Jade War Read online

  Before they could search further, Nuno appeared at the edge of the grave, looking down from above them, his leathery face twitchy. “You have to get out. I sent the guards to check a broken lock on the back gate, but they’ll come back. We need to clean up this mess.”

  “Throw down the duffel bag,” Bero called.

  Nuno did so. Bero and Mudt pushed the cut piece of casket wood back into place and packed as much of the damp soil around it as they could. It pained Bero deeply to think of the other jade stones they might be leaving behind, but it was best to get away now, with what they had. He’d learned some painful lessons from being overambitious in the past. Careful not to touch the jade with his bare skin, he wrapped the precious finds in several layers of burlap and stowed it in the duffel bag along with their tools. Bero wiped his caked hands on his pants, slung the bag over his shoulder, and reached out a hand for Nuno to pull him out of the grave. The groundskeeper stepped back, his stained lips drawing away from his teeth in disgust. “I’m not getting near stolen jade.” It was only because Nuno had fallen into a considerable amount of debt that they’d been able to bribe him at all, with enough money that Bero had entertained long second thoughts over the amount of stashed shine he’d had to sell over the course of months to fund this venture.

  Bero had Mudt lace his hands into a step and boost him out of the pit. When he’d scrambled safely back to his feet, Bero looked down at the younger teen, standing in the dirt with his arm outstretched, and for a moment he was tempted to leave Mudt behind. Now that he finally had his jade, why split it with this boy? But Mudt might give him away if he was cast aside. Besides, he had thick blood, and he had been useful so far—Bero had to admit that.

  He crouched down and helped Mudt out. Nuno started up the backhoe and used it to pack the disturbed soil back into place. When he was done, the grave looked much as it had before. A keen eye inspecting the site would notice footprints in the dirt and an irregular, loose wall, but they weren’t counting on scrutiny. Bero and Mudt untied their kerchiefs and wiped the sweat and mud from their faces as Nuno led them briskly back down the hill. It was fully dark now, and no one was paying attention to them, but if someone had been, they would’ve seen what appeared to be a trio of cemetery maintenance workers finishing up for the day.

  At the gate, Nuno said, “Give me back those shirts and hats, quick.” They tore off the soiled disguises, stuffing them back into the garbage bag. “You got what you came for, didn’t you? Damning your souls and all.” Nuno spat. “Now, about the other half of the money.”

  Bero nodded and crouched down to unzip the side pocket of the duffel bag. From behind, Mudt swung with all his strength, hitting Nuno in the back of the head with the rock clutched in his fist, then shoved him to the ground. Bero stood up with a compact pistol in his hand and fired twice, putting the first bullet in Nuno’s forehead and the second in his cheek.

  Both boys stared dumbstruck for three or four long seconds after the sharp report of gunfire faded. Rolled over, Nuno’s eyes were frozen open in alarm and surprise; the entry wounds were surprisingly small, and the blood was already being sucked up by the dry ground.

  Bero’s first thought was that the plan had worked surprisingly well and he was right to have kept Mudt around after all. His second was that it was a good thing the groundskeeper wasn’t a large man or they would’ve had a real problem moving him. The two teenagers were panting and pouring sweat from exertion and fear by the time they dragged the body into a shallow hollow under the nearby shrubbery. Bero dug hastily through Nuno’s jacket for the man’s wallet. “Get his watch, too,” he hissed at Mudt. “Make it look like a robbery.” They snatched the key ring from the groundskeeper’s pocket, then kicked leaves and branches over the body and ran for the gate. As Bero cursed and struggled with the lock, Mudt bent over, gasping, hands on knees, the rolling whites of his eyes visible under the greasy mop of his hair. “Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit holy shit.”

  The gate swung open at last. They pulled the heavy metal bars shut behind them and Bero clutched the duffel bag tight as they sprinted into the cover of Widow’s Park ahead of the guards’ sweeping flashlights, toward the lantern glow of the city below.

  CHAPTER

  2

  The Passing of the Torch

  Kaul Hiloshudon stood at the head of the vast assembly of mourners who’d come to offer their final respects to his grandfather. There were a great many people paying close attention to him today, and they would notice if he seemed distracted or agitated, so he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the coffin draped in expensive white cloth and moved his lips dutifully to the penitents’ chanted recitations. Still, he found it difficult to pay attention to the service, impossible to gird his sense of Perception against the presence of so many enemies.

  His grandfather had lived a long and important life. Kaul Sen had fought for the liberation of his country, and later, through politics and business and the great clan he built, he’d shaped the nation of Kekon in lasting ways. At the ripe age of eighty-three, he’d passed away quietly in the middle of the night, sitting in his usual chair by the window of the family house. A sign of favor from the gods, surely. If, in the final years of his life, with dementia and declining jade tolerance, Grandda had become a cruel, unbearable old man made bitter by regret and loss, who had nothing but unkind things to say about the leadership of the No Peak clan passing to his least favored grandchild—well, that was something the average citizen did not know. For two days and nights, a great public vigil had been held in the Temple District, and it seemed to Hilo that half the population of the city had turned out for the funeral. The other half was probably watching the event on television. The death of the Torch of Kekon marked the end of an era, the passing of a pivotal generation that had secured Kekon’s freedom from foreign occupation and rebuilt its prosperity. Every public figure of importance was here to take part in such a profound commemoration—including Ayt Madashi.

  The Pillar of the Mountain clan was standing on the other side of the crowd, in a long, white jacket and white scarf, surrounded by her own people. Hilo could barely see her from where he stood, but he didn’t need to; he could Perceive the distinctive density of her jade aura easily enough. The irony of her presence at the very place where Hilo’s elder brother Lan lay turning to dust in the ground would’ve enraged Hilo if he’d allowed himself to dwell upon it, but he did not; he had no intention of giving his rival that satisfaction.

  Yesterday, Ayt had issued a public statement praising Kaul Sen as a national hero, a father of the country, and the beloved comrade and friend of her late father, Ayt Yugontin—let the gods recognize them both. She expressed sadness over the recent strife between the clans of these two great men; she hoped the unfortunate disagreements could be overcome so the country might move forward in the spirit of unshakable unity once demonstrated by the patriotic wartime brotherhood of the One Mountain Society.

  “Bullshit,” Hilo had said. He did not for one second believe that Ayt Mada would ever abandon her goal to kill him and his family, to destroy No Peak and take unquestioned control of the country’s jade supply. Blood scores were not erased by press releases.

  “It’s a good public relations move,” Shae had said. “Reminding people of Grandda’s partnership with her father and thus associating herself with the legacy of all Green Bones.”

  Beyond that brief analysis, his sister had spoken little in the past seventy-two hours, even outside of the official two-day silent vigil. Hilo glanced at her standing beside him, her spine straight but the puffy circles under her eyes still visible under the white mourning powder that dusted her face. Her normally sharp jade aura seemed muted. Shae had loved their grandfather, had always basked in his favoritism. She’d wept bitterly upon his death.

  Hilo returned his attention to the crowd. Other top leaders of the Mountain clan were in attendance; standing near Ayt Mada was a short man with slicked hair—Ree Turahuo, the clan’s Weather Man—and next to h
im, a man with coarse features and a closely trimmed salt-and-pepper beard to match his hair. Hilo knew relatively little about Nau Suenzen, who had succeeded Gont Aschentu as Horn of the Mountain, but rumors and spies told him that Nau possessed a reputation as a devious guerrilla fighter who’d conducted sabotage missions and assassinations for Ayt Yu during the Shotarian occupation. He’d been only twenty-three years old when the Many Nations War ended. He did not appear, either from his unassuming appearance or the coolly bland texture of his jade aura, to be half as powerful or impressive as his predecessor. Hilo suspected this was itself a deception to be concerned about.

  The Deitist penitents in white funerary robes—two dozen of them, for such a large crowd and such an important funeral—concluded the long religious ceremony with several refrains of let the gods recognize him, which were echoed multitudinously by those gathered. Hilo closed his eyes, focusing his fatigued Perception as he scanned through the mental noise of thousands of breaths and beating hearts. There: Unseen somewhere behind the cluster of Mountain clan members was the familiar cloudy jade aura of a man he’d once called his uncle. The former Weather Man of No Peak, a traitor to the Kaul family. Yun Dorupon was here, and he was grieving.

  “Don’t bother. We won’t get to him today,” Shae said in an undertone. Perhaps she’d seen the look of concentration on his face, or simply Perceived his animus, but Hilo was surprised. He hadn’t thought that she’d noticed Doru, that she was paying any attention at all.

  She was right, of course; they could not act in violence in the presence of penitents on the day of their grandfather’s funeral, but more pragmatically, there were too many of the Mountain’s warriors present—hundreds of their Fists and Fingers arrayed across from No Peak’s own. When Hilo widened his Perception, the auras of all the Green Bones in attendance created a heavy buzz of jade energy like the ceaseless chatter of a busy street. The clans were making a show of strength with their respective numbers, but today they stood in truce to honor the same man.

  The huge gathering began to disperse. Hilo braced himself for the long, unavoidable task of putting on a solemn countenance and accepting condolences from the clan’s inner circle of influential loyalists—Lantern Men, politicians, prominent Green Bone families. Earlier on, some disquiet seemed to be going on near the entrance to the grounds, and Maik Kehn had sent one of his Fists to investigate. Now Kehn appeared at Hilo’s side and said in a low voice, “There’s talk about a dead body being found in the cemetery last night.”

  Hilo’s mouth curved. “Only one? Did the others get up and leave?”

  The Horn snorted—as much of a laugh as Hilo ever got out of him, though his broad shoulders rose in amusement. “The groundskeeper was discovered shot in the head near the gate. Over his debts, they say. Doesn’t seem all that important, but you know how some people are, crying bad luck over a fly in a cup of hoji.”

  Hilo nodded. There ought not to be any negative news to taint the Torch’s funeral. “Talk to the cemetery manager and quiet it down.” He glanced reluctantly at the long line of well-wishers he had to face. He could no longer Perceive either Ayt or Doru anywhere nearby. “Tell Tar to give me an hour; then I’m going home, no matter how many ass kissers are still here.”

  Two and a half hours later, Hilo arrived back at the Kaul estate. There were cars parked all the way up and down the long driveway and in the roundabout; the public funeral was being followed by a private reception reserved for family members and the highest-ranked Green Bones of No Peak. Through the half-open car window, Hilo could hear music and smell barbecue coming from the courtyard. Living into one’s eighties was supposedly a cause for celebration; it was considered as a sign of achievement in the Divine Virtues and a mark of the gods’ approval, guaranteeing admittance back to the fold of Heaven on the promised day of the Return. Hilo thought it was one of those beliefs that must’ve made more sense in a time of warfare and poor medical care, but nevertheless, now that the official mourning for Kaul Sen was over, the white drapery had come down and the more informal gathering had a somewhat festive air. It was bound to go on for some time.

  Maik Tar drove the Duchesse Priza straight up to the front of the main house. Hilo’s Pillarman put the car into park and turned over his shoulder. “Those people you agreed to see today, Hilo-jen, they’re still here. You want me to send them in to you, or get rid of them?”

  “Where’s my sister?” Hilo asked. “Did she come back already?”

  “She’s waiting for you inside.”

  Resigned, Hilo stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Send them in.”

  Tar cast his boss a sympathetic glance. “I’ll save you a plate of food. You want anything in particular?”

  “Some of the smoked pork.” Hilo got out of the car, walked into the house, and reluctantly went into the study. It had once been Lan’s favorite room, and Hilo still did not feel entirely comfortable in it. He had finally made some changes—removing some of the bookshelves and putting in a television and a larger minibar, bringing in more comfortable armchairs—but every time he used it, the officious room reminded him unkindly that he’d never been the intended Pillar of the clan.

  So ordinarily, when he met with his own subordinates, Hilo preferred the kitchen or the patio, but those were not private at the moment, and he had to admit that the study communicated a sense of formal authority that made it more appropriate for meeting with the clan’s stakeholders and petitioners—people with whom he knew he needed to downplay his youth and street reputation and emphasize his family’s power and legacy.

  Shae was already in the room, sitting in one of the leather armchairs. She’d washed off her face powder, redone her makeup, and changed into a dark skirt and beige blouse, but her eyes were sunken and tired, and seemed almost accusing. Didn’t you love Grandda at all?

  “You don’t have to stay,” Hilo told her. “I can handle this myself.”

  Shae said, “What if a Lantern Man asks you to pressure the Royal Council regarding the upcoming bill on limiting fuel surcharges?”

  Hilo narrowed his eyes. “No one will ask me that.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “There is no upcoming bill on fuel surcharges. I made it up just now.” Her smile was thin, and her needling held little of its usual thrust. “I’ll stay.”

  Hilo frowned but refrained from replying, only out of consideration for her grief. It was true that he didn’t know the business and political issues of the clan as well as she did, but pointing it out was the sort of cutting unkindness that his sister must’ve inherited from Grandda.

  Hilo had barely taken off his tie and unbuttoned his collar when Tar knocked on the door and opened it to admit a man accompanied by a woman with a baby in her arms. At the sight of them, Hilo brightened at once and went to embrace the man warmly. “Eiten, my friend,” he said. “Your daughter’s grown huge! Is she really only nine months old? She could wrestle a two-year-old to the ground.”

  Eiten could not return the Pillar’s embrace, nor raise clasped hands to his forehead in the traditional respectful salute, but his eyes shone with pride at Hilo’s words and he tilted into a slight bow. He wore a crisp, white, short-sleeved shirt that covered the stumps of his missing arms, and soft, slip-on black sandals. “She’s a terror, Hilo-jen; she cries for hours and refuses to be put down for a minute.” He shook his head morosely but did not sound at all unhappy.

  “Of course she’s destined to be as green as her da,” Hilo said. He saw Eiten’s wife nod and smile. The old belief that fussy infants grew up to be better warriors used to apply only to boys, but these days, twenty percent of the students in Kaul Dushuron Academy were female; there were women Fists and even a woman Pillar—a colicky baby girl was cause for pride, not consternation. “I only worry she’ll be too green to be married,” said Eiten’s wife. Hilo caught her gaze flickering briefly toward Shae before dropping.

  “Maybe by the time she grows up, people won’t think that way anymore,” Shae said wi
th a small smile.

  “The Weather Man is right, and besides, it’s too early to worry about that now,” Hilo said, placing a hand on Eiten’s shoulder and leading the family toward the chairs. A brown monkey scampered behind Eiten’s heels. When Eiten sat down, it jumped onto the armrest and sat perched beside him alertly, scratching its chest. Hilo pulled a few bottles of soda from the mini-fridge and placed them on the coffee table. At a word from Eiten, the monkey hopped onto the table, uncapped one of the soda bottles, inserted a straw, and carried it back to its master. Eiten slid one foot from his sandal and held the neck of the bottle firmly between his toes. A jade bracelet hung from the ankle he rested across his opposite knee.

  Hilo sat down across from his former Fist. His voice took a serious turn. “How’re you managing? Is there anything else you need from the clan that would be of help?”

  “You’ve done a lot for us already. Life has been hard, but it’s gotten easier since we got Zozo; he opens doors, he buttons my shirts, he even wipes my ass for me,” Eiten said with a chuckle. A Finger in the clan had given Hilo the useful lead about a Shotarian organization that trained monkeys to aid the disabled (there were a lot of war veterans in that country), and Hilo had had a Lantern Man make the arrangements.

  Eiten bent forward to sip from the soda straw. When he straightened back up, he matched the Pillar’s gaze squarely. “When Gont Asch took my arms, you promised me that you would kill him and take his jade—and you did as you said. You told me to stay alive for one year, so I could see the clan’s vengeance, and see my child be born, and after a year, if I still wanted to die, you would honor my wishes yourself.” The man’s voice turned rough but did not waver. “A year has passed and I’m sitting in front of you, Hilo-jen. If I asked you to fulfill your promise to me without question, would you still do it?”