"Your husband's permission, it seems, covers everything."

She smiled, then drew the cases toward her, her fingers tracing the embossed shape of the Ywe Lung, the Wheel of Dragons.

"Thank you, Chu Shi-ch'e. I am sorry if I was . . . tetchy with you earlier. If you would leave me now."

"Mistress."

The old man inclined his body slightly and backed away, but Pei K'ung's attention was already on the tapes. If these showed what she thought they showed . . .

She gathered them up and went across. At the center of the room was a circular black lacquered platform, some six ch'i in width, its surface carved with the symbol of the Ywe Lung, the whole thing resting on seven golden dragon heads. Setting the cases down beside it, she went to the window and pulled at the thick silk cord that hung there. At once massive blinds-each slat a full ch'i thick-began slowly to descend, shutting out the daylight.

She returned to the platform, then knelt, taking the first of the discs from its case.

"I'm right," she whispered to herself, her hands trembling with anticipation. "I know I am. . . ."

Leaning across the platform, she placed the disc onto the spindle at the hub, then moved back. Slowly the room's lights faded. A faint glow filled the air above the platform."I am Pei K'ung," she said, "wife of Li Yuan and Empress of Ch'eng Ou Chou."

"Welcome, Mistress," the machine answered, accepting her voice recognition code, its own voice soft, melodious. "What would you like to see?"

"The stables," she said, her heart beating faster. "The royal party, setting out to ride."

"Mistress . . ."

The air shimmered and took shape. As ever, she found herself surprised by the sharpness, the crystalline clarity, of the image. It was so real, she could almost smell the horses.

She watched, fascinated, her suspicions confirmed. She saw the horses being led from their stalls, their breath pluming in the cold December air; saw Tsu Ma wave the groom aside and help Fei Yen up into the saddle, his hands lingering overlong on her waist. And then that smile-a smile that said it all. Lovers .

. . yes, they had been lovers.

Closing her eyes, she let out a long sigh. She ought to have felt satisfaction that her guess had been proved right, but all she could think of was Li Yuan: of how hurt he must have felt, how damaged.

"Enough!"

The air show died.

"You wish to see something more, Mistress?"

"No. No, I ..." She made a gesture of dismissal.

Slowly the lights came up.

So now she knew. Bending down, she picked up the empty casing, studying the date. Like the other three, it came from a four-week period in December 2206-the month Fei Yen had conceived her son.

Pei K'ung shuddered, wanting to hate the woman for what she had done to her husband-for the suffering she had caused him, and for being so weak, so impulsive, a creature-but it was no longer possible. Not after last night.

She sank onto her knees, letting her head fall forward, remembering. So sweet it had been, so deliciously sweet. And his body. Aiya, his body . . . Once more she shivered, desire welling up in her, making her place a hand against her breast, gently, tenderly ... as he had done.

She hadn't known. She simply hadn't known. But now she understood. What had been dark was now light; what had been hidden was now revealed to her. She smiled. Yes ... so many things had come clear in the night.

It was then, lying there in the dark beside him, listening to his soft breathing, his flesh pressed close and warm against her own, that she had begun to think it through. If it were not Li Yuan's child, then whose was it? Who had had the opportunity? A servant? One of the house musicians, perhaps? A groom? Or had it been someone greater than that? Someone whose very power and nobility had been enough to rob Fei Yen of her senses?

Rising at dawn, she had gone straight to the library and, getting Old Chu from his bed, had consulted the family records for that month. Searching through the Imperial Itinerary for the palace, she had found that on four separate occasions Tsu Ma had visited Tongjiang, each time when Li Yuan was away.She should have left it there. Should have contented herself with that. But she had had to know for certain.

There was a knock. She turned toward it, frightened, then quickly gathering up the cases, stood.

"Who is it?"

There was a moment's hesitation, then a young male voice answered her. "It is I, Mistress, Tsung Ye . . ."

She felt her heart flutter, her stomach tighten. Calming herself, she set the cases down, then faced the door again.

"Come in!"

The door eased slowly open. The young secretary took a pace into the room then stopped, his head bowed, unable to look at her.

"What is it?" she asked, as if nothing had happened between them.

"You are wanted, Mistress," he said awkwardly. "Your cruiser is prepared. You must leave within the hour."

"Ah . . ." Pei K'ung turned her head, looking at the old clock that hung on the far side of the study above the racks of gold-bound cases, then nodded. She hadn't realized it was so late. "Thank you, Tsung Ye. I shall come and prepare myself at once."

He gave a little bow, beginning to step away, but she called him back.

"Tsung Ye ... close the door."

"Mistress?" His eyes flew up, alarmed.

"You heard me. Then come here. We need to talk."

He swallowed, then turned and closed the door. A moment later he stood before her.

"Listen," she said softly, laying a hand on his arm. "What happened last night-you will keep quiet about it, neh, Tsung Ye?"

He nodded, trembling slightly.

She leaned closer. "It is not that I am ashamed, you understand. Nor that my husband would be angry.

Far from it. He has instructed me to find my own . . . amusement. But the staff must not know. You understand, Tsung Ye? My husband must be Master in his own house. No man must have cause to mock him. We must be ... discreet."

"Discreet?" He looked at her directly, his alarm quite open now.

She squeezed his arm and smiled. "Hush now, Tsung Ye. No harm will come to you. Besides, it was good, neh? You were"-she leaned close and gently kissed his neck-"very sweet."

He stared at her, direct, eye to eye for a moment, then looked down. "I will do whatever you ask, Mistress."

"Good." She let her hand rest on his shoulder, then trace the shape of his arm, finally lacing her fingers inhis own. "And, Tsung Ye ... you are not obliged to love me. Only to make me happy. And if you make me happy . . . well, a talented young man can go far, neh? Very far indeed."

THERE WAS A BANNER over the gate, the Mandarin characters burning white on the jet-black background. Karr halted, ignoring his escorts, looking up at it, translating it in his head.

If only there is persistence, even an iron pillar will be ground into a needle.

Karr studied it a moment longer, then shrugged. Was it meant as a statement of intent? A rallying cry? Or had it been left there from another occasion?

The last was unlikely. Everything he had seen had been put there for him to see. He was a witness, after all. What he saw would be taken back and spoken of. And not to casual ears, but to the ears of a T'ang.

He nodded to himself. To be honest he had been surprised by the opulence, the industry, of these stacks.

Much had changed in the past two years. Lehmann had come a long way since he had last been down here.

As the doors swung back, Karr had a glimpse of a huge crowd of people-uniformed, drawn up in massed ranks-and felt a moment's misgiving. What if it were Lehmann's purpose to humiliate him? And, through him, to send a message to Li Yuan?

Then why any of this? Why such display if the only reason for the meeting were to kill the T'ang's representative?

Because, came the answer, he might want to send a message to his own people too.

He straightened up, dispelling his fears, then stepped through, beneath the gate that led into the very heart of the White T'ang's territory, looking about him with a cold disdain, knowing how impressive a sight he-a single man-made in their eyes.

He strode slowly between the massed ranks, conscious of them watching him. Once he had been a "Blood" in these levels. Once he had fought the Master Hwa, to the death, becoming champion. Against the odds, he thought, remembering how the Marshal had come and asked him if he would serve the T'ang.

Facing him, at the far end of the Main, stood three men. Tall, leprous figures, the central one dressed from head to toe in white, the color of death.

He smiled inwardly, recognizing them from the last time he was here. The one in white was Li Min, the "Brave Carp," otherwise known as Stefan Lehmann. Either side of him were his henchmen- Niu T'ou and Ma Mien, as Karr secretly called them, Ox-head and Horse-face, the Lieutenants of Hell-real names Soucek and Visak.

Twenty ch'i from them he stopped, lifting a hand in greeting. "Ch'un tzu . . ."

Lehmann studied him awhile, then stepped forward. "It's been a long time, Colonel Karr. I hear you've been promoted. Ssu-li Hsioo-wei . . . that's a rare honor for a Hung Moo."

Karr blinked, astonished. Only a handful of people knew of his appointment. Why, he hadn't even told his adjutant!

"And Marie ... is she well?" Lehmann came closer, until he stood an arm's length from him, looking up into his face, an arrogance to his stance emphasizing that the difference in their size meant nothing to him.His stomach muscles had tightened at the mention of his wife. "Marie is well."

"That's good. And young May ... it will be good for her to have a sister."

Karr stared at the albino, then answered him quietly. "I'm afraid you are mistaken, Li Min. There is only May."

"Ah . . ." Lehmann nodded, as if accepting the correction, yet there had been something about his assurance when he'd said it that was disturbing.

"Anyway, enough small talk," Lehmann said, raising his voice, so all could hear. "You did not come here to discuss your family's health, neh, Colonel Karr? You come as an envoy, to try and make a peace between Above and Below, to bridge the great gap that exists between the heights and depths of our great City."

He leaned close, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Forgive the bullshit. We, at least, know why you are here."

Then, raising his voice again: "But come, let us go through. There is much to be discussed."

THE APPROACH to Lehmann's offices were like a rat-run. Walking through the narrow corridors, Karr noticed the false walls and sliding panels and knew it could all be changed in an instant, like an ever-shifting maze. Cameras were everywhere, and laser weaponry. The best, he realized: NorTek stuff, as good as anything Bremen had.

At the very center of it all was a single, Spartanly furnished room. Karr followed Lehmann in, impressed despite himself, then stopped, staring at the painting on the wall behind Lehmann's desk.

"You like it?" Lehmann asked, noting the direction of his gaze.

Karr nodded. "I've never seen the like. Who is the artist? Heydemeier?"

Lehmann turned in his seat, studying the painting, taking in the elongated figure of the man, the naked body turned and crouching, the face staring back out of the canvas.

"No," he answered, looking back at Karr. "The painter is long dead. Egon Schiele was his name. An extraordinary man."

Karr moved closer, noting the word that was boxed in at the bottom right corner of the canvas.

"Kampfer. Is that the model's name?"

Lehmann shook his head. "Kampfer's an old German word, from before the City. It means 'fighter.' "

"Ah . . ." Karr nodded again. "I should have known. He looks a fighter."

Lehmann gestured to the empty chair. "You want to sit down?"

Karr stiffened slightly. "No. I'd prefer to stand. What I have to say won't take long."

"As you wish." Lehmann sat back a little. "So . . . What does your Master want?"

"Peace. An understanding. And some token of your . . . loyalty."

"My loyalty?" Lehmann considered that, then nodded. "And in return?""Li Yuan will promise to keep his armies in Africa and not bring them home."

"I see." Lehmann spread his hands on the table, the pale fingers like stilettos. "And when does the great T'ang want my answer?"

"A week from now."

Lehmann nodded, then, changing the subject, leaned toward Karr. "You killed him, didn't you?"

"Who?"

"DeVore. And Berdichev too. I've seen the tape."

Karr stared at Lehmann, astonished once again. No one had access to that tape. No one but Li Yuan.

So either he was lying, or ...

"You're good," Lehmann said, his pink eyes filled with respect. "They say Tolonen's a fool, but he knew what you were, neh? A killer. A natural-born killer. In that we're alike, neh, Gregor Karr? Very alike." *

VISAK ESCORTED Karr back to the gate. There they blindfolded him again and pushed him toward the waiting sedan. Yet even as he climbed between the curtains, he felt something being pushed into his left hand--felt someone close his fingers over it. He held it tightly, recognizing from its shape and texture what it was. A message. Someone had passed a message on to him.

He sat there, silent, as the sedan swayed toward its destination, conscious of the two guards watching him from the seats facing him.

He could smell them, hear their breathing. After a while he let himself relax, relieved now it was over and lulled by the movement of the carriage. Even so, he was worried. Lehmann had known far too much.

Moreover, he had been too relaxed, too blase, about the whole thing.