by Isaac Asimov
For the first time, Polo smiled broadly. “Excellent! Please sit down.”
Steve waited for Hunter to move first. Hunter accepted a large rosewood chair. A small black lacquered table inlaid with abalone shell separated it from a matching chair that Polo took. Steve and Marcia then sat down on a small couchlike seat with a straight, uncomfortable back.
Polo turned to the servants, who were standing attentively to one side. “Cha, dian xin.”
The servants bowed and hurried away.
“He knows more Chinese words than you thought,” Steve whispered. Polo had ordered tea and the brunch more commonly known in Cantonese as dim sum at home in their own time.
“So tell me about Venice,” Polo said in Italian. “Is it still the premiere city in Italy?”
“It is proud and splendid,” said Hunter, “the finest city in all of Europe.”
“And Venetian galleys still sweep the Mediterranean of pirates?”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad. I left when I was still young. My father and uncle are jewelers. They live in this neighborhood, too.”
“How did your family first come here?”
“My father and my uncle had a house in Soldaia, on the Black Sea.”
“That city has an entire colony of Italian merchants, doesn’t it?”
“Yes! You’ve been there, I take it?”
“No,” Hunter said. “I have heard of it.”
“Oh. Well, it is a fine city, though not the equal of Venice — and certainly not the city that Khanbaliq is.”
Steve relaxed, leaning back in his seat as Hunter and Polo discussed more events in Venice. He sneaked glances at Marcia, who did not react outwardly in any way. Steve realized that Hunter was using the information he had accessed from the Mojave Center library to convince Polo that he knew Venice.
20
POLO PAUSED IN the conversation as the servants hurried into the room with a big brass tray holding a porcelain teapot and four cups. Steve saw that Hunter followed Polo’s lead and did not speak. The servants poured tea for everyone and handed them the small cups.
“Is the tea to your liking?” Polo asked. “The food will take a little longer, I fear.”
“It is excellent tea,” said Hunter.
Polo glanced at Steve and Marcia and spoke in Chinese. “Good?”
“Very good,” said Steve.
Marcia nodded, smiling.
“Well, where was I?” Polo said, speaking Italian again. “My father and uncle journeyed from Soldaia to the land of the Golden Horde when I was a child.”
“Much of modern Russia,” Marcia whispered almost inaudibly to Steve.
“From that land, they came here to see Kublai Khan,” Polo continued.
Hunter nodded, sipping his tea.
“When the khan heard of our religion, he asked them to return home and have the pope send a hundred men learned in Christianity back with them, along with oil from the sacred lamp at the sepulchre in Jerusalem.”
“Really?” Hunter asked politely. “Where were you during this time?”
“I was still in my youth. However, when my father and uncle returned, they invited me to travel back to China with them.”
“I see.”
“We took a couple of friars — the pope would not send a hundred — and some oil and started our journey.” Polo smiled and shook his head. “The friars turned back out of fear, and we could not stop them. But we brought the oil, and we have been in the khan’s empire ever since.”
Steve took a deep breath and fought his impatience. This was mildly interesting, but accomplished nothing he could see. As Polo and Hunter continued to talk, he whispered to Marcia in Chinese.
“Why doesn’t Hunter get to the point?” He spoke into her ear, still watching Polo and Hunter.
“This kind of slow exchange to get acquainted is part of business in this era,” she whispered back. “In fact, as a social mannerism, it lasts largely up to the middle of the twentieth century.”
“What’s going on?”
“Business is very personal in this time. Certainly Polo knows Hunter came to ask for a favor, and he wants to get a sense of who the stranger is before he asks what Hunter wants. And Hunter seems to know this.”
“Why doesn’t Polo ask first what Hunter wants, and then decide if he wants to help?”
“That’s considered rude.”
“Oh.”
“We’ll just have to wait.”
“If Polo continues to do most of the talking, though, I don’t see what he can learn about Hunter.” Steve straightened again and listened to Hunter and Polo.
“I have told my friends here a great deal about Europe and the lands between here and there,” said Hunter, nodding toward Steve and Marcia.
“Kublai Khan is the greatest man of our time,” said Polo. “Possibly of any time.”
“Don’t buy it,” Marcia whispered to Steve in Chinese. “Polo never saw the large picture.”
Steve remembered that when Marcia had first briefed the team, she had told them how the money had been devalued several times because the economy was poor. He also recalled that most serious crimes received the death penalty. This empire appeared prosperous, but economic mismanagement and rule by fear underlay life here.
The servants entered again, this time carrying two brass trays with dishes of steaming dumplings and noodles. They set the trays down on a large table and placed individual servings on small plates with chopsticks. Then they brought the servings to everyone.
Hunter and Polo resumed their conversation in Italian.
“Smells familiar,” Steve whispered to Marcia. “It even looks the same as in our time.”
“Much of the dim sum has been unchanged for centuries,” said Marcia.
“Wait a minute. How do you know?” Steve grinned. “Food doesn’t keep that long.”
“Old recipes are still on record,” said Marcia. She paused to blow on a hot dish. “Some dishes appear in paintings; relief sculpture; and book illustrations.”
“Well, here’s the real proof.” Steve paused to eat.
“I’m fascinated just by meeting Marco Polo,” said Marcia softly. “I just …”
“What?”
“I wish I could tell him about his book.”
Steve glanced over at Polo and Hunter. Polo was listening to Hunter’s story of their travels. Maybe they were making progress.
“What do you mean?” Steve whispered. “What do you want to tell him?”
“I wish I could tell him that after he returns to Italy, when the Genoese capture him in a war, not to worry. And that he’ll tell stories of his travels in prison to a writer who sets it all down.”
“He does it in prison?”
“Yes, as a prisoner of war. And I would warn him that much of what he says won’t be believed in his own time, or for many years afterward, but that it will finally become a timeless classic.”
“But you can’t. It might influence him in the wrong way, somehow. As Hunter would say, then everyone who ever read his book might be a little different, too. The changes could really add up.”
“I know.”
Jane walked through the streets of Khanbaliq between Wayne and Ishihara. Wayne had wanted to leave her behind in the village, but Ishihara, under the imperative of the First Law, had refused to leave her with the villagers. Now Wayne and Ishihara were searching again for MC 5.
Many of the villagers had accompanied them to Khanbaliq this morning. Some tended their market stall, but others had taken time away from the fields to visit the city with the good spirits who had come to their village. Wayne had sent the others to fan out around Khanbaliq in search of MC 5, but Xiao Li had remained with them.
Jane had been thinking about how to escape Ishihara. Here, where some of the blocks were relatively crowded, she could probably dart away suddenly and have some chance of losing herself in the crowd.
Since he could not risk harming her, the idea of trying to esc
ape had become more attractive now that they were back in Khanbaliq in daylight instead of out in the forest at night.
However, she also saw several problems with this plan. For one, she had nowhere to go. She figured that Hunter and the rest of the team were either looking for her back on the road to the Great Wall, or else they were riding back to Khanbaliq.
Even if Hunter had decided to return to the sphere and come right back to Khanbaliq, she had no idea where in the city the team was now. The only meeting place they had used was the inn where they had spent the first night, but the team would not be waiting there at this time of day. Presumably, they would be out looking for her and MC 5.
Another problem was that she was so obviously a foreign visitor. She expected that if she ran, Wayne would order Ishihara to shout to all the people on the street in Chinese that she had to be captured. Since Wayne was also of European descent, she supposed that onlookers would assume they were together.
For Wayne’s purposes, any excuse to stop her would do, perhaps that she was crazed or drunk or even a thief. She could not outrun everybody.
Further, if her captors did not enlist the help of other people, the last problem was that Ishihara would inexorably follow her. She would gradually tire, while the sun replenished his solar converters with energy. Sooner or later, unless she had a safe haven very close, he would catch her again.
Finally, after she had attempted to run away, Ishihara would probably hold her arm continuously in the future. That meant she realistically had only one chance. In order to have a reasonable likelihood of success, she would have to wait until a particularly good opportunity developed. The best chance would come if she saw Hunter and the team somewhere on the street.
When Polo had seen that all his guests were well fed, he invited them into his study. Steve, holding his teacup, followed Polo and Hunter with Marcia at his side. The male servant waited outside the room, ready to be summoned.
Long wooden tables with intricately carved sides and legs lined the study. All were cluttered with a variety of objects. Steve saw scrolls of paper, Chinese ink sticks and brushes, and brass and porcelain bottles.
“The empire of Kublai Khan is full of wonders,” said Polo. “Hunter, look at this.” He lifted a long, narrow piece of blank paper and gently placed it over Hunter’s open palms. “I suppose you think it’s a kind of parchment.”
Steve clenched his teeth together, fighting laughter. Marcia jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. He took a deep breath and hid his smile behind his teacup.
Hunter looked at the paper closely, obviously pretending never to have seen it before. He brushed his fingertips across the surface. Then, as though it was tremendously valuable, he held it out for Polo to take back.
“How is it made?” Hunter asked. “It is clearly not parchment.”
“No.” Polo laid the sheet back down on the table~“Paper is made from pulping certain kinds of plants.
The pulp is then suspended in a vat of water. When the mix is just right, a screen is placed in it and pressed. The pressing removes the water and makes it into these sheets. They are excellent for writing and painting.”
“I have seen the Chinese write with their brushes,” said Hunter. “Instead of using quill pens.”
“In their language, the brush is very beautiful,” said Polo. “Personally, I find it difficult to write the alphabet with it. I have tried many of these things you see on the tables around us, just to get the feel of them.”
Hunter nodded.
Marcia jabbed Steve in the ribs again.
He looked at her in surprise. “What?” he whispered, mystified.
“The paper and brush.”
“What about them? I can’t write that way.”
“Well, I can. I practiced a little as part of my historical studies. But you have to say something.”
“Oh.” Steve raised his voice and spoke in Chinese. “Hunter, she can demonstrate the brush for you and Marco.”
“Eh?” Polo waited politely for Hunter to translate.
“May she show us?” Hunter asked in Italian. “I would like to see how the paper accepts the ink.”
“Of course.” Polo gestured for Marcia to come forward.
Steve sighed quietly. All this polite posturing made him very impatient. Somewhere in the city, Wayne and Ishihara were dragging Jane around with them and might be on the verge of finding MC 5.
Marcia dipped the end of a slender, black ink stick in a pan of water and began grinding it in a shallow stone bowl designed for the purpose. She added more water from the pan and ground the stick again.
After only a moment, she selected a narrow brush from a bamboo cylinder and dipped it in the liquid.
The brush tip came out black.
“Watch closely,” Polo said to Hunter.
Marcia slowly wrote a straight, horizontal line. Below it, she wrote two, the bottom one longer than the other. Then she wrote a character with three horizontal lines.
“Even I recognize those,” Polo said with a smile. “The numbers one, two, and three.”
Steve saw that the character for “four” was more complex; it was a rectangle with two squiggles inside.
Marcia wrote ten characters in all. Then she dipped the brush in the water pan, rinsed it, and laid it carefully across the ink bowl. With a slight bow, she stepped back out of the way.
“The characters have great beauty,” said Polo. “I believe she has simply written from one to ten.”
Hunter nodded, leaning over the paper. “This paper accepts the ink very well. It must be much cheaper than parchment. Is it widely used?”
“Yes.” Polo picked up a large porcelain bowl of water. A flat, narrow piece of metal with a point on one end floated on top of it. “Hold this in your hand.”
Hunter took it.
“Now turn the bowl so that the arrow points a different direction.”
Hunter did so.
“Watch.”
Steve saw that the arrow, bobbing slightly, slowly turned to point north. He suppressed a smile. At first, he hadn’t recognized it as a compass.
“What is the significance of this needle?” Hunter asked politely.
Steve knew very well Hunter was still acting out his role. Beside him, Marcia turned away to hide her own smile of amusement. Not laughing at Polo had become a major challenge for both of them.
“It always points north,” said Polo. “As travelers who have crossed uncountable miles, you and I know how helpful it could be.”
“Yes, I see.” Hunter gently laid down the bowl.
“You told my servant that you arrived recently in Khanbaliq. These wonders are all new to you?”
“They exist only here, do they not?” Hunter looked around at the other items on the long tables. “No one in Europe has ever seen them.”
“That is true,” said Marco. “I hope to bring some of them back to Venice someday.”
Hunter nodded noncommittally.
“How can I help you?” Polo asked. “Do you need introductions here in the city, perhaps for your business?”
“I seek another foreigner, who goes by the nickname MC 5. He is a European, short and slight in stature.”
“What is his trade?”
Steve tensed, wondering what Hunter would say.
“We believe he is seeking a post with the government,” said Hunter.
“Ah, a civil servant.” Polo nodded. “Has he been in Khanbaliq long?”
“No,” said Hunter. “A few days at most, but maybe even less.”
“I see.” Polo turned to his servant in the doorway and spoke in heavily accented Chinese. “See to it.”
The servant bowed quickly and hurried away.
Polo picked up a large porcelain bottle and pulled out the cork stopper. “Of all the wonders in the khan’s empire, this is the most spectacular.” He poured some gray powder out of the bottle into a small stone dish.
Steve looked at Marcia, puzzled. “What did he mean wh
en he told his servant to ‘see to it,’ about MC
5?” he whispered in Chinese.
“I think the head servant will probably order some of the others to go to the palace or ask their other contacts in the city,” said Marcia.
The servant returned to the doorway. Polo pointed to the gray powder. The servant bowed, then left again.
Steve looked back at the substance in the dish. He was fairly sure it was gunpowder. When he glanced at Marcia, she shrugged almost imperceptibly.
Without speaking, Polo cut a short piece of string from a roll with a small knife. Then he rolled the string in the powder until it was gray. He pulled it out so that the string overhung the edge of the dish and then laid it down.
The servant returned with a burning candle in a brass holder. Polo took it from him. Then the servant returned to the doorway again.
“Watch carefully,” said Polo.
Steve suppressed a smile and caught Marcia’s eye. She, too, was fighting a laugh. Hunter, of course, looked as though he had no idea what was about to happen.
Polo lit the fuse. It fizzed, sparked, and crackled. The line of fire quickly moved into the dish, where the remaining powder burned as well. Marco set the candle down on the table and stepped back.
When the gunpowder had burned down, the servant came back into the room. He leaned over the table to open a window, then picked up a small fan. As Polo moved out of his way, he waved the smoke toward the open window.
“Your companions are amused because this is old and familiar to them,” said Polo pleasantly. “But you must understand the power of this substance. When tightly packed in a container, it explodes with great force. When a hole for the release of the fire and smoke is provided, it can make the container fly up into the air.” He looked at Hunter for his reaction.
“Indeed?” Hunter said cautiously.
“A container of this type can send fire many times farther than a burning arrow,” Marco said grimly.
Hunter simply nodded.
Steve realized that Hunter did not want to enter a discussion about the potential of gunpowder. Anything he said could alter what Polo would later write in his memoirs. None of them dared react very much.
