The Tiger-Headed Horseman (15 page)

It was a bitterly cold night. Better to be in company than alone. Odval was attending some Khadist event with her father. There was not much to burn. The Khadists had removed all tree-like vegetation centuries ago in fear of would-be assassins. People were burning whatever they could possibly lay their hands on –broken tables and chairs, paper . . . even candles. Anything that would provide some respite from the invading chill. Temperatures in Ongolium fell below freezing during October to March. It was February. The temperature rarely rose above minus twenty during the day. At night it could be as low as minus forty. Dusk was upon them. The disparate groups gathered into a larger group trying to retain body heat among one another. The shops of Baatarulaan had not been restocked in years. The average person survived from what scraps and morsels they could scavenge. Even wild dogs seemed to have a better-balanced diet than your typical Baatarulaanian.

Normally, the square would be empty but now, it seemed, people wanted to be with others. People wanted to talk about the Recommendations Tengis had brought them, even if few knew who he was or what the Recommendations actually were; few honestly cared. There was a sense of electricity charging the air. Tengis could feel it forcing its way through the biting cold on to his skin.

Bonfires were combined into a larger central flame around which several hundred people sheltered. Scarves and hats were drawn tightly over faces. Tengis was pleased there was no wind. That would have been too much. The fire began to diminish. People looked around anxiously at one another.

‘Speak, you fool,’ said the voice in Tengis's head. ‘Quickly, take the initiative. Tell them what they want to hear.’ Some people at the fringes began to walk away in search of heat.

‘Everybody!’ said Tengis. He stood upon the last remaining wood before it was burned and drew himself into a manly
posture. ‘I know that some of you are aware of who I am. There are many of you who do not but who do know of my glimmering substance.’ This grabbed the people's attention. ‘My name is Tengis Khaan; author of the Ten Recommendations; miner of the shimmering metal; loyal servant of the true Khaan dynasty. Son to a wronged mother; patron of a ruined city; and I will help my people, on this day or the next.’

People stopped moving away. Others gave a little cheer before falling back into silence. All looked up at Tengis, not really understanding what it was he was saying but very eager to hear what else he might utter. He was speaking with such conviction, and he was the owner of the glimmering stuff, so his meaning must be riddled with glorious wisdom. Tengis didn't know what else to say.

‘Quick!’ said the voice in his head. ‘Quick, you have them; keep them! Now is your chance! Seize the moment!’

‘I know that many of you are cold and haven't eaten properly for a while,’ said Tengis. People around him murmured in accord. ‘I also know that many of you have long been unhappy with the way in which Baatarulaan has been governed.’ More people nodded in agreement. Nodding also helped people keep warm so Tengis wasn't sure if they really were agreeing and quickly carried on talking. ‘I know that you feel that you've been let down. I know that you feel that those in power have abused their station; that they have taken and kept what should have been shared among you; that they are only interested in looking out for themselves.’

People were moving closer to him to make sure they heard what he was saying. Others came streaming out of nowhere from all across the square, drawn towards Tengis and the throng.

‘Many among you have no place to call home; or at least no place with warmth and running water.’ Some people began to
voice their approval. ‘Who among you has not grown sick of the Fun Brigade and the perpetual fun they keep poking at you?’ More voices spoke in approval. ‘Who is not tired of worshipping false idols for fear of persecution and having to find ways to make life bearable? Who would not be free from the tyranny that has held you tight and bound you in its addictive substances?’

Tengis's words were met with applause. He was enjoying this. The voice in his head was enjoying it even more. He started to use more body language, pointing at the crowd to highlight particular words, raising both hands upwards to promote others.

‘Who among you would not be rid of Khadism for ever?’ The audience exploded in a din of cheering and clapping. People had forgotten they were cold and hungry. Tengis had helped them forget.

‘Who is with me?’ said Tengis. He was hoisted upon the shoulders of men. ‘Who will follow the Ten Recommendations?’ There was some applause. ‘Who will follow the shiny yellow metal?’ There was uproar.

People streamed forward to touch him. This was the reception Tengis had wished for, more than anything. The voice in his head sat quietly in silent, conceited contentment. The plan was working.

Tengis allowed his followers to embrace him. He was their new leader. He needed to act as such, showing grace, humility, strength and honour. To keep the people warm he incited a raid on all the city's libraries to purge them of the inhuman, and often gratuitous, magazines that adorned their walls. For food Tengis decreed that all homes of Khadist sympathisers be emptied of nutrition for the greater good. New Chinggists would oversee fair and equitable distribution. He encouraged people to declare that night the last night of Khem. Going
forward people would be free to be themselves, to have their own will. Tengis gave them the strength to do so. Instead of taking Khem, all addicts would be encouraged to drink from a special chalice made from the sunny orange substance. As they drank addicts would be promised salvation; their bodies purged of craving, their minds filled with obsession.

Fearing for their property and knowing in which direction power was shifting, the wealthier members of Baatarulaan declared their support for New Chinggism. Over the course of the week following the Square Dance, as Tengis's initial meeting had come to be known, they welcomed him into their homes. The wealthy poured syrup on to his tea and into his ears. Tengis had never felt so accepted. People, rich and poor, believed in him. People believed he was doing good. People believed that his wondrous glistening material would eradicate evil. He was enjoying having power. There was too much for him to do alone though. He needed assistants and assistance was closer than he had realised.

Given his ability to procure almost anything, Tengis made Odval's father High Minister for Economic Affairs, whose remit included wealth, nutrition and physiological needs distribution. Mr Enkh set about establishing unions for each area, who went almost immediately on strike because they felt that the other union must have been receiving better entitlements. To break them Mr Enkh had procured a number of photographic images of each union leader in an untoward predicament which served well to keep them in line. Mr Enkh was a very resourceful man. The people felt happy.

Oldortar (or Oldortar the Clown as his friends still called him) was a natural choice as Chief of Staff for Safety and Security. He had been in charge of the Fun Brigade for years. So as not to confuse people who supported New Chinggism, one of his first objectives was to rename the Fun Brigade as the Leggie
on account for the fact that they walked everywhere. He also undertook a special review of the House of Fun (renamed the House of Hurt), the result of which was that any resident being entertained for Chinggist ‘crimes’ was released immediately so long as they served in the Leggie. Almost immediately the residents of Baatarulaan no longer feared their protectors. The people felt protected.

Tengis had in mind someone special to place in charge of promoting the Ten Recommendations. One Saturday afternoon when people were otherwise occupied he went in search of that person. Knocking on a large wooden door belonging to one of the top Khadist bureaucrats, Tengis brushed the dust from his waistcoat. The door opened.

‘Err, hi,’ said the voice of a young man. ‘What, what are you doing here? Have I done something wrong?’

‘Hello, Tchoo,’ said Tengis. ‘I have a proposition for you. One I think you will feel obliged to accept.’

So it was that Tchoo left his hated guardians and became Head of Self-Actualisation. Tchoo would have a free, relatively free, rein with which to market and advance the Ten Recommendations using his honesty, charm and a little bit of bullying. Tengis knew that enemies could sometimes become the most loyal of friends.

The most important role was the easiest for Tengis to fill. There was only one person in the world he would or even could trust as his closest advisor – that was Odval. She accepted graciously. On her first night in office she would become more than simply a spiritual mistress. Tengis moved into the Enkh household. Tengis even managed to persuade his estranged mother to move into a centrally heated hut in the garden (she had refused resolutely to live under the same roof as her rapscallion son and his hussy vixen).

It was a kind of family and it kind of worked. Important
visitors would come to the house to pay their respects and pledge their allegiance to the New Chinggist movement. The first council meeting of the New Chinggist Upper Guard (Tengis and his four confidants) was held in Mr Enkh's sitting room. Tengis's mother supplied hot chocolate and nibbles. The top agenda item was driven not by Tengis but by his team. They wanted him to force the Khadists along the road to democracy. They insisted that, with the support that Tengis had managed to garner over the previous month, there was no way anyone could successfully stand against him in an election. He would be voted in as President Of Ongolian People. It was a new role; a democratic role. His Council insisted it would win favour with the people far longer and less shakily if Tengis agreed to become the first elected President of Ongolian People. Just thinking about the marketing campaign filled him with dread; he could envisage the short-form name he would be given.

It was true the Khadists had completely misread the situation when Tengis and New Chinggism had first appeared. Like so many of the bad smells that lingered in Baatarulaan from time to time, they thought people would simply get used to it and eventually forget it was there. They had underestimated the way in which Tengis had been able to sway sentiment in his favour with his clever words, marketing prowess and shining shimmering substance. They knew their days were numbered. Many Khadists refused to give up but many more changed their allegiance to New Chinggism. Tengis only too readily accepted their commitment to his cause. Those Khadists that remained turned to spreading lies about Tengis. They would say he slept with his horse, even though everyone knew he didn't have one. They would say that he was an Outsider in disguise, even though everyone remembered seeing him running around as a child. They would even stoop so far as to say that his father was a devout Khadist, which happened to be true but was no longer
of any consequence to Tengis who had never actually met him.

‘What are you going to do about all these rumours?’ asked Odval after they had shared a particularly robust and steamy mug of hot malted chocolate.

‘Gossip is worse than poison,’ said Tengis. ‘I need to find a cure, and quickly.’

In reality, however, he had more pressing matters to deal with. He had built a team who worshipped him and who wanted him to force the Khadists to play the democratic card. The problem was that Tengis was enjoying being in charge. Power was beginning to go to his head. He still believed absolutely in New Chinggism and the Ten Recommendations but he also believed that to cement this absolute faith he needed to rule absolutely. He wanted to be an emperor. He wanted to use his shining metal as he saw fit. He had little desire to listen to what his Council was telling him and he had most definitely absolutely no desire to become their primary POOP. He wanted to be a number one.

15

Lily felt like a different person after a good night's sleep. She was a different person. When she had woken up yesterday she had only even known the Steppe; now she was staying with strangers in a hidden corner of Baatarulaan. She felt oddly liberated. After checking on Lucky, who had evidently slept as well as she had, Lily went in search of breakfast. As she ascended the stairs a scent she had not known hit her.

‘Good morning,’ said Lily. Both men were already waiting for her at the table. ‘What on earth is that wonderful smell?’

‘That'll be the coffee then,’ said Drudger. ‘Watch yourself, though, it's strong stuff.’ He poured Lily half a mug. She tasted it. She loved it. ‘So what
are
you doing in Baatarulaan? I know Danyal is too polite to ask but I ain't.’

Two strangers had taken her in, fed her, stabled her horse and given her a safe roof to sleep under; the least Lily could do was talk to them. She figured that if they had been untoward characters that her person and few belongings would have been taken before now.

‘I am a herder,’ said Lily. Both men looked at her, astonished. They had never seen one before. ‘I'm not a freak,’ remarked Lily. She felt as though she was being examined a little too closely and she didn't like feeling like a specimen of sorts.

‘I'm sorry,’ said Danyal. ‘We've never seen a real herder before. We hear stories about them but they don't seem to come to Baatarulaan often since they were outlawed. Why the
Khadists want to keep everyone within the city limits is beyond me. I always felt there were far too many people in too small a space with no room to breathe. The only herder I've heard about in recent times was Baatar. They say he would sneak into Baatarulaan in the dead of night and pilfer goods and belongings for his people. He was popular in the taverns. They say he could drink like a camel, eat like a yak and sing like a wolf. Word is he got captured, though.’

‘That would be my father,’ said Lily. The men looked shocked. ‘It certainly sounds like him and he was, rather is, called Baatar. Do you know where he is now?’ Both men looked at her pityingly and shook their heads.

‘I'm afraid he got taken to the House of Fun,’ said Drudger. He took a sharp intake of breath as he said the words.