Century #4: Dragon of Seas (12 page)

E
RMETE AND
S
HENG ARE SITTING AT A SMALL CRYSTAL TABLE
that looks like it’s floating in the middle of the clouds. It’s the spectacular, panoramic lounge in the Grand Hyatt, the world’s tallest hotel.

The moment they see Elettra, Mistral and Madame Blanchard walk in, they stand up and wave them over. It’s a warm, welcoming hello with all their usual wisecracks. Then Cecile goes to the reception desk to check in under their false names before taking their suitcases up to the room. Meanwhile, the two girls sit down at the table so they can decide what to do.

“Harvey?” Elettra asks.

Ermete and Sheng exchange glances. “That’s the first mystery. He should’ve landed in Shanghai last night, but his cell phone is off and he hasn’t texted us.”

“That’s not good.”

“Especially since we don’t have much time to lose.”

Sheng rubs his eyes and looks around. Then he holds back a yawn, making his whole jaw tremble.

“How do you feel?” Mistral asks him.

“Fine,” he says, stifling a second yawn. “I’m just a little … sleepy.”

“You look exhausted.”

“Yeah, that’s the word for it,” he says.

“What about that dream you keep having?” Mistral asks.

Sheng nods. “Still having it.”

The girls look at Ermete and then at each other. “Maybe we should figure out why you have it in the first place.”

Sheng stares at the tips of his new shoes. Nobody’s noticed he isn’t wearing horrible sneakers.

“It might have something to do with your eyes,” Elettra guesses.

“Hey!” Sheng snaps. “Can we change the subject or do you really need to give me the third degree?”

“It isn’t the third degree. It’s just that there’s no such thing as blue-eyed Chinese people,” Elettra continues. “You do realize that, don’t you?”

“How would you guys know?” he grumbles. “Actually, there’s no such thing as what you call ‘Chinese people,’ either.”

“There aren’t?” Ermete asks. “Then who are the Chinese?”

“It just so happens that we ‘Chinese’ don’t have a word for
Chinese
. We use the word
Han
, but that just means a certain number of ethnic groups who at some point in history were ruled by the Han dynasty.”

“So how do you say someone’s Chinese or not Chinese?”

“We don’t. What point is there in saying someone’s Italian, or French?”

“It’s really important to us Europeans.”

“To us it isn’t. And if you really want to know, we don’t even have a word for
China
.”

Ermete laughs. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all.
China
is a word
you
came up with to talk about the place
we
live. It isn’t Chinese. It isn’t Wu.”

“What’s Wu?”

“Shanghai’s dialect, which is different from Beijing’s dialect. And Hong Kong’s, and—”

“Wait, wait …,” Mistral cuts him off. “If there isn’t a Chinese word to say
China
, then how do you say
China
?”

“It depends on what we mean, exactly. We can use
Zhongguo
, the ‘middle country,’ and
Zhongguo Ren
, its inhabitants. But it doesn’t mean
China
.”

“It’s like the street names!” Ermete grumbles. “Two hundred ways to say the same thing. Nothing’s simple here. It’s all mutable, fluid.”

“Well, after all, we’re in the city of water,” Elettra reminds the others. “Which is also the world’s biggest river port. In any case”—Elettra peers around—“do you think we should talk here?”

“I doubt they bugged the place just for us,” Ermete says.

“Besides, nobody could even know we’re here,” Sheng says.

Elettra hesitates. “I need to tell you something,” she says.

“So do I,” Mistral adds.

The two girls give the others a recap of their discoveries. The only thing Elettra leaves out is the other Chinese boy, Hi-Nau. When she’s finished, Sheng looks at her and exclaims, “Your aunt is one of the four Sages!”

Ermete is sprawled out in his armchair. “After all the trouble we went through, we could’ve just asked her!”

“But she wouldn’t have told us anything. Not being able to talk to us is a part of the Pact.”

“Okay,” Sheng says, turning to Mistral, “but Professor Van Der Berger didn’t seem to care. He ended up telling us what happened.”

“But only because he’s dead,” the Roman engineer reminds everyone. “I don’t know if the Pact still counts after you die.”

“In any case,” Mistral says, “the Pact was broken. In a place called Century.”

“Could it have happened in that apartment in the Century Building in New York?” Ermete murmurs.

“That’s not important,” Elettra says. “There are two important things right now: Sheng and this box.” She puts the cookie tin from her aunt in the middle of the table. “Inside of it are the clues they had back in 1907. But they didn’t know what to do with them.”

“Like in Paris, with the clock?”

“Exactly,” Elettra replies. Clutched between her knees is her backpack with the map of the Chaldeans and the only top they have left, the heart top. “But before we open the box, I think we should talk about Sheng’s dream some more.”

He grumbles. “Again?”

“I think it’s fundamental. In her files, my aunt talked about powers. I have the power of Fire, of energy.”

“And you can make lights explode,” Mistral whispers, remembering what happened in the library in New York.

“You have the power of Air,” Elettra says to Mistral. “And
because of your power, when you sing you can make creatures of the air listen to you.”

“Like that Indian guy in New York!” Sheng says. “Quilleran, who could talk to the crows. Was he one of the Sages, too?”

“No,” Mistral says, “he said that a friend taught him how to speak to the crows, and I think I know who it was.”

“Who?”

“Vladimir.”

“The antiques dealer?” Ermete is astonished.

“Yes, him. And do you know why? Because I’m convinced that the four masters who came before us had these powers, too. Take Professor Van Der Berger: he could talk to the Earth. And make plants grow, I think. Just like Harvey.”

Ermete holds up both hands. “Hold on, hold on. I’m not following. Harvey has the power of Earth … like the professor, right?”

“Exactly,” Elettra confirms.

“And you’re saying Mistral has the power of Air, like Vladimir, the antiques dealer.”

“What about you, then?” Sheng asks Elettra.

“I have the same power Zoe had.”

When he hears her name, the engineer thinks back to the day he spent with her in Paris. “Fifty-eight euros’ worth of flowers down the drain,” he grumbles. Then he turns to Sheng. “So that leaves you with the power of Water …”

“Guys, I can’t even swim.”

Everyone looks at Elettra.

“Like your aunt Irene?”

“Exactly,” the girl replies, raising her finger. “Maybe she could explain your recurring dream.”

Sheng nods. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Partly because I think your power is somehow connected to sleeping, Sheng. My aunt made me fall asleep with a wave of her hand.”

“And don’t forget your yellow eyes,” Mistral breaks in, flipping through one of her notebooks.

Sheng cringes, turning red. “You want me to strip so you can examine me better?”

“We’re just trying to help you!”

“In my dream there’s always a lot of water,” Sheng says, suddenly serious. “We swim over to this island. It’s just that … well, once we reach it, you guys get out, no problem, but I … I don’t. I can’t. I’m trapped.”

“Now you see why it’s important for you to talk to my aunt? Even if she answers you with riddles, like all of them have done so far, they might be riddles that are easy to solve.”

The four sit in silence, turning things over in their minds.

After a while, Cecile walks over to the table, smiling. “Would you like me to take your suitcases up to the room for you?” she asks.

Elettra stands up. “Please, don’t bother, ma’am. We’ll take care of it.” She winks at Mistral, inviting her to follow her. Then she turns to the other two and adds, “Will you wait for us down here a minute?”

As soon as the elevator door closes, Elettra explains to her friend, “I didn’t want Sheng to hear me.”

“What is it?”

“In my aunt’s secret room, I found out that Sheng is a replacement for another boy, whose name is—or was—Hi-Nau.”

“Sheng wasn’t supposed to be Sheng?”

“Exactly. Before making me fall sleep, Aunt Irene told me that Hi-Nau’s powers were really strong, even stronger than all of ours.”

“Then why isn’t he here?”

“I don’t know.”

“You could ask her.”

“I’ll try, but the thing is … this might explain why Sheng is insecure.”

“What, you think the rest of us aren’t? I haven’t used the language of animals for weeks. I get scared even thinking of doing it.”

“But you
can
do it! I was scared by my energy, too, but I used it. The same thing goes for Harvey! But Sheng … what can he do?”

The elevator door opens, leaving the two friends agape. The hallway looks onto the lobby fifty meters below. It’s like being in a theater with a breathtaking view: a spiral of carpeted terraces, gold lamps and sparkling windows. Outside, the sky is growing dark and the city is lighting up. Millions of multicolored neon signs are getting ready for another incredible night.

Elettra and Mistral lean against the railing, captivated.

The elevator Cecile took has yet to arrive.

“So did you see that boy, Hi-Nau?” Mistral asks, staring down at two colorful specks, which are Ermete and Sheng.

“Just a photograph, but I don’t think I’d recognize him. What I’m afraid of … is that Sheng might get discouraged if he knew he was some sort of fill-in.”

Mistral nods. “You’re right.… Oh, here’s my mom.”

The elevator lets out a chime and opens.

The two girls turn around.

Cecile Blanchard is pale.

Beside her is a tallish man in a long green-gray raincoat and a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.

“Happy to see me?” Jacob Mahler asks, stepping out of the elevator.

A
WHITE-TILED PASSAGEWAY DIVIDED BY DARK GLASS PANELS
. T
O
the right is a silver conveyor belt. To the left, aluminum showerheads mounted on the wall. On the floor, a layer of crystal-clear water about ten centimeters deep. It looks like the entrance to a public pool.

A voice from the speaker on the wall tells Harvey to undress, but he thinks they must be kidding, so they have to tell him a second time. Surprised, he slips off his shoes and puts them on the silver conveyor belt.

“And the rest,” the voice from the speaker orders.

Nik Knife is a perfectly still mask behind him.

“You’re kidding, right?” Harvey Miller asks, laughing nervously.

The Chinese man simply rests the backpack on the belt. “We do not have much time. Mr. Devil is waiting for us.”

Harvey nods. Devil’s house, devil’s rules.

He pulls off his sweater and two T-shirts, ending up bare-chested. He sticks it all on the conveyor belt. Then come his pants.

“Walk through there.” The Chinese man points to the middle of the passageway with the pool of disinfectant water.

While Harvey is walking, an X-ray of his skeleton appears on the dark screens that divide the passageway.

The aluminum showerheads spray him with a pungent-smelling jet of steam. A shower of water mixed with some kind of germicide. Then a jet of scented steam and, finally, hot air to dry him off.

Meanwhile, six latex-gloved hands rifle through his clothes, open his backpack, pull everything out and put it back in its place. The soles of his shoes are scanned with a beam of orange light. Pants, shirts, sweater and backpack are sprayed with the same disinfectant steam.

Harvey is given his clothes back at the end of the passageway.

“You can get dressed now,” says the Chinese man, who now wears latex gloves on his hands and a mask over his face.

“Really nice of you,” Harvey jokes. “Do you all have to do this when you walk into his place?”

“Only the people he wants to see quickly,” the Chinese man replies, as stony as a statue. “We are much more careful with the others.”

He pulls off his gloves and mask as he waits for Harvey to finish getting dressed.

“My hair’s still wet,” Harvey complains when he’s pushed toward a second elevator with gold doors. “I could catch a cold if I go outside like this.”

“We are not going outside,” the Chinese man growls.

The elevator doesn’t have floor buttons. The door closes and the elevator zooms up automatically.

Twenty-nine seconds. Thirty. Thirty-one, Harvey counts, feeling the pressure on his knees.

Finally, they reach Heremit Devil’s office.

“Why, look who’s here, look who’s here!” Mademoiselle Cybel exclaims the moment Harvey steps out of the elevator. “My favorite American boy!”

He wasn’t expecting to see her here. But Nik Knife’s grip on his elbow makes him keep moving.

“Mademoiselle Cybel,” Harvey snarls, moving toward the chair the large woman is sunk into. “Always a pleasure to see you.”

The woman laughs, making her double chin quiver.