Gengis: Lords of the Bow Page 18

  “To leave them so is an insult,” Chen Yi said, “though you could not have known.”

  Khasar found a plate of skewered crickets easier to handle, biting into the line of fried insects with evident pleasure.

  “This is better,” he said, his mouth working busily. Temuge was prepared to copy whatever Chen Yi did and dipped balls of fried dough into salt water before chewing them. When the crickets were all gone, Khasar reached for a pile of oranges, taking two. After spitting out a piece of skin, he peeled the first with his thumbs and relaxed visibly as he pulled the flesh apart and ate it. He and his brother waited for Chen Yi to speak, their impatience obvious and growing.

  When they had all finished, Chen Yi eyed Khasar’s efforts with the orange, then placed his chopsticks on the table and said nothing as his slaves removed all evidence of the meal. When they were alone again, he sat back on his couch. His eyes lost their hooded look and gained once more the sharpness of the river master they knew.

  “Why have you come to Baotou?” he said to Temuge.

  “Trade,” Temuge replied immediately. “We are merchants.”

  Chen Yi shook his head. “Merchants do not carry a Mongol bow, nor shoot one as your brother does. You are of that people. Why would you be here in the lands of the emperor?”

  Temuge swallowed painfully as he tried to think. Chen Yi had known for a long time and not given them away, but he could not bring himself to trust the man, especially after so much strangeness and confusion.

  “We are of the tribes of the great khan, yes,” he said. “But we have come to open trade between our people.”

  “I am a trader. Make your offers to me,” Chen Yi replied. His face gave nothing away, but Temuge could sense the little man’s fierce curiosity.

  “Ho Sa asked who you were to have so much wealth,” Temuge said slowly, choosing the words. “You have this house and slaves, but you took the role of a smuggler on the river, bribing guards and staging a diversion at the city gate. Who are you that we should trust you?”

  Chen Yi’s gaze was cold as he studied them. “I am a man who is uncomfortable at the thought of you blundering around his city. How long would it take for you to be captured by Imperial soldiers? How long after that before you told them everything you have seen?”

  He waited while Temuge translated for his brother.

  “Tell him if we are killed or kept as prisoners, Baotou will be burned to the ground,” Khasar said, tearing the second orange in two and sucking out a ragged half. “Genghis will come for us next year. He knows where we are and this little man will see his precious house in flames. Tell him that.”

  “You would do well to be quiet, brother, if we are to get out of here with our lives.”

  “Let him speak,” Chen Yi said. “How would my city be burned if you are killed?”

  To Temuge’s horror, Chen Yi spoke in the language of the tribes. His accent was rough, but clear enough. He froze as he considered all the conversations Chen Yi had overheard in the weeks it had taken to reach Baotou.

  “How do you know our tongue?” he demanded, forgetting his fear for a moment.

  Chen Yi laughed, a high-pitched sound that did nothing to settle the men at the table.

  “Did you think you were the first to travel to Chin lands? The Uighurs have ridden the silk road. Some have stayed.” He clapped his hands and another man came into the room. He was as clean as they were and dressed in a simple Chin robe, but his face was Mongol and the breadth of his shoulders showed one who had been raised with the bow. Ho Sa and Temuge remained seated, but Khasar rose to greet him, clasping his hand and beating him on the back with his fist. The stranger beamed at the welcome.

  “It is good to see a real face in this city,” Khasar said.

  The man seemed almost overcome to hear the words. “And for me,” he said, glancing at Chen Yi. “How are the plains? I have not been home for many years.”

  “They are the same,” Khasar replied. A thought struck him and his hand dropped to where his sword would usually lie on his hip. “Is this man a slave?”

  Chen Yi looked up without embarrassment. “Of course. Quishan was once a merchant, but he chose to gamble with me.”

  The man shrugged. “It is true. I will not be a slave forever. A few more years and my debt will be paid. Then I think I will return to the plains and find a wife.”

  “Find me first when you do. I will give you a new start,” Khasar promised him.

  Chen Yi watched as Quishan bowed his head. Khasar accepted the gesture as if it was nothing new to him, and Chen Yi’s gaze became hard.

  “Tell me again how my city will burn,” he said.

  Temuge opened his mouth, but Chen Yi held up a hand.

  “No, I do not trust you. Your brother spoke the truth when he thought I could not understand. Let him tell it all.”

  Khasar shot a glance at Temuge, thoroughly enjoying his brother’s frustration. He took a moment to choose his words. Perhaps Chen Yi would have them killed when he heard. He moved his hand to where he had hidden a small knife in the folds of his robe.

  “We were once of the Wolves,” Khasar said, at last, “but my brother has united the tribes. The kingdom of Xi Xia is our first vassal, though there will be more.” Ho Sa shifted uncomfortably at the words, but neither man looked at him. Khasar sat like stone as he stared into Chen Yi’s eyes. “Perhaps I will die here, tonight, but if I do, my people will come amongst the Chin and tear down your precious cities, one by one, stone from stone.”

  Chen Yi’s face had grown tight as he listened. His command of the language was only what he had needed for trade, and he would have suggested a switch back to his own if it would not have looked like weakness.

  “News travels fast on the river,” he said, refusing to respond to Khasar’s deadly intensity. “I had heard of the war in Xi Xia, though not that your people were triumphant. Is the king dead, then?”

  “Not when I left,” Khasar replied. “He paid tribute and a daughter. A beautiful girl, I thought.”

  “You have not answered my question, except with threats,” Chen Yi reminded him. “Why would you come here, to my city?”

  Khasar noticed the slight stress Chen Yi had put on “my.” He did not have the subtlety to play with words, or spin a thread of lies Chen Yi would believe.

  “We need masons,” Khasar said. He heard Temuge let out a sharp breath at his shoulder and ignored him. “We need to know the secrets of your cities. The great khan himself has sent us. Baotou is just a place on a map with no great significance.”

  “It is my home,” Chen Yi murmured, thinking.

  “You can keep it,” Khasar said, sensing the moment was right. “Baotou will not be touched if we bring back word of your help.”

  He waited for Chen Yi to finish his thoughts, sweat dripping down his face. One shout and the room would fill with armed men, he was certain. It was true Genghis would destroy the city in revenge, but Chen Yi could not be certain of that. For all he knew, they were boasting or lying.

  It was Quishan who broke the silence. He had paled at what he heard and his voice was low with awe.

  “The tribes are united?” he said. “The Uighurs among them?”

  Khasar nodded, his gaze never leaving Chen Yi. “The blue tail is part of the great khan’s standard. The Chin have held us down for a long time, but that is over. We ride to war, brother.”

  Chen Yi watched Quishan’s face carefully, seeing how the news brought an expression of astonished hope.

  “I will make a bargain with you,” he said suddenly. “Whatever you need you will have, from my hand. You will bring the word back to your khan and tell him that there is a man here he can trust.”

  “What use is a smuggler to us?” Khasar responded. Temuge almost groaned as Khasar went on, “How can you bargain for the fate of a city?”

  “If you fail, or if you lie, I have lost nothing. If you are telling the truth, you will need allies, will you not?” Chen Yi said. “I
have power here.”

  “You would betray the Imperial court? Your own emperor?” Khasar said. He asked the question to test Chen Yi, and to his astonishment, the little man spat on the polished floor.

  “This is my city. Everything that goes on here comes to my ears. I have no love for nobles who think all men can be run under their carts like animals. I have lost family and friends to their soldiers, seen loved ones hanged when they refused to give up my name. What do I care for them?”

  He had risen as he spoke and Khasar stood to face him.

  “My word is iron,” Khasar said. “If I say you will have this city, it will be yours to rule when we come.”

  “You can speak for the khan?” Chen Yi said.

  “He is my brother. I can speak for him,” Khasar replied. Temuge and Ho Sa could only look on as the two men stared each other down.

  “I knew you were a warrior on the boat,” Chen Yi said. “You were a poor spy.”

  “I knew you were a thief, but a good one,” Khasar replied. Chen Yi chuckled and they took each other’s hands in a firm grip.

  “I have many men who answer to me. I will give you what you need and I will see you safe back to your people,” Chen Yi said. He sat, calling for wine as Temuge began to talk. He could not understand how the little man had come to trust Khasar, but it did not matter. They had their ally in Baotou.

  As evening came, Khasar, Ho Sa, and Temuge accepted the offer of a few hours’ sleep before a long night, retiring to rooms off the second courtyard. Chen Yi had never needed more than a few hours’ rest since his days running from the soldiers in the alleyways of Baotou—lifetimes ago. He sat up with Quishan and two of his guards, and they talked in low voices as they moved counters of ivory on a mah-jongg board. Quishan was silent for a long time as he clicked the counters together in his hand. He had known Chen Yi for almost ten years and seen a ruthless desire for power come to bloom in that time. The little man had crushed three other leaders of Baotou’s criminal gangs, and he had not exaggerated when he had told Khasar that little went on in the city without it reaching his ears.

  Quishan discarded a tile and watched as Chen Yi’s hand hovered over it. The man he had come to call a friend was clearly distracted from the game, his thoughts elsewhere. Quishan wondered if he should raise the stakes and clear a little more of his debt. He decided not to, remembering other games where Chen Yi had lulled him with exactly the same approach, then won consistently.

  He watched as Chen Yi took a different tile and the game went round the table, with one of the guards calling “Pung” and making Quishan swear under his breath.

  As the guard showed three matching tiles, Chen Yi put his hand down.

  “No more tonight. You are getting better, Han, but your gate duty is upon us.”

  Both guards rose and bowed. They had been rescued from the worst street slums, and they were strong and loyal to the man who ruled the tong. Quishan stayed, sensing Chen Yi wanted to talk.

  “You are thinking of the strangers,” Quishan said as he gathered up the tiles on the table.

  Chen Yi nodded, staring into the darkness through the screen doors. The evening was already cold and he wondered what the hours ahead would bring.

  “They are strange people, Quishan. I have said that to you before. I took them on to guard my silk, when three of my men fell ill. Perhaps my ancestors were guiding me in that.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. “Did you see the way Khasar took note of the positions of the guards? His eyes were always moving. I thought on the boat that I had never seen him relax, but you are the same. Perhaps all your people are.”

  Quishan shrugged. “Life is struggle, master. Is that not also what the Buddhists believe? On the plains of my home, the weak die early. It has always been that way.”

  “I have never seen anyone shoot a bow as well as that one. In near darkness, on a rocking boat, he killed six men without hesitation. Are all your people so skilled?”

  Quishan busied his hands with the mah-jongg tiles, placing them back in their leather carrying case.

  “I am not, but the Uighurs value learning and trade more than any other tribe. The Wolves are known for their ferocity.” He paused, his hands growing still. “It is almost too much to believe that the tribes have united under one man, one khan. He must be extraordinary.”

  Quishan snapped the clasp closed on the leather box, leaning back. He wanted a drink to settle his stomach, but Chen Yi never allowed alcohol when the night needed clear heads.

  “Will you welcome my people when they ride to the walls?” Quishan asked softly. He felt Chen Yi’s gaze on him, but he did not look up from his folded hands.

  “You think I betrayed my city?” Chen Yi asked him.

  Quishan raised his gaze, seeing a dark anger in the man he had grown to trust over the years. “All this is new. Perhaps this new khan will be destroyed by the emperor’s armies and those who called themselves allies will suffer the same fate. Have you considered that?”

  Chen Yi snorted. “Of course, but I have lived too long with a foot on my neck, Quishan. This house, my slaves, all those who follow me are just what the emperor’s ministers have missed through sloth and corruption. We are beneath their notice, like rats in their warehouses. At times, they send a man to make an example and he hangs a few hundred. Sometimes they even catch people who are valuable to me. Or loved by me.” Chen Yi’s face was like stone as he spoke and Quishan knew he was thinking of his son, no more than a boy when he had been caught in a trawl of the docks two years before. Chen Yi himself had taken the body down from where it swung in the river breeze.

  “But a fire does not know who it burns,” Quishan said. “You are inviting the flames into your home, your city. Who knows how it will end?”

  Chen Yi was silent. He knew as well as Quishan that the three strangers could be made to vanish. There were always bodies in the Yellow River, naked and bloated as they floated by. The deaths would never come back to him. Yet something he had seen in Khasar had stirred a thirst for revenge Chen Yi had buried since the morning he had carried his son’s limp weight.

  “Let them come, these people of yours who use bows and horses. I judge them more by you than the promises of men I do not know. How long have you worked for me?”

  “Nine years, master,” Quishan said.

  “And you have kept honor with me to pay your debt. How many times could you have escaped and gone back to your people?”

  “Three times,” Quishan admitted. “Three when I thought I would be able to run clear before you heard.”

  “I knew about them,” Chen Yi replied. “I knew of the boat master who made the first offer. He was one of mine. You would not have gone far before he cut your throat.”

  Quishan frowned at this information. “You tested me, then.”

  “Of course. I am not a fool, Quishan. I never was. Let the flames come to Baotou. I will stand alive on the ashes when they are done. Let the Imperial officers burn their plumes in them and I will know contentment. I will know joy at last.”

  Chen Yi rose and stretched, his back clicking audibly in the silent rooms.

  “You are a gambler, Quishan, it is why you have worked for me for so long. I have never been one. I have made this city my own, but still I must bow my head whenever I see one of the emperor’s prancing favorites ride down the streets. My streets, Quishan, yet I bow and step into the filth of the gutters rather than stand in their path.”

  Chen Yi looked out into the darkness, his eyes dead in his face.

  “I will stand now, Quishan, and the tiles will fall as they please.”

  CHAPTER 14

  AS MIDNIGHT CAME, a heavy rain began to fall on the city of Baotou. The downpour hissed on the streets and rattled on the tiles so that it sounded like distant thunder. Chen Yi seemed pleased at the turn in the weather as he handed swords to his men. Even the beggars would shrink back in their doorways while the rain came down. It was a good omen.

  As they stepped o
ut onto the dark street, Khasar and Ho Sa stared up and down its length to see if they were observed. The moon was hidden and there was only dim light when the rushing clouds drifted open in patches. Temuge had assumed the water would wash away some of the stench of the city. Instead, it seemed to bloom in the air, the taint of human filth carried on the damp so that it seeped into his lungs and made him nauseous. The gutters were already full and Temuge saw dark, wet things he could not name tumbling along, borne by the current. He shuddered, suddenly aware of the writhing press of humanity all around him. Without Chen Yi, he would not have known where to begin his search in the maze of houses and shops, piled on top of one another in all directions.

  Two more of Chen Yi’s men had joined them at the gate. Although there was no official curfew, ten men would be challenged by any soldiers still on the streets. Chen Yi gave one the task of scouting each crossroads, and instructed two more to hang back and see if they were followed. Temuge could not escape the feeling he was heading into a battle. As the rain poured down he handled the wet hilt of the sword Chen Yi had pressed on him, hoping he would not have to draw it. He was shivering as they set off, moving at a light trot. The gates closed behind them with an audible clang, but no one looked back.

  On some of the streets, the overhanging eaves of houses formed a strip of dry road. Chen Yi slowed to a walk as he led the group past those, unwilling to have the sound of running feet draw residents out to watch. The city was not fully dark, nor sleeping. Temuge saw occasional lights from forges and warehouses, still working into the night. Despite Chen Yi’s precautions, Temuge was certain he could feel eyes on them as they passed.

  In the gloom, Temuge lost track of time until it seemed he had been running for half the night. There was no pattern to the streets as they wound over and around each other, sometimes little more than dirt tracks with clotted mud that spattered them up to their knees. Temuge was winded after only a short time, and more than once, someone took his arm in the darkness and yanked him onwards, forcing him to keep up. He swore under his breath as one such jerk on his sleeve made him step into a gutter and something soft and cold became trapped between his toes. He hoped it was rotten fruit and nothing worse, but he did not stop.