Danzu’s mouth dropped open again. “Um, we’re in Lake of the Blue Jewel.”
Lake of the Blue Jewel was a tiny city-kingdom northeast of Lóng City. That meant we were less than half a day’s journey from home. I frowned. Why hadn’t Nuó dumped us outside Lóng City’s gates? Or even in the palace itself? Or maybe...
Lian had that thoughtful look, the one that said she read more from our circumstances than I could. “It’s lucky we met you,” she said. “As the philosophers say, it is always better to enter a conflict with knowledge. You know I’ve been absent from Lóng City almost a year. Please tell me how the kingdom sits these days.”
Danzu took a minute to answer. He was going to break terrible news, I knew it. Lian must have suspected the same. Her expression never faltered, but I could see how the pulse at her throat fluttered.
“Your father is alive,” he said.
(Lian let an almost soundless exclamation escape.)
“He’s very sick,” he continued.
(Her fingers tightened around Quan’s hand.)
“He can’t talk,” Danzu went on. “And the physicians don’t let the councilors and ministers spend much time in his chambers. They say . . .” He stopped and turned dark with embarrassment. “It’s just gossip, your Highness. Nothing worth bothering about.”
“Tell me what they say,” Lian said. “I must know.”
Her gaze locked with his. Danzu flinched and licked his lips. My own heart thumped in sympathy. It was easy to think of Lian as a friend. Never a commoner like me, never someone ordinary, but a companion in flight from the evil bad guys. It was easy to forget that she was a royal princess, the heir to Lóng City’s throne.
Except now, when you could see a hundred years of responsibility in her dark eyes.
Danzu looked absolutely queasy by now. He blew out a shaky breath, and when he spoke, his voice wasn’t anything like the snarky kid I knew. “They say . . . They say the king is trapped in spells, your Highness. Some say it’s because he allowed you to study abroad. Children should not dictate to their elders, and all that. Some—a lot more—say you abandoned your city and your throne for the Phoenix Empire. They say that is why you never answered the Guild Council’s messages about your father.”
“I never received those messages,” Lian whispered. Her expression smoothed out into a royal mask. “What else?” she said. “The council cannot do anything without my father’s consent, or mine. Or . . . No, you heard more?”
“It’s the Guild Council,” Danzu said. “They intend to hold a special conference next week to . . . to . . .” He took a nervous swallow. “To decide who takes the throne.”
The Guild Council had that power, written into Lóng City’s laws centuries ago, ever since they ended the Interregnum and allowed Prince Xiang back on the throne. Only one queen—Queen Mae-wan, the grand-niece of Prince Xiang—ever tried to overthrow that law. Old tales say the ghost dragons joined with the Guild Council and turned Mae-wan into the very first gargoyle.
Quan clasped her hands within his, and she leaned toward him in whispered conversation. For a moment it was as though they had closed out the world. I wished I could read the story of their past year together.
I wasn’t the only person watching. Danzu eyed them closely, as though trying to figure out how to make a profit from this new secret. Then his gaze caught mine. I scowled and drew one finger across my wrist. Danzu shrank into his chair, more like the street rat I knew from the old days. Okay, so he’d changed, but he was still the same old Danzu underneath.
“Danzu,” Lian said, recalling us both, “I have yet another favor to ask you. I must reach Lóng City before the Guild Council meets. And I would do so quietly. Do you understand?”
Danzu smirked. “Absolutely, Your Highness.”
“Can you convey us into the palace by tonight?”
He whistled. “Tonight?”
“As discreetly as possible,” Lian said.
The smirk faded. Danzu plainly was struggling between the honest answer and one that made him look good. “I, ah . . . no. I can’t,” he said. “Lóng City, yes. Maybe. Not the palace. However, I do know someone who knows someone else who certainly can.”
Hü. Sure. It was the old days all over again, with Danzu bragging about his so-called connections. I scowled. “Don’t listen to him, Lian. He’s not—”
Yún jabbed me with an elbow. “Shī,” she whispered. “We can trust him.”
Grumbling, I rubbed my sore ribs. Lian smiled smoothly to me, then to Danzu. “Very well. I place myself in your hands. Please do not disappoint me.”
HER WORDS MUST have frightened Danzu more than Yún or I ever could. He dashed off, leaving us to devour every speck of the magnificent breakfast. Servants reappeared with a second course of sweet cakes and more tea. We were finishing that off when Danzu came galloping back in.
“I’ve arranged everything,” he told Lian. “We will reach Lóng City by darkfall. I guarantee it. Whether I can smuggle you inside the palace depends on my client and her friend, er, friends—”
“Which clients?” Lian asked.
Danzu hesitated. “I’d rather not say yet. But you can trust them, your Highness. I swear it.”
“He’s right,” Yún said.
That seemed to surprise Lian. She stared hard at Yún, who shrugged.
“What about the blizzard?” Quan said.
“I, ah, have some magical spells in reserve,” Danzu said. “Tricks from my uncle.”
More bragging. Well, Lian would find out soon enough if he was lying.
In the stables, two large covered wagons stood in the middle of the floor, surrounded by a dozen servants who were busy offloading crates, unpacking them, and transferring items wrapped in brown paper into reed baskets. Danzu waded into the chaos, shouting orders to transport those baskets carefully, carefully now, to the inn’s storage rooms.
“You trust this innkeeper with your special consignment ?” I asked him as he passed by me.
“He’s good enough,” Danzu said in an undertone. “Besides, I’m not leaving everything behind.”
He evicted the last of the stablehands and servants from the stables. A few men remained behind—the wagon drivers and two leathery-faced guards with ugly-looking weapons sticking out of their belts and boots. They hoisted the empty crates back onto the two wagons. Quan and Lian climbed into one wagon, each into a separate crate. Yún and I went into the second wagon, with the griffin stuffed into my shirt. Danzu’s men handed us packets of cooked beef and dried apricots, a flask of hot butter tea and another of plain water. Then they packed fresh straw around us and wrapped the crates in thick blankets. Danzu had thought of everything.
Finally, the men closed up the crates and hammered the lids in place.
My stomach fluttered for no particular reason. We escaped the emperor’s palace, I told myself. We got away from his soldiers and trackers. We traveled the spirit roads and lived through a blizzard. All we have to do is get inside the Lóng City palace.
Now came the final preparations—men leading horses from the stables, heavy footsteps tramping over the stone floor, a jingling as the drivers harnessed their beasts, and at last a penetrating creak as the stable’s outer doors opened. One of the drivers cursed the cold. Another one laughed and predicted how soon they would all have a drink of hot brewed ale in Lóng City’s best taverns.
Danzu gave a shout. Magic flux streamed through the air. My chest went tight and the world shrank. Then a short sharp snap traveled through me. Warmth rolled through my crate, carrying with it an electric scent, mixed with the rich smell of crushed herbs. Magic. Magic keyed to a few words that any fool could unlock.
Ai-ya. Some trick, I thought.
And you didn’t believe him.
Chen, softly chuckling.
The wagon jerked forward, throwing me against the crate’s side. Yāo-guài chattered angrily. Stroking the griffin’s feathers, I yawned. The blankets and straw were like a cocoon a
round me. The unnatural warmth from Danzu’s spell made me sleepier than ever. My eyelids sagged shut. It had been a long day.
Sleep, young one, said a familiar gruff voice.
Chen?
Someone laughed. Not Chen, but I was too sleepy to care. I drifted off to sleep. To dream of warm cotton oceans, and hot soup, and a stickle-pig nibbling at my fingers. Hungry stickle-pig. It poked and prodded and tickled with one pin-sharp tooth, almost like a beak.
Yāo-guài bit down hard. I woke with a yelp. “What—”
Shī, shī, Chen said. We’re inside Lóng City. We just passed the gates. And your monster is hungry.
Fumbling around, I located the packets of food Danzu had provided. Yāo-guài kept up a soft trilling noise until I thrust a handful of meat strips at him. Yāo-guài gobbled them down so fast, I thought he’d choke. The little monster finally settled down with a thick strip between his claws, chewing away, the way a cat chews a freshly caught mouse.
Happy now? I asked.
The griffin made a noise that sounded like nom, nom, nom.
The wagon rattled slowly over cobblestones, up an incline to the next terrace, then along a level road with smoother paving stones. At first, the noises outside the wagons were louder—people on foot hurrying home before nightfall, dogs yapping, the noise of metal scraping against stone as someone cleared their steps. These soon dropped away as we turned up another steep slope. The horses strained to pull the heavy wagons. Probably these were draft horses, used for hauling freight. Where and when had Danzu bought them? He made it sound as though he’d been in business a long time—ever since we won our reward. And Yún hadn’t acted surprised. In fact, she’d mentioned something about Danzu weeks and weeks go, when she first showed me those expensive maps for the mountain roads.
Maybe I don’t know my friends at all.
Maybe you just need to listen harder, Chen said.
I started to tell him to shut up, but the wagon jolted to a stop. Yāo-guài screeched, and we both tumbled on our sides, scattering beef strips and packets everywhere. By the time I could sort everything out, someone was tapping at the crate’s lid.
The lid fell open. I blinked at the sudden change from smothering dark to light. Even if that light was dim and uncertain.
A hand grasped my arm. “Come along.”
Whoever that was hauled me out of the wagon. My legs, numb from the long day’s trek, folded under me. I hit the cold stones of the courtyard with a thump. Yāo-guài gave a squawk and fluttered around me, fussing.
“D’you need help?” the man asked.
It was one of the drivers, I remembered. I shook my head and hauled myself to standing.
We were in a tiny, paved courtyard dusted with snow. Shadows pooled over the bare stones. There was a clean, cold scent in the air, mixed with the smells of horse and leather, a fainter one of crushed herbs and the electric fire of magic flux.
The driver helped Yún climb out. Another was doing the same for Quan and Lian. High overhead, dark clouds smudged a steel-gray sky. It couldn’t be more than late afternoon. Snow trickled down from the clouds. Unlit lamps hung from the walls. The courtyard itself was bare, except for several clay pots where someone might plant flowers in the summer. There was a low iron gate—the one we’d just come through—and a pair of heavy wooden doors on the other side.
“Where are we?” I asked.
The doors swung open. A short slender figure marched out. “Danzu, you miserable idiot. You’re late! Three days late! Where are my goods?”
“Hello, Jing-mei.”
Jing-mei spun around. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of Lian. “Princess?” she whispered. “Is that really you?”
18
“IT’S ME,” LIAN SAID.
Jing-mei stared from Lian to me and Yún. When she got to Quan, she paused. Her lips moved silently, as though she wanted to ask a thousand questions, but could not decide which one to pick first. Then she caught sight of Danzu, who was ordering the drivers to unload the rest of the crates.
“Explain,” she said shortly.
“Emergency,” he said, breathless. “Your shipment is safe. Truly. I left only a few crates in storage in Lake of the Blue Jewel.”
“The jewelry? The special holo-glasses? The essences of southern winter? You know those require warmth, special handling—”
“Not those,” Danzu whined. “The cheap stuff.”
“I. Do. Not. Sell. Cheap stuff, Danzu Qián. What have you thrown away from my shipment?”
“Nothing. I swear it. Ask the princess.”
Jing-mei drew a deep breath. Her expression reminded me of a watch-demon momentarily denied its prey. Except that watch demons had no faces, nor eyes that glittered with rage. She muttered something that sounded very much like “I’lltalktoyoulateryoumiserabletoad,” then turned to Lian. “My apologies, Your Highness.”
“The apologies are mine,” Lian said smoothly. “I ordered Danzu to convey me into Lóng City in the most discreet fashion he knew.”
“Smuggling,” I murmured.
Danzu and Yún glared at me. Quan shook his head. Only Jing-mei offered me a tight smile.
“I understand completely,” she said to Lian. “Come inside so we might discuss the matter. Let Danzu manage the horses and his shipment.”
She and Danzu exchanged angry smiles. Jing-mei apparently won, because Danzu shriveled inside his elegant cloak and turned back to the wagons and his crew.
Jing-mei smiled more sweetly (was this really the same bubble-headed girl from my gang?) and led us into a cavern of a room. She brushed her hand over a gray mesh panel by the door. With a hiss, light poured from shaded lamps overhead. I blinked at the sight of row upon row of crates, stacked almost to the ceiling. The air here was much warmer than I expected. Then I remembered Jing-mei scolding Danzu about delicate electronics. This was her warehouse for her special consignments. She kept the goods safe with magically warmed air.
She must be richer than I thought.
Not rich. Clever, Chen said quietly. There are magic flux wells underneath these warehouses. She’s tapping into them.
Was that legal? I wondered.
Lian too had obviously noticed. Her eyes narrowed at the pipes and vents, the flicker and twitch of magic flux currents. Normally, a person paid fees to the royal wizards for regular access to the magical flux within our kingdom. I’d seen the bills when I first explored my mother’s papers. The wizards might not care about one-time, sometimes, once-in-a-while access. This setup, however, was a lot more than once-in-a-while. Lian sent a questioning glance toward Jing-mei, who smiled nervously. Heh. Probably not legal. This could prove interesting.
At the opposite side of the warehouse, a winding staircase brought us up two flights to a small landing. Very plain, except for a complicated set of locks on one door. Jing-mei used a series of keys, then laid her palm against the latch. The lock clicked open, and she gestured for us to come inside.
It was the same apartment I remembered from two months ago, but with a few differences. A broad desk crowded the tiny back room, its surface covered with accounting books, a shiny new calculor in the middle. All the trinkets and gadgets had disappeared from the hallway and nearby rooms. She must have moved them into that enormous warehouse.
“Come with me to the kitchen,” Jing-mei said. “I can brew some tea. And we can talk.”
Jing-mei managed to seat us all around the table, but barely. Lian and Quan tucked themselves into a corner, closer than absolutely necessary. Yún hesitated, then did the same next to me. Yāo-guài paced the tabletop, chittering with excitement and pleasure that we’d left the cold, dark wagons behind. I’d expected Jing-mei to chitter back, but she merely patted him on the head absent-mindedly in between whisking cups onto the table, setting a kettle of water to boil, and sending curious glances toward Lian and Quan.
“So who are you?” she asked Quan, as she measured tea from a canister into an elegant teapot.
“My
friend,” Lian said firmly. “We studied at the university together.”
“Our rescuer,” Yún said even more firmly.
I rolled my eyes, which brought a laugh from Jing-mei. “Very well. None of my business. But you came to me for help. Tell me everything that happened.”
Lian exchanged a glance with Quan. “Everything will take some time.”
“Better to arm your warriors, than to fall victim to excess caution,” he murmured.
She smiled. “Very true. Here is what you must know,” she said to Jing-mei.
She told Jing-mei about the Phoenix emperor’s plans to force her into marriage with his youngest son, and about the treaties the emperor used to drain other mountain kingdoms of their magic flux. How Quan arranged for our escape, how the emperor’s soldiers nearly captured us, and our unexpected rescue by Nuó.
By the time she finished, the water had boiled, and the tea had steeped.
“I suspect there are those who would prevent me from reuniting with my father and answering the Guild’s accusations,” Lian said at last.
“I believe you are right,” Jing-mei said as she poured tea for all of us. “It’s true the Guild fears you’ve deserted your responsibilities. I happen to think certain factions within the court are feeding those rumors for their own advancement. Which means you cannot simply announce yourself to any guard safely. Let me call someone who knows more about the palace security than I do....”
She plucked a silver disc from behind her ear, tapped it with her thumb, and spoke Gan’s name. Magic blossomed in the air. A pale circle of light appeared in front of Jing-mei’s face.
“Gan,” she said, “we need you here right away.”
Where? said a ghostly voice.
“Same-old same-old. We’re having a surprise party with some old, true friends.”
A long pause. Right, said the ghost-voice. I can be there in maybe-so five ten minutes.
“Good enough. Thanks.”
Jing-mei tapped the disc again. The light blipped into nothing, and she tucked the disc behind her ear. The fancy device reminded me of Deming the waiter and his magic-powered glasses, the ones that let him transmit orders directly to the kitchens. This had to be the same kind of micro-receptor-transmitter technology, but much fancier and much more powerful.
Fox and Phoenix Page 20
