Dark of the Sun (5 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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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 place 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.
“There is a village about half a li ahead,” said Jong. “There are places for us to stay there—taverns and inns.”
“Is it on this road?” Zangi-Ragozh asked, moving his horse close to the wagon to hear what Jong had to say.
“Yes. It borders a little stream that runs into the Yang-Tse, and they keep the bridge,” Jong said.
“Guan-Tse?” Zangi-Ragozh asked, remembering it from other journeys.
Jong was pleasantly surprised. “Yes. My cousin keeps an inn there—the Silver Cockerel—just off the market-square.”
“Then lead us to it,” said Zangi-Ragozh, and rode forward to the larger wagon. “Yao,” he called out over the weather, “let Jong take the lead. He is taking us to his cousins inn at Guan-Tse.”
“So we stop before we reach Kai-Mung?” Ro-shei guessed aloud.
“At Jong’s cousin’s inn,” Zangi-Ragozh said with a half-smile.
“So Jong has a cousin who keeps an inn,” Ro-shei remarked. “And one on this road. How convenient.”
“We are not keeping to our original plan, and so Jong has had no opportunity to make any arrangements with his cousin,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “No, I reckon the worst we will face is that a portion of the price we will be charged will go into Jong’s pocket, just as his cousin will raise the amount we pay above his usual rates. I have sufficient gold for even the most exorbitant costs.”
“That’s hardly unusual,” said Ro-shei.
“My point exactly,” Zangi-Ragozh said, and fell in beside Jong’s wagon as it took the lead.
 
Text of a letter from Marakam on the east coast of Borneo, from the Burmese scholar Ymer ai Pagan to Captain Pao Sho-Feng of the merchant-ship
Joyous
Winds, delivered seven weeks after the Winter Solstice.
 
To the most perspicacious Captain, Pao Sho-Feng of the
Joyous Winds
, a merchant-ship out of Yang-Chau, and much-traveled in the Southern Islands and other ports of the south, the scholar Ymer ai Pagan sends his most enthusiastic greetings and gives the Captain his assurances that what he says in this letter is complete and correct as far as he is able to make it so, with the promise that should he fail in any point of accuracy, he will answer for it with a beating. It is this facility that the scholar offers to Captain Pao.
Your note informed this scholar that the Captain and his crew are lately arrived from the Southern Islands, and are bound for Madura on Java and Samudra on Sumatra, with intentions then to turn north in the Andaman Sea, and seek information on the waters hereabout, and reports on new conditions. To the most pressing development: the mountain in the middle of the Sunda Passage often spits rocks and noxious gases, and once in a while, there is a brief flow of lava from its summit cone, and the people of the islands pay little attention. But recently those have become troubled in ways they have not been in the past. The Sunda mountain, Krakatau, is smoking and trembling more constantly than is its habit, perturbing the waters and land around it, causing many of the people living near it to move away from the proximity of the mountain until such time as it quiets once more. If those who live near the mountain are willing to sacrifice their homes in order to be assured of safety, then it would be sensible for you, as a commercial seafarer, to keep away from those waters, at least until such time as the natives of the region return to their houses.
You may confirm anything this scholar reports with others who have recently traversed the waters in question. Among the number of such voyagers, there are two ships recently arrived from Sunda Kalapa, neither of them merchant-ships, but filled with those who have decided to remain in the lea of Borneo until they are certain that all jeopardy from their mountain is over. Those persons have a far better understanding of the situation than this scholar can, for they know their islands and are cognizant of their behavior in a way that you or this scholar cannot be, lacking the familiarity of long residence.

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