Beyond the Gate of Worlds

by Robert Silverberg

  “You’re certain you know who to look for?” he pressed, in a voice that for a man of his bulk was curiously high-pitched. A chorus of affirmatives resounded.

  “Very well! Off with you! But if you screw up—”

  Before he could finish they had darted away. They had heard the threat in full, and because he was what he was they were prepared to accept it at face value.

  Sliding the window shut, the portly man settled back in his seat and composed himself to wait.

  Most of his life had been spent waiting.

  Despite the apparent confusion the crowd dispersed swiftly. Not only had the train lost many of its original passengers, until chiefly those remained for whom time was more affordable than money, seasoned travelers who knew how to drive a hard bargain with a wagoner or porter; in addition, the livestock which would normally also have had to be disembarked had been sold for what it would fetch—or killed and eaten. A promising and expensive strain of carrier pigeons had lately been sacrificed to the pot.

  Soon there were only half a dozen new arrivals left, apart from merchants arguing at the pitch of their lungs with the customs inspectors. Five who had never been to Krakow before stood in an uncertain cluster, like friends—which they were not.

  They had been too slow, and too unfamiliar with local customs, to obtain seats in a dolmush. Now they were trying as best they could to select among the wheedling porters those least likely to make off with their belongings, occasionally glancing at the sixth— whom during the interminable trip they had come to know as Djinghiz—as though in hope that he might offer to assist.

  But he was paying absolutely no attention.

  * * * ' .

  He was filthy. For months he had had to make do with what he wore and the contents of the bag at his feet. He itched. His black hair was foul with grease and the all-pervading smoke of the wood-burning locomotive; his mustache retained traces of the soup that had been the main sustenance accorded by the Russians during their period of waiting; his quilted jacket too memorialized a good few meals—though few good ones; and as for his breeches, they could have stood up without his help.

  Ah, but what a relief it was to have escaped the omnipresence of the trigger-happy Czarist guards who now and then shot out lighted windows on the train for target practice! He had no special love for the Teutons, but at least their soldiery was better disciplined.

  Djinghiz felt his heart leap as he gazed at the familiar walls, the familiar summit of the Wawel Hill beside the river, crowned with a complex of buildings part fortress, part mosque, part palace, some of whose masonry dated back to the legendary days of the Roman Empire. Krakow might not be the greatest city in the world; it might no longer even be the greatest city of his own people, the majority of whom now lived in the region where he had spent the past five years; but here was where he had been bom, and he was home at last. He had left as a boy; now he was a man. And had a man’s achievements to his credit! Despite his youth, had his actions not already moved the Gate of Worlds? And more than once, at that, when most people had to be content with—

  A tap on his arm distracted him. He glanced down to find a bright-eyed but nervous-looking boy bowing low and asking, “Is it the effendi’s wish to find lodging for the night? If so, my master can provide it.”

  Djinghiz looked him over. His red turban was of silk, as was his green coat, while his breeches and boots were of brown leather.

  Hah! Ismail must have done well for himself since I've been away!

  Aloud he said, “Does your costume represent a rose?"

  “The effendi sees and hears all!”

  ‘ ‘ And is your master called Ismail ?"

  “Why, you enjoy his acquaintance already!”

  “Not half as much,” Djinghiz said with a grimace, “as I hope to enjoy it in future.”

  “Forgive me, effendi. I failed to hear correctly . . .” The boy’s large dark eyes scanned his face anxiously.

  “Never mind. Just lead me to him. And carry my bag! My shoulders are grooved from its strap.”

  The boy caught up the bag with an ingratiating smile and took off at half a run.

  Arriving at the green steam carriage, aware that the need for discretion remained, Djinghiz murmured as he climbed inside: '

  “Were your eyes, then, never off me, Ismail effendi? ’ ’

  “Once,” said the high voice. “While you were actually at work. Concerning that we’ll doubtless speak anon. Meantime, my rachets are about their work. What do you want? ’?

  “A drink, a bath, clean clothes, a meal, a bed.” “All those will be provided, and soon. A woman too, if you are in the mood.”

  “What would you know of such matters—” Djinghiz caught himself. “Ah, that was unworthy. It was exhaustion talking. But how soon is soon? Has your net caught all the fish you’re trawling? You did get my message? ’ ’

  “Yes. You found me five, or rather four and a possible, much the number I was expecting.” With a spyglass the portly man was scanning the zone between here and the train-halt. “Don’t worry. Already two—no, three—more of my rosebuds are converging, and by nightfall we should have all of the furthest-traveled under one roof. ”

  “The same roof?” Djinghiz forced out around a yawn. The air in the vehicle was so hot, he felt he might doze off.

  “When we get there, you’ll see. It won’t be what you recall. But though it’s made of fine Murano glass, it’s still a roof. ... Ah! Here comes my second rosebud. Inform me about his companion”—proffering the spyglass .

  “You recall me to duty at once? I don’t deserve a single evening s rest after all I Ve achieved? ’ ’ Under the mockery of Djinghiz’s words rang real bitterness.

  Ismail laid a plump warm hand on his. He said, and his tone seemed to thrum through the contact, “You’ll have your drink, your bath, your meal, your bed. And what is more you’ll have amazing stories to remember, too.”

  “I’d rather have”—resentfully—“that woman. It’s been long ... Ah, maybe tomorrow. My weariness is marrow-deep. Your pardon again. You want to know about that man, the tawny-brown one—no, I don’t need the spyglass to be sure. He’s a Lankhan, name of Ra-tanayaka. Says he’s a follower of some prince called Gautama who lived six hundred years before the Crucifixion and twelve hundred before the Hegira. He renounced his riches and the pleasures of the flesh and attained perfect enlightenment by meditating under a tree."’

  “And what tempts his disciple to Krak6w?” “Ratanayaka doesn’t seem to care much for work. In his country, he says, holy men are given free food and lodging. With the decline of Turkish power the influence of Islam is fading, and not many people around here want to become Christian because it means identifying with Russia, right? I suspect he hopes to make rich converts to his creed, then live off their backs until he can get home.”

  “You’ve grown cynical since you left, young fellow!”

  “I was born cynical,” Djinghiz grunted. “And before you ask why he’s taking such a roundabout route: he started his trip as a sort of ship’s chaplain aboard a Lankhan freighter, but what he calls his karma—that’s his fate due to the way he behaved in his previous lives— decreed that he should prove to be a bad sailor. He spent half his time throwing up. Ashore in China, he found some co-believers whose version of the scriptures was corrupt, so for the good of their souls, and his finances, he went from town to town preaching the word. Winding up far from the sea, he decided to go home as much as possible by land.”

  Ismail nodded. “I see. With no hope of taking a direct route, the passes between Russia and Ind being barred by the Gurkhas.”

  At mention of the fierce cruel warriors who ruled the mountains from Afghanistan to Burma, Djinghiz snorted. “I can’t blame him for that! I wouldn’t give much for my chances around there, and I’m a fighting type. Ratanayaka is forbidden by his faith to carry arms . . . Want me to tell you about the others before your rosebuds lure them here?”

  “Everything yo
u can, please.”

  “Since you’ve taken an interest in them, I imagine you already know more than I do! But all right. The tall one on the right, even darker, is an Ethiopian, name of Feisal. Says he’s a Romologist—you know, one of these people who are obsessed with Ancient Rome, like to dig around in ruins and publish descriptions of what they find.”

  Ismail said musingly, “I can well understand why he went to Russia. He spent a long time in cathedral libraries studying texts carried thither by Catholics when their last pope had to flee from Avignon. But why did he spend even longer in the Far East? The Romans never reached China, let alone Japan.”

  “I wondered about that myself, but he came up with a colorable explanation."

  “That being?”

  “For centuries the Tbrks have sold Roman relics to the highest bidder, and they’ve wound up all over the planet. There are even some in Rotorua. Feisal is extremely proud of the fact that, because of his scholarship, he was allowed access to the Mikado’s collection in Edo.”

  “Hmm!” Ismail plied the spyglass again. “Yes, someone who feels he’s been cheated out of an empire would no doubt be interested in the greatest empire that the world has ever seen. So that is, as you put it, colorable. . . . Hello! It looks as though a couple of birds are fleeing my net!”

  “Are you fishing or wildfowling?” Djinghiz countered, pulling a face. Ismail ignored the gibe.

  “I assume that’s Slava, is it? With a child in tow?” “Just as I thought. You know so much you don’t need to wear me out with questions—”

  “You’ve met them face to face, and I haven’t,” the fat man cut in. “Tell me about Slava, and hurry. The others are heading this way.”

  “His passport says he’s a Balt from Riga,” Djinghiz sighed. “By profession a dealer in amber. I’ll lay he hasn’t seen his homeland—or practiced his trade-in years. He’s a full-time gambler, presumably a shark. I wouldn’t know; I was never fool enough to play against him. He won Hideki at mah-jongg. We ran across a Japanese troupe of strolling players whose tour had been canceled because of the Czar’s death. I guess they hoped to win enough to get home. Slava put paid to that idea. When they had nothing left he said he’d swap half his winnings for this kid they were training as an actress, and they agreed. I’ve no idea what became of them afterwards.”

  “Why did Slava want this—this Hideki?”

  Djinghiz scowled. “We all assumed at first: for his own use. Some men do like their girls unripe, and at least they can’t hit you with a paternity suit . . . But one night he got drunk and let the real reason slip. Seems that as well as being a gambler, he’s a pimp. Said you can always pay your way by renting out a pretty child in a brothel. ‘Besides, brothels are cleaner than regular hostelries. They’re inspected. The bedlinen gets changed more often and there aren’t so many fleas.’ I quote. ’ ’

  Ismail’s face darkened. Sliding open the window, he summoned the rosebud who had brought Djinghiz and uttered crisp orders. The boy salaamed and took to his heels.

  Closing the window again, Ismail said, “Within the hour there won’t be a brothel in Krakdw that will admit them. ’ ’

  “So they’ll have to come to the Sign of the Rose? Ismail effendi, if there’s one thing I can’t stand about you it’s that smug expression you re so fond of! Want me to tell you about the last of your birds, or fish, or coneys, or whatever metaphor you’re mixing this time?”

  “The big Hawaiian?” Ismail’s eyes were twinkling. “Big?” Diinghiz gave a harsh laugh. “Paluka overtops me by head and shoulders, and I’m not small! Strong with it, too! Once I saw him take a gun away from a Russian guard who had annoyed him and bend its barrel like a birch-twig. He had some explaining to do to his officer!”

  “Quickly! They’re almost here! What’s Paluka's excuse for coming to Krakow?”

  “But surely you already know, for otherwise—”

  “I said quickly!”

  “He’s studying engineering. Says it’s intolerable that an island country like Hawaii doesn’t own any ships fitted with steam engines, even auxiliary ones.”

  “The Maoris wouldn’t approve of that, would they? Which is presumably why he didn t go to study in Rotorua. What are they planning to use for fuel? Their trees would be gone in a generation, and I don’t believe they have any coal.”

  “He has this notion they could use sugarcane.” “Really! That’s at least ingenious. It would be renewable, so . . . But his must be an expensive trip. How is he paying his way?”

  “He’s an amateur wrestler. Wherever he goes he arranges matches with the locals and backs himself at heavy odds. He says he did so well in Japan that they nicknamed him “The Locomotive,” though he didn’t c.are for their weird rules and the bouts that are over in an eyeblink. Next he wants to take on some Turks. ’ ’

  “You believe him?”

  “Oh, he can wrestle, all right. Some of the Russian officers thought they had men who could beat him. During the first month or so we were stuck at the frontier they organized a string of challenges. He won every time, so they got bored and gave up. I believe he’s an engineer, too. He earned a bit of spending money doing odd repairs on the stranded trains.”

  “And he waited patiently at the frontier for months on end, along with the rest of you?”

  Shrugging, Djinghiz glanced at his companion. It was almost dark, but one could still make out facial details.

  “He said he just had to put up with it. He won’t have the money to get home unless he wins a few bouts in Turkey. Besides, having been raised on an island, he wants to find out what life feels like in the middle of a iandmass.”

  There was a brief pause, during which Ismail slapped shut the spyglass.

  “Well,” he said musingly, “at least one of our about-to-be companions obviously has a sense of humor. Would you mind moving to the rear? It’s easier than having everyone clamber over you, and I’d rather not make my rosebuds ride outside in such bitter weather. ’ ’

  Without waiting for an answer, he prepared to get out and greet his obviously puzzled “guests.”

  “Just a second!” Djinghiz snapped.

  Turning back: “Yes, my friend?”

  “Is there going to be a war?”

  “Of course,” said Ismail composedly. “In fact it’s already begun." “But it’s of a most unusual kind.”

  Two: The Greatest market

  Ismail addressed the newcomers effusively in both Hirkish and Russian, but it was plain that they had no idea why the rosebuds had brought them hither. Ra-tanayaka was the first to put their misgivings into words. His Russian was ill pronounced but comprehensible.

  “Gospodin, your proposal is most generous! But if you send such a fine carriage for its clients, your hostelry must be a veritable palace, whereas you see before you an ascetic vowed to poverty, accustomed to privation. The lowliest shelter will suffice me. Moreover friends gave me the name and address of a family here, Buddhists like myself, and I need only directions to find their home.”

  “Is it not written in the Buddhist scriptures,” Ismail murmured, “that one who accepts charity bestows virtue on its giver?”

  The old hypocrite! Djinghiz said to himself. He let me explain karma to him when he must have known all along! And, a second later: I’m glad he's on my side

  “Ah . . .” The mental struggle the Lankhan was having with himself was almost audible. Ismail pressed him.

  ‘ ‘ Besides: are your friends expecting you, six months late? They may not be at home—then what will you do? Better, surely, to seek them by daylight. Here it is not usual for even holy men to sleep in the open. You would run the risk of being apprehended as a beggar. ’ ’

  “That, certainly, would be unpleasant, and indeed a means of leading people into error. But do the temples in your country not offer sanctuary to the pious?” “Only, I regret, to adherents of Islam. I see really no alternative, especially since it’s almost sunset.” “Then for one night I accept, an
d thank you. I must confess”—this last in a near whisper—“it is far colder here than where I hail from.”

  “And you, sirs?” Ismail pursued, turning to Feisal and Paluka. The former responded first, in good Turkish.

  “Unlike our companion, effendi, I am not vowed to poverty. Indeed, in a sense I am a merchant, albeit not of the kind who displays the wares he has for sale after the manner of a common market. I should easily be able to meet the fees of your establishment—that is, if you can introduce me to a trustworthy pawnbroker. I possess certain articles against which I would expect to raise an adequate sum.”

  Covertly eavesdropping through a partly open window, Djinghiz gave a thoughtful nod. Feisal had a bag that never left his side, not even when he slept. Presumably it contained Roman relics which he would not sell but might risk pawning until he found means to redeem i:he pledge.

  “And I,” put in Paluka, “likewise prefer not to be un anybody’s debt. If your pawnbrokers act also as moneychangers, the way they do in most places, I’ll go with Feisal. I still have a few coins to my name, and tomorrow maybe I can find somebody to challenge me at wrestling.”

  “It won’t be me!” said Ismail feelingly. “Well, then, sirs, climb aboard!”

  Ratanayaka mounted first and sat next to Djinghiz in the rear; Feisal came next, but when Paluka made to follow Ismail checked him with a touch on his arm.

  “I think you and I had better occupy a bench for three. Let my rosebuds cram into the other seats. . . . Yarely now!”