"I see. Then it's imperative that we give Thorn time to get out of there. No? He's been at the thick of it, after all. He'll know what's going on. And it's important that we find out exactly what's been happening down there. In the circumstances I order you to hold off for forty-eight hours. If the situation changes come back to me for orders, Major. I want no maverick operations."
Haavikko's face showed nothing of the disappointment he felt. "Sir!" he said, bowing toward the screen as it went blank.
"You think he's made the wrong call, don't you?" Ben said quietly.
Haavikko hesitated, knowing that Ben was an adviser to Li Yuan, then gave the barest nod.
"Why?"
Ben's directness surprised Haavikko. He shrugged and looked away, as if he wasn't going to answer, then met Ben's eyes again.
"Because they're warned now. Forty-eight hours . . ." He shook his head. "In forty-eight hours they could pack it all up and move out. It's what SimFic used to do under Berdichev. They were running all manner of illicit operations and by the time we'd get permission to hit them, they'd be gone."
"And this . . . this smells the same?"
Haavikko nodded and then grimaced. "No maverick operations, eh?
Why, it's so-called maverick operations that have saved us all these years. If we'd stuck to what the General decided, we'd all be dead."
Ben raised an eyebrow. "Speaking off the record, I assume?"
Haavikko's expression hardened, realizing what he'd been saying. "Of course? . . ."
"And what if, as Li Yuan's Chief Adviser and therefore General Rheinhardt's nominal superior, I was to order you back into the Clay ... to recover some property I left there. How would you feel about that?"
Haavikko stared at him a moment, then grinned broadly. "Why, I feel I would be compelled to accept your instructions . . . sir."
LIKE ALL ABOUT HIM, the Myghtern dreamed of light; of an open sky and a small round sun that shed its warmth on bare flesh.
"But you've seen it, surely? There are ways out of here."
The big man placed one of his huge hands beneath his thickly bearded chin. "No," he said fiercely. "It would only anger me."
But that was not entirely true. Thorn knew what it really was—he had seen it in the Myghtern's warriors that time when they had come to the settlement for him. Like them, the Myghtern was afraid. Afraid of the open sky and its terrifying brightness. Dreams were enough for him.
And among those dreams, the dream of a beautiful Above wife. A straight-boned woman the equal of himself, not some scraggy, breastless woman of the Clay, deformed and stinking-breathed.
Dreams. And as below, so Above. The five from the Above—they, too, had their dream: a dream of the dispersion of humanity among the stars. A dream as old as the idea of space technologies itself. Of leaving the teeming, overcrowded earth and finding other planets. A dream of freedom from the tyranny of the Seven—or of the One Man who remained, Li Yuan.
A dream—and a conspiracy. Five men, planning something here where no eyes could spy on them. Here, beneath the T'ang's great City.
But soon he would know; would see with his own eyes just why these men had come here to bargain with this barbarian chief.
FOR AN HOUR or so Thorn was left to his own devices. Tak had seemed distracted earlier. Something had happened; something he '{ didn't want to mention, not even to the Myghtern. But when Tak called on him again he seemed transformed, reenergized somehow.
"What's happened?" Thorn asked as they made their way down Boscawen Street to the Mansion House.
"It's Jackson," Tak said, beaming. "He's back. I didn't expect him for days yet, but he's here." "Jackson?"
Tak glanced at him. "You'll see. He's been to Africa. Africa . . ." He said the word softly, reverently, as if it were a dream. "So what does Jackson do?"
"He arranges things. Acts as a kind of go-between. The five who are here . . . that's his doing. But he's not their agent, nor the Myght-ern's, come to that."
Thorn nodded, loath to push this line of questioning too far, lest Tak get suspicious. But for once Tak seemed happy to volunteer information.
"He's been here a long time now. Two years by his own reckoning. All this"—Tak indicated the refurbished street—"it wouldn't exist without him. He made it possible. In return the Myghtern grants him favors." "Favors?"
Tak nodded. "He has some land, east of here." Thorn slowed as they came to the steps and looked at Tak. "He must be a great man, this Jackson."
"Oh, he is," Tak said, the certainty in his voice making Thorn wonder what Tak's relationship to him was. Then, unexpectedly, Tak stopped and turned to him, holding his arm. "I've misread you, Thorn. I thought . . . Well, let me be frank with you. Jackson warned me that there were intruders in the Clay. Operatives, he calls them. When I had news of you I thought you were one of them. Yesterday, however, I took a prisoner. A big man, built like one of the Above. But he wasn't . . . well, he wasn't real. I didn't understand it at first, but Jackson explained it to me. My men thought he was a wizard, but he wasn't, he was just artificial. His hand . . . well, he detached his hand and used it to escape. And then, when I pursued him, his Above masters came for him in one of their half-tracks and rescued him." Thorn nodded, stunned by Tak's outpouring. "I see." Tak squeezed his arm. "It's all right. No harm was done. All he saw was the inside of a cell. But you . . . well, I must apologize to you, Thorn."
"There's no need," he said.
"Oh, there is. But come now, let's go inside. Jackson's waiting for us."
Jackson was standing with his back to Thorn when he entered, talking to the Myghtern. Tak touched Thorn's arm, indicating he should stay, then went across. For a moment Tak exchanged words with both men, then, with a pleasant laugh, Jackson turned to face Thorn.
Thorn stared at that face and felt the shock of it judder through him. DeVore ... he was looking at DeVore!
Letting nothing betray the fact of his recognition, he stepped forward to greet the man, bowing, then looking to Tak as if for a lead.
"So you're the trader, huh?" Jackson said, his behavior so pleasant, so at odds with what Thorn knew of the man, that his head swam at the great gulf that lay between the two. Why, this man was responsible for thousands, no ... millions of deaths.
"My name is Thorn," he said, lowering his head, relieved to note that there was no sign of suspicion in DeVore's eyes.
"Well, Thorn, I understand you've done a good job for my friend the Myghtern. He's been in need of a good translator for some while. I do what I can, and Tak here struggles manfully, but from what I've heard you have a talent for it. Stick with it, Thorn, and you'll be well rewarded. Things are changing down here. Civilization's coming to the Clay!"
Thorn nodded and smiled, as if pleased by what DeVore had said, but another part of his mind was furiously considering what this meant. If DeVore was here . . .
He had to let someone know, and the sooner the better. Everything else he'd seen and heard down here was as nothing beside that single, solitary fact. DeVore . . . DeVore was behind it all!
Good, he thought. But how am I to get away?
He could not just walk away. At least, not yet. Not until after the feast.
"Are you coming to the feast, this evening, Shih Jackson?"
DeVore smiled back at him. "I am afraid I can't. There are things I have to do. But if you'd be my guest this afternoon, Shih Thorn? My friends from the Above want to see what their money has paid for."
"I'd like that," Thorn said, surprised by the invitation.
"Good." DeVore reached out and held his shoulder. "Then meet me at the High Cross two hours from now. And wear some stout walking boots, Shih Thorn. You'll have need of them."