The Dreamweavers

by G. Z. Schmidt

  Yun turned the page and read the last entry.

  Year of the Horse, 4160. Third full moon. Gardener Wong (see entry 43) arrested on suspicion of treason. On gardener’s property, the Noble General discovered letters plotting to assassinate the Emperor of China, as well as poisonous herbs. Evidence in Chest 3, Section 10. Wife, city poet known as Lotus, tried to appeal on husband’s behalf.

  Verdict: Guilty. Executed in the pre-dawn hours the day following his arrest.

  “Chest three,” murmured Mei.

  She went over to the row of chests and tried to open the third one. It wouldn’t budge.

  “I know, I know,” she said before Yun could say anything. She reached into her hair and tossed the butterfly pin to him. Yun started picking at the lock like he’d done earlier with the empress’s door. The chest remained shut.

  “That’s no ordinary keyhole,” Yun said after several long minutes. He studied the tiny engravings on the lock—he could just make out the imprint of a dragon. “I bet the emperor has a special key for this. We need something bigger and sharper than this pin. A tool, like a knife.”

  Mei looked around the room. There were only fragile scrolls and books. “Maybe we can break it open,” she suggested.

  “With what?” The wood looked ten times heavier than the firewood the village boys carried home.

  Mei’s gaze fell on one of the many lanterns along the walls. “We can burn it open.”

  “And risk burning all the evidence inside?”

  The twins tinkered with the chest for a half hour more. Finally, Yun let out an annoyed sigh and sat back in frustration. “It’s no use,” he grumbled, kicking the chest. “We were so close!” His head ached with sleep, and he shook it side to side to stay awake.

  Mei, too, was exhausted. “We’re giving up?” she said bitterly. “After everything?”

  “There’s nothing we can do,” replied Yun wearily.

  “What about everyone trapped in the City of Ashes? What about our parents?” Mei felt her chin quiver, and she clenched her jaw tighter. “If we can’t do it, then we’ll go straight to the Emperor of China. We’ll ask him to open the chests.”

  “That won’t work and you know it.”

  It was a slap in the twins’ faces to have come so far, yet still be so distant from their goal. They sat for several long moments, deeply fatigued. The air around them was hot and stuffy, and the City of Ashes flashed through their minds: the desolate streets, the abandoned buildings. Grandpa’s steady denials of the rumors, and how the twins’ illusion of safety shattered when the truth started trickling through like the leak in the ceiling of their washroom whenever it rained. Mei, who didn’t know which side to believe; Yun, who believed every side.

  Abruptly, they felt the floor rumble. The air felt warm, like there was a hearth nearby and someone had left live coals inside.

  “It’s an earthquake,” gasped Yun.

  “No, look, it’s coming from there!” Mei pointed.

  The glowing orbs in the display case had grown brighter, the dancing spheres moving faster and faster. They began to collide with one another. When they did, the spheres fell apart and became two separate orbs, one black, one white. They multiplied inside the wooden box until they threatened to burst out.

  Shadows danced across the twins’ faces. Suddenly, all the chests started shaking, too. Yun jumped back; the lock was hot.

  “What’s happening?” shouted Mei above the rumbling.

  A series of clicks echoed around the library. Scrolls fluttered on shelves. Books shifted. The twins ducked their heads and crouched for cover. There was a flash of white light.

  Then the air cooled again, and all became still. The orbs had fused back into white-and-black spheres. Next to them, a thin, glowing white fog rippled through the air like smoke in the wind.

  Carefully, Yun examined the chest before them again. The top creaked open.

  The twins stared wordlessly at each other, then inside the chest. The contents were organized into neat bins—evidence for miscellaneous crimes. There were calligraphy brushes, old shoes, bloodstained weapons, incriminating notes. Mei and Yun felt queasy as they carefully searched the contents under the label for Section Ten.

  “I’m guessing it’s these.” Yun held up a stack of letters and several small satchels of pale green, bitter-smelling leaves. “Let’s hurry. I want to get out of this magical library as fast as possible, before something else happens.”

  Together, they silently read the letters one by one. The eloquent letters, beautifully scripted and addressed to an unknown recipient, detailed the gardener’s hatred for the emperor for marrying the woman he wanted. Outlined in the letters was a vile assassination plot, a sinister plan requiring knowledge of poisonous herbs and toxic flower stems.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Yun said, breaking the silence. “From what Lotus described, she and her husband were madly in love. Why would he try to assassinate the emperor over another woman?”

  “Love isn’t always straightforward, obviously,” said Mei, who thought herself somewhat of an expert on heartbreak, after a boy she’d liked in the village had called her a skinny monkey for climbing too many trees. (The boy’s front porch had mysteriously been piled with dirt and branches for the next week; they never caught the culprit.) “But if Lotus says her husband was framed, someone else must have written these letters.”

  They reread the letters again. Then Yun looked up with an odd expression.

  “These are very well-written, wouldn’t you say?” he said. “Not a single grammar or spelling error.”

  “Yes, so?”

  “How could he be the author? He was just a simple gardener.”

  “We’re just simple villagers—‘peasants,’” Mei reminded her brother. “And we know how to read and write just as well as anyone in the fancy cities.”

  “You’re right. It’s just...some of this word usage is so elevated and elaborate.” Yun pointed to one of the letters. “Like saying exempt from burdensome complications when the word easy would do.”

  He grabbed the blue book and flipped through the entries. He studied the pages; his eyes widened. “Look where it says ‘see entry 43,’ next to the gardener’s name. Here’s the entry in question.”

  Year of the Snake, 4159. Fifth new moon. Verbal dispute between Gardener Wong and the Noble General. Latter stepped into a row of freshly planted manure because of miswritten sign:

  小星

  “Little star,” Yun said, pointing to the characters. “It’s a homonym with the phrase be cautious.”

  “You’re right,” answered Mei excitedly. Misusing written characters was common for those who weren’t familiar with the subtle differences. “Like mixing the character for ten”—she traced a 十 symbol—“with the character for stone.” Mei traced a 石 symbol. “But words like little star and be cautious...those are elementary. If the gardener misspelled even those, then...”

  “Then it’s very unlikely he could have written these long, eloquent letters!” said Yun breathlessly.

  Mei gasped as another thought hit her. “Remember what Lotus said? She’d recite her poetry out loud to her husband because he wasn’t the best reader. He couldn’t read well!”

  Yun held up the bundle of papers. “It’s close, but it’s not ideal evidence. The gardener could have asked someone to transcribe the letters for him, for instance. And another question—what about these toxic herbs?”

  Mei took the blue book. “I bet we can find more evidence in these other entries. Let’s read through these carefully.”

  Their spirits rising, they read the entries one by one. Fifteen entries later, one in particular caught their eye.

  Year of the Horse, 4160. Third new moon. Apothecary broken into at night. Missing potions and herbs. Amount insignificant for compensation.

  “The break-in happened the exact same month Lotus’s husband was framed,” pointed out Yun. “Look, ‘missing potions and herbs.’” He glanced at Mei
in astonishment. “Do you know what this means?”

  “Way ahead of you. Let’s get out of here.”

  They gathered the letters and the blue book excitedly. Their next steps were still a blur, but they would figure them out later. They made their way to the front of the library and exited the doors with their haul. As they shut the door, they realized with surprise that it was daytime.

  Then they looked more closely at the orange skies, the hazy courtyard.

  “Uh...Mei? Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

  “We’re in a dream?” Mei whispered. “But...how? When did it happen?”

  They ran through the yard, trying to find someone, anyone. A lone individual was walking across the courtyard. Their features were blurry, as if the twins were viewing the person from underwater. But when they moved closer, Mei recognized something familiar about the figure.

  “You were in the audience during the play!” she gasped.

  The figure faced them and spoke. “Hey, it’s those terrible actors!” And then, turning specifically to Yun, the figure added, “Statues don’t move, stupid.”

  Yun whirled to face Mei. “What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know!” answered Mei, equally bewildered. “What should we do?”

  The courtyard began to shimmer, and the daylight began to fade. Next thing the twins knew, they were lying on cold, damp stone. Their feet and hands were chained. As their eyes adjusted to the darkness, a familiar voice said gleefully behind them, “The question is, What should I do with troublemaking thieves like you?”

  It was Fu-Fu.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  十八

  Connections

  The boy looked quite pleased with himself as he watched the twins from outside the iron bars that imprisoned them. A dim candle lit the dungeon hall. Somewhere, a steady drip-drop of water leaked from the ceiling. Mei and Yun glanced at each other. They had the uneasy feeling that nothing was quite real anymore.

  “You’re in big trouble,” Fu-Fu said in a singsong voice. “You’re not allowed in the Imperial Library.”

  “What happened?” cried Mei. “Tell us what happened right now!”

  Fu-Fu clutched his bamboo stick and pointed it at the twins. “I found you all by myself. I saw you talking with Cousin Zali earlier and knew something was fishy. So I followed you from the rooftops. I can’t believe you were dumb enough to break into the enchanted library.”

  Mei moved her right hand and noticed the seal was no longer in her palm. Fu-Fu held up the gleaming square. “Looking for this?” he taunted. He lowered his voice. “The guards didn’t even notice when I swiped it from you. What idiots.”

  “What guards?” said Yun.

  “The ones who arrested you in the library when you two were asleep. I called for them, by the way. Nobody’s supposed to be in the library. That’s a rule even I don’t break, mostly because books and scrolls are boring. What kind of thieves are you anyway, falling asleep on the job?”

  “But we weren’t asleep,” Yun said, looking from Fu-Fu to his sister. He started to chew his fingernails, but his hands were tied. “Right?”

  “Yes, you were.” Fu-Fu gleefully told them how normally, any intruders would be killed on the spot, but then Fu-Fu had argued on the twins’ behalf. “I told them to toss you in the dungeon for now, and not to bother the emperor at this late an hour. They’re finishing their card game right now.” He glanced at Mei. “You can thank me anytime.”

  “But—but—” Yun halted. The blue book and letters were gone, too.

  “How is this possible?” exclaimed Mei.

  “You can stop performing now,” Fu-Fu sneered. “You’re the worst actors of this dynasty.”

  Yun imagined Fu-Fu’s smug face in place of the fish Chef Fan had smacked a few days earlier. He took a deep breath and addressed the young master, his voice shaking, “Look, we do not want to cause any harm. We needed to prove someone in a city near our village was framed for a crime seventy years ago. Our village has been cursed as a result, and our grandpa’s been arrested—” Yun shook his head again, interrupting his usual longwinded explanations. “You know what? Forget it. You wouldn’t understand anyway.”

  “There’s been a mistake,” said Mei. “Have someone call for Princess Zali.”

  Something had suddenly changed in Fu-Fu’s demeanor. He pointed at them with the sharp stick. “Tell me the whole story about this cursed village,” he ordered. There was a long pause. “Or I’ll call the guards, and not summon the princess,” he added, narrowing his eyes.

  Seeing no other option, Yun and Mei stiffly explained the City of Ashes, how a poet had cursed the city after the Noble General framed her beau, how the letters had been forged, and how the accused party was semi-illiterate.

  “It’s nothing of interest to you,” Yun finished. “I told you so.”

  But Fu-Fu was now staring at them with an odd expression. His face darkened.

  “This Noble General,” he said slowly. “You’re saying he was the one who wrote the letters that wrongly sentenced a man to death?”

  “We think so,” said Mei. “He’s the one who supposedly found the so-called evidence. Planted it himself, most likely. It’s all there in the library.”

  “What were you two going to do with this information?”

  “We haven’t worked out the details yet,” Yun said impatiently. “Show the evidence to the authorities, probably.”

  Fu-Fu glowered at them. His hand gripped his bamboo stick so tight, his knuckles were white. “Why are you trying to clear some dead guy’s name?”

  “We told you. An entire city, including our village, has been cursed. We’ve been asked to clear his name so things can go back to normal.”

  “The fates of many people rest on our success,” said Mei. “You don’t want peoples’ lives on your conscience, do you? Oh, wait,” she couldn’t help adding sourly, “I bet you don’t even know what conscience means.”

  Mei’s remark was the one to finally break Fu-Fu’s restraint. “I’m not stupid!” he roared, making Mei and Yun jump back in alarm. “I’m just as clever as Cousin Zali!” the boy continued angrily. “I read as much as she does. I’m better at archery and combat than most of my cousins. But no one ever praises me. Do you know why? It’s because I’m not a prince, that’s why!”

  “We’re not from royalty, either,” Mei quickly soothed, trying to get the boy to quiet down so others wouldn’t hear. “We’re from a poor village in the mountains.”

  “I said I wasn’t a prince—I didn’t say I was a dirty peasant like you,” Fu-Fu retorted.

  Mei’s face hardened. “Oh, well, that’s good to know.”

  Fu-Fu stamped his foot and thumped his bamboo stick hard on the ground. “I’m not much different from the royal family. I’ve had tea with the empress, and she says I have fine etiquette. My tutor says I’m clever. He says my penmanship is excellent. The other kids think they’re better than me because I’m not descended from a long line of royalty.” The boy glared at them, as if daring the twins to disagree. “I’m just as valuable.”

  “You are valuable,” said Yun in his most ingratiating voice, lying through his teeth. “You are excellent and great and marvelous. You’ll be even more marvelous if you help us.”

  “Come on,” pleaded Mei. “If you help us rescue our village, you’ll be a hero. Maybe they’ll raise a statue in your honor.”

  “Or something of the kind,” muttered Yun, thinking a statue was going too far.

  Fu-Fu stuck out his chin. “I’ll never help you. The story is a dirty lie!” He stamped his foot again. “You’re liars. Liars, liars, LIARS!”

  His shouting had alerted the guards. Five seconds later, servants and guards scurried into the corridor. “Halt, stay away from the young master!” they hollered to the twins. Some of the guards drew their swords.

  “Look, now you can engage in a real sword fight,” Fu-Fu said with a smirk.

  “What’s wrong with you?�
� Mei gripped the bars and shook them angrily.

  “Why are you doing this?” sighed an equally weary Yun.

  The small boy didn’t flinch. “Because,” he said simply, “my great-grandfather was the Noble General.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  十九

  Dice of Destiny

  The palace’s prison guards were perplexed that night. It still confused them how the two siblings managed to break into the Imperial Library. They argued amongst themselves for a bit, then finally decided to blame the oversight on Xia, an unlikable colleague whom they nicknamed “The Crane” and who (coincidentally) had won last night’s card game.

  They were also struggling over what to do with the twins. Although Mei and Yun seemed harmless and likely didn’t pose a serious danger to the palace, the fact that they’d been found inside the sealed library was definitely incriminating—and, like Master Fu-Fu had reminded them, embarrassing. Merely locking the twins up for the night was insufficient. The guards debated heatedly among themselves over what to do as they gathered outside the twins’ cell.

  “Just slit their throats and dump their bodies in the trash!” “No, bring them to the emperor.” “Nonsense! The emperor would think we’re incompetent if we couldn’t even stop a pair of children.” “Have them pay us money.” “Are you kidding? These commoners look poorer than rats in trash.”

  Finally, the head guard decided, “We shall kill them and get it over with.”

  “Hold up!” interrupted Fu-Fu. “I’m the one who caught them. I should get to pick the punishment.”

  “I do not think that is necessary,” the guard replied dismissively. “Why don’t you run along and leave the punishing to the experts.”

  “They’re my age, so I know exactly the thing to make them wet their pants. Besides, remember who you’re talking to.” Fu-Fu held up his stick menacingly.

  There was a pause. The twins, who stood trembling behind the bars, didn’t think the guards were actually afraid of Fu-Fu, but also guessed the guards didn’t want to deal with his tantrums. Either way, punishment to the point of pants-wetting was far preferable to being run through with a broadsword, so the twins hoped the guards would listen to the little brat...even if he did happen to be the great-grandson of a notorious murderer.