The Broken Wheel Read online

  ‘Shit!’ Mach hissed between his teeth. ‘What the fuck is that?’

  Lehmann had turned at the noise, now he waited, perfectly still, like a lizard about to take its prey. ‘Wait,’ he mouthed. ‘It may be nothing.’

  There was silence. Mach counted. He had got to eight when the banging came again, louder than before and closer, almost beneath their feet. Moments later a head appeared at the hatchway further along.

  ‘Hey!’ the guard said, turning to face them. ‘Are you authorized to be in there?’

  Mach laughed. ‘Well, if we’re not we’re in trouble, aren’t we?’

  The guard was pulling himself up into the tunnel, hissing with the effort. Mach looked at Lehmann quickly, indicating that he should do nothing. With the barest nod Lehmann leaned back, resting his head against the tunnel wall, his eyes closed.

  The guard scrambled up, then came closer, his body hunched up in the narrow space. He was a young, dark-haired officer with the kind of bearing that suggested he had come out of cadet-training only months before. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked officiously, one hand resting lightly on his sidearm.

  Mach smiled, shaking his head. ‘Don’t you read your sheets?’

  The young guard bristled, offended by Mach’s offhand manner. ‘That’s precisely why I’m here. I’ve already checked. There’s no mention of any maintenance work on the sheets.’

  Mach shrugged. ‘And that’s our fault? You should get on to Admin and find out what arsehole fucked things up, but don’t get on our backs. Here.’ He reached inside his tunic and pulled out the papers DeVore had had forged for them.

  He watched the guard’s face; saw how the sight of something official-looking mollified him.

  ‘Well? Are you satisfied?’ Mach asked, putting out his hand to take the papers back.

  The guard drew back a step, his eyes taking in the open box, the exposed panel. ‘I still don’t understand. What exactly are you doing there? It says here that you’re supposed to be testing the ComNet, but you can do that without looking at the boxes, surely?’

  Mach stared back at him, his lips parted, momentarily at a loss, but Lehmann came to the rescue. He leaned forward casually and plucked one of the tiny cards from the panel in front of him, handing it to the guard.

  ‘Have you ever seen one of these?’

  The guard studied the clear plastic of the card then looked back at Lehmann. ‘Yes, I –’

  ‘And you know how they function?’

  ‘Vaguely, yes, I –’

  Lehmann laughed. Cold, scathing laughter. ‘You don’t know a fucking thing, do you, soldier boy? For instance, did you know that if even a single one of these instruction cards gets put in the wrong slot then the whole net can be fucked up. Urgent information can be misrouted, emergency calls never get to their destinations. That’s why we take such pains. That’s why we look at every box. Carefully. Meticulously. To make sure it doesn’t happen. Understand me?’ He looked up at the guard savagely. ‘Okay, you’ve been a good boy and done all your checking, now just piss off and let us get on with the job, neh? Before we register a complaint to your superior officer for harassment.’

  Mach saw the anger in the young guard’s face, the swallowed retort. Then the papers were thrust back into his hand and the guard was backing away down the tunnel.

  ‘That was good,’ Mach said quietly when he was gone. ‘He’ll be no more trouble, that’s for sure.’

  Lehmann looked at him, then shook his head. ‘Here,’ he said, handing him the plate. ‘You finish this. I’m going after our friend.’

  Mach narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you sure that’s wise? I mean, he seemed satisfied with your explanation. And if you were to kill him…’

  Lehmann turned, his face for that brief moment very close to Mach’s, his pink eyes searching the Ping Tiao leader’s.

  ‘You asked if I believed in anything, Mach. Well, there’s one thing I do believe in – I believe in making sure.’

  Li Yuan rode ahead, finding the path down the hillside. Behind him came the palanquin, swaying gently, the six carriers finding their footholds on the gentle slope with practised certainty, their low grunts carrying on the still evening air.

  Li Yuan turned in his saddle, looking back. The sun was setting in the west, beyond the Ta Pa Shan. In its dying light the pale yellow silks of the palanquin seemed dyed a bloody red. He laughed and turned back, spurring his horse on. It had been a wonderful day. A day he would remember for a long time. And Fei Yen? Despite her sickness, Fei had looked more beautiful than ever. And even if they had not made love, simply to be with her had somehow been enough.

  He threw his head back, feeling the cool breeze on his neck and face. Yes, motherhood suited Fei Yen. They would have many sons. A dozen, fifteen sons. Enough to fill Tongjiang. And daughters too. Daughters who would look like Fei Yen. And then, when he was old and silver-haired, he would have a hundred grandchildren; would gather his pretties about his throne and tell them of a summer day – this day – when he had gone up to the ruins with their grandmother, the Lady Fei, and wished them into being.

  He laughed, enjoying the thought, then slowed, seeing lights floating, dancing in the darkness up ahead. Looking back, he raised a hand, signalling for the carriers to stop, then eased his mount forward a pace or two. No, he was not mistaken, the lights were coming on towards them. Then he understood. They were lanterns. Someone – Nan Ho, most likely – had thought to send out lantern-bearers to light their way home.

  He turned, signalling the carriers to come on, then spurred the Arab forward again, going down to meet the party from the palace.

  He met them halfway across the long meadow. There were twenty bearers, their ancient oil-filled lanterns mounted on ten ch’i wooden poles. Coming up behind were a dozen guards and two of the young grooms from the stables. Ahead of them all, marching along stiffly, like a young boy playing at soldiers, was Nan Ho.

  ‘Master Nan!’ he hailed. ‘How good of you to think of coming to greet us.’

  Nan Ho bowed low. Behind him the tiny procession had stopped, their heads bowed. ‘It was but my duty, my lord.’

  Li Yuan drew closer, leaning towards Nan Ho, his voice lowered. ‘And the business I sent you on?’

  ‘It is all arranged,’ Nan Ho answered quietly. ‘The Lord Pei has taken on the matter as his personal responsibility. Your maids will have the very best of husbands.’

  ‘Good.’ Li Yuan straightened up in his saddle, then clapped his hands, delighted that Pearl Heart and Sweet Rose would finally have their reward. ‘Good. Then let us go and escort the Lady Fei, neh, Master Nan?’

  Li Yuan galloped ahead, meeting the palanquin at the edge of the long meadow. ‘Stop!’ he called. ‘Set the palanquin down. We shall wait for the bearers to come.’

  As the chair was lowered there was the soft rustle of silk from inside as Fei Yen stirred. ‘Yuan?’ she called sleepily. ‘Yuan, what’s happening?’

  He signalled to one of the men to lift back the heavy silk at the front of the palanquin, then stepped forward, helping Fei Yen raise herself into a sitting position. Then he stepped back again, pointing out across the meadow.

  ‘See what Master Nan has arranged for us, my love.’

  She laughed softly, delighted. The darkness of the great meadow seemed suddenly enchanted, the soft glow of the lanterns like giant fireflies floating at the ends of their tall poles. Beyond them on the far side of the meadow, the walls of the great palace of Tongjiang were a burnished gold in the sun’s last rays, the red, steeply tiled roofs like flames.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said. ‘Like something from a fairy-tale.’

  He laughed, seeing how the lamplight seemed to float in the liquid darkness of her eyes. ‘Yes. And you the fairy princess, my love. But come, let me sit with you. One should share such magic, neh?’

  He climbed up next to his wife then turned, easing himself into the great cushioned seat next to her.

  ‘All right, Mast
er Nan. We’re ready.’

  Nan Ho bowed, then set about arranging things, lining up the lantern-bearers to either side of the palanquin then assigning six of the guards to double up as carriers. He looked about him. Without being told, the two grooms had taken charge of the Arab and were petting her gently.

  Good, thought Nan Ho, signalling for the remaining guards to form up behind the palanquin. But his satisfaction was tainted. He looked at his master and at his wife and felt sick at heart. How beautiful it all looked in the light of the lanterns, how perfect, and yet…

  He looked down, remembering what he had done, what he had seen that day, and felt bitter anger. Things should be as they seem, he thought. No, he corrected himself: things should seem as they truly are.

  He raised his hand. At the signal the carriers lifted the palanquin with low grunts. Then, as he moved out ahead of them, the procession began, making its slow way across the great meadow, the darkness gathering all about them.

  ‘Well, how did it go?’

  Lehmann threw the pouch down on the desk in front of DeVore. ‘There was a slight hitch, but all the circuits are in place. I had to kill a man. A Security guard. But your man there, Hanssen, is seeing to that.’

  DeVore studied Lehmann a moment. ‘And nobody else saw you?’

  ‘Only the guards at the barriers.’

  ‘Good.’ DeVore looked down, fingering the pouch, knowing that it contained all the communication circuits they had replaced, then pushed it aside. ‘Then we’re all set, neh? Ten days from now we can strike. There was no problem with Mach, I assume?’

  Lehmann shook his head. ‘No. He seems as keen as us to get at them.’

  DeVore smiled. As he ought to be. ‘Okay. Get showered and changed. I’ll see you at supper for debriefing.’

  When Lehmann was gone he got up and went across the room, looking at the detailed diagram of Security Central that he’d pinned on the wall. Bremen was the very heart of City Europe’s Security forces, their ‘invulnerable’ fortress. But it was that very assumption of invulnerability that made them weak. In ten days’ time they would find that out. Would taste the bitter fruit of their arrogance.

  He laughed and went back to his desk, then reached across, drawing the folder towards him. He had been studying it all afternoon, ever since the messenger had brought it. It was a complete file of all the boy’s work; a copy of the file Marshal Tolonen had taken with him to Tongjiang that very morning; a copy made in Tolonen’s own office by Tolonen’s own equerry, a young man he had recruited to his cause five years earlier, when the boy had still been a cadet.

  He smiled, remembering how he had initiated the boy, how he had made him swear the secret oath. It was so easy. They were all so keen; so young and fresh and ripe for some new ideology – for some new thing they could believe in. And he, DeVore, was that new thing. He was the man whose time would come. That was what he told them, and they believed him. He could see it in their eyes; that urgency to serve some new and better cause – something finer and more abstract than this tedious world of levels. He called them his brotherhood and they responded with a fierceness born of hunger. The hunger to be free of this world ruled by the Han. To be free men again, self-governing and self-sustaining. And he fed that hunger in them, giving them a reason for their existence – to see a better world. However long it took.

  He opened the file, flicking through the papers, stopping here and there to admire the beauty of a design, the simple elegance of a formula. He had underestimated the boy. Had thought him simply clever. Super-clever, perhaps, but nothing more. This file, however, proved him wrong. The boy was unique. A genius of the first order. What he had accomplished with these simple prototypes was astonishing. Why, there was enough here to keep several Companies busy for years. He smiled. As it was, he would send them off to Mars, to his contacts there, and see what they could make of them.

  He leaned back in his chair, stretching out his arms. It would be time, soon, to take the boy and use him. For now, however, other schemes prevailed. Bremen and the Plantations, they were his immediate targets – the first shots in this new stage of the War. And afterwards?

  DeVore laughed, then leaned forward, closing the file. The wise man chose his plays carefully. As in wei chi, it did not do to play too rigidly. The master player kept a dozen subtle plays in his head at once, prepared to use whichever best suited the circumstances. And he had more than enough schemes to keep the Seven busy.

  But first Bremen. First he would hit them where it hurt most. Where they least expected him to strike.

  Only then would he consider his next move. Only then would he know where to place the next stone on the board.

  PART FOURTEEN

  AT THE BRIDGE OF CH’IN

  Summer 2207

  The white glare recedes to the Western hills,

  High in the distance sapphire blossoms rise.

  Where shall there be an end of old and new?

  A thousand years have whirled away in the wind.

  The sands of the ocean change to stone,

  Fishes puff bubbles at the bridge of Ch’in.

  The empty shine streams on into the distance,

  The bronze pillars melt away with the years.

  — Li Ho, On And On For Ever, ninth century AD

  Chapter 57

  SCORCHED EARTH

  Li Shai Tung stood beside the pool. Across from him, at the entrance to the arboretum, a single lamp had been lit, its light reflecting darkly in the smoked-glass panels of the walls, misting a pallid green through leaves of fern and palm. But where the great T’ang stood it was dark.

  These days he courted darkness like a friend. At night, when sleep evaded him, he came here, staring down through layers of blackness at the dark, submerged forms of his carp. Their slow and peaceful movements lulled him, easing the pain in his eyes, the tenseness in his stomach. Often he would stand for hours, unmoving, his black silks pulled close about his thin and ancient body. Then, for a time, the tiredness would leave him, as if it had no place here in the cool, penumbral silence.

  Then ghosts would come. Images imprinted on the blackness, filling the dark with the vivid shapes of memory. The face of Han Ch’in, smiling up at him, a half-eaten apple in his hand from the orchard at Tongjiang. Lin Yua, his first wife, bowing demurely before him on their wedding night, her small breasts cupped in her hands, like an offering. Or his father, Li Ch’ing, laughing, a bird perched on the index finger of each hand, two days before the accident that killed him. These and others crowded back, like guests at a death feast. But of this he told no one, not even his physician. These, strangely, were his comfort. Without them the darkness would have been oppressive, would have been blackness, pure and simple.

  Sometimes he would call a name, softly, in a whisper, and that one would come to him, eyes alight with laughter. So he remembered them now, in joy and at their best. Shades from a summer land.

  He had been standing there more than two hours when a servant came. He knew at once that it was serious – they would not have disturbed him otherwise. He felt the tenseness return like bands of iron about his chest and brow; felt the tiredness seep back into his bones.

  ‘Who calls me?’

  The servant bowed low. ‘It is the Marshal, Chieh Hsia.’

  He went out, shedding the darkness like a cloak. In his study the viewing screen was bright, filled by Tolonen’s face. Li Shai Tung sat in the big chair, moving Minister Heng’s memorandum to one side. For a moment he sat there, composing himself, then stretched forward and touched the contact-pad.

  ‘What is it, Knut? What evil keeps you from your bed?’

  ‘Your servant never sleeps,’ Tolonen offered, but his smile was halfhearted and his face was ashen. Seeing that, Li Shai Tung went cold. Who is it now? he asked himself. Wei Feng? Tsu Ma? Who have they killed this time?

  The Marshal turned and the image on the screen turned with him. He was sending from a mobile unit. Behind him a wide corridor stretched
away, its walls blackened by smoke. Further down, men were working in emergency lighting.

  ‘Where are you, Knut? What has been happening?’

  ‘I’m at the Bremen fortress, Chieh Hsia. In the barracks of Security Central.’ Tolonen’s face, to the right of the screen, continued to stare back down the corridor for a moment, then turned to face his T’ang again. ‘Things are bad here, Chieh Hsia. I think you should come and see for yourself. It seems like the work of the Ping Tiao, but…’ Tolonen hesitated, his old, familiar face etched with deep concern. He gave a small shudder, then began again. ‘It’s just that this is different, Chieh Hsia. Totally different from anything they’ve ever done before.’

  Li Shai Tung considered a moment, then nodded. The skin of his face felt tight, almost painful. He took a shallow breath, then spoke. ‘I’ll come, Knut. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  *

  It was hard to recognize the place. The whole deck was gutted. Over fifteen thousand people were dead. Damage had spread to nearby stacks and to the decks above and below, but that was minimal compared to what had happened here. Li Shai Tung walked beside his Marshal, turning his bloodless face from side to side as he walked, seeing the ugly mounds of congealed tar – all that was left of once-human bodies – that were piled up by the sealed exits, conscious of the all-pervading stench of burned flesh, sickly sweet and horrible. At the end of Main the two men stopped.

  ‘Are you certain?’ There were tears in the old T’ang’s eyes as he looked at his Marshal. His face was creased with pain, his hands clasped tightly together.

  Tolonen took a pouch from his tunic pocket and handed it across. ‘They left these. So that we would know.’

  The pouch contained five small, stylized fish. Two of the golden pendants had melted, the others shone like new. The fish was the symbol of the Ping Tiao.

  Li Shai Tung spilled them into his palm. ‘Where were these found?’

  ‘On the other side of the seals. There were more, we’re certain, but the heat…’