It was hot and stuffy in the felt tent, or yurt, and the smoke took its time leaving the animal-dung-burning brazier and finding its way out through the small hole in the roof.
My hands had been untied and I sat with Toby on one side, the men on the other and Ky-Lin tucked away in my collar, unseen. There was no sign of Beau-cat, but I comforted myself that of all the seven of us, he was best equipped to look after himself.
We had been given a space, rather like prisoners in a dock, but the rest of the yurt was crowded. Both men and women were dressed alike, in trews, short skirts, thick jackets and caps, the latter rising conically to a point, with embroidered ear-flaps. They were all swarthy, with plaited black hair and slanting eyes, the men with wispy beards and moustaches.
They didn't seem particularly menacing, although all the men wore knives in their belts or stuck in the tops of their high boots. The tent was about fifteen feet wide, roughly circular, and supported on thin wooden poles, and there were already some twenty-five people squatting on either side of us. Directly opposite us was a high stool, painted in bright colours and boasting an embroidered cushion, and the people kept glancing at the open tent-flap then the stool, as though expecting an honoured guest.
All at once there was a loud rattling noise and a thin, ululating cry, midway between that of a strangling dog at the end of its chain and an owl with a cough, and through the tent-flap came one of the tallest men I had ever seen, thin to the point of emaciation. He had to bend his bald head to enter, leaving the beams of sunshine outside to dance with motes of dust and pollen.
Everyone straightened up as he entered, and all talk ceased abruptly. He was dressed in skins and a loin-cloth; around his neck was a rattle of bones, from his pendulous ears dangled the same, and in his right hand he held a staff with a triple row of feathers. His face was decorated with a smudge of blue on both cheeks, a yellow line down his nose and a red chin.
He stood for a moment in the centre of the yurt, then raised his arm and rattled his staff deafeningly. All his people bowed their heads as if in worship, and he took his place on the stool like a king ascending his throne. Unfortunately he smelt like a midden.
"Local witch-doctor or shaman," murmured Ky-Lin in my ear. "Very important. We can ignore all the others. He is the one who will decide what happens to us."
"Is he very powerful—as a shaman?"
"Not particularly. Probably got the job because of his genetic defects—all that height and hairlessness. But don't underestimate his power over his people."
"Then what do we do?"
"First of all we listen. If I am not mistaken he is about to give us all a speech: I only hope his is a dialect I understand . . ."
Right on cue the shaman rose to his feet, pointed a finger at us (all his nails looked as if they had never been trimmed, yellow bits of corrugated horn that spiralled away from his finger-ends like corkscrews) and started off in an accusatory tone.
"Good," muttered Ky-Lin. "The dialect is based on Kurdish, and one I can now understand, although I didn't when I travelled with Summer, to my shame, but I have made myself fully conversant since then . . . He is asking who we are, where we came from, where we are bound, why we are in his tribe's grazing grounds. All this wrapped up in flowery persiflage to impress the rest of them. When he's finished he will invite us to reply, which I will do through you. Keep your head down, then he won't notice we don't synchronise. Tell the others to sit still and not interrupt or look bored."
I watched the shaman working himself up into his final frenzy, bones clanking, eyes rolled up into his head, spittle flying from his mouth. His audience was obviously impressed as he finally sat down, there was a hiss of approval. But he hadn't finished. After a moment to seize his breath, he stood up again, reached into a leather pouch at his waist and threw something into the glowing embers of the brazier. There was a flash and a bang, and a cloud of coloured stars filled the space in the roof of the yurt, to fall back and singe the carpets on which we sat.
We all jumped, except for Ky-Lin.
"Third rate," he observed. "All right for children. Poor quality gunpowder, mixed with sand and grit, and little plugs of barium nitrate. We can do better than that . . . Now it's our turn. Stand up, bow to the shaman, keep your head down, and do a regal wave now and again if I give you a nudge. Just to emphasize a point . . ."
Now Queen Victoria I was not, although I had seen her once driving in a London park with two of her daughters, and her "regal wave" had consisted of a languid black-gloved hand being raised an inch or two and doing a quarter-turn in the air.
"Right," I said. I turned to the others and repeated Ky-Lin's instructions, then rose to my feet. It didn't help that one of them had gone to sleep, but to disguise this I did a little shuffle-like dance turning in a circle before facing my audience. My heart was beating like a captured bird, but after ten minutes and Ky-Lin was still droning away in my voice, I relaxed a little. I mouthed, I nodded, I shook my head, I waved my hands every now and again on cue. As I gained confidence I overdid it.
"Steady on," murmured Ky-Lin. "You'll never make Covent Garden at this rate . . ."
In between "our" speech, he told me what he was saying. We were on a special mission, but had left our trail on purpose to meet the great and fabled horsemen of the Plains, who were in a position to help us, if they so wished.
Of course the fame of the shaman had also preceded him, and we had brought a couple of gifts as appreciation for receiving us so cordially.
"Tell Toby to go to Makub's horse and unearth a packet of hashish—just one, mind—and ditto of tobacco."
After a moment or two of indecision he was allowed to go, escorted of course, and when he returned he reported that our gear had not been touched, but that the ponies had been hobbled and were grazing.
"Good," muttered Ky-Lin. "That means they are still undecided how to deal with us."
To say the shaman was pleased with his gift would have been an understatement. His eyes gleamed, his tall bean-pole body gave a little shimmy, but of course his words were less effusive. He thanked us as if we had merely gifted him a half-dozen eggs, but his fingers were trembling as he pulled out a kind of pipe from his tatty clothing and proceeded to pack it with a lot of hashish and a little tobacco, lit it and puffed contentedly, until the sweetish smell of the drug over-rode all other odours.
I could see the other members of the tribe sniffing appreciatively. Was it possible, I wondered to myself, to become affected by the smoke?
"Very unlikely," murmured Ky-Lin, reading my thoughts again. "But any noxious fumes from that sort of thing can harm others . . . Now I am going to demand breakfast!"
It worked. Ten minutes later we were presented with bowls of a milky porridge, followed by a sort of blood-sausage wrapped in rice-flour pancakes, and bowls of pale tea. Everyone was eating with us, and I noticed their appreciation was expressed by loud belchings.
"Tell the others to copy," said Ky-Lin. "Bad manners not to."
Toby managed well enough, so did Danny, but Claude and I, try as we would, couldn't even manage the tiniest burp. Having been brought up to repress any such manifestation of bodily functions, I found I was now surprisingly embarrassed at not being able to!
"Wait for it," murmured Ky-Lin. "First Master Claude . . ." A moment later Claude apparently obliged, looking as startled as if he had sat on a thistle, wondering where the sound had come from. "Yes," said Ky-Lin. "I can throw my voice. Useful sometimes. Your turn . . ."
My expressions of appreciation were more genteel, but still I blushed.
"Now down to business," said Ky-Lin when the debris had been cleared away. "First we'll soften them up with a story . . . Ready?"
He proceeded to tell them the story of the little slave-boy Summer had called "Tug," because she couldn't pronounce his name, whom she had rescued and taken with her on her journeying, until he had been fortuitously re-united with his tribe.
Ky-Lin's account however, differed a little from the fragment I remembered from my uncle's summary. "Once upon a time, many, many moons ago, before your father's father's father's time, a prince was born to your people. At that time your herds stretched from dawn to sunset across the plains and your people were as numerous as the stars in the sky . . ."
The shaman was half-asleep, but everyone else shuffled forward on their heels, and the light from the tent-flap was dimmed as those outside leant in to listen too. It seemed that like children all over the world, there was nothing these people loved better than a story.
"This prince, Xytilchihijyckntug—" There was a great gasp from the audience and several of them nudged each other, so perhaps Ky-Lin had got it right. Even the shaman now had one eye open. "This prince could outrun the wind, outride the greatest horseman in the world, throw a spear farther than the eye could see and charm both men and women with his wit and wisdom. He visited other peoples to bring back to his own people the best of other cultures. He lived to a great age, outliving his three wives and was survived by fourteen sons and seven daughters. When he died it seemed the whole world mourned his passing, for the sun withheld his face for seven days, the moon was veiled, the winds were hushed and the clouds wept for sorrow . . ."
In other words, it rained for a week.
"But the story I have to tell," continued Ky-Lin (and me), "concerns a time when the prince was only a young boy, some ten or eleven years old . . ." And he went on to tell the story more or less as I knew it. How the boy was captured, sold and re-sold until Summer bought him at auction, being the nice girl she was, and how they travelled together until they came across some of his tribespeople performing at a fair, when he went back with them. Not as briefly as that, of course, but with much verbiage and colourful episodes which served to show the young prince's promise, even at that age.
Our audience were quiet as mice, except for now and again a little "hoo!" or "ha!" of appreciation.
There was no mention of the Ring, nor how Tug had repaid his debt by rescuing Summer from jail, instead I heard to my astonishment that he had taught her his language, instead of the other way round, which is why I could speak it now. Apparently too, Summer had put off her own journeyings in order to return him to his people without delay.
I began to see where all this was leading: the idea of a long-ago debt that now needed repaying—but Ky-Lin was winding up his peroration.
"They finally parted with tears of regret, the prince swearing a solemn oath on the bones of his forefathers that if ever Summer, her heirs or friends needed help from him or his tribe, in the however distant future, that help would be forthcoming. And now," said Ky-Lin simply, "we are here to collect the debt."
But how, I wondered, were we going to persuade these people that we were Summer's heirs and assigns after all this time?
Our audience glanced at one another, not sure whether they had heard aright and the shaman suddenly snapped upright on his stool and glared at us suspiciously.
"Before you presume to collect this so-called debt—" (Ky-Lin translating) "—I should first want proof that you are what you say you are . . ."
"Of course!" Ky-Lin and I interrupted. "You could not believe we would offend your hospitality by impersonation? If you will be patient for a moment or two longer we will present our credentials. I must tell you a little more about the girl, Summer, who rescued your prince from a life of slavery and degradation . . ."
Skipping over the awkward bits, Ky-Lin and I told of how Summer, while with the prince, had been entrusted with a fabulous dragon's egg—gasp from the audience—which, after she had seen the prince safely back with his people, she had carried to the dragon's lair in a certain Blue Mountain.
As she attempted to return the egg, it had been stolen by a traitorous companion, and she had lost her life in consequence. (Sympathetic groans from the audience.) For many moons the egg had been lost, but it had now been found, and the dragons wanted it back. They had given my brother and me and our two servants until the next full moon to return the egg, otherwise they would issue forth from the Blue Mountain and lay ravage to all the lands within their reach, carry off the young women and children, kill the men and the horses.
We had been abandoned by our guide, who had run off with food and transport, so we needed their aid to reach our objective in time, before the dragons revolted. . . .
How were Ky-Lins allowed to tell such awful whoppers, I wondered? Perhaps they crossed their hooves, like we crossed our fingers behind our backs.
Our audience were impressed, no doubt about that, but the shaman hadn't finished with us.
"And where is this fabulous egg?" he demanded, rattling all his bone decorations. "And how is it that you came into its possession?"
Ky-Lin had obviously thought about this one, because the answer came pat enough. "Because I inherited from Summer the ability to recognise it for what it is, and also because I can converse with animals, as she could, and as your prince will have told you."
The shaman could obviously neither confirm nor deny this last, but demanded to see the egg, so off Toby went once more and fetched it back wrapped as usual in my shawl. As he unwrapped it I could see just how much it had grown since the last time I saw it. It must now weigh at least twelve pounds, and seemed to be glowing slightly. There was a definite warmth there too.
I invited the shaman to come forward and inspect it. He walked around it, leant over and peered at it closely then finally, very gingerly, poked out a bony finger and touched it, then snatched it away again, obviously surprised by its warmth.
I/we invited him to listen to it, see if he could hear anything. He knelt down with a rattle of bones and applied his left ear to the Eg. At first he shook his head, then suddenly stiffened, touched a finger to his own heart and then leant forward again, only to shoot back in a surprisingly agile somersault, his mouth an O of amazement and awe.
"I added a hiss or two," murmured Ky-Lin. "And a very little roar . . . Don't worry: he was the only one who heard it."
I turned my chuckle into a cough. Surely now we had convinced everyone! The shaman, however, wanted one last try.
"You said that this—Summer?—could converse with animals? And that you have inherited that gift?"
I nodded, panicking. How to prove it?
"Beau . . ." murmured Ky-Lin.
"But he's—"
"Here," said Beau-cat, nudging the back of my knee. "Been hiding."
I knelt down and whispered. "That silly old wizard over there wants proof that we can communicate. It's very important. Could you forget your dignity for a moment and, say, walk in a circle, sit up and beg, and lie down and roll from side to side?"
He looked at me with those beautiful blue eyes. "What's it worth?"
I blinked. It was unlike him to ask for favours. "What do you suggest?"
The answer, when it came, was so unexpected that I almost forgot where we were.
"How about a kiss?"
I was scandalised. "One doesn't kiss cats."
"Oh, well: worth a try . . . Now, what was it you wanted me to do again?"
Strolling into the middle, he gazed around the audience with that haughty air that some cats seem to be able to summon at will. The people shuffled back, obviously not used to such a large animal—he certainly had grown since I had rescued him: almost twice as big, I reckoned.
He looked back at me. "Now?"
"Please . . ."
He went through the routine with an air of the utmost boredom, as if humouring a group of children, and when he had finished he sat down and washed his face, to some applause.
The shaman hung on, however. "How do I know this is not a well-established routine?" He rattled his bones menacingly.
"Then you choose something you want him to do, and I will instruct him . . ."
"Tell him, then, to jump over the brazier. And back again."
This would not be easy. The brazier, on its tripod, stood perhaps four feet from the ground, and it was glowing with heat.
I explained to Beau. "Can you do it?" I asked anxiously. "I don't want you to hurt yourself."
For answer he stood up, backed away a little, eyed his target and then leapt, not once but four times: twice there, twice back. The audience burst into spontaneous applause and Beau-cat retreated to my side.
"Satisfied?"
"Not bad—for a cat," said Ky-Lin. "Now, Miss Sophy, let's finish this with some fireworks of our own. Raise your arms above your head, bring them down slowly, then point your index fingers at the fire."
The resultant display of coloured balls, stars, ribbons of smoke and tongues of fire almost emptied the yurt, but to their credit Toby, Danny and Claude stayed where they were, with the cat.
I looked around for the scorch-marks on the rugs that lined the tent but there weren't any.
"Pure illusion," said Ky-Lin. "They saw what they wanted to see. And now," he added briskly, "I think some luncheon is in order!"
Pancakes, cheese and milky tea later and we were ready to go. We had fresh, tough-looking little ponies, extra food, fuel and blankets, and two guides, only too anxious to get going.
Ky-Lin reminded me that we shouldn't need any of Makub's hashish or opium anymore, so we left the majority for the shaman, keeping some back for our guides.
We didn't see the shaman again; I think he had retired to bed with a headache. Of one thing I was sure: he was glad to see the back of us.
Later that night after we had made camp and had eaten some more of the delicious blood-sausage I had warmed up, I congratulated Ky-Lin on his strategy, and Beau-cat on his bravery.
"I knew we were all right if we survived the initial attack," said Ky-Lin. "All children love a story, love to be frightened by tales of dragons and suchlike, and adore fireworks. And that's all they were: gullible children."
"Well I, for one," said Claude, "will miss their delicious food. The milky tea was most refreshing."
"I prefer less milk in mine," said Danny. "But these sausages are the best I've tasted in an age."
"Good," said Ky-Lin. "You'll probably get offered some more before this trip is over. The pack-ponies are mares, and the other ponies have already been cupped more than once."
Toby and I understood at once, I think, but the other two had to have it explained to them.
"How else would they get fresh milk and blood, except from their horses?" said Toby, though he was looking a bit green. "It obviously doesn't harm the horses, otherwise they wouldn't do it."
I remembered something I had read once. "I believe they prefer their milk fermented: they say it's a nice refreshing drink . . ."
Without a word the other two got up and disappeared in different directions, not coming back for some time . . .
Our guides didn't believe in wasting time. They hurried and harried us from dawn till dusk, determined to be rid of us as soon as possible.
They were probably scared that the Eg would hatch out while we were travelling, and woke us up before dawn, curtailed our lunch-break and had us on the move until long after the sun had gone down.
The little ponies were more than equal to the task, and even Claude didn't fall off so often. Rapidly the mountains drew nearer, and fearsome they looked, with sharp inclines, jagged tops, steep cliffs and great icicles hanging hundreds of feet up.
It was much, much colder, and we were glad of the extra blankets at night. We were already wearing most of our winter gear, and Beau-cat's fur was growing longer and thicker.
On the sixth day we left the plains for good and started to climb through increasingly dense forest of pine and fir, their thick, resinous smell with us all day. It was also getting difficult to breathe again with the increased altitude. Their was no definite path to follow but our guides were adept at finding the easiest way, sometimes having to hack a gap for us with their little axes.
We all felt a little odd: Claude had a couple of nose-bleeds, Danny started talking to himself and I had a slight headache, but Ky-lin told me that this was just a touch of mountain-sickness, which affected different people in different ways, and it would pass as we became more acclimatised.
We climbed for three more days, more slowly as the ascent grew steeper, and Ky-Lin worried as to how we would carry our food and gear once our guides had left with their horses. Toby suggested that we try to build a sledge, so for two nights we laboured, with the aid of the guides and their efficient axes, who chopped pine and spruce, until we had a reasonable enough sledge, capable of carrying at least our food, fuel and any extra gear. All the rest would have to be carried in our haversacks.
At last we reached the head of the pass and made camp in one of the most bleak and exposed places I had ever seen, open on all sides to the weather.
"They should call this Four-Winds Crossing," said Danny, shivering like the rest of us as we huddled round a sparse fire. What he said was true: wherever we sat or crouched, there was an icy wind at our back. I crossed over to the guides and handed them some hashish and a couple of pellets of opium for helping us. They accepted with grunts, but I could see all they were waiting for was their departure in the morning.
In the event they didn't wait for dawn, but were packed up and gone without a goodbye by the time we had struggled awake.
"Right," said Ky-Lin. "Now for it!" and he stretched and creaked and popped until he was once more pony-size, which still made Danny and Claude nervous. "Told you I would pull my weight. Load up the sledge then, and let's get going. It's all downhill from here . . ."