Addison Cooke and the Tomb of the Khan

by Jonathan W. Stokes

  “But the site is invaluable to archaeology!” Addison exclaimed.

  “It’s invaluable to our people,” Nobody countered.

  “How can it be invaluable to your people if none of your people have ever been there?”

  “It is safer this way,” Nobody said again. “And that is why we cannot allow you to continue on your journey.”

  “Look,” said Addison, who sensed an opening for negotiation. “Do you want Madame Feng to find the Khan’s tomb?”

  “Of course not,” said I Don’t Know.

  “We don’t want the Russian vori finding it, either,” Nobody added.

  “So that makes us allies,” said Addison.

  The Mongol boy watched Addison with his dark eyes, considering.

  Addison continued. “We’re going to Ulaanbaatar to find the next clue before the triads or the vori. The surest way to stop them is to find the next clue and hide or destroy it. Join us.” He reached out his hand. “We’re on the same team.”

  The Mongol boy shared a glance with his sister. Slowly, he reached out and shook Addison’s hand. “For now.”

  Addison reached inside his pocket and produced the padlock key. He unlocked the barn door. “Let’s get some rest. We have a big journey tomorrow.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The Grasslands

  DAX RETURNED AT DAWN. He was somewhat alarmed to discover the two Mongol warriors sleeping by the campfire. “Who are these people?” he demanded.

  “Nobody,” said Addison. “And I Don’t Know.”

  Dax nodded slowly. “I need more coffee.”

  “We haven’t got any,” said Eddie.

  “Why,” said Dax, “does Molly have a black eye?”

  Molly smiled proudly. “Does it look good?”

  Dax had only been with the Cookes for five minutes this morning and he was already exhausted. He lay down by the fire and shut his eyes for a catnap. Addison couldn’t help but notice that Dax had returned with far fewer horses than he had left with the night before.

  As the sun blossomed over the horizon, Molly stretched and started her morning regimen of kung fu practice, launching a barrage of high kicks into a crooked fence post.

  I Don’t Know tied her long black hair into a ponytail and watched Molly with a critical eye. “You have the kick of a horse, but you lack discipline. You can train with me if you like. I will teach you Mongol-Zo.”

  Molly stood for a few seconds, catching her breath. “I’ve been taking kung fu for eight weeks now. I’m not sure if I should switch to a new martial art so quickly.”

  I Don’t Know nodded. She lashed out with her foot, hooking Molly’s ankle.

  Molly landed hard on her back before she knew what was happening. She groaned. “Okay, we can learn your way.”

  The Mongolian girl tossed her ponytail over one shoulder and helped Molly to her feet. “You have no balance, no core strength, and no technique. But before anything, we need to start with your roundhouse kick.” I Don’t Know drilled Molly for an hour with the help of her brother, Nobody. Finally, Dax woke, readied the horses, and pointed the way to Ulaanbaatar.

  Addison was a bit sore from the previous day’s ride, but he found it was good to be back in the saddle. The fresh wind rippled the sage and barley that whispered past his legs as the horse cut a trail through the boundless fields. The world was two bands of color: the vibrant green of the grassland and the low blue shell of the sky that seemed just inches out of reach. In Manhattan, surrounded by the buildings and lights, Addison felt tall and important. But here in the highlands, each vista revealing the curve of the planet, he felt like a dust mote clinging to the edge of the world.

  “Picture it,” he called over the prairie wind. “The Mongol Empire stretched across five thousand miles of steppe. The warriors were trained to fire their bows mid-gallop, while their horse’s hooves were off the ground. They carried a hundred and fifty arrows in their quivers and fired twelve arrows per minute. Fifty thousand Mongols could launch enough arrows to blot out the sun.” And for a while, thundering across the plains on their galloping horses, they could really picture the terrible might of the Mongol Horde.

  There was no food left in the saddlebags, so they skipped lunch and slowed to a walk to rest the horses. Addison rode alongside Nobody. Molly rode beside I Don’t Know, hammering her with questions. “I don’t get it. Is serving the Black Darkhad your full-time job? How do you make a living at it?”

  “We can hold other jobs, but we must fulfill our duty to guard the Khan’s tomb. Our family swore an oath of honor.”

  “You didn’t swear that oath,” Molly pointed out. “One of your relatives did eight hundred years ago. Why should you care about Genghis Khan?”

  Nobody’s eyebrows shot up. “Genghis Khan conquered more land than any one person in history. He allowed religious freedom. He didn’t tax the poor. He was probably the greatest general who ever lived.”

  Addison could not help himself. “He also butchered forty million people.”

  “I never said he was perfect.”

  Addison frowned. “He slaughtered more than a million Persians at Nishapur because they killed some diplomats.”

  “He had an incredibly rough childhood. What do you expect?”

  “I had a rough childhood, and you don’t see me burning down any villages,” said Molly.

  “Rough childhood? Genghis’s father was murdered, his wife was kidnapped, and he was thrown into slavery—all before he was sixteen.”

  “Lots of people have rough childhoods,” said Addison. “Genghis Khan reduced the world population by eleven percent.”

  Molly turned to I Don’t Know. “The man killed more people than the Black Plague. Why devote your life to protecting his grave?”

  “Because your past is who you are.”

  “I think your future is who you are,” said Addison. “But I take your point.”

  • • • • • •

  At night they slept on the open plains. The prairie was infested with wolves, and their howls filled the night. Eddie was terrified, but Addison found the wolves’ songs as beautiful as anything he’d ever heard. Apparently, Mr. Jacobsen enjoyed it as well, because he tilted his head back and began howling along until Dax shushed him.

  After midnight, summer rain pounded the countryside in a torrential downpour. Nervous about flash foods, Dax insisted they move camp to higher ground. Nobody and I Don’t Know warned that horse thieves still operate on rainy nights, so they helped split the night watch, allowing Addison to get more sleep than usual.

  The next morning, everyone woke up starving. Molly practiced martial arts with I Don’t Know, but they were each too hungry to perform with gusto. Fortunately, the horses found no shortage of grass, so the team mounted up and kept right on moving toward Ulaanbaatar.

  By midmorning Eddie was driven to the verge of madness by the Mongolian mosquitoes. Raj advised eating garlic as a natural mosquito repellent, but nobody, not even Nobody, had any garlic.

  Addison would periodically infuriate Eddie by pausing to wonder aloud at the majestic beauty of the passing scenery. Eddie would then wonder aloud at the majestic beauty of regular meals and central air-conditioning.

  “This is nothing,” Nobody cut in. “The ancient Mongols were taught to sleep in the saddle and live for days without rations.”

  “What would they eat when they ran out of rations?” Eddie asked.

  “They would eat their own dogs. Or even wolves or rats.”

  “What if they ran out of rats?”

  “They would puncture their horse’s neck vein and drink the blood as they rode.”

  “What if they ran out of horse blood?”

  “Then the Mongol army would eat the lower-ranking soldiers.”

  Eddie stopped asking questions.

  In the late a
fternoon, Ulaanbaatar rose over the next hill like a mirage. Addison found the industrial smokestacks and concrete factories jarring to the eye after so many days on the open prairie. By nightfall the hooves of their horses clattered onto the paved streets of the city.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Ulaanbaatar

  DAX LED THE GROUP down worm-rotten wood steps to an unlicensed tavern in the cellar of an abandoned coal warehouse. The tavern keeper grunted at Dax and slid warm bowls of mutton stew across the bar top. Everyone eagerly tucked in with tin spoons. Addison ordered Arnold Palmers all around. Dax ordered his strong, with extra iced tea. He needed the caffeine.

  Shadowy figures whispered from the dark corners of the cellar, traded dark looks, and slipped away into the dark shadows. Addison was too exhausted to take much notice. Even the Great Dane looked dog-tired.

  “Talk to me, Dax,” said Addison, swiveling in his stool to face the pilot. “You’ve barely said a word for fifty miles.”

  Dax tipped back his glass, finishing his Arnold Palmer. “You were nearly killed in Karakoram. The journey’s too dangerous, Addison. I don’t know why you need to keep going with this.”

  “I don’t know why you have to ask.”

  “I don’t know why you’re willing to endanger yourself.”

  “I don’t know why muffins have wrappers,” said Addison.

  “It’s so you can get them out of a muffin tin,” said Eddie, sitting next to Addison at the bar.

  “Chicken pot pie is cooked in a tin—you don’t have chicken pot pie wrappers. Pies are cooked in pie tins—why aren’t there pie wrappers?”

  “I don’t see what this has to do with the Khan’s tomb,” Dax cut in.

  “It has everything to do with the Khan’s tomb. It’s an analogy!” said Addison. “I don’t have to know why muffins have wrappers—I just know I’m supposed to eat the muffin!”

  “What are we talking about?” asked Molly.

  Dax threw his hands up in the air. “I’m done. I’ve been robbed, beat up, and shot at too many times for one week. I’m out.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Addison. “We need your help to get to the Khan’s treasure.”

  “I’m not going to help you get yourself killed. You’ve been lucky so far, but you have to know when to cash in your chips and step away from the table. Besides, you don’t need a pilot without a plane.”

  Addison drew a fresh credit card from Tony Chin’s wallet. “We’ll score you a new plane.”

  Dax shook his head. “I crashed the plane, that’s on me. Keep your money. Use it to buy yourselves a flight back to the States.”

  “We’re not leaving Mongolia without my aunt and uncle,” said Addison firmly.

  “What do you hope to accomplish? I don’t know if you’ve noticed it, kid, but you’re up against two of the deadliest criminal gangs in the world. And you’re twelve.”

  “Thirteen.”

  “Same difference. You want to do your aunt and uncle a favor? Get home safely. They chose this life; you didn’t.”

  “I thought you were their friend.”

  “I am. Doesn’t mean they’d want me to die for them.”

  Addison frowned. “Dax, you’re not the type of person to turn tail and run. You’re better than this.”

  “Kid, you don’t know anything about me.”

  Addison inched his bar stool closer to Dax. “I know from the navy badges under your bomber jacket that you’ve seen combat, which means you’re braver than you pretend to be. I know you chew toothpicks when you’re tense because you gave up smoking, and that means you’ve got willpower. And I know from Eddie that the Chinese character tattooed on your forearm means ‘loyalty.’ So yes, I do know something about you. And I know that underneath all your questionable qualities, you’re actually a decent man.”

  Dax stared at the bottom of his empty stein and said nothing.

  Addison stood up from his stool. “Poaching poachers in Africa is noble work. Brave, too. Sooner or later, Dax, you’re going to have to face the fact that you’re a good person.” He handed the pilot one of Tony Chin’s credit cards. “I’m sorry your plane crashed, but you should be thanking me.”

  “Why?”

  “Your plane wasn’t that great, anyway.” Addison polished off the dregs of his Arnold Palmer and swirled the ice cubes in the pewter mug. “Get yourself a new one. Maybe that Cessna Skylark you were talking about.”

  “Skyhawk,” said Dax.

  “Same difference. As long as it has a faster liftoff.” He patted Dax on the shoulder and signaled the tavern keeper. “Get him another AP, and make it a double.”

  Addison snagged a business card from a stack on the bar top. The tavern was called the Muddy Duck. He gestured to the phone behind the bar. “Dax, I’m going to find my aunt and uncle. And I’m going to stop the triads and the vori from raiding the Khan’s treasure. When I need to reach you for an extraction, I’ll contact this bar.” He pointed to the triad credit card in Dax’s hands. “There’s a pretty high limit on that card. You could start over with a new plane or you could gamble the money away. I know which one I’m betting on.”

  He ushered his team out the door. Before Addison pushed through the beaded curtain, he took one last look at Dax. The pilot sat nursing his drink, staring at the credit card, turning it over and over in his hands.

  • • • • • •

  Addison’s group found lodging for the night in a ramshackle stable they shared with their horses. Nobody and I Don’t Know proved adept at negotiating with the stable owner in Mongolian. Eddie was not thrilled with the accommodations, but Addison was thrilled with the price. He was running low on Tony Chin’s cash, and wasn’t sure when he would find another opportunity to pickpocket a triad.

  He woke the next morning to the sight of Molly and I Don’t Know balancing on the wooden posts of a horse stall, practicing jump kicks. He didn’t know much about martial arts—absolutely nothing, in fact—but he rather thought Molly’s form was improving. After several minutes of meticulously picking all the straw from his blazer, he herded the group out into the capital to search for Sir Frederick’s next clue.

  Ulaanbaatar was a grim, soot-stained city of concrete, smog, and smokestacks. Addison did not find much to recommend it, although he did admire the brand-new museum of archaeology. The city was papered with colorful fliers advertising the newest exhibit. With such attention to archaeology, Addison figured the city could not be all bad.

  The group breakfasted on sheep cheese, ground millet, and lamb jerky that Addison wangled from a street-side vendor. Eddie complained that it was disgusting and also that there wasn’t enough of it.

  Armed with his compass and Fiddleton’s Asia Atlas, Addison set off in search of Wang Khan’s twelfth-century palace. “We’ve found Sir Frederick’s shield, his sword, and his helm. So we know the next clue is his lance, because that’s the next item in the psalm he keeps repeating.”

  Consulting the address in his atlas, Addison circled the coordinates of the palace on his map and jigsawed his way through the chaotic grid of city streets. A bloodhound, hot on the scent, his excitement was reaching fever pitch. “Genghis Khan’s father was blood brother to Wang Khan. The Great Khan stayed in this palace before attacking the Tangut people in 1226.” He turned a corner and spread out both hands. “And here we are, the palace of Wang Khan!”

  There are times when life wildly surpasses all expectations. There are also times when the opposite is true. Addison realized he was pointing directly at a shopping mall. He double-checked his directions.

  “Is it conceivable,” Molly said cautiously, “that Roland J. Fiddleton got the address wrong?”

  Addison fixed her with a withering look.

  “Sorry I asked.”

  Addison looked from the map to the shopping mall to the map to the street signs to the map to Nob
ody to the map and back to the shopping mall. He was still befuddled so he repeated the sequence, but it didn’t help.

  I Don’t Know read a placard by the mall entrance, engraved in traditional Mongolian script. “This shopping mall was built last year on the former site of Wang Khan’s palace.”

  Addison’s jaw fell open like a broken tailgate.

  “Can they do that?” asked Molly.

  “Of course,” said Addison. He felt his face growing hot with anger. “It happens all the time. The Chinese bulldozed every Ming dynasty building in Kunming to put up new chain stores. The government of Belize knocked down a hundred-foot-tall Mayan pyramid so they could run a highway through it. In Peru, developers dynamited a four-thousand-year-old pyramid to put up a luxury apartment building!”

  “Well, what did they do with Wang Khan’s palace?” asked Molly.

  “I don’t know,” said I Don’t Know. “I guess they paved over it.”

  Addison sat down in the middle of the mall parking lot, defeated. “We crossed the Gobi Desert, fought Hong Kong triads, dodged a hundred bullets, and someone paved over our palace?”

  Molly sat down next to Addison. He was normally an irrepressible optimist; she was not used to seeing him like this.

  “Is that it?” asked Raj. “Do we just give up, after all that?”

  Addison ran his hands through his hair. He repeated the clue he had memorized.

  “‘At the palace of Prestor John

  I bested his top warrior in single combat;

  He swore to keep my sign forever hanging

  Among the weapons in his trophy room.’”

  He sighed. “It made perfect sense . . . Sir Frederick’s lance would best a Mongol in single combat; the Mongols didn’t have weapons that long. Then Prestor John hung the lance in his weapons room, commemorating the battle. We solved the clue perfectly. We were just a year too late.”