Saint-Germain 18: Dark of the Sun: A Novel of the Count Saint-Germain

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Lovely,” said Zangi-Ragozh, looking over at the musician. “Perhaps Weh-Bin would like to retire for a short while, to reinvigorate herself, and you, Jo-Hsu, have some tea for refreshment.”

  Rising easily, Jo-Hsu spoke softly to Weh-Bin, saying to Zangi-Ragozh, “She will return directly.”

  “Very well,” he said, and indicated the couch near his chair. “Please. Be comfortable.” He poured out a cup of tea for Jo-Hsu and held it out to her. “Drink this, if you would.”

  She took the cup as she sat and tasted the tea. “My favorite. Thank you.

  “You dance very well,” Zangi-Ragozh told her. “Your reputation is richly deserved.”

  “You are good to say so.” She drank more of the tea and lay back on the couch, watching him covertly.

  “How long have you studied?”

  The question surprised her, and so she answered more truthfully and directly than she usually did when patrons asked her about herself. “Since I was a little child. My mother was a dancer, very famous, with many rich patrons, and she taught me all she knew.” She drank the last of the tea in her cup. “She died when I was twelve. I began to dance professionally two years later.”

  “So young,” Zangi-Ragozh said as he rose to refill her cup.

  “Many dancers begin their careers younger than I was,” she said a bit brusquely.

  “That was not what I meant,” Zangi-Ragozh responded; he poured the tea.

  Jo-Hsu was taken aback by his courtesy. “You need not … I will tend to the tea myself.”

  “There is no reason that you should,” said Zangi-Ragozh, sitting down again. “It is the least I can do for you.”

  She stared at him, her face revealing the many emotions that welled in her, from gratitude to affronted indignation. Finally she said, “You are not my servant.”

  “No, I am not,” he responded, his dark eyes on hers. “But you deserve my service.”

  “Because I dance well?” She was startled at the notion. “Surely—”

  “Because you dance well,” he confirmed.

  “And is that all?”

  He studied her for a long moment. “If it is all you want, then yes. If it is not, then no.”

  Into the potent silence looming between them, Weh-Bin returned. Taking in Jo-Hsu and Zangi-Ragozh in a single glance, she swiftly withdrew again and informed the servants that Jo-Hsu should be left alone until she sent for help.

  Jo-Hsu’s eyes flickered as she heard the side-door snick closed. She gave a long, languorous sigh and made herself more comfortable on the couch. “It is always pleasant to have a man demonstrate his admiration.”

  Zangi-Ragozh watched her performance, a bit saddened that she had decided to treat him as she would any patron; it was the life she knew, he reminded himself as he said, “If it is truly what you desire, then what am I but flattered.”

  “It is how these things are done. You’ve paid for my time, and you’ve liked my dancing.” She drank her tea and held out her arm to him. “Come. You will be happier at my side.”

  He got to his feet and walked the three steps to the couch. “I am not what you expect,” he said as he took her hand and bent to kiss it. “You have nothing to fear from me; believe this.”

  Jo-Hsu stared at him. “What did you do?”

  “It is a custom among my people,” he said, sitting beside her.

  “Foreigners are so strange,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Yes. We are.” He touched her cheek, his fingers so light that she gasped in astonishment. “Some more than others.”

  “How do you come to—” He leaned forward and touched her lips with his, so softly that she was only startled, not afraid. As he drew back, she did her best to laugh and only partially succeeded, for she was becoming breathless. “Another foreign custom.”

  “The same custom,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “It expresses a different regard when done to the mouth instead of the hand.”

  “It is like you tasted me.” She looked up into his face. “Are you hungry for me?”

  “Yes, Jo-Hsu, I am,” he said with utter sincerity as he moved his hands over her sen-lai, so gently that he hardly disturbed the sheer fabric.

  She grabbed his wrist and regarded him somberly. “Shan will make you pay more if you—you know. Pregnancy isn’t good for dancers.”

  “I won’t do anything that would endanger you in that way,” Zangi-Ragozh said. He did not add that he was certain they were being watched through at least one of the peepholes in the wall.

  Jo-Hsu had heard that before. “If you do, if you forget your intentions, Shan will demand you pay for the loss of my time, and my dancing.”

  Zangi-Ragozh fixed his dark eyes on hers, this time with such attention that she was taken aback. “I gave you my Word, Jo-Hsu,” he told her quietly.

  She felt her pulse grow strong in her neck, and she took another deep breath to restore her self-possession. “All right. But I’ll have to tell him what happened, in the morning.”

  “You will have nothing to tell him,” said Zangi-Ragozh, straightening up. “I will leave something for you on the tea-tray and pay the balance of the evening to your landlord before I leave.”

  “Oh, no,” Jo-Hsu protested, taking hold of his sleeve. “I don’t want you to leave me. Not yet. Not until midnight, at least.”

  “I would rather remain,” Zangi-Ragozh admitted.

  “Then do so. I don’t want it said that I would refuse a patron simply because he was foreign.” She gave him her best smile.

  What else had he expected? Zangi-Ragozh asked himself. He had sought out an available woman, a woman with something more than a functioning body to attract him, and he had found precisely that. She would not question how he took his pleasure so long as it did not include any risk to her of pregnancy or damage to her face. No matter how much he wanted more from her, given the reality of his circumstances, this arrangement was ultimately satisfactory, or so he attempted to convince himself as he bent over Jo-Hsu again. “Does my foreignness bother you, Jo-Hsu?”

  “Not so much. You are not like many men, foreign and Chinese, for many of them are over-eager You do not rush upon me. Or you have not done so yet.” She studied his face; apparently she approved of what she saw, for she moved a little to give him more room on the couch and held up her hand. “You may taste me again, if you like.”

  Obediently he kissed her hand, continuing to hold it as he lowered it from his lips. “I thank you, Jo-Hsu.”

  Her laughter was softer and less forced than before. “You say such strange things, foreigner.” She touched the standing collar of his sen-hsien. “Not that I mind them.”

  Zangi-Ragozh slipped his arms around her and gathered her close to him. “Then I hope you will not mind the other foreign things about me.”

  She returned his embrace with practiced ease, pressing her body to his through the many layers of silk that separated them. “You have been most gratifying thus far.”

  He took the compliment with a nod that led into another kiss. This time their lips met less gently and remained together longer, drawing more than titillation from Jo-Hsu; Zangi-Ragozh felt a change in her flesh as the first quiver of authentic passion ignited deep within her. He nuzzled her neck and worked open her sen-lai, exposing the slight rise of her breasts. “What gives you most pleasure?” he whispered.

  “Your touch is very nice,” she answered, her pulse becoming a little faster.

  “Then let me offer you more of it,” he murmured as he unfastened the last of the closings on the sen-lai.

  The soft jade silk slithered off her, spilling onto the couch like a waterfall. “Oh. I will be cold soon.”

  “I will keep you warm,” Zangi-Ragozh promised her, turning her a little so that the warmth from the hearth could enhance what his hands did.

  “That’s … wonderful.” Jo-Hsu sighed once more, and opened her body to his eyes and hands with the practiced ease of her profession. She had done this many times before,
but now there was a new sensation in her limbs that made her feel heavy and light at once. When he bent and touched his lips to her nipple, she gave a sharp little cry that turned to a quiet moan as he cupped her small breast in his hand and kissed her other nipple. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to her arousal.

  “What would you like me to do next?” he asked, his voice low.

  “I don’t know,” she said, not quite truthfully, but as she had been trained to respond. “Whatever seems best to you.”

  “It is what you want that suits me best,” said Zangi-Ragozh.

  She considered this for a long moment. “Then do as you like; I will tell you if I am not pleased.”

  “It will be as you wish.” With a patience that was nearly reverence, Zangi-Ragozh sought out all the rapture her body contained. Hands and lips paid unhurried homage to her breasts, her flanks, her long, lithe torso, to her hips, to her legs, to the deep, warm recesses in the folds at the apex of her thighs. His touch was gentle and exciting at once, his nearness protecting her as well as fueling her ardor. With enchanting leisureliness, he ventured along the curves and hollows of her flesh, discovering the many ways in which she could be inspired with passion. So intent was he on learning the whole extent of her elation that he even devoted his attention to her feet and the backs of her knees. Every apolaustic response she possessed was awakened, so that as he continued his exploration, he brought her transports she had not realized she could attain, until every fiber in her was shivering with ecstasy. Only when she reached the culmination of her fervor did he fold her close to him, his mouth pressed to her throat while she trembled her fulfillment.

  Gradually, as the wondrous riot in her flesh softened to a thrill, she opened her eyes and stared up at him. “How do you know such things?”

  “My foreign nature,” he said, and gently kissed the corner of her mouth.

  She reached up and fingered a dark strand of his wavy hair. “Like so much of you.” Her face seemed suffused with light. “I didn’t notice until now—your eyes are dark as mine, but they’re blue. Are you a Celestial Turk?”

  “No,” he said. “My people come from far to the west, in mountains called the Carpathians. My father ruled there until his enemies overcame him.” It was true as far as it went; he did not add that those events had taken place more than two and a half millennia ago.

  “Like what is happening in China,” she said a bit sadly. “So you are reduced to being a merchant.”

  “Among other things,” he agreed, moving back to allow her to sit up and gather her jade-green sen-lai around her shoulders.

  “It is always hard when one ruler is cast out in favor of another,” she said. “I have entertained men from Chang’an who told me that they had lost all now that there will be a Wen Emperor in their city.”

  “Have you encountered many of them, these unfortunate men from Chang’an?” Zangi-Ragozh asked, wondering what else they had imparted.

  “Five,” she said. “One was very bitter, the others were more angry.” She winced at the memory. “Shan had to send two of his boys in to stop them.”

  Zangi-Ragozh was silent, then said, “I am sorry to hear that you had to suffer on their account.”

  She shrugged. “It is the way of men.”

  “It may be, but it does not excuse them,” he said.

  She put her hand on his. “You aren’t like most men. You told me, and it is true.”

  Zangi-Ragozh looked down at her hand and knew that the gesture was more revealing than she had intended. “You have been most kind to me, Jo-Hsu.”

  “If I am, it is because of you,” she said, as if something in his words had struck an injury; she withdrew her hand.

  “I doubt that,” said Zangi-Ragozh as he touched her cheek. “If you had no kindness within you, not I, nor anyone else, could find it.”

  She tugged her sen-lai closed and stared into the middle distance. “If it satisfies you to think so, then I will not stop you.”

  He moved away from her, thinking that if there was any tea left, it would be cold. “Ah, Jo-Hsu, do not despair.”

  “It’s not that,” she said bluntly. “You imagine too much, foreigner.”

  Rather than argue the point, he asked, “Shall I send for more tea? Or would you like rice cakes and plum wine?”

  She scowled in the direction of the hearth. “I would like another log or two on the fire.”

  He rose at once to attend to her request, saying as he did, “Would you like me to summon Weh-Bin?”

  “Why are you being so polite? You have what you wanted. You need not linger.” She pressed her lips together as if to stop saying worse things.

  “If you would rather I leave, I will,” he said, straightening up from tending to the fire. But—”

  “—you have paid for the night. So you are entitled to remain. You may ask me to dance again, if you like.” She stood and adjusted her sen-lai, three fingers brushing the little nicks on her neck. She frowned slightly but said nothing.

  Zangi-Ragozh had seen reactions like Jo-Hsu’s before, and so he answered her calmly, “I want to make no demands upon you, Jo-Hsu. If you want to dance, then I will enjoy watching you. If you would like to eat, by all means send for food. If you want to sleep, then go ahead. But I tell you now that you will not incite me to anger.”

  “Nothing passed between us,” she said, her hand going to her neck as if to defend herself. “You have no hold on me.”

  He took another two gold coins from the string of gold cash in his sleeve. “This is yours; do with it as you wish.”

  “So generous,” she said spitefully.

  He studied her. “Jo-Hsu,” he said at last. “Tell me what I have done to offend you?”

  The question took her aback, and she answered without thinking, “You make me want things I know I cannot have again.”

  Zangi-Ragozh met her gaze steadily. “If that is so, I apologize most sincerely.”

  Her face crumpled as she fought back tears. “Don’t.” She flung the word at him as an accusation, then turned away from him. “And you pay me better than anyone.”

  This time there was a trace of ironic amusement in his response. “I hope I will not further offend you by not apologizing for that?”

  “I’d like sweet rice-buns and some plum wine,” she said by way of an answer.

  “Certainly,” said Zangi-Ragozh, clapping his hands to summon a servant. t.

  “How courteous you are,” Jo-Hsu said with all the spite of her nineteen years.

  By the time he left the Heavenly Flute it was nearer sunrise than midnight; he had presented the landlord with two silver bars, with the assurance that one would be set aside for Jo-Hsu’s future use, to the ill-concealed amusement of Shan and his assistant. The blizzard Yao had sensed was beginning in the mountains, and here, at the edge of the foothills, sleet fell relentlessly on the angling wind as Zangi-Ragozh hunched into his cloak and drew his hat down over his forehead to make his way back to the Inn of the Immortal Peach.

  Text of a letter written in Imperial Latin from Atta Olivia Clemens at Lago Comus in northern Italy to Ragoczy Sanct’ Germain Franciscus in Yang-Chau; carried by caravan for two years, never delivered.

  To the distinguished foreigner and my ancient, most honored friend, the greetings of Atta Olivia Clemens on this, the 20th day of June in the Year of the City 1286, or the 533rd Year of Salvation, according to the Pope, whoever the new one may be. Boniface II has been reported near death, so I must suppose he has departed this world for the next by now, and his successor, if one has been elected, is not known here at Lago Comus, nor is likely to be for a while yet, since news in these days travels very slowly.

  You see, I have taken your advice at last and got out of Rome again. The distressing inclination of various barbarians to sack and loot the city is becoming inconvenient—not to say revolting in every sense of the word—and so I have come to your lovely villa here eat Lago Comus to avoid the rape and pillage that has
beome all too frequent in the city of my birth. I cannot tell you how much devastation has been visited on Rome, nor the appalling failure to protect its walls and buildings that has been the most consistent nature of its defense. If only I could be indifferent to Rome, I would be off to travel the world, as you do, but since I have not yet learned how to journey so far from my native Roman earth, Lago Comus must suffice.

  Niklos Aulirios is with me, of course, and I have begun assembling a household from the various villages in the area. I have also begun work expanding your stables here: I trust you will not object, or, if you do, you will come here to voice your disapproval in person, which would make any chiding a most welcome experience. He has proven to be the most capable of bondsmen, and I thank you from the very marrow of my bones for providing him to me.

  I have brought forty-three horses with me from my estate, and I’ll look for good stock in this region to breed with. I have only eight stallions—the rest are mares, and in good health. I might as well make the most of this opportunity and improve my stock while I avoid the continuing assaults on Rome. Next year I should have sixty to seventy in my herd, and that will be a satisfactory number. As you have remarked before, the barbarians may come down from the north to sack Rome, but they do not often attack such remote places as this one, having a number of towns and cities to attract their attention. The mountains here also provide a kind of protection, as well as providing a setting of impressive beauty. Not even Rome’s seven hills are as beautiful as these mountains, though as a Roman, it galls me to say it.

  Another reason for my coming to this place is that there has been a change in the laws again in Rome, and now, without a Papal dispensation allowing it, women are no longer allowed to inherit or possess property. What the Pope can do about it is limited, for, of course, the power of the Church is growing, but it is hardly sufficient to dictate to the rulers, but through their superstition. Not that such fancies cannot be useful, but they are far from reliable, and it is my understanding that what may work in one’s favor on one occasion may be contrary the next time. Certainly the Church gained prestige when Pope Leo bought off Attila, not quite a century ago, for the Pope accomplished what no General could, at least as the event is being reported in these times. However, as one who witnessed the occasion, I must declare it was not only Papal gold but pestilence and famine that turned the Hun back at Rome. There was a great deal of bad air in Rome that year, and although it has largely been overlooked, I believe the mal aria, and not invisible Saints and Angels, kept the Huns at bay, and the Pope’s gold provided a good reason to withdraw. They are calling Leo a Saint now for what he accomplished. I will grant that he was very clever to use his office in so political a way, for it created leverage for the Church that it had not had before.