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Hadn’t Hsü always been the organizer among them – the one who had arranged things? Then why not ask him? If he couldn’t do it personally, then surely Hsü would know someone who could?
    Back at his quarters, Jiang went straight to his desk, not even bothering to change. If this was to be done, it must be done now, before the second summons came.
    Hsü Jung had left his contact number. Jiang typed it in then waited. The screen pulsed and then a face appeared, that of a young male Han, probably from Hsü’s household.
    ‘Forgive me, but could I speak to Hsü Jung?’
    The face, expressionless but for the hint of a scowl, answered him.
    ‘I am afraid no one may talk with Master Hsü. He is currently under house arrest. But if you would leave a message…’
    Jiang cut connection. Little good that that would do. They would have a trace on it for certain.
    House arrest… It could be no coincidence. Indeed, it might explain the cancellation of the audience.
    Jiang stood, pacing about, wondering what to do.
    Just then Steward Ho came out and, surprised to see his Master there, gave a small gasp.
    ‘Ah… Ho… I have a problem…’
    ‘But Master, you should be…’
    ‘The audience was rescheduled. I am to see Tsao Ch’un another time. No, my problem is this. I wish to see my wife…’
    ‘But that is forbidden, Master.’
    ‘No, not forbidden… but I must get permission… and, well… I do not know who to approach or how to go about it.’
    At that Steward Ho beamed. ‘Then you can leave it with me, Master.’
    ‘Leave it with
you
?’
    Ho nodded enthusiastically. ‘I am your servant, neh? Then let me deal with such tiresome details. When do you wish to see her?’
    ‘This afternoon?’
    ‘I shall see what can be done.’
    And with that Ho left the room. Jiang listened, heard a door on the far side of the suite of rooms bang shut.
    He sat again, slumping in the chair. Hsü Jung arrested. That did not bode well. And Pan Tsung-yen?
    He contacted Pan Tsung-yen’s number. As the screen lit and the same stranger’s face appeared, he cut at once.
    Pan, too, then. Both under house arrest for seeing him.
    Jiang sighed. If they had been arrested, then why not he also? What were they waiting for? Or were they on their way over right this moment?
    He stood, agitated now. There was no doubt he was being watched. But at what level? Had Tsao Ch’un cancelled their meeting because of something he had said last night? Something he had overheard?
    He could not think of anything seditious
he
had said, and the only things his friends had uttered that could be construed in that fashion were their final comments; their bitter warning to him to take care.
    But what if this had nothing to do with Tsao Ch’un? What if this was the work of some officious minister, furthering some personal scheme at their expense? They had said it was a viper’s nest, after all, and you could be sure that not everything that happened in the court emanated from Tsao Ch’un.
    Besides, why would Tsao Ch’un say he would reschedule if he did not mean it? There was no reason for the great man to make excuses. If Tsao Ch’un had suspected him of treachery, he’d have been in a cell by now, a hot brand searing his testicles, making him gibber like a monkey.
    And house arrest… it wasn’t exactly being led off in chains.
    No. But what worried him was the coincidence of events. He did not trust coincidence.
    He went to the window and looked out. There were guards out there, their faces masked, anonymous. Two men – senior officials from their powder-blue gowns – walked slowly, deep in conversation.
    Pei Ching
. North City. The last time he’d been here had been the last time he had seen Chun Hua. Four years ago. Ch’iao-chieh had been nine then, San-chieh five.
    He looked down, saying in his mind the mantra that always gave him strength, that lifted him above his weakness.
    The trouble was, he didn’t know what Ho could do. Very little,