The Art of War Read Online Free PDF

Mien-lo went across to him.
    ‘What is this?’ Ta-hung asked, handing him a bowl.
    It was a perfect piece of porcelain. Its roundness and its perfect lavender glaze made it a delight to look at. Hung turned it in his hands, a faint smile on his lips. It was an old piece, too, K’ang Hsi perhaps… or perhaps not, for the colouring was wrong. But that was not what Ta-hung had meant. He had meant the residue.
    Hung sniffed at it, finding the heavy, musky scent of it strangely familiar, then turned, hearing voices at the door. It was Sun Li Hua and the Captain.
    ‘Master Sun,’ he called out, ‘what was in this bowl?’
    Sun bowed low and came into the room. ‘It was a sleeping potion, Chieh Hsia ,’ he said, keeping his head lowered, addressing the new T’ang. ‘Doctor Yueh prepared it.’
    ‘And what was in it?’ Hung asked, irritated by Sun’s refusal to answer him directly.
    Sun Li Hua hesitated a moment. ‘It was ho yeh , for insomnia, Chieh Hsia. ’
    ‘ Ho yeh and what?’ Hung insisted, knowing the distinct smell of lotus seeds.
    Sun glanced briefly at the young T’ang, as if for intercession, then bent his head. ‘It was mixed with the T’ang’s own yang essence, Chieh Hsia. ’
    ‘Ah…’ He nodded, understanding.
    He set the bowl down then turned away, looking about the room, noting the fresh flowers at the bedside, the T’ang’s clothes laid out on the dresser, ready for the morning.
    He looked across at Fischer. ‘Has anything been disturbed?’
    ‘No… Excellency.’
    He noted the hesitation and realized that though they knew how important he had suddenly become, they did not know quite how to address him. I must have a title , he thought. Chancellor, perhaps. Some peg to hang their respect upon .
    He turned, looking across at the open door that led out on to the balcony. ‘Was this where the murderer entered?’
    Fischer answered immediately. ‘No, Excellency.’
    ‘You’re certain?’
    ‘Quite certain, Excellency.’
    Hung Mien-lo turned, surprised. ‘How so?’
    Fischer glanced up at the camera, then stepped forward. ‘It is all on tape, Excellency. Sun Li Hua’s assistants, the brothers Ying Fu and Ying Chai, are the murderers. They entered the room shortly after Master Sun had given the T’ang his potion.’
    ‘Gods! And you have them?’
    ‘Not yet, Excellency. But as no one has left the palace since the murder they must be here. My men are searching the palace even now to find them.’
    Ta-hung was watching everything with astonishment, his lips parted, his eyes wide and staring. Hung Mien-lo looked across at him a moment, then turned back to Fischer, giving a curt nod. ‘Good. But we want them alive. It’s possible they were acting for another.’
    ‘Of course, Excellency.’
    Hung Mien-lo turned and went to the open door, pulling back the thin, see-through curtain of silk and stepping out on to the balcony. It was cool outside, the moon low to his left. To his right the beam of the distant lighthouse cut the darkness, flashing across the dark waters of the Nile delta and sweeping on across the surrounding desert. He stood there a moment, his hands on the balustrade, staring down into the darkness of the river far below.
    So, it was Fu and Chai. They were the hands. But who was behind them? Who beside himself had wanted the old man dead? Sun Li Hua? Perhaps. After all, Wang Hsien had humiliated him before his sons when Sun had asked that his brothers be promoted and the T’ang had refused. But that had been long ago. Almost three years now. If Sun, why now? And in any case, Fischer had said that Sun had been like a madman when he’d come to him, feverish with dismay.
    Who, then? Who? He racked his brains, but no answer sprang to mind. Wang Sau-leyan? He shook his head. Why should that no-good wastrel want power? And what would he do with it but piss it away if he had it? No, Ta-hung’s little brother was good only for bedding whores, not for intrigue. Yet if not