“We should wear the better clothing,” said Marcia briskly, glancing at the two stacks.
Steve watched as Marcia walked over to the stack of neatly folded black and gray silk. She lifted a long black robe and held it out at arm’s length. The robe was shaped in a rough triangle, flared at the bottom with a neck that simply overlapped, like a bathrobe. From its size, Steve could see that this was for Hunter.
“This is fine,” said Marcia, folding it again.
“What about the neck?” Steve asked. “In all the old pictures I’ve seen-and the movies set in pre-industrial China-the gowns had these tight collars that stand straight up around the person’s neck.”
“They’re called Mandarin collars,” said Marcia, as she set Hunter’s gown aside and shook out a pail” of baggy trousers. “They came into style many centuries later.” She glanced over the trousers, turning them in her hands. “Your research has served us well.” She set those down and picked up an identical set of clothes in Steve’s size. “If these are in the same style, I don’t need to examine them.”
“They are identical except for size,” said Hunter. “Will wearing identical colors be acceptable? The social acceptability of this was not mentioned in the history I found. Also, embroidery was available but I felt we should appear to be moderately successful rather than very wealthy. So I chose clothing in solid colors.”
“I agree,” said Marcia. “Appearing modestly well-to-do is wise. It will fit the roles of merchant and aspiring scholar that we have chosen. Further, black is good, a sign of prosperity. Since the number of dyes was limited in the society we will visit, most people in a given economic level wore fairly similar clothes.”
“What about ours?” Jane pointed to the pile of gray clothes.
“They should be similar.” Marcia lifted a plain dark blue robe and then a matching pair of loose trousers. “Yes, these are fine.”
“Similar?” Steve shook his head. “The cut is exactly the same, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Hunter. “The styles were very loose. No form-fitting was involved.”
“These are fine,” said Marcia. “But I don’t see any coats. What time of year are we going to visit?”
“Late summer,” said Hunter. “It would be August according to our calendar, though of the course the Chinese are using their lunar calendar.”
“Khanbaliq is pretty far north. The nights could be chilly even in summer.”
“My data shows that fur coats would be commonly used in cold weather,” said Hunter. “This is a problem we faced on an earlier mission. We do not use real fur in our time and I dare not take artificial fur back with us. So if we need coats, we must buy them there.” Hunter pointed to a small pile of coins. “I have gathered authentic coins from that time for us to use, as we have on earlier missions.”
Marcia picked up a coin and looked at it, nodding. “Paper currency was in use during this time. I should think it would be easy to imitate.”
“I did not attempt to locate any surviving bills to use as models. The likelihood of their surviving to our time was too low.”
“I’m going to change,” Steve said impatiently, picking up his clothes and heading for the adjacent room.
“You do not have your shoes,” said Hunter. “Or the under robe.”
“Huh?” Steve stopped and turned around again, looking at Marcia.
She picked up a pair of shoes from the counter. As she turned them over in her hands, all Steve could see was flimsy black cloth over flat, heelless soles. She held them out to him.
“Those are shoes? What are they made of?” Steve asked doubtfully, as he took them from her.
“The soles are woven hemp,” said Hunter. “The rest of each shoe is just cloth.”
“That is an authentic design,” said Marcia.
“However, under pressure from the First Law, I arranged for the inside of the shoes to have some arched shaping and padding for your feet,” Hunter added. “This is an improvement that I must hope does not influence anyone in the past, but I believe the likelihood of anyone noticing the inside of our shoes is very small.”
“Fine with me. I just want to get on with it.” Steve also accepted a plain white under robe from Marcia, and went to change in the adjoining room.
The robes and trousers felt more uncomfortable than the clothing Steve had worn on earlier missions. The baggy trousers and flowing robe, even after he had tied the sash, felt weird. The shoes fit all right, at least. He rejoined the others with a self-conscious scowl.
Jane glanced at him and took her turn without saying anything. Marcia took no notice of him, instead looking closely at each coin. Hunter gave Steve a cloth bag containing the change of clothes for everyone.
Steve waited in silence. He hoped that this mission would end more easily than the others. Between Marcia’s arrogance and these bulky, uncomfortable clothes, he did not expect to enjoy this one very much.
When they had all changed clothes, Hunter opened the big sphere and helped them inside. He took a moment to set the console and then joined them. When he closed the sphere, they all slid together in the darkness, jumbled in the curved bottom.
A moment later, Steve tumbled to the ground among some green plants. The air felt cool but not uncomfortable. To his right, the sun was low over the horizon. Hunter, Jane, and Marcia had landed right next to him.
They were sitting up on fairly level ground in some sort of cultivated field. Steve did not recognize the tall green stalks around them, which blocked their visibility beyond a few meters. He pushed himself up to a sitting position.
“Is anyone hurt?” Hunter asked.
“I’m fine,” said Marcia.
“Me, too,” said Jane. “I’m okay.” said Steve, getting to his feet and pulling his robe straight. Now he could see over the stalks around him. “But we don’t have much daylight left. Where are we going from here, Hunter?”
Hunter stood up and pointed to the west. The glare of the sun nearly hid the sight of some high walls and towers in that direction. “That is Khanbaliq.”
“Let’s get going,” said Steve, hoisting the cloth bag. He pushed his way through some of the stalks. “ Anybody know what this stuff is?”
“Chinese sorghum,” said Marcia, glancing at it as she stood and adjusted her own robe. “It’s a common crop here, and closely related to the western variety.”
Now that Steve was standing, he could see people walking toward the city on a nearby road. “We’re lucky we landed in this field, Hunter. Otherwise, we would have landed in plain sight of those people.” A dry breeze blew dust along the ground.
“That’s true,” said Jane, brushing dust off her robe. “If they see us walking out of the sorghum field, I hope they don’t ask us what we were doing here.”
“Lodging for the night is a bigger worry,” said Hunter, pushing his way forward through the plants. “Steve is right. We must walk.”
“Is it always so dusty?” Jane asked.
“Yes,” said Marcia. “The soil is called loess, comprised of deep layers of dust brought here by prevailing easterly winds from the west.”
Rolling his eyes impatiently, Steve gestured for Jane and Marcia to follow Hunter. As usual, Steve went last. Gradually, they picked their way through the stalks and reached the dirt road.
Poorly dressed, barefoot peasants were leaving the city. Some rode empty carts pulled by ponies or donkeys. Others led their work animals on ropes at a walk because their carts still contained some unsold produce.
Other people, better dressed, walked or rode on the way into the city. Many of them stared at Hunter and Jane in astonishment. The remainder plodded past without noticing them, perhaps too weary to look up.
Steve strode up next to Jane as the team began walking on the road toward Khanbaliq. “I can see that the people leaving town are farmers. But who are all these people going into the city with us?”
“I don’t know.” Jane turned to Marcia. “Is this a normal day, do you think? Or is something special happening?”