Kingdom River

and appreciative of humor in others, so it came each time as the grimmest shock when pleasant conversation ended pleasantly… and the stranglers stepped, yawning, from behind their curtain.

The Lord of Grass bent to examine a dying bluebonnet. 'How I wish for roses.'

'We can get them, lord, from the south.'

'Yes, Michael, we can get them from the south. They will arrive… then die as soon as our north winds touch them. I would rather not have them at all, than lose them.'

'They might be kept in warm little houses, with windows of flat glass.'

'Michael, I'm aware the coarse queen of Middle Kingdom keeps her vegetables and flowers alive in those sorts of houses, even after summer's over. But the notion of captive roses doesn't please me.'

'No, my lord; I take your point. And if we find a painter to paint the most beautiful roses for you?'

'Razumov… Razumov. I would rather not have roses, than pretend to have them.'

The chancellor bowed, and left the subject prettily. 'The blossom of good judgment, however, is yours, Great Khan, since the Captain-General Monroe has followed his lesson of defeat with a triumph in revenge.'

'Yes.' The Khan swung his horse-whip to behead a windburned bluebonnet. 'A mercy, it was too pale a shade of blue… Yes, a thoughtful Captain-General. He was clever, and I was clever concerning him. Now, I believe we'd better send just enough bad weather to see what shelter he runs to.'

Yuri Chimuk – an older man, large, flat-faced, and badly scarred – had followed along on the flower tour, silent. Chimuk had been an officer under the old Khan, and had seen enough death on the ice from Vladivostok to Map- Anchorage – and in slightly warmer country farther and farther south as the years went by – to have lost any fear of it. The old general was one of the few men Toghrul knew, who weren't afraid of him.

'Your thoughts, Yuri?'

'Lord, our serious men are occupied commencing your campaign against Middle Kingdom. Since Manu Four- Horsetails is useless as tits on a bull, send him down to peck along the Map-Bravo. He's capable of that, at least.'

Manu Ek-Tam was the old man's grandson, the apple, as Warm-times had had it, of his eye – and already a very formidable commander at twenty-four, having completed, it must be said, an exceptional campaign in Map- Nevada.

'Five thousand cavalry might be too heavy a peck, Yuri. I don't want North Mexico disturbed to war, just when we're striking east. The river people will be troublesome enough.'

'Manu shouldn't be commanding five thousand; he's not capable. Give him a thousand, lord.'

'So few? You don't want him killed, do you, old man?'

'It would be a relief to be rid of him.'

'… Umm. We'll say two thousand. Send some of Crusan's people down from Map-Fort Stockton to reinforce Manu. And remind your grandson, Yuri – pecks, harassment, not an invasion.'

Yuri Chimuk got down on his hands and knees – something he'd been excused from doing years before, but persisted in as an odd independence. 'What the Khan has ordered, I will perform.'

When the old man stood and stomped away, Toghrul watched him go, absently switching the top of his right boot with the horse-whip. 'Your thoughts, Michael Razumov.'

'First, why wake a sleeping dog, my lord? And…'

' 'And'?'

'And, second, Yuri Chimuk loves his grandson even more than he loves you.'

'Well… first, the North-Mexican dog must be wakened sometime. And I need to know whether, when kicked, he will run yelping south to the Empire, or east, to Middle Kingdom… Second, as to Yuri's love for his grandson, it is only required that he blame himself for that brilliant and ambitious young officer's death, when – as it must – that occurs. We have room, after all, for only one genius of war.'

'Is this in my hands, lord?'

'Not yet.' The Khan leaned over a pansy. 'Look, Michael, look at this brave little face. A tiny golden roaring lion, pictured in a Warm-time book.'

'It is charming.'

'Do you love me, Michael? You loved me when I was a boy, I know. I used to watch you, watching me.'

'I did love you, my lord, and still do. Being aware that that remains entirely beside the point.'

The Khan laughed, and bent to stroke the little pansy flower. 'You are full of good answers, today.'

'And, I regret to say, a question, lord.'

'Yes?' The Khan stood.

'Map – Los Angeles and Map-San Diego – '

'The Blue Sky damn them both. What now?'

'Complaints, Great Khan. Ships do not arrive from the Empire with goods we've already paid for. Buk Szerzinski complains particularly, saying he has a Map-Pacific supply depot with no supplies of lumber, rope, grain, barrels of citrus juice, slaves, steel, or horses. All things to be needed by your generals as Lord Winter comes, and fighting increases in Map-Missouri.'

'The problem being silver money?'

'Absolutely, lord. Money is the cause. The Empire accepts our silver, but discounts it against their gold. Szerzinski, and Paul Klebb in Map-Los Angeles, both claim they pay the full price agreed upon, only to have the dirty lying bank of Mexico City discount its worth, so barely half of what was bought is delivered north.'

The Khan ran his whip's slim lash through his fingers. 'Those two are not lying, stealing from me?'

'They're not nearly brave enough for that, lord. And my men have examined the transactions.'

'So, the Emperor comes to agreements; his orders are sent – but the dirty bank decides. A matter of civilization versus – wonderful Warm-time word, 'versus' – a crowd of savages galloping around in the chilly north.'

'Precisely, Great Lord.'

'Fucking clever currency exchanges and shifting values – gold up, silver down. How are we simple, honorable warriors to comprehend its principles?'

'Just so.'

The Khan stooped to touch another surviving pansy, one black and gold. 'Well, Michael, since we have the savage name, we might as well play the savage game. I will not be caught short at Middle Kingdom's river.'

'Your command?'

'Arrest the… five most important members of the Imperial Order of Merchants and Factors in both Map-Los Angeles and Map-San Diego. Pour molten gold down their throats. Then ship the corpses to Mexico City, with the note, 'Herewith, lading payments in gold – as apparently preferred. Complete deliveries expected soonest.' '

'Perfect, lord.'

'Sufficient, let us hope… Anything else this evening?'

'Only a last question, if permitted.'

'Yes?'

'As to your intention, lord, of going east to Map-Missouri to command personally.'

'Oh, I'll wait until Murad Dur and Andrei Shapilov begin to make mistakes, which will likely be soon enough.'

'Then I have nothing further worth your attention, Great Khan.' Michael Razumov went to his hands and knees, then touched his forehead to the gravel of the Cat's-Eye Path. He was a fat man, and it was awkward for him.

… Toghrul had often considered relieving his chancellor of the necessity, but each time, a voice – his father's, perhaps – had murmured caution. He liked Michael Razumov, and almost trusted him. Reason enough to keep him on all fours.

When Toghrul was alone – but for twenty troopers of the Guard's Regiment pacing here and there – he said his farewell to the dying flowers… which had wanted nothing from him but sheep shit and water. Then he walked the