Dark of the Sun (10 page)

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Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

Tags: #Fantasy, #Fiction, #General, #Historical, #Horror, #Vampires, #Transylvania (Romania), #Krakatoa (Indonesia), #Volcanic Eruptions

BOOK: Dark of the Sun
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“And not all indicate heat in the lungs,” Kuo agreed. “Do you have others with you?”
“Three other men,” Zangi-Ragozh said.
“Do any of them show signs of the illness?” Kuo had started toward the door. “Should you like me to see any of them while I am here?”
Zangi-Ragozh fitted one hand into the other. “I would be most appreciative,” he said, thinking of the extra fees Kuo would earn for this effort. “My men are in the dining room still, lingering over their suppers. You can find them there, all but my manservant, who is a foreigner like me; he is in the stable seeing to our horses and the wagons.”
“He sounds to be in good health if he is doing such work,” said Kuo, almost out the door.
“I would venture to say that he has less need of your skills than the others,” said Zangi-Ragozh, laying his hand on Jong’s forehead. “I’ll remain here while you prepare your tea.”
“That will suit me very well,” said Kuo, and left Zangi-Ragozh alone with the suffering Jong. Only when the physician returned with his tea did Zangi-Ragozh slip away to fetch a vial of his sovereign remedy, an opalescent liquid that seemed clear when held up to the light. Kuo was just finishing tipping some of the hot tea down Jong’s throat. “Let me look at that,” he ordered, holding out his hand for the glass vial.
Zangi-Ragozh held it out. “The stopper has to be unscrewed.”
“A good precaution,” said Kuo, twisting the stopper and sniffing the liquid. “Nothing noxious, but still, an unusual odor.”
“That it has,” Zangi-Ragozh agreed, and waited while Kuo made up his mind.
“I can find no harm in it,” the physician announced. “But administer it only after the tea is taken.”
“Certainly,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “I’ll keep a record of when anything is given to Jong.”
Kuo nodded. “A wise precaution.” He made a polite gesture of farewell and went to the door. “I will look in on your other men. If I find nothing to alarm me, I will depart. If either of the two is sick, then I will come to consult you.”
“Thank you.” He lifted the oil-lamp. “This should burn most of the night.”
“Very good,” said Kuo, and left Zangi-Ragozh to minister to Jong.
 
Text of a letter from Captain Tieh Wei-Djieh of the merchant ship
Golden Moon
at Kuang-Chou to the foreign merchant Zangi-Ragozh at Yang-Chau; never delivered.
 
To the most illustrious foreigner Zangi-Ragozh, the greetings of his Captain, Tieh Wei-Djieh of the Golden Moon, still at port in Kuang-Chou, at the end of the Fortnight of the Prosperity Lanterns.
I am pleased to inform you that the Golden Moon is once again ready to put to sea, and under other circumstances I would leave port within three days of entrusting this to Zhi Fung-Ho of the courier ship Frigate-bird, but I am disinclined to begin a voyage in such seas and under such skies as those that have marked this place for more than eight days, and I cannot but think that you would concur with my determination were you here to see for yourself what has occurred here. It is a most difficult time, with terrible tides and flocks of dead birds blown on the high winds until they fall into the ocean for sharks to dine on. The sharks themselves are hardly safe in these times.
The tumultuous seas have increased dangerously following a deafening and prolonged explosion that came from the southwest nine days ago. No thunder was ever half so loud as that. It was approaching midday, and the sound was more dreadful than anything I have heard before. The first report was hideous, but there was an ongoing roar that has not entirely ceased yet. As if in answer to this horrendous blast, by evening the seas had risen and done damage to the docks here, making all the sailors I know stupefied with fear. The docks a short distance from the one where we are tied up were reduced to splinters, and the warehouses are hardly more than bits of wood clinging to their pilings. Some people have been washed out to sea, and it is believed that they are dead. The Golden Moon sustained no significant damage, but many other ships were not so fortunate, and dozens of them were broken apart during the first onslaught of the waves. The seas are still running dangerously high, and so nothing much can be done to save or repair the ships, or the docks.
Since that day, the skies have grown dark and remained so, as if storm clouds are gathering. Lightning accompanies them, and they are regarded as the most distressing of all omens. The odor of sulfur is everywhere, and no one can say why, but everyone knows it is a bad sign. Already fish are dying, their decaying bodies washing in on the tide. Some claim that this is the end of the world, and some say it is the gods making war on earth.
I should report that there has been trouble inland here, as well. These dark and lowering clouds have dropped yellow rain that has burned the fields, scalded livestock, and made wells all but undrinkable. Everyone who has gone out of the city says that the farmers are terrified at the thought of what is coming, for they cannot plant their spring crops in fields that are blighted by the yellow rain. I have no information to give about any of your other ships that may have been caught up in this appalling storm. No ships have come into port since the storm began, and no ships have left until the courier decided to depart today. I only hope that I may find some reliable news, which I shall then pass on to you as soon as I have verification as well as rumors to pass on.
In the meantime, I ask the God of Sailors to protect us all, and the Lord of the Sea to quiet the waters so that we may safely return home with our cargo and our men safe.
 
Tieh Wei-Djieh
Captain, the Golden Moon
(his chop)
 
One of the caravans had come farther than the rest; the leader of the procession of donkeys and camels was Persian, and two of his men came from the region on the west side of the Black Sea. This caravan was most carefully watched by the officers of the Tribunal of Dong-Lin, for it was rare that such merchants penetrated China as deeply as they had, or had brought so much red amber from the wild peoples of the far northwest. Three customs officials crowded around the Bactrian camels and demanded of the merchants to be told what the animals were carrying, beyond the two casks of amber.
“They carry furs for writing brushes, and dyes, among other things,” said the leader in poor Chinese. “We have some trinkets, too. We cannot carry bulky merchandise, or we risk losing it to the bandits along the road, and we cannot transport anything very heavy, for the sake of our animals.”
“Is that all? What else do you bring to sell? Answer, you dog’s head!” the Tribunal Guard ordered as he slapped his leather trousers with a short whip, grinning at the threat he was making.
“I have an account of it all with me,” said the Persian, reaching into his fox-fur, long vest and pulling out a folded cotton cloth on which he had written his lists. “Here. If you have anyone who knows Persian, you will know all.”
The most august of the customs officials came up to the Persian. “You would do well to speak respectfully, foreigner.”
With a shrug the Persian gestured his greeting in the Chinese fashion although he spoke in his native language. “I ask your pardon. It has been a long journey, and, what with the winter going on longer than ususal, I, my men, and my animals are tired.”
The Guard reached out and grabbed the Persian by the shoulders. “You will speak in a civilized tongue, foreigner!”
“My Chinese is poor,” he said in Chinese.
“You’re right—it is poor.” The senior customs official looked to his comrades. “Is there someone in Dong-Lin who could interpret this man’s statements for us? Someone who speaks Chinese better than he does?”
“Among the foreign merchants?” The Guard looked about without any real hope of finding one.
“Of course, or one of the innkeepers,” said another of the customs officers. “Whomelse would we call upon?”
The Persian shrugged again. “I have only just arrived, and this place is new to me. I have no … no idea of what merchants are here, and who among them knows Persian.” He was reaching the limits of his ability to speak.
The senior customs official cut the Persian off with a motion of his moon fan that was marked with his chop. “A sensible solution, it seems to me.” He gestured to the Guard. “Go about the area and find out if any of the merchants speaks this man’s tongue—”
“Persian,” he interjected.
“Persian,” said the customs officer. He nodded to his comrades. “Let us inspect what we can and make a record of what we find.”
“That is most reasonable,” said the more eager of his two colleagues. “Shall I summon a scribe?”
“Not quite yet, I think. I think it would be best to wait until we can have somewhat clearer discourse with the Persian.” He indicated a protected arcade. “Sit there, foreigner, until we tell you otherwise.”
The Persian sighed. “And my men? They are tired and hungry.”
“Send them to the Inn of the Two Camels.” He pointed to the hostelry. “They cater to foreigners there, and we will know where to find your men.”
“That I will,” said the Persian, calling out instructions to his men in Persian, and, for the sake of the customs officials, ending in Chinese, “Go to the inn. I will join you when I am through here.”
The man from Odessus on the Black Sea answered in his outlandish tongue for all the men, “As you order; you will find us there, refreshing ourselves,” and signaled the rest of the men to hand over their animals to the grooms of the customs officials. There was a ruffle of activity as the men did as they had been told, most of them speaking languages the officials could not identify.
When his men had departed, the Persian bowed in the manner of his people. “I am at your service,” he said in Chinese.
“As you should be,” said the senior customs official, and signaled his assistants to look over the casks, chests, and bales on the pack animals, putting identifying marks on them, and numbers.
For a short while everyone remained silent, then the Guard returned from the second foreigners’ inn, a black-clad stranger at his heels. “I have found a man who says he knows Persian.”
The newcomer put his left hand into his right and spoke to the senior official. “This humble merchant is Zangi-Ragozh, whose business is in Yang-Chau and is here in Dong-Lin for a day, going from Yang-Chau to Chang’an. What may this respectful foreigner have the honor of doing for you?”
The senior customs official looked Zangi-Ragozh up and down. “Do you speak Persian?”
“Among other languages, yes, I do,” said Zangi-Ragozh.
He glanced over at the Persian. “Then explain matters with this man, starting with registering a name.”
“It will be my honor,” said Zangi-Ragozh, and turned to the Persian, saying in his language, “I am here to serve as translator and interpreter. I am a merchant and a foreigner, like yourself, although my homeland is farther west than yours. I will help you deal with these men.” He saw the Persian nod. “To begin, there are a few things the officials must settle before they can assess your merchandise. What is your name?”
“Ahmi Buthatani,” he answered, glad to hear someone address him in fluent Persian, and now feeling more assured that he would be treated fairly.
Zangi-Ragozh frowned. “Ahmi is no problem, but Buthatani is.”
“Why would it be?”
“You have not come far into China before, have you?” he asked, and not waiting for an answer went on, “In China, away from the borders, foreigners are required to register a name that can be written in Chinese but is plainly not Chinese. Ahmi can easily be written. Your family name is a problem; too long and not easily expressed in Chinese characters. Tsani would be acceptable, I think, if you would not mind using it.”
Buthatani looked baffled. “Why should they need this?”
“So that foreigners may be readily identified, and so that everyone may be able to address them properly, which is of great importance in this country,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “Would Ahmi-Tsani be acceptable to you?”
“If it is necessary, then do it, just so they are satisfied,” said Buthatani, shaking his head in disbelief. “They are very strange here.”
“No stranger than we are to them,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “Which is saying a great deal.”
For the first time Buthatani smiled. “Truly, foreigner.”
Zangi-Ragozh turned to the customs official. “This foreigner from Persia will be recorded as Ahmi-Tsani. It is acceptable to him.”
“It is acceptable to us,” said the senior official. “Bring the scribe,” he said to one of his assistants. “We have work to do.”
“Is this usual?” Ahmi-Tsani asked Zangi-Ragozh. “I have been to Wu-Wei twice and never had to answer so many questions, nor accommodate the Chinese to this extent.”
“Yes, it is usual. Even in Holin-Gol there are stricter rules than in Wu-Wei. I know that along the western border there is less attention given to these requirements, but you are a long way from the Great Wall, and the forms of commerce are very proscribed here.” He indicated one of two inns facing the market square. “I and my companions are at the Caravan Bell.”
“The customs officials already recommended I send my men to the Inn of the Two Camels,” Ahmi-Tsani said.
“Probably because of your beasts; there are better barns and pens at the Inn of the Two Camels than at most inns,” said Zangi-Ragozh.
“Find out what he is doing here,” the customs official requested.
Zangi-Ragozh complied at once. “What has brought you so far south?”
Ahmi-Tsani tugged at his short beard. “Dreadful weather; this year has been harder than any I can remember. Surely you have heard about it? There is snow falling in the north, far too much for this time of year, and with no letup coming that I can see. The snow is not as it has been in previous years. It is unnatural, yellow in color, and it gives off an unpleasant odor.”
“What is he saying?” the senior customs official asked sharply.
Zangi-Ragozh replied at once, “That he has come down from the north because of unseasonable snow that is of a yellow hue.”
The officials laughed to show their disbelief. “Snow at this time of year, and yellow,” said the senior official. “No one else had made such a report. What nonsense is this?”
“How many merchants have recently arrived from the north ahead of this man?” Zangi-Ragozh asked. “If this Persian is the first, his account is the more important, for it heralds more to come.”
“Why do you think so, foreigner?” the customs official asked haughtily.
Understanding just enough of what the official said to be affronted, Ahmi-Tsani demanded of Zangi-Ragozh, “Does he doubt me? Why would I lie? What good would it do me?”
“Do not fret,” Zangi-Ragozh advised. “Let me try to explain this to them.”
“Very well,” said Ahmi-Tsani, mastering his temper with an effort. “But I will not be called a liar, not for anything. You make sure you tell him that.”
“I will do my best,” Zangi-Ragozh assured the Persian.
“What is he telling you now?” the customs official asked sharply. “More inventions, no doubt. Yellow snow indeed.”
“Official Lang,” said Zangi-Ragozh, addressing the senior man with an elaborate display of respect, “this Persian has no reason to report falsely, and you have an obligation to keep records of possible hazards to travelers. I believe you would be well-advised to listen to what he has to say and to verify it with others, for if he is telling you the truth, there will be others coming here from the north. You know that spring has been very slow in starting everywhere and that the clouds are more persistent than in most years, and the rain they have brought has made travel slower than usual.”
“Thank you; I know my duty,” said Lang with great formality.
“And surely you know the importance of serving the orders of the government in these difficult times. So long as regional officials—honorable men like you—attend to their appointed tasks, the country will continue to hold together, no matter what changes may befall the Vermilion Brush.” Zangi-Ragozh ducked his head respectfully.
Lang Bao-Jai glared at Zangi-Ragozh but nodded. “What you say is so.”
“Is there a difficulty?” Ahmi-Tsani asked uneasily. He had been able to follow some of what was said; it was sufficient to make him anxious.
“Not for you,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “I am only reminding Lang of his responsibilities, and of the honor in which his family is held.” He looked over at Lang and went on in his most courteous manner, “Danger to travelers is always an intrusion to trade, but it is better that such dangers are known than that they are overlooked, for any laxness can only damage the trade that is the very heart of the Middle Kingdom.”
“True enough,” said Lang stiffly. He was still somewhat surprised that Zangi-Ragozh was so knowledgeable, but he did his utmost to take this in stride. “Tell the foreigner Ahmi-Tsani that I will hear his report and submit his information to the Magistrate.”
Zangi-Ragozh did as he was told and added, “It will be best if you tell all you know as concisely as you can. If you have rumors to pass on, make sure you say they are rumors. You do not want to give Lang any reason to doubt you.”
“That is apparent,” said Ahmi-Tsani, his sarcasm poorly concealed. He looked over at Lang and said in the best Chinese he could summon up, “I will deem it a sign of esteem to answer all questions put to me.”
“Well done,” Zangi-Ragozh approved, adding for Lang’s benefit, “I know you will make every effort to convey accurate information.”
“That I will,” said Ahmi-Tsani. “In the meantime, I would be grateful for a moment with my men, to have something to eat and to ease my aching back.” He stretched conspicuously to show that he needed a period of recuperation.
Lang nodded, having understood the gist of what Ahmi-Tsani had said. “I will come to the Inn of the Two Camels after the evening rice. We will need to reserve a parlor. You, foreigner,” he said to Zangi-Ragozh. “You attend to securing the room, and present yourself for our interview.”
“Of course,” said Zangi-Ragozh, and said to Ahmi-Tsani in Persian, “You would do well to have a bath and change clothes before Lang comes this evening. Better to be too gracious and accommodating than not gracious and accommodating enough.”
“I have every intention of washing the mud from me, and putting on clean garments, for my own comfort. These itch like little demons.” He copied Zangi-Ragozh’s salutation to Lang and his two underlings, then cocked his head in the direction of the travelers’ inns. “Would you care to join me? I would be delighted to have you as my guest.”

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