Fox and Phoenix (21 page)

“The emperor will not permit it.”

Quan appeared in the doorway we had just entered. His eyes were ringed with dark circles, like Yún's had been, like mine and Lian's. His hair had come loose from his queue, and he wore the same clothes as yesterday, only now they were rumpled and stained, as though he'd spent the night behind the palace garbage bins. Both his hands were clenched in fists.

Yún gave a sudden jump. I muffled back a yelp. How had he found us?

Lian pushed to her feet abruptly, sending the bench tumbling backward. “You—”

Quan started toward her. She tried to shove past him. He grabbed her by the arm and spun her around. “Listen,” he whispered rapidly. “You must listen. I know who wants to keep you in Phoenix City.” He glanced over his shoulder. Already a confused noise sounded from the library's main chamber. “There's no time to explain more. Slap my face as hard as you can.”

Lian's eyes widened. “Why?”

“Because of this.”

Quan slipped one hand behind Lian's neck. Lian stiffened—I thought she might jab him with a fist—then her body melted against his. Quan clasped her other hand and pressed his lips to hers. It was a thorough kiss, as though he were spending a fortune in passion. I had to turn away because it was too embarrassing, too intimate, to watch, but I heard the moment when that forever kiss ended, because Quan gave an audible sigh. Only then did I dare to turn around.

Both their eyes were wide, surprised and wondering.

“Now,” he whispered.

I heard the slap before it even registered that she'd moved.

Quan's head jerked back. A dark red spot bloomed on his cheek. Lian herself was breathing hard, and her eyes glittered with emotion. That had not been a pretend blow. Quan gingerly touched the cheek and nodded, as though he'd expected such force. “Be careful,” he said softly.

He disappeared through the farther door. Just in time, too, because a swarm of people rushed into the archive room. Some hurried past in chase of Quan; some remained behind to hover over Lian, bowing and fussing and generally doing nothing useful.

“That young man took great liberties.” That was the former chief librarian.

Lian stared down at her hands, knotted into fists. “Too many liberties,” she repeated in a soft voice. She shook her head. The strange expression cleared from her eyes. “Far too many,” she said firmly. “It does not matter, however. He shall not be permitted inside the palace again. I will make certain of that myself. Now, please leave me.”

She lifted one hand and flicked her fingers. Everyone else scattered away like ants.

Except Yún and me. We waited, certain Lian had more to say.

Above, the ghost dragons stirred. Lian glanced up. Her gaze caught that of the oldest and largest dragon. He in turn whispered something in that strange harsh language I had come to recognize. The flux shivered. The dragons disappeared.

“What is it?” Yún whispered.

Instead of answering, Lian opened her other hand. I saw a crumpled ball of rice paper. She smoothed the page over the table. The characters were smeared with sweat and almost illegible, but I could just make them out.

Y
ÚN WAS THE FIRST TO CRACK THE SILENCE.

“Do you believe him?” she asked.

Lian made a throw-away gesture. “I don't know.”

Yún studied our princess for several moments. There was pity in her eyes, of a kind I'd never seen before, except when she handled our griffin or any other wounded creature. In a gentle voice she said, “Tell us what happened, Lian. All of it.”

“I told you what happened.”

“Perhaps you misunderstood—”

“I misunderstood nothing. He—It was after—” Lian drew a long breath. “He came to my rooms in the palace. I had not seen him for two days. I had expected—Never mind what I expected. He had promised to visit days before and he did not. Besides, I had learned certain details that troubled me. Another student warned me about Quan. Said he liked to involve himself with wealthy girls. He had already had a relationship with an older woman at court, who favored him with gifts of money.”

Lian had delivered this speech while staring hard at the tabletop. Now she met our gazes. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “You see,” she whispered, “I did not need to hear his reasons for wanting money. I already knew them.”

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.

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 around 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.”