Nine Gates (28 page)

“But you’re not saying we should trade away our lore!” Pearl protested, horrified. “What would your grandfather have said?”

“He would never have permitted it,” Shen replied without hesitation, “not even to stop an invasion. He would have argued that we would have been inviting our own dissolution, perhaps even endangering the Lands. However, he would also have said we should not stoop to theft—and so take the risk of weakening our position with the indigenous magical traditions.”

Albert had stopped rubbing his face and was looking intently into the middle distance. Pearl had seen him do this before, usually in business meetings, when calculating precisely how much the market would stand.

“Very well. Aunt Pearl is right. So are you, Uncle Shen. We know what Tracy Frye wants. We also know that it is something we cannot give her. The first question we must ask ourselves is does she know we will not give in to her demands?”

“No,” Pearl replied immediately. “She thinks she has the upper hand. Her rudeness to you on the phone proves that.”

“Good. Now we move on. We will not trade, but we will not attempt to steal the mah-jong sets. What options does that leave us?”

There was a long silence, a very long silence as each of them weighed the options. At last, Shen spoke.

“Our only other option is to include the Monkey and the Ox.”

Pearl said, “But as we already discussed, training them is hardly an option. We would need to have their involuntary cooperation.”

Albert said hesitantly, “There is Righteous Drum’s spell, the one he used to steal some of our connection to our Earthly Branches. Could we use that?”

A look of purest distaste crossed Shen’s features, but he spoke politely enough. “I think not. Remember, Righteous Drum’s goal and our own are different. He wanted only the Earthly Branches. We want the ability for some or all of us to reenter the Lands.”

“So that won’t work,” Albert said, “and I don’t think we can expect to gain the cooperation of the current Ox, and especially the current Monkey because in his case not only would we need to get his cooperation, but that of his parents as well. Uncle Shen, I’m starting to think that Aunt Pearl might be right—that our only option is to get back those sets.”

“Hmm…” Shen said. He leaned back in his chair, folded his hands over his midriff, and closed his eyes. “I need to think. I’ll walk out to the garage and check on the prisoners. They’re still grateful enough not to be dead that they’re behaving well, but I promised to bring some books out.”

Pearl did not protest, but let herself work through the various options, looking for a way around this problem.

The best solution, I suppose, would be for us to drop out altogether, let Righteous Drum and the others find their own way home. If we did that, we would be breaking a promise—and thereby invalidating the treaty that protects us from them. The attack a week ago is ample proof that not
all those who are eager to go after the Thirteen Orphans would be nearly so interested in our physical welfare as Righteous Drum was.

Eventually, Shen returned. “Sorry I took so long. I had to unclog a toilet and explain the pipes couldn’t dispose of just anything.”

He sighed and settled into his chair. “I can’t think of another option—not another good one at least. I considered the possibility of having representatives of the indigenous magical traditions witness our meeting with Tracy Frye in the hope that they would somehow rein her and her allies in, but we would have no assurance that they would do so. In fact, they might decide to change their minds about not interfering in our private business, might decide that we are not competent. Then, in addition to dealing with the problems in the Lands, we would be facing well-organized opposition here.”

“So you agree that we need to reclaim the Ox and Monkey mah-jong sets?” Albert asked.

“On one condition,” Shen said, “that we meet first with Tracy Frye, and hear her conditions.”

Pearl stirred, and Shen turned an engaging grin on her.

“Pearl, it’s not that I don’t believe you’re right about her goals. I do. However, if we anticipate her, she can always claim that she never intended to try and force us to do her will. This way, it will be certain.”

The urge to move, to attack, to get something
done
was very strong, but Pearl forced herself to consider.

“All right, Shen. I agree. You’re probably right.”

“Very well,” Albert said, nodding that he agreed to Shen’s condition. “If we’re going to have to go after the mah-jong sets, we should consider who our opponents might be. We know about Jozef Ski, the Polish nationalist, but we didn’t get a clear look at the two who were with him. Any thoughts as to who they might have been—or who else might be involved?”

“I can think of one,” Pearl said, “who might be involved,
although I doubt he was one of those lurking by my garage. However, he has the money to be Tracy Frye’s financial backer and has ties to this coast. He made himself notable to me by how he went out of his way not to speak to either Shen or myself at the Rock Dove Society meeting, even though he has known us all his life.”

Shen looked mildly annoyed, as if he were going to demand that Pearl stop talking in riddles, then his face lightened. “Franklin Deng. Now that you mention it, I think you could be right. Franklin’s own magical tradition is Chinese in source, so he has been very interested in our tradition for a long time. So was his father. I believe the father called on my grandfather, pressing for shared information. He did not like being refused even what he called ‘theoretical discussion.’”

“Another reason,” Albert said, “Franklin Deng might be backing Tracy Frye is that he doesn’t like me, personally. Some years ago, he was putting together a line of frozen dinners built around Chinese menus. He even included a tea bag containing the jasmine tea so many restaurants serve. Knowing Americans have a sweet tooth, he wanted to include a dessert, but Chinese sweets don’t translate well to an American palate.”

“What about fortune cookies?” Shen asked.

“Oh, he already had that covered, except that in addition to the fortune, the cookie was also going to contain a coupon for another Deng’s Delights product.”

“So he came to you?” Shen asked, puzzled. “Wouldn’t chocolate as good as yours suffer from freezing and thawing?”

“My point exactly,” Albert agreed. “His idea was that he include a square of hot pudding cake, like you find on buffet steam tables—but to differentiate his product from the mob and maintain a Chinese cache, he wanted to have it be official Your Chocolatier pudding cake.”

“Not really!” Shen laughed.

“Really,” Albert said, “and Franklin didn’t like it when I turned him down. He pressed, pointing out all the free
advertising I would get in addition to his licensing fee. He didn’t like when I pointed out that I got more business from not advertising, from being so exclusive that you already had to be ‘in the know’ to get access to most of my product line.”

“I take it Deng didn’t care for that,” Shen said.

“He didn’t,” Albert agreed. “I think Des Lee has also annoyed him, back when they were both on a committee for some festival in Chinatown—something to do with accurate period costuming for some float.”

Shen chuckled. “With Des on the side of accuracy, no doubt. So several of our number have annoyed Deng on numerous levels. Do you think Tracy Frye will be staying with Franklin Deng?”

“She did say she was flying into San Francisco,” Pearl said, “not San Jose, although her ostensible reason for coming to California was to meet with us.”

“So you think he will be here, too,” Albert said.

“I think so. If we are correct, she is carrying two pieces of art Franklin has paid a great deal of money to possess.”

“Do you think he doesn’t trust her?” Shen asked.

“Would you?” Pearl said reasonably. “I wouldn’t, and if I can read her personality, I am certain Franklin can as well. He didn’t rise to his current prominence merely by being his father’s heir. He earned it.”

“How do we confirm our guesses?” Albert said. “Do we attempt mundane means? I could have someone find out what flight Tracy Frye is on, and then track where she goes from there, if anyone picks her up, things like that.”

“That might be best,” Pearl agreed, “and easier than tracking her magically. Do you have anyone in mind?”

“There’s a security firm I’ve used,” Albert said, pulling out his phone. “They’re reliable and discreet. Excuse me, and I’ll see if they can get on this right away.”

He took the phone into another room, and in a moment they could hear the murmur of his voice.

“Pearl,” Shen said, “do you think we should tell the others what we plan? Righteous Drum and his crew, I mean?”

“I think we must,” Pearl said. “They deserve to know we’re working on a solution to our mutual problem. Also, if something goes wrong, someone should know.”

“So you don’t think we should include them in our…” Shen pondered for a moment, then grinned. “… strike force? After all, they’re probably more powerful than you or me.”

“Absolutely not,” Pearl replied. “Doubtless they are powerful, but they also might do something just plain dumb like setting off an alarm system or leaving fingerprints. Also, right now this is the Thirteen Orphans against Tracy Frye and her consortium. If we include Righteous Drum and Waking Lizard, then it could be argued that instead of stopping an invasion, we’re aiding and abetting one.”

“You have a good point there,” Shen agreed. “I notice you didn’t mention Flying Claw or Honey Dream. Do you think we should move ahead, even if Des and the others aren’t back yet?”

“I do,” Pearl said. “Des planned to be gone only a day or so, but who knows what they will encounter? Our window of opportunity may be small. If Des and the others are back, great, but otherwise we need to move ahead.”

Shen looked at Pearl, shaking his head in mock dismay.

“To think we are contemplating something like this, at our ages.”

“You’re only as old as you feel,” Pearl retorted, “and right about now I feel like a kitten—a tiger kitten.”

The first
day in the guardian domains—or rather half day, for their meeting with Pai Hu carried them into the afternoon—passed quickly and enjoyably.

The twisting path led them through marvelous landscapes,
eventually ending in a glade that all but begged to be camped in. They took the hint.

Here Des changed from his elaborate shenyi into clothing more fit for travel. Honey Dream decided this was a good idea. However, she didn’t change into the casual clothing she had acquired in the Land of the Burning, but opted instead for a short upper tunic and loose trousers tied below the knee, attire such as she might have worn at home.

They woke at dawn the following morning, refreshed. Flying Claw had taken off his armor while they were in camp, but redonned it in the morning.

“The White Tiger of the West has been hospitable thus far,” he said, tightening a strap and rotating his shoulders to make certain the fit was right. “However, I would not put it past him to decide we need testing. In any case, sauntering around as if we were in some great park is so arrogant as to nearly invite such tests.”

Honey Dream wasn’t certain she agreed. Didn’t Pai Hu want their help? What good would it do him if they were all killed by his own denizens? She didn’t argue, though. Tigers might understand tigers better than snakes could do.

A path no one remembered having seen the night before had appeared to one side of the glade, and Des Lee decided to take a hint. They walked down the path slowly, letting breakfast settle, and trying to identify the various unseen birds by their songs.

“Does anyone,” Honey Dream asked, trying very hard to keep the apprehension that warred with annoyance in her breast from showing in her voice, “have the least idea where we are going?”

Des Lee, who was, along with her, the rear guard of their little band—Nissa and Brenda were in the middle, Riprap and Flying Claw in front—glanced over at her.

“We are going wherever the White Tiger of the West wishes for us to go,” Des said with cheerful mildness.

“Yes,” Honey Dream hissed. “I know that, but do any of you have the least sense where our own gate into this place
is to be found? I cannot imagine you have forgotten how we entered the West.”

“Through the White Tiger’s jaws,” Des said, “and I dearly hope he’ll spare us that journey on the return.”

Honey Dream shrugged as if that was of no import to her, although she wondered if she could make herself pass into that gaping maw again. It had been bad enough the first time, but the first time she could convince herself that the mouth was only illusion, that stepping through would be like passing through any more usual door. Knowing that it would not be, knowing she would be forced to tread that red tongue, pass beneath that ridged mouth top, between those fangs…

She caught herself as she was about to start wringing her hands, covered by moving to adjust the hang of one of the gourds on her belt.

“I hope so as well,” she said calmly, “but that will hardly matter if we cannot find the location of the gate. I do not think any of us would importune the White Tiger to come and serve us, would we?”

Flying Claw had his compass out, and was inspecting the reading. “If no other alternative suggests itself, then I suggest we use this to guide us as far west as possible, since that is where our gate is most likely to have penetrated. However, the White Tiger has use for us. I do not think he will waste our efforts—or his own—by leading us astray.”

As if Flying Claw’s words had been a charm of some sort (and for all Honey Dream knew, perhaps they had been), within a few steps the trail they followed curved and at the end of that curve was an open glade. Other trails left the glade, going off into the jungle in various mysterious and tangled directions. However, to one side stood a perfect prosaic unfinished pine door, the bar code from the hardware store still visible where it was stapled into the wood on one side.

“There is our exit,” Des said. He reached out and touched the doorknob. “Nicely locked. I can feel the Men Shen within. If any of us ask, they will open it for us, but I’m
willing to bet that anyone else entering this glade won’t even see there is a door here.”