An Inch of Ashes (Chung Kuo)(58)

‘I am grateful for this chance to talk with you, Chieh Hsia,' Heng began. ‘I would not have asked had it not been a matter of the greatest urgency.'

The T'ang smiled. ‘Of course. But, please, Heng Yu, be brief. I am already late for my next appointment.'

Heng bowed again, conscious of the debt he owed the Chancellor for securing this audience.

‘It is about young Shepherd, Chieh Hsia.'

The T'ang raised an eyebrow. ‘Hal's boy? What of him?'

‘He is at college, I understand, Chieh Hsia.'

Li Shai Tung laughed. ‘You know it for a certainty, Heng Yu, else you would not have mentioned the matter. But what of it? Is the boy in trouble?'

Heng hesitated. ‘I am not sure, Chieh Hsia. It does not seem that he is in any immediate danger, yet certain facts have come to my notice that suggest he might be in the days ahead.'

Li Shai Tung leaned forward, his left hand smoothing his plaited beard.

‘I see. But why come to me, Heng Yu? This is a matter for General Nocenzi, surely?'

Heng gave a small bow. ‘Normally I would agree, Chieh Hsia, but in view of the father's illness and the boy's possible future relationship with Prince Yuan...'

He left the rest unsaid, but Li Shai Tung took his point. Heng was right. This was much more important than any normal Security matter. Whatever Ben said just now of his intentions, he had been bred to be Li Yuan's advisor, and genes, surely, would out eventually? For anything to happen to him now was unthinkable.

‘What do you suggest, Heng Yu?'

In answer, Heng Yu bowed, then held out the scroll he had prepared in advance. Chung Hu-yan took it from him and handed it up to the T'ang who unfurled it and began to read. When he had finished he looked back at Heng.

‘Good. You have my sanction for this, Heng Yu. I'll sign this and give the General a copy of the authority. But don't delay. I want this acted upon at once.'

‘Of coursensaButĈ, Chieh Hsia.'

‘And Heng Yu...'

‘Yes, Chieh Hsia?'

‘I am in your debt in this matter. If there is any small favour I can offer in return, let Chung Hu-yan know and it shall be done.'

Heng Yu bowed low. ‘I am overwhelmed by your generosity, Chieh Hsia, but forgive me, it would not be right for me to seek advantage from what was, after all, my common duty to my lord. As ever, Chieh Hsia, I ask for nothing but to serve you.'

Straightening, he saw the smile of satisfaction on the old man's lips and knew he had acted wisely. There were things he needed; things the T'ang could have made easier for him; but none, at present, that were outside his own broad grasp. To have the T'ang's good opinion, however, that was another thing entirely. He bowed a second time, then lowered his head to Chung Hu-yan, backing away. One day, he was certain, such temporary sacrifices would pay off  –  would reap a thousandfold the rewards he now so lightly gave away. In the meantime he would find out what this business with the Novacek boy was all about. Would get to the bottom of it and then make sure that it was from him that the T'ang first heard of it.

As the great doors closed behind him, he looked about him at the great halls and corridors of the palace, smiling. Yes, the old T'ang's days were numbered now. And Prince Yuan, when his time came, would need a Chancellor. A younger man than Chung Hu-yan. A man he could rely on absolutely.

Heng Yu walked on, past bowing servants, a broad smile lighting his features.

So why not himself? Why not Heng Yu, whose record was unblemished, whose loyalty and ability were unquestioned?

As he approached them, the huge, leather-panelled outer doors of the palace began to ease back, spilling bright sunlight into the shadows of the broad, high-ceilinged corridor. Outside, the shaven-headed guards of the T'ang's elite squad bowed low as he moved between them. Savouring the moment, Heng Yu, Minister to Li Shai Tung, T'ang of City Europe, gave a soft, small laugh of pleasure.

Yes, he thought, looking up at the great circle of the sun. Why not?


Catherine stood in the doorway, looking across at him. Ben was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head pushed forward, his shoulders hunched, staring at the frame without seeing it.

He had woken full of life; had smiled and kissed her tenderly and told her to wait while he brought her breakfast, but he had been gone too long. She had found him in the kitchen, staring vacantly at his hands, the breakfast things untouched.

‘What is it?' she had asked. ‘What's happened?' But he had walked past her as if she wasn't there. Had gone through and sat down on the bed. So still, so self-engrossed that it had frightened her.

‘Ben?' she said, setting the tray down beside him. ‘I've cooked breakfast. Won't you have some with me?'

He glanced up at her. ‘What?'

‘Breakfast.' She smiled, then knelt beside him, putting her hand on his knee.

‘Ah...' His smile was wan; was merely the token of a smile.

‘What is it, Ben? Please. I've not seen you like this before. It must be something.'

For a moment he did nothing. Then he reached into the pocket of his gown and took something out, offering it to her.

It was a letter. She took it from him, handling it with care  –  with a feeling for its strangeness.

She sat on the floor beside his feet, handling the letter delicately, as if it were old a doe ed Q old a dond fragile like the book he had given her, taking the folded sheets and smoothing them out upon her lap.

For a moment she hesitated, a sudden sense of foreboding washing over her. What if it were another woman? Some past lover of his, writing to reclaim him  –  to take him back from her? Or was it something else? Something he had difficulty telling her?

She glanced at him, then looked back, beginning to read.

After only a few moments she looked up. ‘Your sister?'

He nodded. ‘She wants to come and visit me. To see what I'm up to.'

Ah...' But, strangely, she felt no relief. There was something about the tone of the letter that troubled her. ‘And you don't want that?'

Again he nodded, his lips pressed tightly together.

For a moment she looked past him at the books on the shelf beside his bed. Books she had never heard of before, with titles that were as strange as the leather binding of their covers; books like Polidori's Ernestus Berchtold, Helme's The Farmer of Inglewood Forest, Poe's Eleanora, Brown's The Power Of Sympathy and Byron's Manfred. She stared at them a moment, as if to make sense of them, then looked back at him.

Folding the sheets, she slipped them back inside the envelope, then held it out to him.

‘I've come here to get away from all that,' he said, taking the letter. He looked at it fiercely for a moment, as if it were a living thing, then put it back in his pocket. ‘This here...' He gestured at the frame, the books and prints on the walls, the personal things that were scattered all about the room, then shrugged. ‘Well, it's different, that's all.'

She thought of Lotte and Wolf, beginning to understand. ‘It's too close at home. Is that what you mean? And you feel stifled by that?'

He looked down at his hand  –  at the left hand where the wrist was ridged  –  then looked back at her.

‘Perhaps.'

She saw how he smiled, faintly, looking inward, as if to piece it all together in his head.

‘Your breakfast,' she said, reminding him. ‘You should eat it. It's getting cold.'

He looked back, suddenly focusing on her again. Then, as if he had made his mind up about something, he reached out and took her hand, drawing her up towards him.

‘Forget breakfast. Come. Let's go to bed again.'


‘Well? Have you the file?'

Heng Chian-ye turned, snapping his fingers. At once his servant drew nearer and, bowing, handed him a silk-bound folder.

‘I think you'll find everything you need in there,' Heng said, handing it across. ‘But tell me, Novacek, why did you want to know about that one? Has he crossed you in some way?'

Sergey Novacek glanced at Heng, then looked back at the file. ‘It's none of your business, but, no, he hasn't crossed me. It's just that our friend Shepherd is a bit of a mystery, and I hate mysteries.'

Heng Chian-ye stared at Novacek a moment, controlling the cold anger he felt merely at being in his presence. The Hung Mao had no idea what trouble he had got him into.

‘You've made your own investigations, I take it?' he said, asking another of the questions his uncle had insisted he ask.

Novacek looked up, closing the file. ‘Is this all?'

Heng smiled. ‘You know how it is, the richer the man, the less there is on file. Those who can, buy their anonymity.'

‘And you think that's what happened here?'

‘The boy's father is very rich. Rich enough to buy his way into Oxford without any qualifications whatsoever.'

Novacek nodded, a hint of bitterness overspilling into his words. ‘I know. I've seen the college records.'

‘Ah...' Heng gave the briefest nod, noting what he had said.

‘And the bronze?'

Heng Chian-ye turned slightly. Again the servant approached him, this time carrying a simple ice-cloth sack. Heng took the sack and turned, facing Novacek. His expression was suddenly much harder, his eyes coldly hostile.

‘This cost me dear. If there had been any way I could have borrowed a million yuan I would have done so, rather than meet my uncle's terms. But before I hand it over, I want to know why you wanted it. Why you thought it worth a million yuan.'