Time’s Eye

Briskly Sable got to her knees and pulled aside a felt mat, exposing dusty earth. With a fingertip she began to sketch a rough map: Asia, Europe, India, Africa. She stabbed her finger into the heart of it. “We are here …”

Kolya remembered that the Mongols always oriented themselves to the south, while Sable’s map had north at the top; with that simple inversion things became much clearer.

“Now,” said Sable. “Here’s the World Ocean.” She dragged her fingers through the dust beyond the continents, making a ridged circle. “We come from far away—far beyond the World Ocean. We flew over it like birds, on our orange wings …” It wasn’t quite true, but was close to the truth, and Yeh-lü seemed to accept it for now.

Basil said, “Yeh-lü is asking about the yam. He has ordered riders out along all the main routes. But some are broken. He says he knows the world has undergone a great disturbance. He wants to know what you understand about this strangeness, and what it means for the empire.”

“We don’t know,” said Sable. “That’s the truth. We are just as much victims of this as you are.”

Yeh-lü seemed to accept this. He stood languidly, and spoke again.

Basil gasped with excitement. “The Emperor himself is impressed by your gift, the orange cloth, and wants to see you.”

Sable’s eyes hardened. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

They stood, and a party quickly formed up, headed by Yeh-lü, with Sable, Kolya and Basil at the center, surrounded by a phalanx of tough-looking guards.

Kolya was rigid with fear. “Sable, we have to be careful. We’re the Emperor’s property, remember. He will speak only to members of his family, perhaps a few key aides like Yeh-lü. Everybody else just doesn’t count.”

“Yeah, yeah. Even so. We’ve done well, Kolya. Just a few days here and we’ve got this far already … Now we just have to figure the angles.”

***

They were taken into a much grander chamber. The walls were hung with rich embroidery and tapestry, the floors covered with layers of rugs and carpets so thick they were soft to walk on. The place was crowded. Courtiers milled and beefy-looking soldiers stood around the walls, laden with weapons, glaring at the cosmonauts and everybody else—even each other. In one corner of the yurt an orchestra played softly, a harmony of lutes. All the instrumentalists were beautiful, all very young girls.

And yet for all its opulence this was still just a yurt, Kolya thought, and the prevailing stink, of greasy flesh and stale milk, was just as bad as in Scacatai’s humble home. “Barbarians,” he muttered. “They didn’t know what towns and farms were for save as sources of booty. They plundered a world, but they still live like goatherds, their tents piled with treasures. And in our time their descendants will be the last nomads of all—still trapped by their barbaric roots—”

“Shut up ,” Sable hissed.

Following Yeh-lü, they walked slowly to the center of the yurt. Around the throne that was the focus of this wide space stood a number of smooth-faced young men. They looked similar: perhaps the Emperor’s sons, Kolya thought. There were many women here, sitting before the throne. All were handsome, though some looked as old as sixty; the younger ones were quite stunningly beautiful. Wives, or concubines?

Yeh-lü stepped aside, and they stood before the Emperor.

He looked about sixty. Sitting on his ornately carved throne, he was not tall. But he was slim, upright; he looked very fit. His face was full, his features small—very Asiatic—with only a trace of grey in his hair and neatly groomed beard. He held a swatch of parachute cloth in his hand, and he regarded them steadily. Then he turned aside and muttered something to one of his advisors.

“He has eyes like a cat’s,” said Sable.

“Sable—you know who this is, don’t you?”

“Of course.” To his astonishment she grinned, more excited than fearful.

Genghis Khan watched them, his black eyes unreadable.

21. Return to Jamrud

At dawn Bisesa was woken by the peals of trumpets. When she emerged from the tent, stretching, the world was suffused with blue-gray. All across the river delta the trumpet notes rose up with the smoke of the night’s fires.

She really was in the camp of Alexander the Great; this was no dream—or nightmare. But mornings were the times she missed Myra the most, and she ached for her daughter, even in this astonishing place.

While the King and his advisors decided what to do, Bisesa, de Morgan and the others had spent the night at the Indus delta camp. The moderns were kept under guard, but they were given a tent of their own to sleep in. The tent itself was made of leather. Battered, scuffed, it stank, of horses, food, smoke, and the sweat of soldiers. But it was an officer’s tent, and only Alexander and his generals had more luxurious accommodation. Besides, they were soldiers, and used to roughing it, all save Cecil de Morgan, and he had learned better than to complain.