Free The Mandate of Heaven by Tim Murgatroyd Page B

white birds.
    As Teng drew near, a unit of ten prisoners staggered up the wooden jetty, scrutinised by a huddle of officials. After a suitable pause, another ten followed. A crowd of on-lookers had also gathered, held back by spearmen from Prince Arslan’s garrison. Teng slipped between longshoremen and merchants until he reached the front, where immediately he spotted Hsiung.
    The servant boy lurked near the jetty among the Salt Minister’s motley bodyguard, crouching between two large trunks. He had hidden himself behind Sergeant P’ao’s broad back.
    Salt Minister Gui had been honoured with supervising the embarkation of the prisoners. His silken robes declared fitness for high responsibility, his demeanour a proper contempt for lesser creatures. Yet he seemed oddly distracted, overly absorbed by his abacus. The loading was going well: already three-quarters of the prisoners had shuffled aboard the merchant junks.
    Teng wondered how to attract his friend’s attention. Hsiung stared constantly at the ground to avoid the Salt Minister’s notice. He wore a peasant’s wide, conical straw hat to hide his face. Calling out to him would be dangerous. The wharf was silent except for the clank of chains and scrape of feet, punctuated by harsh commands.
    At that moment came the trotting of many iron-shod hooves and the rumble of wheels. The crowd parted in alarm as a black stallion pranced across the cobbles, its rump flicked playfully by a riding whip. An exceptionally sleek and handsome nobleman drove the beast forward. A name flitted round the wharf: Jebe Khoja! Jebe Khoja!
    The rider caught sight of Gui and changed direction. Despite the muddy ground, officials fell to their knees. Yet the Salt Minister was slower than his fellows. He stared past his master at a cavalcade of litters and carriages bumping into the square.
    In the lead came Jebe Khoja’s personal carriage, gilded and lacquered, laden with revellers. Its occupants made no effort to conceal themselves. Within lolled half a dozen beauties, peeping out excitedly, their faces white with make-up, fans fluttering like agitated butterfly wings. Among them, to Teng’s great surprise, sat his former neighbour, Golden Lotus. Though innocent for his age, Teng sensed the significance of his presence among the courtesans.
    Salt Minister Gui surely did, too, for he remained upright to greet his master. Now the silence on the wharf was complete. Everyone watched the two men. Jebe Khoja leaned forward in his saddle, pointed the whip and spoke sharply. Casting a baffled glance at the carriage, Gui finally lowered himself to his knees.
    Jebe Khoja trotted over to the remaining prisoners and examined them from his horse. Satisfied, he cantered back to the still kneeling Gui and spoke words of praise. Then he trotted back to his carriage and leaned down from the saddle, murmuring to the ladies inside. Whatever he said provoked a flurry of fans.
    Once more the cavalcade proceeded on its way – carriages of acrobats, singing girls, yes-sayers and hangers-on – as well as scores of noble Mongol lords and wealthy Chinese merchants, all bound for a picnic and entertainment to celebrate Jebe Khoja’s triumph over the Red Turban rebels. Even now the Pleasure Gardens attached to Golden Bright Monastery were in readiness, pavilions heated by braziers, fire-pits roasting every kind of meat, four-legged and fowl, fish and lake dolphin. Tracks had been marked out for the racing of horses and other feats of skill.
    Teng glanced at Gui. The Salt Minister’s abacus had reappeared in his hands. He seemed lost, as though calculating an impossible sum.
    No one spoke or moved until Jebe Khoja had left and the rumble of wheels died away. Abruptly the silence was broken by a mocking laugh, almost a croak. It came from one of the prisoners: ‘Look who’s riding the Salt Minister’s yellow eel boy!’
    A jeer followed from someone hidden in the crowd. Soon dozens were hooting, whistling and