Dukkai spoke with real purpose. “I am to see Baru Ksoka later today. I want to tell him that you will be part of our group when we depart.”
“I would like to have a little time to consider my answer,” he told her. “May I have until midday? I must speak with Ro-shei. It is not for me to make such a decision without consulting him.”
“Is he of your blood, then?” Dukkai demanded, a touch of anger in her tone.
“No; he is an old, old companion, one who has been with me through many hardships and over many li. I have traveled with him for more years than I care to remember.” Zangi-Ragozh took her hand in his. “I am grateful for your invitation; I would imagine that you may have to persuade Baru Ksoka to acquiesce in it.”
“I am the magician of the clan; the Kaigan cannot challenge my position.”
“You would not be wise to put that to the test just now, and not because you are pregnant,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “I have seen families and clans rent apart by far less than what is happening now. You would do the Desert Cats no service by forcing more uncertainty upon them.”
“Having you and your companion with us would be more help than hindrance,” she said firmly. “Remember, it will be midwinter by the time we reach Aksu.”
“If you are fortunate,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “In such hard weather, travel will not be rapid.”
She nodded. “All the more reason to have one of your skills with us.”
He lifted her hand to his lips. “I thank you for the honor you have given me, Dukkai, and I will strive to reach a decision that will benefit all of us—my companion and me, and you and your clan.”
“By midday,” she reminded him, staring at her hand where he had kissed it. “Is this a custom among your people?”
“And among many in the West,” he explained.
“A strange thing to do,” she said, looking at the back of her hand as if she expected to see a mark upon it.
“No one in the West would think so,” said Zangi-Ragozh.
“Do you miss the West?” She blurted out the question and then put her hand to her mouth.
“It is where my native earth lies,” he said.
“Then you must want to return to it,” she said.
“In times such as these, yes, I must,” he said, thinking of the dwindling supply of native earth in his chests. Even now, with the sun lacking in power, he could not entirely escape the enervation daylight brought him. “However I travel, and with whom, I know I must go to the Carpa-Ti Mountains to be restored.” Or to die, he added to himself.
She nodded. “I do not like going beyond the territory we usually travel.”
He considered what she said. “I would hope that by the time you reach Aksu the weather improves and this region of yellow snow will be far behind you.”
“And I, but it may not be.” She rose and stood directly in front of him. “And you have thought of this, too; I can see it in your eyes. You are harried by assumptions of various mishaps and calamities that may lie ahead of us.”
“I have never encountered such a year as this,” he said somberly.
“No; and the stories my grandmother told had nothing of this sort in them, though they were filled with accounts of wars and famines and other misfortunes.” She moved toward the door. “For your sake and for mine, I hope you will come with us. Your and your companion would provide—” She stopped suddenly.
“Between the dark and the cold, you will have hard-going; all of us will.” He went with her to the door. “I will let you know when you return what I have decided: my Word on it.”
“Good. I am going to speak with Baru Ksoka, to discover what he is willing to accept.”
“I thank you for such a concession,” he said with a quick, ironic smile.
“You may think I am being foolish,” she said, “but I know what I know, and I see you have power beyond any that Apostle Lazarus recognizes.”
“How can you be sure,” he said, covering the disquiet he felt at this remark with a genial half-bow in the Western style.
“Tejamksa died in childbirth,” she said. “There are those who think that I must do the same.” With that, she slipped out the door and closed it softly before hurrying down the corridor to the stairs.
Zangi-Ragozh stood alone for some little while, his thoughts deliberately blank. At last he went to the athanor and opened its central chamber, placing the crock in the declivity in the center, then adjusting the lid one last time before closing the stone door and stoking the furnace, using small bellows to heat the fire to an intensity that was usually reserved for bronze- and iron-smiths at their forges. For as long as it took him to recite the
Death of Achilles
he kept steadily at his labor, then left the athanor to burn out and cool down.
It was approaching midday when Ro-shei came into the alchemical chamber, an empty cask in his hands. “You asked for this.”
“Thank you, yes, I did,” said Zangi-Ragozh, taking it and setting it on the trestle table. “It should not be long now.”
“Why have you made such a great portion of your sovereign remedy?” Ro-shei asked.
“I fear we will have need of it before our travels are done, and I may not have many opportunities to make more.” He took a clean cloth and wiped out the cask, checking it carefully for leaks. “The lid? Does it have a wire stay?”
“Yes; you can see the grooves for the wire.” Ro-shei pointed them out.
“Very good. This is going to have to serve us for some time, I fear,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “If anyone doubts that there is going to be a very arduous winter ahead, it is because he is living in a place where the sun is not darkened, and the land is warm—either that, or he is mad with optimism.”
Ro-shei considered Zangi-Ragozh, measuring his demeanor with the knowledge of five centuries. “You are anticipating much worse to come.”
“I wish I were not,” said Zangi-Ragozh.
“Is that why you are still uncertain about when we might resume traveling?”
Zangi-Ragozh’s answer was measured. “I see that there could be advantages to wintering here: we are known to the Apostle and he would extend his hospitality to you and me if I asked for it; I have no doubt of it. But I would find it difficult—or impossible—to have a lover, and it would not be prudent to go to the dancing girls, not if they are reduced to beggary, as I suspect many of them will be. Such contacts are … shall we say, unwise.”
“So you intend to leave?” Ro-shei gave no indication of his opinion of this possibility.
“Dukkai has asked that we travel with her clan when they move on, which they will do shortly.” He stared at the fire in the open stove. “The clan is small, and that will limit my chance for nourishment more severely than remaining here in Kumul will.”
Ro-shei took a turn about the narrow room. “Have you broached the matter of your requirements?”
“No, I have not.” He moved a little closer to the fire. “She wants my answer by midday.”
“That will come soon,” said Ro-shei.
“I know,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “What do you think?”
“I think whether we stay or go, there will be difficulties. There is nowhere we have heard of that is salubrious now.” Ro-shei went to put another length of wood on the fire. “But I think there is a better chance of finding a wholesome place if we travel than if we wait here for news to arrive, for that may be long in coming. Who knows when the next caravan from the West will come, or if one will come at all.” At this last, he stared at Zangi-Ragozh as if to command his full attention. “Whatever this invisible darkness is, it may come from the West as well as the East.”
“Or the North or the South,” said Zangi-Ragozh distantly as he gave himself over to thought.
“But we know it has force here, and it might not be as bad elsewhere,” said Ro-shei, then added before Zangi-Ragozh could speak, “And it may be worse. That is the risk, isn’t it?”
“Yes; that is the risk.” Zangi-Ragozh looked over at the athanor. “In a short while I can put the remedy in the cask and seal it.”
“Would you like my help doing that?” Ro-shei offered, knowing Zangi-Ragozh would not discuss his ruminations until he had decided what to do.
“It is unnecessary, but your company is very welcome,” said Zangi-Ragozh; he touched the bricks of the athanor and said, “Not quite yet.”
Ro-shei could not keep from asking, “Do you think the money and jewels you’ve made will be enough to get us to the Black Sea?”
“I hope they will,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “Either that, or they will take us back to Yang-Chau.”
“If we go there, we would do well to go by way of Chang’an.” Ro-shei’s warning was given lightly enough, but with firm purpose.
“If the Wen Emperor has held on to his throne, I suppose it would be best.” Zangi-Ragozh stared toward the window and the pale morning light. “There are storms coming. That high, veiled light promises severe weather, and soon.”
“Better to remain here, do you think?” Ro-shei said.
“Or better to suggest to Dukkai that her clan stay here a while longer and depart once the storm is over,” said Zangi-Ragozh.
“It would seem you have made up your mind,” said Ro-shei with a short sigh.
“Oh, yes, I think so,” said Zangi-Ragozh in the same remote voice. “If you have no objection.”
“And if the clan will not wait to leave? What then?”
“Then I suppose we must go with them,” said Zangi-Ragozh, and opened the athanor to remove the container of his sovereign remedy.
Text of a letter from Captain I Mo-Ching of the
Morning Star
from Tai-Wan to Councillor Ko She-Hsieh, both in Yang-Chau.
To the most illustrious Councillor Ko She-Hsieh, the most respectful greetings of I Mo-Ching, Captain of the Morning Star, a merchant ship of the Eclipse Trading Company, now presently in her home port, Yang-Chau, on this the beginning of the Burning Clothes Festival:
Not that we will burn many clothes this year, for the climate has been too severe to spare any but the paper representations of clothes for the fires. Still, the festival must be observed, and with especial care to the traditions, or more calamities may be visited upon us, which is something all would wish to avoid.
I shall do my utmost to provide you with all the facts I have to hand, and I will limit my speculations as best as I may. So, let me say first that I have had no communication with Zangi-Ragozh, the Worthy Foreigner who owns the Eclipse Trading Company, since he left Yang-Chau for Chang’an, nor, to my knowledge, has any other Captain of his fleet, nor his clerks. Our travels have been severely limited, as you know, and that has made for much slower transferring of letters, and it may be that one of the other Captains have heard from him, but no confirmation of this has been presented to Hu Bi-Da, his senior clerk, for he would, have informed all of us in the city that he had news of Zangi-Ragozh. Second, I must tell you that the loss of his ships
—
there are two that we know of, and there may be more
—
has been a blow to the business. Third, I wish to say that Zangi-Ragozh is far from being, the only merchant who has been unable to get word to this city since the current hardships began, and I put no more significance in his absence than I do in the missing Jai Mi-Jah or Bo Gan-Lao, who have not been seen for more than a year, and who were not so provident in their preparations for being gone.
It may be that Zangi-Ragozh has come to grief, and if that is the case, I know he has prepared a Will, which must make some arrangement for the distribution of his property and goods. I am certain that his clerk or his steward may produce the Will if the Council should require it. You, most respected Councillor, must know that Zangi-Ragozh has made a great effort to comply with our laws and our customs, and I cannot believe he would be lax in so important a matter as the distribution of his estate. His steward keeps good accounts for the household, and I know Jho Chieh-Jen will not balk at surrendering any information you may require.
To answer your question, no Captain to whom I have spoken has any news of Zangi-Ragozh in the ports that his ships visit, and that includes the new office in Saylan; that establishment was badly damaged by the mountainous waves that struck at the end of winter and marked the beginning of this dark time of yellow snow. The Captains of courier ships have also had no news regarding him, and I have to say that I believe wherever he is, it is not in a port where he is known. Not all merchants travel by sea, and although you may have found that he left Lo-Yang, he might well have taken the Huang Ho north as well as east, to follow a land route rather than the sea-lanes. No one has demanded a ransom for him, but I would not be much surprised if such a demand arrives soon. At such a time, a ransom may be regarded as the only means of securing food and heat for the winter, for all China seems to be still in the relentless grip of cold, and the slow torture of starvation.
It is fortunate that Zangi-Ragozh left so many provisions for his Captains and his household. There is rice in quantity in his warehouses, stipulated for the relief of hunger for us all. Also there are smoked meats and pickled vegetables that will provide enough food to last us into the spring, when we must all hope August Heaven one again allows crops to thrive. You will find that both Clerk Hu and Steward Jho have instructions from Zangi-Ragozh that specify how such stored foodstuffs are to be used, as well has strictures for those who do not honor his wishes. I, myself, know that if we are to survive this terrible time, we must follow his orders on every point, for his foresight has guided his company successfully in prosperous times and I know his policies will do so in hardship.