And afterward?

She reached down and grabbed the first of them by the hair, pulling his head up so that he could look at her-at the winking razor-sharp edge of the knife in her hand-and smiled.Afterward she would have them skinned. Without anesthetic.

the YOUNG HAN crouched in the shadows beyond the broken lamp, watching them come from the lift.

He had known something was going on; had heard the screams from up above when he was working in the shaft and had known they would come this way. What he hadn't known was what would happen next.

He was smiling, his deformed face pulled to the right, when the guns opened up. Two of the Hand went down at once, dead. The others scattered, finding whatever cover they could, but it was pretty hopeless.

In a minute it was over. He waited, his heart threatening to burst from his chest, his legs weak from the shock of what he'd witnessed, keeping his eyes closed, thinking he'd be next. . . . After a while he opened his eyes and looked.

They were gone.

He stood, putting a hand out to steady himself against the wall, almost falling as his legs gave. He waited, letting his strength come back, then forced himself to walk over to where the bodies lay; forced himself to look.

They were dead. All eight of them were dead.

There was a faint noise, a hint of movement. He turned, his mouth forming a silent cry of fear.

His heart pounding, he shuffled across, then stooped, listening, studying the fallen woman, seeing the faint rise and fall of her chest. She was alive. He leaned over her, studying the wounds to her head and shoulder. They were bad. She was losing a lot of blood. If he left her here she would die for certain.

And if he took her?

He swallowed dryly, then, knowing he had no choice-that he was compelled to help her-he moved around and took her legs. Then, slowly, inch by inch, he began to drag her-away from the scene of death and into the 'shadows. Away ... a snaillike trail of blood smeared on the dusty floor of the corridor.

Away . . . the weight of her seeming to grow with every step he took.

AS THE LIFT SLOWED, approaching the top of the stack, Jelka moved to the side, pressing herself against the wall. The feeling that something was wrong had grown in her, until by now she was jumpy, her nerves on edge.

This was stupid-common sense cried out against it-but right now she couldn't help herself. If Kim was in trouble, she had to help. And if he wasn't . . . well, she had to know that too. So that she could get on with her life.

The camera eye over the door swiveled, following her every move.

She closed her eyes briefly, trying to keep control. No doubt they were watching her from the control room and laughing; laughing, because she didn't have a chance.

The lift stopped abruptly. She was there. She waited, expecting the doors to hiss open, but they stayed closed.

"Open the doors," she said quietly, looking up at the camera. "Why don't you open the doors?"

Nothing. Just the underlying hum that was everywhere in the City.She hesitated, then stepped across and, slipping her nails beneath the control panel's rim, popped it out.

Beneath it were a number of other panels. She pulled one out and, taking a second to remember the override sequence, punched in the code.

Nothing. It was like the thing was dead.

She smacked her hand against the mirrored wall. "Shit!"

"I wouldn't do that," a voice said softly. "You'll only hurt yourself."

It sounded like a woman's voice, mature and well modulated, the intonation somewhere between Han and Hung Mao.

"Who are you?" she asked, staring up at the camera.

"Never mind who I am. Just listen. The Mansion has been taken over by intruders."

"Intruders?"

"Your father's men. They have instructions not to harm anyone, but the situation might change at any moment. If it does, this whole thing might escalate into something much nastier."

"And Kim?"

"Kim is safe. But only for a while. If they decide to make another physical check of the Mansion . . ."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Just do exactly what I say. Take the audio unit from the control panel and carry it with you. I'll speak to you through that."

Jelka nodded, then stepped to the panel again and removed the tiny dicelike unit.

"Okay," it said, its voice suddenly tiny, coming up to her from within her palm. "You must pretend that you're invisible. . . ."

THE MASKED MAN stepped from the gaping metal of the outer airlock and shook his head.

"He's not there. The dome's empty."

"What?" Von Pasenow's face registered shock. "But that's not possible! He has to be there!"

The man lifted his mask, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "Maybe we should check the house again-"

"Quiet! Let me think!"

A second man joined the first, glancing at him, a faint amusement in his eyes, then both looked to Von Pasenow.

There were only two ways into this place and they had watched them both. Kim hadn't come out, so he had to be here.

Von Pasenow paced back and forth, punching his left fist into his right palm again and again. Convinced that Kim was inside the dome, he had dismissed the majority of his men. To search the Mansion again with only five of them would take too long; besides, they'd done a thorough job first time out."Tolonen," he said quietly, stopping dead. "I'll speak to Tolonen."

He spun about, then began to run toward the house.

The two men watched him a moment, then, shrugging, began to walk after him.

TOLONEN CLOSED and locked the study door, then went to his desk and sat, trying to control the trembling in his arm.

"Put him on!" he said irritably, staring at the screen.

Von Pasenow's face appeared. He bowed low, then made to speak, but Tolonen cut him short.

"Well? What in the gods' names do you want? Don't you realize how dangerous this is? Do you have him?"

"I"-Von Pasenow lowered his eyes-"I can't find him, Marshal. He's here somewhere, but . . ."

Tolonen stared at him in disbelief, then slowly shook his head. "Then you had better find him. And quick."

"But, Marshal-"

Tolonen cut contact and sat back, closing his eyes. Aiya! First that awful scene with ]elka in the ballroom and now this! He put his hands to his face, groaning. It had all seemed so simple. So straightforward. But now . . .

He gritted his teeth against the memory of the things she'd said to him-of the words he'd let fall from his own lips. Words that could never be recalled.

"Kuan Yin preserve me . . ." he said softly. "Jelka , . . My pretty little Jelka ... I never meant . . ."

But it was done. Broken. And no way back.

He shuddered, then, laying his head upon his folded arms, began to sob.

I never meant ...

SHE MOVED THROUGH the great house slowly, silently, her feet making no noise, as if invisible, moving from light to shadow like a ghost, while on screens in the control room, the watching cameras showed only empty corridors, untenanted rooms.

At the back of the great House, in a small room on the upper floor, she found him, seated on a low stool, waiting.

He stood. "What's happened?" he asked, surprised by the pain that was in her face, but she only shook her head.

He stared at her awhile, noting her clothes, the simplicity of her appearance, then reached out, taking her hand. It seemed the simplest thing, yet it had taken seven years-seven long years-to achieve.

She looked down, her hand lying passively within his, then smiled; a strangely wistful smile.

"I didn't think . . ." she began, but then her face creased up again, as if she were about to cry.

He understood. Her father. She had broken with her father. He held her to him, the difference in theirheights making it an awkward first embrace. Yet in an instant all awkwardness was forgotten. He kissed her face with tiny, delicate kisses, as he'd so often dreamed of doing, then moved back a little, staring into her eyes, surprised to find her looking back at him; surprised by the awe, the love, the expectation in her eyes.

"Is it a dream?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

She shook her head. "We must leave. The Machine . . ."

"I hear it," he said, touching the access slot beneath his ear. "It speaks to me. Inside. It told me you were coming."

He reached up, his fingers touching her mouth, her nose, her cheeks, checking to see that she was real.

Then he smiled.

"We'd best go," she said. "They're running out of time. Any moment now they'll come and look for us."

He nodded, but still he was reluctant to go, afraid to lose this moment. He could feel a faint trembling in him, as if he were a bell that had been struck and still resounded, long after the hammer's blow had fallen.

"Where are we going?" he asked, when the silence in his head extended; when no answer came.

"To the island," she said, and smiled, the pain momentarily forgotten. "To Kalevala."

CHAPTER TEN.

The Flesh of Kings.

TSUNG YE was kneeling, his head pressed to the floor in front of the Chancellor. Nan Ho looked down at the young secretary in astonishment. He had known something was going on-who hadn't?-but as long as it was being kept discreet, it was not his business to interfere. Now, however, Tsung Ye had made it his business.

He groaned inwardly. This was the last thing he needed just now. In fact, he was tempted to send Tsung Ye away and tell him not to be so silly-that sleeping with the Empress was no great crime, so long as he did not rub the T'ang's nose in it. But Tsung Ye was determined to be absolved, the great burden of his guilt taken from him.

Nan Ho sighed heavily. He felt great pity for the young man, but he only had himself to blame. No doubt it had been flattering to be pursued by his Mistress. But it seemed she had taken things too far. Nan Ho listened, embarrassed, as Tsung Ye spelled out just how far she'd taken them.

It would not have been so bad had Pei K'ung kept to her original agreement with Li Yuan. Then, at least, he could be certain that, should any issue come of the liaison, it was at least no son of Li Yuan's, but the one night she had spent with her husband complicated matters. If she were pregnant . . .

He turned away, suddenly impatient with it all. For a while he had thought her different from the rest-had thought he'd found a woman above all of that business, immune to it, but underneath it all she was just the same. Sex . . . why could they not be free of sex? For all the trouble it caused-all the unhappiness and blighted lives-there seemed little enough reward.

"Enough!" he said, turning back. At once the murmur of the young man's voice fell silent. "You will go toyour rooms and lock the doors. You will take pen and paper and write down all that you have told me, then you will return and give the document to me. Meanwhile I shall ensure that the Empress does not come near you."

"Thank you, Master," Tsung Ye said with pathetic gratitude, beginning to crawl away. "I am pu ju pen fen."

Nan Ho watched him go, then went to the window. Pu ju pen fen. "One who has failed in his duty." And when his duty was to serve his Mistress without question? And when her instruction conflicted with his duty to his T'ang? The old man shivered, then pulled at his collar, which had been chafing him, undoing the top button on the right hand side of his neck. He was glad, for once, that he did not have to make a decision. It was an issue Li Yuan alone could rule upon.

And what would he say? Well done, Tsung Ye? You do well to keep the old girl from my bed?

Nan Ho almost laughed, thinking of his Master's predilection for young maids. Why he had let Pel K'ung into his bed that once he would never understand. And then to banish her again . . .

He shook his head, then returned to his desk. Matters were pressing. If he judged right, things were coming to a head. The reports of his spies were ominous. They spoke of large movements of men and supplies. They hinted at secret meetings and of deals done in shadowy rooms. But nothing certain.

Nothing absolute. When it came, it would come suddenly. And he must be prepared.

Nan Ho sat, the image of Tsung Ye naked, his buttocks rising and falling between Pei K'ung's open legs, haunting him a moment, making him frown. Then, pushing the matter aside, he picked up the tiny hammer and rang the bell on his desk, summoning his secretaries.

TOLONEN MADE TO GET UP from his chair, but the abruptness of Rheinhardt's entry into the room caught him by surprise.

"What the fuck are you up to?" Rheinhardt demanded, leaning over him aggressively, his face burning with anger. "I've five men in my cells, and were it not you, Knut Tolonen, I'd gladly make it six!" Tolonen looked down, embarrassed. "You don't understand. . . ." "Understand? What is there to understand?

That you hired a dis- graced Major and his team of tin-pot mercenaries to kidnap one of this City's most important men?"

Tolonen's head came up. "Important? That ragamuffin!"

He made to get up, but Rheinhardt pushed him down savagely; the first time he had ever dared touch the old man. He leaned close, speaking the words into Tolonen's face as if addressing the most lowly of his officers and not the man who had been General even before he himself had been born. "Important. You understand me, Knut? As in indispensable. If he's been harmed. If in any way-"

"I gave strict instructions," Tolonen began, but Rheinhardt glared at him and he fell silent.

"You've done many things in your time, Knut Tolonen. Some of them were . . . well, impolitic is to put it mildly. Some of them weren't strictly within the rules. But this . . . Aiya, old man, what were you thinking of? Did you think it would solve anything? Did you . . . well, did you even think?"