Nine Gates (27 page)

From slightly out of Brenda’s line of sight, Flying Claw spoke. He sounded tense and a little bit angry.

“Who would send you such a vision? If someone wishes to warn you, why would this well-wisher not come in person?”

“I can think of several possibilities,” the White Tiger said. “Not everyone would dare come before me as you have dared. Or the ‘well-wisher,’ as you term him, might be afraid of his giving warning being discovered. After all, one who has the power to attempt to destroy me might take nasty vengeance if he learned of his plans being bruited about.”

Brenda started to automatically correct the exclusive use of the masculine pronoun, then bit her words back unspoken. This was
not
the time to emphasize the use of politically correct diction. She’d have to remind herself that the White Tiger’s enemy could be female as easily as male.

“But,” the White Tiger continued, the glance his burning eyes gave Brenda making her wonder if he might be able to read her thoughts, “the reason I think that the well-wisher has not come to me is that I think the source of my vision is Shang Ti.”

“Shang Ti?” Nissa said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know who that is. I’m afraid I didn’t grow up with Chinese lore.”

“Brave Rabbit,” the White Tiger said, clearly amused, “to walk in this world and yet not know of Shang Ti. He is the first emperor, Lord of the Center. Many legends credit him with the creation of the universe.”

“I thought that was P’an Ku?” Brenda asked, feeling very confused. “I’m sure I read about P’an Ku creating the universe.”

“Yes. Later legends told how P’an Ku created the world,” Pai Hu agreed, “and set the White Tiger, Vermillion Bird, Azure Dragon, and Dark Warrior as guardians over the four directions, but those are very late legends.”

Des nodded. “Yes. I believe most scholars credit the P’an Ku tale to the Taoist recluse Ko Kung in the fourth century
A.D.
”

“My head hurts,” Brenda said, and meant it. She thought she remembered Pearl or Des refering to the Red Bird of the South, not the Vermillion Bird, but she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself by asking. After all, vermillion was red, wasn’t it?

Nissa, however, wasn’t to be distracted.

“So this Shang Ti, is he God?” Nissa said.

“Not ‘God’ as you mean the term,” Honey Dream interjected, “at least within your monotheist cultural view.”

Brenda swallowed a sigh of exasperation. Apparently, although Honey Dream couldn’t quite bring herself to speak directly to the White Tiger, she couldn’t resist correcting one of them.

Honey Dream continued, her tone pedantic, “Shang Ti is a very old deity. Sometimes he is called T’ien or Sky. Another name given to him in later writings is Yu Huang or August Jade. Whatever the name, Shang Ti is acknowledged as supreme ruler of the celestial hierarchy, the one to whom all the other deities must answer.”

“Sound like God to me,” Nissa muttered, “but I think I see what you’re saying. Whatever Shang Ti is, wherever he is, he is not someone we’re likely to meet casually—even in a place like this—but he is someone who might send a message to Pai Hu.”

Honey Dream nodded. Brenda couldn’t quite decide if the Snake was pleased or miffed that Nissa had caught on so
quickly, but a whole new set of gods was a lot easier to accept with a tiger that would dwarf an elephant lolling in the grass in front of you, discussing his dreams.

Nissa returned her attention to the White Tiger.

“Is it because of the divine hierarchy,” Nissa asked, “that Shang Ti would need to contact you through a vision rather than coming to visit?”

“Close enough,” the White Tiger said, and Brenda felt certain they were not getting anything like the full story. She decided she was relieved.

“What may we do to serve you, Pai Hu?” Flying Claw asked.

“Your next destination will be Hell,” the White Tiger said matter-of-factly. “As Hell connects all places, there you may find some indication, some rumor, of the source of this danger of which I have dreamed. If you learn anything, no matter how vague, I ask you to report to me.”

“We will do this gladly,” Des said.

“Additionally,” Pai Hu said, “since you intend to travel into the other three guardian domains, I request that you ask my counterparts if they have had any similar warnings. You may share what I have told you if they seem reluctant to speak.”

The White Tiger looked over where Flying Claw was sitting. Brenda turned and saw that Flying Claw seemed distinctly uncomfortable.

“You are surprised I would admit this vulnerability, Brother Tiger?” asked Pai Hu.

“For a moment, I was,” Flying Claw said sheepishly.

“There is no shame to admitting truth,” Pai Hu said. “I do not think this vision a sign that I fear something, but rather that something has designs on myself and my domain. True shame would be refusal to admit this until it was too late to act.”

“Then why,” Riprap cut in, “don’t you go talk to the other three yourself?”

The White Tiger’s tail lashed, but apparently at the casualness of Riprap’s approach rather than at the question, which he answered politely enough.

“I forget you do not know. Our domains do not touch. We are separated by the Center. If I did not believe there was a threat, I might go and call upon one of my neighbors, but because I do believe there is a threat, I will not diminish my presence in my own lands.”

“Reasonable,” Riprap said. “Thank you.”

The White Tiger seemed amused, but since Brenda thought cats of all types usually looked amused in a sort of lofty way, she couldn’t be certain.

Des rose to his feet and bowed deeply. “Great White Tiger of the West, we will do all you request of us. You are gracious beyond belief to make us your messengers.”

“You arrived in so timely a fashion,” the White Tiger said, “that I cannot help but wonder if your problems and my vision are somehow intertwined, but speculation on such before we have more information would be idle.”

“Right,” Riprap agreed, shouldering his pack and making a fairly tidy bow, his hands pressed together in front of him.

The bow should have looked stupid with Riprap dressed as he was in jeans and hiking boots, but it didn’t. Brenda imitated him and noticed the others doing the same.

Riprap was looking to where a path had opened in what had before been trackless jungle. “I’m guessing that’s a hint. More walk, less talk.”

Brenda looked back from the trail, meaning to thank the White Tiger one more time, but, perhaps predictably, the White Tiger of the West was nowhere to be seen.

Tracy Frye called the next morning to inform them she would be arriving in San Francisco that afternoon. Pearl, Shen, and Albert were finishing breakfast in the informal dining area of Pearl’s house.

“Very well,” Albert said into his cell phone, his fork playing
idly with a piece of cantaloupe on his plate. “Shall we meet this evening? I have spoken to the director of the Rosicrucian Museum, and he has requested that we hold our meeting when most of the tourists will be gone for the day. I, of course, agreed.”

Tracy’s reply was apparently less than perfectly polite, because Albert wrinkled his nose fastidiously, as if smelling something unpleasant. His tone when he replied, however, showed nothing of this.

“If you would like, I can arrange for a car to pick you up. No? You would rather arrange for your own transportation? Very well. Shall we say seven o’clock? The worst of the heat should be ebbing by then. And would you like to leave me a number where you can be reached in case something changes?”

Albert paused and rolled his eyes. His fork started squashing the square of cantaloupe into orange mush. “Very well. Nothing had better change. I understand. Have a good day’s travel, Ms. Frye.”

He thumbed off his phone and said conversationally, “Why she thinks being so acid will do her any good escapes me.”

Pearl gave a knowing smile. “Because Ms. Frye believes she has the upper hand. Bullies always get rude when they believe they are in charge.”

Shen, who had been looking tired and worried ever since Des and the others had departed, looked up from his hardly touched meal.

“But doesn’t she? Without the Ox and the Monkey’s sets, our only remaining option is to try and educate two complete novices. Even if we didn’t train them in any element of our particular arcane skill set, even getting them to believe enough that they would accompany us into what is likely to be a very dangerous situation would be difficult.”

Albert nodded. “And I would feel very uncomfortable about taking a boy and a woman of mature years into a such a situation without giving them any training.”

“I suppose,” Shen said, with what was clearly an attempt at humor, “that we could knock them out, then carry them along. They couldn’t get into trouble that way, and we could protect them more easily.”

Albert continued mashing cantaloupe. “I’m desperate enough that that idea sounds almost attractive. Thirteen people—seventeen when we include our four from the Lands—is an enormous group. It’s too large for stealth, too small to be an army.”

“They say there is strength in numbers,” Pearl tried to encourage him.

Albert shook his head. “Not in this case. Too many of us have too little training. I feel uncomfortable about what risks we’re asking our three apprentices to take. As matters stand, I am strongly inclined to leave Brenda Morris behind, but I know her father thinks that this is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

Pearl nodded. She decided not to mention that Brenda actually raised the size of their group to eighteen.

“Taken at its most literal,” Pearl said, “this is the opportunity of a lifetime—of many lifetimes. It’s a journey none of our ancestors ever had the opportunity to make. However, let’s worry about whether or not we take Brenda along after we know there will be a means of reaching our destination.”

“Right,” Albert said. “After all, even if we manage to get the two remaining mah-jong sets, we still have four ghosts to summon and convince to assist us.”

“Five,” Shen said, not completely helpfully, “if you include the Snake.”

“As we must,” Albert said in the tones of one repeating a lesson he’d rather forget, “unless we wish to include a barely trained, rather absentminded, eighty-three-year-old woman in our entourage.”

He stopped mutilating the cantaloupe and started rubbing his hands up and down over his high cheekbones. It was a habit he had had since childhood, and while it indicated agitation, it also indicated a desire to concentrate.

Pearl, meanwhile, had felt a shred of an idea when Shen had mentioned something. What had it been? Something about knocking out the boy Monkey and the Ox… That had made her think of some kidnapping farce and… Got it!

“What if,” she said, “we anticipate our meeting with Tracy Frye, try to take the mah-jong sets from her?”

“Steal them?” Shen said, appalled.

“If you’re worried about the ethics of it,” Pearl said, “we can leave her cash. I’m sure Albert’s Matt could give us an estimate of the purchase prices.”

“No,” Shen protested. “It’s not that. We’ve gone to a lot of effort not to give the various indigenous traditions an excuse to rally against us. Now you want to attack Tracy Frye and perhaps others.”

Pearl shook her head. “I don’t want to attack anyone, but neither do I want to be walked all over. I believe we could justify the—let’s call it ‘reacquisition’—of the mah-jong sets by arguing that Tracy Frye and her allies are acting not only counter to our needs, but counter to the desires and ideals of the larger indigenous magical community.”

“We would have witnesses,” Albert mused, “purely nonmagical witnesses, to the fact that Frye et al. went after the ancestral mah-jong sets
after
the Rock Dove Society, of which she is a member, had agreed to let us have a chance to deal with the potential invasion ourselves. Matt could confirm that Tracy Frye offered to make a deal in exchange for the sets before we ever asked—showing that she did not go after the sets because she desired to own them.”

“So, Albert,” Shen said resignedly, “do you also think we should go ahead with Pearl’s idea? Are you sure we should steal them before we find out what Tracy wants to trade?”

“We might do better if we do,” Albert said. “After we’ve refused, they’re going to be more on guard.”

Pearl waved a dismissive hand. “In any case, we know what Tracy Frye will want to trade for already. She told Gaheris. She wants to have training in our specific type of magic. She’s very proud of being a Generalist, remember? It’s not
only our style of magic she wants—although I bet she wants it pretty bad—it’s being able to add another notch to her bedpost.”

“Notch to her bedpost?” Albert asked bemusedly. “Is that the right idiom?”

“I don’t care about the idiom,” Pearl said. “Arrow to her quiver. Thorn in her crown. What I mean is that she wants the bragging rights that she was the first to get her hands on a form of magic that no one else in all the affiliated and unaffiliated magical orders of this world has ever possessed. That is what she wants. Even the magic, I suspect, comes second.”

Shen sat quietly, obviously considering, then he shook his head. “No, Pearl, Albert, I’m sorry, but I think this would be absolutely the wrong thing to do.”