The Tiger-Headed Horseman Page 9

  ‘What do you mean, you have a message from Chinggis Khaan?’ said Lily's friend.

  ‘So you have heard about him?’ said Lily.

  ‘Of course I have, you stupid child!’ replied her friend.

  It was the first time that Lily's friend had spoken to her in anything other than a kindly tone. Lily was taken aback. She didn't know how to proceed. She wondered whether she had done something wrong.

  Then, more calmly, her friend asked, ‘Are you sure it was from Chinggis Khaan?’

  ‘I have no evidence to the contrary,’ said Lily, trying to sound more grown up, ‘but neither do I have any evidence to confirm it. I just have a feeling that it is from him. It feels right.’

  ‘What do you mean, a feeling?’ asked her friend.

  Lily's cheeks turned an embarrassed shade of red.

  ‘Well,’ said Lily coyly, ‘when I read the words I had a strange sensation in the very bottom of my stomach. It was as though Chinggis Khaan had been with me and had whispered the words directly into my ear. I know that sounds weird but I don't know how else to explain it.’

  ‘I have heard he has been known to have that effect on people sometimes,’ replied her friend dreamily.

  ‘What do you know about him?’ enquired Lily. ‘Did you ever, you know, meet him or anything either in this world or in the real one?’

  ‘Which one is real?’ said her friend. ‘He and I crossed paths but it was so long ago I can barely remember. He has a reputation, though. Many are aware of him but very few hear him. Those that do appear to have been chosen for a reason and are ultimately destined for greater things.’

  ‘Do . . . do you think he really chose me?’ asked Lily. She was excited at the prospect.

  ‘Had you thought about him before you received the box from your elders?’ asked her friend. ‘Did you ever wonder what it would be like to have met him and spent time in his company?’

  ‘Perhaps a little,’ said Lily. She wasn't sure where her friend was taking this conversation and, while she had spent a considerable amount of time with her, she didn't feel that she wanted to disclose her more intimate thoughts and feelings.

  ‘I can see by your hesitation that he has been long in your thoughts,’ probed her friend. ‘Do not be embarrassed. There is no shame in feeling as a woman ought to. I have often thought about him myself. It would appear that Chinggis has indeed identified you for some purpose. They say that he is still around somewhere, waiting for an opportunity to bring about peace to his people. I am less sure. From what I see of your world they have little desire for anything other than carnal pleasure, and certainly not peace. What was it that your message said?’

  Lily quoted Chinggis's words to her friend: ‘A tiger wearing a bell will starve and a cat that likes to eat fresh fish will not go into the water; however, the distance between Heaven and Earth is no greater than one thought.’

  ‘I think the feline references relate to the city dwellers of Baatarulaan,’ said Lily, ‘though I'm not certain. I don't know what the stuff about the bell and the starving means or about not going into the water. It's very obscure, isn't it? I'm not sure I even believe in Heaven, so that can't have anything to do with me, can it?’

  Her friend looked at her pensively. It took her several minutes before she answered Lily.

  ‘You are correct about the “fat cats” – that much is true,’ said Lily's friend. ‘They are certainly odd people that live in that city. If only they knew how much more pleasant a culturally rich and honest way of life could be. If they could only see the great cities that stand on the oceans in the west or the river cities to their south. Then they might think about changing. Then they might see that there is a way other than evil, debasement and debauchery.’ Lily's friend sighed.

  ‘That's all very well,’ said Lily, ‘but no one knows anything about anything outside Ongolium. We all know the Legend of Khad. We all know that we have more than we need if only we could make it work. Anyway, what's this got to do with the words on the box? What about the other references?’

  ‘There are some things we can see clearly,’ said her friend, ‘there are others that we see but do not understand. You are a clever lady: you already know the answers you are seeking; you already have the solution available to you.’

  Lily raised her eyebrows. She knew that conversations in the spirit world were rarely straightforward and often unusual, but his one felt particularly silly.

  ‘Please!’ pleaded Lily. ‘I don't understand what you are saying. Can you please stop speaking in riddles and just tell me what it is that I need to know? If I am set to undertake some sort of challenge, I need your help in understanding what it is I am supposed to do.’

  ‘You already know,’ said her friend. ‘Are you not the youngest herder group leader of our age? Do you not have control over your shamanic gift? Are you not able to walk in both the physical and spirit worlds? All this and you appear to have some sort of bond with Chinggis Khaan, the greatest emperor of all time!’

  ‘I know,’ implored Lily, ‘but I am still young and have so much to learn. I need your help. I have never been anywhere other than the Steppe. I have never met anyone other than herders. I have not had dealings with the city dwellers – that was my father's job. I am just a young woman who has been given a special and unusual box she doesn't understand, with words written on it that seem to mean very little. I don't know what it is I am supposed to do. You need to tell me what I have to do. You have always been here for me . . . Please!’

  ‘The more you listen to me, the more you give yourself room for doubt,’ said her friend. ‘Believe in yourself and act as you feel you should. There is no wrong decision other than not making one. Now, go and fulfil your destiny.’

  12

  Tengis had been back in Baatarulaan for only a short while but he had already noticed that the city had begun to change more than it had in the previous three hundred years. Tengis was shocked by just how fickle his countrymen were. When he had left a few days previously they had all been ardent supporters of Khadism. They had been people for whom laughter was more than just a way of life. But now it appeared that he had not been alone in wanting regime change. His Ten Recommendations had been an instant success.

  People adored new proclamations of this sort. When the proclamations were made in the presence of the lumps of lovely shining sunny metal, people dropped to their knees and venerated them and a whole new faith was born. Tengis truly did believe he was doing the right thing; that his actions were exactly what Chinggis would have done, only with less blood-letting and womanising, which he personally felt was a good thing. It didn't matter to him whether people were in love with the Recommendations or the shiny stuff. What mattered was that they were helping him facilitate positive change. Change was always good in Tengis's mind.

  Tengis had adopted a solitary and solemn persona. He decided he could be more effectual if he worked alone, trusted nobody and delegated nothing of importance. He did need help in some areas though. The first people he had visited were the Fun Brigade. The voice in his head had suggested that overly angry militia types would definitely be more impressed by the shimmering metal than by the Ten Recommendations. The voice had been correct.

  Despite Jester Oldortar having been excited by the prospect of educating the reprobate Tengis after his schoolroom heresy, he was even more delighted to hold and eventually own a small fragment of the sunny shimmering stuff. Tengis was surprised by the extent to which the material clawed control of the hard-man cum jester's mind, and even more so by his exceptional willingness to undertake Tengis's bidding whatever that might be. So keen was Jester Oldortar to help Tengis that within hours of having arrested Tengis he was slapping him on the back, telling him how fond he had always been of him and asking him if there was anyone special whom he would like earmarked for future education by the Fun Brigade or whether he had ever had someone in mind for a lengthy holiday in the House of Fun.

  It was all a little bewild
ering for Tengis but he was enjoying himself thoroughly. He had always been treated as an Outsider. The shimmering sunny substance was winning him much acclaim and even more friends. By the time Tengis left Clown Oldortar, the leader of the Fun Brigade had agreed that he would undertake any bidding that Tengis wished. He had also readily agreed to drop the word ‘jester’ from his name, so that Tengis's endeavours could not be tainted by Khadism. The two men set in motion a feasibility study of the city's public services, most of which related to discipline in some way or another. They agreed they would meet again soon to decide what to do. The shining metal was more powerful than Tengis could understand; nonetheless he was a little upset that it wasn't his Ten Recommendations that were inciting such excitement.

  To Tengis's credit, when he had written the Ten Recommendations he had been suitably vague in his wording. He was smart enough to know that, if he committed everything to slate, then it might be difficult to change things in the future; and change was almost always necessary. However, his vagueness was also down to the fact that Tengis had not really thought things through properly on his two-day trek; he had just known that he would need to retain a flexible approach as he sought to wrestle control from the Khadists he despised so much.

  Tengis soon discovered that, as a mass, people didn't so much seem to read the words as feel what was being said, or what was reported as having been said. Tengis knew the power of a good soundbite. There was no mention of laughter. There were only Ten Recommendations. Each Recommendation was short, concise, easy to talk about and straight to the point (if you read it as such). The Khadist laws of the land were so lengthy and numerous that they filled every floor of a string of eight-storey buildings on both sides of one of the main city boulevards. Ten was a far more manageable number, though for many still too high a number to remember or in some cases count up to. It fitted neatly into posters and was easy to use in zippy advertising: ‘The Tengis Ten’, ‘The Power of Ten’, ‘Ten-tation’, ‘Anyone for Ten-gis?’ Far better than the opposition's eighty-eight billion, two hundred and seventy-four million, six hundred and forty-three thousand, nine hundred and thirty-two edicts. That really did not work for marketing purposes and gave many Baatarulaan advertising executives no end of sleepless nights. These same executives were among the first to embrace Tengis's proclamations . . . and the shiny metal of course.

  Initially, the Khadist bureaucrats’ reaction had been to simply ignore Tengis. ‘How on earth can one man and ten ideas be any threat to the might of the Khadist regime?’ asked Bureaucracy Chief Officer in Charge of Dictating Answers No. 322. Even when it had become clear that Tengis was winning considerable support with his shiny material and abbreviated approach to ideology they refused to change. ‘There are men who walk through the woods and see no trees,’ said the same Chief Officer to Tengis, ‘and there are men who walk through the same woods and dedicate their life to counting and cataloguing every pine needle, bark chipping, squirrel pooh, mouldy mushroom and mosquito, not to mention the trees themselves. We are the latter kind of men – what kind are you?’ It was meant as a threat, as much of an overt threat as a bureaucrat was ever able to conjure without contravening their own rules and regulations. Bureaucrats didn't normally need threats; people usually got so bored listening to them that they didn't hear what they were saying and ended up agreeing with whatever it was the bureaucrat wanted so long as they agreed to stop talking.

  Within a week of Tengis's return, however, they had started to panic. He flew the Chinggis banner. The advertising executives had worked on Tengis's image and brand proposition. The voice in his head had insisted – against his better judgement – that, after securing the assistance of the Fun Brigade, Tengis make friends with the advertisers and marketers. They were people who knew that image was everything and that substance was insignificant. So long as people said the right things and believed strongly enough in what it was that they were saying, then other people would start to believe them, too. They found the effect of their words was magnified infinitely if they were able to sprinkle a smattering of made-up science and theory over their over-bloated words. Tengis disagreed but had reluctantly made the executives his second port of call.

  ‘Blue has to be the colour,’ said one executive. ‘Not only does it carefully juxtapose the infinitesimal power of your ideology with the heavens; it also embraces the Ongolian belief in the sky as protector. After numerous focus groups we have knocked up the following – I just know you are going to love it.’

  Tengis shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  ‘I suggest setting the blue off against black and white,’ the executive continued. ‘Not only does it show that you have no favouritism, it looks really nice too, which is very important for future merchandising opportunities. I imagine a blue box framed in white. On the left- and right-hand side there is a thicker black fringe. Can you visualise this? Can you not see it as a flag flying high over the city?’

  ‘What does it really matter?’ asked Tengis. ‘I mean who cares what colours or images I use. I mean why do I need to use any at all? I would rather people listened to me rather than look at what designs or iconologies I have adopted.’

  The executives, for whom iconology was sacrosanct, turned to one another in horror, clasped their hands over their ears, and began to burble loudly, feigning deafness. Tengis got up to leave.

  ‘Tengis, please! Sit down, please,’ said the executive who had been talking before. ‘I realise that you are young and have perhaps not had as much experience of this city and its people as we have. Please, have faith in what we are peddling . . . umm, I mean saying. Marketing is a science if not an art form. Careful consideration and contemplation mixed with a healthy dose of manipulation can truly create a thing of beauty and a thing of beauty is a joy for ever, as someone once said.’

  Tengis sat down. ‘What do you propose?’ He found what was being said entertaining. It was against everything he believed in. He was a man for whom fact and substance carried more kudos than fluff and fancy. He also thought that having a dozen mature advertising executives pandering so willingly to his every whim was utterly amusing.

  ‘Thank you,’ said the executive. ‘Picture this. You are standing giving one of your amazing speeches. You are standing on a podium. Behind you, draped a hundred feet high, are your insignia. Can you see it?’

  The other executives gasped and looked into the air imagining what the insignia might be.

  ‘What on earth would be on this insignia of mine?’ asked Tengis. He crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Focus on the colours!’ said the executive. He waved his arms theatrically. ‘Blue, white–black. The colours of Tengis and the Ten Recommendations. What's that amid the colours? I hear you ask . . . I hear you ask. I can't hear you asking!’

  ‘What's that amid the colours?’ gasped the other executives in unison. They all appeared to be considerably more excited than Tengis about what was amid the colours.

  ‘Behold. The proud horse of Chinggis,’ said the executive. ‘And riding that horse, a young warrior with the head of a tiger; a youthful defender of the people; a rightful leader bedecked in a suit made of the shimmering shining sunny substance. He holds his right hand up in defiance. Grasped in that hand, the tablet of the Ten Recommendations.’ The executive began to sob. ‘We have Tengis and Chinggis united and uniting our country; the horse representing the past, the tiger signifying the future. Beneath the knight and his steed, read the following words, emblazoned in sparkling letters: “Believe in ideas and ideals not outdated ideology. What counts is what works. The objectives are radical. The means will be modern. Change is good.” ’

  The other executives began to clap zealously. They stood as one and embraced the executive.

  Tengis shook his head. The words were not his, although they did give an approximation of what he was trying to achieve. As for the colours and imagery, they really didn't appeal to his sense of logic. However, Tengis did what the voice in his
head suggested, even if he didn't understand the wisdom behind it. That would soon change.

  During the days following his meeting with the executives Tengis began to notice posters, flags, pendants, T-shirts and flyers appearing around Baatarulaan. It looked as though people didn't really know, or care, what they stood for but there was a frenzied rush to get hold of the merchandise nonetheless. People were queuing outside designated stalls just to get hold of some item or other that would show that they were part of this new political pandemic. Tengis doubted whether any of them could have recalled even one of the Ten Recommendations though he was increasingly sure that they did know they existed.

  Later that week Tengis started to see people walking around with shiny paper wrapped around the outside of their clothing. These people would randomly hold aloft a large flat rock and shout: ‘Hail the Ten Recommendations!’ Everyone within earshot would cheer enthusiastically and offer up three hiphip-hoorays.

  By the end of that first week Tengis had inadvertently created enough people in his own image that several thousand Deggites dressed in the same colour as the shining metal marched through the streets chanting slogans against the Khadist regime as well as no shortage of obscenities: ‘What do we want? Khadists out! When do we want it? Now!’, ‘Come try take some shining material if you think you're hard enough’, ‘There's only one Chinggis Khaan, one Chinggis Khaan, one Chinggggissss Khaaaaan!’, ‘Tengis, Tengis, he's our man; if you don't like him we'll chop off your hands!’

  Tengis had found that he had a natural aptitude for addressing the mob. His professorial attire made him stand out and people immediately thought of him as an intellectual, and therefore right, just because he had the correct leather patches on the elbows of his jacket. In reality, the people didn't really care what it was that Tengis was saying. They were enraptured by the shimmering sunny yellow-orange metal. So long as Tengis ended each meeting or speech by holding aloft a large lump of it, he was sure to be met by rapturous applause, fervent adoration and professions of absolute faith. It frightened him slightly that his fellow Ongolians could be turned so blindly and he made note that, if he was to retain their loyalty in the longer term, he would need to discipline their thinking and behaviour in some way.