Free Night Blooming by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro Page B

could be his deputy. “Your reputation is known far beyond the territories of Great Karl.”
    “I am he,” he said with a modest ducking of his head. “You came in good time. I hadn’t thought you would arrive for another two weeks at least.”
    “The missi dominici and the escort who brought me urged us to travel with dispatch,” said Rakoczy, then took a chance and added, “I see you have a map from China.”
    “We think so,” said Alcuin. “Perhaps you can assist us on this point.”
    “Certainly,” said Rakoczy, and stepped up to the table. “It is an old map, as I’m sure you know.”
    “Yes,” said Alcuin. “I thought so, too.”
    Rakoczy had the uneasy feeling that this was some kind of test, and that the whole encounter had been staged for his benefit. He reverenced the monks around the table, then bent over the silk. He read the names of rivers and cities, but decided not to say too much of this, for he did not know what the monks had already been told about the map, or what they had decided on their own about it. “This is of the northern part of China, from the ocean to the far end of the Chinese lands, near the Celestial Mountains, from the lands of the Mongols on the north to the edge of the Land of Snows on the south, a considerable area to cover,” he told them. “Those mountains are extremely high, and they cannot be easily crossed, so the route is an important one, and also vulnerable. The trade routes go along the northern side of their foothills, where the lands are long, empty plains and arid wastes.” The last time he had traveled the Old Silk Road had been in the Year of Yellow Snow, when the cold never released its grip on the land at any part of the year, and the skies had dulled and darkened. “There is a city here.” He touched the silk lightly. “Kara-khorum. Many caravans go through it, from Byzantium and the peoples north of the Caspian Sea, the inland sea beyond the Black Sea.”
    “There is no such sea,” one of the monks said scornfully.
    “But there is,” Rakoczy countered mildly. “I have seen it.”
    “A man may claim anything when no one can challenge him,” the monk persisted, his demeanor resistive. “You could tell us anything and expect us to believe you.”
    “Fratre Roewin,” Alcuin admonished him gently. “Let the Magnatus tell us what he knows.”
    “But he takes us for fools, Sublime Abbott,” Fratre Roewin protested. “He is repeating fables for credulous imbeciles.”
    “Which we may be, and ignorant as well,” said Alcuin. “Therefore it behooves us to listen. We will judge what he says later, when we have had time to discuss it.”
    Rakoczy was now certain that this was a test and that it had been prepared for him. He studied the map, choosing what to tell them about it, cognizant of the fact that the monks had already received some information about this treasure that they were measuring against what he told them. “This map is old, good Fratres, more than a hundred years, by the look of it, and you ask me to tell you what I know about it, though it is ancient How long have you had it?”
    “Is that important?” asked the young monk.
    “Not particularly, but I know that from time to time spies smuggle maps out to the Mongols, who want to raid in China.” Rakoczy lifted his fine brows inquiringly. “Consider the use such a map could have, how misleading it could be. A foe, with such incorrect information, might make crucial errors, which the Emperor of China would turn to his advantage. And regional warlords could have a misleading map prepared that would give his men the advantage against their rivals. This does not appear to be one such, but if it is a successful ruse, it should not appear deceptive in any way. Such maps are more readily to be had, and they are often sold to the credulous, and such maps are occasionally and deliberately smuggled out of China, intentionally deceitful, to confound the Mongols, and other enemies