Thirteen Orphans (22 page)
“Back up,” Nissa said. “You’re saying that since Foster talks this other form of Chinese, that must mean he’s from this other land. What if he was tutored by someone who knew the language, like Gaheris Morris was? Then he could be from here.”
“Possible,” Des said, “but Gaheris talks other languages. English. Mandarin. Foster talks only this. Seems to limit the options.”
“I have been thinking something similar,” Pearl said. “During our drive, I tried to catch Foster out, but either he is a superlative actor, or his ignorance is real.”
“But he talked English in the parking garage,” Brenda said. “I heard him.”
“Obviously,” Pearl said, “we cannot yet resolve where Foster is from, and I think that Nissa is right that we should not be too quick to dismiss the possibility that his origin is local. However, this question of language also brings us around to the question of why Foster has amnesia. I believe I have a somewhat better understanding of why the others have amnesia as well.”
She reached into her pocket and drew out a small silk-covered box, opened it, and displayed something Brenda had seen in the photos Nissa forwarded to her phone, but not in person: a crystal sphere, a bit larger than a large marble. Imprisoned in the sphere was an amazingly lifelike three-dimensional image of a tiger—lifelike, except that it was green.
“This,” Pearl said, “is Foster’s memory, or rather, the memory of the Tiger.”
Pearl watched the expression on each of the three young people’s faces as she displayed the crystal sphere. Riprap looked respectful, even apprehensive. Nissa looked fascinated, as if she’d just learned that what she’d taken for a bit of dime-store jewelry was a priceless heirloom.
Brenda’s reaction was the strangest. She looked a little sick, but when she leaned forward to examine the sphere her expression flickered through a gamut of emotions: apprehension, loathing, interest, and what Pearl would have sworn was something like wistfulness. Maybe she was simply wishing that her father’s memory was so close to hand, but Pearl wasn’t sure. She’d seen how Brenda looked at Foster, and it was clear the young woman was fascinated by him—an unhealthy fascination, like that a bird feels for the serpent.
“Foster’s memory, the Tiger’s memory,” Riprap said. He reached for his coffee mug, found it empty, and refilled it. His spoon clanked against the sides as he stirred in sugar. “You’re talking like they’re one and the same. In Mr. Morris’s case, they were pretty separate.”
Des glanced at Pearl, and at her nod took it upon himself to answer the question.
“Pearl and I have discussed this a little,” he said. “The theory we’ve come up with is that the spell in question—the one that we saw written on that piece of paper you gave us, Riprap, the same one Pearl used on Foster—is meant to separate all memories of Dogness or Tigerness or Roosterness from the current member of the Thirteen. In Mr. Morris’s case, being the Rat was important, but it did not touch many other aspects of his life. Moreover, because of the kind of man he is, outgoing, social, a bit—sorry, Brenda—opportunistic …”
“That’s Dad,” Brenda agreed. “Go on.”
“Because of that, Gaheris tended to make connections outside of their shared roles with those heirs of the Thirteen he knew. He did business with them, befriended them, whatever seemed most appropriate. That means, when his Ratness was taken, he didn’t forget these people, his mind simply bridged the gap. If he was really pressed for how he happened to know someone, he might get uncomfortable, but he’s facile. He’d come up with something.”
Pearl took up the thread. “In Albert’s case, though, well, Brenda, even you who didn’t know him well saw that something was not right. We suspect that this was because so much of who and what Albert is … was … is linked with being the Cat. Unlike Riprap or Nissa, who knew they had an interesting heritage, but not much more, or you, who would have gotten something of a formal initiation, Albert grew up knowing he was the grandson of the exiled emperor of a fairy-tale land. It colored everything he did. When his Catness was taken from him, his personality changed.”
“But Albert didn’t forget people,” Des added, “because he had manufactured excuses for him to know about the Thirteen and their families, to seek information about them. Are you with us?”
“With,” Nissa said, “and maybe a bit ahead. You’re saying that Foster was reared to be the Tiger. He probably started training for his role when he was just a boy. Maybe he had an ambitious family, maybe the person he was to succeed was old and there was no time to waste. Whatever, he’s the Tiger and has always been the Tiger, and when you take that away, he can’t even remember his name. We’re probably lucky he can talk at an adult level.”
“Just so,” Pearl said. “Moreover, like Albert, Foster may have suffered something of an alteration of personality. The man you and I met, Nissa, was willing to attack an old woman and a young mother with a sword. It is likely that the real Tiger is as vicious and ruthless as his namesake beast can be. We must not forget that, not for a moment.”
Pearl tried not to look too pointedly at Brenda as she spoke these words, but she saw the younger woman color and look down at the table, avoiding anyone’s gaze. Fine. Brenda had been warned. Hopefully, that would be enough.
Riprap was looking thoughtful. “I think I’m following why Foster would also forget how to speak English and details like who we are—although he must have known, in order to stalk us. Those things would have been tied very tightly to being the Tiger.”
“Precisely,” Des said. “It might even be more than that. It is possible that Foster never really spoke English.”
“We heard him,” Brenda protested.
“I know. Hear me out. He may have learned English through a spell. That spell would have been on the Tiger, not on Foster—or whatever his real name is. If he was given information about us, our appearances, habits, et cetera, through a spell, that also would have been the Tiger who was ensorcelled. It’s completely possible that if Foster regains his memory, he still will be unable to speak English or remember us. The spells will have been broken.”
“Regain his memory,” Nissa said. Pearl watched as she extended a finger as if to touch the crystal sphere. “Can we help him to regain it? Do we want him to regain it?”
“That,” Pearl said, “is precisely what we need to discuss next. Before we discuss whether or not we should break the spell, I need to confess that neither Des or I are certain if we can even do so.”
Pearl saw that while Nissa and Riprap accepted her words at face value, Brenda was less certain. Brenda didn’t go as far as protesting, but doubt flickered across her features, doubt mingled with concern.
Des must have seen this as well, because he hastened to clarify.
“Although both Pearl and I received some magical training, there is a difference between knowing a skill, and being able to adapt those skills creatively.”
Riprap nodded. “I’ve seen the same problem over and over again with the kids I coach. Most can learn the rules for whatever game we’re playing. Almost all of them can memorize plays. Fewer can evolve and adapt those plays when the circumstances change. The real geniuses are those who not only come up with their own plays, but see how their changes are going to affect the game—even the entire team.”
“That’s it,” Des agreed. “Pearl and I are equivalent of your beginning players. We’ve memorized plays. We’re even good within those limitations, but we’ve never really had need to adapt what we know.”
Nissa grinned mischievously. “I’d think that would be what you’d want to do right off … Spread your wings. Find your own way to do things.”
“You’ll think differently once you’ve done some work with spells yourself,” Des said, glancing over at Riprap and Brenda, who nodded agreement.
Brenda tried to explain. “One of the first things Des did with us was show us how working with magic attracts—attention is the only word I can think of. You can set up shields against anybody interfering …”
“Anybody weaker than your shield, that is,” Des cut in. “Sorry. Go on. Pearl’s glaring at me for going off on another tangent.”
Brenda went on. “But even those shields are noticeable, like if you erected a wall up around your house. Your neighbors wouldn’t be able to see in, but they’d sure wonder what you were doing behind that wall that you didn’t want them to see.”
Nissa fingered her teacup, spinning it around and around on her saucer.
“I understand,” she said. “Working in the pharmacy isn’t much different, really. You don’t mix pills and powders at random, just because you think they’d work well together, maybe even beneficially. You think about drug interactions, even with something as basic as calcium or iron supplements. I had a client who gave herself stomach problems taking aspirin with orange juice. Too much acid. Okay. I’ll admit that maybe experimentation isn’t as great a temptation as I thought it would be. What you’re saying is the spell to release imprisoned memory isn’t in your pharmacopoeia?”
“At least not thus far,” Des agreed. “We’re both still working through our lists, seeing if anything seems promising, but an immediate solution hasn’t presented itself.”
“There isn’t an ‘open sesame’ spell?” Brenda asked. “I’d think something like that would be very useful, even routine.”
“‘Say friend and enter,’” Des quoted. “Oh, there is, but that’s for opening simple closures, like basic locks. There’s another one that will throw back a bolt, but that’s a summoning, rather like the Dragon’s Tail. Neither of those would work in this case, partially because of the medium in which the memory is being held.”
He looked over at Pearl, who slid the silk-lined box containing the crystal sphere over to him. He took the sphere out, and held it up for their inspection.
“This isn’t glass. It’s natural rock crystal. Quartz, I’d guess, although we haven’t had it tested. Now, in Chinese mythology, natural rock crystal is anything but natural. There are two theories as to its origin. One is that it is formed from ice that has remained frozen for so long that it has turned to stone.”
“Like petrified wood,” Riprap said, “only this would be petrified water. Makes sense, really, especially since Des told us that wood and water were two of the five elements, right? I mean, if wood can turn to stone, why not water?”
Des all but beamed. Pearl thought that Riprap probably had been a good player—one of those who learned the plays and adapted them.
“The other source for rock crystal,” Des went on, “is even more arcane. You find it written up in more detail in Japanese sources, but there is little doubt that the belief was originally Chinese. Rock crystal is thought to have formed from either the congealed breath or the saliva of dragons.”
“Dragons,” Brenda said. “That was mentioned in the spell Riprap showed us, something about giving into the dragon’s hold.”
Des quoted, “‘Silence the Dog’s mind. Send it forth into the Dragon’s care.’ Exactly. So it’s likely that not only is rock crystal the medium, but that at least one dragon—maybe more—has been ensorcelled into the task of guarding what is within the crystal. Any attempt to release what the crystal holds, without getting the procedure perfectly right, would bring the guardian.”
Brenda touched the plaques in her Dragon’s Tail bracelet.
“And I’m willing to bet,” she said, “that it wouldn’t be a relatively mild dragon like we contacted for these.”
“That,” Des replied, “would be a very fair assumption.”
Silence fell as everyone considered this. Riprap started the coffeepot around the table. Pearl did the same for the tea. When everyone was settled in, Brenda broke the silence.
“But we need to figure out how to break the sphere, don’t we? I mean, we’ll need to know if we’re going to get my dad’s memory back. I know Dad probably isn’t the most important one for you guys. Albert Yu probably is, since the Twelve are his guardians and keepers. But for me it’s Dad.”
“I’ve known your father since he was a boy,” Pearl said. “Believe me, setting him right is important to me as well.”
Brenda looked apologetic, but Pearl waved a hand.
“You’ve raised a crucial point. Whether or not we choose to return Foster’s memory, we will almost certainly need to know how to safely open the crystals if we are to help his victims.”
“I’m with you,” Riprap said, “but would it be right to leave Foster without his memories? Don’t get mad at me, Brenda, but Mr. Morris is doing all right without his. Sounds like this Albert Yu might even be doing better. From what I’ve heard, he’s acting a lot less uptight, a lot less full of himself. But Foster, he’s got nothing. He can’t even remember his name.”
“How can you miss what you don’t know you don’t have?” Pearl said, but knew she was being callous and immediately amended the statement. “No. I don’t seriously agree with that. Foster may not know his name, but he knows he should have one. The same goes for all the other victims.”
Nissa added, “Sometimes it’s the things you can’t remember that drive you nuts. I’ve not been able to get to sleep at night, knowing there’s something I should remember. Then I realize it’s something stupid, like putting ketchup on the grocery list, and I feel dumb. Dumb but relieved. It’s got to be worse for Foster. I know you said we should be careful around him, but he seems nice. Not having his memory isn’t going to make him nicer.”
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