“I’ll go,” said Zangi-Ragozh, waving away Jho’s offer of escort. He noticed that the Roman painted-plaster panel was askew on the wall again and reminded himself to reweight the frame so it would hang evenly. As he opened the door to his salon, he straightened the red-edged cuffs of his black-silk sen-hsien. “Good day to you, Foreigner Lampong-Chelai. I trust fortune smiles upon you.”
“Good day to you, Foreigner Zangi-Ragozh,” said his guest, rising from a rosewood chair near the window. He was a middle-aged man, round-faced and plump, also in a sen-hsien, as law required, but one of persimmon-colored silk decorated with embroidery in the style of Vijaya, his home: Lampong-Chelai was the Chinese version of his name, just as Zangi-Ragozh was of his.
“I am delighted to see you,” Zangi-Ragozh went on, following the dictates of good manners, “and I wonder what I am to have the honor of doing for you?”
“I was hoping I might ask a favor of you,” Lampong-Chelai admitted, getting down to business without the usual social persiflage expected of morning visitors. “As you must know, there have been reports of rough seas and other dangers in the vicinity of Krakatau, the large volcano in the middle of the Sunda Passage.”
“I know the mountain you mean, and I have been one who has had reports concerning the troubles there,” said Zangi-Ragozh, aware that his visitor was truly worried.
“Ah. That makes my visit a little easier.” He sighed. “It seems that some traders are avoiding ports in the region, and that is causing many problems for the merchants in the area.”
“I can well imagine,” said Zangi-Ragozh.
Lampong-Chelai paced the length of the salon, then came back toward Zangi-Ragozh. “And no doubt you have seen how it can damage trade far beyond fears justified.”
“I have; but I have also seen situations when the dangers exceeded fears, as well.” He kept his tone completely neutral, not wanting to offend this fellow-foreigner.
“I believe this may be one such instance where the postulation of danger is far beyond any actual risk,” said Lampong-Chelai. “You know how the stories of such things are exaggerated. You must have seen volcanoes from time to time and know what one can expect from them—not like the merchants who have only traveled the rivers and never venture more than two days upstream. Volcanoes can be unpleasant; mostly they smoke and bellow, but nothing much happens.”
“True enough,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “But occasionally, they do erupt.”
“Yes, yes, they do. And for a while it is inconvenient,” Lampong-Chelai declared. “Then it is over, and the world goes on.” He came up to Zangi-Ragozh. “The same thing will happen now. In a year at most, the mountain will be still again.”
“I hope that may be so,” said Zangi-Ragozh.
“And those merchants who are not frightened out of our waters will be the ones to profit the most, taking advantage of the timorousness of others, who have not the foresight to seek out regions where trading has declined, and taking up the slack that exists,” said Lampong-Chelai, finally reaching the point of his discourse. “You can be among those who make this temporary misfortune into a shining opportunity, for your perspicacity will be long-remembered by the merchants whom you aid now.” He was becoming enthusiastic, using his hands for emphasis. “I can’t approach any Chinese merchant about this without going against the foreigners’ laws, but you may hear me out and benefit from the fortuity.”
Zangi-Ragozh heard him out, standing still while Lampong-Chelai made his way around the salon again. “Of course, this would also benefit you and your business,” he remarked while his visitor marshaled his next round of arguments.
“Yes, and it would spare a great many tradesmen a year of lean earnings. There may be some hazard at present, but those who do not let fear stop them will rejoice later, when times are better. We remember such gestures in Vijaya, as the merchants will in Sunda Kalapa, and we express our gratitude in real terms. All those ports are languishing now, because superstitious Captains avoid us in favor of more tranquil seas. If you would guarantee to keep your ships coming to the ports on the South China Sea, the Java Sea, and the Sulu Sea, we Champa may hope to prosper again when the danger is over.” He came to a stop near the windows that looked out on a small formal garden.
“I have ships in those seas even now,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “The Captains have the authority to decide which ports to visit, but they have an itinerary, and I expect them to keep to it except in an emergency.”
“A prudent provision,” said Lampong-Chelai. “But your Captains may panic and turn back northward if they hear too many ill reports.”
“Some of my ships have gone to trade with India and Burma,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “They will have to come through the South China Sea to reach this port, and they are not likely to turn away from ports where they have done good business before, not unless there is a concern that overrides their desire for profits. Their shares are decreased when they fail to—”
“I know, I know. It is the same with all traders,” said Lampong-Chelai impatiently. He made fists of his hands and glowered at a place just over Zangi-Ragozh’s left shoulder. “If your Captains panic, you may lose a great deal of money.”
“So I might,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “But I would rather lose money and save ships and the lives of sailors than risk too much in the name of gain.”
“But you won’t,” Lampong-Chelai insisted energetically. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You need not risk anything. There is profit to be made, especially now, when so many of the southern ports are seeking merchants to trade with, for they need to find markets and will show favor to those who help them in these trying times. The merchants who will not go to the ports of Sumatra and Java and others in the region are being superstitious fools. They are shying away from nothing—nothing! This volcano, Krakatau, is often spewing rocks and emitting odors and causing the sea to froth. Every year something happens that puts the timorous to flight. And every time it happens, sailors are frightened by it and stay away from many ports, even some distant ones, for fear of what might—and that might is a remote one—happen.”
For a long moment, Zangi-Ragozh said nothing. Finally he gave a little nod. “Very well. I’ll consider what you have told me, and if it is in accord with the opinions of my Captains, I will do what I can to encourage them to keep to their itineraries. Better than that I cannot promise, what with the time it takes to get messages to my ships.”
Lampong-Chelai took a long breath. “I am most grateful to you, worthy foreigner. You have given me cause to hope for my business and my people. If you are willing to tell your friends among the Chinese merchants that tales will not deter you from attending to your voyages, they may follow your example. If enough of them continue to trade in our region—”
Zangi-Ragozh held up his hand. “No. I may choose to order my Captains to continue—at their discretion—but I will not attempt to influence the Chinese. First and foremost, they would not listen to me. Second, if any mishap occurred, I would be held responsible. That could lead to ruin and prison if their ships came to harm on what they deemed to be my account. As you are well-aware,” he added with a stern look.
“They wouldn’t hold you responsible,” said Lampong-Chelai.
“Wouldn’t they.” Zangi-Ragozh shook his head, recalling an incident from his past when precisely that had occurred. “I am not prepared to gamble on that.”
“Well, at least you can keep such cautions to yourself,” Lampong-Chelai said, doing his utmost to recover himself; he had seen something in Zangi-Ragozh that had shocked him, an implacability he had not realized the foreigner possessed.
“I would be a fool to do that,” said Zangi-Ragozh calmly; his eyes were intent.
“But you can help us—all merchants must be willing to stand with other merchants, or we will all be the tools of the tax collectors and the customs agents. You are one of the most successful of us foreigners, and we must act—” Taken aback at his lapse in conduct, he went
to the table where the teapot stood, and he poured the last of the tea into his cup while struggling to restore his composure. “I thank you for hearing me out. You have been most gracious. I fully comprehend your reservations.”
“I have not promised to continue to order my ships to visit the ports in question,” Zangi-Ragozh pointed out, his dark eyes still unfathomably grim. “I have said only that I will recommend that my Captains do so unless in immediate peril. I will defer to their judgment in matters of safety. They are the ones braving the oceans, not I, and they will have to face the dangers when they arise.” He looked away, his discomfort at the thought of so much water making him queasy.
“Yes. I understand. I still thank you. Not many will even do me the courtesy of listening to me.” Lampong-Chelai drank the tea and smiled.
Zangi-Ragozh inclined his head. “Very well. So long as we understand each other.”
“We do,” said Lampong-Chelai, setting the cup down with care, and attempting to conceal the nervousness that had taken hold of him. “You have many beautiful things, foreigner. I have rarely seen so many.”
“I have gathered them for many, many years,” Zangi-Ragozh said, not mentioning that the many years were counted in centuries.
“Obviously you have the favor of the God of Fortune. May he continue to guide you.” Lampong-Chelai fitted his hands together. “I won’t trespass on your good nature any longer.” With that, he started toward the door. “Your steward may see me out.”
“He could. Nevertheless, I will have the pleasure of saying farewell to you at the front door,” said Zangi-Ragozh, preparing to follow his visitor out into the hallway, and all the while wondering how dire things were in Sumatra and Java that a Champa merchant from Vijaya should come to plead for them.
Text of a writ of manumission from Zangi-Ragozh, presented to Dei-Na, and recorded in the office of the Magistrate’s Archives of Yang-Chau:
Be it known throughout the city of Yang-Chau and all the Middle Kingdom, that the twenty five-year-old concubine Dei-Na is herewith granted her freedom by the foreign merchant Zangi-Ragozh, who purchased her from her father; the wheelwright Ma Fan-Long, on the ninth day of the fortnight of the Frost Kings in Dei-Na’s eighteenth year, for the sum of four gold bars and two unpolished emeralds, is now and perpetually a free woman, with no bonds or other considerations mitigating her freedom.
This Dei-Na has been a most devoted concubine, and her devotion deserves every emolument to which she may be entitled under the rule of the Magistrate and the will of the Emperor. Any attempt to lessen what I provide or to diminish her provision in times to come impugns the honor of the Middle Kingdom as well as my own, and for that reason I am moved to provide a fund to vindicate her liberty and to permit her to enjoy her possessions and privileges in peace, without arbitrary impositions of the demands of court, of Magistrate, or of relatives. She is to be entitled to the support of such counsel as she requires in order to preserve what she has been granted.
There are no limits or conditions attached to this release, which is total and without qualification or hindrance. Her status is that of any freeborn woman without obligation to her family or to anyone seeking to make a claim upon her. She is not being returned to her father or any member of her family, and they have no cause for pursuing any hold on her for they accepted full payment for her from me seven years ago, and a document to that effect is recorded at the Tribunal. I, Zangi-Ragozh, who paid for her, guarantee her freedom and independence, and ensure that no one may vacate the unconditional terms of this writ, save the Emperor himself, in accordance with the law of the land.
In order that she may maintain herself, I, Zangi-Ragozh, give to her a house in Yang-Chau located on Waning Moon Street, which has been completely paid for and staffed with three servants, whose salaries are to be paid by my shipping company, and further provide her with the income from my merchant ship Golden Moon so that she may continue to enjoy the freedom she has been granted and live in a manner appropriate to virtuous women. The sum of ten gold bars and fourteen jewels of various sorts, along with six fine pearls, have been given to Dei-Na so that she may not have to marry or sell herself in order to survive. If she wishes to marry, there are five gold bars on deposit with the Magistrate of Yang-Chau to pay her bride-price so she will not have to ask anything of her father.
The furnishings of her house are hers, as are two horses and a carriage for her use. No one may make a claim against any of these gifts, and any such attempts are to be paid through my business, the Eclipse Trading Company.
In verification of this, I fix my name, my chop, and my sigil on this day, the tenth day after the Winter Solstice in the Magisterial Records Offices of Yang-Chau.
Zangi-Ragozh
(his sigil, the eclipse)
(his chop)
The Seal of the Magistrate’s Secretary
(his chop)
2
“Do you think you ought to leave just now? I realize there’s some urgency, but we are in the full grip of winter. Wouldn’t you prefer to travel in spring?” Ro-shei asked Zangi-Ragozh in Imperial Latin as they watched through the open salon doorway while half a dozen servants loaded up a wagon at the head of the drive. A second, smaller wagon stood waiting behind it. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground and a pale mist hung in the air.
“Would you rather not go with me?” Zangi-Ragozh asked, looking up from the book he held. He set this down in order to give Ro-shei his full attention.
He did not answer directly. “Matters in Chang’an are still very uncertain, and it will be cold and wet on the road.”
“If it is any comfort to you, I think it probably is a trifle precipitous to go just now, but a nearly-royal summons is a nearly-royal summons. Under ordinary circumstances I would remain here for a month or so, preferably two, before setting out for the west,” said Zangi-Ragozh in the same tongue. “But I have been sent for by Wen Emperor Yuan Buo-Ju, as he styles himself, to meet with him and a number of merchants in Chang’an; it would be foolish not to obey, as he is about to ascend the throne there, and he needs to show everyone his power.”
“By summoning merchants at the end of January,” said Ro-shei in annoyance.
Zangi-Ragozh waved his hand as if to express his will. “Better merchants than warlords. He wishes to make his authority recognized, and not just in the west but throughout the Middle of the World; the most efficient way to do this is through merchants and other travelers, for such endorsement means a quick concession from other rulers. Chang’an is a crucial crossroads for all traders, and you may be certain Wen Emperor Yuan intends to make the most of it—he would be a fool not to. I do not want to give him any reason to detain my caravans or tax them more ferociously than is already the case. If that means I must travel in winter, so be it.” He had donned his heaviest black-silk sen-hsien and had a fur cloak sitting out, ready for him. “You do not have to come with me. I can manage this myself.”
“I know,” said Ro-shei. “But I feel it would be unwise to remain here alone. You have Professor Min Cho-Zhi arriving here tomorrow, to watch over your house, and that should be sufficient to reassure the Magistrate and the Councillors that you are going to return. This isn’t Wen Emperor Yuan’s territory, and your being gone could lead to trouble for me as another foreigner, should I remain.”
“So it could,” Zangi-Ragozh said thoughtfully. “And Professor Min might change his mind.”
“That is a possibility, but there are others, and the problems they could create are closer to home. He will have access to your equipment, to the athanor and your other alchemical supplies,” said Ro-shei, running one hand through his short-cropped, sandy hair.
“Not the athanor.” Zangi-Ragozh lifted one brow as a kind of commentary on his decision. “I’ve taken that to the main warehouse and crated it as if it has been cargo, then stored it under a number of other crates and labeled it in Persian as an oven—which, technically, it is. It will not be seen, let alone used, in
my absence. I’ve packed my stash of jewels in my travel chests except for a handful of diamonds, which I have put in the strongbox in my study. Jho has been told about it, but not Min.”
“Professor Min has great curiosity, and I doubt he will leave such instruments or containers unexamined. He might decide to claim them as his own.”
“He might,” Zangi-Ragozh said. “But it would be a dangerous thing for him to do.”
“When he came here yesterday morning, he asked a great many questions of me, not all of them ones I was comfortable answering.” Ro-shei paced the room, his faded-blue eyes worried.
“Yes, he concerns me, as well. Is that why you are considering staying here?” Zangi-Ragozh asked, and before Ro-shei could answer, he went on, “Because if it is, you need not worry. I have made certain provisions that will protect all my possessions from Min or anyone else; I sent an accounting to the Magistrate last evening and assigned temporary legal power to Councillor Ko and Professor Tsa, which provides them with authority to preserve my holdings.”
Ro-shei looked relieved. “I should have known you would take measures to guard yourself.”
“You should,” Zangi-Ragozh agreed with a sardonic smile. “I will be glad of your company, but I do not want to compel you to travel in winter if you would rather not. You have already spent two years roaming about on the ocean on my behalf. If you would prefer to stay—” Zangi-Ragozh put the tips of his fingers together and regarded his pleasant salon over them.
“I have benefited from the excursion, and I will not mind setting out again. I am only concerned with the conditions we may encounter,” said Ro-shei, and went back to watching the progress of the loading. “At least you need not suffer, traveling overland.”
Zangi-Ragozh nodded. “Truly. So long a journey over water, in a box in the hold of a ship, would be hard for me to endure.” He coughed gently. “As I know from experience.”
Saint-Germain 18: Dark of the Sun: A Novel of the Count Saint-Germain Page 3
