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did nothing to diminish his sinister air.
Then he turned toward the three waiting Americans and approached with a big
smile on his narrow face. His iron-gray hair swept back from aquiline
features. His eyes were curved slits.
If he unscrews his hand, Patty whispered, I m bolting.
19
I trust you slept well, Master Ma said, entering the breakfast nook, lit up
by morning sunlight streaming over the rooftops of Kamphaeng Phet and the
walls of the compound. The strains of a Vivaldi concerto floated on cool
jasmine-scented air.
The previous night they had dined to Rachmaninoff and candlelight, on local
delicacies exquisitely prepared by Ma s silent, assiduous staff. It made Annja
privately wish she had the suave, vivacious Giancarlo Scarlatti with her
instead of her current companions. Not that they didn t each have an
individual and peculiar appeal. Even the dour Dr. Kennedy, almost puritanical
in his disapproval of the modern age, the West and just about everything Annja
did for a living.
I wonder what he d make of what I really do? she thought. But she had no
intention of allowing him, or anyone else, to learn of the Sword and of her
uncomfortable and unsolicited destiny.
As for Giancarlo& she felt guilty about wishing him beside her in such
impossibly romantic settings. She was trying hard not to let loneliness draw
her into any more complications or entanglements for at least a while.
His ominous appearance notwithstanding, the soft-spoken Ma could not have been
a more pleasant-gracious dinner host. As they ate he had asked after their
recent travels and their backgrounds in flawless upper-class British English,
then asked each in turn informed questions about his or her interests. He
spoke with Patty Ruhle on technical points of photography in risky,
fast-developing situations, Philip Kennedy on tribal shamanism in Myanmar, and
Annja on the Italian Renaissance. In each case he had masterfully established
having some grounding in the subject without in any way challenging his
guest s superior knowledge.
He may have been no more than a good little student of Dale Carnegie, and
nipped into his office while the staff were squiring the newcomers to their
well-appointed and comfortable rooms on the second floor of the fortified
manor for a quick Google search, but the effect still put Annja at her ease.
I slept great, Eddie Chen said. Like a little kid. Dreamed I was back in
California.
Annja ate smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, with fresh-cut melon, blueberries
and bananas. Patty and, to Annja s surprise, Phil had opted for bacon instead
of salmon, which was duly provided and on the evidence, delicious. Even Phil
was forgetting to bemoan the nonlocal repast as a sign of rampant
globalization this morning. Between bites she and the others murmured
acknowledgment that they, too, had slept well.
Splendid, Ma said. Edward, I do wish you had informed me in advance of your
coming. I would have prepared properly to receive you and your friends.
Oh, thanks, Sifu Ma, Eddie said. But it was kind of a short-notice thing.
It pleases me you decided to honor me with your presence, Ma said. I would
not have heard of you staying elsewhere while you were in Kamphaeng Phet. I
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
trust you will bear my best wishes back to your esteemed father.
You bet.
If the boyish guide s informality offended him, their host showed no sign.
Instead he said, I regret that I must default upon my duties as host and
withdraw. The recent border closure by the State Peace and Development Council
has rather complicated my firm s affairs. I fear my commitments to my
principals must in this case outweigh even the demands of hospitality. I can
only pray my guests forgive this unworthy one, and permit me perhaps to make
amends at some future time.
It s we who re in your debt, sifu, Annja said. Thank you so much.
It is nothing. I wish you a safe and harmonious journey. Should you require
anything at all, please inform my servants. They will be delighted in tending
to your needs.
He bowed and withdrew. A gong didn t really sound, but Annja thought it should
have. Feeling slightly overwhelmed, she turned to Eddie.
All right, Annja said, what s the State Peace and Development Council?
Myanmar government, Eddie said, still shoveling in the chow. SPDC.
Totalitarian thugs, Patty said.
Indeed, Phil said.
Annja glanced around to make sure their departed host had left. She sighed.
I m sorry, she said. But he still reminds me of Master Han.
Eddie shrugged. To get any kind of money or power in Asia, he said, much
less hang on to it, you pretty much have to have a little Master Han in you.
Which only makes Asia about the same as everywhere else, Patty said dryly.
Master Han? Kennedy asked.
Never mind, Patty said. She reached to pat his bearded cheek. He looked
annoyed.
Annja looked at Eddie with fresh appraisal. He looked and acted like a goofy
adolescent protracted adolescent, given his age. Yet she was tempted to say
he d already earned a big chunk of the money she d laid out for his services
by sparing them a night locked in some sweatbox storage room that smelled like
a thousand armpits while the celebration raged joyously outside in honor of
the almighty banana.
She also had to wonder at his father s exact relationship to Ma and North Wind
Trading Company. Was he an investor? Or were his ties upstream in China?
She shook off the speculation. None of that mattered. A fresh sense of unease
and urgency crept over her, like a thousand ants crawling out of the pit of
her stomach and making their way to her skin, biting with tiny insistent jaws.
I wonder what Easy Ngwenya s doing now? she thought. She could as easily
envision the remittance woman and adventuress spending the night in settings
that would put these to shame, or sleeping under a bush somewhere.
Annja was convinced Ngwenya would waste no time on her way to despoil the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
