The Broken Wheel Page 3

  Crouched in the narrow tunnel above the floor-mounted box, Lehmann took a small cloth bag from the pocket of his tunic. Tilting his head forward, he tapped first one and then the other of the false lenses out into his hand, placing them into the bag.

  Mach was already unscrewing the first of the four restraining bolts. He looked up at Lehmann, noting what he was doing. ‘Are you sure you ought to do that? There are cameras in these tunnels, too.’

  Lehmann tucked the bag away. ‘It’ll be okay. Besides, I can’t focus properly with those false retinas in place.’

  Mach laughed. ‘So DeVore doesn’t think of everything.’

  Lehmann shook his head ‘Not at all. He’s very thorough. Whose man do you think is in charge of the tunnel cameras?’

  Mach slowed, then nodded thoughtfully. ‘Uhuh? And how do you think he does that? I mean, he’s got a lot of friends, your man DeVore. It seems odd, don’t you think? How long is it since he quit Security? Eight years now? Ten?’

  ‘It’s called loyalty,’ Lehmann said coldly. ‘I thought you understood that. Besides, there are many who feel as you and I. Many who’d like to see things change.’

  Mach shook his head slowly, as if he still didn’t understand, then got to work on the second of the bolts.

  ‘You think that’s strange, don’t you?’ Lehmann said after a moment. ‘You think that only you low-level types should want to change how things are, but you’re wrong. You don’t have to be on the bottom of this shit-heap to see how fuck-awful things are. Take me. From birth I was set to inherit. Riches beyond your imagination. But it was never enough. I never wanted to be rich. I wanted to be free. Free of all the restraints this world of ours sets upon us. Chains they are. It’s a prison, this world of ours, boxing us in, and I hate that. I’ve always hated it.’

  Mach stared up at him, surprised and, to a small degree, amused. He had never suspected that the albino had so much feeling in him. He had always thought him cold, like a dead thing. This hatred was unexpected. It hinted at a side to him that even DeVore knew nothing of.

  The second bolt came free. He set to work on the third.

  ‘I bet you hated your parents, too, didn’t you?’

  Lehmann knelt, watching Mach’s hands as they turned the bolt. ‘I never knew them. My father never came to see me. My mother… well, I killed my mother.’

  ‘You…’ Mach looked back at him, roaring with laughter, then fell silent. ‘You mean, you really did? You killed her?’

  Lehmann nodded. ‘She was a rich Han’s concubine. An arfidis addict too. She disgusted me. She was like the rest of them, soft, corrupt. Like this world. I set fire to her, in her rooms. I’d like to do the same to all of them. To burn the whole thing to a shell and pull it down.’

  Mach took a deep breath through his nose, then set to work again. ‘I see. And DeVore knows this, does he?’

  ‘No. He thinks I’m someone else, something else.’

  ‘I see. But why tell me?’

  ‘Because you’re not what he thinks you are either.’ Lehmann reached across him, beginning to unscrew the final bolt. ‘DeVore sees only enemies or pale shadows of himself. That’s how he thinks. Black and white. As if this were all one great big game of wei chi.’

  Mach laughed. ‘You surprise me. I’d have thought…’ Then he laughed again. ‘I’m sorry. I’m doing what you said he does, aren’t I? Assuming you’re something that you’re not.’

  The last screw came loose. Between them they gently lifted the plate from the connecting pins and set it to one side. Beneath the plate was a panel, inset with tiny slip-in instruction cards. At the base of the panel was a keyboard. Lehmann tapped in the cut-out code he’d memorized then leaned close, studying the panel. His pale, thin fingers searched the board, then plucked five of the translucent cards from different locations. He slipped them into the pouch at his waist, then reached into his jacket and took out the first of the eighteen tiny sealed packets. When a certain signal was routed through this board, these five would be triggered, forming a circuit that overrode the standard instruction codes. To the back-up system it would seem as if the panel was functioning normally, but to all intents and purposes it would be dead. And with all eighteen boxes triggered in this way, communications to the deck would be effectively cut off.

  He slotted the five wafer-thin cards into place, reset the cut-out code, then, with Mach’s help, lowered the plate back on to the connecting pins.

  ‘There,’ Mach said. ‘One down, seventeen to go. Pretty easy, huh?’

  ‘Easy enough,’ Lehmann said, taking one of the restraining bolts and beginning to screw it down. ‘But only if you’ve the nerve, the vision and the intelligence to plan it properly.’

  Mach laughed. ‘And a few old friends, turning a blind eye.’

  Lehmann turned his head slightly, meeting Mach’s eyes. ‘Maybe. And a reason for doing it, neh?’

  Kim had heard the alarm from three decks down but made nothing of it, yet coming out of the transit he remembered it again. Pulse quickening, he began to run towards his room.

  Even before he turned the corner into his corridor he saw signs of what had happened. A long snake of hose ran from the corner hydrant, flaccid now. On the far side of it, water had pooled. But that was not what had alerted him. It was the scent of burning plastics.

  He leapt the hose, took three small, splashing steps, then stopped. The door to his room was open, the fire-hose curving inside. Even from where he stood he could see how charred the lintel was, could see the ashy residue of sludge littering the floor outside.

  ‘What in the gods’ names…?’

  T’ai Cho jerked his head round the door. ‘Kim!’ he cried, coming out into the corridor, and his face lit up. ‘Oh, thank the gods you’re safe. I thought…’

  He let himself be embraced, then went inside, facing the worst. It was gone. All of it. His comset was unrecognizable, fused into the worktop as if the whole were some strange, smooth sculpture of twisted black marble. The walls were black, as was the ceiling. The floor was awash with the same dark sludge that had oozed into the corridor.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked, looking about him, the extent of his loss – his books, his clothes, the tiny things he’d called his own – slowly sinking in. ‘I thought this kind of thing couldn’t happen? There are sprinklers, aren’t there? And air-seals.’

  T’ai Cho glanced at one of the maintenance men who were standing around, then looked back at Kim. ‘They failed, it seems. Faulty wiring.’

  Kim laughed sourly, the irony not lost on him. ‘Faulty wiring? But I thought the boxes used instruction cards.’

  One of the men spoke up. ‘That’s right. But two of the cards were wrongly encoded. It happens sometimes. It’s something we can’t check up on. A mistake at the factory… You know how it is.’

  Only too well, Kim thought. But who did this? Who ordered it done? Spatz? Or someone higher than him? Not Prince Yuan, anyway, because he wanted what was destroyed here today.

  He sighed, then shook his head. It would take weeks, months perhaps, to put it all together again. And if he did? Well, maybe it would be for nothing after all. Maybe they would strike again, just as he came to the end of his task, making sure nothing ever got to Li Yuan.

  He turned, looking at his old friend. ‘You shouldn’t have worried, T’ai Cho. But I’m glad you did. I was having my three-monthly medical. They say I’m fine. A slight vitamin C deficiency, but otherwise…’ He laughed. ‘It was fortunate, neh? I could have been sleeping.’

  ‘Yes,’ T’ai Cho said, holding the boy to him again. ‘We should thank the gods, neh?’

  Yes, thought Kim. Or whoever it was decided I was not as disposable as my work.

  Nan Ho stood in the cool of the passageway outside the room, mopping his brow, the feeling of nausea passing slowly from him. Though ten minutes had passed, his hands still trembled and his clothes were soaked with his own sweat. In all his forty years he had seen nothing like it. The man’
s screams had been bad enough, but the look in his eyes, that expression of sheer terror and hopelessness, had been too much to bear.

  If he closed his eyes he could still see it. Could see the echoing kitchen all about him, the prisoner tied naked to the table, his hands and feet bound tight with cords that bruised and cut the flesh. He bared his teeth, remembering the way the masked man had turned, the oiled muscles of his upper arms flexing effortlessly as he lifted the tongs from the red-hot brazier and turned them in the half-light. He could see the faint wisp of smoke that rose towards the ceiling, could hear the faint crackle as the coal was lifted into the cooler air, even before he saw the glowing coal itself. But most of all he could see the panic in the young man’s eyes and recalled what he had thought.

  Forgive me, Fan Ming-yu, but I had to do this. For my master.

  The man had begun to babble, to refute all he had been saying only a moment before, but the torturer’s movements seemed inexorable. The coal came down, slowly, ever so slowly it seemed, and the man’s words melted into shrieks of fearful protest. His body lifted, squirming, desperate, but all of its attempts to escape only brought it closer to the implement of its suffering.

  The torturer held back a moment. One leather-gloved hand pushed the man’s hip down, gently, almost tenderly it seemed. Then, with the kind of care one might see from a craftsman, tracing fine patterns on to silver, he brought the coal down delicately, pressing it tightly against the man’s left testicle.

  Nan Ho had shuddered and stepped back, swallowing bile. He had glanced, horrified, at Tolonen, seeing how the old man looked on impassively, then had looked back at the man, unable to believe what he had seen, appalled and yet fascinated by the damage the coal had done. Then, turning away, he had staggered out, his legs almost giving way under him, the screams of the man filling his head, the smell of charred flesh making him want to retch.

  He stood there a moment longer, calming himself, trying to fit what he had just witnessed into the tightly ordered pattern of the world he knew, then shook his head. It was not his fault. He had had no choice in the matter. If his master had been any other man, or if the Lady Fei had chosen any other man but Tsu Ma to be her lover. But… as it was, this had to be. To let the truth be known, that was unthinkable.

  Tolonen came outside. He stood there, staring at Nan Ho a moment, then reached out and held his shoulder. ‘I am sorry, Master Nan. I didn’t mean it to upset you. It’s just that I felt you ought to be there, to hear the man’s confession for yourself.’ He let his hand fall, then shrugged. ‘There are more efficient ways of inflicting pain, of course, but none as effective in loosening a tongue. The more barbaric the means of torture, we find, the quicker the man will talk.’

  Nan Ho swallowed, then found his voice again. ‘And what did you discover?’

  ‘I have a list of all those he spoke to. Few, fortunately. And his source.’

  ‘His source?’

  ‘It seems you acted not a moment too soon, Master Nan. Fan Ming-yu had just come from his lover. A young man named Yen Shih-fa.’

  Nan Ho’s eyes widened. ‘I know the man. He is a groom at the stables.’

  ‘Yes,’ Tolonen smiled grimly. ‘I have contacted Tongjiang already and had the man arrested. With the very minimum of fuss, you understand. They are bringing him here even now.’

  Nan Ho nodded abstractedly. ‘And what will you do?’

  The Marshal swallowed, a momentary bitterness clouding his features. ‘What can I do? It is as you said, Master Nan. This rumour cannot be allowed to spread. But how to prevent that? Normally I would trust to the word of such ch’un tzu, but in a matter of this seriousness it would not be enough to trust to their silence. A man’s word is one thing, but the security of the State is another. No, neither would it serve to demote them below the Net. These four are men of influence. Small influence, admittedly, but their absence would be noticed and commented upon. No, in the circumstances we must act boldly, I’m afraid.’

  Nan Ho shuddered. ‘You mean they must die.’

  Tolonen smiled. ‘Nothing quite so drastic, Master Nan. It is a matter of a small operation.’ He traced a tiny line across the side of his skull. ‘An incision here, another there…’

  ‘And their families?’

  ‘Their families will be told that they took an overdose of something illicit. Pei Ro-han’s surgeons had to operate to save them, but unfortunately there was damage – serious damage – to those parts of the brain that control speech and memory. Most unfortunate, neh? But the T’ang, in his generosity, will offer compensation.’

  Nan Ho stared at the Marshal, surprised. ‘You know this?’

  ‘I have already written the memorandum. It will be on Li Shai Tung’s desk this evening.’

  ‘Ah, then the matter is concluded?’

  ‘Yes. I think we can safely say that.’

  ‘And the groom? Yen Shih-fa?’

  Tolonen looked down, clearly angry. ‘Yen Shih-fa will die. After we have made sure he has done no further mischief.’

  Nan Ho bowed his head. ‘I understand…’ Yet he felt no satisfaction, only a sense of dread necessity; that, and a slowly mounting anger at his young master’s wife. This was her fault, the worthless bitch. This was the price of her selfishness, her wantonness.

  Tolonen was watching him sympathetically. ‘You have served your master well, Nan Ho. You were right. If this rumour had taken root…’

  Nan Ho gave the slightest nod. He had hoped to keep the details from Tolonen, but it had not proved possible. Even so, no harm had been done. Fang Ming-yu’s insistence on the truth of what he had said – that Tsu Ma had slept with the Lady Fei – had shocked and outraged the old man. Nan Ho had seen for himself the fury in Tolonen’s face as he leaned over the man, spittle flecking his lips as he called him a liar and a filthy scandal-monger. And thank the gods for that. No. Not for one moment had the Marshal believed it could be true. Tsu Ma and the Lady Fei. No. It was unthinkable!

  And so it must remain. For a lifetime, if necessary. But how long would it be before another whispered the secret to one they trusted? How long before the rumour trickled out again, flowing from ear to ear like the tributaries of a great river?

  And then?

  ‘I am pleased that it has all worked out so well, Marshal,’ he said, meeting the old man’s eyes briefly. ‘But now, if you need me no longer, I must see Pei Ro-han. I have yet to complete the business I came here for.’

  ‘Of course. You have done all that needs to be done here, Master Nan. For which I thank you. I can deal with the rest.’

  ‘Good. Then you’ll excuse me.’

  He bowed and was beginning to turn away when Tolonen called him back.

  ‘Forgive me, Master Nan, but one small thing. This morning, as I understand it, was the first time Tsu Ma had visited Tongjiang for three, almost four months. Now, without saying for a moment that I believe it to be true, such rumours have no credibility – even among such carrion as these – unless there are some few small circumstances to back them up. What crossed my mind, therefore, was that this was possibly some old tale, renewed, perhaps, by Tsu Ma’s visit this morning. I wondered…’ He hesitated, clearly embarrassed by what he was about to say. ‘Well, to be frank, I wondered if you had heard any whisper of this rumour before today, Master Nan. Whether…’

  But Nan Ho was shaking his head. ‘Personally I think it more likely that the T’ang’s visit put the idea into the young groom’s head. Dig a little and I’m sure you’ll find a reason for his malice. It would not be the first time that such mischief has come from personal disappointment.’

  Tolonen considered that, then nodded, satisfied. ‘Well, it was just a passing thought. Go now, Master Nan. And may the gods reward you for what you have done here today.’

  It had taken the best part of six hours to work their way down through the deck, but now they had only this last box to deal with and they were done. Both men had been quiet for some time, but now Mach looked acro
ss at his pale companion and laughed.

  ‘What is it?’ Lehmann asked tonelessly, concentrating on unscrewing the last of the restraining bolts.

  ‘I was just thinking…’

  Again he laughed. This time Lehmann raised his eyes, searching his face. ‘Thinking what?’

  ‘Just about what you might have become. With your father’s money, I mean. You could have been a right bastard, neh? Beating them at their own game. Making deals. Controlling the markets. Undercutting your competitors or stealing their patents. Did that never appeal to you?’

  Lehmann looked down again. ‘I considered it. But, then, I considered a lot of things. But to answer you, Shih Mach. No, it never appealed to me. But this…’ He eased the bolt out and set it down. ‘This is what I’ve always wanted to do.’

  ‘Always?’ Mach helped him remove the plate, then sat back on his haunches, watching.

  ‘Since I can remember,’ Lehmann went on, tapping the cut-out code into the keyboard, ‘I’ve always fought against the system. Ever since I knew I could. In small ways at first. And later…’

  Mach waited, but Lehmann seemed to have finished.

  ‘Are you really as nihilistic as you seem, Stefan Lehmann? Is there nothing you believe in?’

  Lehmann’s pale, thin fingers hovered over the panel a moment, then quickly plucked the five tiny cards from their slots. Mach had watched Lehmann do this eighteen times now, noting how he took his time, double-checking, making absolutely sure he took the right ones. It was impressive in a way, this kind of obsessive care. And necessary in this case, because the configuration of each panel was different. But there was also something machine-like about the way Lehmann went about it.

  He waited, knowing the albino would answer him when he was good and ready; watching him take out the tiny sealed packet and break it open then slip the replacement cards into their respective slots.

  ‘There,’ Lehmann said. ‘That’s all of them. Do you want to test the circuit out?’

  Mach was about to answer when there was a banging on the tunnel wall beneath them.