splashes wine on the shoulder of the plump courtesan next to him, he proclaims, 'This is a rare occasion everyone, for I have lured the eminent anchorite from his lair!' He bangs the goblet on the table, showering wine across the white tablecloth. The elaborately coifed heads at the table turn to him, then to me. The other guests do not disguise their opinions of my humble appearance.
The duke continues, but I cannot say if he is in his cups or naturally so coarse. 'Fellow lords, esteemed gentlemen and ladies, I introduce to you a truly unique dinner guest, the-um …'
'Lama, your lordship.'
'Lama Koja. I am sure he has many interesting and curious stories about the Tuigan-those savages who believed they could conquer all the West. Lama Koja, you see, was a scribe of the barbarian leader, Yamun.'
So, I am to be tonight's entertainment. 'Indeed, it is true that I was grand historian to the court of Yamun Khahan.' I gently try to correct his description of my post. It is a vain attempt.
'Sit at our table, lama, and enjoy. Tonight, let no man say you are poorly fed.' The duke settles back heavily into his thronelike seat.
Barely have I taken my place before the meal is served. The roasts, sauces, and pies presented certainly uphold the duke's reputation as a gourmand, but I only gingerly sample them, more accustomed to simple bread and vegetables. Next to me, a thin venerable, his wispy beard floating like white yak hair, piles the rich offerings high. Noticing my gaze, he nods an over-solicitous smile and plops a quivering, rare slice of beef on my platter.
'Is it the custom of your people not to eat or drink?' the duke rumbles, noticing my reticence. 'Perhaps you are one of those races said to subsist on air.'
'He's certainly thin enough, Jozul,' giggles the consort seated next to him.
'My greatest apologies, Your Lordship. I assure you I require sustenance like all mortals. It is just that since arriving in Procampur, I have tried to adhere to the sutras- that is, the teachings of the mighty Furo.'
'So?'
'By Furo's law, strong drink and flesh are to be avoided-'
'Stuff and nonsense,' the duke interrupts while waving a servant for more wine. His black brows are knit, his face a scowl. 'People say the barbarians ate insects.'
'Perhaps in times of great hunger, honored sir. I never knew of such habits among the Tuigan. Nonetheless, it is true that among the Tuigan vegetables were unknown and so I was compelled to violate the teachings of Furo and the dictates of the Red Mountain. However,' I add quickly while accepting a dish of boiled root vegetables, 'your table is civilized, so that I need not starve while retaining my vows.' The duke seems placated by my answer.
'I can't imagine living among such savages,' remarks the ancient next to me, who I guess to be a priest from the temple of Tymora Duke Piniago nods in agreement as he tears a wing from a roast goose.
'It is held by some sages of my homeland that the gods choose every man's life at birth. It is our duty to discover what life is intended for us. I do not think many of Yamun's warriors could imagine sitting here either.'
'But we westerners beat those horse thieves, didn't we?' It is Duke Piniago who speaks to the murmured approval of his guests I know, because Foxe told me, that Duke Piniago took little part in the war, profiteering on the supplies the crusading army needed. These pampered and groomed peers are nothing like the hard-minded and stoic warriors who met the Tuigan horde. I remember the plain of Thesk where King Azoun met my lord Yamun and slew him, although I think my memories are quite different from the men whose glory the duke seeks to inflate.
I phrase my reply carefully. 'Indeed. As the great sage Chih said, Truly a kingdom's victory is shared by all her people from the noble to the peasant.''
'Precisely-every man in Procampur feels proud,' the duke blithely agrees, raising his glass for a toast.
'It is sad the people think you only fought a tribe of bandits, Your Lordship. Would it not be wise to print a history of the Tuigan, so that others would know their true might?'
'A history such as yours, priest?'
'I have expanded the notes I made for King Azoun into a small volume. I hesitate to offer it.'
Duke Piniago leans over his plate. 'You're being coy with me, priest. What'll it cost?' he demands in a fierce whisper so only those near us hear.
There is no point trying to be polite with this blunt-headed man. 'Ten thousand golden lions, Your Lordship.'
“Ten thousand! For one book?' The duke hurls a gnawed bone to his dogs. His voice is no longer quiet.
'That is the necessary cost to prepare the impressions for the printer-so I understand, Your Lordship. Additional books would be five hundred lions.' It seems that everyone at our end of the table has fallen silent, waiting for the duke's response.
'Additional copies?' the duke queries. He turns to the old priest beside me. 'Since when do scribes deal in multiple copies at cut-rate prices, Hierarch?'
'Never, Your Lordship.'
I wet my dry throat on some fruit nectar brought for me. 'I was going to have the books made by a printing machine, not a copyist, honorable sir.'
The hierarch snorts in disgust. 'Printing machines- hah! Only good for cheap broadbills. Can't even make a proper prayerbook with one-won't print the magic, you see.'
'The book is not magical,' I protest.
'It doesn't matter. A scribe can do the job just as well,' the duke interjects. 'What do I need with multiple books? I only need one for my library.'
I am stunned, unable to think of any reasoned reply. 'Surely others might want to read my book-'
'Of course they will, you silly man,' the duke's gaudy consort sneers, batting her eyes as she does so. 'Do you think Jozul would spend all that money so everyone might own a copy? He keeps the only book in his library so anybody who wants to read it has to ask his permission.'
I look to the duke, hoping he will correct her, but his face is set in an smug smile. She has described it all too well.
I am at complete loss for words. All these years I have worked as a historian, carefully checking the letters I managed to save from Yamun's downfall, interviewing the occasional Tuigan prisoner who passed through Procampur on a slave galley, even poring over the maps of caravan masters who have traveled to the East. All this work and the duke wants to hoard it for himself. It is impossible.
Stiffly I rise from my chair, unable to think of any polite wording to express my refusal. I bow to the assembled company, two rows of aristocrats and their sycophants, glittering among the candelabras and chandeliers. They are all silent, watching me like spirits in an evil-omened dream where sinister faces observe from every turn.
'I have imposed upon your table. Please forgive me, Duke Piniago. I will leave you now,' I say stiffly. Without inviting any further discussion, I take my leave, backing politely toward the exit.
The duke makes no effort to stop me. Even as I leave the banquet hall, the trickles of unsubdued laughter follow. I have not failed, at least, as entertainment. The footman guides me out of the palace. At the gate the startled guards watch me pass. No one, I imagine, has ever walked out early on one of the duke's parties.
Cold winter mists are roiling in from the port, soaking my thin robes as I leave the Nobles District to cross the Great Way for home. The vapors diffuse the lamplight, making the walled compounds and flagged streets shine greasy black. The silver roofs glow as if of their own accord. Dogs bark at my passing and guards eye me suspiciously, a solitary stranger in foreign robes prowling the night.
By the time I depart the Nobles District, my distaste for the duke has grown, feeding on the wet night and the day's frustrations. The pangs of homesickness return, and more than ever my heart longs for the ice-flecked mountain air of Khazari. The desire is strengthened by the memories of things from my youth-tsampo porridge, buttered tea, playing on the fresh snowfields, even the rattling drone of the prayer wheels as they endlessly turn.
My abrupt appearance before the gate startles the guards of the Temple District, just as their sudden emergence from the fog wakens me from my reverie. They greet me with familiarity as they unbolt the closed gate. I make no answer; I have no mood for talk.
Inside, the stone temples, their black roofs invisible in the night, ascend into the mists. It is quiet, the
