"Is here," Fu interrupted, his image abruptly replacing Cheng Lu's. "Now, to what do I owe this unexpected call, Cousin Stefan?"

Lehmann raised an eyebrow. "We are still cousins, then?"

"Kissing cousins. The kind that kiss and die."

"Yet if we were to come to an arrangement?"

Fu Chiang's laughter was acerbic. He stared back at Lehmann scornfully. "You must really think me a fool."

"But a meeting-"

"Would resolve nothing between us. We are enemies, Stefan Lehmann. Implacably so. You played the friendship card once already, or do you forget?"

"That was a misunderstanding-"

"On my part, certainly, to take your word of honor as having any value."

The two glared at each other a moment. It was Lehmann who broke the silence.

"Enemies, perhaps. Even so, to talk is better than to fight, neh?"

The threat was quite explicit, yet Fu Chiang merely smiled and shrugged, and at that moment Lehmann understood. Fu Chiang had made a deal with the West Asian Warlords-an "alliance." That was what Cheng Lu had meant to warn him of.

He broke contact and sat back, not bothering with the courtesy of farewells. Such courtesies were for fools or charlatans and Fu Chiang was neither. He, for one, knew how things stood. But if he hadentered an alliance with the West Asian Warlords, then it was important to discover on what terms. Was it a defensive alliance? An agreement by each to come to the other's aid if attacked? Or was it more sinister than that?

Whichever it was, he felt frustrated for another reason entirely. In speaking to Fu Chiang he had not even touched upon the one matter he had wanted to raise with him-which was whether Fu had any news of DeVore. He would have now to trust to word from his spies in Fu Chiang's camp, and word from them was notoriously suspect. Most these days played a double game simply to survive.

There was, however, one other possible answer: one way not merely to create new channels of information, but also to undermine his "cousin," Fu. But that way was fraught with danger. There was a knock, then Soucek entered.

"She's quiet now," he said. "Sweet dreaming on a tide of narcotics." "Good. But listen. I'm going to give Mach his head. However, I'm also going to let our old friend Pasek spread his net far wider. I thought we might finally allow him to send missions into Africa."

Soucek stared at him. "But I thought-" He stopped, considering what he was going to say, then began again.

"Here we control things. His church functions because we allow it to function and because we tie it in closely to our political machine. His priests are our men-as much as they can be, anyway. It works. We have our hand on the brake and he can't even shit without us knowing about it. But Africa . . . well, if we let him into Africa we lose control. The operation would be his, one hundred percent. And if it caught on ... well, think of the power we'd be granting him."

Lehmann nodded. "That's my assessment. It's a risk-a high-order risk-but one we have to take. Fu Chiang is in alliance with the West Asian Warlords, and if I'm right, DeVore is somewhere in his City- maybe with his knowledge. In those circumstances Pasek's fanatics could do our cousin Fu a great deal of harm. They might achieve, perhaps, what we could not by force."

Soucek sighed. "Maybe, but I don't like it. To give that cunt Pasek anything . . ." He shook his head.

"The bastard thinks he's God, you know that, don't you?"

"He can think what he likes. The truth is that a knife or a single bullet would soon put paid to that belief.

And if his grasp gets too long . . ."

Soucek nodded, understanding. "And Mach?" "You heard what Mach said. But mind him, Jiri. Some men are vain and some foolish, some are too ambitious, others not quite skilled enough. Mach's none of those. He's a clever man who has no illusions about himself, but like that Han face he falsely wears to disguise his true orgins, he's never quite what he seems. Watch him carefully, for of all our tenuous allies, he is by far the most dangerous."

PASEK HELD OUT HIS ARMS, letting the two serving boys disrobe him. Nearby, on the far side of his private chapel, one of the Priests Militant-masked and wearing the Cloak of the Seven Avenging Angels-wielded a brutal-looking whip, laying it time and again across the back of a stripped supplicant as two other priests chanted from the Book.

"And the fifth angel blew his trumpet, and I saw a star fallen from heaven to earth, and he was given the key of the shaft of the bottomless pit; he opened the shaft of the bottomless pit, and from the shaft rose smoke like the smoke of a great furnace-"

Pasek interrupted them at this point, stepping forward, naked now except for his breechcloth, his handsraised as if blessing all present, his voice booming.

"And the sun and the air were darkened with the smoke from the shaft. Then from the smoke came locusts on the earth, and they were given power like the power of the scorpions of the earth; they were told not to harm the grass of the earth or any green growth or any tree, but only those of mankind who have not the seal of God upon their foreheads."

The whip had ceased falling, the room was silent now. There was only the faintest sizzle of the iron in the brazier. As the supplicant looked up, his drug-induced gaze falling with adulation on his Master, Pasek took the handle of the iron and lifted it into the air.

For a moment the air seemed bright with the glow of the heated iron, the symbol of the cross inside the wheel drawing all eyes. Then, as the Priest Militant drew back the supplicant's head, Pasek placed it against the man's brow, the room filling instantly with the sickly-sweet scent of burning flesh.

The man's scream was a scream of devotion-of acceptance. Thus marked, he would now be among the saved.

"And I heard the number of the sealed," Pasek said fiercely, setting the iron again upon the coals, then turning back to examine his handiwork. "A hundred and forty-four thousand sealed, out of every tribe of the sons of the Hand."

The chanters closed their books and set them back on the shelf behind them, the Priest Militant hung his whip up on the hook on the wall. All three then helped carry the half-conscious supplicant-the Seal-bearer, as he would now be known-from the room, leaving Pasek alone with his attendants.

As ever, the ritual had inflamed him, filling him with the dark power of the animals from which his kind had come. His penis ached now for release; a release he must achieve at once if he were not to be tainted by its darkness. To be pure he must purge himself of it.

As the door slammed, he turned, looking to the two acolytes. Already they were waiting for him, their eyes, as they looked back over their shoulders at him, eager that they be the one he chose.

But this once it was not to be. Even as he tore his breechcloth off, freeing his swollen penis, there came a hammering at the door.

"What beast is this comes now!" he cried, rage making him spit the words. "Dress me, boys, dress me!"

he shouted, his heart beating furiously in his chest. "I'll kill the man! God help me I will!"

The hammering came again.

"Pasek! Open up! It's me, Soucek!"

Pasek groaned, grinding his teeth with anger. He would tear the man apart! He would blind him with the iron!

"Master!" one of the boys called up to him, seeming to speak to him from across a vast, misted distance.

"Master . . . you must come back to yourself. There will be time . . . afterward."

Time? The boy did not understand! He lashed out at him, sending him sprawling across the room. But the boy's words had their effect. Pasek took a long, calming breath, coining down, returning to himself-back from the darkness where he'd been-back from the bottomless pit itself.

The hammering came again. "Pasek! Open up!"He looked to the boy and gestured, speaking gently now. "The door, boy. Open the door before he breaks it down."

As the door eased back he stood there, robed and calm, emanating the pure white power of his calling.

"Soucek," he said coldly, his eyes filled with dislike of the man.

"Master Pasek," Soucek answered, equally coldly, but with something resembling amusement in his eyes.

He sniffed the air, then let his eyes fall first on the brazier and then on the boys, who stood now at the back of the room beside the dressing rail. "I bring good news."

Pasek waited, imperious as an eagle. '

"Our Master, Li Min, has today granted you a great favor," Soucek began, stepping across to examine the iron, picking it up and sniffing at its heated end before setting it down again. He looked back at Pasek. "He is allowing you to send missions to our friends in City Africa."

Pasek's surprise momentarily betrayed him. For a second or two his mouth lay open like a suckling babe's, then it closed with a loud plop. "Tell your Master he is very generous," Pasek said, looking down, angry that Soucek had caught him unprepared for such news, yet excited by the news itself. "And tell him I shall keep him closely informed as matters develop."

"He would expect no less," Soucek answered, walking behind Pasek and, unseen by him, making a lewd gesture and grinning at the boys. "But 1 will leave you now, Master Pasek. I'm sure you have much to . .

. organise."

The unpleasant emphasis on the final word made Pasek meet Soucek's eyes and frown. What was the bastard implying? He watched Soucek go, heard the door slam, and turned, facing the boys again. But it was no good. The power had drained from him, leaving its mark-a stain that would have to be purged from him some other way now.

Throwing off his cloak he went across and knelt, where the supplicant had knelt a while before, exposing his back. And, knowing what must be done, the eldest of the boys crossed the room and took the whip down from its hook, testing its heavy length in the air with a resounding crack before he turned and gently, almost lovingly, drew it across his Master's back.

Africa! Pasek thought, exultant, as the first stroke cracked and burned across his flesh. Africa!

NAN HO WAS COMING from Li Yuan's office when a servant ran to him and, kneeling, bowed his head.

"Master Nan! You must come at once!"

"Come? Come where, Steward Wang?"

"It is General Rheinhardt, Master ... he has been taken ill."

The news took him aback. In his hand he had the document appointing Rheinhardt temporary commander of the T'ang's forces.

"Quick, then," he said, gesturing for Wang to get to his feet. "Has a doctor been called?"

Wang stood. "The Empress's own surgeon is seeing to him even now, Master.""Then let us hurry there. If the General is unfit . . ." "

No. He did not want to think of the problems it would cause if Rheinhardt were unable to take up his duties. It was bad enough that Karr had quit: to have to promote another from the lower ranks right now would cause nothing but trouble.

They hurried through the corridors. At the door to the Guest Apartments a guard made to stop them, then, seeing who it was, waved them through, his face troubled.

What's going on? Nan Ho asked himself, checking his pace in the doorway to Rheinhardt's room, seeing the long-faced crowd about his bed, Pei K'ung among them.

"What is it?" he said, going across to her and bowing.

"I am afraid General Rheinhardt is dead," she answered him, stepping back slightly so that he could see the pallid corpse. "It seems he ate a heavy lunch, then came back here to rest, complaining of chest pains."

Nan Ho looked down at the paper in his hand. He had been gripping it too tightly and his hand was wet where he held it. He looked to Pei K'ung's surgeon, Yueh Li, and raised an eyebrow in query, not trusting himself to speak, lest he say what was on his mind.

"His heart," Yueh said quietly. "He died before we could get to him. His brain . . . there was no calling him back."

Nan Ho nodded. This felt wrong. Everything about it felt wrong, but without causing a stir, what could he prove, if Surgeon Yueh-Pei K'ung's surgeon-said he had died of a heart attack. . . .

Besides, while this death would cause him problems, it might well solve others. With Rheinhardt dead, perhaps Karr could be persuaded to return.

"Master Nan?"

He turned, bowing to Pei K'ung. "Yes, Mistress?"

"Surgeon Yueh has prepared the death certificate, but it needs two further witnesses. I myself have signed. If you would oblige . . . ?"

He stared at the piece of paper her foot servant held out to him, knowing, both from the look in her eyes and the indecent haste with which she had prepared the paper, that Rheinhardt's death had been no natural one but a result of those "other means" the Empress had mentioned earlier.

Poison. She has had him poisoned! The thought of it astonished him.

He took the inked brush and signed. There! It was done!

"Thank you, Master Nan," she said, smiling urbanely, giving no sign that this disturbed her in the least.

She smiled and leaned toward him, speaking softly, for his ears alone. "We are our Master's hands, neh?"

He looked at his, knowing they were not clean, then looked back at her again and, with a nod, began to back away.

"And, Master Nan?""Yes, Mistress?"

She took the paper from his hand and, glancing at it to make sure it was the correct one, tore it in half, and let it fall. "We'll not need that now, neh? Oh, and I'm told that Karr's to be found at a place called Kosaya Gora. It's one of the plantations close to the garrison at Moscow. If you act quickly . . ."

He nodded, understanding, then, with the feeling that he had been most thoroughly manipulated, turned and left the room, heading back to his Master to let him know the news.

F U C HIA N O sat back from the screen, smiling broadly. He had just received the latest reports from his spies in his enemies' camps and was pleased with what he'd heard. Karr had resigned and Rheinhardt was dead. Pasek was to be given a free hand and Mach was to reform the Yu. In a more general vein, Lehmann's strike against the East European plantations had resulted in a loss to Li Yuan of more than eight percent of his food production. That alone would have serious repercussions in the months to come, and not merely to Li Yuan. Lehmann himself relied quite heavily on food smuggled in from the Enclave, and if supplies were tight there, the squeeze would be put on Lehmann too. As for Odessa, that might prove a mixed blessing for Lehmann. Certainly it had tipped the West Asian Warlords into his embrace, and who knew what might come of that alliance?

He turned, looking across the room to where DeVore stood at the rail of the fighting pit, staring down into the darkness.

"Things are ripening, don't you think?" he said, standing and going across.

"Well enough," DeVore said, turning to him. "But perhaps a little too slowly, no?"

"Constant dripping wears away stone," Fu Chiang answered, quoting the ancient proverb at him. "If we are but patient . . ."

"And if I'm impatient?"

Fu Chiang frowned. This was a side of DeVore he had not seen before. Wanting to avoid a quarrel, he raised a hand and smiled. "Perhaps there are things we might do to put a little pressure on."

But DeVore shook his head. "The trouble is they know."

"Know?"

"About my copies. Both Li Yuan and my old friend Lehmann. They know now what to look for. The element of surprise is lost. Or could be, if we don't act at once."

Fu Chiang stared at him uncomprehendingly. He knew about DeVore's copies-indeed, he had gone down to Olduvai himself to see the factories there-but he hadn't known until that moment that DeVore had seeded his enemies' Cities with the things.

"How many have you got out there?"

"Not as many as I'd planned, but enough."

"Enough for what?"

DeVore met his eyes and smiled. "Just enough, that's all you need to know, Cousin Fu. It's time. Time to make the puppets dance."