of Li Yuan's face that filled the facing wall.
He gave a deep sigh, then placed his hands palm down on the desk, clearly disturbed by what he had just seen.
"Well, Cousin, I must thank you. The tape is quite conclusive. Even so, I feel nothing but sadness that it has come to this. I had hoped that I could persuade them somehow from their folly, but it is much more than mere folly, isn't it? More than boredom or high spirits. This can lead to one thing only—rebellion and the overthrow of the Seven. I have to act. You understand that?"
Li Yuan nodded. "Of course," he said sympathetically. "Which is why I have already spoken with Tsu Ma. He agrees. And the sooner the better. The Sons of Benjamin Franklin are not the only group. There are similar factions in the other Cities, linked to the Young Sons. If we are to act, it would be best if we acted in concert, neh? Tonight, if possible. At twelfth bell."
"And the other T'ang?"
Li Yuan shook his head. "There's no time for that. Besides, if Wang Sau-leyan were to learn, it's likely there would be no one there to arrest. He has a funny way with 'secrets.'"
Wu Shih looked down, considering, then nodded. "All right. Twelfth bell. And you will act elsewhere? You and Tsu Ma?"
"At twelfth bell." He started to cut the connection.
"Li Yuan! Wait! What of the boy? Do you think they will suspect his role in this?"
Li Yuan laughed. "How could they? Even he doesn't know what he has been these past few days."
Wu Shih gave a small laugh. "Even so, should I take steps to get him out?"
Li Yuan shook his head. "No. Any such move might alert them. Ensure only that your men do not harm him by mistake."
Wu Shih lowered his head slightly, a mark of respect that he had often made to Yuan's father, Li Shai Tung, and an implicit acknowledgment of where the real leadership lay within the Seven.
Li Yuan smiled. "Then goodnight, Cousin. We shall speak in the morning. Once things are better known."
THE lever MANSION was a huge, two-story house with gables, standing in its own wooded grounds. Outside it was dark, the house lights reflected brightly in the dark waters of the nearby lake. In the center of the mansion's bold facade was a pillared entrance, its wide, double doors open, light spilling out onto a gravel drive. Dark sedans, some antique, some reproduction, lined the entrance road, their drivers dressed in a black-suited livery that matched the ancient crest on the sides of the sedans. All evening they had gone back and forth, ferrying guests between the house and the transit, almost a li away.
The illusion was almost perfect. The darkness hid the walls of the surrounding decks, while above the house a thick, dark-blue cloth masked the ice of the stack's uppermost floor, like a starless night sky.
Kim stood between the trees, in darkness, looking back at the house. This was the third time he had come to Richmond, to the Lever Mansion, but it was the first time he had seen the house in darkness. Tonight they were throwing a ball. A party for the elite of their City—the Supernal, as they called themselves. It was the first time he had heard the term used and it amused him to think of himself, so loui in birth, mixing in such high company. He was not drunk—he took care never to touch alcohol or drugs—but merely mixing in the atmosphere of the house was enough to create a mild euphoria. The air was chill, sharp. In the trees nearby the leaves rustled in a mild, artificial breeze. Kim smiled, enjoying the strangeness of it all, and reached out to touch the smooth bark of one of the pines.
"Kim?"
A tall, elegant young man in old-fashioned evening dress stood at the edge of the gravel, calling him. It was Michael Lever.
"I'm here," he said, stepping out from the trees. "I was just getting some air."
Lever greeted him, more than a ch'i taller than he, straight-backed and blond, an American . . .
"Come on in," he said, smiling. "Father has been asking for you."
Kim let himself be ushered inside once more, through reception room and ballroom and out into a smaller, quieter space beyond. Leather doors closed behind him. The room was dimly lit, pervaded by the tart smell of cigar smoke. Old Man Lever was sitting on the far side of the room, beside the only lamp, his friends gathered about him in high-backed leather chairs. Old men, like himself. By the window stood a group of younger men. Michael joined them, accepting a drink from one; then he turned back, looking across at Kim.
Charles Lever lit up a new cigar, then beckoned Kim over. "Here, Kim. Take a seat." He indicated the empty chair beside him. "There are some people here— friends of mine—I want you to meet."
Old men. The thought flashed through Kim's mind. Old men, afraid of dying.
He sat in the huge, uncomfortable chair, ill at ease, nodding acknowledgment to each of the men in turn; noting each face and placing it. These were big men. Powerful men. Each of them Lever's equal. So what had Lever said? What had Lever promised he could do for them?
"We were talking," Lever said, turning in his chair to look at Kim. "Chewing things over among ourselves. And I was telling my friends here about your new company. About Chi Chu. Potentially a nice little outfit, but small, undercapitalized."
Kim looked down, surprised that Lever knew already.
Lever cleared his throat, then nodded, as if satisfied by his own evaluation of things. "And I was saying what a shame it was. Because I've seen your like before, Kim. A hot property with plenty of good, strong ideas and lots of get-up-and-go, but nothing to back it up. There's a pattern to it too. I've seen how they've built things up—how they've grown real fast. Up to a certain point. And then . . ." He shook his head and looked down at the cigar smoldering between his ringers. "Then they've tried to move up a league. Into manufacturing. Because it's a shame to let the big industrials take so large a share of the cut. Galling, even."
The young men by the window were watching him intently, almost suspiciously. Kim could feel their eyes on him; could almost sense what they were thinking. What would this mean for them? For if their fathers lived forever . . .