Am I? he asked himself. Or am I simply what they expect me to be? As he stared back at her he found he had no answer. If to be T'ang meant he could never have his heart's desire, then what use was it being T'ang? Better never to have lived.
‘I think I am,' he answered. ‘I have the same feelings and desires and thoughts.'
She was watching him intently, as if to solve some riddle she had set herself. Then she looked away, the faintest smile playing on her lips. ‘Yes... but it's the balance of those things that makes a man what he is, wouldn't you say?'
‘And you think my balance... different?'
She looked up at him challengingly. ‘Don't you?' She lifted her chin proudly, her dark eyes wide. ‘I don't really know you, Tsu Ma, but I know this much – I know you would defy the world to get what you wanted.'
He felt himself go still. Then she understood him, too. But still he held back, remembering the mistake he had made before. To be rebuffed a second time would be unthinkable, unbearable. He swallowed and looked down.
‘I don't know. I...'
She stood abruptly, making him look up at her, surprised.
‘All this talking,' she said, looking across to where their horses were grazing. ‘It's unhealthy. Unnatural.' She looked back at him. ‘Don't you think?'
He stood slowly, fascinated by the twist and turn of her, her ever-changing moods. ‘What do you suggest?'
She smiled, suddenly the woman he had met that first time, laughing and self-confident, all depths, all subtleties gone from her.
‘I know what,' she said. ‘Let's race. To the beacon. You know it?'
He narrowed his eyes. ‘We passed it ten li back, no?'
‘That's it.' Her smile broadened. ‘Well? Are you game?'
‘Yes,' he said, laughing. ‘Why not? And no quarter, eh? No holding back.'
‘Of course,' she answered, her eyes meeting his knowingly. ‘No holding back.'
Fei Yen reined in her horse and turned to look back down the steep slope beneath the beacon. Tsu Ma was some fifty ch'i back, his mount straining, its front legs fighting for each ch'i of ground.
Her eyes shone and her chest rose and fell quickly. She felt exhilarated. It had been a race to remember.
Tsu Ma reined in beside her. His mount pulled its head back, over-excited by the chase. He leaned down to smooth it, stroking the broad length of its face. Then he looked up at her, his strong features formed into a smile of pleasure.
‘That was good. I haven't enjoyed myself so much in yearso;
He laughed, a deep, rich laugh that sent a shiver down her spine. Then he reached out and drew the hair back from where it had fallen across her face, his hand resting against her cheek.
It was the first time he had touched her.
He withdrew his hand and turned from her, standing in his saddle and looking out across the valley. They were at the highest point for twenty li about. To their backs and distant were the foothills of the Ta Pa Shan, but before them was only the plain.
Or what had once been the plain. In his grandfather's time the City had stretched only as far as Ch'ung Ch'ing. Now it covered all the lowlands of Sichuan. From where he looked it glistened whitely in the afternoon sunlight, a crystalline growth come to within a dozen li of where they were. He could not see its full extent from where he stood, but knew that it filled the Ch'ang Chiang basin, eight hundred li south to the mountains, a thousand li east to west. A vast plateau of ice.
He lowered himself in the saddle, then turned, looking back at her. She was watching him, concerned. Such a look as a wife gives her man. Thinking it, he smiled and remembered why he'd come.
He climbed down from his mount and went across to her.
‘Come!' he said, offering her his hand to help her down. But this time he did not relinquish her. This time he turned her to face him, enveloping her in his arms.
She looked up at him expectantly, her mouth open, the bottom lip raised, almost brutal in what it implied. Her eyes seared him, so fierce was
their demand. And her body, where he gripped it, seemed to force itself into him.
It was as he'd thought.
He kissed her, his mouth crushing hers, answering her need with his own. For a moment they struggled with each other's clothing, tearing at the lacing, freeing themselves, and then he had lifted her on to him and was thrusting deep into her, her legs wrapped about his back, her pelvis pushing down urgently to meet his movements.
‘My love,' she said, her dark eyes wide, aroused, her fine, small hands caressing his neck. ‘Oh, my love, my lord...'
Chapter 51
THE VEILED LIGHT
Li Yuan stood with his father at the centre of the viewing circle, looking down at the great globe of Chung Kuo, one hundred and sixty thousand li below. Down there it was night. Lit from within, the great, continent-spanning mass of City Europe glowed a soft, almost pearled white, bordered on all sides by an intensity of blackness. To the south, beyond the darkness of Chung Hai, the ancient Mediterranean, glowed City Africa, its broad, elongated shape curving out of view, while to the east – separated from City Europe by the dark barrier of the East European Plantations – City Asia began, a vast glacier, stretching away into the cold heart of the immense land mass.
The room in which they stood was dimly lit; the double doors at the top of the steps leading to the T'ang's private rooms were closed. It was warm in the room, yet, as ever, the illusion of coldness prevailed.
‘What have you decided, Father?'
The T'ang turned to his son, studying him thoughtfully, then smiled.
‘To wait to hear what the Marshal says. He saw the boy this morning.'
‘Ah...' Li Yuan glanced at the slender folder he was cicat, arrying beneath his arm. In it were copies of the records Karr had brought back with him from Mars: Berdichev's personal files, taken from the corpse of his private secretary three days before Karr had caught up with Berdichev himself.
It had taken them two weeks to break the complex code, but it had been worth it. Besides giving them access to a number of secret SimFic files – files that gave them the location of several special projects Berdichev had instigated – they had also contained several items of particular interest.
The first was a detailed breakdown of the events leading up to the assassination of the Edict Minister, Lwo Kang, ten years earlier. It was similar in many respects to the document Tolonen had brought to Li Shai Tung shortly after the event – the papers drawn up by Major DeVore. That document, and the web of inference and connection it had drawn, had been enough to condemn the Dispersionist, Edmund Wyatt, to death for treason. But now they knew it for what it was. Though Wyatt had been against the Seven, he had played no part in the murder of Minister Lwo. He had been set up by his fellow conspirators. But Wyatt's death, almost as surely as the destruction of the starship, The New Hope, had brought about the War that followed.
Li Yuan looked back at his father, conscious of how much he had aged in the years between. The War had emptied him; stripped him of all illusions. Five years back he would not have even contemplated the Wiring Project. But times had changed. New solutions were necessary. The second file was confirmation of that.
‘About the Aristotle File, Father. Do we know yet if any copies were made?'
Li Shai Tung looked down past his feet at the blue-white circle of Chung Kuo.
‘Nothing as yet, Yuan. So maybe we've been lucky. Maybe it wasn't disseminated.'
‘Perhaps...' But both knew that the Aristotle File was too important – too potentially damaging to the Seven – for Berdichev to have kept it to himself: for it was no less than the true history of Chung Kuo; the version of events the tyrant Tsao Ch'un had buried beneath his own.
Li Yuan shivered, remembering the day when he had found out the truth about his world; recollecting suddenly the dream he had had – his vision of a vast mountain of bones, filling the plain from horizon to horizon. The foundations of his world.
‘You know, Yuan, I was standing here the night you were born. It was late and I was looking down at Chung Kuo, wondering what lay ahead. I had been dreaming...'
He looked up, meeting his son's eyes.
‘Dreaming, Father?'
The T'ang hesitated, then gave a small shake of his head. ‘No matter... Just that it struck me as strange. The boy and all...'
He knew what his father meant.
The third file concerned a boy Berdichev had taken a personal interest in; a Clayborn child from the Recruitment Project for whom Berdichev had paid the extraordinary sum of ten million yuan.
Part of the file was a genotyping – a comparison of the child's genetic material to that of a man alleged to be his father. The result of the genotyping was conclusive. The man was the child's father. And the man's name? Edmund Wyatt – the person wrongly executed for orchestrating the assassination of the T'ang's minister, Lwo Kang.
That had been strange enough, but stranger yet was a footnote to the file: a footnote that revealed that far from the Aristotle File being the work of Soren Berdichev, as was claimed on the file itself, it had, in fact, been compiled and authored by the boy.