It is widely known, even by the Persian children, that when a chick hatches it considers the first thing it sees as its mother.

            It is a lot less widely known that when a Khan dies, the last thing that they see becomes the next Mongolian ruler.

            Marco looks into the eyes of the Great Khan, who bleeds beautifully.

            The Polos arrive outside of Shang-tu, Kublai Khan's summer residence. A royal escort appears to greet them. One orange. One blue. One red. Marco enjoys the colors because they contrast the sand dunes except for the orange one which matches it perfectly. The horsemen rival each other in speed but the one in red arrives first.

            "The Great Khan's advisors have decided that the Great Khan would love to see you. You should definitely consider coming this way!" says the messenger in red. They walk quickly towards the Great Khan's palace. The orange and blue horsemen walk with a little less skip because they will be executed.

The Polos give the Great Khan silver candleholders laced with angels. The Mongols give Maffeo and Niccilo twelve wives each and a top heavy sword swelling with jewels. Maffeo politely declines the wives, but Niccilo accepts in high spirits. Marco feels left out because he cannot yet receive political gifts.

They bestow the gifts to the Great Khan, who receives them with joy and prizes them very highly. "If you'd like to sit, I'd like to hear about your travels."

"I would very much like that thank you," says Niccilo. "But first let me give you some holy water from the Pope himself."

"Well, I am taken aback!" says the Great Khan.

"Just as I promised!"

"What a spanking bottle!"

They sit and the Great Khan listens to their tales. He sits in a foldable hunting chair made to be ergonomically correct and the Polos sit cross legged on a fresh bear fur. Marco rudely falls asleep in the Great Khan's presence but is forgiven because he is too young to be political.

Marco plays with the Mongolian children. He feels awkward, but they are very friendly owing to the Great Khan's orders. They play a game of Mongolian hop scotch.

"You see, the trick is to learn which foot you are most agile with."

On the Same Day

The sun sets but it is an awkward sunset. Niccilo and his twelve wives sit on a long bench that swings at a swivel near the top. They are positioned near the edge of a cliff and Niccilo feels at home.

"Are the sunsets always so swarthy?" asks Niccilo to his wives.

"You should be hunting with the other men," reply the wives in unison.

"I'm sorry you will have to speak Italian," says Niccilo in perfect Italian. Niccilo calls for Marco, who is playing a game at the bottom of the hill. Marco runs up the hill towards his uncle.

"Yes Uncle I was just playing some Mongolian hop scotch."

"Well isn't that fine are you having a good time?" asks Niccilo.

"Yes I am Uncle I am," says Marco.

"Can you translate something for me Marco?"

"Of course!"

"Please ask my first-rate wives why the sunsets are so strange in Mongolia."

Marco regales to them a story of his home, where the sunsets tend to lack a distinct swarth.

The Great Khan learns of uprisings in the South. He writes to his brother in Cambaluc. Every character is a big sweeping motion, spraying ink onto his servants. It requires fourteen drafts. "Go to the south with a thousand horsemen. You will be greatly rewarded."

Signed your brother, Kublai Khan.

Another day the Great Khan and Maffeo are walking outside the Summer Palace.  They stop several times so the Khan can explain the behaviors of local flowers. They sit on a bench of intertwined stone lions and the Great Khan offers a blooming Hurlcimerc.

"This is the finest flower."

"Then why do you lacer it?"

"Oh my."

Maffeo and the Great Khan continue their walk in silence, admiring the golden palace. A sunset of blood reflects off the palace and dances self-consciously on the rest of the known world.

One afternoon Marco is playing in the halls of the Great Khan's palace. Running around a corner, he trips over a large boot made of a single duck.

"Hey, you're that little Marco kid," says the Great Khan. His left eye sparkles white and the Great Khan gives Marco some candy. Marco takes the candy and carries it with both hands. He smugs because this will burden him while playing Mongolians and Chinese.

Marco attends a boy's school with the Mongolian children. He becomes popular among the girls, despite their home lives. The girls spend their mornings singing songs about him, and the mothers become suspicious. The boys in school become jealous so they tear pieces of his clothes.

Marco talks to his teacher. His Mongolian is perfect. The teacher gives him an A and tells him to never come back. Marco looks pleased, but inside his heart he yearns for education.

Niccilo, Maffeo, and the Great Khan are hunting in the woods.

"Your falcons are very fine," says Niccilo. He releases a falcon and it dives up through the black network of branches. They walk in the direction of the throaty screeches. The horses go the opposite direction.

"Perhaps we should follow the horses?" asks Maffeo.

"Yes, I believe the horse's intuition is better than any human's," says the Great Khan.

"Oh yes. I read that in National Geographic," says Niccilo.

"National Geographic?" asks the Great Khan.

One morning Marco and the Great Khan arrive at the bathhouse at the same time. They splash water onto each other's faces and laugh. Marco submerges his head and does a back flip. The Great Khan claps jovially.

"So how often do your people take baths in your home country?" asks the Great Khan.

"Oh I'd say once or twice a month."

"How barbaric!" replies the Great Khan, sponging his ears.

"Yes, I never knew baths were so great. You guys have the right idea!"

"Don't forget to wash your shoulder Marco. That graze from horseback riding lessons will become unhygienic if you do not wash it."

"Thank you for reminding me, I would have completely forgotten!"

Marco scrubs the sore tenderly.

"So how is your uncle handling training every morning?" asks the Great Khan, sponging his nose.

"He is doing great he killed three dummies today."

"That is fantastic, surely the Chinese will fear us!"

"Much more than they do now!"

Every day for ten years the Great Khan and Marco spend time in the bath together.

It is Marco's birthday, but Niccilo fails to attend. Marco does not notice because too many people swarm around him. On this day the town square bustles. Marco is lead to a table of pure gold. It is covered in exotic foods but Marco is quite used to them now.

"Oh this is fantastic!" exclaims Marco.

"Today you become a man," says Maffeo.

"Yes, but only a man in Italy. I am not a man in Mongolia."

"Surely you feel older though! Oh the time passes so quickly."

They experience the party's energy and take this moment to put on the ceremonial birthday robes. Banners with Marco's name are strung out onto wires spanning between yurts. The colors are all carefully chosen and pre-approved by the Great Khan himself, so the pallet is considerably successful to the eye.

The Great Khan walks up to the golden podium and emits a tender cough. The crowds mute themselves and study their Khan intently.

"Oh Great Khan! Oh Great Khan!" they chant.

"People people, oh great people," says the Great Khan. He speaks quietly, but all Mongolians can hear him echoing in their eardrums. Marco and Maffeo can hear him because they are standing next to the podium. "Today is a day for celebration. Thank you for coming to the birthday gala of my Marco Polo. I will now give him high position in my court."

The people clap politely.

Niccilo practices his mounted sword work. He can only wield one sword, but he hopes to use two as soon as possible. "It is only a matter of logic. If I have two swords, I will be two times as powerful."

The Mongols nod full of pride, thinking back to his first Mongolian word.

The Great Khan looks over the astronomers' charts. They are white papers with black dots and notes scribbled in the margins. The Great Khan glances over them and immediately understands what they mean.

"Yes, this only confirms what the spirits of the Khans have been telling me. We must build a new capitol. We will name it Khanbalig."

The Great Khan participates in the ground breaking ceremony three days later.

Marco spends the next three months in Northern Mongolia, attending political parties and representing the Great Khan. He arrives at a Mongolia-Russia trade summit and is impressed by the effort put into the colors. The hosts welcome him and sit him down in a wooden chair of the finest irkth. Taking hold of the handles they pick him up and carry him about, being careful to walk smoothly. He samples the hors d'oeuvres and chats with the emissaries. The hosts carry the chair in such a way that no man is taller than Marco.

"Why if it isn't the representer of the Great Khan himself!" says a Russian emissary. He wears brightly died animal furs of various girths, and between his teeth a tongue slithers wildly.

"I do not believe we have met," says Marco, extending a wave.

"Your reputation precedes you," says the Russian emissary.

"Oh you are just too kind!"

"But to serious matters," whispers the Russian.

"Yes! Off, off, to serious matters. Shall we recess to a dark corner?"

They move to the darkest corner and shroud themselves with curtains.

"Do you know what is good for economy?" asks the Russian. Marco does not have to think.

"Conquests, wars, paper money, tax cuts, fear, fair wages, slavery, higher taxes, innovation, new products, government subsidies."

"Stocks and bonds," says the Russian.

"Tell me more."

Mangu, the Great Khan's brother, writes from the south. He writes each character with the tip of a falcon feather, using as little human blood as possible.

"The Chinese rebellion has been repressed for twelve years, this time I fear they are greater than expected. Please help brother!"

Signed, your brother, Mangu.

The Great Khan finds his biggest brush and writes to Marco who is attending classy political parties. "Rally the communes of Northern Mongolia. We must aid my brother."

Signed, yours truly, the Great Khan.

Niccilo charges on a dummy, two swords, one in each hand. He has grown a beard, which he thinned to increase speed but still remain socially acceptable. The dummy runs towards the trees but is easily overtaken.

"Ha ha! That is another dummy just today!"

"That is great Nicci! You will make a general for sure!"

"It is only a matter of logic," says Niccilo. "If I wield three swords I will become three times as powerful."
            He begins immediately.

Maffeo sits in the garden, concerned for the Great Khan. He writes a poem that expresses his feelings:

The sun comes up slightly earlier than the day before and the Great Khan speaks to his armies, one man at a time. He goes into their yurts and shakes them gently, whispering into their ears. He is very careful to not wake up any of the wives.

"Awake, horseman of Mongolia."

"Great Khan, Great Khan. Great Khan. Is it you?"

"Awaken. Awaken. Awaken."

"Great Khan. Great Khan."

Marco Polo arrives outside of Khanbalig, Kublai Khan's new capitol. A royal escort appears to greet him. They wear several shades of pastel. Marco's body convulses at the misharmony. 

"I have rallied the Mongol hordes of the north and brought ten thousand horsemen," says Marco to the royal escort.

"What a wonderfully round number!" says the royal escort. The horsemen look into the sky because they've run out of conversation topics.

Maffeo sits in another part of the garden. It is shaded by a leafless branch and Maffeo positions himself under it. He writes a poem that expresses his feelings of drifting family ties.

Later that night Maffeo burns the only copy.

The Polos arrive in a secondary Great Hall, often used for smaller meetings. Hundreds of tables are connected in a line and covered in cloth, so the guests do not have to see the chinks between tables. With only inches separating each pillar, they are surrounded by the columns of muted granite. Lesser advisors, interns of advisors, cooks, gate crashers. All of medium caliber are prodded with spears from behind so they may pile upon each other and look through the spaces between pillars. A sharp murmur crescendos into a blazing climax as the Great Khan floats from the ceiling on slices of reinforced silk. The silk flows behind the Great Khan and fails to settle even after his feet press the ground.

            Square streams of light pour in perfectly, illuminating each individual seat of the convention. Depending on the position of an advisor's seat, different color windows are chosen, color coding each person by rank. Starting on the Great Khan, there is white, red, green, blue, orange, yellow then no light. Those with no light tend to chat a lot so the Great Khan makes it a point to reposition some of the guards.

            Niccilo sits orange. Maffeo sits blue. Marco sits red.

The Great Khan writes another letter to his brother. He uses foresight and orders a known-world record size brush to be created. He dips it in a vat of ink, and writes violently.

            "It has been decided. We have forty-four thousand horsemen to prance. Survive dearest brother! We leave at dawn."

            Signed, your loving brother, The Great Khan.

The mail system is divided into three categories: Standard Ground, Second Class Express, and First Class. Although unknown to the masses, there is a fourth. The Khan has his own mail system, although sometimes Marco sends packages this way because it is so convenient.

            "Hello Frlak, will you please get this into the mail right away?"

            "Sure Great Khan. Oops, it looks like you forgot the return address."

            "You're a lifesaver Frlak! Do you have any ink on you?"

            "Just a second, I'll have to check the supply closet. I'm fresh out up here."

            "Okay then I'll just wait here while you look for the ink then."

            The Great Khan leans his elbows on the counter and whistles the popular folk tune, My Falcon Tried to Hunt a Bearcat.

The mail system is divided into three speeds. Standard Ground consists of men on foot, relaying between rest stations. Each man is given three miles to traverse. On a clear cool day, fifty miles can be managed.

Second Class Express utilizes the slower, older horses. Often times these are the same speed as Standard Ground. The insult: "You are slower than a Second Class Express Mongolian mailman" originates from this.

First Class uses only the finest horses and dyes them red because everybody knows that red horses run faster. With ample way stations, they can ride five hundred miles in a day.

            The mail service reserved for the Khan is faster than any mail system that will ever be learned to man in over a thousand years.

Niccilo fills his pockets with a powder made from ground rice and buttons them tightly. He orders his men to do so also so they raid the local patties and begin grinding the plundered grains.

            "China will fear us now!" they all exclaim.

            "Blood blood blood!" replies Nicillo.

            "Blood blood blood!" they all chant, nophing the farmers as they flee.

the great khan writes an autobiography and makes the choice to break certain grammar conventions that would get any normal man lynched he is later emulated by a poet who becomes wildly popular because of it

A servant of a previous Khan pulls his chin back to make sure he has not missed his target. As the air slaffles through his clothes, he feels for the letter in his pouch. His right eye catches a small fire, which is really much bigger when you aren't so far away. Beginning his decent, he prays to his master that he makes it to the ground safely. According to the Great Khan's statistic's office, most crashes occur during take-off and landing. A falcon appears out of nowhere and explodes on his left arm.

Mangu sleeps with his back to the outer wall, constructed of bodies sewn together with a tweedy material. They all stand upright and rigid from the rigamortus, long stakes driving through the heads and into the ground. The wall is two bodies thick. The outside layer is made up of Chinese rebels; the inside Mongolians.

            "Mangu, Mangu, we believe they are setting up to siege us out!"

            "How is our food supply?" asks Mangu.

            "Very low, but only our hearts hunger for battle!"

            "How is our water supply?"

            "Even lower, but drinking the blood of our enemies is satisfaction enough!"

            "How is our ammunition?"
            "The arrows are blunt and rusted, but they will die slowly from the rusting disease!"

            "Do we have tunnels?"

            "No, but we will begin digging right away using the pelvises of our enemies as shovels!"

            "Is the Great Khan on his way?"

            "He is two days march and his numbers are great!"

            "Other reinforcements?"
            "The hands of soldiers should be fully grown by late fall. If we water them regularly we will have many men to help our cause!"

            "Of course. Yes, of course."

The Great Khan is the pinnacle of the army, and Marco follows only inches behind, off to the right. Behind them seas of horsemen clap over the hill. Each horse is trained to step in coordination with one another. The booming echo of their clop  clop  clop  is heard from miles away. When the horsemen chat with each other they have to time it between clops for the sheer volume. 

            It is said that when one Mongolian horseman slows more than his colleagues, it affects those miles behind him. The Mongolians solve this problem by crushing any horse that misplaces a hoof.       The Great Khan secretly condemns this brutal punishment, but finds it good for moral.

The Great Khan stops and the horsemen behind him do also. The Chinese rebel army has set up camp on the other side of a make-shift fortress. Men from inside the fortress fire arrows at random intervals, but the Chinese rebel army is too far away. The arrows fly with a sense of defeat, hitting the ground on their sides.

            The Great Khan tries to make out the Chinese rebel forces, but his vision is blurred from the swarming dust.

Maffeo sits in his yurt, resting his head on a pillow of hands. There is a hole in the ceiling of the yurt to let smoke out, and he focuses his vision on that. The hands massage his neck and head and hair and he relaxes. It is times like these that Maffeo longs to return to Venice and open a barber shop.

            "There is nothing like Venetian hair," says Maffeo.

            "Hmm?" asks a servant, attached to one of the hands.

Marco and the Great Khan have a temporary windowed yurt built quickly on the hillside. As they wait they play a card game that uses forty six colors and a board with lines crisscrossing all over it. Marco wins several times in a row.

            The soldiers calm their horses with carrots, being careful to keep their hands at right angles to the horse's teeth.

            Niccilo rallies his men with an ancient Venetian war song.

            Maffeo packs the rest of his bags, and makes for Venice with a personal escort of twelve old men in flowing black wedding gowns. With him he brings cups cups cups of various colors. They take a detour to the south to avoid the Gobi desert, which is particularly dull this time of year.

            The Mongols, lead by several shining generals charge over the hill. They move like a well written symphony. The Great Khan and Marco watch from their hill, toes smuckering slightly in the heat. Horses gradually move away from the synchronized clop clop clop and create a distinct gorble. The noise gets louder and the horses' eyes become blood shot and send hallucinatory images to their brains. Fire erupts from wherever the horses clop clop clop and Niccilo is surprised because he's never heard of this happening before despite all the books he has read.

            The dust around them suddenly clears. The Chinese rebel army stands ready with spears outstretched. The Mongol hordes outnumber them two to one and the Mongols chaff wildly. A man with sixteen swords in his hands, teeth, toes, armpits, charges through the Mongolian army and is the first to make contact with the Chinese. A flash of powder soars out of Niccilo's pockets and the Chinese soldiers nearby make grip into their watery eyes.

            "This is fantastic," says the Great Khan. He waves a fan at himself. "Let us go to the battlefield and get a closer look!"

            "The battlefield? I have no training," says Marco.

            "That is okay," says the Great Khan. "Take a hold of my hand and squeeze tight!"

            The Great Khan and Marco fly fly fly deep into space. The Great Khan points his nose downward and they arc towards the battlefield.

            The front lines of the Chinese rebel army cannot hold off the Mongol hordes, but they are usually the least important people in society. Behind the front lines terrible weaponry waits. The Mongol army takes surprise from this because it is their notion that the Chinese rebel army is underfunded and undertrained and has buck-teeth and all wear glasses and don't have any dragons, especially the red kind.

            The Great Khan and Marco Polo, hand in hand, fly over the battlefield with calm faces. The men below them smell of everything and the combination creates something pure and euphoric. They disengage hands and stretch them out in front.

            "It looks like the dragons are tougher than we thought!" says Marco. The Great Khan contemplates for a moment.

            "I had no idea they existed to be perfectly honest!"

            "Oh good neither did I. I just didn't want to seem ignorant."

            "Ha ha! Don't feel self conscious around me. You are like a son to me."

            "Let's move off to the side again and watch from afar."

            "Okay, that looks like a comfy spot," points the Great Khan.

            They bear right and make their way to a lonely green hill. As they accelerate, the Great Khan is struck by an arrow and spins out of control. Marco dives after his master immediately.

            Niccilo who sees the fiery explosion rids himself of two swords and sprints towards the Great Khan. As he turns he is eaten by an empty horse.

            It is widely known that when a chick hatches it considers the first thing it sees as its mother. It is a lot less widely known that when a Khan dies the last thing that they see officially becomes the next leader of the Mongolian Empire. Marco looks into the eyes of the Great Khan, who bleeds beautifully.

            The funeral march consists of the surviving horsemen, half of which walk. Everyone is careful not to step in front of the casket. If they do they are killed to become servants of the deceased Khan. They come across several peasants, who look with curiosity. Four soldiers knock their bows and fell them.

            "Serve your lord in the next life!" the soldiers exclaim.

            The Greatest Khan watches the peasants flee and leans on his left foot.