The Ruined City

by John Wilson

  Cate nodded.

  “It’s not true. It was a lumber truck. The album was actually named after something Duane Allman said in an interview: Every time I’m in Georgia, I eat a peach for peace.”

  “Cool.”

  Cate’s smile broadened, and Howard silently thanked his dad for his obsessive interest in classic rock.

  “So,” he said, “if you’re Chinese, why are you named after a Greek goddess?”

  “I’ve had an interesting life,” Cate said. “Hecate is the daughter of Perses, the god of destruction, and Asteria, the goddess of nocturnal oracles. She’s associated with crossroads, doorways, poisonous plants, witchcraft, necromancy and sorcery, and she is one of the pre-Olympian deities of the underworld. She’s often portrayed carrying a torch, a key and a dagger. To make an offering to Hecate, you have to dig a pit and slit a lamb’s throat so that the blood runs into it.”

  “Okay, okay. This is getting too weird.” It was not just the information that was weird but also the fact that Cate was speaking in the present tense, as if slitting a lamb’s throat was part of her everyday experience.

  “You asked,” Cate said indifferently.

  “I asked where your name came from, not an entire history of Greek mythology. And you didn’t really answer me.”

  Cate shrugged. “Different cultures have different names for gods. Greek, Chinese—the gods don’t care.”

  Howard had no idea how to respond to this, so to keep the conversation going he blurted out, “What’s your cat called?”

  “Heimao.”

  “Cool. What does it mean?”

  “Black cat,” Cate replied. “You’d better get inside—there’s a storm coming.” She spun on her heels and strode off toward the school’s main door.

  “Wait!” Howard shouted without thinking.

  Cate stopped, turned back and looked at him.

  His brain froze again. He had nothing. What did people say in situations like this?

  “Do you want to hang out after school?” he spluttered.

  For what seemed like an hour, Cate said nothing, and Howard felt as if he were dying inside. Then her smile returned.

  “Sure. That’d be cool. I’ve got drama last class. See you in the theater.”

  With that Cate and her cat headed toward the main building. At the door, Heimao swerved off to the side and disappeared. Howard stood and watched, amazed that he had asked and thrilled that Cate had said yes.

  His happiness evaporated as Leon and Madison’s group passed by.

  “Howie’s hanging with the goth chick!” Leon shouted.

  His companions burst out laughing. Madison threw Leon a look that could have started the next ice age.

  AYLFORD

  WHAT BOOK?

  Howard walked into the school in a daze and was twenty minutes into math class before he remembered that today was his day for visiting his dad. An insane asylum was probably not the best place to take Cate on a first date—if that was even what this was. What should he do, bail on Cate or not visit his dad? He knew his dad wouldn’t notice if his son missed a weekly visit, but Howard would be wracked with guilt. Also, he’d have to handle his mother’s obsessive questions about how his dad was doing. Howard’s worry consumed the remainder of the class.

  He searched for Cate between classes with no luck. He went into his last class wondering how he was going to survive to the end of the day and what he would do if he did.

  The class—history—was normally Howard’s favorite, but his worried mood was too entrenched to be lifted, even by the large A in a red circle at the top of the assignment that was handed back at the start of the class. The hour dragged by as Howard swung between joy at the prospect of meeting Cate and worry about how he was going to resolve the conflict.

  The bell finally went. All he wanted to do was hurry off to meet Cate and end his torture, but the teacher, Mr. Campbell, had different ideas.

  “That was a very good essay you wrote,” he said as Howard passed his desk.

  Howard hesitated. “Thank you,” he mumbled, only half paying attention.

  Mr. Campbell was an old-school teacher close to retirement. He dressed in tweed jackets and always wore a garish bow tie. He was considered a good teacher, but the story around school was that this was because he had actually lived through all the history he taught. He talked slowly and often headed off on tangents. Usually Howard found this interesting—when he wasn’t stressed and in a hurry.

  He took a tentative step back.

  Mr. Campbell ignored Howard’s hint and launched into a rambling reminiscence about his own history teacher, now long dead, and how the world and in particular the teaching of history had changed over the decades.

  “Have you considered taking history at university?” Mr. Campbell asked, oblivious to Howard’s discomfort. “I think you have a talent for it.”

  “Maybe,” Howard said, taking another step back.

  “There are many good schools to choose from. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend our little college here in Aylford. Not that there’s anything wrong with it per se, but it is a small school and that does limit one’s options. I would suggest somewhere larger—perhaps even a European school. After all, they do have more history over there than we do. In fact, as someone once said, they have altogether too much history.” Mr. Campbell chuckled at his little joke.

  Howard coughed, to no effect.

  “Of course, where you go will depend on what aspect of history you wish to study. Not all schools are equally good at all time periods. For example, some specialize in medieval studies, others in modern or ancient history. But perhaps that isn’t something you need to worry about at the undergraduate level. Best to get a good grounding as broadly as possible. Plenty of time to specialize with postgraduate work.”

  “I have to go,” Howard announced. “I’m meeting someone.”

  “Of course. Of course.” Mr. Campbell seemed crestfallen at the abrupt end to his advice. “I didn’t mean to keep you. But if you do decide on a life in history, come and see me. I’d be happy to pass on what little knowledge I have gathered on possible schools.”

  Howard forced out another thank-you and fled the classroom. He raced along the corridor, terrified that Cate had grown tired of waiting and gone home. His backpack seemed to weigh a ton, and the corridor stretched on to infinity. Then the blackness came. Howard’s peripheral vision dissolved into seething tendrils of dark shadow that raced into the center of his vision until the corridor ahead narrowed. He had an overwhelming sense of falling down a dark tunnel.

  He stumbled to one side and crashed into a row of lockers, causing a nearby group of eighth-grade girls to jump in surprise. He felt dizzy and nauseous and half expected a searing pain in his head or chest to announce a stroke or a heart attack. He leaned on the locker, closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe slowly. The nausea and dizziness receded. When he opened his eyes, the world wavered back into normality and the darkness faded. Pushing himself off the locker, Howard smiled weakly at the staring girls and continued at a more sedate pace. He heard the girls giggle and say something about drugs. As he headed for the theater, he promised himself again that he would make an appointment to see the doctor.

  Pushing open the main door, Howard had the impression that the theater was empty. He was too late, he thought, and resigned himself to an evening of wallowing in self-pity. Then he heard Cate’s voice coming from backstage.

  “Metamorphosis. Transformation. Evolution. Change. I am a teenage caterpillar.”

  Confused, Howard edged forward to stand in front of the stage.

  “I will become a platypus.”

  He quietly climbed the steps and peered behind the heavy black curtain. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he made out Cate standing with her back to him, her black hair pulled into two bunches. She was wearing a black leather jacket, black fishnet tights, black boots and black lace gloves.

  “I will remain in my cocoon until I change
from a butterfly to a swallow, from a swallow to a duck and from a duck to a platypus.”

  With a flourish she pulled a brightly colored scarf from her pocket, wrapped it around her neck and spun around to face the worried face of Howard.

  “Enjoy the show?” she asked, sitting down on a stage block.

  “Yeah,” Howard said. “What are you doing?”

  “Acting,” Cate replied, unzipping her backpack. “Want a granola bar?”

  “Sure.” Howard sat beside her and unwrapped the offered bar. “What was that you were saying?”

  “I was rehearsing my big monologue.”

  “It sounded weird.”

  “It’s from a play called Dog Sees God: Confessions of a Teenage Blockhead. I’m trying to persuade Ms. Irving to stage it as the school play this year. It’s about the Peanuts characters when they’re in high school.”

  “The Peanuts characters? Sounds cute.”

  “Not quite. It deals with bullying, homosexuality and death. It’s pretty heavy stuff. Too strong for the C.D.W. High drama program, I think. Everyone else is keen on doing Annie. I think Madison wants the title role. Anyway, Annie will be much more popular with the parents and”—Cate smiled wickedly—“much more relevant for a bunch of high-school kids in the twenty-first century.”

  Howard grinned at her sarcasm. “So why bother rehearsing if everyone’s going to do Annie?”

  “Because it really unsettles Ms. Irving. You should see how uncomfortable she gets when I read the sex scenes.”

  “And you pick them deliberately.”

  “Yeah.” The wicked smile returned. “I dreamed I was a platypus last night. When I’m dreaming I’m a platypus, is there a platypus somewhere dreaming it’s me?”

  Howard had no idea what to say, so he stayed silent.

  Cate stood up. “So what do you want to do?”

  Howard suddenly remembered his conflict and stammered, “I don’t know. It’s…I have to go see my dad. He’s…um, in the hospital.”

  “I could walk with you.”

  “No,” Howard said too loudly. “I’m sorry. I mean…” He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “He’s not in the hospital. Well, he sort of is. He’s in the AIPC—the Aylford Institute for Psychiatric Care.”

  “I know where that is,” Cate said cheerfully. “Give me five to change, and I’ll see you outside.”

  Howard walked out of the school in a daze. In the few hours he’d known Cate, he felt as if he’d been caught up in a whirlwind that hadn’t allowed his feet to land back on the ground. She hadn’t even blinked when he told her his dad was in the AIPC. It was bewildering, but that was okay. Bewildering Howard could handle—it was normal conversations he had trouble with.

  He shivered in the cold wind and pulled his jacket tighter around his shoulders. The sky was thick with heavy black clouds, and it was already so dark that the streetlamps had been fooled into switching themselves on. Heimao slunk out from beneath a bush to Howard’s right and rubbed up against his leg.

  The door behind Howard opened and he turned, expecting to see Cate. Instead, he was face-to-face with Madison. He stared stupidly. Wisps of her hair were caught by the wind and blown into a golden halo around her tanned face. Perfectly made-up eyes stared back at Howard from above sharp cheekbones.

  Giving him a look of pity, Madison walked past him, trailing the faintest whiff of perfume. Howard watched her pass—the expensive clothes, the soft Italian-leather boots, the red satchel far too small to contain anything as uncool as homework. In a panic, he said, “What did you want to tell me?”

  Madison turned and for an instant looked confused. Then her confidence reasserted itself. “What gave you the insane idea that I wanted to talk to you?” Her voice was loaded with scorn.

  A wave of anger swept over Howard. He had agonized about talking to her, and now here she was, denying that she had asked.

  “I can’t imagine what we would have to talk about,” Howard replied coldly, “but Leon said at lunch that you wanted to talk to me. I’m sick of you arrogant people who think you can do what you want and mess with anyone who isn’t as rich or as good-looking as you. Either you have something you want to tell me or you don’t. I don’t care.”

  Instantly Howard’s anger was replaced by the horrible sinking feeling that he had just destroyed any hope of getting Madison to talk to him again. On top of that, she had the power to make his life totally miserable for the rest of the year.

  In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Heimao slunk over and rubbed against Madison’s leg, letting out a loud, rumbling purr. Traitor, thought Howard.

  Surprisingly, Madison’s features twisted in confusion, and her hands clenched as if a sharp pain was passing through her body. It lasted only a second, and then her face calmed and her hands relaxed, and she stared at Howard with no expression at all.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Holding Howard with her empty, unblinking stare, she said something that sounded like “Ni yinggai kanshu.”

  “What?” Howard asked. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  Madison repeated, “Ni yinggai kanshu,” her voice strangely flat and emotionless.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Howard said, “and repeating it doesn’t help. You’ll need to explain.”

  “You two friends now?” Cate asked from behind Howard. Heimao left Madison and hurried over to her owner.

  Madison’s stare flicked from Howard to Cate, and her face relaxed back into confusion. She seemed about to say something, but she was distracted by the throaty roar of a car engine. In the school turnaround, Leon was leaning out the window of his restored red Shelby Mustang.

  “Maddy!” he shouted. “Let’s go! If the party’s going to last all weekend, we need to buy a lot of supplies, and I want to get it done before the storm hits. You can continue your charity work with the geeks later.”

  Madison flashed Howard a scornful look, shook her head in a cascade of blond hair and flounced over to Leon. Tires screaming, the Mustang fishtailed across the parking lot and out into the street.

  “He’ll get a ticket, driving like that,” Cate commented.

  “Daddy’ll take care of it,” Howard said. “Madison was acting really weird. I asked her what she’d wanted to say to me at lunchtime, and she blew me off. I got angry and called her arrogant.”

  “Wow! Way to go,” Cate said admiringly. “Your life’s finished, but I bet it was worth it just to see her expression.”

  “She didn’t seem bothered by it. Then she went all—I don’t know—flat, emotionless. Like a robot. And then she said something.” He scratched his head as he tried to remember. “It was in a strange language, and yet…it sounded vaguely familiar.”

  “What did she say?”

  Howard closed his eyes and concentrated. “Nee yingie kanshu, or something like that. I asked her what it meant, and she just repeated it in the same flat voice. But it seemed like it was really important.”

  When Cate didn’t respond, Howard looked at her. She was staring at him intently.

  “What?” he asked.

  “It sounds Chinese,” she said. “Ni yinggai kanshu. It means ‘You should read the book.’ ”

  “What book?”

  Cate shrugged. “No idea. She didn’t say?”

  “No,” Howard replied, “but it must be the Victoria’s Secret catalog or something like that. It would be about her reading level.”

  “It’s probably nothing,” Cate said, ignoring his weak attempt at humor. “Maybe speaking a little Chinese is cool among the privileged these days. In any case, Leon was right about one thing—we need to get going if we hope to miss the storm. And we don’t have a flashy car to shelter in.”

  As they set off through town, Howard couldn’t shake the feeling that what Madison had said was important and that Cate didn’t really think it was nothing. And why did it sound familiar?

  SANXINGDUI

  A SPY

&
nbsp; “I’m sorry, Chen,” Ting said. “Fu wriggled out of my arms. You know how excited he can become.”

  “That’s because he has never been trained to do anything useful, like a proper working dog.”

  “He can’t work, and you know that. He was the runt of the litter. He would have been drowned if I hadn’t saved him.”

  “He doesn’t look like a runt now,” said Chen, looking down at the bundle of hair snoring on Ting’s lap.

  “That’s only because I look after him so well. He’s very intelligent.”

  “He’s not intelligent enough to know not to run like a mad thing around the sacred tearoom. I’ve worked hard to become tea server to the emperor. This is my chance to rise high enough to be considered for admission to Master Duyu’s school. Then I can become a wushu master myself.” Chen’s voice rose as he became more agitated and excited, his words tumbling out in a waterfall.

  The two were sitting in one of the many imperial food storerooms behind the palace kitchen where Ting worked. It was a stone building with good air circulation, so it was pleasantly cool in the hot summer weather. There were only two problems: there wasn’t much room between the racks of roasted scorpions and silkworms and the water-filled tanks of large warty toads and eels, and they would be in serious trouble if Zhifang, the imperial chef, found them.

  “I’ve even invented a new move,” Chen said eagerly. “I call it Scything the New Corn.” He stood up and assumed a fighting stance, then leaped in the air, moving his left leg back and his right leg forward in a scissors motion. Unfortunately, his foot caught the neck of a hanging goose, and with a shout of pain, Chen landed awkwardly on the ground.

  Ting choked back a laugh as Chen got to his feet. “The goose got in the way,” he said sheepishly.

  “There had better not be any geese around when you go into battle,” she said.

  “Okay, it needs work,” Chen admitted, “but I’ll perfect it. Then I’ll be famous. Perhaps one day I can even lead the emperor’s armies. I’ll be—”