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Race to Tibet

by Sophie Schiller

Giveaway ends January 27, 2015.

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Cover Reveal: Race to Tibet

Hello friends!

I'm very excited to share the cover of my new novel which is a historical thriller called Race to Tibet. It is the story of Gabriel Bonvalot, one of France's greatest explorers, who teams up with Prince Henri d'Orleans, a jaded, ill-mannered aristocrat, in an all-out effort to be the first living Europeans to reach Lhasa. The story occurs during the Great Game, the period of great strategic conflict and rivalry between Great Britain and Russia (1813-1907) for political and military control of Central Asia, including Tibet. Many explorers of Central Asia were really intelligence agents sent to gather information about troop movements and trade routes, which could be used for advancing armies. Race to Tibet focuses on these two adventurous Frenchmen, who are caught up in the Great Game when they are taken for Russian interlopers by Chinese Ambans (officials of the Qing Emperor who enforced the laws of Peking) who had never heard of France, and were determined to stop at all foreigners from entering Lhasa at any cost.

Tibet had long been the stuff of dreams. Buttressed by the Himalayas, and lying at an altitude of about three miles, Tibet was dubbed 'The Roof of the World' by Victorian travelers. Lying at 12,000 feet, Lhasa, is the world's highest capital and those with elevated blood pressures are urged to stay away. In fact, Lhasa had been closed to foreigners for so long, it was called 'The Forbidden City'. So little was known about Tibet that for many years it appeared as a huge white blank on official British maps, as if the entire area was covered with snow. Slowly over time the English in India devised a way to collect intelligence about Tibet by sending 'pundits', or Hindu technicians disguised as Buddhist pilgrims, to explore it and map it. These pundits would enter Tibet clandestinely, calculating distances by using measured footsteps which they recorded by means of specially-designed rosaries, as well as measuring altitudes by means of boiling water and recording the temperatures with a thermometer. Without a doubt, the fascinating adventures of the pundits whetted the appetites of Victorian explorers and before long, an international race to Lhasa was underway.

The Potala Palace has been luring explorers since time immemorial.

My novel, Race to Tibet, focuses on the journey of Gabriel Bonvalot and Prince Henri d'Orléans, a mismatched duo who attempted to reach Lhasa for different reasons. For his part, Bonvalot was already a celebrated French explorer, having crossed the Pamirs to reach India during the middle of winter, for which he was awarded the gold medal of the Société de Géographie in 1888.  Bonvalot was motivated by the desire to be first to reach Lhasa, to have his name go down in history, and to sell out lecture halls and travel books. On the other hand, Prince Henri turned to exploration as a means to escape a bad reputation he had earned in Europe as a brutal, ill-tempered dueler, a drinker, and a gambler.

Gabriel Bonvalot and Prince Henri d'Orleans: these guys hated each other in real life.

There's lots of drama and intrigue in the story, which I wove together from various sources. I spent close to three years researching this story, which I studied within the context of the Great Game. I brought to life real-life characters, including all the major players in Bonvalot's expedition, as well as invented some fictional characters, including Princess Pema, a Tibetan Buddhist princess who I modeled on Yabshi Pan Rinzinwangmo, the real life daughter of the Panchen Lama (a religious figurehead in Tibet similar to the Dalai Lama) who is known as the 'Princess of Tibet' and is considered an important figure in Tibetan Buddhism and Tibetan-Chinese politics, and is the only known offspring in the 620 years of history of either the Panchen or Dalai Lama reincarnation lineages.

Yabshi Pan Rinzinwangmo, the princess of Tibet.

I also added mystical elements of Buddhism, as well as romance to give the novel more drama, mystery, and intrigue. In many ways, Race to Tibet fits into the Lost World genre of novels like "King Solomon's Mines" by H. Rider Haggard and "The Lost World" by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story is replete with danger, suspense, and intrigue as the explorers inch closer to Lhasa. So join Bonvalot and Prince Henri on their expedition to the Roof of the World. In the pages of this novel, you will encounter an entire new world waiting to be discovered!

Yak at Yundrok Yumtso Lake the yak is perfectly suited to life at high altitudes.

Gabriel Bonvalot and Prince Henri and Father Constant de Deken were the first Europeans to reach Lake Namtso, due north of Lhasa.

More about Transfer Day

Where did the idea of the book come from?

Transfer Day blends real life events with fictional elements. It started out from an inspirational idea that I could weave an adventure story around the fact that the U.S. acquired the Danish West Indies in 1917. A little-known fact was that the island of St. Thomas had a well-entrenched German spy ring operating out in the open. Using this detail, I wove a narrative about an island girl who rescues a German U-boat deserter who is later blackmailed by the leader of this spy ring into committing sabotage and murder. The result is an old-fashioned spy thriller with an exotic Caribbean setting.

Charlotte Amalie: the site of an important WWI German Ettapendienst base.

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

Abigail Maduro:    Odeya Rush
Erich Seibold:        Daniel Brühl
Nana Jane:             Alfre Woodard
Cooky Betty:         Octavia Spencer
Judge Henrik Neergaard:   Bernard Hill
Herr Dreyer/Langsdorff:     Christoph Walz
Jens Jørgensen:      Max von Sydow
 

Odeya Rush: Does she make the perfect Abby?

Alfre Woodard is an extraordinary actress and would make a splendid Nana Jane.

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your novel:

Orphaned and alone, Abigail Maduro is sent to live with her aunt in St. Thomas. Despite the island's tranquil appearance it is a hotbed of spies...and when a mysterious stranger arrives, Abigail is drawn into the conflict.

German actor Daniel Bruhl: would he play a convincing Erich?

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

Three years.

Who or What inspired you to write this book?

Ever since I was growing up in Charlotte Amalie, I longed to know what life was like back during Danish times. When I grew up, I turned my obsession into a full-time job when I began researching and writing Transfer Day. In the book, the reader will be transported back in time to a tropical Danish sugar colony at the height of the Great War when German spies operated throughout the Caribbean and Latin America under the noses of the authorities.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

"Transfer Day" is a spy thriller with romance elements, comparable to "Circle of Spies" or "Ring of Secrets" by Roseanna White, or "Spy of Richmond" by Jocelyn Green.

What else about your book might pique the reader's interest?

Readers who love the Edwardian period through WWI will love "Transfer Day" because it immerses the reader in that era: the period music, horse carriages, steamship travel, victrolas playing in the background, grand balls....

"Transfer Day" also boasts an international cast of characters from a witty Irish sailor to Old World Danish characters, German spy characters, colorful West Indian characters and a spirited heroine who will capture your heart. So pour yourself a rum & coke, add a twist of lime, and let yourself be transported back to the old West Indies. You'll be in for an exciting adventure!

The Danish West Indies is a location rarely used in novels, movies, and plays.

A preview of my forthcoming historical thriller: Race to Tibet

I couldn't resist posting some pictures of my new novel Race to Tibet, a novel that explores the Victorian era's fascination with exploring the Roof of the World.

http://www.pinterest.com/sophieschiller/scenes-from-race-to-tibet-the-new-great-game-novel/

Let's start with some of the characters:

Nikolai Prejevalsky (1839-1888) was your classic Great Game heavyweight. He was the Tsar's go-to guy for bringing back vital intelligence about British activity along her Central Asian borders, exploring previously-unknown regions and mountain ranges, as well as bringing back zoological and ornithological samples. He even discovered a previously-unknown wild species of horse that was named after him.
His greatest dream was to reach Lhasa, but fate intervened and he came down with a whopping case of typhus and an unpaid hospital bill in the Russian military hospital in Karakol (in present-day Kyrgyzstan) where his body was laid to rest.

The death of Prejevalsky in 1888 opened up new doors for other explorers, namely Gabriel Bonvalot, a gutsy French explorer whose specialty was sneaking up on foreign countries unannounced, a sort of geographical party-crasher. Bonvalot had guns, muscles, and oodles of chutzpa, but not much money, so when the Duke of Chartres offered to finance his expedition to Tibet, he said, "Oui" and "Quand partons-nous?" (When do we leave?) The only caveat being that Bonvalot had to take along the Duke's wayward son, Prince Henri d'Orleans, an aristocratic poltroon with a penchant for gambling, drinking, and getting on everyone's nerves. Thankfully, nothing that a good fist fight couldn't fix. You can read all about their harrowing journey in my forthcoming thriller "Race to Tibet". 

For more pictures about their extraordinary journey to Tibet, please click on the Pinterest link. Please follow me on Pinterest for updates.

http://www.pinterest.com/sophieschiller/scenes-from-race-to-tibet-the-new-great-game-novel/

The Evolution of a Book Cover

I started writing Transfer Day, a historical thriller set in the Danish West Indies, in December of 2008 to fulfill a childhood dream to write a novel that would capture the unique history and beauty of St. Thomas, the island of my youth. Very few people know that for 300 years Denmark owned a sugar colony in the West Indies that was rich in folklore and old legends about pirates, slave rebellions, sugar plantations, Obeah. I grew up hearing about colorful characters like Henry Morgan, Blackbeard the pirate, Black Sam Bellamy, and the exiled Mexican General Santa Anna, but no novels existed that brought to life these colorful, exotic islands.

After much research I developed a story that takes place around the time of the transfer of the islands from Denmark to the United States. The world was in the midst of the Great War, when the US was determined to enforce the Monroe Doctrine and keep Germany out of the New World. It became imperative for the US to acquire the Danish West Indies for $25 million in gold bullion, an enormous sum. Woodrow Wilson was determined to do everything possible to keep the Kaiser from setting up a colony in close proximity to the Panama Canal.

The story is told through the eyes of a 16-year old Sephardic Jewish girl who becomes embroiled in a German spy's plot to invade islands when she rescues a deserter from a German U-boat. After several years of writing and polishing several drafts, I was ready to start designing a book cover.

And this is where my education in book publishing really began.

In the Spring of 2011, I hired a professional designer and described my vision for the cover, which included blazing cannons, Danish soldiers, and U-boat medallions. Here are the results:     

I liked the covers, and have no doubt I would have used one of them had it not been for a certain beta reader—a gentleman who runs a book store—who pointed out that the majority of book buyers are women, and for the book cover to work, it should reflect that fact

.

This added a significant wrinkle to my situation. Since the male protagonist is a German U-boat officer, I thought that guys would be more interested in reading Transfer Day. To successfully market my book to women, I had to change the girl's age, change several key scenes, and create a richer romantic subtext to the story.

 

I went back to the drawing board, redrafted my book, and went to Guru.com to hire a new book designer from India. The relationship I had with the artist was tense and stilted, and this is somewhat reflected in the cover. Gone were the smoking cannons, the flags, the shiny medallions. Instead, we inserted a beautiful girl superimposed over an idyllic image of Charlotte Amalie. This is the result:

While I generally liked the cover, I wasn't completely satisfied. I decided that the model was unsuitable, so I began to search through stock photo websites until I found a model that better reflected the WWI time period. This is the result:

I launched "Transfer Day" in June of 2012, never realizing that my journey was just beginning. As a thank you for sharing his expertise, I sent a paperback copy of "Transfer Day" to my European military consultant (who is also an avid reader) who promptly declared upon completing it that the book was a spy thriller. A spy thriller?  I was not expecting that. "That's impossible!" I argued. "This book is historical fiction. Look at the historical setting, the island vignettes, the international cast of characters." "No, no," he answered firmly. "Transfer Day is a spy thriller."

I accepted his assertion, but if "Transfer Day" was indeed a spy thriller, then it would need new title and a new cover to reflect its true genre. I pondered this dilemma for hours, but I was stumped. I couldn't think of a new title. And then, right out of the blue, it hit me:  "Spy Island". Spy Island was the perfect title for my book. After more intensive research, I designed a new cover to reflect this new image:

 

I was pleased with the results. But two months later, I got another big surprise. I entered "Spy Island" in a giveaway sponsored by a popular YA blog (since I was trying to break into the YA market) and to my dismay, the reaction was lukewarm. The new cover didn't seem to excite much interest. I was shocked because I thought the title and cover would appeal to lovers of historical fiction and action/adventure novels. But I was off the mark. Sales were lukewarm. Back to the drawing board.

This time, I delved deeper into the study of YA book covers. Many book blogs contain in depth analyses about current trends in YA book covers, and I studied these blogs for hours on end, analyzing hundreds of covers, studying which images worked best to attract readers. After more research and investigation, this is the new image I came up with:

While the new cover captured the essence of my main character and the tropical setting of the novel, the historical aspect was missing. After subjecting the cover to a focus group, the conclusion I came up with was that most people felt the cover projected a contemporary romantic look, not the sweeping historical espionage thriller I had written. I heaved a sigh and went back to the drawing board.

Late one night after everyone had gone to bed, I was browsing through Shutterstock, looking for the right image. Then it hit me. I found a picture of a beautiful Croatian model with a turn-of-the-century hairdo that was just perfect. I knew I had found my Abby. 

It took hours of searching to find this glamorous new model

But what about the background? After more consideration, I decided to go back to my original background, the one that accurately captures the look of the island that I had used for the original Transfer Day cover. My cover artist put the cover together and for the first time in years, I had a feeling of total satisfaction. After all those hours of work, I finally achieved the desired results. The cover is attractive and intriguing, and conveys the historical feel of the novel. My job was finally finished. Or so I thought…

After two years of hard work, I learned there are no hard and fast rules when it comes to designing a book cover. It is a complex subject best left to professionals. But if a writer is compelled to do it, you should be prepared to make mistakes and learn from them, as it is only through those failures that you will learn, grow, adapt and change. The hardest lesson of all is accepting that what pleased me as the writer is not necessarily what will please the reader. I had to let go of my preconceived notions about what entails a successful cover and embrace the market's needs. Now that I've reached this new plateau, I feel like I've passed a crucial test. But when I look back on my journey, I'm grateful for all the help I received. Mostly I'm grateful that I listened to the messages I received, and that I had the flexibility to act on them.

***UPDATE 2016***

With the Centennial Anniversary of Transfer Day approaching in 2017, I decided to go back to the original title of "Transfer Day" and remake the cover in honor of the momentous occasion. Yes, it was time to go back to the drawing board.

 

This time I wanted to hire someone with a proven track record of success in designing book covers. I searched online for some high-profile Indie Designers and found a graphic designer whose portfolio impressed me greatly. He worked for all the major publishers plus some bestselling Indie authors. I also found a new model via Shutterstock who I thought best represented the novel's protagonist, Abigail Maduro: 

This model captures the look, the dress, and the age of my protagonist, but I decided her expression was too dour. I still hope to use her in marketing adverts. 

Here are the two samples I received: 

While the two covers are striking and original, something about them bothered me. I didn't feel they accurately reflected either the Danish or the West Indian feel of the setting. They looked too generic American.

 

In addition, I began to see the model's dour expression as a potential drawback. Although she indeed has the right look, she lacks the right expression. As an American, I didn't think my new cover artist would be able to inject the Caribbean feel into the covers that I so desperately wanted. I finally realized that the only way to get that West Indian look into the cover was to hire a local graphic artist from the Virgin Islands. To this end, I began to google "Graphic Artists Virgin Islands."

 

Adrian Poe of Silver Squid Design wasn't the first name to come up in the Google Search, but her portfolio was outstanding. As a St. Croix-based graphic designer she had an impressive portfolio of island businesses as her customers, and had created logos that perfectly reflected the tropical setting. As a craftsman, she seemed to be in a class all her own. I knew she was the right woman for the job. And the sample she gave me exceeded my expectations:

***UPDATE 2018***

With the release of my new historical thriller, Island on Fire, I decided Transfer Day needed an updated look, one that would reflect a similar tone and style as Island on Fire. Using the same graphic designer as Island on Fire, Tim Flanagan from Novel Design Studio, he came up with this concept. The final results took my breath away:

 

The model perfectly captured my vision of Abby Maduro and the artwork perfected reflected the setting and the color of the story. And so, after years of hard work, numerous graphic designers, numerous models, and numerous prototypes, I finally had a cover that accurately represented the setting, the intrigue, the history, the color, and the cultural aspects of my story. 

 

Designing the perfect cover was hard work, but it taught me many valuable lessons about publishing, book marketing, and perseverance. If I had to sum up my experience in one word it would be this: tenacity. Don't give up until you have the perfect cover. Keep striving, keep digging, keep searching. Your perfect cover is out there, but only you can find it. Keep striving until your vision becomes a reality, then you can truly say your job is finished. 

***UPDATE 2019***

I guess I have come to understand I am a bit of a perfectionist. Not in a negative way, but in a positive way of constantly growing, changing, and improving (at least I hope). Somehow I wanted a more “toned down” cover since the 2017 Centennial Anniversary of Transfer Day has come and gone. Using a lady I know from Fiverr and a very nice model image, this is my cover going forward. What is my lesson from all of this? In book publishing, persistence is key. You will get results!

***UPDATE 2021***

My 20th and hopefully last cover. It's a long story how this came about, only that I wanted something that conveyed the historical setting better than the 2019 cover, one that I wanted to stay around long after I was gone. I hope you like this cover. I don't think I have the desire or patience to do another one. What is the lesson I learned from this "perfect cover odyssey"? That writing and publishing are areas with a long learning curve. You can't really shorten it except by jumping in the ring and doing your thing. You constantly read, learn, and grow in this field, and hopefully improve with each writing project. I know I am a much more savvy writer and publisher than I was when I started out on this journey back in 2006. It was a long, hard road, and I feel the results more than make up for the hardship. What do you think? Let me know in the comments.

The Writing Process Blog Hop

I've been tagged by my friend, the lovely and talented Lynne Hinkey, to blog about my writing process. Just scroll down to my entry of March 6th (My how time flies!) to read about my forthcoming historical novel, "Race to Tibet". If you would like to listen to an interview I gave to Etienne Gibbs in his show "In the Author's Corner", please scroll down to the very next post. Thank you in advance for reading/listening about my books. And as always, we serve a steaming mug of fresh coffee on this blog to all our readers!

In the Author's Corner with Etienne Gibbs on Blog Talk Radio

Join me on Blog Talk Radio where I discuss the writing and researching of Transfer Day (Spy Island):

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/intheauthorscornerwithetienne/2014/04/07/sophie-schillers-danish-transfer-1

Thank you again to Etienne Gibbs for a great interview. I really enjoyed it!

Guest Post by Literary Agent Josh Getzler

Plot BIGNESS

Josh Getzler

Recently, my assistant, Danielle, and I were discussing a number of queries we had received where the setup and buildup were outstanding, the manuscript was rolling along, we were wondering “Hmm, I wonder how this will play out,” and then…
BANG—Conspiracy of Templars!
BANG—The evil bully is actually an alien!!
BANG—The GOVERNMENT is out to get the 12 year old!
(No, this is not about any specific query, but a type. If you think this is about YOUR query, read on, then revise!)
OK, so here’s the thing: If you are writing a big international thriller, a YA adventure with Save-the-world written all over it, or epic fantasy, then fine. Go ahead with the Uncle Who’s Really a Triple Agent from the 28^th Century.
But the books we were reading where this was happening were smaller in scope; mysteries and domestic dramas and YA novels that were, in some fundamental ways, cozier than that. It’s not necessary for a kid to find enough nitroglycerin to destroy the world three times over in the neighbor’s garage; he can find a stash of stolen art or his father's old service revolver. The bad apple down the block could have issues smaller than being three light years from the planet Xenon.
My point is pretty basic. Most novels have a built-in scope, where the reader is nodding along and where the suspension of disbelief is reasonable. When a writer, for reasons of ambition or because it seems cool, or in order to work out a tricky plot point, goes beyond scope, it is jarring. Eyes roll. We ask “Why?” We don’t want to read further, or we ask the author to walk it back.
Sometimes the writer will make a reasonable point: “We always hear that books need to be BIG in order to ‘make an impact in the market,’ and that’s what I was trying to do.” OK, fair enough. But almost all the time, the issue is far less about the true Bigness of the story and more about trying to compensate for a plot deficit.
And also understand, I’m not saying don’t be ambitious. I don’t want only tidy dramas in small towns or, you know,Good Expectations. But when you are thinking “OK, what if the dog can fly?” PLEASE be sure that you set it up that the spaniel drank a whole mess of magical non-poisonous jet fuel for dinner. 

Tagged!

I have been tagged by Australian writer Elizabeth Jane Corbett to share my writing process in the “Tagged” blog tour. When not writing, Elizabeth works as a Librarian, Welsh Teacher, and blogger. You can visit her blog at: http://elizabethjanecorbett.com/elizabeth-janes-story/

So, without further ado, let me introduce you to my new novel:

Race to Tibet

Tibet by Nicholas Roerich courtesty of the Nicholas Roerich Museum, Manhattan

What am I working on?

"Race to Tibet" is a historical novel that tells a thrilling tale of high-altitude adventure and survival set in the world's most forbidden country: Tibet. It is based on the true story of three courageous explorers who are determined to be the first living European to reach Lhasa during the age of Victorian Exploration. 

When these intrepid adventurers reach Tibet, they discover a land of mystery and intrigue, a land of danger that promises them only one thing: death. In the end, only one of these explorers will fulfill his lifelong dream of reaching Lhasa, but he will spend the rest of his life haunted by it.

How does my work differ from others in its genre?

I have yet to find any substantial work based on the same theme. There is one book by the English writer, Mike Scholey, called "Beads of Water, Drops of Gold", but it tells the story of the 1904 Tibetan invasion from the point of view of Sir Francis Younghusband, whereas my story starts in 1889 and tells a much broader story about three distinct explorers, Francis Younghusband, Gabriel Bonvalot, and Bronislav Grombchevsky, who were all vying to be the first living European to reach Lhasa. I was inspired to write a novel set in the Himalayas after reading the novel "Paths of Glory" by Jeffrey Archer, but that's where any similarity ends. Archer's book is solely about George Mallory's attempts at conquering Mount Everest whereas my book narrates the adventures of three distinct explorers who set out on life-threatening expeditions between 1889-1890.
 

Gabriel Bonvalot, your average intrepid Victorian explorer

Why do I write what I write?

This story was a dream come true. I found it by chance, so, in a certain sense, I feel as if I was personally chosen to tell this tale. The amazing story of Gabriel Bonvalot was languishing in libraries around the world for over a hundred years and was dying to be retold in a novel. Had it not been for the geniuses of Google (specifically Larry Page), who came up with the brilliant idea of digitizing the worlds' books and making them searchable and accessible to all of mankind, Bonvalot's story might have stayed buried forever. So, in answer to the question, I'd have to say: when I find a story that captivates me that has never been told before, I immerse myself in that world and go to work bringing the story to life one scene at a time.

How does my writing process work?

I start with research, deep, intensive research. I download and purchase every book on the subject. Using legal-sized notepads, I write down everything relevant to the story or to the time period, such as eating habits, drinking habits, attitudes, unusual observations, medicines, bureaucratic dilemmas, folk remedies, speech habits, etc. Ditto with paper books. I highlight and underline everything I need to tell the story. This process can take a year to a year and a half. Then I sit down and start plotting the novel and creating scenes. I love to start by introducing the characters and building them up as interesting personalities. I keep the action moving forward and build suspense.

I hope you will enjoy "Race to Tibet" when it's released and I love to hear readers' comments and observations.
 

A Sneak Peak at "Race to Tibet" Coming in 2014

Race to Tibet

Race to Tibet is a thrilling tale of high-altitude adventure and survival set in the world's most forbidden country:  Tibet

Race to Tibet is based on the true story of three intrepid explorers, Gabriel Bonvalot, Francis Younghusband, and Bronislav Grombchevsky, who are competing to be the first living European to reach Lhasa. It is also the story of a woman who is determined to find her missing husband who disappeared inside Tibet—no matter the cost. What these explorers discover is a land of mystery and intrigue, a land of danger that promises them only one thing:  death.

CHAPTER 1

Paris, France

December, 1888

Strolling down the Boulevard des Italiens, Gabriel Bonvalot resembled any other well-dressed Parisian in his sack suit, top hat, and overcoat, but his mind was miles away. Worlds away to be exact. In his fertile imagination, drifts of snow became the snow-capped mountains of the Hindu Kush. The wind howling in his ears was the Pamir wolf, and the River Seine glistened like the turquoise lakes of Turkestan.

As France's most celebrated explorer, Gabriel Bonvalot was obsessed with traveling to the four corners of the globe. And when he wasn't out trekking on some windswept pass high up in the Himalayas, he was thinking of ingenious ways of getting there. Even sickness and ill health couldn't stop his mind from wandering to far-flung lands. When confined to his bed during a lengthy recuperation from rheumatic fever that he'd picked up while crossing the Pamir Mountains, Bonvalot's greatest pleasure was to leaf through his trusty Schrader Atlas and let his eyes wander over the mountains, rivers, valleys, and lakes. From the volume's dusty pages, mountain peaks would burst forth, joined by forests of pine and oak trees that sprang up like dandelions, bowing and swaying from a blast of cold Siberian wind, while shimmering blue rivers snaked down to fertile orchards of apple, almond, and apricot trees.

To Gabriel Bonvalot, a map was a living, breathing world. And when his eyelids grew too heavy, and sleep was about to overtake him, an imaginary snowfall would fall across his bed, prompting him to close the atlas, pull up the covers, and fall into a deep, restful slumber.

When pressed, Bonvalot would always insist that geography was more than the mere study of maps, surveys, and charts as found in countless volumes languishing in dusty libraries around the world. Geography was, in fact, an adventure waiting to be explored. A costly adventure, to be sure, but one that filled all his waking and all his sleeping hours.

But the world of exploration was not without its hazards. Bonvalot would always caution the prudent explorer to forever be on his guard and keep his Winchester close at hand. From roving bands of brigands, to hostile border guards, to mercenaries and pirates, travelers needed more than luck to reach their goal. They needed a quick trigger finger or an open purse. And then there were the unseen maladies that could stop even the hardiest explorer in his tracks, like cholera and dysentery as explained by great men of science like Pasteur and Koch in their medicinal doctrine of microbes. As demonstrated by the mighty Prejevalsky, these tiny devils could reduce even a Goliath of a man to his sick bed. But aside from the obvious perils, Bonvalot's greatest worry was money. The art of coaxing money out of fickle coffers was almost as difficult as extracting gold teeth from reluctant mouths. An expedition of any size was an expensive endeavor that could end in failure and bankruptcy. After his last journey across the Pamirs had almost cost him his life, the price of high-risk travel was greater than ever. Looking back on that fiasco, when his journey across the Roof of the World had left him frostbitten, starved, snow-blind, and locked up in a Chitral dungeon, Bonvalot knew he would need an extraordinary success to seal his name in the annals of geography.

This time he would go for the grand prize.

Bonvalot's dream was to be the first living European to reach Lhasa, the forbidden—and therefore enticing—capital of Tibet. But it would not be easy. Times were hard; money was scarce. Even the royal family had had their share of money woes. There were rumors that the young pretender to the French throne, Prince Henri d'Orléans, had amassed such a large gambling debt that his father, Robert, Duke of Chartres, was forced to drop to his knees and beg his patron, Baron Maurice de Hirsch, for the money to cover the young numskull's debts of honor. Bonvalot shuddered at the thought of having to beg for the privilege of doing what he loved best.

Down the street, a crowd had gathered at his favorite newsstand, with all eyes peeled to the latest edition of Le Figaro. Bonvalot hurried to join them, and when he spotted a familiar face on the front page, he froze. He snatched the newspaper off the stand and stared at the headline with a mixture of shock and incredulity, his hand gripping the paper so tight his arms shook with excitement:

General Prejevalsky Dead

Bonvalot's pulse quickened. Can it be true? Is that Russian braggart really dead? He threw down a few centimes and grabbed the newspaper, certain that the news would send tremors throughout all the Geographical Societies of Europe. But undoubtedly it would also catch notice at the highest echelons of British Military Intelligence. Rumors had been circulating for years that General Prejevalsky had been involved in intelligence gathering activities under the guise of exploration and discovery. As it turned out, the various occupations were not mutually exclusive.

Dodging a cavalcade of horse carriages, Bonvalot dashed across the snow-covered boulevard to Café Tortoni, his home away from home, to read the article in peace.

When Bonvalot entered the café, the Maitre d'hôtel rushed over to greet him, removing the famed explorer's coat as if he were the Duke of Magenta himself.

"Monsieur Bonvalot, what an honor to see you," said the Maitre d'hôtel, beaming from ear to ear. "I've saved your favorite seat—the best in the house."

"Please don't fuss," said Bonvalot, unaccustomed to all the attention his fame brought him. "I'd prefer that quiet table over there."

"As you wish, Monsieur."

Bonvalot took a quiet table and spread the newspaper out over the linen tablecloth. Before he even looked up, the wine steward was at his side bearing the pride of the house: Chateau Lafite Rothschild 1883. He waited for Bonvalot's approval and then proceeded to pop the cork.

"Compliments of the house," said the steward, filling a sparkling glass to the brim. Then he bowed and disappeared in a whoosh.

"Merci," said Bonvalot, lifting the glass to inhale the wine's fragrant bouquet. After tasting the libation, he once again feasted his eyes on the article:

Major-General Prejevalsky, whose death was recently reported in the cablegrams was the most distinguished of all the Russian scientific explorers and one of the greatest modern authorities on Central Asia. He was a trusted officer of the Czar and had well-earned the reputation for being a bold, daring, determined, and enthusiastic pioneer of travel. He broke fresh ground in Turkestan some 15 years ago, traversing the Pamir, skirting the Chang Tang, Tibet's great Northern deserts, and penetrating the Lob-Nor. Although he succeeded in exploring portions of Northern Tibet, he was unable to make his way south into Lhasa. At the time of his death, he was about to embark on another attempt. The sudden death of Prejevalsky on the eve of another journey to Tibet, will send shock waves throughout the scientific world.

Shock waves is an understatement, thought Bonvalot, finishing off his drink and pouring himself another. With Prejevalsky dead, his biggest competitor in the race to Lhasa was out of the picture. But he was sure there were others out there, ambitious British soldiers seeking fame and glory outside the regiment, and the more covert kind of explorer, those who entered the Forbidden Kingdom disguised as Buddhist pilgrims or traders. The British were always sending their pundits to map and explore Tibet using specially designed rosary beads with 100 instead of the usual 108 beads to count their paces, compasses hidden inside their prayer wheels, and thermometers for gauging altitude secreted inside a hollowed out stick. Many of the pundits suffered unimaginable cruelty at the hand of the Tibetan authorities when their disguises were uncovered. Some simply disappeared without a trace.

But there were other problems barring his way, money being at the forefront. Organizing an expedition costs a small fortune. Bonvalot needed a sponsor who was fabulously wealthy yet didn't make too many demands. In time, he was sure he would resolve that problem as well. And once the funds were safely deposited in his bank account, he would organize the expedition of a lifetime. He would hire the bravest, most reliable guides, the best caravaneers, the sturdiest horses and use the leftover money to bribe his way to Lhasa if the situation required. By the end of next year, Bonvalot could picture himself climbing the steps of the Potala Palace to meet the famed Dalai Lama himself. He would raise the Tricolor for the glory of France and secure his place in the annals of geographical exploration for all time. Success had never tasted so sweet.

Naturally, Bonvalot would return to France with trunks filled with Tibetan gold and gemstones, rare Buddhist manuscripts, priceless statues, and if the gods of exploration were really smiling on him, maybe even the Dalai Lama himself. Bonvalot closed his eyes and pictured himself standing in front of the annual meeting of the Société de Géographie in his black tie and tails, smiling as he pulls aside a curtain to reveal His Holiness together with a royal entourage of saffron-robed monks. It would be the talk of every geographical society for years. For decades. For the rest of his life. His bank account would never again be overdrawn. He would at last be able to live down his humiliating childhood.

Bonvalot sipped his wine and smiled. At the age of thirty-five, he had made a name for himself in the competitive world of geographical exploration. Two years ago he had received the coveted gold medal of the Société de Geographie for his remarkable journey across the Pamirs to India in the middle of winter, a journey that almost cost him his life. Tall, handsome, with light brown hair, a trimmed beard, warm blue eyes, and the confidence of a troop of Legionnaires, Bonvalot looked at home on the cover of every newspaper and magazine in the country. To meet the public's insatiable craving for adventure, Bonvalot had penned numerous best-sellers about his globe-trotting travels through Central Asia. Those books brought in enough royalty checks to ensure he would never have to stoop to accepting a salaried position, but he wasn't rich by anyone's estimation.

Still, the life of an explorer had its share of pitfalls. Expeditions were fraught with hardship and danger; Bonvalot had risked life and limb on numerous occasions, but until now death had been an abstraction, like the sun-bleached skeleton of an ibex nestled along the shores of a Siberian Lake. Prejevalsky's sudden death made him think hard about his own life. How long would his streak of good fortune last?

Bonvalot chuckled at the irony of it all. Prejevalsky the larger-than-life Russian Hercules was gone and he was still alive. It was almost impossible to believe. It was, in fact, a miracle.

As an explorer, Prejevalsky was in a class all by himself. Though short of stature, his massive chest and overbearing attitude projected the image of a human locomotive. He sported a head full of thick black hair that he would grease back like an Indian Maharajah, and together with his bold features, dark eyebrows, olive complexion, and suspicious nature, Prejevalsky resembled the natives of Central Asia among whom he travelled. But he had won the greater measure of their respect by his deadly accuracy with a rifle and his unflinching use of brute force. In a heated confrontation, Prejevalsky never lost the upper hand. If necessary, he would beat his rival with a whip to win his obedience and respect. As far as rivals go, Prejevalsky was unstoppable, and now he was dead.

Bonvalot stared at the frozen image of Prejevalsky in the newspaper. "So my friend, your dream of Lhasa is over. You failed miserably."

"What do you know about my dream of Lhasa?"

Shocked, Bonvalot looked up. Sitting across from him was a disheveled tramp who had appeared out of nowhere. His face was bloated and bruised, his skin an unnatural shade of purple and covered with festering sores. His clothes, if they could be called that, were in tatters—worse than a beggar's. His hair was a tangled, filthy mess more resembling fodder than human hair. And most troubling of all, the man smelled of the sewers, of death.

Bonvalot recoiled. "Must you sit here? Find yourself another table."

"Not so fast, Monsieur Bonvalot," said the beggar in a voice that grated like wheels over gravel. "I didn't come here to ask you to open your purse. I came here to offer you something. And when you hear what I have to offer, you'll be glad that I did."

"You are here to offer me something? Go away you filthy beggar!"

The stranger's face turned menacing. He grabbed Bonvalot's arm in a vise-like grip.

"I think you'd better sit back quietly, Monsieur Bonvalot, if you don't want to cause a scene."

Bonvalot pulled his arm out of the stranger's grasp and glanced around to make sure nobody was watching. The restaurant was full of diners laughing and joking, and waving their forks in animated conversation while drinking endless glasses of wine, while an elderly Gypsy meandered around the tables serenading the diners with soft violin music. To Bonvalot's relief, no one had noticed that a filthy street beggar had wormed his way into one of Paris's most famous restaurants and commandeered Bonvalot's private table. Even the maitre d'hôtel, who was not more than twenty feet away, seemed completely oblivious to the matter at hand. Bonvalot squirmed in his seat and tried to get a grip on his mounting anger.

The stranger continued. "As I said before, I came here to make you an offer."

"I thought I told you to leave."

The beggar narrowed his eyes. "Would you like me to raise my voice and cause a scene?"

Bonvalot glared at the intruder. "Then get on with your little speech and get out."

"You said before that I failed," continued the beggar over the din of the café, "But in many ways I succeeded beyond all measure. During my third journey, I penetrated deeper into Tibet than any other European explorer in modern times. I came so close to reaching Lhasa, I was sure we would make it. At our southernmost point, I calculated our position to be no more than 160 miles away. This is a remarkable achievement given the odds we were facing. Even those celebrated Indian pundits the British sent into Tibet only managed to survey the southern and western portions of the country; they were never able to infiltrate the interior before disaster struck. But alas! Our camels held us back; those faltering beasts were completely useless at high altitudes. They grew sick and feeble, growled incessantly, and refused to get up no matter how hard I beat them. It was on account of these circumstances that I was forced to abandon the entire expedition or risk dying among those savages. But that was then. This time it can be different. I came here to offer you my services as guide on your expedition to Tibet. And if you're smart you'll accept it. I'm giving you the chance to use all my wisdom and experience. It's all up here." The beggar tapped his head. "Where I failed you can succeed. I guarantee it."

"Who the devil are you?" said Bonvalot, fighting to keep his voice contained.

The beggar smiled, showing teeth that were cracked and stained. "The greatest explorer in the world. The toast of Russia. The favorite of the Tsar. At least, I was all those things."

"Yes, and I'm Lillie Langtry, but that doesn't answer my question. Who are you and how do you know so much about Tibet?" said Bonvalot, his heart now racing.

The beggar smiled wryly. "I think you know."

Bonvalot dropped his spoon. He bent down to retrieve it and noticed the beggar was wearing boots that appeared to be made of yak fur and were caked with a strange yellow mud. He slid his pocket knife out of its sheath, cut a sample of the fur, and wrapped it in his handkerchief.

"I entered a region that was less known than the darkest Africa," continued the beggar. "Using only my iron will, I broke the backs of those damned Asiatics. But my men and I suffered terrible privations for our heroism. Many times we went hungry when there was no game. Dozens of horses and camels collapsed from sheer exhaustion. Some of them simply froze to death. The Hami desert that separates the Tian Shan from the Nan Shan was so hot at night you couldn't sleep on the ground. There were no animals, no plants, no civilized life, just salt clouds that formed into mirages that mocked us and tormented us. The wind knocked us off our feet and tore at our eyes. There was no fodder for the animals, no water to drink. And the inhabitants! They mirrored the cursed terrain with their games of treachery. They refused to sell us food, refused to provide us with guides, called us foreign devils behind our backs and sometimes right to our faces. They used every means of deceit to rob us blind. The only thing the Chinamen and the Mongol understand is the nagayka whip. Central Asia is a lawless, godless land, and only European rifles and Krupp guns can do any good there. Missionary preaching is like howling in the wilderness. The Asiatics are beyond saving."

Bonvalot's eyes grew wide. "Prejevalsky…?"

"The name is Nikolai Mikhaylovich Prejevalsky," said the beggar, bowing his head and twisting his lips in a gratuitous smile. "As you may have heard, I was never noted for my manners, never comfortable in polite society. I was only happy out there in the wilderness, far from wretched civilization. Far from the stench of humanity."

Bonvalot felt his neck grow hot with anger. "I've had enough of you. I don't know who the devil you are, but you're a despicable fraud. I'm not the least bit impressed with your little charade. Get out before I call the gendarmes. Scat!"

All at once, the beggar erupted into a violent fit of coughing that was so loud, it drowned out the clanking of pots from the kitchen, the animated conversation from the diners, and the Gypsy's hypnotic violin playing.

Bonvalot looked around, terrified the interloper would choke to death at his table and cause a hair-raising scene that would land him on the front page of Charivari—or worse. That the waiter failed to check on the situation only made him more agitated. It seemed, in fact, that no one else could hear the beggar's loud coughing, as if he wasn't really there. To mollify the situation, Bonvalot gave the filthy tramp a few half-hearted thumps on his stone cold back.

"Is that all you can do after I came here to help you?" cried the beggar, shoving Bonvalot's hand away as he spat a large clot of blood into his napkin. "You sorry French bastard! You didn't even offer me a drink! Is this what you Frenchies call good manners? I should shoot you with my revolver to teach you a lesson. Where is the damned thing?"

Bonvalot jumped out of his seat, heart pounding like a drum. The beggar rummaged through his tattered clothing for his gun with a fury that bordered on savagery. Lacking a weapon, Bonvalot searched in vain for help, but there was not a gendarme in sight. The other diners were eating and drinking to their heart's content. No one had heard the beggar's dire threat. No one knew his life was at stake.

The beggar gave up searching for his pistol and returned to his coughing spasm. Bonvalot breathed a sigh of relief, but felt his face grow hot at the humiliation of having a lowly street beggar encroach on his private table and lecture him about the rigors of Central Asian exploration. He called for the maitre d'hôtel, who came rushing over at once, corkscrew in hand.

"Oui, Monsieur Bonvalot?"

"Will you kindly escort this vagrant out of the café. He came in without permission, took over my table, and is now threatening to shoot me. He's stark raving mad and has no business being in this fine establishment."

"Certainly, Monsieur," said the maitre d'hôtel, who looked from Bonvalot to the table, then back at Bonvalot. "Excuse me," he said, looking around with a baffled expression on his face. "but which vagrant are you referring to?"

Stunned, Bonvalot stared at the chair that was now empty. Inexplicably, the stranger had vanished.