Emperor

19

Steve woke up the next morning in his room in the inn back in Khanbaliq. He had not managed a full night’s sleep, but he had rested enough to get on with the search for MC 5. As before, Hunter waited outside as he and Marcia dressed and washed. Then for breakfast they returned to the same stall they had visited on their first morning in the city.

Steve and Marcia again bought bowls of steaming rice gruel and plates of meat and vegetables to drop into the rice. They sat down at one of the long wooden tables, away from other patrons. Steve ate hungrily.

Next to him, Hunter stood by the end of their bench and looked up and down the street over the heads of the people eating at the nearby tables. Steve glanced up from his bowl and, as before, saw people from many lands crowding the street. They reminded him that Marco Polo really was around here somewhere.

“See anything interesting?” Steve asked. He was just making conversation; he knew very well that Hunter would announce any sighting of significance.

“I recognize many of the people I saw at this hour on our first morning. I conclude they are living a regular routine, but this is irrelevant to our immediate goals.”

“Well, what about those goals?” Marcia asked, between mouthfuls. “I’d feel much more comfortable if we could rescue Jane.”

“I feel responsible for her,” said Hunter. “However, I know that Ishihara will not let her come to harm. In contrast, we are racing Wayne to locate and apprehend MC 5. That search remains more urgent.”

“We don’t have to repeat this whole line of argument again, do we?” Steve shook his head. “Waynewants us to be distracted by Jane’s kidnapping. That alone should tell us that searching for her is not in our best interest.”

“I accept your logic,” said Hunter. “If I develop the slightest reason to believe that she might be in danger, however, the First Law will alter my priorities.”

“Okay, understood,” said Steve. “And I just realized something else that’s important here-Jane’s presence will actually help us, since Ishihara is now forced by the First Law to protect two humans.”

“That’s true,” said Marcia. “She’ll either be with them both, or Wayne will have to leave her imprisoned somewhere. I wonder what Ishihara would do then.”

“My own interpretation of the First Law would require me to remain with her,” said Hunter. “I would judge Wayne more capable of taking care of himself than a human who was held against her will.”

“Wouldn’t you want to keep them together?” Steve asked. “So you could protect both humans? Come to think of it, wouldn’t you insist?”

“That’s right,” said Marcia. “You behave that way to some degree with us.”

“Ideally, we would remain together,” said Hunter. “However, I cannot guarantee exactly what interpretation of the First Law Ishihara will make.”

“I think that if we search for MC 5, we may very well come across all three of them,” said Steve. “And if we just get MC 5 first, we can save Jane after that.”

“We have already discussed the heart of this matter,” said Hunter. “I agree that our search for MC 5 should lead us to Jane.”

“Then what’s our plan of action?” Steve asked.

“Our original plan, of finding Marco Polo, is still good,” said Hunter. “We allowed ourselves to be fooled, and I share responsibility for how easily we were drawn out of Khanbaliq. Even so, our goal remains sound.”

“Well, as far as I know, he’s here at home somewhere,” said Marcia.

“Wherever that is,” said Steve. “But instead of just asking around, and letting Wayne and Ishihara sucker us again, we should think of a more reliable way of finding him.”

“We could go to the imperial palace of Kublai Khan,” said Marcia. “Someone there-probably lots of people-must know where he lives.”

“Lots of people?” Steve asked.

“Servants, mostly. Couriers who take messages back and forth-that kind of thing.”

Steve nodded. “Makes sense.”

“I prefer not to risk that,” said Hunter. “Any involvement on our part with the palace is more likely to alter the future significantly than our dealings with common citizens. I want to avoid the palace if we can accomplish our goals without going there.”

“Okay, what do you suggest?” Steve leaned back from his empty bowl.

“Perhaps some of the other foreign dignitaries or traders will know the residence of Marco Polo,” said Hunter. “We certainly have many of them to ask. Marcia, what do you think? Will they cooperate?”

“It’s possible.” Marcia shrugged. She, too, had finished her breakfast. “It’s as good as asking people on the street at random. I would suggest that you do the asking, however, in your role as a fellow foreign trader.”

“I understand,” said Hunter. “All right. I will make this attempt.”

“Let’s stay right here,” Steve said to Marcia.“After all, we belong to the conquered people. Maybe he’ll do better without us.”

“Good point,” said Marcia, with a trace of surprise in her voice.

Steve grinned. “Well, I’m learning.”

Steve and Marcia watched Hunter walk out to the street. As usual, he towered over everyone around him. Hunter let the Chinese pass him. Steve saw him stop two men with dark curly beards and speak to them briefly.

“Where are they from?” Steve asked.

“Persia, I would say by their clothes.”

Steve nodded, still watching Hunter.

The two men shook their heads and continued on their way down the street.

Hunter glanced around and approached a man in a long, colorfully embroidered robe. This man listened but did not stop walking. He merely shook his head and hurried past.

“How about that guy?” Steve asked.

“Maybe a Turk. I’m not sure.”

“Hey, what about these two?” Steve nodded toward two other men whom Hunter had stopped. Both men were tall, with black hair and long, angular faces with carefully trimmed black beards. They wore white turbans and long, flowing robes. As one stood by impatiently, the other nodded and pointed with one arm.

“Arabs,” Marcia said firmly.

“I guess they know something,” said Steve.

After a moment, Hunter nodded and the two Arabs walked on their way.

“Come on.” Steve got up and led Marcia over to Hunter. “Well? Did they know where to find him?”

“I have directions to the residence of Marco Polo. The man who pointed is a trader. In the course of his business, he has met Marco Polo and was once a guest briefly at his home. He does not know if Marco Polo is present today.”

“We obviously should have done this the first time,” said Steve.

“I had no idea it would be this easy,” said Marcia. “This is embarrassing.”

“If we had begun this way, Wayne might have also altered his plan to send us up to the Great Wall,” said Hunter. “We did not make a simple mistake before; we were deliberately misled. However, the house of Marco Polo is nearby.”

“Lead on,” said Steve.

Hunter took them at a brisk walk down the crowded street toward the center of the city. The imperial palace rose above the other buildings in this area. Hunter saw that under the hot and unrelenting morning sun, Steve and Marcia were sweating heavily. He slowed down.

After several blocks, Hunter turned right along a smaller street. Here, tall trees lined the street, shading it from the sun. High walls of painted brick hid the houses from view except for their roofs, visible through treetops within each compound. The roofs were made of glazed tile that shone in the sunlight.

“This is it,” Hunter said. He stopped at double doors set into a round archway in the wall. This wall was white; the doors were red. A small brass bell hung on the hook to one side of the doors.

“The home of Marco Polo,” Marcia said quietly, looking up at the roof beyond the treetops. “Wow.”

Steve smiled. Ever since Hunter had been kidnapped, Marcia’s manner had been looser-more spontaneous and less stuffy. He realized that he had actually come to like her.

Hunter rang the little bell.

“We have to remember which languages to use,” Marcia reminded them.

“Correct,” said Hunter. “You two should not reveal that you can understand Italian, if he uses it. I will use it with him to make what I expect will be a positive impression. We can all speak Mongol with him.”

“Won’t he wonder how you learned it?” Steve asked. “I mean, supposedly, Marcia and I live in this empire, but you’re from somewhere else.”

“I will explain that I learned Mongol on my journey here.”

The sound of a small door opening and closing reached them from beyond the wall. Steve heard footsteps on stone coming toward them.

“The servants could be Chinese, right?” Steve asked. “But then, how could he communicate with them?”

“Maybe they aren’t,” said Marcia.

“I will try Mongol with the first servant,” said Hunter. “They must be bilingual if not multilingual. The question will be which languages they speak.”

The red door opened. A tall, slender man with graying hair bowed perfunctorily and studied Hunter carefully, appraising his robes; he gave Steve and Marcia only a quick glance. However, he said nothing, waiting for Hunter to speak first.

“He’s Chinese, isn’t he?” Steve muttered.

Marcia nodded.

“I am Hunter, a trader from Europe,” Hunter said in Mongol. “I arrived recently and would like to speak with the Venetian Marco Polo. Is he here?”

The servant looked at Steve and spoke in Chinese. “You can translate for your friend? What does he want?”

“I speak Chinese,” said Hunter, in that language. He repeated his request to see Marco Polo.

“Please wait. I will return shortly.” With a deeper bow this time, the servant closed the door again and hurried back to the house at a brisk walk.

“Well, he must be here,” said Steve. “Otherwise, the servant could have told us he wasn’t.”

“Now the big question is whether he’ll see us,” said Marcia.

A moment later, the door of the house opened and closed again. The servant’s footsteps tapped quickly on the stones as he hurried back. This time he drew both doors open, bowing deeply as he moved out of their way.

“Welcome, welcome. Please come in.”

Hunter entered first. Steve waited for Marcia to go next, but she shook her head tightly. He followed Hunter and Marcia came in behind him. The servant closed the doors behind her.

The grounds were covered by a small, grassy lawn shaded by the trees they had seen over the wall. A leafy hedge lined the inside of the wall. A walk of precisely cut stones led to the front door.

The house itself had been constructed of wood, now painted white. The front door stood in the center, with precisely matched windows on each side; the entire building, down to every detail, was bilaterally symmetrical. Long, white curtains fluttered in the open windows.

The servant hurried from behind Marcia to beat Hunter to the front door. He flung it open and stepped aside, bowing again as his guests entered. Another servant, a young woman with long braids, held the door inside, also bowing.

The servants led them through a foyer into a large sitting room. Large tables of Chinese rosewood, small ones of black lacquer, and rosewood chairs lined the room. The chairs were padded with embroidered silk cushions; porcelain vases on the tables held green plants or flowers. Chinese landscape scrolls hung on the walls.

A European man of average height entered. He had curly brown hair and a neatly trimmed matching beard, and he wore a plain blue Chinese robe. Steve judged him to be in his late thirties.

“Welcome,” he said in formally in Italian. “I am Marco Polo. Do you understand Italian?”

“Yes,” Hunter responded in that language. “I am Hunter, a trader. My companions are close friends.”

“Welcome,” Polo said to Steve and Marcia in Chinese, with a slight bow.

“Thank you,” said Steve, bowing. In the rear of the house, he could hear other footsteps and muffled conversation. Obviously, Polo employed many servants.

Next to him, Marcia also bowed but said nothing.

Switching back to Italian, Polo added, “I am not fluent in Chinese, but I have picked up a few words.”

“You have done very well here,” said Hunter.

“By your accent, you are not Italian,” Polo said to Hunter. “Where are you from?”

“Switzerland.”

“Switzerland! I have heard it is beautiful there. My travels never took me that direction.”

Steve glanced quickly at Marcia. He did not recall Hunter discussing this detail of his role. She did not react, so Steve decided that Hunter knew what he was doing.

“However, I have traveled a great deal,” said Hunter. “I have not been home for many years.”

“Have you been to Venice? Can you bring me news of my home city?”

“I can tell you a little.”

For the first time, Polo smiled broadly. “Excellent! Please sit down.”

Steve waited for Hunter to move first. Hunter accepted a large rosewood chair. A small black lacquered table inlaid with abalone shell separated it from a matching chair that Polo took. Steve and Marcia then sat down on a small couchlike seat with a straight, uncomfortable back.

Polo turned to the servants, who were standing attentively to one side.“Cha, dian xin.”

The servants bowed and hurried away.

“He knows more Chinese words than you thought,” Steve whispered. Polo had ordered tea and the brunch more commonly known in Cantonese as dim sum at home in their own time.

“So tell me about Venice,” Polo said in Italian. “Is it still the premiere city in Italy?”

“It is proud and splendid,” said Hunter, “the finest city in all of Europe.”

“And Venetian galleys still sweep the Mediterranean of pirates?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad. I left when I was still young. My father and uncle are jewelers. They live in this neighborhood, too.”

“How did your family first come here?”

“My father and my uncle had a house in Soldaia, on the Black Sea.”

“That city has an entire colony of Italian merchants, doesn’t it?”

“Yes! You’ve been there, I take it?”

“No,” Hunter said. “I have heard of it.”

“Oh. Well, it is a fine city, though not the equal of Venice-and certainly not the city that Khanbaliq is.”

Steve relaxed, leaning back in his seat as Hunter and Polo discussed more events in Venice. He sneaked glances at Marcia, who did not react outwardly in any way. Steve realized that Hunter was using the information he had accessed from the Mojave Center library to convince Polo that he knew Venice.