by John Wilson
“Did it all really happen?” Howard asked as they headed up the hill.
“Well,” Cate said, “if it didn’t happen, we’ve spent a lot of the day beating each other up.”
“Yeah, I know it happened,” he said with conviction. “It felt far too real to be anything else, but it still seems unbelievable. It’s going to be tough to worry about school next week.”
“It’s been quite the day,” Cate agreed.
“Is it over?”
She took a long time to answer. “For now,” she said finally. “But things we can’t even guess at have been set in motion.”
“Things that will involve us?”
She shrugged. “Who knows? They might. Aylford has a lot of power.”
A worrying thought pushed its way into Howard’s brain. “You came to Aylford because of your dreams about my dad and me. Will you stay here now that things have settled down?”
“I think I’ll hang around for a while,” Cate said. “I’m not sure you’re ready to look after yourself yet.”
“Thanks,” he said with exaggerated annoyance.
“She’s right, you know, Sheepherder.”
“You be quiet,” he said to Heimao. “I’m done talking to you.”
Heimao arched her back and strode huffily up the hill.
“Just don’t try to get me angry or threaten to throw me into any abysses,” Howard said to Cate.
“I promise.”
He was enjoying being back in the normal world so much that he hardly noticed when Leon and Madison swung around a corner and almost bumped into him.
“Geeks out for a stroll,” Leon said nastily. “And they’ve been fighting too, by the looks of it.”
“Walking helps the blood circulate to the brain,” Cate replied without missing a beat. “The peripatetic Greek philosophers used to walk along the agora in Athens as they discussed their theories.”
Leon and Madison both looked at them blankly.
“Doesn’t work in every case,” Howard said. It felt good to put Leon down, even if he didn’t realize it was being done. The truth was, Leon still scared him. It was hard to get over the memory of being forced out into the water to summon a horror that could destroy the world.
Cate, however, seemed perfectly at ease. “How’s Hei?” she asked.
Leon looked confused. “What do you care how our servant’s doing? Besides, it’s his weekend off.”
“Oh, that would explain why I bumped into him down at the beach.”
“Beach?” Leon said. “Hei doesn’t go to the beach.”
“Maybe I was mistaken,” she said blithely. She turned to Madison. “Had any good dreams lately?”
Madison shook her head. “You geeks are really beginning to creep me out. Come on, babe,” she said to Leon, linking her arm with his. “Let’s go.”
Howard realized that Cate had been pushing to see if anything was left of Aileen or Hei. “Have you done the history essay for Monday?” he asked Madison.
“It’s Saturday,” she said, looking at him as if he was stupid. “I’ve got plenty of time. I bet you rushed home and wrote it the day Campbell handed it out.”
Howard couldn’t help smiling.
Cate reached into her satchel and pulled out the head lamp. “Thanks for lending me this,” she said, offering it to Madison. “It was very useful.”
Madison looked totally stunned.
“Hey, that’s from my kitchen,” Leon said, grabbing the light. “How did you get it? You’re in big trouble if you tried to crash the party last night. I’d better not see you trying anything like that tonight.”
Howard smiled harder as Leon led Madison past them, but Cate had one last creep-out in store.
“Madison!” she shouted after them. “Check out the photos on your phone and tell Leon where you took that cool shot of the creatures on the beach.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The Ruined City is a fantasy novel, but some of it is true. Sanxingdui is, and was, a real place. It lies some fifty kilometers north of Chengdu in China’s Sichuan Province. During the Bronze Age (between three and five thousand years ago), it was a thriving walled city. At some point, the city was abandoned, and a vast quantity of elephant tusks, jade artifacts and the incredible masks that the city is famous for were buried in a series of pits. Today a superb modern museum is located within the ancient city walls. There you can find displays of the remarkable finds, including several golden masks, from the ongoing archaeological research.
Aylford, on the other hand, is a fictitious place based loosely upon another fictitious place, Arkham. The adventures that Howard, Cate and Heimao have are inspired by the stories of Cthulhu and the Elder Gods written by a real author, Howard Phillips Lovecraft, whose short stories from the 1920s and ’30s influenced such modern writers as Stephen King, Neil Gaiman and Guillermo Del Toro. Cthulhu makes an appearance in the music of Metallica, Arctic Monkeys and the psychedelic rock band H.P. Lovecraft, which recorded a song based on Lovecraft’s story “The White Ship.”
Of course, there are no other dimensions inhabited by unimaginable, all-powerful monsters—I hope.
Gratitude must be expressed to Lovecraft and all those who have played with his ideas and images and made Cthulhu a part of our modern culture. Thanks are also due to Gordon Mcghie and Calvin Yao for their support and ideas, and for making it possible for me to visit the astonishing artifacts on display in the museum at Sanxingdui. Without the ever precise and thoughtful editing of Janice Weaver, the story of the Golden Mask would not be what it is.
JOHN WILSON is the author of almost fifty novels and nonfiction books for kids, teens and adults, including Lost Cause from Seven (the Series). History inspires everything John writes—from stories about dinosaurs and kids caught up in the chaos of war to contemporary characters discovering forgotten family journals and trying to solve mysteries and recover stolen artifacts. He was a finalist for the Governor General’s Literary Award, and his books have won or been short-listed for most Canadian children’s-literature prizes. John lives in Lantzville, British Columbia. For more information, please visit johnwilsonauthor.com.
CHAPTER ONE
Nanjing, Jiangsu Province, Republic of China
Evening, December 13, 1937
Hill Chao ducks around the corner into the shadow of the narrow alley. Flattened against the wall, he watches the squad of Japanese soldiers march past. He’s in the Safety Zone, but close to the edge, and ever since the Japanese stormed over the city wall earlier in the day, no one is certain they will respect it. Hill is dressed in civilian clothes, but he’s of military age, and he knows from the stories his father has told him that this puts him in serious danger.
As soon as the soldiers disappear, Hill darts out into the deserted road. He moves slowly, working his way over and around the piles of rubble and trying to avoid the bodies. He knows there must be people in the undamaged houses on either side, but they are huddled deep inside with the blinds drawn.
Hill has worked his way to the middle of the road to avoid a burning building when a bomb explodes in the next street over. The sound distracts him and muffles the noise of the plane banking along the street behind him. The first he knows of it is when the bullets chip the rubble at his feet. Hill dives to one side as the plane roars above him at rooftop height. He gets a glimpse of the red suns on the wings in the glow from the fire, and then the darkening sky is empty.
His heart thumping, Hill drags himself to his feet and continues cautiously on his way. Despite the danger, he is preoccupied. The past hours have turned his life on its head, and he has some important decisions to make.
“Thank God the worst is over.”
Neil Peterson stands by the windows at the back of the balcony of the Jinling University theater, staring out over the gaping shells of ruined buildings and Nanjing’s ancient city walls at the fires roaring across the slopes of Purple Mountain. The smoke from the burning city veils the setting winter sun and adds a sense
of foreboding to the view. He shivers and pulls his jacket tight around him.
Lily Chan turns from the flames to stare at Peterson. Because she’s almost a foot shorter than the American, she has to look up. Despite how long they’ve known each other, his profile, with its aquiline nose and prominent chin, still seems strange to her. He’s good-looking, but his features are too big, making his long face appear cluttered. Sometimes she gazes into the mirror at her own delicate, perfectly proportioned features and wonders, If we ever had children, what would they look like?
Peterson glances down at her. “What are you smiling at?”
“I was just thinking that you look like Leslie Howard in The Scarlet Pimpernel.”
Peterson laughs shortly. “Me? A British movie star playing a hero rescuing aristocrats from the guillotine in the French Revolution? I don’t think that’s my role.”
Lily’s smile fades. “We’re all destined to play roles here—and you, a playwright, should understand best of all that no one knows what his role will be until the cast list is posted.”
“It was posted this morning when the Japs came over the city wall. We’re to play the part of the defeated. The Battle of Nanjing’s finished.”
“Maybe.” Lily looks back at the mountain. “Why did you decide to stay here?”
“Why did you?” Peterson counters. “Anyone with enough money has fled the city.”
“I have a responsibility to the drama program. I spent years overseas studying Shakespeare so that I could properly introduce his work in China. Should I give all that up now just because of this stupid war? Besides, this is my country. You’re a stranger here, visiting so that you can study Guan Hanqing’s thirteenth-century plays. You could have left with all the western diplomats, businessmen and journalists.”
“On the Panay? You may not have noticed, but she’s at the bottom of the Yangtze today.”
“Okay, but your American ambassador and his staff left for Wuhan three weeks ago. You’ve had plenty of opportunity to leave. Why didn’t you?”
“In case you’ve forgotten,” Peterson says flippantly, “we’re staging Hanqing’s Lord Guan Goes to the Feast in a couple of days.”
“You can’t be serious about doing the play with all that’s going on!”
“Why not? Most of the preparation’s done. The actors are all ready to go, and the dress rehearsal’s tomorrow afternoon. I admit that a few of the extras have fled, but we’ll round up more. It’s not as if they have to act. All they need to do is stand around pretending to be soldiers.”
“I’m not sure that dressing Chinese as soldiers is such a good idea these days.”
“They’ll be dressed as thirteenth-century soldiers. I doubt even the Japanese will be upset at that. Anyway, Shimada’s on board with the whole idea, so he’ll clear it with the Japanese military.”
“I don’t trust him.”
“Why? He can be annoying, but he’s always been helpful, and his contacts with the Japanese have been useful—and will be more so now that they have won the battle.”
“I know, I know.” Lily struggles to put her feelings into words. “I’m just uncomfortable around him. I’ll be talking to some students and suddenly feel uneasy. I’ll turn around and find Shimada standing in the shadows, staring at me.”
Peterson laughs. “I stare at you. You’re beautiful and well worth staring at.”
Lily smiles uncertainly. “It’s something in the way he stares.” She shrugs. “Maybe I’m imagining it,” she adds, although she doesn’t believe she is.
“I’ll check him out. He’s coming to the dress rehearsal tomorrow.”
“You invited him?”
“Yeah. I want to keep on his good side and find out if there’s anything in the play that will offend the Japanese who might come to the performance. If there’s a problem with the soldiers, he’ll tell us.”
“You’ve invited Japanese to the play?”
“Only a few from the embassy. Shimada thinks it’s a good idea, and I do too. Especially now that we have to keep on their good side. One day we may need visas out of here.”
Lily doesn’t look convinced, but she says, “I suppose it will take people’s mind off things.”
“Of course it will. It’ll be fun.”
Lily frowns. How can he talk about fun in the middle of a war? Doesn’t he understand how serious the situation is? But she says, “Okay. We’ll go ahead with your play, although I doubt we’ll have much of an audience. But that can’t be the only reason you’re still here—and don’t say it’s also because of me.”
“But it is because of you,” Peterson says. Lily flashes him an angry look, and he smiles apologetically. “Okay.” He looks back at the mountain, rubbing his chin. “I guess I want to write about something important.”
“So you risk your life in the middle of all this”—she waves an arm to encompass the destruction around them—“to find a story?”
“That’s about the size of it. You keep telling me that Americans don’t understand China, that we sit in our comfortable isolation without any idea of the complex struggles faced by other nations and peoples.” He turns back to Lily, his face serious. “We all live in dangerous times, even the Americans who don’t realize it yet. Fascism, communism, war here, civil war in Spain—I don’t want to go back and sit in my cozy office while the world goes to hell around me. I want to experience everything.”
Peterson’s grim expression softens into a smile. “Besides, civis Romanus sum. Or perhaps I should say Americanus—I am an American citizen. As you said yourself, the Japs don’t want another incident. They’re not going to harm an American playwright, even one who’s not very well known. I’m safe, and if you stick close to me, you’ll be safe too. Don’t worry. Everything will work out fine. There’ll be a couple of days of mopping up after the battle, and then we’ll all settle in under our new masters. When it’s all over, you can come with me to the States. I’ll be a famous playwright, and you’ll be a famous actress, maybe even in the movies.”
“Don’t be so certain the world will turn out as you want,” Lily says as lightning flashes among the rolling clouds above the hill. The accompanying thunder is indistinguishable from the deep rumble of the artillery. “There’s an old prophecy that says when Purple Mountain burns, Nanjing will be destroyed.”
“And it’s come true,” Peterson agrees. “We’ve been bombed every day for the past three months. Most of Nanjing’s a ruin. But at least that’s going to stop. The Japs won’t want to bomb their own troops now that they’re inside the city.”
As if to contradict him, several artillery shells explode across the city suburbs to the south.
“I don’t think that’s what the prophecy means. A city’s not just roads and buildings—they can be rebuilt. It’s the people who make this a living place.” Lily is interrupted by a sudden burst of heavy machine-gun fire from the riverbank. “But what if all the people die or are driven away? Who will rebuild Nanjing then?”
“Damn, you’re depressing. Look, the Japs are harsh—no one’s denying that. There’s already been too much destruction and death, and the occupation’s not going to be a bundle of fun. But the fighting will end. Even now the Chinese soldiers are either fleeing or tearing off their uniforms and finding civilian clothes to wear. Like I said, there’ll be a few days of chaos and then the Japs will set up an administration while their army heads upriver for the next battle. All we have to do is hang tough.”
“And what about the hundreds of thousands of refugees crammed into the Safety Zone with us?” Lily leans her forehead against the window glass and peers down at the ramshackle tents and shelters crowded into the open ground in front of the bell tower. People shuffle around nervously, looking up whenever gunshots sound nearby. Here and there, small cooking fires flicker in the deep shadows.
“The Japs don’t care about them. They’re poor and they’re harmless—mostly old men, women and children. It’ll be tough to feed everyone for a
while, but that Nazi businessman John Rabe and the men on his committee seem to have that under control. In a few days everyone will go home and we can get on with our lives.”
“You Americans!” Lily’s voice sharpens with anger. “Everything’s easy for you. You say we all live in dangerous times, but you don’t understand what that means. It’s theoretical to you. You want to experience the world, but the only world you truly know is a safe, organized, rational place. You imagine the rest of the world as a slightly messy version of that, with just enough danger to make it interesting.
“But China’s not like America. We live on the edge. We have spent thousands of years peering into the abyss of war, famine and pestilence, praying that some petty warlord doesn’t ride over the hill and slaughter our children, or that an unimaginable natural disaster doesn’t destroy all that we’ve worked for. We don’t have the security you have in Boston or San Francisco.”
Peterson turns to Lily and places his hands on her shoulders “Natural disasters happen everywhere. Remember the San Francisco earthquake?”
“Oh, yes!” Lily says scornfully, shrugging his hands off. “A major disaster! And how many people died—a few hundred?”
“Around three thousand,” Peterson answers.
“The Shaanxi earthquake in the sixteenth century killed eight hundred thousand.” Peterson tries to interject, but Lily holds up her hand. “If that’s too far in the past for you, is six years ago recent enough? That’s the year the Yangtze—the river a few hundred yards from where we’re standing right now—and the Yellow Rivers flooded.” She takes a deep breath. “Four million people died in the floods and in the famine and disease outbreaks that followed. So don’t argue natural disasters in my country.”
“Okay, okay.” Peterson holds up his hands in mock surrender. “But I’m really not talking about that. I’m talking about the practicalities of here and now.” He puts his arm around her shoulder and pulls her in close. Her head nestles under his chin. “The Japanese aren’t savages, Lily. They’ve had a sophisticated culture for the same thousands of years that you’ve been teetering on the edge. In fact, if you go back far enough, their culture derived from China.”
