An Inch of Ashes by David Wingrove Page A

go before the Marshal and I’ll deny every last word. Like you yourself once did, ten years ago.’
    Ebert narrowed his eyes. ‘That officer with you... it’s Haavikko, isn’t it? I thought I recognized the little shit.’
    Karr studied Ebert a moment, knowing for certain now that Haavikko had told the truth about him, then he nodded. ‘Yes, Haavikko. But don’t even think of trying anything against him. If he so much as bruises a finger without good reason, I’ll come for you. And a thousand of your cronies won’t stop me.’
    Tsu Ma stood in the courtyard of the stables at Tongjiang, waiting while the groom brought the Arab from its stall. He looked about him, for once strangely ill at ease, disconcerted to learn that she had ridden off ahead of him.
    He had tried to cast her from his mind, to drive from his heart the spell she had cast over him, but it was no use. He was in love with her.
    In love. He laughed, surprised at himself. It had never happened to him before. Never, in all his thirty-seven years.
    He had only to close his eyes and the image of her would come to him, taking his breath. And then he would remember how it had been, there on the island in the lantern light; how he had watched her lose herself in the tune she had been playing; how her voice had seemed the voice of his spirit singing, freed like a bird into the darkness of the night. And later, when he had been in the water, he had seen how she had stood behind her husband, watching him, her eyes curious, lingering on his naked chest.
    One life?
she had asked, standing in the doorway of the ruined temple.
One life?
as if it meant something special. As if it invited him to touch her. But then, when he had leaned forward to brush her cheek, her neck, she had moved back as if he had transgressed, and all his knowledge of her had been shattered by her refusal.
    Had he been wrong? Had he misjudged her? It seemed so. And yet she had sent word to him. Secretly. A tiny, handwritten note, asking him to forgive her moodiness, to come and ride with her again. Was that merely to be sociable – for her husband’s sake – or should he read something more into it?
    He could still hear her words.
If I were free
...
    Even to contemplate such an affair was madness. It could only make for bad blood between the Li clan and himself and shatter the age-old ties between their families. He knew that. And yet the merest thought of her drove out all consideration of what he
ought
to do. She had bewitched him, robbed him of his senses. That, too, he knew. And yet his knowledge was as nothing beside the compulsion that drove him. To risk everything simply to be with her.
    He turned, hearing the groom return, leading the Arab.
    ‘Chieh Hsia.’
The boy bowed, offering the reins.
    Tsu Ma smiled and took the reins. Then, putting one foot firmly in the stirrup, he swung up on to the Arab’s back. She moved skittishly but he steadied her, using his feet. It was Li Yuan’s horse; the horse he had ridden the last time he had come. He turned her slowly, getting used to her again, then dug in his heels, spurring her out of the courtyard and north, heading out into the hills.
    He knew where he would find her: there at the edge of the temple pool where they had last spoken. She stood there, her face turned from him, her whole stance strangely disconsolate. Her face was pale, far paler than he remembered, as if she had been ill. He frowned, disconcerted, then, with a shock, recognized the clothes she was wearing. Her riding tunic was a pink that was almost white, edged with black, her trousers azure blue. And her hair... her hair was beaded with rubies.
    He laughed softly, astonished. They were the same colours – the same jewels – as those he had worn the first time they had met. But what did it mean?
    She looked up as he approached, her eyes pained, her lips pressed together, her mouth strangely hard. She had been crying.
    ‘I didn’t know if you would come.’
    He