“There is a village about half a li ahead,” said Jong. “There are places for us to stay there—taverns and inns.”
“Is it on this road?” Zangi-Ragozh asked, moving his horse close to the wagon to hear what Jong had to say.
“Yes. It borders a little stream that runs into the Yang-Tse, and they keep the bridge,” Jong said.
“Guan-Tse?” Zangi-Ragozh asked, remembering it from other journeys.
Jong was pleasantly surprised. “Yes. My cousin keeps an inn there—the Silver Cockerel—just off the market-square.”
“Then lead us to it,” said Zangi-Ragozh, and rode forward to the larger wagon. “Yao,” he called out over the weather, “let Jong take the lead. He is taking us to his cousins inn at Guan-Tse.”
“So we stop before we reach Kai-Mung?” Ro-shei guessed aloud.
“At Jong’s cousin’s inn,” Zangi-Ragozh said with a half-smile.
“So Jong has a cousin who keeps an inn,” Ro-shei remarked. “And one on this road. How convenient.”
“We are not keeping to our original plan, and so Jong has had no opportunity to make any arrangements with his cousin,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “No, I reckon the worst we will face is that a portion of the price we will be charged will go into Jong’s pocket, just as his cousin will raise the amount we pay above his usual rates. I have sufficient gold for even the most exorbitant costs.”
“That’s hardly unusual,” said Ro-shei.
“My point exactly,” Zangi-Ragozh said, and fell in beside Jong’s wagon as it took the lead.
Text of a letter from Marakam on the east coast of Borneo, from the Burmese scholar Ymer ai Pagan to Captain Pao Sho-Feng of the merchant-ship Joyous Winds, delivered seven weeks after the Winter Solstice.
To the most perspicacious Captain, Pao Sho-Feng of the Joyous Winds, a merchant-ship out of Yang-Chau, and much-traveled in the Southern Islands and other ports of the south, the scholar Ymer ai Pagan sends his most enthusiastic greetings and gives the Captain his assurances that what he says in this letter is complete and correct as far as he is able to make it so, with the promise that should he fail in any point of accuracy, he will answer for it with a beating. It is this facility that the scholar offers to Captain Pao.
Your note informed this scholar that the Captain and his crew are lately arrived from the Southern Islands, and are bound for Madura on Java and Samudra on Sumatra, with intentions then to turn north in the Andaman Sea, and seek information on the waters hereabout, and reports on new conditions. To the most pressing development: the mountain in the middle of the Sunda Passage often spits rocks and noxious gases, and once in a while, there is a brief flow of lava from its summit cone, and the people of the islands pay little attention. But recently those have become troubled in ways they have not been in the past. The Sunda mountain, Krakatau, is smoking and trembling more constantly than is its habit, perturbing the waters and land around it, causing many of the people living near it to move away from the proximity of the mountain until such time as it quiets once more. If those who live near the mountain are willing to sacrifice their homes in order to be assured of safety, then it would be sensible for you, as a commercial seafarer, to keep away from those waters, at least until such time as the natives of the region return to their houses.
You may confirm anything this scholar reports with others who have recently traversed the waters in question. Among the number of such voyagers, there are two ships recently arrived from Sunda Kalapa, neither of them merchant-ships, but filled with those who have decided to remain in the lea of Borneo until they are certain that all jeopardy from their mountain is over. Those persons have a far better understanding of the situation than this scholar can, for they know their islands and are cognizant of their behavior in a way that you or this scholar cannot be, lacking the familiarity of long residence.
To assist in such an endeavor, this scholar offers his skills as a translator. As stated before, this scholar knows the language of Java and Sumatra, and his Chinese, as you see, is adequate to any task you may impose. In addition, this scholar can speak the main tongue of Saylan, and three of the dialects of India, so he may be useful with many other travelers and all manner of merchants. In addition, this scholar will be willing to keep records for you and to make copies of all discussions you have with those with whom you wish to speak, so that you may present this record to your employer upon your return to Yang-Chau. The charges for such services will not be beyond what is reasonable, and this scholar warrants his work will stand proof to all scrutiny. Submitted with profound respect to Captain Pao Sho-Feng,
Ymer ai Pagan
3
At Jun-Chau, at the edge of the foothills of the well-worn range of picturesque mountains, the travelers were warned of fighting to the immediate west; Zangi-Ragozh spent a day in the market-place, doing his best to ignore the blustery rain, asking as many questions as he could of merchants who had arrived in the city by various routes; he was glad now that he had taken the time that morning to put an extra layer of his native earth in the soles of his boots. In the evening he returned to the Inn of the Immortal Peach, which catered to wealthy and influential travelers, where he informed the rest of his party that they would turn north. “We’ll see what the reports tell us in a day or two,” he said to the others.
“It delays our arrival,” said Yao. “We’ve already been on the road nine days—two days longer than we would have been in summer. The weather will slow us still more.”
“Better a few days’ delay than getting caught in a battle,” Zangi-Ragozh pointed out.
“Are you certain there is a battle, then?” Jong asked, looking up from his cup of hot rice-wine.
“No, I am not,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “The rumors are very consistent, however, and that gives me pause.”
“Then we go north, and that adds at least a week to our time on the road,” said Yao, spitting into the fire at the center of the dining room of the Inn of the Immortal Peach. He had been sullen for the last two days, inclined to brood and to give abrupt answers to anyone foolish enough to talk to him.
“What is the matter with you, Yao?” Jong demanded, completely exasperated. “Are you ill?”
Yao hitched up his shoulders. “I know I’m out of sorts. I don’t know why. My grandmother was like this, too, always irritated before a blizzard.”
“A blizzard!” Jong exclaimed. “Not here in the lowlands, certainly.”
“No, in the mountains. It would probably bring sleet here.” Yao put his hands together.
“A blizzard would be inconvenient,” Jong declared.
“No doubt it would,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “And yet, I would rather have some warning than be caught in the open when it strikes.”
“Far better to be safe indoors,” Ro-shei agreed with a knowing nod. “For all of us.”
Jong rounded on Zangi-Ragozh. “Do you believe this nonsense?”
Zangi-Ragozh considered his answer. “Blizzards are not uncommon at this part of the season, at least not in the mountains, and although Jun-Chau is a bit southerly for one, his saying such a storm is coming is not so astonishing as hearing something of the sort in high summer would be. I propose to put up here for another day, to see if the weather gets better or worse. Rain makes the road a muddy morass, and snow would render it impassable.” He pulled off his gloves and held his small hands out toward the fire.
“A waste of time,” Jong grumbled. “I think this is an absurd—”
“Absurd it may be,” Zangi-Ragozh interrupted him, “but it is my decision to make, and I have made it.” He took two steps back from the fire and went to pay for the men’s supper.
“Will you want your own meal served in your room?” the landlord asked with an obsequious smile; he recognized all the trappings of a wealthy merchant, foreign or Chinese, and knew such rich patrons were rare in winter; a little extra attention now could pay off handsomely in the future, so he laced his plump fingers together and strove to appear as h
elpful as possible.
“I think not. I would rather be told where I might find a dancing girl—very accomplished, at a first-class establishment,” said Zangi-Ragozh.
The landlord considered, weighing various possibilities in his thoughts. “There is La-Che at The Silver Fan,” he said at last. “Very desirable, very temperamental, fiery, but accomplished in every amorous art; there’s some barbarian blood in her, and you know how they can be. She’s considered expensive but a real prize.”
Zangi-Ragozh shook his head. “That was not the accomplishment I meant,” he said smoothly. “I would like to see a truly skilled dancer, and, if she is willing, I would like to spend the evening in her company.”
“Ah, a connoisseur; a different matter entirely,” said the landlord, revising his opinion of his foreign guest a little. “How remarkable, that a foreigner should seek such a dancer.”
“If concern for art is so remarkable,” said Zangi-Ragozh.
The landlord heard an implacable note in his voice and decided not to make the jest that had sprung to mind. “Artistry. Yes. Then you would be best-pleased with Jo-Hsu at the Heavenly Flute. I could send a messenger to bespeak her for you for the evening.”
Ordinarily Zangi-Ragozh would have turned down this offered service, but he suspected it would not be a good notion in this instance, so he drew a string of copper cash from his sleeve and took four coins off the cord. “Two for you, two for your messenger,” he said, handing over the money. “I will visit the Heavenly Flute in a short while.” His slight smile was polite enough, and his respectful manner gained him another notch of approval in the landlord’s estimate.
“It will be done at once,” the landlord assured Zangi-Ragozh, and clapped his hand for one of his servants, his round features set in a professional, meaningless smile. “My lad will go on the instant.”
“I thank you. And where is this establishment?” He rested his hand on the high counter as he waited for an answer.
“It is three streets away from here. You cross the market-square and bear left at the first street beyond the square. The mouth of the street faces the Temple of the War Gods, and it runs south for four blocks. The Heavenly Flute is in the second block on the right. You will see the sign.”
“Very clear and concise. You are an asset to your profession,” said Zangi-Ragozh, and returned to the fire to draw Ro-shei aside for a few private words.
“You’re going out,” said Ro-shei in Byzantine Greek. “For the evening, or all night?”
“I hardly know yet, not having seen what is out there,” said Zangi-Ragozh in the same language. “That will depend upon what I find, will it not?”
Ro-shei shook his head. “I hope you will not abandon your search too readily or assume you cannot obtain what you require. We have a long way to go yet.”
“We do,” Zangi-Ragozh admitted. He looked directly at Ro-shei, continuing purposefully, “If the dancing girl is unwilling, then I will try to find a widow to visit in her sleep.”
“So long as you have nourishment,” said Ro-shei with feeling. “Ever since you freed Dei-Na, I have noticed that you deny yourself what you most truly need, and this causes me concern.”
“I am in no danger,” said Zangi-Ragozh.
“It is going to be a demanding journey; you said so yourself. You need to maintain your strength. Days are beginning to lengthen, and the increasing sunlight will make greater exactions upon you, and that, too, will deplete your stamina. If you do not feed your hunger, how are you to maintain the discretion you have been so determined to preserve?” Ro-shei glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “This is not Yang-Chau. You are not known here; anything you do will be noted and considered. Your true nature would not be welcomed by anyone in this town.”
“Do you suppose Jong or Yao or Gien is likely to take advantage of me if they knew?” Zangi-Ragozh asked.
“Probably not. But highwaymen often have agents at inns such as this and are not above setting ambushes.”
“I know,” said Zangi-Ragozh. He went on in Chinese, “I have arranged for the men’s supper. Do you want me to send a request to the kitchen, or do you want to fend for yourself?”
“I have a duck I bought in the market-place. It will more than suffice,” said Ro-shei, also in Chinese.
“Then I wish you a pleasant evening,” he said, fitting one hand into the other.
“And I wish a pleasant evening to you, my master,” said Ro-shei, moving aside so that Zangi-Ragozh could draw on his oiled-leather cloak and leave the inn.
The evening was turning raw, the wind more penetrating, the rain colder. Zangi-Ragozh drew up the hood of his cloak and lifted his shoulder to the wind as he made his way along the side of the nearly empty market-square toward the Temple of the War Gods. He stopped for a moment to look into the elaborate interior of the building and heard the drums sounding to summon the gods to receive their worship, which asked for protection from the dangers of battle. The odor of incense was strong, and the shine of lamps and tapers made the tall windows of the temple glow. When the chanting began, Zangi-Ragozh moved away, knowing that as a foreigner he would not be welcome at the celebration. He made his way down to the Heavenly Flute, which had the look of an exclusive dining establishment. Ducking in through the hanging over the door, Zangi-Ragozh approached a tall desk and identified himself, presenting a business card and saying, “The landlord of the Inn of the Immortal Peach sent a messenger a little while ago, bespeaking the talents of Jo-Hsu.”
“Indeed he did. Are you the man who asked for her?” The landlord looked Zangi-Ragozh over carefully; he was as tall and angular as the landlord of the Inn of the Immortal Peach was rotund. “I was told you are a foreign merchant. Beng’s boy described you.”
“Yes, I am a foreign merchant,” Zangi-Ragozh agreed at once. “And I am presently here on my way to Chang’an.”
“A foolhardy thing to do, but still, I suppose, someone must begin, or the disputes will spread farther.” The landlord waved his hand toward the central corridor of his establishment. “Take the door on the left, the one standing open. Two bars of silver buys Jo-Hsu and a musician for the night. Food is extra.”
Zangi-Ragozh handed over the two silver bars from the wallet on his belt. “There will be a third bar in the morning if we are undisturbed. In the meantime, send in whichever tea Jo-Hsu most prefers.”
Scowling, the landlord put the money away. “If Jo-Hsu calls for help, I will send my men in to protect her, silver or no silver.”
“Of course, of course,” Zangi-Ragozh said. “A wise precaution, especially with someone unknown to you.” He removed his hat, pulled off his cloak, and draped it over his arm before proceeding down the corridor as the landlord had indicated, entering a good-sized room with two broad couches, three chairs, a table, a small folding screen, and a slightly raised platform on which Jo-Hsu would dance. A fire had been laid and only recently kindled, so there was a little smoke in the room, and a persistent odor of charring sap. He draped his cloak over the back of the longer couch and closed the door through which he had entered.
A maid came in from the far end of the room bearing the tea-tray. She set this down and withdrew in silence with no acknowledgment of Zangi-Ragozh’s presence.
Zangi-Ragozh walked around the handsome chamber, seeming to be looking at its decoration, in actuality trying to locate the peepholes he was certain were hidden in various parts of the walls. He had counted three of them when a middle-aged woman in a nondescript gray sen-mo and carrying a two-stringed instrument came into the room, nodded to Zangi-Ragozh, and sat down on a small stool, where she began to tune up.
A wooden gong sounded, and the side door was opened to admit a slender young woman in a long-sleeved sen-lai of jade-green silk embroidered with golden peonies. She turned to Zangi-Ragozh and fitted her hands together. “This person is Jo-Hsu,” she said.
“I am Zangi-Ragozh,” he replied as he acknowledged her greeting.
“You h
ave requested me to dance for you,” she said a bit doubtfully.
“Yes. I have heard you are a true artist,” he said, and made himself comfortable on his chair.
“Shall I start now with a dance of my choosing or is there something you would rather begin with?” Jo-Hsu asked, and as Zangi-Ragozh nodded his permission to start, she took her place on the raised floor, shook out her sleeves, and signaled to the musician. Apparently they had agreed upon what to perform, for the music began without any discussion. The first few notes were jarring, but then the melody became plain, and the dancer began to move, following the traditional movements of the Spring Dawn dance with precision and elegance. She had the gift of seeming to float, so that every step and gesture appeared to be suspended, ethereal; even the rapid passages were unhurried, graceful, and effortless. When she was done, she bowed to Zangi-Ragozh.
“Truly excellent,” he said, and put a gold coin on the tray with the tea things.
“Would you like to see another?” Jo-Hsu asked, still panting a little.
“Yes, I would,” Zangi-Ragozh told her. “But take a little while to recover your breath.”
She ducked her head. “Thank you.” Straightening up, she looked about her. “What would you like me to dance next?”
“You know your preferences better than I,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “Choose whichever you would like most to do.”
“Would The Last Petal please you?” she suggested.
“I have never seen it,” Zangi-Ragozh told her. “It would enlarge my understanding if you would dance it for me.”
Jo-Hsu nodded. “Then I will do it. Some people think it’s too sad, but I like it.” She took a position in the center of her stage and said, “Play, Weh-Bin.”
The musician complied at once, striking up the plaintive tune with more sensitivity than she had shown in the previous dance; the melody twined around three central notes, and the dance used this device, for it consisted of turns and twirls that recalled petals dropping on the wind. When the dance was finished, Jo-Hsu was on her knees, bent forward, hands extended.
Saint-Germain 18: Dark of the Sun: A Novel of the Count Saint-Germain Page 5