Son of Heaven (43 page)

Everything on a giant scale. Everything – and he could see this clearly now – built over the top of what was already there. They weren’t even bothering to knock things down,
just confining the old world to the cellar.

Again, it awed him at the same time that it terrified.

‘They’re like glaciers,’ Mary said, her voice quiet, clearly stunned by what she’d seen. ‘Huge slabs of ice…’

‘The whole country,’ he said, taking in suddenly just what it was they were doing.

These outcrops were just the start of it. Outposts of a kind. Eventually they would fill the gaps between them, merging the whiteness until the whole country lay beneath.

A city! They were building a city the size of the United Kingdom!

He felt dismay at the thought.

Like a glacier, yes… everything under ice.

He jumped down, then turned back to help Mary down.

‘Do they know?’ she asked. ‘I mean… the kids…’

He nodded.

‘Ah…’

They walked down the hill in silence, both of them lost in their thoughts. It was only when they got to the gate that she turned to him again.

‘I didn’t think it would be so brief. I thought… well, I thought we’d have years together. I thought…’

She stopped. Tears were rolling down her cheeks.

‘It’s the end, isn’t it, Jake? That craft… those
things
on the horizon…’

He wanted to say no. To tell her it’d all be fine. Only his gut said otherwise.

China had tried to kill him once before, years ago, before he had found this haven, this little heaven on earth. But now they were back, bigger and nastier than ever, and no one – no
matter how hard they tried – was going to get away from them this time.

‘Come,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘Let’s make the most of what’s left, eh?’

Mary looked down at where his hand held hers, then up at him again. There was the faintest of smiles now on her lips.

‘Okay… but let’s say nothing to the kids, eh? I don’t want to spoil things for them. I don’t…’

She stopped, as if she had come to the edge, her face puckering.

‘Come here, my darling girl,’ he said, pulling her to him, holding her tight, his eyes closed now, letting her sob against his shoulder.

So this is how it feels. This is how it is at the end.

Jake shivered, then looked across towards the encroaching whiteness, still just about visible above the fallen stonework.

‘Mary?’

She sniffed in deeply. ‘Yes, Jake?’

‘Will you marry me?’

Chapter 10

EAST

J
iang Lei was woken by his Steward, Ho.

‘It is six-thirty, Master. The men are already up…’

Jiang turned, then pulled the blanket up to his chin, looking across the tent.

Ho had cleared a space on Jiang’s table and laid out his breakfast for him, a bowl of
ch’a
and a plate of various delicacies – things he knew his Master liked.

‘Thank you, Ho.’

Jiang considered asking Ho to bring a heater. The tent might have been luxurious in summer, but in late autumn it was just cold. The thin silk did little to keep in any warmth. But to ask for a
heater might be misconstrued as a weakness, especially in some quarters, so he did not ask.

‘How
are
the men?’

Steward Ho bowed and smiled. ‘They are in a very good mood, Master. Looking forward to the day ahead. Your visit to them the other evening…’

Ho fell silent, lowered his head a fraction. He realized he had let his enthusiasm run away with him.

Jiang Lei smiled and threw off the covers, risking the cold. ‘It was a good evening, neh? We should do it again. It’s good to raise the men’s morale.’

Ho had hurried across, the moment he had emerged from the blankets, and now stood there, next to him, offering Jiang Lei his clothes for the day, his small, shaven head, as ever, bowed low.

‘Steward Ho?’

‘Yes, Master?’

‘Do you like this land? Do you like
Ying Kuo
?’ Again, he sensed he had asked too much in asking Ho for an opinion. But this once he genuinely wanted to know. Was it just he
who found this country beautiful? Or was it all just ‘orders’ to the men?

Ho struggled to find the words, then shrugged. ‘To be honest, Master, I had not thought about it. Should I?’

Jiang reached out for his leggings, shivering with the cold. ‘No… I was just curious. Just that we have seen so many lands, neh?’

Steward Ho smiled and bobbed a bow. He was clearly much happier to be in a position to agree. ‘We have, Master. Many lands.’

And many people
, Jiang thought, recalling all those he had ‘saved’, all those he had cast into the pit.

And more today…

Jiang pulled on his padded jacket, feeling much warmer as he did, then went across and, letting Ho pull his chair out for him, sat at his desk.

The
ch’a
smelled heavenly. As it ought, for he paid a small fortune to have his special supplies sent from home.

He sipped at it then gave a nod.

It was the signal Ho was waiting for. ‘Is there anything else, Master?’

‘Only my boots.’

‘Of course, Master.’

It was their ritual. Every morning they would say the same words, and every morning Ho would bring his boots and kneel before him to help him on with them.

Jiang Lei smiled. If he had been Wang Wei, he would have written a poem about it. Something on the lines of ‘Steward Ho brings his boots’. Only between he and Wang Wei lay thirteen
centuries. And besides, Wang Wei was a poet. A real poet.
He
would not have feared to set down what was in his head, however jagged and misshapen. He would have found a way to make it work
– to give it
elegance
.

And now, with that thought, his mood had changed.

Jiang reached across and picked up the book he had been reading yesterday evening. It was something one of his men had found and thought he might be interested in. And so he was. Only knowing
about these places didn’t help. If anything, it only made things harder.

Jiang sipped his
ch’a
, picked at the delicacies, but his appetite was gone. He had that sour, irritable feeling he sometimes had on collection days. That awful sense that it was he
and not Tsao Ch’un who ordered things thus. For why should they discriminate? Why, if all they saw of China was him, should they think it bore another’s face?

He the murderer. He the arbiter, the life-giver.

Some days it was just too hard. Some days he felt like leaving it to Wang Yu-Lai; felt like crawling back between the covers and pulling the blankets up over his head, shutting it all out.

Only that was infantile. Unbefitting a man. He had been given this task and, awful as it seemed, he would carry it out to the letter.

After all, as the saying went, he was his Master’s hands.

He turned. ‘Ho… take it. I’m done here.’

‘But Master…’

Ho saw his look. He bowed low, then took the tray away.

Alone, Jiang stood. The book on Corfe had woken him to the age of this land. This culture, like his own, was rooted deeply in the landscape. Perhaps that was why the great
Kuoming
emperor, Mao Tse Tung, had striven so hard to emulate these people, exalting the Han to be like the
Ying Kuo
.

Only they were very different. He knew that now. And it wasn’t just that they stank like babies from their habit of consuming milk products. No. It was something in their heads. Some
belief they shared that life should somehow be fair. As if life was ever fair.

‘The shadow of Magna Carta…’

‘Sorry, Master?’

Jiang turned. Steward Ho stood there just inside the tent flap, his head bowed low.

‘It’s nothing, Ho. Nothing at all. Are the men ready?’

‘Almost so, Master.’

‘And Cadre Wang?’

‘He awaits you, Master.’

Jiang looked past his servant, saw the figure pacing up and down outside, and sighed.

‘Another day, neh, Ho? Another day.’

The pony was restless. As Jake tugged at the leather strap, trying to fasten it about the load on the cart, so the animal took a step forward then a step back.

‘Peter! Keep it still!’

Boy barked. Peter bent down to ruffle his coat, then walked over and got hold of the pony’s bridle, smoothing the side of its long face with the other hand to calm the animal.

Jake glanced at his son. Peter had a way with animals. He could, quite literally, make them eat out of his hands. But then, his mother had been farm bred, not city-born like himself.

‘You’ve not forgotten anything?’ Jake asked.

‘Not that I can think of…’

‘Good. Because we need to get going.’

They had packed everything they’d need for the winter. Clothes, medicines and guns, and whatever jewellery and items they could barter. Every thing else they’d left, giving it to
friends or trading it for things they needed.

In an hour they would be gone. Off on the road again, heading west. There was no future here. They had realized that yesterday, when the craft had come, and when they’d talked of it last
night, leaving had seemed the only option. Only now that it came to it, Jake wondered if it were. Wondered whether the few weeks they would have together were enough to compensate for the
discomfort and anxiety that lay ahead.

Besides, who was to say what the Chinese had decided? Would they build their great city over every last piece of land? Or would they stop at some point, leaving the rest in peace?

Whatever, the future was not bright.

Right then his old friend, Geoff Horsfield, the history teacher, made an appearance. They had spoken earlier and come to an agreement. Jake had taken Geoff’s pony. In return Geoff had
‘inherited’ all of Jake’s books.

Geoff touched his forehead. ‘Jake? All done with?’

Jake tightened the strap one last tiny bit then nodded, satisfied.

‘Is now.’

‘Where’s Mary and the girls?’

‘Inside, packing the last few things.’

‘Are you sure about this?’ Geoff hesitated. ‘I mean…’

Jake knew what he meant, and he was conscious of Peter listening, but he had to forget any doubts he had. They couldn’t stay here. Not with that thing coming over the horizon.

‘I’m sure. We’ll head for Dorchester. Stay there a few nights, then head on. We’ve friends in Bridport we can call in on. After that… well, nothing’s
guaranteed, is it?’

Geoff smiled sadly. ‘It’s the march of history, Jake. Though I must say, it isn’t usually so fucking visible, excuse my French.’

‘I guess that’s the Chinese way…’

Geoff nodded. ‘The Three Gorges and all that, eh?’ He hesitated, then, ‘I’ll miss you, Jake. We’ll all miss you. And hey… I’ve got something for
you.’

He handed Jake the old-fashioned paperback, then watched as Jake’s face lit up.

‘Where the fuck did you get
this
?’

It was a copy of
Ubik
, the novel. A ‘tie-in’ version, with Drew Ludd on the cover, playing Joe Chip.

‘I remember you talking about it, years back now. I meant to give it to you then, only…’

‘This version… with Drew Ludd on the cover… I didn’t think it existed.’

‘I bought it, down in Exeter, the day things began to unfurl. I was there to see my sister, god bless her soul, and I was in a bookshop there, and… Well, there it is. A little bit
of cultural history, eh, Jake?’

The two embraced warmly. As they stepped back, Mary and the girls emerged, carrying their heavily-laden packs.

Jake slipped the book away in his jacket pocket, then looked to Mary. ‘Shall we?’

Mary set her pack down next to the cart. ‘I thought we’d all go. Say goodbye properly to them.’

Jake nodded, then looked to the girls. They could barely look at him right now. Not that they blamed him in any way for circumstances, only it was hard to say goodbye to their father. Hard to
abandon him this way.

He looked to Geoff. ‘Would you mind the cart for a while?’

‘Sure… you go…’

The girls set down their packs, then came over to their mother. All except Meg. She went to Peter, putting his arm about her waist.

She was wearing his ring.

Together they went to the churchyard. There, side by side, lay Tom and Annie. Tom’s grave was fresh, raw almost, like the pain they felt. But Jake wasn’t just saying goodbye to his
best friend, he was saying farewell to his wife. To the woman who had loved him. To Peter’s mother.

It almost made him change his mind and stay. After all, how could he leave this place? This was home. The only real home he’d ever had. The place where he’d found himself again after
all that loss.

He stood there, staring at the graves, realizing, perhaps for the first time, that it wasn’t just rotting flesh and bones that were buried here, it was
them
, their essential selves.
All that they’d been. All that they’d meant to those who’d loved them. Here was where they were, in an English country churchyard. Here for all eternity.

Or so he’d always thought. So he’d hoped. Only now, in a few days, it would all be gone. Cast into shadow.

As they came away, as each of them wiped the tears from their faces, so Jake felt as if they had been cast out, into exile, like the Israelites. He took Mary’s hands and met her eyes.