“Did you build this place, Balthasar?” I asked.
“Oh, no,” he said, without turning around. “This place was always here, I simply had to remove the stone that occupied it.”
“Oh,” I said, having gained no knowledge whatsoever.
We passed no doors, but myriad open archways and round portals which opened into chambers of various shapes and sizes. As we passed one egg-shaped doorway obscured by a curtain of beads Balthasar mumbled, “The girls stay in there.”
“Girls?” I said.
“Girls?” Joshua said.
“Yes, girls, you ninnies,” Balthasar said. “Humans much like yourselves, except smarter and better smelling.”
Well, I knew that. I mean, we’d seen the two of them, hadn’t we? I knew what girls were.
He pressed on until we came to the only other door I had seen since we entered, this one another huge, ironclad monster held closed with three iron bolts as big around as my arm and a heavy brass lock engraved with strange characters. The magus stopped and tilted an ear to the door. His heavy gold earring clinked against one of the bolts. He turned to us and whispered, and for the first time I could clearly see that the magus was very old, despite the strength of his laugh and the spring in his step. “You may go anywhere you wish while you stay here, but you must never open this door. Xiong zai.”
“Xiong zai,” I repeated to Joshua in case he’d missed it.
“Xiong zai.” He nodded with total lack of understanding.
Mankind, I suppose, is designed to run on—to be motivated by—temptation. If progress is a virtue then this is our greatest gift. (For what is curiosity if not intellectual temptation? And what progress is there without curiosity?) On the other hand, can you call such a profound weakness a gift, or is it a design flaw? Is temptation itself at fault for man’s woes, or is it simply the lack of judgment in response to temptation? In other words, who is to blame? Mankind, or a bad designer? Because I can’t help but think that if God had never told Adam and Eve to avoid the fruit of the tree of knowledge, that the human race would still be running around naked, dancing in wonderment and blissfully naming stuff between snacks, naps, and shags. By the same token, if Balthasar had passed that great ironclad door that first day without a word of warning, I might have never given it a second glance, and once again, much trouble could have been avoided. Am I to blame for what happened, or is it the author of temptation, God Hisownself?
Balthasar led us into a grand chamber with silks festooned from the ceiling and the floor covered with fine carpets and pillows. Wine, fruit, cheese, and bread were laid out on several low tables.
“Rest and refresh,” said Balthasar. “I’ll be back after I finish my business with Ahmad.” Then he hurried off, leaving us alone.
“So,” I said, “find out what you need to from this guy, then we can get on the road and on to the next wise man.”
“I’m not sure it’s going to be that quick. In fact, we may be here quite some time. Maybe years.”
“Years? Joshua, we’re in the middle of nowhere, we can’t spend years here.”
“Biff, we grew up in the middle of nowhere. What’s the difference?”
“Girls,” I said.
“What about them?” Joshua asked.
“Don’t start.”
We heard laughter rolling down the corridor into the room and shortly it was followed by Balthasar and Ahmad, who threw themselves down among the pillows and began eating the cheeses and fruits that had been set out.
“So,” Balthasar said, “Ahmad tells me that you tried to save a bandit, and in the process blinded one of his men, without so much as touching him. Very impressive.”
Joshua hung his head. “It was a massacre.”
“Grieve,” Balthasar said, “but consider also the words of the master Lao-tzu: ‘Weapons are instruments of misfortune. Those who are violent do not die naturally.’”
“Ahmad,” Joshua said, “what will happen to the guard, the one I…”
“He is no good to me anymore,” said Ahmad. “A shame too, he was the best bowman of the lot. I’ll leave him in Kabul. He’s asked me to give his pay to his wife in Antioch and his other wife in Dunhuang. I suppose he will become a beggar.”
“Who is Lao-tzu?” I asked.
“You will have plenty of time to learn of master Lao-tzu,” said Balthasar. “Tomorrow I will assign you a tutor to teach you qi, the path of the Dragon’s Breath, but for now, eat and rest.”
“Can you believe a Chinaman can be so black?” laughed Ahmad. “Have you ever seen such a thing?”
“I wore the leopard skin of the shaman when your father was just a twinkle in the great river of stars, Ahmad. I mastered animal magic before you were old enough to walk, and I had learned all the secrets of the sacred Egyptian magic texts before you could sprout a beard. If immortality is to be found among the wisdom of the Chinese masters, then I shall be Chinese as long as it suits me, no matter the color of my skin or the place of my birth.”
I tried to determine Balthasar’s age. From what he was claiming he would have to be very old indeed, as Ahmad was not young himself, yet his movements were spry and as far as I could see he had all of his teeth and they were perfect. There was none of the feeble dotage that I’d seen in our elders at home.
“How do you stay so strong, Balthasar?” I asked.
“Magic.” He grinned.
“There is no magic but that of the Lord,” Joshua said.
Balthasar scratched his chin and replied quietly, “Then presumably none without his consent, eh, Joshua?”
Joshua slouched and stared at the floor.
Ahmad burst out laughing. “His magic isn’t so mysterious, boys. Balthasar has eight young concubines to draw the poisons from his old body, that’s how he stays young.”
“Holy moly! Eight?” I was astounded. Aroused. Envious.
“Does that room with the ironclad door have something to do with your magic?” Joshua asked gravely.
Balthasar stopped grinning. Ahmad looked from Joshua to the magus and back, bewildered.
“Let me show you to your quarters,” said Balthasar. “You should wash and rest. Lessons tomorrow. Say good-bye to Ahmad, you’ll not see him again soon.”
Our quarters were spacious, bigger than the houses we’d grown up in, with carpets on the floor, chairs made of dark exotic hardwoods carved into the shapes of dragons and lions, and a table that held a pitcher and basin for washing. Each of our rooms held a desk and cabinet full of instruments for painting and writing, and something neither of us had ever seen, a bed. A half-wall divided the space between Joshua’s room and mine, so we were able to lie in the beds and talk before falling asleep, just as we had in the desert. I could tell that Joshua was deeply troubled about something that first night.
“You seem, I don’t know, deeply troubled, Josh.”
“It’s the bandits. Could I have raised them?”
“All of them? I don’t know, could you?”
“I thought about it. I thought that I could make them all walk and breathe again. I thought I could make them live. But I didn’t even try.”
“Why?”
“Because I was afraid they would have killed us and robbed us if I had. It’s what Balthasar said, ‘Those who are violent do not die naturally.’”
“The Torah says, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. They were bandits.”