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"I am a Korean."
"I could not follow a Korean, even if you were the Master of Sinanju himself,
striding out of the mists of history to stand by the side of the Khan to
Come."
"You know of the Master of Sinanju, Mongol?" the Korean asked, interest
silvering in his voice.
General laughter greeted the old Korean's question. Even the old woman
laughed, exposing strong shovel-shaped teeth in which strands of mutton were
caught.
"All Mongols know what the Master of Sinanju was to the khans of the old days.
Woe to Mongolia that those days perished," Boldbator muttered darkly.
Darum lifted up a cup of fermented mare's milk and offered a toast.
"May they return again one day," he said solemnly.
"They may be closer than you think," said the old Korean, who declined to join
in the toast, offering his cup instead to his Chinese servant. The Chinese
spat out his milk and began coughing. Everyone roared anew-all but the
coughing Chinese and the pensive old Korean.
"Why say you that, old one?" Boldbator wondered, after the laughter had died.
"What would you say if I said the Master of Sinanju was abroad in Mongolia on
this very eve?"
"I would say, where is your proof?"
"And I would say that you saw the very proof in the Chinese corpses freezing
on the steppe."
Boldbator's eyes shifted to the old Korean.
"I would agree with you, then," he muttered.
"Would you follow the Master of Sinanju if he asked it of you, horse Mongol?"
Boldbator raised his cup. The others followed his gesture.
"I would follow the Master of Sinanju to the ends of the earth as his slave,"
Boldbator announced proudly.
"Think carefully on your words, horse Mongol. For what if I said I could make
the Master of Sinanju appear before your eyes, tonight, on this very eve, in
this very ger?"
"I would speak them to his face," asserted Boldbator. "But first I would ask
you how you could work such magic."
"Words," intoned the old Korean. "Six in number."
"They would have to be powerful words," Boldbator said carefully, his milk
forgotten.
"They are."
"Then speak them."
The old Korean stood up suddenly, flinging off his sheepskin cloak, to stand
revealed in silken robes the color of a royal phoenix.
"I am the Master of Sinanju!" cried the old Korean.
Whereupon Boldbator the Mongol touched his head to the Oriental rug in the
prescribed full bow.
"My horse is yours," he said simply. And he wept with joy.
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Chapter 19
The Iron Rooster pulled into Hohhot after darkness had fallen.
Fang Yu had to tell Remo they had arrived. He had no way of knowing otherwise.
He had become a little irritable having to depend on her to find his way
around. In a nearly thirteen-hour ride he had seen no English signs at any of
the train stops.
Fang Yu led the way to a forward car.
Suddenly she turned and pushed Remo back.
"Go back," she hissed. "Go back."
Remo looked past her and saw the soldier who had earlier confronted them over
Remo's documents.
"He know this not your stop," Fang Yu said bitterly.
"Damn," Remo muttered. He led the way back, punching the square button that
made the automatic doors between the cars roll aside. Most had to be
encouraged with a hard sideways shove.
They passed through the cars. Remo could tell the nosy soldier was still
following them. His heavy boots made a distinctive clopping.
"What we do?" Fang Yu whispered.
"Step ahead of me," Remo urged.
Fang Yu hurried by. She hit the square button and the door rolled aside.
Remo followed her. The door slid shut behind him.
He stopped. Fang Yu hesitated. He urged her to keep going with an angry shake
of his head.
Fang Yu picked up her pace.
Behind Remo, the steel door rolled aside. The soldier walked right into Remo's
open-handed blow. His skull made a melon-imploding sound in the sudden sac his
head became. Remo was disappointed. It didn't go pong. It was more of a hong
sound.
Quickly Remo stuffed the body under the platforms between the cars. Then he
went after Fang Yu.
"Come on," he said, pulling her by the hand.
"What happen?" she demanded excitedly. " Where soldier?"
Fang Yu's question was answered as they passed between cars and she spotted a
patch of green under her feet.
She gasped like a stepped-on cat.
"What you do? Why you do that?" she said angrily.
"What else was I supposed to do?" Remo hurled back.
"He was Chinese soldier. You think you can just kill Chinese soldier like this
is Western movie? He will be found. Questions raised."
"So?"
"They behead criminals in China. You not know that?"
"I don't care," Remo said, squeezing her hand lightly.
Fang Yu went silent as they passed through several softseat cars, where their
English might be understood. They found an exit car and stepped into the
darkness of the Hohhot station.
Fang Yu waited until they had departed the station on foot before she resumed
her argument.
"You crazy?" she spat. "There will be a search when that man is found."
"Let them search," Remo growled. "We had to get off the train."
"We could have got off at Baotou. Stayed few days. Come back. Get off at
Hohhot then. Why you in such a big rush?"
"My mission is important."
"Your mission matter a lot if we end up on courtyard with our heads in
baskets!" she hissed.
Remo stopped. He looked down at her, his eyes angry.
"Look, get off my back! I can handle it. What's the big deal?"
"You want to know big deal?" she said, shaking an ivory fist in his face. "Big
deal is that government very anxious since Tiananmen. Soldiers find body, they
make example of innocent peasants and workers. People punished for your crime.
Suffer very much. Never see family again."
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Remo opened his mouth to vent a retort. But Fang Yu's point started sinking
in. "Sorry," he said.
"You not the one who will be sorry," she said excitedly. "If you want Fang
Yu's help, you do as Fang Yu say. Not make trouble for poor oppressed Chinese
people. We have enough trouble without big-nosed foreign devil causing more."
"You're right," Remo said earnestly. "I apologize."
Fang Yu frowned. "You promise you behave?"
"Scout's honor," Remo said. Her expression didn't change, so he said it again
in plain English. "I promise. Are we friends again?"
"When we stop?" Fang Yu asked unhappily.
"I think it was when you called me a big-nosed foreign devil," Remo said
seriously. Then he added, "Never."
And he looked both ways in the Hohhot alley before he took her up in his arms
and kissed her under the Mongolian moon.
"Okay, what's next?" Remo asked as they walked along.
"Can you ride horse?"
"I went on a pony ride once," he admitted. "But that was back in my orphanage
days."
"You orphan?"
"Yes."
"Remo! I orphan too! Cultural Revolution orphan. My parents sent into
countryside because they came from bad family."
"Bad?"
"Intellectual. In those days intellectuals were considered bad people by Mao.
Peasants and workers were always good-even when they steal and lie. Mao say
they good. Everyone go along, because we Chinese. What choice have we? Crazy
times. These times are not so crazy, just terrible."
Hohhot proved to be a fairly modern city, Remo found. The main difference
between it and what Remo had seen in China so far was the preponderance of
Mongolian-script signs instead of Chinese calligraphy. Its value was lost on
Remo, who could read neither.
Dress was different in Hohhot, Remo saw as they wended their way through
twisting side streets. Native Mongolians went about in colorful long cloth
coats girdled at the waist by a sash. They looked as Asian as the passing
Chinese, but their features were broader, complexions rawer, their noses more
buttonlike.
The Chinese on the street were dressed in identical unisex blue work uniforms.
Fang Yu explained that they helped the backward nomadic Mongols manage their
capital city.
At one point they passed a mosque with a clock painted on its face. According [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]