The Art of War Read online

  He turned and looked down. There, on the low table by the window, was his bow, the elegant curve of it silvered by the moonlight. He bent down and lifted it, holding the cool, smooth surface of the wood against his cheek a moment. Then, abruptly, he spun about, as he’d been taught, the bow suddenly at his waist, the string tensed, as if to let fly.

  He shivered, then felt himself grow still, looking back.

  He had not thought of it in a long time, but now it came clear to him, the memory released like an arrow across the years. He saw himself, eight years old, sitting beside Fei Yen in the meadow by the lake. He could smell the faint, sweet scent of jasmine; see the pale cream of her sleeve – feel once more the shudder that had run through him as it brushed deliciously against his knees. Across from them sat his brother, Han Ch’in, his booted feet like two young saplings rooted in the earth, his hands placed firmly on his knees.

  Wang Sau-leyan... Yes, he remembered it now. Fei Yen had been talking about Wang Sau-leyan and how he had been caught in his father’s bed. Ten years old, he’d been. Only ten, and caught with a girl in his father’s bed!

  Li Yuan frowned, then swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, remembering how Fei Yen had laughed, not shocked but amused by the tale. He recalled how she had fanned herself slowly; how her eyes had looked briefly inward before raising her eyebrows suggestively, making Han guffaw with laughter. Fei Yen. His brother’s wife. And now his own betrothed. The woman he would be marrying, only weeks from now.

  And Wang Sau-leyan? Yes, it all made sense. He remembered how Wang Hsien had exiled his youngest son; had sent him in disgrace to his floating palace, a hundred thousand li above Chung Kuo. And there the boy had stayed a whole year, with only the T’ang’s own guards for company. A year. It was a long, long time for such a spirited child. An eternity, it must have seemed. Long enough, perhaps, to break the last thin ties of love and filial respect. What bitterness that must have engendered in the boy – what hatred of his captors.

  Li Yuan looked down at the bow in his hands and shivered violently. That day with Fei Yen. It had been the day of the archery contest – the day she had let his brother best her. And yet, only two days later, Han Ch’in was dead and she a widow.

  He shuddered, then saw her smile and tilt her head, showing her tiny, perfect teeth. And wondered.

  Sun Li Hua, Master of the Inner Chamber, stood by the door, watching as the doctors examined the body. He had made his statement already, sat beneath the glaring lights of the Security cameras while monitors tested his vital body signs for abnormalities. He had passed that test and now only one thing stood between him and success.

  He saw them mutter amongst themselves, then Fischer turned and came across to him.

  ‘It tests out, Master Sun,’ he said, making a small bow. ‘The ho yeh was pure.’

  ‘I did not doubt it,’ Sun answered, allowing a slight trace of indignation to enter his voice. ‘Doctor Yueh is a trusted servant. He had served the T’ang for more than forty years.’

  ‘So I understand. And yet men can be bought, can they not?’ Fischer smiled tightly, then bowed again and walked on, leaving the room momentarily.

  Sun watched him go. What does it matter what he suspects? he thought. He can prove nothing.

  He turned, then went across to where the doctors were busy at their work. One cradled the T’ang’s head while a second delicately examined the area where the ear had been cut away. They would make new ears from the T’ang’s own genetic material – for a T’ang must be buried whole. But as to where the originals had gone, there was no sign as yet, just as there was no sign of Fu or Chai.

  A mystery...

  Sun Li Hua stared down into the old man’s vacant face and took a deep breath, filled suddenly with a sense of grim satisfaction. Yes, old man, he thought, you humiliated me once, before your sons. Refused to promote my brothers. Held down my family. But now you’re dead and we will rise in spite of you. For another has promised to raise the Sun family high; to make it second family in all of City Africa.

  He turned away, smiling beneath the mask of grief. It had been so easy. Fu and Chai – what simpletons they’d been! He thought back, remembering how he had drugged them and taped them murdering the copy of the T’ang. But they knew nothing of that, only that they were being sought for a crime they had no memory of committing.

  Trust. It was a fragile thing. Break it and the world broke with it. And Wang Hsien had broken his trust in him some years ago.

  He glanced across and saw himself in the wall-length mirror opposite. Do I look any different? he wondered. Does my face betray the change that’s taken place in me? No. For I was different that very day, after he’d spurned me. It was then I first stuck the knife in him. Then. For the rest was only the fulfilment of that first imagining.

  He turned and saw Fischer standing there, watching him from the doorway.

  ‘Well, Captain, have you found the murderers?’

  ‘Not yet, Master Sun, but we shall, I promise you.’

  Fischer let his eyes rest on Sun a moment longer, then looked away. It was as DeVore said: Sun Li Hua was the murderer. While Sun had been in his office Fischer had had his lieutenant take a sample of his blood under the pretext of giving him a sedative. That sample had shown what DeVore had said it would show: traces of CT-7, a drug that created the symptoms of acute distress.

  His shock, his overwhelming grief – both had been chemically faked. And why fake such things unless there was a reason? And then there was the camera. There was no way of proving it had been tampered with, but it made sense. Apart from himself, only Sun Li Hua knew the combination; only Sun had the opportunity. It was possible, of course, that they had simply not seen Fu and Chai go into the room, but his lieutenant was a good man – alert, attentive. He would not have missed something so obvious. Which meant that the tape of the murder had been superimposed.

  But whose hand lay behind all this? Hung Mien-lo? It was possible. After all, he had most to gain from Wang Hsien’s death. Yet he had seen with his own eyes how fair, how scrupulous, Hung had been in dealing with the matter. He had let nothing be rushed or overlooked – as if he, too, was anxious to know who had ordered the T’ang’s death.

  As he would need to. For he would know that whoever killed a T’ang might kill again.

  No. Would kill again.

  ‘Captain Fischer...’

  He turned. It was Wang Ta-hung. Fischer bowed low, wondering at the same time where Hung Mien-lo had got to.

  ‘Yes, Chieh Hsia?’

  ‘Have you found them yet?’

  He hesitated. It had been almost thirty minutes since they had begun searching for Sun’s two assistants and still there was no trace of them.

  ‘No, Chieh Hsia. I’m afraid...’

  He stopped, astonished. A man had appeared in the doorway at Wang Ta-hung’s back, his hair untidy, his clothing torn. In his hand he held a bloodied knife.

  ‘Wang Sau-leyan!’

  Ta-hung spun round and cried out, then took two faltering steps backward, as if he feared an attack. But Wang Sau-leyan merely laughed and threw the knife down.

  ‘The bastards were hiding in my rooms. One cut me, here.’ He pulled down his pau at the neck, revealing a thin line of red. ‘I stuck him for that. The other tried to take my knife from me, but he knew better after a while.’

  ‘Gods!’ said Fischer, starting forward. ‘Where are they?’

  Wang Sau-leyan straightened up, touching the wound gingerly. ‘Where I left them. I don’t think they’ll be going far.’

  Fischer turned and looked across at the doctors. ‘Quick now! Come with me, ch’un tzu! I must save those men.’

  Wang Sau-leyan laughed and shook his head. He was staring at his brother strangely. ‘Do what you must, Captain. You’ll find them where I left them.’

  Fischer turned, facing the new T’ang. ‘Chieh Hsia, will you come?’

  Wang Ta-hung swallowed, then nodded. ‘Of course.’

  T
hey met Hung Mien-lo in the corridor outside.

  ‘You’ve found them, then?’

  Fischer bowed, then glanced at Wang Sau-leyan. ‘The Prince found them, in his quarters. He has incapacitated them, it seems.’

  Hung Mien-lo glared at Wang Sau-leyan, then turned away angrily. ‘Come, then. Let’s see what the Prince has left us, neh?’

  Wang Sau-leyan sat on a footstool in his bedroom, letting the doctor dress the wound at his neck. Across from him Fischer was moving about the bathroom suite, examining the two corpses.

  ‘Why?’ Hung Mien-lo asked him again, standing over him almost threateningly. ‘Why did you kill them?’

  He looked up, ignoring Hung Mien-lo, his eyes piercing his elder brother. ‘They were dangerous men. They killed our Father. What was to stop them killing me?’

  He smiled tightly, then looked back at the bathroom. He saw Fischer straighten up, then turn and come to the doorway. He had been searching the dead men’s clothing, as if for something they had stolen.

  ‘Where are they?’ Fischer asked, looking directly at him.

  Wang Sau-leyan stared back at him, irritated by his insolence. ‘Where are what?’ he asked angrily, wincing as the doctor tightened the bandage about his shoulder.

  ‘The ears,’ said Fischer, coming out into the room.

  ‘Ears?’ Wang Sau-leyan gave a short laugh.

  ‘Yes,’ Fischer said, meeting the Prince’s eyes. ‘The ears, my lord. Where are the great T’ang’s ears?’

  The Prince rose sharply from his stool, pushing Hung Mien-lo aside, his broad, moon face filled with disbelief. He strode across and stood there, glowering at Fischer, his face only inches from his.

  ‘What are you suggesting, Captain?’

  Fischer knelt, his head bowed. ‘Forgive me, my lord. I was suggesting nothing. But the murderers took your father’s ears, and now there is no sign of them.’

  Wang Sau-leyan stood there a moment longer, clearly puzzled, then whirled about, looking directly at his brother.

  ‘Is this true, Ta-hung?’

  ‘Chieh Hsia...’ Hung Mien-lo reminded him, but Wang Sau-leyan ignored him.

  ‘Well, brother? Is it true?’

  Wang Ta-hung let his head fall before the fierceness of his younger brother’s gaze. He nodded. ‘It is so.’

  Wang Sau-leyan took a shuddering breath, then looked about him again, his whole manner suddenly defiant, his eyes challenging any in that room to gainsay him.

  ‘Then I’m glad I killed them.’

  Hung Mien-lo stared at the Prince a moment, astonished by his outburst, then turned and looked across at Wang Ta-hung. The contrast was marked. Tiger and lamb they were. And then he understood. Wang Sau-leyan had dared to have his father killed. Yes! Looking at him he knew it for a certainty. Sun had had access to the T’ang and motive enough, but only Wang Sau-leyan had had the will – the sheer audacity – to carry through the act.

  It took his breath. He looked at the Prince with new eyes. Then, almost without thinking, he stepped forward and, his head bowed in respect, addressed him.

  ‘Please, my Prince, sit down and rest. No blame attaches to you. You did as you had to. The murderers are dead. We need look no further.’

  Wang Sau-leyan turned, facing him, a smile coming to his lips. Then he turned, facing Fischer, his face hardening again.

  ‘Good. Then get the bodies of those vermin out of here and leave me be. I must get some sleep.’

  PART TEN

  THE ART OF WAR

  SUMMER 2206

  Though the enemy be stronger in numbers, we may prevent him from fighting. Scheme so as to discover his plans and the likelihood of their success. Rouse him, and learn the principle of his activity or inactivity. Force him to reveal himself, so as to find out his vulnerable spots. Carefully compare the opposing army with your own, so that you may know where strength is superabundant and where it is deficient.

  —Sun Tzu, The Art of War (5th century BC)

  Chapter 43

  THE FIFTY-NINTH STONE

  It was dawn on Mars. In the lowland desert of the Golden Plains it was minus one hundred and fourteen degrees and rising. Deep shadow lay like the surface of a fathomless sea to the east, tracing the lips of huge escarpments, while to the north and west the sun’s first rays picked out the frozen slopes and wind-scoured mouths of ancient craters. Through the centre of this landscape ran a massive pipeline, dissecting the plain from north to south: a smooth vein of polished white against the brown-red terrain.

  For a time the plain was still and silent. Then, from the south, came the sound of an approaching craft, the dull roar of its engines carried faintly on the thin atmosphere. A moment later it drew nearer, following the pipeline. Feng Shou Pumping Station was up ahead, in the distance – a small oasis in the billion-year sterility of the Martian desert – discernible even at this range from the faint spiral curve of cloud that placed a blue-white smudge amidst the perfect pinkness of the sky.

  The report had come in less than an hour ago: an unconfirmed message that an unauthorized craft had been challenged and brought down in the Sea of Divine Kings, eighty li north-west of Feng Shou Station. There was no more than that, but Karr, trusting to instinct, had commissioned a Security craft at once, speeding north from Tian Men K’ou City to investigate.

  Karr stared down through the dark filter of the cockpit’s screen at the rugged terrain below, conscious that, after eight months of scouring this tiny planet for some sign of the man, he might at last be nearing the end of his search.

  At first he had thought this a dreadful place. The bitter cold, the thin, unnatural atmosphere, the closeness of the horizon, the all-pervading redness of the place. He had felt quite ill those first few weeks, despite the enjoyable sensation of shedding more than 60 per cent of his body weight to Mars’s much lower surface gravity. The Han Security officer who had been his host had told him it was quite natural to feel that way: it took some while to acclimatize to Mars. But he had wondered briefly whether this cold, inhospitable planet might not be his final resting place. Now, however, he felt sad that it was coming to an end. He had grown to love the austere magnificence of Mars. Eight months. It was little more than a season here.

  As the craft drew nearer he ordered the pilot to circle the station from two li out.

  The five huge chimneys of the atmosphere generator dominated the tiny settlement, belching huge clouds of oxygen-rich air into the thin and frigid atmosphere. Beneath them the sprawl of settlement buildings was swathed in green – hardy mosses that could survive the extreme temperatures of the Martian night. Further out, the red sands were rimed with ice that formed a wide, uneven ring of whiteness about the station. The generator itself was deep beneath the surface, its taproots reaching down towards the core of the planet to draw their energy. Like thirty other such generators scattered about the planet’s surface, it had been pumping oxygen into the skies of Mars for more than one hundred and fifty years. Even so, it would be centuries yet before Mars had a proper atmosphere again.

  Karr made a full circle of the settlement, studying the scene. There were four transports parked to the east of the pipeline, in an open space between some low buildings. At first, in the half-light, they had seemed to form one single, indistinct shape – a complexity of shadows – but through the resolution of field glasses he could make out individual markings. One was a craft belonging to the settlement, another two Security craft from out of Kang Kua in the north. The fourth was unmarked. A small, four-man flier, the design unlike anything he had seen before on Mars.

  He leaned forward and tapped out that day’s security code, then sat back, waiting. In a moment it came back, suitably amended, followed by an update.

  Karr gave himself a moment to digest the information, then nodded to himself. ‘Okay. Set her down half a li to the south of those craft. Then suit up. I want to be ready for any trouble.’

  The young pilot nodded tersely, setting them down softly on the southern
edge of the settlement. While the pilot suited up, Karr sat there, staring out at the settlement, watching for any sign that this might yet be a trap.

  ‘Ready?’

  The young man nodded.

  ‘Good. Wait here. I’ll not be long.’

  Karr took a breath then released the hatch. As he climbed out, systems within his suit reacted immediately to the sudden changes in temperature and pressure. It was cold out here. Cold enough to kill a man in minutes if his suit failed.

  There were five buildings surrounding the craft: three domes and two long, flat-topped constructions, the domes to the left, the flat-tops to the right. The pumping station itself was the largest of the domes, straddling the pipeline like a giant swelling, one of eight similar stations – situated at two-hundred-li intervals along the pipeline – that pumped water from the sprawling Tzu Li Keng Seng generating complex in the south to the three great northern cities of Hong Hai, Kang Kua and Chi Shan.

  Karr walked towards the huge hemisphere of the station, the tiny heat generator in his suit clicking on as he moved into the shadow of the giant pipeline. As he came nearer a door hissed open and unfolded towards the ground, forming steps. Without hesitation he mounted them and went inside, hearing the door close behind him.

  He went through the airlock briskly and out into the pressurized and heated core of the station. Two Security men were waiting for him, at attention, clearly surprised that he was still suited up. They looked at him expectantly, but he went past them without a word, leaving them to follow him or not, as they wished.

  He took a left turn at the first junction into a corridor that bridged the pipeline. As he did so an officer, a fresh-faced young Han, hurried down the corridor towards him.