“Why are you scared of me? I won’t hurt you.” Steve took several more coins out of his pouch. Holding them in this open palm, he slowly walked toward the man and dropped the coins on his lap. Then he backed away again. “Did someone tell you I would hurt you?”

The old man looked down at the money, then up at Steve again. Slowly, he moved one hand to cover the coins. Then he eyed Steve again.

“I won’t hurt you,” Steve said gently. “I just want to find my friend.”

The old hostler studied his face for a moment, then looked around in the darkness nearby. He swallowed and picked up the coins in one hand. Then he fumbled around for his earthenware bottle.

Steve stepped forward and picked it up. He brushed off some bits of dirt and broken straw and handed it to the old man. Then he moved away again.

The hostler took a long drink. He lowered the bottle, wincing, and let out a long breath. He looked up at Steve again, less frightened than before.

“What happened to my friend?” Steve asked.

“You act like an ordinary man.”

“Yeah, I guess. Why wouldn’t I?”

“They told me you deal with evil spirits,” he muttered, looking away.

“What? Who told you?”

“Some men from another inn,” he said quietly. “They said you and your woman deal with evil spirits.”

“Look, it’s not true. We don’t deal with evil spirits. It’s a misunderstanding.”

“They seemed so sure. And some of them are educated young men.”

“It’s not their fault.” Steve struggled to hide his impatience. “Another man has fooled them. But I have to help my friend. Tell me what happened.”

“They paid me to show them the back door and to saddle her horse while they were inside. Then they carried out your friend. When they left, they said they would come back for you.”

“Will you help me?”

The hostler hesitated. He seemed embarrassed by the story he had just told. “What do you want?”

“Saddle my horse and tell me which way they went.”

The hostler nodded and slowly got to his feet. “I’ll help you. They took your friend through the gate.” He walked toward the horses.

“What?” Steve followed him. “Don’t the guards close the gate at night?”

“Yes. They bribed the sentries to open it for them. I saw them in the light of the torches.” The hostler went inside the stable.

Steve waited for him outside and looked toward the gate in the Great Wall. Torches burned over the gate, but no guards were posted down on the road now. He could see firelight flickering in the windows of the watchtower over the gate; obviously, that was where the night watch spent their hours on duty.

A moment later, the hostler led his horse out with a halter and tied it loosely to a pole.

“Can the sentries normally be bribed that way?”

“Yes, the Chinese guards can be. But not the Mongols, if you see any.” The hostler went back inside the stable and came out with Steve’s saddle.

“How much does it take?”

The hostler threw on the saddle and adjusted its position. “What you gave me would do it, but each man who comes down from the watchtower must have the same.” He drew the girth up under the horse and cinched it.

“How many are there?”

“Only two men are on watch. Sometimes only one wants to come down. Maybe the other is asleep, or just doesn’t want to bother.” The old man slipped off the halter and put on the bridle. When he had fastened it, he handed the reins to Steve.

“I expect to be back tonight with my friend,” said Steve. “We’ll want you to take care of our horses again.” He put his foot in the stirrup and swung up into the saddle.

The old man nodded.

Steve looked up into the sky. The moon was high and threw enough light to see the ground. Still, he had no idea what kind of terrain he was about to cross.

He nudged his mount forward and reached up to unhook the lantern that hung over the stable. “I’ll bring this back if I can.” Then, holding the lantern in one hand, he rode toward the gate in the Great Wall.