Āi-āi, I thought to myself. No wonder Lian was furious.
Yún was shaking her head. “That doesn’t sound like Quan.”
“You don’t know him.”
“I don’t. You do.” She hesitated. “You haven’t asked my advice but I’ll give it anyway. Someone ought to hear Quan out, in spite of what he did or what you think he did. He lived in this palace. He knows the court. His father served the emperor. And what about all those cousins of his? Maybe he knows some rumors that you don’t.”
“I cannot leave the palace . . .”
“Of course not. If Quan is right, and the emperor is involved, he won’t allow it. If not, well, you cannot risk his displeasure.”
“I’m not a child,” Lian said evenly. “I understand the rules of politics.”
“Then why argue?” Yún shot back. “You understand politics, but you don’t understand—”
“I’ll go.”
Silence followed my declaration. Both Lian and Yún stared at me. I wet my lips.
Mā mī always told me to think before I talked.
But I was right. I had to be the one who heard Quan’s explanation. Yún trusted him too much, no matter what she claimed. And Lian either loved him or hated him, but either way, she’d hear only what she expected, instead of what Quan actually said.
“Yes, me,” I said. “The emperor would send guards after Lian. And Yún is better off here, ordering you around and pretending she’s not. Besides, no one will suspect me of anything because everyone thinks I’m an idiot.”
Yún’s cheeks flushed. “Kai thinks Quan is a tilt-nosed sneak.”
“Kai thinks that about all nobles.” Lian was smiling faintly. It wasn’t a big smile, but better than almost-tears. “Kai is right. And you are, too, Yún. We should at least listen to what he says.”
We returned to Lian’s suite, where an army of minions was packing the princess’s belongings into trunks. The only room untouched was her study. Lian went to her calculor and called up a screen with a few taps on the keys. Ten minutes later, a runner appeared with a thick packet stamped all over with official-looking seals.
Lian took out two silver medallions that buzzed with magic flux. “These are your official passes inside the palace,” she told us. “Now you can traverse the public wings without an escort. Which is necessary, because I have errands for you both.”
She sent Yún back to the library with a list of scrolls and records to borrow. For me, she unlocked her desk and took out a handful of coins. She sketched a second, shorter list and wrapped the coins in the paper.
“These are for you,” she said, giving me the packet. “I would like you to go at once to the offices of the Zhang-Yin Freight and Transport Company and request a receipt and bill of lading, which their idiot grandson failed to provide my agent this morning. Some of those tapestries were gifts from my honored grandmother. I would not have them conveniently disappear because the papers were incomplete.”
I accepted the paper and coins with a bow. “Yes, Your Princess Highness, ma’am.”
Her eyebrow went up. “The list, Kai Zōu,” she repeated in a crisp tone, as though I were a particularly witless servant. “Check those items against the caravan records. If there is any discrepancy, tell them I shall visit their offices myself tomorrow. The coins are to buy tickets and a finder map for the electric tram. Also, a cup of tea after your errand. Now go. And do not dawdle.”
The Zhang-Yin Freight and Transport Company was located two districts over, near the merchant and counting houses. Half an hour after leaving the palace, I got off the electric tram in a small public square, surrounded by bland cement office buildings. My map led me down a side street to the caravan company’s front doors.
A clerk took my message into the back rooms. He returned with an old woman—the owner. She listened to my fumbling request for the receipt and the bill of lading. I expected her to laugh, but she only nodded, as if she were used to crazy nobles and their stupid demands. She sent the clerk (her nephew, she mentioned) off to write up a new receipt and the detailed bill for their honored customer Princess Lian. A young girl brought me a pot of sweet tea to drink while I waited.
It was a busy shop. More clerks sat at their desks, writing up accounts or whatever clerks do. Other men hauled boxes from one room to another. Once a wizened old man stomped in from the street door and shouted that the horses were ready even if his cargo was not. That sent a dozen clerks running in all directions, until everything was sorted out. The nephew reappeared just as I finished my tea.
“Your receipt and bill, honored sir.” He bowed.
I pretended to check the receipt. It looked official, so I tucked it inside my shirt. The bill of lading was even more impressive—fifty pages, with neatly brushed characters running up and down each page. Ai-ya! And Lian wanted me to check for missing items?
For the first time, I glanced at the paper she’d given me.
And grinned. The list was not a list, but directions to the Scarlet Lotus Noodle House.
Hü, that was smart. That way no one could trace me from the magical map I’d bought.
Another electric tram dropped me in a public square a short distance from the noodle house. We were closer to the university—I could tell by the number of second-hand shops and cheap eating houses that lined the streets. Also, the crowds of scruffy students hurrying around. On a corner, one of them shouted political slogans, while others passed around cheap pamphlets. I put on my best peasant face and hurried to the shop with the scarlet lotus painted on its signboard. The clocks were just chiming noon as a waiter showed me to my seat in the back.
I scanned the room. No sign of Quan, so I ordered a bowl of spicy noodles and settled down to wait. Luckily, I fit right in. There were a few students here, but also lots of ordinary working people, dressed in plain good clothes, like me. Some even looked like mountain folks, with their loose trousers and quilted jackets. I ate my noodles slowly, but after half an hour, Quan still hadn’t showed.
(Maybe he got bored and left.)
(Not him. He’s expecting Lian. He’d wait a century for her.)
(Then why isn’t he here?)
(Are you sure here is here?)
I almost smacked my forehead. His note said to meet him behind the shop.
In case the emperor sent snoops to ask later, I paid my bill and asked where the latrines were. The waiter waved toward a curtain at the back of the room. Down the hallway were the latrines. Just as I expected, another door opened onto an alleyway behind the shop.
And there he was, one tall plain young man, pacing back and forth in the alley.
He’d been pacing so long he’d worn a visible path through the weeds and dirt. My heart jumped in sympathy, remembering Yún and our arguments. Āi-āi, it was hard when the person you cared most about shut you out of their world.
Our boy swung around for another circuit. He stopped, and his face went blank. “You.”
I made a rude noise. “Yeah, it’s me. Lian couldn’t sneak out of the palace. She sent me to listen.”
Quan’s eyes narrowed as he took in the unspoken meaning behind my words. Lian still didn’t trust him, not yet. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked distracted, as though he were recalculating everything he’d intended to say. “Come with me,” he said slowly. “I can explain everything to you. I hope I can,” he added in an undertone.
“What does that mean?” I snapped.
He shot me a startled glance. “Oh, nothing to do with you. It’s all so complicated. Simple, but complicated. I—” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit . . . preoccupied today.”
Understatement of the year, I thought. “Tell me everything you think is important. Even if I don’t understand, Lian will. She’s the one who matters.”
“That is something we can agree on,” Quan murmured. “Very well. Here is what I’ve discovered over the past month . . .”
As we walked down the one alley, into another and aro
und the maze of lanes that made up this district, Quan told me a lot more than I had suspected. “It’s the emperor,” he said in a low voice. “Kaishan Zhu. He’s the one who wants to keep Princess Lian in Phoenix City.”
I whistled. “Are you sure about that?”
“Absolutely. I thought it was odd when he invited Lian into his court and gave her the finest rooms in the visitor’s wing. It was just a suspicion, however—from living so long at court myself. I didn’t say anything to Lian at the time, because I had nothing except suspicion. We were still . . . friends at the time. Just friends,” he said softly. Then louder, “I suppose I didn’t want to set doubt in her mind without cause. It would only have made her life at court more difficult. The emperor dislikes any sense of criticism, or even simple reserve, in subjects or guests alike.”
Once more his gaze turned abstracted, as if he were remembering his own days at court.
“Tell me about this plot,” I said. “And how you found out.”
Quan nodded. “The plot is simple. The reasons complicated. The emperor invited your princess to court to draw her into dependence. He wants to arrange a marriage between her and his youngest son. As for how I found out, I have second and third cousins employed in the palace. Some are guards. Some are minor functionaries. They pass me rumors from time to time.”
“But rumors—”
“—are watered by truth,” Quan said impatiently. “The truth is that the emperor wants to expand the empire. He’s spent his entire reign doing that. There used to be a dozen small principalities—city kingdoms like Lóng City—along the edges of the mountains. Most still call themselves kingdoms, but the truth—” Here Quan made a face as though he’d bitten a very green peach. “The truth is that those kingdoms have become fiefs to the Phoenix Empire. The emperor showers them with trade treaties, loans for building new roads, all kinds of favors. In return, he receives what he wants most. Their magic.”
I’d run out of whistles by this point. “Why does the emperor want so much magic?”
“It’s not what he wants, it’s what he needs. Desperately. Haven’t you noticed how much magic the empire requires?”
He babbled on about mega-kilowatt currents and the special transmitters used to funnel the magic flux around the empire. Most of the magic flowed into Phoenix City, but the emperor had plans to build vast dams and holding tanks, so he could replace the wind-and-magic trains with ones running on pure magic. He wanted to build a network of calcu-lors to span the continent, not just the empire.
It’s wrong, I thought. Wrong and dangerous. Magic is like rain. You can’t catch a storm cloud and squeeze it dry. Even if you could do that, you’d cause a drought.
That’s when cold washed over me. The emperor had already caused one drought—in Snow Thunder City. Maybe other kingdoms had promised all their magic flux to feed the Phoenix Empire’s demands.
“Now the stock markets are in danger,” Quan went on. “People thought they could make their fortunes buying futures in magic flux. And that is why he wants this marriage. Once he gains that, it doesn’t matter if Lian remains here or returns home. He will load her with advisors—his advisors—and rule through her. And by ruling Lóng City, he will rule its magic wells and currents.”
The part about buying futures didn’t make sense to me, but even an idiot like me could understand the reasons for taking over Lóng City. He won’t stop with us, I thought. Once he conquers Lóng City, he can take over the rest of the Seventy Kingdoms, one by one.
I shivered at the vision of the emperor’s minions scattered all over Lóng City like ticks on a dog. “What can we do?”
“We help Lian escape. I have a plan.”
I snorted. “It better be a good one. That palace is stuffed with watching and listening devices.”
“I know. I’m depending on you and Yún to help for that part. Once you’re outside the palace, certain friends of mine can get us outside the city. They . . . Let us say that they are familiar with certain unofficial routes under the walls.”
Smugglers. Okay, that sounded more like it.
“How and where and when?” I said.
“Tomorrow morning. Early. Tell Lian to pretend she’s visiting her advisors at the university. My friends and I will wait behind the kitchen quadrant, near the servant gate. Bring nothing extraordinary. No extra bags. I’ll make sure to provide anything she needs—clothes, gear, food.”
“What about money? We can smuggle that out.”
There was the briefest flicker of pain in Quan’s normally impassive eyes. “I do not ask her for money.”
Okay. Note to self: Get money anyway. Don’t tell Hero Boy.
A sensible person would have kept his mouth shut. A sensible person would listen to Quan’s plans and trot back to the palace to report to his princess. But as my mother said too many times, I was not the most sensible person in the world.
Which is why I blurted, “Why did you ask Lian for money?”
Quan stopped abruptly and stared at me. His face turned dark with anger. No, shame. Then he blew out a shaky breath. “I suppose that’s a fair question.”
Maybe-so-or-not, but I wasn’t going to object.
“It was for a hospital,” Quan said.
“A what?”
“A hospital,” he said patiently. “For the Beggars’ Quarter. I’d raised enough money to rent an old warehouse that nobody was using. Some of my friends at the medical school offered their time, and we had others who donated equipment. We had opened a few rooms for a day clinic, but we hoped to do more. Surgery. A druggist. Then, a month ago, the landlord came to me demanding a higher rent or he’d cancel our lease.”
“Cancel? Isn’t that illegal?”
He made a dismissive gesture. “There were loopholes. I’m not a lawyer. I can’t afford one.”
The story made so much sense. And yet it didn’t.
“Why didn’t you tell Lian it was for a hospital?” I said suspiciously. “What about that woman at court who gave you money?”
Now Quan looked truly embarrassed. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and stared at his feet. “I tried to tell her,” he said. “I thought I did. But I was so distracted that I did not express myself as well as I hoped. And. And there were other circumstances. You see, I chose a particularly unfortunate day to ask her for such a great favor. Afterward, she would not hear me, nor would her fox spirit listen to my companion.”
I swallowed, thinking of a hundred reasons why Lian would misunderstand a good friend.
(A lover. A very new lover.)
(Yeah, Lian said almost that much herself.)
“If she asks,” Quan said softly. “Tell her that the other woman is a friend of my family, nothing more. I asked her for money, yes, but only to help with the hospital.”
After a few more moments of us not looking at each other, we circled back to the alley way behind the Scarlet Lotus Noodle House, talking over fall-back plans and other details. Quan took off to find his smuggler friends. I returned to the caravan offices, then zipped back to the palace on the next tram. My magical medallion got me past the guards without any questions. One of them even told me the best shortcuts between the entrance and Lian’s rooms. If only we didn’t have to worry about kings dying and emperors trying to take over the world (or at least the Seventy Kingdoms), the palace could be a pretty sweet set of digs.
And if wishes were crickets, we’d never get any sleep, I thought as I rounded the last corner onto the wing where Lian had her quarters.
Right away, I scurried back.
The emperor. Here in the same wing as Lian’s suite. Maybe I had imagined it, I told myself.
Cautiously, I peered around the corner and ducked back even faster this time. It was the emperor, striding down the gallery with at least a hundred minions trailing after him. A young nobleman dressed in silks and jewels strode next to the emperor. One of the emperor’s sons—had to be. Even this far away, I could see the resemblance between them.
/> (Any bets which one?)
(The youngest, of course.)
Brisk sharp tones echoed from the approaching entourage. Old man. Young man. Neither of them happy. Oh, the words they spoke were all polite, slipping off their tongues like thrice-filtered oil, but I could hear the discord underneath. Something about marriage, obedience, duty toward the empire. Definitely the youngest son. Were they talking about Lian? Curious, I leaned forward, thinking I could overhear them better as they walked past.
Emperor and son rounded the corner and stopped.
Hurriedly, I dropped to my knees. My forehead touched the marble tiles as the emperor swept past in a whisper of voluminous robes. Invisible, I was just one of ten thousand invisible servants in this palace. No one noticed me. I was safe. I was—
Two slippered feet stopped in front of me. The scent of musk and sandalwood floated down from above.
Damn.
I held my breath. Whoever it was didn’t move on. Some self-important flunky? Or maybe a senior invisible servant who wanted to critique my style in groveling? I dared a glance upward and had to choke back a squeak. Double-damn. It was the emperor’s youngest son.
His eyes were dark slits in a narrow face. His scarlet-painted lips were set in a thin line. Magic glittered over his shaved head, making him look more like a skeleton than ever. I’d seen friendlier expressions on a gargoyle.
“Mountain Boy,” he said. “What are you doing here? Spying?”
(Play stupid. You’re good at that.)
I grinned.
Wrong move. The prince flicked his hand up, ready to slap me.
“Mei-shan.” It was the emperor. “Do not torment the servants. I expect better from you.”
The prince muttered a curse and stalked away. My breath trickled out. Safe, safe, safe. But then I caught a glimpse of the emperor. He, too, continued down the corridor, but not before letting his keen glance pass over me.
TWO HOURS LATER, Yún, Lian, and I sat around an old battered table in a storage room next to the basement library. Lian had given the excuse that she needed to research tax codes from the Seventh Imperial Reign for a paper. We were there to take notes and run errands. It was quiet here, nothing but scrolls and books and paper dust spinning around in the musty air, glittering in the faint light of a single shaded lantern. The griffin paced back and forth, leaving tiny dusty tracks over every available surface.
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