The Broken Wheel Read online

  THE BROKEN WHEEL

  DAVID WINGROVE is the Hugo Award-winning co-author (with Brian Aldiss) of Trillion Year Spree: The History of Science Fiction. He is also the co-author of the first three MYST books – novelizations of one of the world’s bestselling computer games. He lives in north London with his wife and four daughters.

  1

  Son of Heaven

  2

  Daylight on Iron Mountain

  3

  The Middle Kingdom

  4

  Ice and Fire

  5

  The Art of War

  6

  An Inch of Ashes

  7

  The Broken Wheel

  8

  The White Mountain

  9

  Monsters of the Deep

  10

  The Stone Within

  11

  Upon a Wheel of Fire

  12

  Beneath the Tree of Heaven

  13

  Song of the Bronze Statue

  14

  White Moon, Red Dragon

  15

  China on the Rhine

  16

  Days of Bitter Strength

  17

  The Father of Lies

  18

  Blood and Iron

  19

  King of Infinite Space

  20

  The Marriage of the Living Dark

  The Broken Wheel was first published as part of The White Mountain in Great Britain in 1991 by New English Library.

  This revised and updated edition published in special edition hardback, trade paperback, and e-book in Great Britain in 2013 by Corvus, an imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd.

  Copyright © David Wingrove, 1990, 2013

  The moral right of David Wingrove to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities, is entirely coincidental.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Hardback ISBN: 978 0 85789 820 3

  Trade paperback ISBN: 978 0 85789 821 0

  E-book ISBN: 978 0 85789 822 7

  Printed in Great Britain.

  Corvus

  An imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd

  Ormond House

  26–27 Boswell Street

  London

  WC1N 3JZ

  www.corvus-books.co.uk

  CONTENTS

  INTRODUCTION

  PROLOGUE

  Fallen Petals – Summer 2207

  PART FOURTEEN

  At the Bridge of Ch’in – Summer 2207

  Chapter 57

  Scorched Earth

  Chapter 58

  Gods of the Flesh

  Chapter 59

  The Way of Deception

  Chapter 60

  Carp Pool and Tortoise Shell

  Chapter 61

  The Broken Wheel

  PART FIFTEEN

  Figures of Smoke – Autumn 2207

  Chapter 62

  Chen Yen

  Chapter 63

  New Blood

  Chapter 64

  Mirrors

  Chapter 65

  In the Temple of Heaven

  Chapter 66

  Ghosts

  In Times to Come…

  Character Listing

  Glossary of Mandarin Terms

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  To Lily Jackson

  from your grandson David on the occasion of

  your ninety-fifth birthday

  with a lifetime’s love

  THE BROKEN WHEEL

  Book Seven

  The way never acts yet nothing is left undone.

  Should lords and princes be able to hold fast to it,

  The myriad creatures will be transformed of their own accord.

  After they are transformed, should desire raise its head,

  I shall press it down with the weight of the nameless uncarved block.

  The nameless uncarved block

  Is but freedom from desire,

  And if I cease to desire and remain still,

  The empire will be at peace of its own accord.

  — Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching, Book One, XXXVII (sixth century BC)

  INTRODUCTION

  Chung Kuo. The words mean ’Middle Kingdom’ and since 221BC, when the First Emperor, Ch’in Shih Huang-ti, unified the seven Warring States, it is what the ‘black-haired people’, the Han, or Chinese, have called their great country. The Middle Kingdom – for them it was the whole world; a world bounded by great mountain chains to the north and west, by the sea to east and south. Beyond was only desert and barbarism. So it was for two thousand years.

  By the turn of the twenty-second century, however, Chung Kuo had come to mean much more. For more than a century, the Empire of the Han had encompassed the world, the Earth’s bloated population of forty billion contained in vast, hive-like cities that spanned whole continents. The Council of Seven – Han lords, T’ang, each more powerful than the greatest of the ancient emperors – ruled Chung Kuo with an iron authority, their boast that they had ended Change and stopped the Great Wheel turning. But Change was coming.

  It had begun twelve years before, when a new generation of powerful young merchants – Dispersionists, formed mainly of Hung Mao, or Westerners – had challenged the authority of the Seven, demanding an end to the Edict of Technological Control, the cornerstone of Han stability, and a return to the Western ideal of unfettered progress. In the spate of assassination and counter-assassination that followed, something had to give, and the destruction of the Dispersionist starship, The New Hope, signalled the beginning of the ‘War-that-wasn’t-a-War’, an incestuous power struggle fought within the City’s levels. The Seven won that War, but at a price they could ill afford. Suddenly they were weak – weaker than they had been in their entire history. The new T’ang were young and inexperienced. Worse than that, they were divided against themselves.

  But the War was only the first small sign of greater disturbances to come, for down in the lowest levels of the City, in the lawless regions ‘below the Net’ and in the overcrowded decks just above, new currents of unrest have awoken. In the years since the War, Ko Ming – revolutionary – groups have proliferated, and none more powerful or deadly than the Ping Tiao, or Levellers. The War was no longer a struggle for power, but for survival…

  PROLOGUE

  FALLEN PETALS

  Summer 2207

  The guests are gone from the pavilion high,

  In the small garden flowers are whirling around.

  Along the winding path the petals lie;

  To greet the setting sun, they drift up from the ground.

  Heartbroken, I cannot bear to sweep them away;

  From my eager eyes, spring soon disappears.

  I pine with passing, heart’s desire lost for aye;

  Nothing is left but a robe stained with tears.

  — Li Shangyin, Falling Flowers (ninth century AD)

  Li Yuan reined in his horse and looked up. On the far side of the valley, beyond the tall, narrow spire of Three Swallows Mount, a transporter was banking, heading for the palace,
two li distant. As it turned he saw the crest of the Ywe Lung emblazoned on its fuselage and frowned, wondering who it was. As far as he knew, his father was expecting no one.

  He turned in his saddle, looking about him. The grassy slope led down to a dirt track that followed the stream for a short way then crossed a narrow wooden bridge and snaked south towards Tongjiang. He could follow that path back to the palace or he could finish the ride he had planned, up to the old monastery then south to the beacon. For a moment longer he hesitated, caught in two minds. It was a beautiful morning, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue; the kind of morning when one felt like riding on and on for ever, but he had been out three hours already, so maybe it was best if he got back. Besides, maybe his father needed him. Things had been quiet recently. Too quiet. Maybe something had come up.

  He tugged at the reins gently, turning the Arab’s head, then spurred her on with his heels, leading her carefully down the slope and along the path, breaking into a canter as he crossed the bridge. He was crossing the long meadow, the palace just ahead of him, when a second transporter passed overhead, the insignia of the Marshal clearly displayed on the undersides of its stubby wings. Yuan slowed, watching as it turned and landed on the far side of the palace, a cold certainty forming in his guts.

  It had begun again.

  At the stables he all but jumped from the saddle, leaving the groom to skitter about the horse, trying to catch hold of the reins, while he ran on, along the red-tiled path and into the eastern palace.

  He stopped, breathless, at the door to his father’s suite of rooms, taking the time to calm himself, to run his fingers quickly through his unruly hair, but even as he made to knock, Chung Hu-yan, his father’s Chancellor, drew the door of the ante-room open and stepped out, as if expecting him.

  ‘Forgive me, Prince Yuan,’ he began, without preamble, ‘but your father has asked me if you would excuse him for an hour or so. A small matter has arisen, inconsequential in itself yet urgent.’ Yuan hesitated, wondering how far he could push Hu-yan on this, but again Hu-yan pre-empted him.

  ‘It is nothing you can help him with, Prince Yuan. I assure you of that. It is a… personal matter, let us say. No one has died, neither is the peace of Chung Kuo threatened, yet the matter is of some delicacy. In view of special circumstances your father thought it best that he consult his cousin, Tsu Ma, and the Marshal. You understand, I hope?’

  Yuan stood there a moment longer, trying to read something in Chung Hu-yan’s deeply creased face, but the old man’s expression was like a wall, shutting him out. He laughed, then nodded.

  ‘I am relieved, Hu-yan. I had thought…’

  But he had no need to say. It had been on all their minds these past few months. Where would their enemies strike next? Who would they kill? In many respects this peace was worse than the War that had preceded it; a tenuous, uncertain peace that stretched the nerves almost to breaking point.

  He smiled tightly then turned away, hearing the door pulled closed behind him. But even as he walked back he was beginning to wonder what it was that might have brought Tsu Ma so urgently to his father’s summons. A personal matter… He turned, looking back thoughtfully, then shrugged and turned round, making his way past bowing servants and kneeling maids, hurrying now.

  Maybe Fei Yen knew something. She was always hearing snippets of rumour that his own ears hadn’t caught, so maybe she knew what this was. And even if she didn’t, she had ways of finding such things out. Women’s ways.

  He laughed and broke into a run. And then maybe he would take her out in the palanquin. One last time before she was too far advanced in her pregnancy. Up to the monastery, perhaps. Or to the beacon.

  Yes, they could make a picnic of it. And maybe, afterwards, he would make love to her, gently, carefully, there on the grassy hillside, beneath the big open sky of northern China. One last, memorable time before the child came.

  He stopped before her door, hammering at it and calling her name, laughing, all of his earlier fears forgotten, his head filled with the thought of the afternoon ahead.

  ‘What is it, Yuan?’ she asked, opening the door to him almost timidly, her smile uncertain. ‘Are you drunk?’

  In answer he drew her to him, more roughly than he had meant, and lifted her up, crushing her lips with his own. ‘Not drunk, my love. But happy…’

  Li Shai Tung had taken his guests through to the Summer House. Servants had brought ch’a and sweetmeats and then departed, leaving the three men alone. Tolonen stood by the window, looking down the steep slope towards the ornamental lake, while Tsu Ma and Li Shai Tung sat, facing each other, on the far side of the room. So far they had said nothing of importance, but now Li Shai Tung looked up at Tsu Ma and cleared his throat.

  ‘Do you remember the first time you came here? That day you went riding with Yuan and the Lady Fei?’

  Tsu Ma met his gaze unflinchingly. ‘That was a good day. And the evening that followed, out on the lake.’

  Li Shai Tung looked down. ‘Ah, yes, Yuan told me of that…’

  He smiled – sourly, Tsu Ma thought, fearing the worst.

  The old T’ang raised his head again, the smile fading altogether. ‘And you recall what we spoke of that day?’

  Tsu Ma nodded, his mouth dry, wishing the old man would be more direct. If he knew, why didn’t he say something? Why this torment of indirectness? ‘We spoke of Yuan’s Project, if I remember accurately,’ he said, looking across at Tolonen momentarily, recalling that they had appointed the old man to oversee the whole business. But what had this to do with him and Fei Yen? For surely that was why he had been summoned here this morning at such short notice. He looked down, filled with shame for what he had done. ‘I am sorry, Shai Tung, I –’

  But Li Shai Tung seemed not to have heard. He carried on, as if Tsu Ma had said nothing.

  ‘We spoke afterwards, too, didn’t we? A week or so later, if I recall. At which time I made you a party to my thoughts.’

  Tsu Ma looked up, frowning. He had heard of indirection, but this… Then he understood. This had nothing to do with Fei Yen and him. Nothing at all. He laughed, relief washing through him.

  Li Shai Tung stared at him, astonished. ‘I am afraid I find it no laughing matter, cousin.’ He half turned, looking at the Marshal. ‘Show him the file, Knut.’

  Tsu Ma felt himself go cold again. He took the file and opened it, the faintest tremor in his hands. A moment later he looked up, his face a picture of incomprehension.

  ‘What in Hell’s name is all this?’

  The old T’ang held his head stiffly, his anger barely controlled. ‘Inventions. Machines. Devices that would be the ruin of Chung Kuo. Every last one of them breaking the Edict in a dozen, maybe twenty different ways.’

  Tsu Ma glanced through the file, amazed by what he saw, then shook his head. ‘But where did they come from? Who invented them? And why?’

  Tolonen spoke up for the first time. ‘They’re SimFic mainly. From the traitor Berdichev’s papers. We saw them long ago – three, maybe even four years ago – but in a different form from this. Li Shai Tung ordered them destroyed. But here they are again, the same things but better than before.’

  ‘Better?’

  Li Shai Tung nodded. ‘You recall that we talked of a young boy. A clever one, by the name of Kim Ward. Well, this is his work. Somehow he got hold of these papers and worked on them. The improvements are his. In one sense it’s quite amazing, in another horrifying. But the fault does not lie with the boy.’

  Tsu Ma shook his head, still not understanding how all of this connected, or why Li Shai Tung should consult him on the matter. ‘But if not the boy, then who?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I asked the Marshal to find out. He came upon these files by accident, you understand. Six months had passed and I wanted to know what was happening with Yuan’s Project. So, secretly, without the Project Director’s knowledge, the Marshal trawled the Project’s files.’

  Tsu Ma leaned back in hi
s chair. ‘I see. And you didn’t want Yuan to know that you were checking up on him?’

  Li Shai Tung nodded. ‘It seemed best. It was not that I felt he would lie to me, just that he might act as… a filter, let’s say. But this shocked me.’

  ‘Then Li Yuan is responsible for this file? It was he who gave the originals to the boy to work on?’

  ‘Yes…’ Bitterness and anger were etched starkly in the old man’s face.

  ‘I see…’

  He understood. Li Shai Tung had asked for him because he alone could be trusted, for he alone among the Seven knew of the existence of the Project. Even Wu Shih was under the impression that Li Shai Tung was only considering matters. Yes, and he understood the necessity for that, for were it to become common knowledge it could only do them harm. Wang Sauleyan, certainly, could be counted on to use it to foment trouble in Council and try to break the power of the Li family.

  But that was not really the issue. No. The real problem was that Li Shai Tung felt himself affronted. His son had not acted as a son should act. He had lied and cheated, no matter the good intent that lay behind the act. Indeed, to the old man that was probably the worst of it. Not that these things existed, for they could be destroyed as easily as if they had never been, but that Li Yuan had sought to conceal them from him. It was this part of it on which he sought Tsu Ma’s advice. For who was closer to his son than Tsu Ma? As close, almost, as a brother…

  Li Shai Tung leaned closer. ‘What should I do, Tsu Ma? Should I confront him with these… things?’

  ‘No…’ Tsu Ma took a breath. ‘I would say nothing.’