Gansukh considered how he was going to talk his way past the guards. He doubted Ögedei would see him if he simply walked up and asked to be presented to the
Khagan
. It was quite possible that Ögedei’s reaction might be less restrained than it had been at the dinner celebration, though the lingering bruises on the young man’s face spoke otherwise. It had been several days since he had presented the cup to Ögedei, and he had bided his time before attempting to seek the
Khagan
’s audience once more. He felt he was making progress in his efforts to curb Ögedei’s drinking, but he was still cautious. The
Khagan
was not unlike a wounded mountain lion.
The two guards outside the
Khagan
’s chambers looked even more nervous than he did. They stared past him, refusing to acknowledge his presence, and Gansukh paused, his conviction wavering.
“I...” He cleared his throat.
Tell them what you want
, he thought.
Do not spin a story.
“I need to see the
Khagan
.”
Neither guard replied. The one on the left rested his hand on the hilt of his scimitar, while the other blinked several times and licked his lips.
Being ignored is better than being assaulted.
Their behavior was odd, though; he would have expected them to take joy in telling him that the
Khagan
had expressly commanded them to treat him like this, like a worm not worthy of notice. After a month at court, he knew well the delight the Imperial Guard took in reminding visitors of their lower station.
“I have an important—”
He was cut off by a loud wail from inside the room. At first, he thought he had imagined the sound because the guards did not react, but then he caught the nervous twitch of their eyes—toward the door, at him, and then back to the empty hallway.
“Sounds like someone in pain,” Gansukh said. “Shouldn’t we investigate?”
The lip-licker’s tongue darted several times, and he glanced at Gansukh, then intercepted a hard stare from his companion. “The
Khagan
is not to be disturbed,” he said gruffly, as if none of them had heard the scream from within the room.
He’s afraid.
The shriek again rent the quiet hallway. Gansukh looked between the guards, whose decorum was fraying rapidly. This time, they refused to meet his eyes.
“I think that’s the
Khagan
,” Gansukh said.
“No it isn’t,” the man on the left said. The other guard nodded fervent agreement. He wanted to appear stern and threatening, but the slackness of his jaw only made his face quiver, defeating his attempt to appear menacing. “We have strict orders,” the left-hand guard continued. “We are not to enter, nor are we to allow anyone else to do so.”
“Is that wise?” Gansukh stepped closer to the door, and while both guards tensed, neither took action to stop him. “Is that what you are going to tell Master Chucai when he finds out that the
Khagan
has...
impaled
himself on a dagger or slipped and brokenbones...or something worse...?” Gansukh leaned in toward the door and cupped his hand to his ear, almost enjoying himself, pretending to listen intently for any noise from the suite. “He could be dead...”
“He’s not dead,” the second guard said doubtfully, his face pale and damp.
“No, no. Of course not. I was just suggesting that it was
possible
such a calamity had occurred,” Gansukh replied. Moving his hands slowly so as to not alarm them, he innocently indicated the door. “But we don’t really know, do we? Are you going to take responsibility for the
Khagan
’s death, if indeed that is what has happened and he bleeds out while you stand here? Is that the sort of Mongol you are? The kind who follows
orders
blindly without ever thinking for himself? Maybe you should be
thinking
that this situation has changed...”
With a muttered oath, the left-hand guard stepped aside. “You check,” he snapped at Gansukh. “It is your head she will take. Not mine.”
She
. Gansukh pretended to not have heard the guard’s slip, and
Khagan
. It was quite possible that Ögedei’s reaction might be less restrained than it had been at the dinner celebration, though the lingering bruises on the young man’s face spoke otherwise. It had been several days since he had presented the cup to Ögedei, and he had bided his time before attempting to seek the
Khagan
’s audience once more. He felt he was making progress in his efforts to curb Ögedei’s drinking, but he was still cautious. The
Khagan
was not unlike a wounded mountain lion.
The two guards outside the
Khagan
’s chambers looked even more nervous than he did. They stared past him, refusing to acknowledge his presence, and Gansukh paused, his conviction wavering.
“I...” He cleared his throat.
Tell them what you want
, he thought.
Do not spin a story.
“I need to see the
Khagan
.”
Neither guard replied. The one on the left rested his hand on the hilt of his scimitar, while the other blinked several times and licked his lips.
Being ignored is better than being assaulted.
Their behavior was odd, though; he would have expected them to take joy in telling him that the
Khagan
had expressly commanded them to treat him like this, like a worm not worthy of notice. After a month at court, he knew well the delight the Imperial Guard took in reminding visitors of their lower station.
“I have an important—”
He was cut off by a loud wail from inside the room. At first, he thought he had imagined the sound because the guards did not react, but then he caught the nervous twitch of their eyes—toward the door, at him, and then back to the empty hallway.
“Sounds like someone in pain,” Gansukh said. “Shouldn’t we investigate?”
The lip-licker’s tongue darted several times, and he glanced at Gansukh, then intercepted a hard stare from his companion. “The
Khagan
is not to be disturbed,” he said gruffly, as if none of them had heard the scream from within the room.
He’s afraid.
The shriek again rent the quiet hallway. Gansukh looked between the guards, whose decorum was fraying rapidly. This time, they refused to meet his eyes.
“I think that’s the
Khagan
,” Gansukh said.
“No it isn’t,” the man on the left said. The other guard nodded fervent agreement. He wanted to appear stern and threatening, but the slackness of his jaw only made his face quiver, defeating his attempt to appear menacing. “We have strict orders,” the left-hand guard continued. “We are not to enter, nor are we to allow anyone else to do so.”
“Is that wise?” Gansukh stepped closer to the door, and while both guards tensed, neither took action to stop him. “Is that what you are going to tell Master Chucai when he finds out that the
Khagan
has...
impaled
himself on a dagger or slipped and brokenbones...or something worse...?” Gansukh leaned in toward the door and cupped his hand to his ear, almost enjoying himself, pretending to listen intently for any noise from the suite. “He could be dead...”
“He’s not dead,” the second guard said doubtfully, his face pale and damp.
“No, no. Of course not. I was just suggesting that it was
possible
such a calamity had occurred,” Gansukh replied. Moving his hands slowly so as to not alarm them, he innocently indicated the door. “But we don’t really know, do we? Are you going to take responsibility for the
Khagan
’s death, if indeed that is what has happened and he bleeds out while you stand here? Is that the sort of Mongol you are? The kind who follows
orders
blindly without ever thinking for himself? Maybe you should be
thinking
that this situation has changed...”
With a muttered oath, the left-hand guard stepped aside. “You check,” he snapped at Gansukh. “It is your head she will take. Not mine.”
She
. Gansukh pretended to not have heard the guard’s slip, and
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