Fox and Phoenix

by Beth Bernobich

  Jing-mei caught me staring. “It’s just a new toy. All the courtiers love them.”

  “You could make a fortune selling those in the Phoenix Court,” Quan said. “Where did you find a manufacturer?”

  “Trade secret,” she said, with a mysterious smile. “And Phoenix City is a nice market, but I hope I can make a fortune right here.”

  So that’s how she’d spent her share of the reward. She sniffed out the latest toys or trinkets, then sold them for a huge profit to rich nobles. Danzu did the grunt work, transporting the goods from wherever—maybe even from Phoenix City. Merchant and businesswoman. It was hard to take in how much my friends had changed in just one year. But in a strange way, they were still all part of the same gang, each helping the other.

  “What is Gan’s job in all this?” I asked.

  Yún and Jing-mei shared a look of sour amusement.

  “Stiff stick,” Jing-mei said.

  “You aren’t being fair,” Yún murmured.

  “Well, no. We can talk about that later. Ah, here he is . . .”

  Bells were chiming through the apartment. Jing-mei hurried away. Soon, I heard Gan’s deep slow voice from down the corridors.

  “. . . caught the express transport before it left the guard station. Gave them some excuse about my captain sending me out to investigate a disturbance, but I don’t think—”

  “You think too much,” Jing-mei said.

  “Very funny,” Gan said. “So which ‘old, true friends’ did you mean? Don’t tell me Yún caught up with Kai and dragged him back to Lóng City.”

  “Close, but not quite.”

  “Don’t make me guess, Jing-mei. My sergeant says I’m up for review and I—”

  Gan rounded the corner and stopped. Tick by tock, he took in my presence, then Yún’s. The griffin snagged his whole attention, but only for a moment, because all of a sudden he recognized Lian and his mouth fell open.

  “Hello, Gan,” Lian said.

  Gan collapsed onto the nearest stool and blinked at all of us. Finally, he croaked, “Princess? When did you get back home? And why are you here?”

  Why not at the palace, he meant.

  “I need your help,” Lian said. Once more she told the story of our escape and her suspicion that someone, or several someones, had conspired to overthrow Lóng City’s king. Throughout her account, Gan continued to blink and make unhappy noises in his throat.

  “We believe the conspirators were paid by the Phoenix emperor,” Quan said.

  “And who are you?” Gan shot back.

  “A doctor, student, and former subject of the emperor,” Quan replied without hesitation.

  He left out the part about being Lian’s beloved, I said to Chen.

  That comes later, Chen grunted.

  I pressed my forehead against my hands. Later. I could only hope there was a later. Right now, all I wanted was a warm bed. My head ached, and the nap I’d had in Danzu’s wagon wasn’t nearly enough. Yún leaned close and poured me a second mug of tea. “Courage,” she said. “We are almost done with the adventure.”

  “Oh, yeah, but what kind of end?”

  She smiled and patted me on the arm. Meanwhile, Lian was explaining to Gan exactly what she hoped to accomplish that evening. She wanted to reach her father’s bedchamber without any guards sending word to the Guild Council or any member of court. Just in case.

  “Is it possible?” she asked.

  Gan frowned and kneaded his hands together, as though testing the lumps and flaws in the bundle of clay that was her request. “It’s not a simple matter,” he said after a couple moments.

  “You mean it’s not simple if we fail,” Jing-mei said.

  Gan opened and shut his mouth. “I mean it’s not simple.”

  Lian flicked her hand in a sharp gesture. “No arguments, please. Gan, tell me at once if you cannot manage such a task. I will not blame you,” she added quickly. “I understand that your reputation and career would suffer—”

  “It’s not that,” Gan said sharply. “It’s . . . I must think how we can do it. You see, in the past month or two, the commanders have changed our routines. Anyone wishing to enter the palace must present three kinds of credentials, all of them approved by the Minister of Inner Harmony. My commanders say it’s because everyone’s afraid for the king’s safety. I think it’s because they don’t want any witnesses to what’s going on.”

  “And what is going on?”

  Lian’s voice dropped to a frigid whisper. Gan shivered (we all did) and wiped his forehead. “Your father is ill. He cannot speak. He does not eat anything but a few spoonfuls of soup. Most of the court physicians have been ordered away—all except the two most senior. Oh, and one physician who came with the Lang-zhou City delegation for the trade conference.”

  Lian gave a soft exclamation. “Go on.”

  “There isn’t much more to say. Three physicians in attendance, all day long. Rumor says . . .” He faltered. “Rumor says your father should have died a month or more ago. They say, either the gods protect him from death, or he’s made an unholy pact with demons.”

  “You didn’t tell me that part,” Jing-mei murmured.

  “We each have our secrets,” Gan murmured back.

  Lian frowned in concentration. “You can’t help us into the palace, I think. Not without someone getting very suspicious, very quickly. What about you, Jing-mei? You say you deliver goods to members of my court. Do you have these new credentials?”

  A moment’s hesitation. “No, Your Highness. We—Danzu and I have an arrangement with certain officers.”

  “You bribe them?”

  Gan scowled. Yún went tense beside me. Both of them had known about the business, and maybe about tapping into the magic flux, but not the bribes. Jing-mei shifted uncomfortably, her gaze flitting all around the kitchen, anywhere but her friends’ faces. Lian waited patiently, her own expression unreadable.

  Finally, Jing-mei released an unhappy breath. “Yes. But only to overlook our deliveries. Nothing else. We—”

  Lian cut her off with a gesture. “Never mind. Tell me how you enter the palace.”

  They entered the palace by the stable entrance, Jing-mei explained. Usually between ten o’clock and midnight. Certain junior officers (“bribe takers,” Gan muttered unhappily) made certain they stood on duty at the gates. They fiddled with the vid-cameras and sent their underlings on patrol well away from the entrances.

  Halfway through her explanation, Danzu appeared. His face turned gray. “Jing-mei—”

  “Shut up,” Jing-mei told him. Then to Lian, “Once we’re inside, we transfer the goods into the freight lifts.”

  “To which wing of the palace?”

  “To a waiting room next to the Royal Audience Chambers for Intimate Friends and Enemies.”

  Lian’s eyebrows lifted in respect. “Very audacious. And clever. You won’t find many chance visitors to that hall at night. Your customers visit you there?”

  Jing-mei nodded. “It is all arranged, Your Highness.”

  “Do the junior captains know that?”

  “I believe not. I have not told them, but there are always rumors.”

  “Yes,” Lian said to herself. “There would be rumors.”

  “So what’s our plan?” I asked. “We walk into the audience chamber. Then what?”

  “There are six Royal Audience Chambers, but only one for Intimate Friends and Enemies,” Lian said. “My father advised me, as his grandfather advised him, to keep his friends close, but his enemies closer. Therefore, he chose a chamber situated on the floor below his personal suite.” Her expression turned grim. “I pity those enemies we encounter tonight.”

  The next hour raced by. Danzu and Jing-mei went off to prepare a wagon. Quan cooked dinner. Lian and Gan discussed tactics for reaching the king’s bedchamber without encountering any guards or other obstacles. Yún and I didn’t have much to do, other than keeping our griffin occupied. I felt pretty useless.


  I did my part already, I told myself. I found Lian and helped her escape. Sort of.

  Except it was Yún who brought the maps and money and passports. And Quan who found out the plot and organized his smuggler friends. And Danzu who brought us into Lóng City. Now Gan and Jing-mei would do the rest.

  Yún touched my arm and leaned close. “You fought the bandits,” she whispered. “You saved my life. You found the secret passage. We would not be here without you.”

  “How did you—”

  She smiled. “I know you, Kai. No matter what you think, you are smart and clever, just in different ways. And . . .” Her voice caught. “If I were a better friend, I’d tell you that more often.”

  Her fingers closed over my hand. I almost forgot about all the people around us. Maybe this time it would be okay if I kissed her.

  “Dinner is ready,” Quan announced.

  Peh. I squashed a string of curses. Yún’s mouth tucked into a brief smile.

  We ate, then trooped down through the warehouse and into the courtyard. The moon was floating low in the skies, half obscured by Lóng City’s mountain peak. Our wagon stood in the middle, stacked high with crates and smaller boxes. Someone had lit a torch, which cast a ruddy glare over everything.

  Jing-mei pointed to one larger crate with its lid off, which stood near the back of the wagon. “For you and Yún, Princess. Kai, you can pretend you’re one of our grunts.”

  “Not so hard,” Danzu said with a grin.

  My lips curled back in a snarl. Later, Goat Boy.

  “What must I do?” Quan said.

  “Grunt,” Jing-mei said without hesitation. “Danzu and I are the drivers.”

  “And me?” Gan said.

  “You stay here,” Jing-mei said. “You can’t risk anyone—”

  “I can’t risk not going—”

  Lian silenced them with a sharp gesture. “Gan, Jing-mei is almost right. You must not be seen with people known to give bribes. I want you to meet us in the hall of Royal Audience Chambers for Intimate Friends and Enemies. Wait one hour. If we do not appear, go at once to my father’s bedchamber and tell him—tell everyone—that I have arrived. Understood?”

  “What about the watch-demons?” I said.

  “Don’t worry,” Jing-mei said.

  Easy for her to say. Seeing her face pale and tense in the torchlight, I reconsidered. Well, maybe not. Either we all died tonight, or she went to prison for bribery, or . . .

  I didn’t want to think about it. Wishing for good luck made the gods jealous, the old tales said. Better to be a grunt and just follow orders.

  We each took our places in the wagon. Lian and Yún climbed inside the crate. Danzu tapped the lid into place, covered the entire lot with blankets. Quan and I squeezed between the crates and the back of the wagon. Gan tilted his head back, studying us all, but Jing-mei in particular. “Good fortune,” he said softly.

  Her face flushed and she smiled tentatively. “And to you.” Outside the gates we came into a covered street. At the next intersection, Gan peeled off into a smaller passageway used by the royal guards. We continued to a pair of thick iron gates that sang with magic flux. Danzu dismounted briefly and pressed a metal disc into a slot in the wall. The flux scaled upward to a high-pitched tone, then the gates opened.

  “What are these?” I said.

  “Old King An K’ao built them,” Jing-mei said. “After the Horse Guard Rebellion he decided that kings ought have proper tunnels, not those sewers. He ran out of money before he got very far. Then someone poisoned him. Most likely one of the Guild Council. They took over building the tunnels so merchants can transport goods through the city after dark.”

  We continued on through a pair of gates into a broad tunnel. Flux-powered lamps glimmered to life as we passed. At the next intersection, the tunnel dipped below the level of the city streets, then climbed upward along with the mountainside in long winding loops. Pretty soon, I’d lost all sense of where we could be beneath the city. It was an endless passageway, brick walls gleaming with frost and melted snow. Our only illumination was the soft circle of lamplight which rose and faded as we passed each sconce. A mist flowed over the stones beneath us, stirred into eddies and waves by the horses, then streamed along the side of the wagon.

  Quan had let his hand trail the mist. Suddenly, he jerked his hand back. His eyes were wide.

  “What’s wrong?” I whispered.

  “Magic flux,” he whispered back. “Stronger than I’ve ever encountered.”

  I touched my fingertips to the mist, felt a humming through my veins. Yāo-guài wriggled free of my coat and lapped at the magic flux, making happy chuckling noises in his throat. Fascinated, I watched as his claws shone like silver daggers, his feathers brightened to a burnished gold. His stone-black eyes reminded me of an onyx necklace I’d once seen.

  Something nipped at my fingers.

  I yanked my hand back with a yelp.

  A ghost dragon darted between the wagon wheels and slithered up the side of the wagon. For a moment we were face to face as it stared at me with translucent gray eyes. Hurry, it whispered, then dived back into the mist to fade away.

  My blood hummed louder. I sucked on my fingers, hoping the legends about their poisonous bites were not true. “Danzu?”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “What?”

  “Ghost dragons. Are those normal?”

  No answer, but he urged his team to a faster pace. The horses were willing beasts; they bent into their harness and hauled us up a series of loops. At the next intersection, they veered to the left, bringing us into a wide underground courtyard. There they halted and dropped their heads.

  Lamps in glass cages lined the walls. Ahead, a massive iron gate, guarded by two men and a younger woman. All three wore gray uniforms with the royal insignia of a screaming dragon. The two men wore a row of tiny jewels above their patches. The woman’s uniform had an extra row that signified a captain.

  “I thought you said junior guards,” I whispered to Jing-mei.

  “Someone talked,” she whispered back.

  Or someone had guessed about the peculiar arrangements made by the stable watch’s junior officers. Quickly, I glanced around to find Yāo-guài. The griffin had burrowed underneath the blankets, with only an inch of his tail in sight. I pinched the tip, and it vanished.

  Danzu hopped down from the wagon and approached the guards. The captain stepped forward and gestured for him to stop. I bent down to check the knife in my boot. Quan touched my arm and shook his head. Not yet.

  The captain didn’t give an alarm, but her face was like stone. She leaned forward and started talking to Danzu. Her voice was too soft for me to hear, but I could guess from the way Danzu glanced over his shoulder at Jing-mei. The captain kept talking. Danzu must have said something she didn’t like, because the woman scowled and tapped his chest, then pointed at the other two guards.

  Danzu trudged back to the wagon. He looked unhappy. “The captain wants a share of our delivery.”

  Jing-mei bit her lips. “How much?”

  “Ten percent.”

  “Ten—” Jing-mei choked. “Anything else?”

  “We’re supposed to unload everything. Here. She gets to pick. If she likes what we have, she lets us inside and doesn’t report us to the king’s guards and the Guild Council.”

  “But that’s—”

  “I know—”

  “Didn’t you tell her—”

  “She didn’t care—”

  “Let her,” Quan said quietly.

  Both of them rounded on him. “Are you mad?” Jing-mei said.

  “We have no choice,” Quan said. “We must get into the palace tonight. Besides, if we refuse, she’ll have us arrested. And if that happens, and the wrong people find out, it might be days or weeks before Lian can convince anyone of her identity.”

  Or never.

  Jing-mei chewed on her fist a moment before she spoke. “Very well. Kai, you and Quan unload the thr
ee crates marked with blue stripes. Then bring out the two smallest chests. Danzu, show them which ones I mean.”

  We obeyed, hauling out the crates as though we were nothing more than thick-witted grunts. Jing-mei and Danzu stood next to the captain. I noticed the two junior officers remained close to the gates, clearly unhappy, but alert. If the captain refused our bribe, we couldn’t jump them before they gave a warning with their talk-phones.

  When Quan and I finished unloading the crates and chests, we stood off to either side. Jing-mei imperiously ordered Danzu to give her room. She shooed him away toward the gates, then bent over the smallest of the chests. “Here is the finest jewelry in my collection,” she told the guard. “But I would be honored if you chose this.”

  Gold and jewels poured from her hands into the captain’s. Magic flux gleamed from the gems and flowed down link by golden link. These were items saturated in protective spells, priceless items that made my breath freeze in amazement.

  The captain shrugged. “Not interested.”

  She said not interested to the miniature vid-screens. She sneered at the silvery disc talk-phones that Jing-mei demonstrated. This was not going well at all. I glanced at my other companions, trying to figure out what we could do.

  Quan yawned and stretched, as though working the kinks from his back. That brought him a couple steps closer to the gates. Danzu stared at Quan, then he, too, stretched and shook out his legs. The difference wasn’t much, but it put a bit more space between him and the captain. Less between him and the other guards.

  My turn.

  I yawned and scratched under my shirt. Turned half away from the guards and slid the knife from my wrist sheath into my hand. When I turned back, the captain had rejected the contents of all three chests and half the first crate.

  “Junk!” the captain declared. “Who buys this worthless crap?”

  I sauntered to the back of the wagon, lowered the front of my pants, and released a stream of piss onto the stones. Behind me, I heard a muffled choking sound from the closest crate. Lian or Yún. Trying not to think of them, I wiped myself and refastened my trousers. Then I turned back to the wagon and wiped my hands on the blanket covering the other crates.