Passage to Kumul was uneventful beyond the deepening cold as the sun moved southward in the sky and the days shortened. In slightly less than three fortnights, they went from An-Hsi to the easternmost rising of the Tien Shan range. During the first fortnight, Zangi-Ragozh elected to travel most of the night and into the morning, resting through the brightest part of the day, and then moving off again in late afternoon; it helped him stave off the worst of his hunger, for there were few opportunities for nourishment beyond the occasional blood of a goat or a wild ass, and that was barely sufficient to his needs. They encountered few other travelers on the road through that desolate waste, and those they did see were more small groups of horsemen, clans bound in search of flourishing pastures, not well-laden caravans from the West. The foothills of the Tien Shan range proved difficult to approach, for there had been a number of rock slides, and from time to time, Zangi-Ragozh had to dismount from his pony and clear the way for the wagon and the camels.
The stone walls of Kumul were a welcome sight when at last they came around a massive outcropping of rock and caught their first glimpse of the five watchtowers on the flank of the mountain’s swell. On the floor of the narrow valley just at the town’s foot where there was usually a sea of caravan tents, this morning there were no more than twenty, less than a quarter of the usual number.
“Not what I was expecting,” said Zangi-Ragozh as he drew in his cinder-brown pony and stared at Kumul in the first, sizzling light of glaring dawn.
“No,” said Ro-shei, on the driving-box. “Do you think there is trouble?”
“Beyond the cold and the first touch of famine? I do not know,” said Zangi-Ragozh harshly.
“Does this surprise you?” Ro-shei asked, mildly startled. “With all we have seen—”
“I know; I know,” said Zangi-Ragozh, and admitted, “I had hoped that there would be a lessening of difficulties by now, that the sun would be stronger, and that the peaks would not have yellow snow upon them, that there would be warmth, or new grass, or—I had hoped some sign of improvement would be evident.”
“There are Jou’an-Jou’an tents down there; do you see? They have been forced off their usual lands, and the cold may be the least of it, for the clan markings say that this group is one of the more isolated ones,” said Ro-shei, doing his best to find some less dire outlook than the one Zangi-Ragozh foresaw. “Because Kumul is out of their usual region of travel, they may be trying to find better conditions for their herds, and perhaps they may be willing to tell us what they have seen on their way here. Any information they impart could help us.” He squinted at the sharp peaks to the west, with their crown of golden snow. “Wherever they have been, it could be helpful to know what they have encountered.”
Zangi-Ragozh tapped the pony with his heels and felt the instant of resistance he had come to expect from the tough little animal. “The gates should be open soon. We will go directly into the town, and to the Holy Trinity compound. I hope Seraphim is still Apostle there.”
“It is more than a decade since you have been here,” Ro-shei cautioned him. “And Seraphim was not a young man then.”
“No, he was not. But he had children of his three wives, and that might mean he has a successor, if he has died. In any case, Holy Trinity compound will not have been abandoned, not with the school and the library,” said Zangi-Ragozh with determined optimism. As they passed through the clusters of tents on their approach to the town gates, he noticed that most of the men he saw showed signs of hunger, and that their animals were thin. The one woman he saw was gaunt.
The guard at the gate was in a leather shai-fa topped with a scale-armor tunic, as if he expected trouble. To reinforce this impression, he was more heavily armed than any town-guard they had seen since leaving Yang-Chau; his Chinese was in the western dialect of Chiu-Ch’uan. He was accompanied by three other soldiers, equally heavily armed, all lined up to block the entrance to the town. “Who are you and why are you here?”
Zangi-Ragozh identified himself and presented his safe-conduct to the guard. “I am going westward, if the weather permits. I have come to Kumul in order to visit Holy Trinity compound.”
“To pray for good fortune, no doubt,” said the guard caustically. “There is a duty to enter, whether or not you are here to buy and sell. You must pay it in full before you can be admitted.”
“Of course,” said Zangi-Ragozh as affably as he could. “I have strings of cash, gold, and silver, as you see on the inventory. What is the duty for my one wagon, my ponies and camels, to enter?”
The guard scowled at the documents in his hand, then glared at his three companions. “A string of silver cash for each of us, and two bars of silver to enter.”
The amount was shockingly high, well beyond what a town like Kumul could usually demand, but Zangi-Ragozh took only a moment to consider. “These are hard times and travelers are few, and your town suffers the same privations as the rest of the world. You do what you must to make up the shortfall.” He reached into the capacious sleeve of his shai-dan to retrieve the money he had put there; he was careful not to reveal how much more his sleeves held. “Is there a chit to show we have paid our duty?”
The guard looked annoyed, but he lowered his head reluctantly and produced a small, thin strip of wood. “Take this. If anyone should question you, show them this and say you had it from Tsomak at the main gate. I will vouch for you, Worthy Foreigner.”
“I am deeply appreciative, Honorable Guard,” said Zangi-Ragozh without a trace of irony as he put his pony to the walk to lead Ro-shei and his wagon and animals into the walled town.
They found the streets subdued, with few people abroad; those who were regarded Zangi-Ragozh and his little caravan uneasily. Although they kept to the major streets and went directly toward the Holy Trinity compound, they were aware of feeling out of place, in unfamiliar surroundings, among townspeople who distrusted them.
At Holy Trinity compound, the gate was closed and barred, and a tug on the bellpull did not bring a response for some little while. Finally a man of advanced years opened the grille in the center of the gate and peered out, summing up what he saw with a jerky nod; from his place in the saddle Zangi-Ragozh made the gesture of greeting, his left hand fitted into his right, and waited.
“God be with you,” the man said in the local dialect, then in Persian, and finally in Chinese.
“And with you,” said Zangi-Ragozh as he dismounted. Approaching the gate, he went on in Chinese, “I am the foreign merchant Zangi-Ragozh, come to pay my respects to Apostle Seraphim, and to seek the comfort of his school for a short while, if it is acceptable to him that I should do so.”
The old man blinked. “The Apostle Seraphim died two years ago. The Apostle Lazarus, his son, is in charge here now.”
“I am grieved to hear of the death of the Apostle Seraphim, who received me with great kindness more than a decade ago. I ask to see his son, the Apostle Lazarus, to express my condolences and to make his acquaintance,” Zangi-Ragozh said, holding out a visiting card imprinted with his eclipse device on one side, and his chop on the other.
The old man took the visiting card and studied it. “I will show him. If you will wait?”
“Of course,” said Zangi-Ragozh, anticipating a delay. He turned to Ro-shei. “I remember Lazarus as a young man of fifteen or sixteen.” Zangi-Ragozh shaded his forehead with his hands to see what lay inside more clearly. He blinked in surprise. “There are two Jou’an-Jou’an saddles on the rack in front of the stable.”
“Are you sure?” Ro-shei wondered skeptically.
“The clan marks match those on the tents outside the town,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “And they have those metal foot-loops the Jou’an-Jou’an have started using on their saddles.”
“Are there Christians among the Jou’an-Jou’an?” Ro-shei inquired, much astonished.
“They may be seeking help. Apostle Seraphim was always devoted to charity, and the gathering of information about the middle and northern routes of the Silk Road,” said Zangi-Ragozh, leading his pony to the rear of the wagon and fixing an empty lead to his bridle.
“Apostle Seraphim would certainly do so,” said Ro-shei.
“Then we’ll hope the present Apostle will share what he knows with us,” said Zangi-Ragozh, glancing down the narrow street toward an open convergence of several ways; there was a well in the center of the space that was not large enough to be a square, but too wide to be only a part of the road. “I seem to recall that there were inns by that well.”
“Do you think we should command rooms there?” Ro-shei asked.
“I think it would make it easier for me to find sustenance tonight if we are at an inn than if we are inside the compound,” said Zangi-Ragozh rather drily. “Apostle Seraphim would have extended his hospitality, I know, but then food was not in short supply, and the town was flourishing. That sort of hospitality was easily provided, eleven years ago. His son might not be so willing to have us as guests.” He made up his mind. “Yes, let us choose an inn; I will inform the Apostle that we are making our own arrangements for shelter and food. We should also make sure we let it be known that we have our own provisions.”
“Would you like me to go to command accommodations?” Ro-shei could sense Zangi-Ragozh’s indecision in the silence that met his question.
“Not just yet,” Zangi-Ragozh said at last. “When I am admitted, then if you will, go secure a place for us.”
“Very well,” said Ro-shei.
“You may think this is an unnecessary precaution,” said Zangi-Ragozh, reading the distress in Ro-shei’s faded-blue eyes. “And it may be.”
“But given the state of the town, you are concerned?” Ro-shei ventured. “If you were to give the Apostle some of our supplies, he would undoubtedly welcome us with thanksgiving.”
Zangi-Ragozh shook his head. “We cannot spare the supplies,” he said.
“I am aware of that,” said Ro-shei.
“If he will permit me to use the athanor, then perhaps I can repay him in gold.” Zangi-Ragozh was about to say more when a thunderous rolling of drums came from beyond the compound walls, and then gongs were added to the cacophony. “Their morning prayers are beginning.”
Ro-shei held the alarmed ponies on short reins to keep them from bolting, and the camels moaned. “It may be a while until the gates are opened.”
“So it might. Go on—find an inn and get our animals stalled and watered. Give them a little to eat. We’ll make them proper nosebags later, when we can supervise their feeding.”
“Do you think the nosebags might get taken?” Ro-shei asked, preparing to swing the wagon around in the narrow street.
“I think it is possible,” said Zangi-Ragozh, raising his voice in order to be heard over the din.
Ro-shei nodded to show he had heard and continued to work the reins, finally facing the downward slope toward the well. “I will return here when I have made arrangements.”
“Excellent; thank you, old friend,” said Zangi-Ragozh, stepping aside to allow the wagon and the camels to pass.
The noise went on for some little while, then the compound grew quiet, and for another short while no sound came from within. Then there was a flurry of drums and gongs, and the babble of voices came from beyond the gate, and there was a loud report as the bolt inside was drawn back and the gate swung open, revealing a great number of men and women going purposefully toward their morning labors. The old man who had spoken to Zangi-Ragozh through the grille was waiting just inside, his seamed face creased into a smile.
“Enter, stranger, in the name of the Savior,” he said formally.
“Thank you,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “My traveling companion has gone to find us an inn. He will return when he has made arrangements.”
“He will be welcome when he comes,” said the old man with undisguised relief. “The Apostle Lazarus has asked me to bring you to him. He is with a magician of the Jou’an-Jou’an,” he went on as he started across the courtyard toward a two-story building with a cross over the main door. “He says he recalls your visit some years ago and is anxious to speak to you again.”
Zangi-Ragozh said, “It is a great honor to me that the Apostle should recall those distant days.”
“The Apostle is mindful of his duties,” said the old man.
“Will it be a problem for him to receive me if he is with this Jou’an-Jou’an magician?” Zangi-Ragozh was careful to ask without giving any implication of his opinion.
“It should not be,” said the old man, going up the broad, shallow steps with sufficient effort to reveal painful knees.
“I have a medicament among my belongings that may ease your discomfort if you would allow me to present you with a vial of it,” said Zangi-Ragozh.
“I thank you, but I offer what God has given me to Him,” said the old man.
Zangi-Ragozh shrugged. “If you change your mind, you have only to let me know.”
“I will not change my mind; this pain is mine to bear. It would slight Christ’s suffering for our sins to refuse what I must endure,” said the old man affably as he paused to bow to the altar at the end of the room, then indicated a well-lit corridor off to the left that connected to a single-story building next to the church. “If you will come this way? The Apostle is in his study.”