Twenty-SevenHector de Vile was a tall, lean man with a sandy beard and piercing blue eyes. He laughed a lot, but his temperament could change to stormy without warning. Second Son Ji Zeng couldn’t hear the laugh, but he had plenty of time to study de Vile’s strong profile in the large daguerreotype that hung above him as he waited to see the man in person. At first sight he gave the impression of some jovial gweilo Father Christmas, but anyone who mistook him for St Nicholas was making a dangerous mistake, Ji Zeng knew.
They had agreed to meet at noon and de Vile’s assistant, a thin nervous man with brown hair that frizzed out around his ears, had apologized profusely for his master’s absence when Zeng had arrived at his Nevada City rooms ten minutes early. The yet-to-be inducted Senator
