Read Online The Tiger-Headed Horseman by Chris Walker - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Chris Walker
Ads: Link
overrun by too many students of poor ability. Access to university was a norm, no longer for the exceptional few. The number of people electing to go to university had risen dramatically in recent years. The Khadist bureaucrats supported the rising numbers, since it meant there was less scope for free spirit or entrepreneurism and they could maintain full control over people for longer. The proliferation of new-fangled courses made Tengis nauseous. Surely there was no place for degrees in ‘Celebrity Worship’, ‘Junk Food Cuisine’ or ‘Immoral Politics’. A university education was no longer necessarily a good thing. Tengis wanted to stand out from the crowd not be part of it.
By the time he was sixteen Tengis had already determined that he wanted to make a difference with his life. He was smarter, better-looking, wittier and quicker-witted than any of his peers. He wanted to instigate change. He was not happy with the status quo in his home city. He was appalled that the select few could gorge while the remainder fought over scraps and were reduced to Khem to escape their sorrows. He knew the person closest to him in the world, apart from his mother, was part of that select few. Odval understood him, though. Their relationship transcended class or wealth. The pair had talked long and often about how best to harness his talents. Many a good night's sleep had been lost trying to single-mindedly unstitch Tengis's abilities and weave them into a pattern that would unleash his potential.
During one such discourse they arrived at a conclusion. To make a difference Tengis would have to enter politics. He might abhor the political parties currently at work in his country but he could implement his will once he was
inside
. As for Odval, she had spent the last ten years trying to keep up with Tengis's intellect. She was keen to stay by his side, purely on a platonic basis. Tengis's mother was equally exuberant about her son'sambition to move into politics. Tengis was a driven young man. He had a vision. He would see Chinggis's power reinstated and he might even throw in a few twists of his own.
Without a university education, however, he would need another means of getting himself into a position whereby he would be deemed credible to work with, for and, secretly, against the Khadists. That means was simple and straightforward. He was Chinggis Khaan – once he could prove that, what more would matter?
Tengis had been learning applied arithmetic all morning. There were only three pupils in the class – Tengis, Odval and Bankher. Bankher paid little attention to the teacher, pupils or just about anything. His parents ran the Khem plant in Baatarulaan. He had a swagger and aplomb unbecoming to a lad almost twenty years old. He also wore clothes beyond his years. Whereas Tengis wore professorial garb, Bankher wore tight black trousers pulled down so hard around his waist that they barely left his modesty intact. He wore colourful canvas shoes, a white T-shirt under a black sleeveless woollen jumper and a hat that would have suited an aged crooning singer had it been properly proportioned; Bankher's version was as small and tight around his head as his trousers were around his bottom. On his fingers Bankher wore a variety of outlandishly gaudy and oafishly expensive rings. No matter how silly he looked – though he thought he was the very model of a modern major-general layabout, he did have an uncanny ability to add, subtract, multiply and divide. This skill was particularly adept when the problems posed related to weights and measures cross-referenced with going market rates, client desperation and causing unhappiness. Despite detesting his classmate, Tengis found it astonishing to watch his mind in action.
Today Bankher was exceedingly addled from a party the previous night; he sat slumped in the corner at the back of theclassroom. Their teacher, Mr Clumphod, was only too painfully aware that his wards had far superior
By the time he was sixteen Tengis had already determined that he wanted to make a difference with his life. He was smarter, better-looking, wittier and quicker-witted than any of his peers. He wanted to instigate change. He was not happy with the status quo in his home city. He was appalled that the select few could gorge while the remainder fought over scraps and were reduced to Khem to escape their sorrows. He knew the person closest to him in the world, apart from his mother, was part of that select few. Odval understood him, though. Their relationship transcended class or wealth. The pair had talked long and often about how best to harness his talents. Many a good night's sleep had been lost trying to single-mindedly unstitch Tengis's abilities and weave them into a pattern that would unleash his potential.
During one such discourse they arrived at a conclusion. To make a difference Tengis would have to enter politics. He might abhor the political parties currently at work in his country but he could implement his will once he was
inside
. As for Odval, she had spent the last ten years trying to keep up with Tengis's intellect. She was keen to stay by his side, purely on a platonic basis. Tengis's mother was equally exuberant about her son'sambition to move into politics. Tengis was a driven young man. He had a vision. He would see Chinggis's power reinstated and he might even throw in a few twists of his own.
Without a university education, however, he would need another means of getting himself into a position whereby he would be deemed credible to work with, for and, secretly, against the Khadists. That means was simple and straightforward. He was Chinggis Khaan – once he could prove that, what more would matter?
Tengis had been learning applied arithmetic all morning. There were only three pupils in the class – Tengis, Odval and Bankher. Bankher paid little attention to the teacher, pupils or just about anything. His parents ran the Khem plant in Baatarulaan. He had a swagger and aplomb unbecoming to a lad almost twenty years old. He also wore clothes beyond his years. Whereas Tengis wore professorial garb, Bankher wore tight black trousers pulled down so hard around his waist that they barely left his modesty intact. He wore colourful canvas shoes, a white T-shirt under a black sleeveless woollen jumper and a hat that would have suited an aged crooning singer had it been properly proportioned; Bankher's version was as small and tight around his head as his trousers were around his bottom. On his fingers Bankher wore a variety of outlandishly gaudy and oafishly expensive rings. No matter how silly he looked – though he thought he was the very model of a modern major-general layabout, he did have an uncanny ability to add, subtract, multiply and divide. This skill was particularly adept when the problems posed related to weights and measures cross-referenced with going market rates, client desperation and causing unhappiness. Despite detesting his classmate, Tengis found it astonishing to watch his mind in action.
Today Bankher was exceedingly addled from a party the previous night; he sat slumped in the corner at the back of theclassroom. Their teacher, Mr Clumphod, was only too painfully aware that his wards had far superior
Similar Books
