She tries to work her fingers through the sticky tangles.
“Hounds, is that honey? Oh, Theo!”
Theo scrambles off her shoulders to examine his handiwork with pride and then goes to dig a hole at the bottom of the steps with a stick.
“Ow,” I say as she pulls at my hair.
“Well, if you ever brushed it in the first place, he might not have been able to make such a mess of it,” she says, laughing. “But you’re right, it’ll have to be cut. I can cut it to your chin if you like—some girls make that look very stylish and modern.”
I think of Pia, the sharp line of hair ending at her jaw.
“No,” I say quickly. “Just cut it like a boy’s. I’ve been dressing like one anyway. Given the way things are, the less I look like me, the better, I reckon.”
“All right.” She fetches her sewing scissors and settles behind me on the steps, snipping away. I watch the long hanks of matted hair falling to the ground and listen to Bianka humming—an unexpectedly happy sound.
“So. You and Frederick,” I say.
“Yes.” I hear the smile in her voice.
“I had no idea you felt that way about him.”
There is a pause, and then she says, “Well, proximity changes things. And he’s good to Theo. I want to be with someone I can count on for a change.”
I think that that’s not terribly fair to Frederick, but I don’t say so. It’s not really any of my business.
“Listen,” she says, lowering her voice. “I wanted to tell you—just in case. You know the bag I’ve got hanging from a hook in the bedroom?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever looked inside it?”
“No,” I say, hurt she had to ask.
She hears my tone and says placatingly, “Well, you are a spy. And I wouldn’t have minded. Anyway, there’s some dry food in it—just emergency rations—a fair bit of money, a few diapers, and a change of clothes for Theo.”
“All right,” I say. We are quiet for a moment, just listening to the snip snip snip of the scissors around my ears and neck. “And?”
“If something happens to me and…I don’t know, if you need to run, you take Theo and you take that bag.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” I say.
“One has to think about these things,” she says, and then Frederick and Professor Baranyi come through the gate. Frederick is carrying a basket laden with fruit and vegetables from the market in one hand and a stick with something shaggy at the end of it in the other. The professor glances at me nervously and asks, “Is Mrs. Och inside?”
I nod coldly, and he goes in. Frederick joins Bianka and me on the steps, putting down his basket.
“What on earth are you doing?”
“Theo made a mess of Julia’s hair, so I’m cutting it off,” says Bianka.
“I’m going to look like a boy in a minute,” I say.
“Feyda!” cheers Theo.
“Hullo, monkey,” says Frederick. “Look what I’ve got you! It’s a horse!”
He presents Theo with the stick, and I realize that the shaggy bit at the end is meant to be a horse’s head, its mane made of rags. I grab a hard little apple out of the basket and take a bite. Frederick shows Theo how to ride the toy horse, and Theo goes galloping around the courtyard, shouting with glee.
“That was nice of you,” says Bianka.
“I thought he might like something to play with besides chickens and rocks,” says Frederick.
Bianka brushes the stray hairs off my shoulders and says, “There—you look absolutely terrible.”
“Good thing we haven’t got a mirror.” I touch a hand to my shorn head. It feels so strange, the weight of my hair gone.
“It’s not so bad, actually,” says Frederick kindly. “It’s a bad haircut, but it brings out your eyes.”
A strange humming feeling washes over me all of a sudden, the courtyard somehow too bright, the sky too high, everything too much, not right. Theo has stopped galloping around on his horse and is squatting with a stick, drawing something in the dirt.
“What’s happening?” asks Bianka, alarmed. Her voice sounds echoey and unreal.
Something rises up out of the dirt. It is huge, with the head of a goat and a great furred body staggering on enormous chicken legs. Kahge—that is my first thought. Theo laughs in delight at the thing looming over him. The look on his face is one of amazed recognition.
“Theo!” Bianka leaps toward him.
“The stick!” cries Mrs. Och from the doorway, and I realize what has happened the instant she says it. Bianka snatches Theo away from the lumbering creature, and I dive for the stick he has dropped in the dirt, lying next to his clumsy drawing. Hairy arms grab at me, catch me around the waist, but I’ve got the stick, and I snap it in two. The thing crumbles to nothing, to dirt, and the air and the courtyard return to normal. I sit panting in the dirt, Bianka clutching Theo to her, Frederick wielding the sewing scissors next to me like he is going to take down a magicked monster with them.
“Well,” says Mrs. Och, coming over to look at Theo’s picture. It just looks like a scribble in the dirt, although there is something resembling a head and a body, I suppose. “I was afraid of that.”
“Afraid of what? What was that thing?” shouts Bianka.
“Teo stoy!” crows Theo, delighted with himself, trying to wriggle out of her arms.
“It’s The Book of Disruption,” says Frederick. “He’s not a witch, but still, a part of the most powerful text on earth is inside him. He can write magic…in a way.”
“He can’t write—he’s just a baby! Those aren’t even words—it hardly looks like anything!” cries Bianka.
“The earliest writing was pictographic,” says Mrs. Och. “Until we can get the text out of him, we must keep him from making pictures. His imagination combined with the act of writing is much too strong.”
“Oh hell,” says Bianka.
“Teo tick,” says Theo, picking up half of the broken stick and looking at me indignantly.
“Put that down at once,” says Mrs. Och, snatching it away from him so hard he topples over. He gapes at her and begins to cry.
“Keep a close eye,” she says to Bianka and Frederick. Then she turns to me. “Julia, come. We are leaving.”
“Oh, your lovely hair!” cries Csilla when I arrive at Count Fournier’s house with Mrs. Och and the professor. Mrs. Och looks vaguely annoyed that Csilla and Gregor are there as well.
“Pish,” says Esme. “What use has Julia for lovely hair?”
Which I might have found insulting if I didn’t have so much else on my mind.
“Ah, well,” says Csilla forlornly. “It’ll grow back.”
Jun is standing by the door. I am absurdly nervous to look at him, but I do. He makes an O of surprise with his mouth and then grins, and my stomach somersaults wildly. I smile back and then can’t wipe the smile off my face, so I look down to try and hide my ridiculous expression. Hounds, I’m an idiot. I want to drag him into the hall with me, away from the others.
Count Fournier looks overwhelmed to have us all in his dilapidated parlor: Gregor, gray-faced but upright, his mouth a line of grim endurance; Esme, long-limbed, benign, and genderless; and Csilla, who always looks set for a night at the opera, though her face paint is a little brighter and more careless than usual. Professor Baranyi helps Mrs. Och to the smelly sofa, where I was held at gunpoint just a few days ago. It’s so strange now to think of Jun pointing a gun at me. Count Fournier seems uncertain about kissing Mrs. Och’s hand, and in the end just clasps it loosely and then goes springing over to his liquor cabinet. He is wearing shoes for the first time since I’ve met him.
“Thank you all for coming! Och Farya, it is a great honor. I never imagined I might host one of the Xianren! May I…Brandy, anyone? Or whiskey?”
He is already pouring a glass, which he then holds toward Gregor, beaming.
“No!” says Gregor hoarsely, and stuffs his tre
mbling hands into his pockets. Csilla rushes to take his arm.
“Please put it away,” she begs the count. “We don’t want any!”
He looks confused, but he puts the glass down. “Well then,” he says, a bit sadly.
I sneak another look at Jun. He winks, and a wave of heat goes through me, thinking of his hands slipping under my tunic, his ragged breath in my ear.
“Do you have word of Ko Dan?” asks Mrs. Och sharply. Nothing to kill a pleasant fantasy like the sound of her voice.
Count Fournier shakes his head nervously. “There are a hundred different rumors. The source I trust the most believes him to be imprisoned in the Imperial Gardens by order of Si Tan, but even that I cannot confirm beyond doubt, and nobody can tell me exactly where.”
“And you say that Old Zey is ill?” says Mrs. Och, leaving the question of Ko Dan behind rather quicker than I like.
“Dying,” says the count. “The Sidhar Coven has been reassembling.”
“What little is left of it,” says Mrs. Och dismissively.
“I have no money, no means of returning, but if you take me back with you, I have contacts all over Frayne—the names of well-connected people who are waiting for a revolution.”
“Witches and a few Lorians might be ready to rise up, but are the people?” asks Esme. “It cannot be a revolution of witches. That is not a revolution. That is a coup, and the people will not support it.”
“The people will be ready if they have a princess,” says Gregor. “I am sure of it.”
“We have met with one impostor recently,” says Mrs. Och. “Are you certain this is Zara, daughter of Prince Roparzh? What proofs does she have of her identity?”
“She has in her possession the family’s royal seal, her father’s ring, and a certificate signed by a holy at her birth. These will be contested, of course, but it will be enough to convince the people. More important…well, you will see when you meet her. She is obviously of royal blood. She has been educated broadly and has lived in many countries, sometimes under very difficult conditions. She is intelligent and thoughtful and wise well beyond her years. She will be a fine queen, you can be sure of that. But we have to act quickly—Si Tan and Gangzi are meeting today with the Fraynish ambassador and Lord Skaal.”
“Meeting where?” asks Mrs. Och.
“The Imperial Gardens, I assume,” says Count Fournier. “That is where Si Tan receives guests.”
“We will take Princess Zara to Frayne immediately,” says Mrs. Och.
I understand now why she wanted to bring all of us on this journey to Tianshi. She knew Gregor and Esme were involved in the Lorian Uprising, that they would be perfect for this task. She did not bring them here for Theo at all.
“I have no money,” says the count again, humbly. “But Zara trusts me, and I have connections. I have been involved for years. I wish to help.”
“Julia will go now to fetch her,” says Mrs. Och, ignoring his plea. “How can we ensure that the princess goes with her willingly?”
The count has a frantic look, like he realizes he is being left behind, cut out of the whole business.
“She will know,” he says. “She has a sense of these things, of whom she can trust. I cannot get in myself, but Jun could manage it unseen and he knows the monastery….”
My heart leaps, and Jun and I grin at each other like lunatics. Esme’s eyes narrow a bit, looking at us, but I don’t care.
“Julia will go alone,” says Mrs. Och. “She does not need help.”
Jun’s smile falls away, and he looks from Mrs. Och back to me.
“He helped tremendously the other day,” I say. “In a pinch, I’d like him with me. If he’s willing,” I add, looking at Jun. He begins to smile again, but Mrs. Och puts an end to it.
“No. Julia will get the princess and bring her to my house. Julia alone. Thank you, Count Fournier. I will be happy to pay your passage home if you wish to return to Frayne.”
We all stand there uncertainly as Mrs. Och rises to her feet, Professor Baranyi taking her arm to help her.
I look at Jun. He says, “You cannot take tunnels. They are flooding them. Everybody running like rats.”
“Who is flooding them?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Somebody. Not much places to hide in Tianshi today. Ru are out searching homes. Maybe they are looking for you?”
“Julia!” Mrs. Och says sharply. “There is no time to waste. Fetch the princess and take her to my house. Do not let anybody see you.”
So I leave them all there: Jun, helplessly watching me go; Mrs. Och, counting paper money out onto Count Fournier’s desk; and Gregor, looking at everything except the brandy on the side table, Csilla on his arm like an anchor straining against a storm.
The monastery is surrounded by the Ru. There is no chance of going over the wall with my hook. The only way to do it is to vanish farther than I like—back through the foggy space at the edge of the world to that reeling nowhere where I must angle my perspective to make sure I don’t lose the wall completely. My aim is off; I land on a temple rooftop and slide down, grunting.
The old woman meets me at the door of the little house, pointing the blunderbuss at me with a look in her eye that says, Yes, this thing will break my arm if I fire it, but don’t think I won’t. Princess Zara, stout in a brilliantly patterned silk robe, her frizzy hair pinned up with jade combs, is holding a pistol, but her eyes are clear and unafraid. She says something to the old woman. The old woman just grunts and keeps pointing the blunderbuss at me.
“Count Fournier sent me,” I say, my hands raised and visible. “You’re not safe here anymore. King Zey is dying, and we mean to take you back to Frayne to, um, claim the throne.”
She receives my news with an equanimity I find hard to believe, just nods her head and tucks her pistol away inside her wide sleeve.
“I’ll need my bag,” she says, and fetches a battered valise from under her bed. Then she speaks to the old woman in Yongwen. Slowly the blunderbuss lowers. The old woman’s chin crumples and wobbles. Tears pour down her wrinkled cheeks. Princess Zara embraces her. They cling to each other for a long moment while I stand there feeling increasingly awkward. When at last they pull apart, Princess Zara presses a clinking bag of coins into the old woman’s hand.
“The thing is,” I say, “the monastery is surrounded, and so to get you out…it’s going to be a little strange. You’ll have to hang on to me. Just close your eyes and don’t let go.”
“Are we going to fly out?” she asks, her eyes twinkling, as if I’m joking.
“Not exactly,” I say. “You might be scared, or startled, but please hang on.”
She says simply, “I trust you”—which, under the circumstances, is one of the strangest things she could possibly say, but I’m not complaining. She kisses the old woman one more time.
“Well,” I say awkwardly, “just put your arms around me.”
As if we are going to dance, she puts one arm around my waist and the other across my shoulders, the valise in her hand bumping against my hip. For a moment, I think I don’t know how to do this and the whole thing feels utterly absurd and embarrassing, showing up here and telling her to hold me. I grab the princess around the waist and yank back. For a horrible split second, I’m afraid we’re just going to fall over on the ground, but then we’re through. I can feel her heartbeat quickening as the world fades around us and I pull up, up, and everything is spinning under us. Too high, I feel like we are soaring way over the city, like a balloon whose string has been cut, like we are going to get lost in the sky. I panic, and we are zooming in close, too close, and then I’m afraid I am going to dash us to bits in the street. I come back to myself right outside a shop selling painted silk fans. I hear somebody scream. The princess is struggling to get out of my grip, so I grab on to her, pull us out of the world again, trying to control it better. A few streets at a time. I vanish far enough that it seems as if we are hanging over the city but not too far above it, then
pick a spot farther along, reappear there, stop and breathe, ignore the shouts, pull back again. In this way we cross the city—leapfrogging in and out of the world.
Once, I pull back too far—or it feels as if something is pulling me. I hear a whispering sort of hum behind me—the city gone, a rising roar—but no, here it is, the street, the trees swaying in the breeze, blossoms and wishes floating down, a beautiful day, and the princess’s breath hoarse in my ear, her arms tight around me, hanging on for dear life. I find the house in Nanmu and put us in the courtyard, startling Bianka, Theo, and Frederick. Not bad, I think, quite pleased with myself. Faster than a trolley.
I let go of the princess, and she staggers a little, her face very pale, but she composes herself quickly. No shrieking from the walls, so I suppose they must have gotten rid of all the protective warning spells in preparation for her arrival.
“Thank you,” she says, and puts down her valise.
“This is Princess Zara,” I say to Frederick and Bianka, trying to look steadier than I feel after leap-vanishing across the city.
Bianka drops a curtsy. Frederick bows hastily as well.
“Oh, don’t bother,” says the princess, laughing. She recovers fast, I’ll say that for her. “Well, that was…different. Might I ask for a cup of tea?”
The others return soon after we’ve made tea. The house feels smaller than usual as they all come pouring into the main room and greet the princess with bows and curtsies and noisy exclamations of concern. Princess Zara, for her part, is all smiles and graciousness, as if quite in her element. More tea is made, and maps are rolled out across the table. Theo is delighted by the hubbub, getting in everyone’s way and shrieking with excitement. Bianka hovers close to him, watching his hands anxiously.
“I mean, what do I do if he draws something with his finger? I can’t break his finger,” she whispers to me. “I’m going to go mad watching him like this!”
After greeting the princess, Mrs. Och goes immediately to her room, indicating that Professor Baranyi and I are to follow her.
Julia Defiant Page 21
