Nine Gates (32 page)

“Your proposal is interesting,” Albert said, “but although you have honored me by acting as if this is a matter I can decide all on my own, I will need to consult the other Orphans.”

Shen cut in at this point. “I want to see the sets. We shouldn’t make any deals until we’re sure she has the real ones.”

Tracy Frye didn’t look offended at this, but then Pearl had long noticed that deal cutters usually expected to be doubted rather than believed.

“I have them with me,” she said.

Downhill lifted the briefcase up onto the bench and removed the Ox mah-jong set, immediately recognizable by the stylized animal painted in faded gold on the outside of the hinged box.

Shen opened the brass latch and began to make a deliberately fussy inspection of the contents, even going so far as to
pull a jeweler’s loupe from his pocket and closely inspect the carvings on some of the tiles.

When he finished, he closed the box lid and set the latch, making no comment other than to turn to Jozef Ski and say, “The other set?”

Downhill was clearly impressed, almost despite himself, and pulled out the Monkey set with deferential promptness. Tracy Frye was watching the proceedings with narrowed eyes, but she did nothing to stop her associate.

The box in which the Monkey set was kept showed some signs of water damage. When Shen sniffed disapprovingly, Tracy said, “Hey. I didn’t do it. Guy I bought it from said it had been stored in a basement rec room and a pipe broke. Pieces looked okay to me, and the set’s intact.”

Shen gave an abstracted nod, then subjected these pieces to an even closer inspection. When he had finished and politely returned the box to Ski’s custody, Shen turned to Albert.

“All is as it should be.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tracy asked sharply.

Albert turned a cool gaze on her, his eyebrows slightly raised. “Why that these are the genuine sets? What else could Shen mean?”

Tracy clearly wasn’t satisfied, but she couldn’t protest that Shen had done something illicit because he had not—and Pearl would have bet dollars to doughnuts that Tracy had been using some spell to make certain that none of them were violating their agreement to refrain from the use of magic.

I wonder if that in itself constitutes a violation
, Pearl mused, but she wasn’t about to raise the point.

“Very well,” Albert said, when Tracy did not reply to his question. “I believe we understand each other. I must contact those active members of the Orphans who are not present and explain the situation. How long may we have to come to a decision?”

Comfortable now that she believed herself in charge once more, Tracy Frye glanced at her watch. “It’s nearly eight
now. I think twenty-four hours should be sufficient. Let’s say eight tomorrow night.”

“Where may I phone you?” Albert asked.

“I’ll call you,” Tracy said. “Make sure your cell phone is on.”

“Very well,” Albert said. “I shall talk with you tomorrow.”

If not sooner
, Pearl thought as they made their polite farewells.
If not much, much sooner.

Despite the exotic creatures and weird landscapes—some of which could have come right out of a Chinese ink-brush painting—Brenda found herself studying Flying Claw as if the young warrior were more remarkable than fish with human faces or dogs that walked upright and wore garments that resembled bathrobes, both of which she had seen with her own eyes.

This would be their second—and last—night in the guardian domains, and Brenda had a desperate sense that if she was ever going to understand this enigmatic young man, this was the place to do it.

She knew they’d be back, but next time they’d be focused on the job, on getting the next gate opened, on finding—however one did that—the way to the Yellow Springs, springs that apparently had their source in a Chinese hell.

Brenda didn’t study Flying Claw too openly, though, not after she caught Honey Dream staring at her, her hand resting on her sheathed dagger, an expression of purest malevolence making her pretty face very ugly… and very frightening.

Brenda wished she could talk to Honey Dream, explain that far from coveting Flying Claw, she was actually growing increasingly uneasy around him. It wasn’t that Brenda was afraid he’d do any of them harm. He hadn’t been anything but perfectly courteous, and his quick and skillful reaction when Nissa had stumbled into the Yayu’s reach had certainly saved her from considerable injury, maybe even from being killed.

But hour by hour, even minute by minute, Brenda was coming to accept what both Pearl and Nissa had tried to tell her from the moment they had realized Brenda’s growing attachment to Foster: that Foster might be a very different person from whoever he had been before his own spell took his memory from him.

And yet
, Brenda thought.
The spell took his memory. It didn’t transform him. Foster was Flying Claw, just Flying Claw without all the baggage being the Tiger had put on him.

And not just “baggage,” Brenda had to admit, but skills and habits, most of which seemed centered around either hunting and killing or getting into position to do so.

Or
, she thought, watching Flying Claw as he skillfully kindled a fire with a bow drill,
to enable him to take care of himself while getting ready to hunt and kill. He’s really a frightening sort of person. I wonder if, after seeing him out here, doing his stuff, Nissa will let him babysit Lani anymore.

Yet Flying Claw had never harmed Lani, not even when the child grew absolutely exasperating. His kindness to her went beyond what was required by their mutual aide pact into what seemed like genuine affection.

Brenda had done a little campfire cookery when she was younger, but her skills didn’t go much beyond hotdogs on a stick and s’mores. Therefore, her job was to fetch water from a nearby stream and doctor it with Des’s foul-tasting tablets.

Des had advised Brenda to draw the water from where a waterfall plashed over a clean limestone face into a natural stone basin that overflowed prettily to feed the stream from the other side. The waterfall was a convenient distance from the campsite, close enough to provide fresh water without being so close that the sound of falling water would have covered the sounds of anything approaching and undermined the safety of the camp.

Almost too perfect
, Brenda thought.
I wonder if this is another of Pai Hu’s little “welcomes.”

She wasn’t quite right, but as she learned a few moments later, she wasn’t quite wrong either.

There were two buckets to fill, and the first took most of the water in the stone basin. Brenda held the second bucket to catch the water as it fell. As it grew heavy, she glanced into the bucket to see if it was full enough. What she saw nearly made her drop the bucket.

A face, like enough to her own that for a moment Brenda thought it a weird reflection, looked up at her from the troubled waters. Brenda might have screamed in surprise, but the thought of Honey Dream’s contemptuous response when she learned that Brenda had been frightened by her own reflection made Brenda swallow the scream and take a second look.

That second look was no more reassuring. This time Brenda saw that this could not be a mere reflection. For one, the face was older than her own, and more closely resembled that of Brenda’s mother, Keely, than Brenda’s, especially in the shape of the eyes. Then there was the matter of color—for this incongruous reflection that was not really a reflection was in color.

Whereas Brenda’s hair was such dark brown that it was nearly black, the reflection’s hair was a golden red. Brenda’s eyes were dark brown, but those of the reflection were a bright leaf-green. Then, too, the reflection’s skin was peaches and cream fair, where Brenda’s had a distinct ivory hue. These colors ruled out this apparition as some vision of Keely McAnally, for Keely’s coloration, although similar, blended browns into the mix: auburn hair, hazel eyes, and the tanned skin of a modern American woman who liked gardening and hiking.

Now Brenda tried to scream, for in her experience visions or dreams were best handled by group participation, but her mouth was dry and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Those leaf-green eyes studied Brenda critically, the full, lovely lips moving in a pleasant, amused smile that showed teeth as shining white as those of a toothpaste model.

“So, at last you are where we can look upon each other face-to-face. I am not entirely displeased. Nay, I believe I am quite pleased. From your gaze I can see, however, that you do not feel quite the same. Faith, child, I mean you no harm. Quite the contrary.”

The voice was gentle, holding in it the lilt of an Irish accent. However, despite the reassuring words, the gentle tone, Brenda’s heart hammered so hard in her chest that she thought she might pass out.

She tried to speak, and this time words came out, creaky and rusty from her dry mouth.

“Who are you?”

“I am a friend, child. Believe me in this. Your family has known me or mine for many generations, since the days your grandmother’s people still walked the green hills of Eire.”

“No…”

“Yes. Not wishing to believe will not change this, Brenda Morris.”

The vision in the bucket rippled, so that for a moment all Brenda saw was water. Then the woman with the red hair reappeared. This time she was frowning.

“I had hoped we could talk longer, but I see that is not to be. Perhaps you should not speak of this just yet.”

The leaf-green eyes narrowed, and although Brenda could only see the face, somehow she knew that slender fingers had moved in a complicated gesture.

“There. Be at peace. You will remember this, but it will not alarm you, nor will you think to speak of it. When you remember, you will think of it as you might a dream, a pleasant…”

The voice faded into splashing water. Brenda heard Des calling, “Can we at least have the first bucket? I want to mix some journeycake and get it baking.”

“Sure,” Brenda called. “I’ve got enough.”

A little voice in her head said,
Maybe more than enough
, but she dismissed this as nothing but a passing daydream.

After they
were back in her house and the wards stood between them and any possible eavesdropper, Pearl and Albert looked expectantly at Shen.

“The sets are the real things,” he said. “My grandfather helped make both, and through my role as his heir, I have established a connection with them. I feel absolutely certain I can find them, wherever Tracy or her allies might hide them.”

“Well, I’m glad you have some sort of connection to the sets,” Albert said. “I’ve been looking at Webcam photos of Delight Vineyards, and the estate sprawls over several acres. In addition to the main house, there are separate garages and various buildings associated with his vineyard.”

“I feel certain,” Pearl said, “Franklin will keep them in the house proper.”

“That’s big enough,” Albert said.

“Don’t get discouraged before we start,” Pearl said. “Franklin’s not going to have stored the mah-jong sets in the kitchen or pantries or anything like that. In fact, I think we can be almost certain that they’re either in his bedroom or in his office—especially if he has a safe there.”

“Another possibility,” Shen said, “is that the sets won’t be in the same place. Our auguries didn’t show a great deal of unanimity of spirit between him and Tracy Frye. It’s likely that each has one set.”

“Or neither does,” Albert offered. “And that Jozef Ski is holding on to them as something of a neutral party.”

“Don’t get discouraged before we start,” Pearl repeated. “Knowing we’d need to track the things down is why we had Shen check to make certain the resonance between him and the mah-jong sets still exists.”

Albert did not look reassured.

“Okay, Aunt Pearl, Uncle Shen, I’ve gone along with you to this point—mostly because I think you’re right. We don’t have any choice but to try and take those sets back. But now that I’ve had time to do some research I don’t know how we can pull this off.”

Shen laughed. “Wait a minute, Albert. I thought I was the reluctant one.”

“You were,” Albert admitted, “but I tried to tell you earlier…”

“And Shen told us he had a plan,” Pearl said. “It sounds as if he thinks he can make it work. Let’s hear him out before despairing.”

They had moved into the family room while they were talking, and now Albert collapsed back into one of the lounge chairs and let out an exasperated sigh that Pearl could hear even from the kitchen, where she’d gone to put on water for tea.

“All right, then you tell me how we’re going to break into a private estate—one that is walled and guarded and, I have no doubt, warded—and acquire not one, but two of what are probably currently regarded as the most valuable items in the place.”

“We’re not going to,” Shen said. “We’re going to have someone bring them out to us.”

Albert stared at him. “We are? Who? Downhill Ski? Are you going to bribe him to change sides?”

“Albert!” Pearl said sternly, putting a snap in her voice that she hadn’t used with Albert for decades. “Don’t be a child.”