“Nowhere plainer, or more obvious,” the younger man notes, pointing to the sparkling water in the river’s bend below their feet. He can almost discern the outline of a slight mound, just off-color, distinct from its surroundings.
“It will be safe,” the elder assures his son. “We will see to that. And when Shang-du falls, as all great cities must, and when Kublai goes to join his grandfather in the Blue Heaven, we will make sure this place, and all its towers and golden domes, its wealth and power, are demolished and then spread across the empire, until the ruin of this city is thought of no more.”
“A palace!”
Montross dropped to a knee, studying the boy’s face. “You saw a palace? What was it like? How big?”
Alexander blinked, willing his eyes to focus. Suddenly Montross had his hands on the boy’s shoulders, hauling him up and away from the direct sight of the Emerald Tablet. “Where is it?”
“It was huge,” Alexander said, squirming. “Seven domes. Lots of pillars. And a river.”
Montross dropped the boy and took a step back. Remain calm. Work with him, let him speak. “Okay, what else? What did you ask to be shown?”
Alexander shrugged. “Nothing. I just knelt down, stared at that the tablet, and I started seeing stuff.”
“Okay, think carefully, kid. Tell me everything you saw.”
Frowning, Alexander raised a finger. Took a deep breath. “What’s in it for me?”
Montross smiled. “Your life, for starts.”
“And my dad’s? Aunt Phoebe’s? The Morpheus Initiative? I really like that Orlando guy, he’s cool. I don’t want any of them hurt.”
“Help me and I’ll do what I can.”
“Same goes for that Nina lady. Keep her away. She doesn’t play nice.”
Montross laughed. “She most certainly does not. But come on, scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”
Alexander made a face.
“Just an expression. Get me to Genghis Khan’s tomb, and I’m done with you, with all the Crowes. And the Morpheus Initiative too.”
Alexander raised an eyebrow like he saw Spock do all the time in the old Trek episodes. “What do you want?”
“The location. You know that.”
“No, what do you want from the grave? How much treasure do you need? And why can’t you see it on your own?”
“I don’t know why I can’t see it. I’m close. I did see them lower a coffin into the mountainside, but I can’t tell where. In eight hundred years the scenery has changed. I saw them trample the area with horses, then plant it over with trees. It’s probably in the forest, covered with roots, and we don’t have the time or the resources to get out the sonar and all the technology. There has to be an easier way.”
Alexander crossed his arms and gave a stern look. “I asked you what’s in the grave.”
Montross sighed, then reached down the front of his shirt. “Fine, I’ll tell you. See this?”
“Nice necklace.”
“Yeah, well our friend Genghis has two just like it, buried with him. I want to complete this set of three. Is that enough for you?”
“They kind of look like the Emerald Tablet.”
Very observant. “How about that?”
“What do those necklace pieces do?” Alexander asked. “Let me guess — make you live forever?”
“Apparently not. Didn’t work for Genghis, or the other guy who left me this one.”
“Well, you said he didn’t have all three, right?”
Definitely observant. Montross smiled. “Enough chit-chat. I told you I’d let you go if you help me. What I didn’t tell you was that if you don’t, I’ll find it anyway, and then I will let Nina and her friends out there finish making you an orphan. Now, what did you see?”
Alexander lowered his eyes. His shoulders sagged. “Okay, I’ll tell you. But you won’t like it.”
“Why not?”
“Because what I saw… it wasn’t on this mountain.”
4
Phoebe backed away, holding her head. The room spun, faces melding with artifacts. Tourists and worshippers blending with the walls and displays.
“Oh no,” she whispered, reaching for Caleb to steady herself. But he was indistinguishable from the blur all around her, the blur that now took shape, even as she was begging, Just show me what’s happening, show me what I need to see.
A blast of frigid air blew into her face…
… as she stands on a plain of ice under a picture-perfect sky. A fire roars, consuming logs and twigs, and roasting a large something that might have been a wild dog. A palatial tent ahead, the folds parting and a wizened old man, bald with a thin white braid of hair descending like a rope from his chin, inviting her inside.
“Come,Master Temujin. We are ready with the designs.”
Inside, candles and incense burn, a great llama-fur rug covers the ground, a table is set up with scrolls, maps and designs. “Right here,” the old man says, pointing at the map.
Temujin looks at it, recognizes the eastern coast of China and Mongolia, the island of Japan. The man points inland, to part of China. “Here is the burial site you asked to see. The concealed tomb of Qin Shi Huangdi, the first emperor of a unified China, who lived a hundred years after the Great Alexander. The designs for his mausoleum I have here.” He patted another scroll and started to unravel it, giving a glimpse of a pyramidal shape, and below it, a vast network of passageways, staircases and arches leading to an impossibly detailed cityscape. “Qin Shi began its construction as soon as he ascended to the throne, and it took thirty-six years to complete, at the cost of”—he waves his hand dismissively—“sources say somewhere around seven hundred thousand lives.”
“What of the city where he now dwells?” Temujin asks, and the old man smiles.
“Built in the immense hollowed-out cavern under the mound, his city is complete with everything a ruler would need for the next life: four temples, erected at the cardinal points, a central palace holding his concubines and his own tomb, storehouses of gold and silver, ornamental weapons and artwork. And surrounding the palace stand inner and outer walls, courtyards and gardens, rivers originally designed to run with Mercury.”
“Mercury?”
“A substance the emperor believed could bestow eternal life.”
Temujin chuckles. “Fool.”
“Yes,” says the old man. “The old man poisoned himself.”
Taking the scroll, unrolling it completely, Temujin studies the designs, unable to read the descriptive words. “Still, mercury has other advantages. What of the city’s defenses?”
“Eight thousand terra cotta warriors facing east, guarding against the Japanese threat; several hundred horses; chariots and archers—”
“I want more,” Temujin says decisively. “Guarding against every threat. What I protect is much more valuable than what this charlatan believed. He merely wanted to continue his rule, to live forever. But I know better. I know what the others seek, and only I can deny them.”
“Very well, master. We shall start construction today.”
“When will it be ready?”
“You are young,” the old man says, rubbing his thin white beard. “And I have seen ahead. We will have time. All we need now is the place of your choosing. You will let me know soon?”