Saint-Germain 18: Dark of the Sun: A Novel of the Count Saint-Germain

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “There will be rivers to cross,” Ro-shei reminded him.

  “And that will be more than enough running water for me, I think,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “As to my affairs here, I hope they are sufficiently organized to withstand my absence and anything Min, Tsa, and Ko can do. I can only hope this journey will be useful: that will depend on how the regions sort out their dynastic bickering.”

  “Which has been the case for decades, and no solution has come, as witness the new dynasty in Chang’an,” said Ro-shei with a hint of disgust in his voice. “Whatever the result, you will find a way to accommodate it, or we will leave for the far west again.”

  “We should have to travel fairly soon, in any case,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “I know I will be watched on this journey, and I do not want to give any ruler cause to be dissatisfied with me. Besides, I have not made enough gold for an extended trip, and I’ll have to do that before we return to Europe. Even with the jewels, it would be safer to make more gold. It is accepted everywhere, by everyone,” said Zangi-Ragozh. A sudden oath from one of the servants loading the wagons intruded, and Zangi-Ragozh went to the window to watch them work, remarking, “They’re not usually so careless.” When he was satisfied that all was well, he went on, “Tell me what you would rather do: travel or remain.”

  Ro-shei shrugged. “I assumed that was settled: I will do either, abiding by your decision, whatever it may be. I am prepared to travel in a little while, but I can also stay here, as suits you best.”

  “You humble me, and you may remind me of that on the road,” said Zangi-Ragozh, his voice quietly sincere. “Well,” he went on a short while later, “it is a relief to know Dei-Na has a home of her own to go to now. I would not have wanted to leave her here without some provision for her.”

  “She could have remained in this house,” Ro-shei pointed out. “There is no reason to set her up away from here, is there?”

  “This house—indeed this whole compound and my trading business—is subject to seizure by the Prefecture as the property of a foreigner; the edict was handed down from the Vermilion Brush itself, last year, and it is still in effect in spite of changes. That would be a poor gift to Dei-Na—to leave her with nothing if someone in power should decide to confiscate my holdings.” Zangi-Ragozh shook his head. “No. Better that she has something entirely her own that cannot be taken from her.”

  “Do you miss her?” Ro-shei asked, fairly certain he knew the answer.

  “Of course. She may not have wanted to know me as I am, but she never refused me her dreams, and for that I am deeply grateful,” said Zangi-Ragozh, a certain distance in his eyes.

  “You could have made her willing to have more,” said Ro-shei quietly.

  “Perhaps,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “But then I remembered Nicoris, and I was acquiescent, accepting Dei-Na in the manner she preferred. I would not like to lose another of my blood, especially not by her own hand. Nicoris’ True Death is enough to bear.” He looked down at his handsome display of jade figures. “I may take the lions with me.”

  “Do you want me to find boxes for them?”

  “No. I’ll have Jho do it.” He reached for a small Byzantine bell and rang it. “If you would like to do something for me before we depart, distribute New Year money to the staff for me. I do not want to provide any excuse for complaint.” He shifted to the dialect of the region. “This way, the servants will not say I ignore their customs.”

  Ro-shei spoke in Chinese as well. “Do you have the envelopes prepared, or should I find red paper to make some?”

  “They are ready to be handed out. In the second drawer of my writing table,” Zangi-Ragozh said, pointing. “Thank you for doing this, old friend. You are always a great asset for—” A discreet tap on the inner door claimed his attention. “Come in.”

  Jho Chieh-Jen slid the door open. “The wagons will be ready shortly,” he announced. “How much grain do you want the stablehands to load?”

  “Two medium barrels,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “And a small barrel of oil, as well. Sheh will know which I want.”

  Ro-shei took up the red paper envelopes, each containing a small gold coin, and said, “I’ll return shortly,” before letting himself out of the salon.

  The steward paid Ro-shei no heed, concentrating his attention on Zangi-Ragozh. “The chief groom has already filled a small barrel for you, as you instructed. I suppose it is the sort of oil you want. It smells of garlic.” There was a suggestion of disapproval in Jho’s tone which might have been the result of his long-standing rivalry with Sheh.

  “That is the oil, which I add to the grain. It keeps the horses’ coats from damage, and worms from their guts.” He nodded toward the jade figurines. “Will you be good enough to find boxes for those two lions, and pack them to travel with me?”

  “Certainly,” said Jho, doing his best not to appear curious.

  “It being winter, I would like to have a bit more protection with me—for luck. Those two lions should ward off danger,” Zangi-Ragozh told him, knowing it would appeal to his sense of propriety.

  “Everyone needs luck,” said Jho, taking a liberty he would not dare had his employer been Chinese.

  “Indeed. See them packed in boxes and stowed with my things in the second wagon. Have the gifts for Wen Yuan been loaded yet?”

  “All but the ivory screen. That is being wrapped in quilts and bound with soft ropes,” said Jho. “I have made an accounting of all the items you are taking to Chang’an. Will you endorse it with your chop?” He pulled a small rolled scroll from his sleeve.

  “Bring it to me,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “I trust you have made a copy for me to take with me, for the customs officials?” He went to his writing desk and opened it, removing his chop and inkpad.

  “Of course,” said Jho, handing over the scroll. “Both sheets are rolled together.”

  “I thought as much,” said Zangi-Ragozh, a bit distantly as he reviewed the items on the list, pausing to add two notations to the information contained in the accounting. “This appears to be complete, and sufficient for the customs officials’ specifications.” He put the scrolls down and secured them open with small jade paperweights, then affixed his chop to the bottom of both of them.

  Jho waited while the red ink dried. “Do you know when you’ll return yet?”

  “As soon as I may properly do so,” said Zangi-Ragozh. He picked up his large square, red visiting card with instructions written on its back. “You should be able to reach me at these places. I’d like to have fortnightly reports from you, carried by official courier. The service has already been paid for.”

  “I will do as you ask, of course,” said Jho, taking the visiting card and one of the scrolls; he tucked them into his sleeve and prepared to leave the room. “Is there anything more you require?”

  “You have checked the stores? You have brought them all up to the levels I requested? The regular ones and the emergency ones?”

  “They are all in order,” said Jho. “Food for a year in the cellar of this house, all sacks and barrels labeled, all fruits dried. Blankets and bedding in the attic, along with cloth for new clothing. Food for a month in the kitchen. Food for horses for six months in the stables, and grazing areas at the west side of the inner wall. A clear well in the garden, an orchard and berry bushes within the compound. We may take in ten people beyond those who already live here and still be able to last a year inside the compound; this will allow four wives and their children to be given shelter. All the medicinal supplies are on the second floor in your herb-room, next to your workroom. The herbalist Pao Yan-Fen has the keys to the chests there. He is to be consulted if any illness or injury should occur, and his recommendations followed.” Jho recited this by rote. “No fevered person is to be admitted if there is disease in Yang-Chau, no soldiers are to be admitted if there is an insurrection. Otherwise we are to cooperate with all authorities.”

  “Excellent,” Zangi-Ragozh said. “See you observe these rules.”

&nbs
p; “Do you really expect a plague, or a war?” Jho asked, voicing a question that had long puzzled him.

  Zangi-Ragozh considered his answer. “If I have learned anything in my long travels, it is that pestilence and war do not wait until it is convenient to visit cities. You cannot expect them, as you would spring or the Dragon Boat Festival. So I do my best to be prepared for their appearance at any time.”

  Jho frowned in distress. “I did not mean—”

  With a rueful chuckle Zangi-Ragozh laid his hand on Jho’s shoulder. “You need not apologize. I’m not offended.”

  “May you have soft beds and good fires for the whole of your journey,” said Jho, taking refuge in correct conduct.

  “Thank you,” said Zangi-Ragozh, fitting one hand around the other to show great respect to his steward.

  “And may you return quickly.” Jho said this last with heavy implication. “The Emperor here may not like you going to Chang’an for the convenience of his competitor.”

  “No, he might not. But even he knows a foreigner like me cannot refuse to obey an Imperial order, no matter which Vermilion Brush signs it.” Zangi-Ragozh went over to his writing table and indicated one small drawer. “The original summons is in there. You may show it to the Magistrate or any Imperial Censor to account for my absence. The language is formal, but it makes Wen Yuan’s intent very plain.”

  “I will make note of this,” Jho assured him.

  “Just make sure that none of your staff is alone in this salon.”

  Jho put his right hand around his left and nodded respectfully. “I will serve your interests in your absence, Illustrious Foreigner. I will give you no cause to complain of me, now, or in the future.”

  “Thank you for that,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “I am sure you know your duty.”

  “That I do,” Jho responded emphatically. “Your household will be kept in order, just as your clerks will tend to your business.” He stepped back, turned, and went to the door, waiting there for Zangi-Ragozh to dismiss him.

  “For which I am deeply appreciative.” He waved Jho away. Once he was alone, he went back to the writing table and took out his inkcake, water, and brush, then selected a sheet of paper and began to prepare the ink. When he was satisfied with its density, he dipped the brush into it and began to write a general letter to Professor Min, one that could be presented to any official. It indicated where he was going, by what route—away from any open fighting—and why, as well as approximately when he intended to return. He authorized the paying of taxes and other charges and gave permission for Min to dispense money to Jho to manage the household from certain established accounts. Then he outlined the planting he wanted done within the compound as soon as the ground was ready for seeds, prepared a schedule of maintenance on the house and other buildings, and stipulated what would be Min’s and Jho’s prerogatives to order in an emergency. This he signed and fixed with his chop and sigil, then placed in the center of the writing table.

  “I will be ready to go in a short while,” Ro-shei announced as he came through the door; he was dressed for winter riding, in a sen-gai of quilted wool over Byzantine leather leggings, not unlike the ones Zangi-Ragozh wore. “Sheh has saddled your favorite gelding and is providing two remounts for each of us, and replacement teams for both wagons. He will have them, and the drivers and the groom, ready directly.”

  Zangi-Ragozh shrugged on his cloak. “You’ll want fur-lined gloves.”

  “That I will. And a fur hat.” Ro-shei patted the large wallet hung on his belt. “I have all of them with me, in here. I will put them on directly.” He gave Zangi-Ragozh a pointed look.

  “And I have mine,” said Zangi-Ragozh, picking up on his intent and duplicating Ro-shei’s gesture. “Black Toba lamb.”

  “Of course,” said Ro-shei, and took a last, red-paper-wrapped coin from his sleeve. “This is Jho’s. I thought he would prefer to have it from you.”

  “Very astute of you,” said Zangi-Ragozh, and took the New Year coin with the characters for long life and prosperity on one side, many children and honorable conduct on the other. He weighed it in his hand. “A goodly sum. Have we given all as much?”

  “No. Most of the senior staff have three silver and two copper coins, the understaff one of each. Only Sheh and Jho have gold coins,” said Ro-shei.

  “A richer gift than usual,” said Zangi-Ragozh.

  “Since we will be gone when they celebrate, I thought they should have nothing to complain of. Dissatisfied servants can mean trouble—”

  “As we saw the last time I was in Rome,” Zangi-Ragozh finished for him.

  “Truly.” He reached the door and slid it open.

  “Are Jong and Yao prepared? Is Gien?” Zangi-Ragozh asked as they went out into the cold morning. Jong and Yao were the cousins who would be driving the wagons, and Gien would be the groom for their journey, an odd fellow from the far northwest who had a way with horses.

  “Sheh said they were just drinking their bitter tea,” said Ro-shei. “It’s supposed to help keep them warm.”

  “Then let them drink it, by all means,” said Zangi-Ragozh as he went down the broad, shallow stairs and into the edge of the garden.

  Half the household had come to see them off. They stood at a respectful distance, saying little above occasional whispers as Ro-shei went toward the stable while Zangi-Ragozh checked the various ropes securing the barrels lashed to the outsides of the vehicles. He tugged at one line that seemed loose, and when it slipped, he retied the knot that held the barrel, making sure it was firm. Satisfied, he inspected the harness of the two teams—one of four horses, the other of two—and the lead-lines to which the remounts and second teams would be tied. All the braided-leather leads were new, without wear or weakness, and the harness was shiny with recent applications of oil and beeswax. “This is all to my liking,” he announced as he approached the stable where his gray gelding was being saddled. “You have done well, Sheh.”

  Sheh Tai-Jia nodded his appreciation as he finished tightening the second girth on the gray’s Mongolian saddle. “I replaced the billets, as you asked, and put new reins on the bridle.”

  “Very good,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “It won’t do for any of us to present a shabby appearance.”

  There was general laughter, for Zangi-Ragozh was known for the high quality of his possessions and his elegance of person. Sheh brought the gelding up. “would you like a mounting-block?”

  “It’s hardly necessary,” said Zangi-Ragozh as he vaulted up into the saddle and fitted his boots into the long leather foot-loops. “This is very good,” he said, settling into the saddle.

  “It is strange to pad your saddle with earth,” said Sheh’s young assistant.

  “Foreigners have their ways,” Sheh said sharply, stopping any further inquiry. “I think you will find the reins sufficiently oiled.”

  Zangi-Ragozh flexed the leather as he gathered them up. “Yes. Well done.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Where are Jong and Yao?” he asked as he guided his horse out of the stable, Sheh walking beside him.

  “They are coming,” said Sheh. “If you will give them a moment more—”

  “Of course. And where is Ro-shei’s mount?”

  “Hou is saddling her in the stall.” Sheh saw Zangi-Ragozh nod his approval and looked up as Gien came out of the stable leading four sturdy horses, which he hitched to the rear of the first wagon. “He’ll have the second team out shortly, and your remounts.”

  “That is most acceptable,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “I’m going to ride down to the orchard and back, to keep Flying Cloud from standing too long.” Saying this, he nudged the gelding with his heel and started down the path toward the orchard. Exercise for his horse was only part of the reason he was doing this; he wanted to look at the orchard again, for even bare in winter, it reminded him of the coming spring. Patting Flying Cloud’s glossy neck, he reluctantly turned back toward the stable.

  Ro-shei had mounted up and the two drivers were in plac
e on their boxes as Zangi-Ragozh came up. Gien was tying the last of the remounts to the lead-line, testing the knots before he clambered onto the box of the first wagon beside Yao. “We are ready, my master,” he said as Zangi-Ragozh rode to the front of the group.

  “As am I,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “Warder,” he called out in a voice that carried all through the front of the compound, “open the gate.”

  In answer to his command the large, iron bolt was drawn back and the warder operated the pulley that swung the gate open, the large hinges creaking. As much of the household as could find an excuse to be there gathered to see Zangi-Ragozh and the others depart. Some shouted good wishes for luck and safety while some were content just to watch as the two horsemen and the two wagons with their reserve horses went out the gate and onto the broad, rutted road that led into Yang-Chau and away from the city along the river toward the west-by-north. The little party turned away from the city, joining a stream of carts, wagons, men on horseback and on foot, moving into or out of Yang-Chau, and were soon out of sight of the compound.

  They made their first stop shortly after midday at a tavern that catered to travelers. Yao, Jong, and Gien all got down and went to have hot rice-wine, oil-cakes, grilled onions, and broiled goat while Zangi-Ragozh and Ro-shei watered and changed teams on the wagons and shifted mounts. When the drivers and the groom emerged from the tavern, they brought gourds filled with hot tea, which they wrapped in heavy cloth to keep in the warmth as long as possible. Visibly refreshed, they took their places in the wagons and set off once more, all huddled down into their fur-lined cloaks against the biting chill of the wind.

  Through the afternoon the weather closed in, the mists turning to sleet and coming at them in a sharp, slanted angle as if determined to cut them to the bone; the number of travelers on the road grew fewer. Finally, as the sun sank behind a bank of thick clouds, Zangi-Ragozh gave the order to look for a place to spend the night, for he had given up any hope of reaching the town of Kai-Mung before dark.