Pearl interrupted. “And how did you make these judgments? Shouldn’t we all be perfect strangers to you?”
Righteous Drum looked at her with eyes too wide for perfect innocence. “I told you, the issue of what happened to the soul-ch’i is a matter that has been under study for many, many years. One of those who studied the matter discovered that we are linked, one might say, through our shared affiliations.”
Too facile, Pearl thought. By his own admission, Righteous Drum and his allies have been the appointed Twelve for a relatively short time. Still, I shall let it pass, for now. Let us see what else he may reveal.
Righteous Drum had continued his explanation. “We employed our magics to exploit what you might term the harmonic resonances between you and ourselves, and so learned that not all of those who had inherited the soul-ch’i of one of the Twelve were aware of what this granted them. Even those who were aware were frequently less than well-trained. Then, too, there was the question of geographic proximity. All of these things influenced who we sought first.”
Brenda cut in. “So when you’d finished your collecting I guess you were going to take the harvested memories back to your own land, and tough luck to the people who ended up with permanent amnesia?”
Righteous Drum clearly did not care for her flippancy. “We were very careful only to take what was connected to the soul-ch’i. Yes. In some cases this meant that the person concerned underwent a rather severe personality change, but not a single person was physically harmed.”
Riprap’s lips shaped a thin, rather nasty smile. “We’ve wondered about that, Mr. Righteous Drum, and we figure you didn’t spare us out of any kindness. I think at some point you learned about how our ancestors had fixed things so that what you’re calling the soul-ch’i would pass to an appropriate heir. Tough for you if you killed someone, thinking to swipe the soul-ch’i, only to find it was now wrapped up in someone else who would be difficult to reach—maybe a little baby, or someone living halfway across the country, or even in another part of the world.”
Righteous Drum stiffened. “Think what you will. I continue to assert that the fact that we have not killed—or even seriously harmed—a single person is evidence of our high and noble intent.”
Pearl glanced at the faces of her associates, and did not think that Righteous Drum had convinced any of them.
“So,” she said, setting down her empty teacup, “we have what you have come such a long distance to collect, but as you mentioned, you also hold something we desire.”
“The means to open the crystals and release the soul-ch’i, intact and undamaged,” responded Righteous Drum with too eager haste.
“I still think we could work out how to break the spell in time,” Des interjected. “Especially now that we know more than we did. Especially now that Righteous Drum and his partners are going to have a lot more trouble harassing us, and so we should be far less distracted.”
“Perhaps,” Righteous Drum retorted.
His mouth was opening as if he were about to say something more when his expression went momentarily blank. When it sharpened again, Righteous Drum was focused on something distant. Pearl immediately recognized the reaction as that of a sorcerer who has felt the unexpected tripping of a ward.
Righteous Drum surged to his feet, his hand outthrust, reaching upward into the space in front of him. The empty air had developed a curious solidity, a swimming, swarming texture, as if the air had condensed into a contained sphere of liquid that distorted the light while remaining itself transparent.
Then something brownish appeared within that distorted space, resolving almost as soon as Righteous Drum touched it into a human hand, long-fingered and bony, attached to an arm, equally long and equally skinny.
Righteous Drum gave a sharp tug and a skinny, long-armed, bow-legged Chinese man came sliding through the disturbed air. He emerged as if he were diving into water, but managed to twist in midair so that he landed neatly on his feet. The man’s long hair and beard were both pure white, and his skin had something of the tissue fineness of age. His brown eyes and generous mouth were framed by laugh lines.
But the new arrival was not laughing now. His robes were shredded. The monkeys embroidered on the ivory fabric hung grotesquely dismembered. Blood splattered the fabric and oozed from numerous thin slices wherever the man showed exposed skin. More blood seeped into the fabric of the ruined robes, showing that the heavy robes’ ability to protect their wearer had been far from complete.
The new arrival paid no attention to his surroundings, peculiar as they must have been to him. Nor did he seem to notice anyone but the Dragon.
“Righteous Drum, we have lost …” and then he fainted.
Righteous Drum barely caught him before he hit the ground.
Riprap had moved forward to help. Now, as he took the unconscious man from Righteous Drum and laid him gently on the ground, he sniffed the air.
“Gunpowder?”
“The Chinese invented it,” Des reminded him.
Nissa stopped an impending lecture on the technological sophistication of the ancient Chinese by handing Lani to Des.
“Get her away. Distract her. She shouldn’t see this.” Nissa dropped to her knees and started inspecting the Monkey—for this could only be the Monkey—taking inventory of his numerous wounds. “Brenda, check the picnic hamper. There should be another thermos of hot water. Clean napkins, too.”
Pearl did not intervene, but turned her attention to surveying the surrounding area. So far the Rosicrucians’ protections were holding, but they would have been severely strained by this intrusion. She spoke without stopping her inspection of their surroundings.
“Nissa, can your patient be moved?”
Nissa did not raise her eyes, nor did her hands stop their expert motion as she catalogued wounds, tamping some with the napkins Brenda held out to her, rinsing a few that were encrusted over by something foul-looking with sterile water from the thermos.
“None of the cuts seem to have hit anything vital,” Nissa replied after a moment. “Blood loss probably contributed to his fainting. We can probably shift him on the picnic blanket.”
“Isn’t someone going to notice?” Brenda asked.
“I’ll do what I can about that,” Pearl said.
Maybe the others expected her to work a spell, but instead she pulled out her cell phone. In a moment, she had the front desk in the temple’s museum, and was relayed to a director who didn’t need much explanation. He’d felt the surge that preceded the Monkey’s appearance, and had been heading out to check on the disturbance.
“Don’t bother ruining the picnic blanket,” Pearl said after she had ended her call. “Someone will be out in a moment with a stretcher. Anyone who asks about the commotion will be told an old man fainted.”
“When you lie, always stick close to the truth,” Des said cheerfully from where he was holding Lani up so she could inspect the statue of Isis more closely. “Where are we taking him?”
“My garden,” Pearl said. “I’m still a bit leery about letting these gentlemen into my house, but the area under the ramada should serve for now.”
Righteous Drum had been too distracted by the Monkey’s appearance, but now he turned and gave Pearl a stiff bow.
“I do have a domicile,” he reminded her. “I would not be in your debt.”
“I bet you wouldn’t be,” Pearl replied, knowing her grin was taunting as much as friendly, “but where he goes is the Monkey’s decision, not yours. As he’s in no position to express an opinion, we’re taking him to my house.”
“Because?”
“Because I am in a position to express an opinion. I know the people who are heading here at this very minute with a stretcher, and you are in no position to argue—domicile, debt, or not.”
Righteous Drum still looked undecided, even though Pearl knew that he knew he had no real choice. She softened.
“Look, Righteous Drum. I’m not looking to force you to i
ncur unwelcome debt. There’s a man here bleeding. Didn’t you just tell me we were all sort of related? If so, don’t I owe hospitality to a distant relative?”
Righteous Drum sighed and rested his head in his right hand. He stood there for a long moment, sighed again, and nodded.
“You are right. Choice is just an illusion. Any other decision would be a bad one on my part, born of pride, not a desire to do the best for my old friend.”
The Rosicrucian director arrived carrying a rolled-up stretcher under his arm.
He greeted Pearl with a nod, glanced at the unconscious, bloodied man on the ground, and set down his burden.
“You said you had matters under control so I didn’t bring our resident emergency med people or someone to help carry the stretcher. Do I get to know more about this?”
“Later,” Pearl promised. “Right now, we don’t know much ourselves. The man over there came seeking his friend and almost immediately collapsed. He muttered a few words before he passed out, but nothing that makes much sense.”
That’s technically correct, Pearl thought. She saw the director glance at the statue of Isis and wondered what the goddess’s representation might be prompted to tell. Well, that couldn’t be helped.
“You’re taking him to your house?”
“That’s right. We’ll carry him in through the side gate. Someone will bring you back the stretcher.”
The director waved his hand in casual dismissal. “Take your time. Hopefully, no one else will collapse between now and closing.”
“Thanks.”
“And fill me in later. That was an astonishing surge, nearly triggered our defenses and blocked him out entirely. Glad they didn’t go off. It would be a real pain to reset them.”
With another curious—but not in the least rude—glance around the group, the director gave a nod that was almost a bow and departed.
Riprap and Nissa had no problem assembling the stretcher. Then Des and Riprap carefully raised the injured man, and Brenda and Nissa slid the stretcher beneath him. All of this was done with the minimum of words, even from Lani, who clung to Pearl’s leg and watched in rapt fascination.
Beneath Isis’s watchful gaze, the group formed a procession, walking slowly, almost solemnly from beneath the lotus pillars and Egyptian quiet to the tiger’s jungle that was Pearl’s garden.
29
When the old man emerged through the empty air and collapsed at the Dragon’s feet, Brenda didn’t wonder why everyone acted like this was the most normal thing in the world. She knew perfectly well that all of them—well, at least other than Pearl and Righteous Drum and maybe Des—were simply in shock.
Dealing with the immediate and the essential, like stopping the injured man from bleeding to death, was something to do, something that made sense out of nonsense. So Brenda fetched hot water and handed Nissa and Riprap—who knew what they were doing—napkins and the like. When they had the Monkey on a stretcher, Brenda ran ahead because someone had to go in through the house and out through the garden to open the locked gate.
Hastings, the chauffeur, was in afternoon rehearsals for a bit part in a play, so he wasn’t around. It wasn’t one of the maid’s days. Wong, the gardener, had left earlier, afternoon in the summer not being the best time for tending plants, so Pearl’s garden was thankfully empty when the stretcher was carried around to the back and set down under the ramada on the veranda.
“When he comes around, the Monkey is going to be shocky,” Nissa said. “Pearl, you have some old sheets and blankets in the basement. Mind if I … ?”
“Help yourself,” Pearl said, “or rather, let someone else get them. I think you have the most medical training of the lot. I’d rather you stay with our patient.”
Pearl glanced at Riprap when she said this, and the big man shook his head.
“First aid, some trauma. Nissa’s better than me, though. I’ll get the stuff.”
Brenda did her part to help, and soon found that the best thing she could do was keep out of the way—and help keep Lani entertained. This wasn’t easy. Lani was tired out after her day’s ordeal, wanted her mother, and no one else would do.
No one else who was present that is. The little girl wouldn’t stop asking about Foster, repeating her questions with the regularity and unvaried rhythm of a metronome until Nissa decided the little girl should be sent off to bed.
Brenda was drafted to attend to bath and bedtime. She was very glad when at last Lani was fed, bathed, and put down for the evening. Despite bedtime coming almost an hour early, Lani dropped off almost at once. Now only Brenda’s own imagination could be blamed for the litany.
Where is Foster? What’s he doing? Why isn’t he here? Doesn’t he like me anymore? Where is Foster?
“Foster is gone,” Brenda said to the empty air in her room as she changed out of the T-shirt that had gotten soaked during Lani’s bath. “Flying Claw is the only one who remains.”
Brenda reached into the box on her dresser and pulled out a few fresh amulet bracelets. They weren’t as strong as those she’d used earlier, but she felt better when she had them around her wrist. She suspected her allies had taken similar precautions on the excuse of running inside to use the bathroom.
When Brenda rejoined the others out on the veranda, she learned that Waking Lizard, as the Monkey was properly named, had come around about five minutes before. While not exactly energetic, he was coherent enough to give an account of the events that had led to his desperate dive through what he called the Last Gate to collapse in the Dragon’s arms.
“You said we had lost,” Righteous Drum was prompting. “You mean our armies have been defeated?”
“That’s right.” Waking Lizard’s voice was whispery but still somehow resonant and strong. “I don’t know what the other side had. They had weapons I’ve never seen before … Creatures …”
He began to shake and Nissa spooned something hot into him. The shaking stopped, but Waking Lizard’s eyes remained wild.
“We knew our enemies had new tactics, new weapons, but this. I’ve never seen …”
He looked like he was going to start shaking again, but Pearl’s voice brought him back into focus.
“If things were that bad, how did you manage to get away?’
Waking Lizard glanced at Pearl, but he directed his reply to Righteous Drum. “Why me? You know me, Righteous Drum. I’m no Stone Monkey, no frontline fighter, no warrior out of legend. I was directing staff in the palace. When things went to hell, when the word rippled through the ranks that the Horse was dead and the Ram badly injured, I decided I could do nothing more productive where I was. I ran.”
He glanced back at Pearl. “And I didn’t run away either, lady. I ran to. To Righteous Drum. I thought he needed to know what had happened. Also, along with the Snake and the Tiger, he represents a full quarter of our cabal’s strength. The Tiger is young, but I thought he might be able to rally at least some of our troops. And what if the Dragon had discovered even part of what he had come to seek?
“Then, as I was readying the spell that would give me access to Righteous Drum via the bridge he used to come here, a group of soldiers burst through the door I had locked behind me. They threw a bomb of some sort. It bounced off my shield, but retained sufficient power to shatter the stone floor of the room. Most of my injuries came from flying stone.”
Waking Lizard looked momentarily proud. “I’m not sure my attackers proved as hardy. I think I took one or two of them with me. Maybe more.”
“So our enemies might not know what you were doing, where you were going?” Righteous Drum sounded anxious, almost hopeful.
“I think they’ll figure it out,” Waking Lizard said, “but they may take a while to follow. A month? Hard to say. Depends on if any of the others survived, and what they’ll tell when questioned.”
There was something in the manner in which Waking Lizard inflected the word “questioned” that made Brenda certain beyond a doubt that such questions wouldn
’t be restricted to words.
Riprap cut in. “So you’re looking for sanctuary. Not just Waking Lizard, all of you.”
Looking at the expression on Righteous Drum’s face, Brenda realized that a face might hold both defiance and denial, but show surrender nonetheless. Righteous Drum clearly wanted to deny that either he or his could ever need help from those who only a few hours before they had been fighting, but the reality was that they did need help.
Nissa broke the uncomfortable silence.
“Waking Lizard, I’m a bit confused. Was the enemy who drove you here the same as the one you people were fighting when Righteous Drum and the others came here?”
Waking Lizard struggled to sit a bit more upright on the patio chair on which he’d been settled. Riprap obligingly adjusted the backrest and lifted him into place.
“Thank you,” Waking Lizard said. “It is so hard to feel at all dignified flat on one’s back. As to your question, Miss Nissa, the fighting started out that way. Has Righteous Drum told you anything of the ongoing contest to hold the Jade Petal Throne—a contest that was old before your ancestors were exiled?”
“He has.”
“Well, for a time, even when our own position was the most desperate, the sense of the conflict was much the same, steps in a complicated and ornate yet still somehow familiar dance. I’m not sure when I began to feel something was different. It might have been when the usual truces were refused or when the Horse sent word of new weapons and tactics.”
“Usual truces?” Riprap interrupted.
“To gather up the wounded, for the recognition of some feast,” the Monkey clarified. “I can tell you’re going to want to ask about the new weapons and tactics our enemies employed, but I’m the wrong one to ask. The details of battle meant nothing to me. I have always focused on the end result. Suffice to say that our enemies were winning ground, more rapidly, more efficiently than we had expected.”
“Sounds as if your enemies made some new allies,” Des said. “Surely that has happened before.”
Thirteen Orphans Page 44
