“Look, that group of travelers stayed together all day. At least, every time I saw them, they were still together. If they’ve taken rooms in the same inn, then we have two others where we can stay.”
“But they might have split up. Besides, how are we going to know where they are?”
“Come on.”
Steve reined his horse back around and rode to the nearest inn, where he stopped with Marcia outside the stable. Most of the horses were out of sight, but the hostler was grooming one. Steve had been hoping to recognize the horses belonging to the other group, but he had not taken any special notice of them yesterday.
“I’m going to look inside the inn,” said Steve. “Stay on your horse, all right?”
“All right.”
Steve dismounted and quietly walked up onto the front porch of the small wooden building. He opened the door and leaned inside, looking around. It was much like the inn in which they had stayed the night before, with a large room full of tables in front of a big fireplace. The furniture was more finely finished, carved and deeply polished, suggesting greater prosperity. Long, vertical landscape paintings hung on the walls.
“Welcome, friend.” A big, burly innkeeper hurried forward, smiling.
Past him, Steve recognized a couple of merchants from the group he wanted to avoid.
“Sorry,” Steve muttered quickly. He pulled out of the doorway and closed the door quickly behind him. From what he could tell, no one except the innkeeper had seen him.
“What happened?” Marcia asked.
“They’re in there,” said Steve, as he swung into the saddle. “That’s good, because now we know where they are. I don’t think anyone saw me.”
“Then we can stay at another inn.”
“I’ll do the same thing again, in case that group had to split up to get rooms.”
They rode to another inn. Again, Marcia waited outside. Steve looked inside this one and did not recognize any of the visitors who had sat down to dinner. He stepped inside, still looking around cautiously.
This time a slender, white-haired man approached him and bowed. “Good evening, stranger. Are you in need of lodging?”
“I may be,” said Steve. “I, uh, had an argument yesterday with other travelers along this road. I would like to avoid them if I can.”
“I see. Well, I have some soldiers here on their way south to Khanbaliq.”
“The ones I’m talking about are going north. some merchants and students, as well as soldiers.”
“I have no group like that.”
Steve grinned with relief. “Good. Uh, I have a companion. We’ll take two rooms. And two dinners.”
“Very well. I ask six coppers for each room.”
“Fine. I’ll take our horses to the stable.”
“Of course.”
As Steve hurried out, he realized that he had forgotten to bargain. It was too late now; he had revealed to the innkeeper that he had reason to avoid the other inns, which had ruined his bargaining position. He decided not to worry about it. In this case, a safe place to wait for Hunter was more important than exactly how much they spent.
The hostler was a tall, gaunt man with graying hair who walked stiffly with age. With a weary, uninterested nod, he took the reins from Steve and Marcia. Steve untied the cloth bag with their changes of clothes from the back of the saddle. As they started toward the inn, hoofbeats came through the gate and they turned to look.
A group of Mongol riders rode through the gate. Grinning, they arrogantly ignored the Chinese sentries who glared sullenly at them, and split up. Small knots of riders trotted toward different taverns and inns. Four young riders, dressed in furs with breastplates, backplates, and pointed steel caps, came toward Steve and Marcia.
“I guess the battalion was dismissed,” said Steve.
“Let’s get inside,” said Marcia. “I’m scared.”
“All right.”
They turned away.
“Ho! You there!” One of the soldiers called out in accented Chinese.
“Ignore him,” Marcia whispered. “Let’s just get inside.”
“I better not,” said Steve. “We don’t want to make them mad.” He turned and looked up at the riders. “Good evening,” he said in Mongol.
The lead rider raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You speak our language?”
“Yes, friend. And I see you have fine horses. We saw you ride a few minutes ago, beyond the wall.’ Steve figured a compliment would always be wise.
“The best in Mongolia.” The rider grinned, seeming to mock his own boasting. “You know horses?”
“A little,” Steve said modestly. He was certain that boasting himself would be a mistake. “I had a very fine one of a different desert breed once. She was the kind ridden by the Arabs.”
“Ah! My uncle rode against the Arabs in the west. He fought in Persia.”
“Then he must have seen the same breed.”
“He must have.” The Mongol shrugged. “Is this inn crowded? We seek Chinese wine. I prefer it to our koumiss.”
“Uh, no, it’s not crowded.”
“Good.” He swung out of the saddle, and his companions did likewise. Without even looking at the hostler, he gestured for the old man to take their horses. He turned to Steve. “You will come and drink with us as my guest.”
“Well, I have ordered dinner for my friend and me,” said Steve uncertainly.
“Do what he says,” Marcia muttered quickly in English. “Keep him happy. But they know a decent woman won’t drink with them, so I’m going up to my room. Bring me something to eat when you can, okay?” She took the cloth bag from him.
“All right,” said Steve. He didn’t know what else to do. “But what’s koumiss?”
“Fermented mare’s milk.” Marcia hurried into the inn ahead of them.
Steve grimaced at the idea of that, then turned to the Mongol leader, speaking in Mongol again. “Thank you. I will be honored to join you.”
The Mongol clapped him on the shoulder. “Wine and food for all of us,” he called to the innkeeper in his accented Chinese. “Your best.”
The innkeeper bowed deeply and rushed away.
The Mongol leader led the group to the table closest to the fireplace and gestured for them all to sit down.
15
Steve sat down with the Mongols, smiling at each one with a nod of greeting. When he got the chance, he would ask the innkeeper to take Marcia’s dinner up to her. Right now, he felt it was wise not to remind the Mongols that she was up there.
“What is your name?” The Mongol pointed to himself. “I am Timur.”
“Steve.”
“Ss-teve. The sound is unusual to me. But of course, my Chinese is not so good.”
The other Mongols introduced themselves in turn, but Steve could not understand the unfamiliar names he heard. He decided not to ask that they repeat them. Instead, he simply nodded again courteously.
“So, you must be a rider,” said Timur.
“Not like you are. I saw you from the gate, riding on maneuvers. I could never ride that well.”
“I am curious about you, Steve. I never met a Chinese man who had bothered to learn our language before. Tell us more about this other breed of horse.”
“Uh, well, the Arabians were bred to the southern deserts, at low altitude, near the sea.” Steve was no expert on the history of Arabians, so he dropped that approach. “My best horse had a sharp, delicate nose and a small body. She was very hardy. I remember, she never even seemed to notice if the wind was blowing up a sandstorm or if it was raining. All weather was the same to her.”