Free The Middle Kingdom by David Wingrove

their heads. A power broker, even if that
power was said by some to be chimerical and the House itself a sop—a
mask to brutal tyranny.-DeVore smiled at the thought. Who, after all,
would think the , Seven brutal or tyrannous? They had no need to be.
They had the House between them and the masses of Chung Kuo.
    They went
inside.
    The entrance
hall was bright, spacious. To the left was a flight of broad,
wood-slatted steps; to the right a sunken pool surrounded by a low
wood handrail. The small, dark shapes of fishes flitted in its
depths.
    Their guides
bowed, retreated. For a moment they were left alone.
    "I thought.
. ." Haavikko began, then shook his head. I know, DeVore mused;
you thought he was Hung Mao. Yet all of this is Han. He
smiled. Haavikko had seen too little of the world; had mixed only
with soldiers. All this was new to him. The luxury of it. The
imitation.
    There was a
bustle of sound to their right. A moment later a group of servants
came into the entrance hall. They stopped a respectful distance from
the two visitors and one of them stepped forward, a tall Han who wore
on the chest of his pale green one-piece a large black pictogram and
the number i. He was house steward, Lehmann's chief servant.
    DeVore made no
move to acknowledge the man. He neither bowed nor smiled. "Where
is the Under Secretary?" he demanded. "I wish to see him."
    The steward
bowed, his eyes downcast. Behind him were lined up almost half of
Lehmann's senior household staff, fifteen in all. They waited,
unbowed, letting the steward act for them all.
    "Excuse me,
Major, but the master is out in the pagoda. He left explicit orders
that he was not to be disturbed."
    DeVore half
turned and looked at his ensign, then turned back. "I've no time
to wait, I'm afraid. I come on the T'ang's business. I'll tell your
master that you did his bidding."
    The steward
nodded, but did not look up, keeping his head down as the Major and
his ensign walked past him, out across the terrace and onto the broad
back steps that led down to the gardens.
    Lotus lay
scattered on the lake, intensely green against the pale, clear water.
Huge cream slabs of rock edged the waterline, forming a perfect oval.
To the left a pathway traced the curve of the lake, its flower-strewn
canopy ending in a gently arching bridge. Beyond the bridge, amid a
formal garden of rock and shrub and flower, stood a three-tiered
pagoda in the classic Palace style, its red-tiled roofs unornamented.
Farther around, to the right of the lake, was an orchard, the small,
broad-crowned trees spreading to the water's edge. Plum and cherry
were in blossom and the still air was heavy with their fragrance.
    It was early
morning. From the meadows beyond the pagoda came the harsh, clear cry
of a peacock. Overhead the light of a dozen tiny, artificial suns
shone down from a sky of ice painted the pastel blue of summer days.
    Standing on the
topmost step, DeVore took it all in at a glance. He smiled, adjusting
the tunic of his dress uniform, then turned to his ensign. "It's
okay, Haavikko. I'll make my own way from here."
    The young
officer clicked his heels and bowed. DeVore knew the boy had been
ordered by the General to stay close and observe all that passed; but
these were his people; he would do it his way. Behind Haavikko the
senior servants of the household looked on, not certain what to do.
The Major had come upon them unannounced. They had had little chance
to warn their master.
    DeVore looked
back past Haavikko, addressing them. "You! About your business
now! Your master will summon you when he needs you!" Then he
turned his back on them, dismissing them.
    He looked out
across the artificial lake. On the sheltered gallery of the pagoda,
its wooden boards raised on stilts above the lake, stood three men
dressed in silk pau. The soft murmur of their voices reached
him across the water. Seeing him, one of them raised a hand in
greeting, then turned back to his fellows, as if making his