The Silk Road Saga: Part I - Silkworm

43 - Corridor of Silk

The coast was clear. The colonel gave the signal and the squad moved out. Mr J followed, trailing behind them by a few steps. Let the fodder go first. They made their way onto the now empty street, fanning out and covering all possible angles of attack. The squad encircled the golden tent, like Indians circling a wagon, holding their pistols out in front of them. The colonel placed a foot on the first step up to the Khan's tent, but Mr J stopped him. This was the reason he had come, he wanted to be the man to kill Genghis Khan. The colonel hesitated. Logic dictated that eight hundred years in the past rank shouldn't matter, that there was nothing compelling the colonel to listen to Mr J, or even be here in the first place. But training triumphed over logic, the obedience to hierarchy that was drummed into every soldier won out, and the colonel stepped aside.

Mr J calmed himself with a deep intake of breath. He willed his hand to stop shaking, not from fear, but from excitement. Mao had said that power grows out of the barrel of a gun, well he was holding one right now, a gun with the power to change the past and alter the present. He brushed aside the curtain that covered the entrance to the tent and stepped forward. The inside of the tent was even more staggering than its golden exterior. Near transparent sheets of patterned silk hung down from the ceiling, creating a corridor that swayed with the breeze. Two peacocks strutted between the silk, their brilliant tails adding a near hallucinatory shimmer of colour to the interior scene. Incense hung thick and heavy in the air and the floor was carpeted in a beautifully patterned rug inscribed with finely sewn Persian calligraphy. This was not the tent of some mere tribal chieftain, it was a testament to a man who harboured ambitions on a truly global scale. A man who sat astride the cross-roads of the world, free to indulge his tastes in any way he saw fit.

At the end of the corridor of silk sat a throne and on the throne sat the great man himself, Genghis Khan. He stared straight at Mr J, his face impassive, no hint of fear etched beneath his eyes. Mr J struggled to contain his excitement as he calmly walked towards the Khan. He wanted to be close when he killed him, he wanted to see the light fade from his eyes when he snuffed out his life, the air escape from his lungs, the sigh as his soul left his body, the exact moment that history changed.

"It's a shame you can't understand me" said Mr J, ambling down the corridor of silk.

"I can understand you" replied a female voice, high pitched and childlike.

Mr J paused and scanned the room with his pistol. His view was obscured by the sheets of silk but he thought he spotted a shadow flitting between the indigos and blues. He fired. The silk puffed up as the bullet passed through it, but there was no scream. Instead the voice let out a small laugh.

"There's no need to kill me. I'm no threat to you, I'm just a voice, nothing more, nothing less" said the girl.

Mr J lowered his gun. A translator, he thought to himself, a useful pet for the Khan. Fine, he always welcomed the chance to converse with a man before he killed him, especially one as famous as Genghis.

"Ask him if he fears me" said Mr J.

"I won't repeat anything as stupid as that" replied the voice.

Mr J let out a laugh, the voice was right, that was a waste of a question. Throughout the entire exchange the Khan had sat perfectly still, watching Mr J as crane might watch the surface of a pond, waiting for the right moment to strike. Mr J reminded himself not to let his guard drop, he might be armed but Genghis was still Genghis, he was a warrior first and foremost.

"Ask him where he thinks I'm from" said Mr J.

There was a pause as the voice relayed the question. Genghis responded in a deep guttural tone, looking at Mr J all the while.

"He says you're a Song assassin" replied the voice.

"And what about this?" asked Mr J, waving his gun.

"A weapon that he would be willing to pay you a vast sum of money to destroy" replied the voice.

"Destroy, why destroy?" asked Mr J.

There was another pause, this time instigated by the length of Genghis' reply.

"The Mongol's are strong because our attack is strong, no one can match our cavalry, no one can match our arrows. Men cower behind walls, but walls can be pulled down. Speed is the essence of victory and Mongols are fast, faster than anyone else. But with that weapon it doesn't matter how fast our horses can run or how far our arrow can fly, with that weapon you can kill a man just by standing still. He will pay you your weight in gold to destroy that weapon" said the voice.

"Tell your Khan that I thank him for his generosity, but that I'm not interested in gold" replied Mr J.

"Every man is interested in gold" said the voice.

For a brief moment Mr J allowed himself to think what life would be like if he remained in the past. He would have weapons more powerful than anyone else, and with weapons came money, and with money, power. If he so wanted, he could replace the Great Khan and make himself emperor of the whole world. He snuffed out the thought as soon as it arose. No, his place wasn't here amidst silk and peacocks, he belonged in Beijing, modern Beijing. He had a duty to fulfil, a duty to the Party and to the People of his country. He was not their lord, he was their servant, and now he needed to finish the job he had come here to do.

"I thank your Khan for providing me with this opportunity to converse with him and wish his soul full speed on its journey to heaven" said Mr J, raising his pistol.

There was a commotion outside. He heard the colonel shouting and the crump-crump of pistols being fired. The silk sheets rustled with sudden movement accompanied by a whistling sound. Instinctively, Mr J ducked. He felt the arrow graze the top of his head and fly harmlessly through the wall of the tent. He raised himself onto one knee, aimed at the throne and fired.