Slim, dark of hair and eye, with skin of golden ivory when the rest of her family was either German or Irish fair, Brenda had come in for a lot more unkind teasing than her parents had ever realized. She’d given as good as she got, and now a sense of incredible unfairness rose in her and gave her a courage that she hadn’t known she possessed.
“God damn it all to hell!” she yelled. “I have just about had enough of you, Mr. Dragon, you and that pushy tart of a daughter of yours. You came into our lives and decided you could remove parts of them just like they were tumors or something. Well, I’m sick of your interfering. I’m sick of my dad acting like a weirdo. I’m sick of spending my summer taking a crash course in Chinese calligraphy. I’m sick of just about everything. Do you understand?”
Brenda knew she wasn’t making a heck of a lot of sense, but that didn’t matter. She was wearing the strongest of the defensive spells she had left—she hadn’t been about to climb over those windowsills without something to cushion her fall if she lost her balance. She still had up the All Green. The weakening spell didn’t offer a lot of detail, but what it did show her was that the bright ch’i that had emanated from the Dragon on their last visit was much depleted. Des and Riprap weren’t the only ones reaching their limit.
Stooping, Brenda retrieved Treaty from where it lay on the bare boards of the floor and held it in front of her in one hand, using a stance borrowed from a movie. Then she fished into her pocket for one of the crystal globes. This one had a yellow Ox in it, and remembering the stories Pearl had told of First Ox and her adoptive daughter Hua, Brenda felt a protective connection to whoever it was locked in there.
She held the Ox crystal up in her free hand so that the Dragon couldn’t miss what she had.
“I was there the night Pearl made her deal with you. You probably didn’t notice me. I was the doorkeeper.”
“I noticed you,” Righteous Drum said mildly. “And I can see from how you grasp the hilt of that sword that you don’t have the least idea how to use it. Put Treaty down. I offer you what your idiot friends were overconfident enough to reject: an end to this all. Give me the crystals and I will leave.”
“Hah!” Brenda said. She marched over to where Riprap still struggled with the invisible whatever the hell it was. “I remember the pact you made with Pearl, the pact you made to rescue your daughter. Our allies were to be safe from further interference by you and yours. Very well. I think I’ll try an experiment. I wonder if whatever is hurting Riprap can do so without harming the crystal as well?”
Worked up as she was, Brenda didn’t stand around like some villain from a comic book making speeches. Instead, she suited action to words and stuffed the crystal into the open collar of Riprap’s shirt. For a moment, nothing happened, but then Riprap relaxed slightly, and she guessed that whatever was squeezing him wasn’t doing so quite as hard.
In her hand, Treaty seemed to pulse, and Brenda knew that the strange magics the Exile Tiger had put into his chosen weapon were alert to a potential violation of an oath sworn upon its blade and name.
I’m glad I remembered how vulnerable the Foster crystal was to magical manipulation. Now, before the Dragon thinks of some attack that won’t harm the crystal …
Brenda grabbed a second crystal from another pocket—there was a white monkey in this one—and stuffed it down Riprap’s collar to roll down after the Ox. She didn’t wait to see whether Riprap was able to get free now. Instead, keeping Treaty raised, she pulled out a third crystal—this one holding a yellow sheep—and called to Des.
“Hey, Des. Basketball. Remember play four? Catch!”
Des grinned, and when she feinted right, he went left and neatly caught the crystal sphere as she passed it underhand. It wasn’t a basketball, but it flew straight and true, like it wanted to go where it was heading.
Treaty’s pulsing was visible now, a soft green light haloing the blade, becoming firmer, framing the metal with a sharpness that Brenda felt pretty certain would cut through even the dragons she could faintly glimpse circling Righteous Drum. Brenda found she was grinning from ear to ear. She suspected she looked a bit crazed.
“Treaty doesn’t like whatever it is you’re thinking, Mr. Dragon. I have absolutely no idea what it will do if you carry through, but I don’t think you’ll like it. And I figure that I’ll just have to go along with whatever Treaty wants. I doubt a Ratling like me has the ability to control a sword of truce when it sees that truce broken.”
“What are you?” Righteous Drum asked, his voice hoarse, with anger perhaps, perhaps with fear.
“I’m absolutely nothing at all,” Brenda said. “I’m a college student who has had my summer really screwed up. I’m Gaheris Morris’s daughter—although I think you knew that already. What am I? I don’t know. Do you want to push harder and help me find out?”
She had dug out the crystal holding a magnificent red Horse, and tossed that to Des to back-up the first crystal. She still held four crystals, and now she moved to place one—a yellow Dragon, which she thought oddly appropriate—on Pearl’s lap. Pearl’s hand moved with something like determination, making Brenda think that Righteous Drum’s hold was not as absolute as he might have thought. Within seconds those swollen-knuckled fingers were wrapped tightly around their prize.
There was no need to worry about protecting Nissa. As soon as whatever he’d been fighting had loosened up, Riprap had moved to the doorway of the room in which Nissa sat limp and uninterested. Brave Dog of Riprap’s father’s stories would have been very proud of his descendant. Brenda knew she wouldn’t have cared to cross that ferocious watchfulness.
Des spoke into the tense silence that had risen in the wake of Brenda’s hysterical harangue.
“Righteous Drum, why don’t you give it up? I have no more idea than Brenda how Treaty might take oath-breaking, but I suspect you do. The man who enchanted that sword was one of the original Thirteen Orphans. That means his magical traditions were probably closer to what you know than to the bastard versions we use now. Exile Tiger’s daughter has carried the sword since his death. Neither of them has ever been known to give an inch and if the legends are true that artifacts take after those with whom they associate then that’s going to be one ornery sword.”
The Dragon crumpled all at once. If Brenda hadn’t been so strung-up, she might have pitied him, for the pure weariness and grief that washed over him made Righteous Drum’s face suddenly look far older.
“All right! All right! I will honor the truce.”
“Sorry,” Brenda said. “That’s not enough. I want Pearl and Nissa back like they should be.”
The Dragon made a gesture and there was a sound of breaking stone and a ringing as of shattering glass.
“Done.”
“And I want the other crystals broken and the Orphans’ memories all returned to them. And I want you to promise you will leave us all alone from this day forth.”
Brenda had been collecting the crystals as she spoke, using the bottom of her shirt as a makeshift basket. Now she spread out the fabric, displaying the spheres in a mute command for him to act.
Righteous Drum held up his hand. “Wait! Before we speak of these things, I beg you. Have you harmed my daughter?”
Brenda blinked. She hadn’t realized that her sudden appearance might make Righteous Drum think that Brenda had somehow defeated Honey Dream, or at least severely disabled her. For a moment she was tempted to maintain a mysterious silence, but then she remembered that whatever else Righteous Drum was, this truly was a father who loved his daughter.
“No. Honey Dream is fine—but no thanks to you or to me. Foster stepped in when she was going to try something on me. I’d figured she would, and came prepared, and things might have gotten ugly.”
“Foster?”
“Flying Claw,” Brenda clarified unnecessarily. “Yeah. He stepped in. She gave him back his memory, but apparently he didn’t forget everything we’d done for him and he wouldn’t let her harm me.”
>
“Ah. So she is well?”
“She was the last time I saw her, back at the park. Foster was with her. Now, about those other things I want. No dawdling while you wait for reinforcements. Get to them.”
Righteous Drum stiffened, his face a mask of purest misery. “Wait. I am bound by conflicting loyalties. I wish to obey you, but it will not be easy.”
“You broke the other two crystals easily enough,” Brenda retorted. She’d glimpsed purposeful movement over behind Riprap and knew Nissa was safe.
“The spell was incomplete,” the Dragon said. “The complete spell is harder to break.”
Pearl spoke from beside Brenda, taking Treaty from the younger woman’s hand.
“Thank you, Brenda. I appreciate all you have done.” Then she turned to the Dragon. “My allies and I asked you to explain matters to us not long ago, and you weren’t interested. Give me a good reason why I should care to listen to your excuses now?”
“Because,” Righteous Drum said, “I beg you …”
Nissa had come to the doorway of the room in which she had been sitting, and now stood with her hand on Riprap’s shoulder.
“Pearl, let Righteous Drum talk,” she said. “We want to know what brought him here, don’t we? But I don’t think we should hold our coffee party here. For one, Lani’s going to be back home and wondering where we are. For another, I suspect your house is a lot safer for us than any place this man has been living. Brenda is right to wonder if he’s just stalling, waiting for reinforcements.”
“Or for his ch’i to build up again,” Des agreed. “Pearl, are your household wards up to letting this Dragon in the gates?”
“I would prefer not,” Pearl said. “Why don’t we hold our meeting in the Rosicrucian Museum’s garden? It’s right next door, so Nissa can check on Lani. Perhaps we will have a picnic lunch.”
“Won’t we have a lot of people bothering us?” Brenda asked. “I mean, it’s a public garden.”
“It is also,” Pearl said, smiling mysteriously, “one of the most private places in all this city—perhaps on all this coastline—if you know the right charms, and it just happens that I do. The Rosicrucians will not interfere in my business, and they will assure that neutrality will be kept.”
“Weather’s not too hot,” Riprap said, “and the gardens have shade. Sure. Why not?”
“My daughter,” Righteous Drum said. “How will she find us?”
“Write her a note,” Brenda said. “Unless she has a cell phone.”
“I fear not,” Righteous Drum said, “although acquiring such did have a certain appeal. However, we were not completely comfortable with such devices.”
Brenda made a mental note to ask just how they had gotten as acclimated as they were, but this was neither the time nor place. Pearl seemed to be having similar thoughts, for she glanced around the apartment as if looking for signs of someone whose identity they did not yet know.
“Write the note,” Pearl said, “and come along. We have a great deal to talk about. And don’t try anything clever. We have had enough of cleverness.”
“As have I,” said Righteous Drum with what sounded like genuine emphasis. “As have I.”
Long, long ago, even before her father’s death, Pearl had taken it upon herself to study some of the other magical and philosophical traditions that coexisted with those her father and his friends had brought from the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice.
Rosicrucianism had been only one of many. However, the friends she had made during that phase—although at first many had merely been fascinated at getting to know a still somewhat famous movie star—had remained her friends, even when Pearl’s interests moved elsewhere. She was on several committees for the museum and periodically held a place on the board of directors.
These days her involvement was largely restricted to making donations and to drawing on her rather attenuated Hollywood connections when such might benefit the museum or its lecture program. Even so, Pearl was given full run of the establishment, including public gardens that possessed some rather specialized properties. Today, she led her little band to a corner of one of the gardens, a cozy alcove adorned with a statue of Isis, a long, dark pool in which the statue contemplated her own reflection, and a blazing array of pink and orange hybrid tea roses.
Before seating herself on one of the benches, Pearl respectfully inclined her head to the representation of Isis, among whose many names was “the Mistress of Magic,” for it was under her aegis that this magically volatile conference would be held.
The benches were far more comfortable than they appeared to be at a casual glance. Although a few sparrows hopped over in quest of bread crumbs from the abundantly—if hastily—packed basket Nissa and Riprap had carried over from Pearl’s house, the flies and other annoying insects (including tourists) simply drifted away from the area.
Nissa had taken the time to boil water. Now Pearl drank deeply from a restorative cup of tea. Righteous Drum and Des had accepted the same, but the young people had favored iced drinks.
They picnicked for a while as if they were any other group, allowing Lani to ask a million and one questions, and to report about her experiences at the morning’s screen test. Pearl used the time to arrange her thoughts, and she suspected Righteous Drum was doing the same. He also could not refrain from looking around rather anxiously, and Pearl knew he remained concerned about his absent daughter.
Honey Dream is probably taking advantage of a little private time with her newly restored “beloved,” Pearl thought. She could tell from the look of misery that drifted over Brenda’s face whenever Righteous Drum looked about for Honey Dream that the younger woman was entertaining similar thoughts. Very well. Let us get down to business and distract Brenda from her personal anguish by reminding her just how many others have suffered from this man’s interfering.
“You said you were bound by conflicting loyalties,” Pearl said. “Would you care to explain yourself?”
“I would and will,” Righteous Drum said with formal politeness, “but before I enter into those matters, I would like to remind you of something that, in your moment of what may feel like victory, you may have forgotten. You may hold the crystals, but I hold the means for opening them without damaging the memories stored within.”
“I doubt either Pearl or I have forgotten it for a moment,” Des said. “I, at least, am convinced that if given enough time we would figure out how to open them on our own. So stop posturing, and get on with your tale.”
“May I ask one question first?” Righteous Drum said. “How was it that Brenda Morris arrived at my apartment in such an irregular manner? Why did she choose the window and not the door?”
Nissa giggled. “My fault. When you barged in and started breathing smoke on us, I was farthest away—other than Pearl, who was in the kitchen. I’d noticed the kitchen window was open about two fingers wide when we were coming up the stairs. And I knew that if Brenda came in through the apartment door, she wouldn’t do any of us much good. So I grabbed my cell phone and left her a message when she didn’t answer.”
Pearl recalled the faint beeping she’d taken for a smoke alarm, and smiled. Seems she’d been a bit hard on the Rabbit. Nissa had acted quite wisely within the constraints imposed on her. And without Brenda arriving and then using the crystals so effectively …
And without my finding them in the first place, and without Des and Riprap holding back Righteous Drum for as long as they did. Success or failure, we’re all equally to be praised or blamed.
Brenda spoke up. “When I got there, I really wasn’t certain what good I would be. I thought maybe I’d just get away with the crystals, and try and negotiate with you later. Then I remembered the problem Des and Pearl kept having when they tried to dispel the crystals. Hard as they were physically, they were apparently magically fragile. Then there was Treaty, so I figured …”
She shrugged, and stopped. It was going to be a long time before any of those present f
orgot what Brenda had “figured” or that her gamble had paid off so well.
“Now,” Pearl said. “Enough delays. Tell us, Righteous Drum, about these ‘conflicting loyalties’ of yours.”
“It is a long story,” Righteous Drum warned.
“That’s fine,” Nissa said, fixing a very no-nonsense gaze on Righteous Drum. Nissa patted the bench on which she sat and Lani climbed up onto it. “We like stories.”
“Story, Mama?” Lani echoed.
“History,” Nissa said. “You just sit here and play with Mr. and Mrs. Penguin, Lani-bunny, and let this man tell us about himself.”
“Where’s Foster?”
“He’s visiting a friend. I suspect he’ll be along any time now.”
“Good. Foster likes stories.”
“I think he already knows this one,” Nissa replied. “Right, Mr. Righteous Drum?”
For answer, Righteous Drum began his tale. “From the skills you all have demonstrated, I believe that a tradition must have survived among you as to where your ancestors had their origin. Therefore, I will not go into details of that matter unless they are crucial to my account.”
Pearl gave a thin-lipped smile. “I assure you, we are very good at asking questions if some point seems a bit vague.”
“But,” Riprap added, digging into one of the lunch hampers and finding a roast-beef sandwich that had been overlooked, “we’ll keep a list and ask you all at once.”
The Dragon looked mildly overwhelmed. Apparently, whatever background he came from did not include casual American chitchat. After a moment he regained his poise, and resumed.
“Since I have been in your land, I have tried to learn something of how China is perceived—and by China I do not necessarily mean the modern nation, but the historic being. One common conception that is both true and false is that China is a very old nation. The truth is that dynasty has succeeded dynasty, and that traditions often intermingled over time, without anyone finding this in the least contradictory.
Thirteen Orphans Page 42
