Fox and Phoenix (6 page)

And that's the problem, I thought, scowling at him. He wasn't saying
anything
, just the same-old same-old excuses.

His name was Meng Li Guo, and he was the tenth official I'd visited today. Like all the others, he was dressed in sober gray, with the screaming dragon insignia embroidered over his heart, and except for an honorific here and there, his speech sounded the same as all his brother officials. I'd noticed that each time one handed me off to the next, it was always to a smaller room, with chairs more uncomfortable than the last. Now I perched on a rickety wooden stool in a cramped cubicle, on the second basement level of the palace wing dedicated to police and royal security. Meng Li Guo's eyes were an ordinary black, nothing like the mechanical eyes with wires and connectors you saw in the senior guards. That alone told me no one was taking me seriously.

I scowled and thumped a fist on his desk. “Right. Thank you. Very well. You
would
make every effort. Oh, except my mother is an ordinary old woman, and not some important noble in His Royal Majesty's court, so I should not express great surprise if you are unable to spare the guards or wizards to search for her.”

The guard allowed himself a brief glare. However, he was an experienced diplomat, despite his youth, so he suppressed whatever curses rose into his throat. Instead, he coughed politely and referred to the papers on his desk. “You say you last spoke with your mother, the widow Shen Zōu, yesterday at twelve o'clock. You left her shop in the West Moon Wind District and spent several hours—”

“Two hours,” I said, testily.

He smiled. Scribbled a notation on the paper. “Two hours with various acquaintances, whose names are listed below . . .”

On he went, describing my pitiful morning and afternoon in more detail than I wanted to hear. But I listened hard, nevertheless, to make certain he had not omitted, or worse, altered, any details. Of course, I had not mentioned Danzu's possible connection with smugglers, nor the speculations I shared with my friends about the king's health and doings at court. Those didn't matter. What mattered was that my mother had walked out one fine bright autumn afternoon and never returned.

“. . . and the second apprentice, one Yún Chang, informed you upon your return that your mother had departed at two o'clock, with the intention of visiting certain markets where one might obtain herbal and magical ingredients . . .”

I wanted to choke him, to make him talk faster, to find my mā mī
that instant
, but I knew throwing a temper tantrum wouldn't accomplish anything.

So I squashed my impatience, and listened to the miserable toad assigned to handle my complaint. After ten hours of waiting in antechambers and shuffling through the palace corridors, I'd heard enough to realize the chief wizards and ministers were more concerned with troubles in court. Oh, I didn't hear anything outright, just whispered innuendoes, and the names they used were all nicknames, which only insiders could recognize. Still, I knew the smell of rumors, and these all stank of intrigue.

At last, the young man finished off his report, signed it, and placed it under a coiled gray lamp. He pressed a button. Blue light flared, making me blink.

“Done,” he said. “That will transmit the report to our outer guard posts. If you wish for regular updates on our progress, you will need to submit form number 34A-732, with appropriate identification and signatures, to the district oversight department.” He eyed me with some doubt. “Or not. However, please be aware we have fulfilled our usual obligations for such a case. Extraordinary measures . . .”

“. . . would require extraordinary commands.” A phrase Princess Lian often quoted with a scowl. “Yes, I understand. Thank you.”

Outside the palace, I released a long unhappy breath.

Chen, invisible, but very present.

I didn't want to be,
I told him.
I wanted to throw bricks at his ugly face.

I blew out another breath, no better, no easier than the first.
It wouldn't do Mā mī any good. Maybe I'll come back tomorrow. Be like water on stone.

Chen grunted an indecipherable comment that had to be rude, or it wouldn't be Chen. Ignoring him, I trudged across the square to the nearest fountain and splashed handfuls of water over my hot and dusty face. All those hours in the palace had left me feeling dried up, like a withered prune, and it wasn't until I dunked my whole head in the fountain that I felt human again. A breeze made my wet skin prickle. It carried hints of wood smoke and pork roasting in a nearby kitchen. The stronger scent of pine and old frozen snow from the mountain tops. A hint of wet chill that spoke of the coming autumn rains.

I wiped the water from my eyes, only to get an unhappy surprise.

The public square in front of the palace was always crowded, but in the few moments I'd taken to wash, it had emptied out. Sunset burned bright red across the gray and white peaks above the city. Shadows flickered through the narrow streets. Night was fast approaching.

Hurry. I hear the demons are hungry these days,
Chen said, before winking away himself.

I shook the water from my hair and jogged to the closest wind-and-magic lift. Just as I reached the counter, the temple bells rang out the hour. Immediately, the old hag behind the counter slammed down the shutter. At the same time, the warning whistle screeched, the gates snapped together, and the lift shot upward.

I cursed.

No reply from behind the shutter except a wheezing laugh. Well, she might have a room nearby, but I didn't. And I didn't care to spend the night in a cramped (and expensive) dark-time shelter. Without wasting any more curses on counter clerks, I jogged even faster toward the next covered passageway. Those wouldn't keep me safe from watch-demons either, but they did lead to the nearest entry into Lóng City's Hundred Sewers. Most people stayed out of the sewers, and not just for the usual reasons, but I had special privileges, courtesy of my adventures with Lian.

You just like the muck,
Chen said.

Ignoring him, I levered the metal plate off to one side, then scrambled down the metal ladder.

Magic lamps clicked on as I landed on the stone platform at the bottom. Their light reflected off the damp brick walls, casting a sheen over the thick oily stream running down the center of the tunnel. My eyes watered from the stink. The old kings had built these sewers as escape routes, but that didn't stop them from being used for all the usual reasons, too.

A narrow ledge ran alongside the stream. I held my nose and set off at a trot, watching where I set my feet.

Once, I hadn't cared.

Once, I was a street rat.

Maybe not anymore.

On I jogged, my thoughts jumping between the old days and the new, how Jing-mei and Gan had changed, how Danzu hadn't, how I had been sent to younger and younger guards, in smaller and smaller rooms, as though they were trying to wear me out, or maybe they were distracted by all the plots and schemes inside the palace. Lian had told me that every glance meant six or ten or even a hundred different things. There were probably a gajillion hints I'd missed during those tedious interviews....

A hiss, like a teakettle starting to boil, yanked me away from my thoughts. I stopped. My throat squeezed shut, as I remembered the last time I'd heard this same noise.

An enormous ghost dragon materialized in the tunnel. Its length coiled above and around and to either side, making the sewer walls appear wrapped in fog—a silvery fog patterned in scales, from the huge ones for belly and tail to thumb-size ones that lapped the dragon's narrow snout.

It wasn't just any ghost dragon. This was the king of ghost dragons, who ruled over his own subjects in a realm that existed alongside our human one of Lóng City. I had met him a year ago, when Lian and Yún and I were running from watch-demons and palace guards. He had granted me free passage throughout the Hundred Sewers, a rare favor, but seeing his great head a few feet from mine made my mouth paper dry.

“Your Majesty?” My voice came out in a whisper. I licked my lips and tried again. “Your Majesty?”

“Friend?” I croaked.

The ghost dragon's eyes narrowed to slits as he regarded me coldly.
Have you forgotten your king so quickly?

My skin crawled at his otherworldly voice. I opened my mouth, but my voice refused more than a squeak.

Still glaring at me with those cold silvery eyes, the king ghost dragon uncurled one forepaw, pad upward. A seemingly innocuous gesture, but the ghost dragon's claws were longer than any executioner's sword. In terror, I flinched and started to babble like an idiot. “No, sir. Your Majesty. I haven't—I didn't—”

The ghost dragon huffed, cutting off my gibbering in a second.
See your king.

He spoke a word in some strange harsh language. A strong metallic smell filled the air, and a bubble of light gathered between those terrible claws.

Still terrified, but curious now, I bent closer. Specks whirled over the bubble's surface. Gradually, it cleared, showing an image inside. Small figures darted about—palace servants in their liveries, the royal physicians and their attendants—everyone hurried in and out and around a richly appointed chamber. Everyone, that is, except one thin old man, who lay in the center of a vast bed. His hands rested limply on his chest, which rose and fell in slow shallow breaths. His eyes were like bruised plums in a pale sweating face.

My friend is dying,
the ghost dragon whispered. The image faded. He folded his claws into a fist and breathed out a rattling sigh.

“Can you save him with magic?” I asked. Any ghost dragon could work magic, and surely, the king of them all—

The anguish in his voice made my chest ache in sympathy. “I'm sorry. I wish I could—”

He brushed away my concern with a gesture.
You must go to Phoenix City. You must find Princess Lian and tell her of her father's illness.

“Me?” I squeaked.

He nodded.
You. The king is my friend, the princess is yours. You are the only one I can trust. Even the best of the king's ministers are taken up with plots and their own security. You must go. Find out what is wrong.

I gulped, tried not to think about the ghost dragon's deadly whiskers, his terrible claws, his breath that could poison any human with excess magic, or so the legends claimed. “I can't go,” I said. Then louder, “I'm sorry, I can't. Not with Mā mÄ« missing.”

Another faint wheezing, as though the dragon were laughing at my plight. He set both front paws upon the ground and leaned closer. Though it made me go stiff with terror, I did not flinch back.

You are stubborn,
he observed, still wheezing.
Like your friend the princess.

True enough, though I privately thought that Lian could win any contest if it came to stubbornness. Her and Yún.

The ghost dragon nodded, his whiskers swaying in counterpoint with his great head.
I shall look after your mā mī. I promise. Now go. Find the princess. Return as quickly as you may, if not sooner.

Whenever had a ghost dragon needed a human's aid?
I wondered, gazing upward into those luminescent eyes. Especially the king of ghost dragons? I nearly asked him that same question, then snapped my mouth shut. Lian was my friend. Besides, you didn't argue with ghost dragons, however large or small.

I bowed low before him. “I will leave tomorrow, Your Majesty.”

E
XCEPT I DIDN'T.

Oh, sure, the ghost dragon king had promised to look after Mā mī, but he never said anything about her tutoring shop. I didn't want to travel nine hundred
li
and back, just to have Mā mī feed me to the watch-dragons because I let her shop go to ruin—or to the tax collectors which, according to her, was the same thing.

I crouched in front of my mother's safe, where she kept her most important papers. Chen hovered off to one side, like a massive brown shadow. The griffin perched on the counter above my head, watching with a curious expression on its narrow, feathered face.

Are you sure this is a good idea?
Chen asked.

I squinted at the combination lock, then double-checked my conjuration workbook. If only I had taken Chen's advice and practiced my handwriting, this would be easier. Maybe.

After another double-check, I recited the simplest open-me spell on the page. Right away the air fizzed with magic flux. The room turned dark and ugly yellow lines squirmed over the safe. From behind me came the sound of someone chuckling to himself.

Chen snorted.
Not my fault. That was your mother's protection spell.

Right. I could believe that. I checked the next entry on the page. Another simple spell, one I'd learned on my own before I turned ten. Not one I expected my mother to use, but you could never tell. She always taught us the trickiest magic was the easiest to guess.

Two syllables into the spell, my ears popped and a thousand invisible fire ants swarmed over me, biting and nipping and stinging. I yelped and beat my clothes. The griffin screeched and vanished. Somewhere, an invisible Chen wheezed with laughter. I wanted to beat him, too, but I was too busy with the cursed ants.

The swarm vanished. I fell to my knees, like a string puppet dropped by its master.

Chen nosed me with his giant snout. I swatted at him, still angry.
I'm fine. Go away.