There was a knock. A heavy, purposeful knock that she recognized as Nan Ho's. She turned, calling on him to enter.
"Mistress," he said, coming two paces into the room and bowing to her. Behind him his two assistants did the same, like living shadows of the man.
"Master Nan. I wanted your advice on something. If we could speak alone?"
"Of course," he said, dismissing his assistants with a gesture. "How are you this morning, Mistress?"
"I am"—she almost lied, almost gave in to politeness, yet caught herself in time—"I am disturbed, Master Nan," she said, moving across the floor until she stood beside him. "Li Yuan was in a foul mood last night. He raged at me for no reason. And yet this morning he is like a child."
Nan Ho looked down, then cleared his throat. "These are difficult times for him, Pei K'ung. Much is happening. Sometimes—"
She interrupted him. "Straight answers, Master Nan."
He looked up, meeting her eyes, respect and amusement in them. He was a good twenty-five years older than her and a man; even so, they had established a relationship of equals right from the start.
"Straight answers?" He laughed softly. "All right. I'll tell you. We're planning a new campaign."
She frowned. "South America?"
He shook his head. "No, no ... Here, in Europe. In the Lowers. Your husband wants to take control again. He feels it's time. The African campaign has reached a stalemate and the feeling among the Three is that we should withdraw. The problem is what to do with our forces once we've withdrawn them. To have them sit idly at home is not an option any of us want to consider. Things are bad enough without that."
She nodded, understanding. "And the meeting this morning?"
"Is to sound out all parties."
"I see. And if they're in agreement?"
Nan Ho shrugged. "That is not my decision, Mistress."
She smiled. No, yet you will have the greatest influence over what he decides, neh?
He bowed. "If that is all, Mistress?"
"Of course." Yet as he turned to leave, she called him back.
"Nan Ho?"
"Yes, Mistress?"
"My husband . . . when he . . ." She took a breath, steeling herself to ask. "When he lost his virginity—how was that done?"
Nan Ho smiled, the smile strangely, disconcertingly like that the girl had offered earlier. "He was but a boy, and curious in the way boys are. He had begun . . . you know, night dreams. It worried him. So I sent one of the maids to his bed. Pearl Heart, if I remember correctly. She . . . taught him. She and her sister, Sweet Rose."
He nodded to himself, as if satisfied, then added, "It is the way. His father, Li Shai Tung, always said that—"
"Thank you," she said, interrupting him. "I ... I was interested, that's all."
"Of course." Nan Ho bowed again. "If that is all?"
She nodded, letting him go, then returned to the window, watching as her husband paced slowly in the sunlight by the pool.
"Pull back! Disengage and pull back!"
Karr's voice boomed momentarily in every helmet, then cut out as the defenders jammed the channel, but it was enough.
"Ai^a . . ."he whispered softly, watching from his place beside the breach as his men withdrew, clambering down the pipes and service ladders overhead, then dropping the last few ch'i and scrambling for the gap.
The floor of the shaft was littered with bodies, friend and foe indistinguishable in death.
The;y knew, he thought, touching each of his men briefly on the arm as they moved past him into the safety of the tunnel. The fuckers knew!
There was no doubt about it. The counterattack had been too quick, too well organized, for it to have been a matter of chance. Someone had leaked their plan. Someone in the inner circle of command.
Karr grimaced, pained by what had happened. They'd be lucky if a quarter of their number got out. It had been a massacre. Then, seeing how one of his men had fallen on the far side of the shaft, he hurried across, helping the wounded man, half carrying him back, oblivious to the laser fire from above.
As he handed the man down, a runner pushed through.
"Sir!"
Karr glanced at him, annoyed to be bothered at this crucial moment. "What is it, man?"
"New orders, sir. From the General himself. He says you are to withdraw."
"Withdraw?" Karr laughed bitterly and looked past the messenger at his men. Their eyes, like his, were dark with knowledge of the betrayal. His voice, when he spoke, was heavy with irony. "Tell General Rheinhardt that his forces have anticipated his request."
The runner, noting Karr's mood and perhaps intimidated by the giant, took a step backward. "Further, he says you are to leave here at once and report to Tongjiang."
Karr turned, staring at the man, surprised. "Tongjiang? To the Palace, you mean?"
The man nodded. "The General says you are to go direct. The T'ang himself wishes to see you. He says it is a matter of the most extreme urgency."
Karr nodded. Then, recollecting himself, he waved the man away. "Tell the General I will come. Tell him . . . tell him I will come once my men are safe from here."
"But, sir—"
Karr turned back, glaring at the man. "Just tell him!"
Then, turning away, he went back inside, to try to salvage what he could.
THE NEWS FROM TUNIS was good. The latest attack had been beaten off, the great T'ang's forces scattered. Fu Chiang, "the Priest," Big Boss of the Red Flower Triad of North Africa, folded the paper and smiled, then looked about him at the banquet chamber, his hazel eyes taking in the lavish silverware, the ornate red and gold decorations. Briefly he hesitated, as if about to criticize, then gave a terse nod. At the signal a dozen servants let out their breath and, bowing low to their Lord, backed hurriedly from the room.
Good, he thought, satisfied that all was finally ready, then turned away, drawing his dark red silks tighter about him. As little as a week ago he'd have considered such a meeting impossible, but curiosity was a powerful incentive—it had achieved what neither common sense nor coercion had previously managed.
His "cousins"—"Mountain Lords," Triad Bosses like himself—were waiting in the next room. He had known them in bad times, in those years when Wang Hsien had ruled City Africa with an iron glove, but now they were Great Men—men whose power had grown enormously this past decade, insectlike, feeding upon War and Change. Between them they controlled almost two thirds of City Africa's lowers.
He smiled, then went through.
They were standing before the dragon arch, the fight pit beyond them, its galleries climbing up out of sight. In an hour those balconies would be packed with his men, their bodies tense, their eyes wide with bloodlust. Right now, however, the pit was dark and empty like a hollowed skull, the galleries silent.
"Cousins," he said, greeting them. If one knew no better one might almost laugh at the sight of them. A giant and a dwarf, a fat man and a one-eyed hermaphrodite! Yet appearances were deceptive. Any one of them was as deadly as a hungry viper, and together . . .
"Are you sure he's coming?" the tiny, almost doll-like figure of Mo Nan-ling, "the Little Emperor," asked, his fingers toying with the thick gold chain about his neck.
Fu Chiang smiled benevolently. "He will be here anytime, Cousin Mo. I have tracked his craft over the mountains. He comes alone."
"Into the tiger's mouth," the big man at Mo Nan-ling's side said, cracking his knuckles. "The man must be a fool."
Fu Chiang stared at the giant, his face pensive. "So it seems, Yang Chih-wen. And yet that cannot be. Our cousins in City Europe underestimated him, and where are they now? Dead, their kingdoms smashed, the sacred brotherhoods destroyed."
Yang Chih-wen shrugged. He was almost three ch'i in height and heavily muscled. "The Bear" they called him and the likeness to that ancient, extinct animal was uncanny, from the long, thick nose to the dark hair that sprouted from every pore.