Fox and Phoenix (22 page)

“But rumors—”

“—are watered by truth,” Quan said impatiently. “The truth is that the emperor wants to expand the empire. He's spent his entire reign doing that. There used to be a dozen small principalities—city kingdoms like Lóng City—along the edges of the mountains. Most still call themselves kingdoms, but the truth—” Here Quan made a face as though he'd bitten a very green peach. “The truth is that those kingdoms have become fiefs to the Phoenix Empire. The emperor showers them with trade treaties, loans for building new roads, all kinds of favors. In return, he receives what he wants most. Their magic.”

I'd run out of whistles by this point. “Why does the emperor want so much magic?”

“It's not what he wants, it's what he
needs
. Desperately. Haven't you noticed how much magic the empire requires?”

He babbled on about mega-kilowatt currents and the special transmitters used to funnel the magic flux around the empire. Most of the magic flowed into Phoenix City, but the emperor had plans to build vast dams and holding tanks, so he could replace the wind-and-magic trains with ones running on pure magic. He wanted to build a network of calcu-lors to span the continent, not just the empire.

It's wrong,
I thought.
Wrong and dangerous. Magic is like rain. You can't catch a storm cloud and squeeze it dry. Even if you could do that, you'd cause a drought.

That's when cold washed over me. The emperor had already caused one drought—in Snow Thunder City. Maybe other kingdoms had promised all their magic flux to feed the Phoenix Empire's demands.

“Now the stock markets are in danger,” Quan went on. “People thought they could make their fortunes buying futures in magic flux. And that is why he wants this marriage. Once he gains that, it doesn't matter if Lian remains here or returns home. He will load her with advisors—his advisors—and rule through her. And by ruling Lóng City, he will rule its magic wells and currents.”

The part about buying futures didn't make sense to me, but even an idiot like me could understand the reasons for taking over Lóng City.
He won't stop with us,
I thought.
Once he conquers Lóng City, he can take over the rest of the Seventy Kingdoms, one by one.

I shivered at the vision of the emperor's minions scattered all over Lóng City like ticks on a dog. “What can we do?”

“We help Lian escape. I have a plan.”

I snorted. “It better be a good one. That palace is stuffed with watching and listening devices.”

“I know. I'm depending on you and Yún to help for that part. Once you're outside the palace, certain friends of mine can get us outside the city. They . . . Let us say that they are familiar with certain unofficial routes under the walls.”

Smugglers. Okay, that sounded more like it.

“How and where and when?” I said.

“Tomorrow morning. Early. Tell Lian to pretend she's visiting her advisors at the university. My friends and I will wait behind the kitchen quadrant, near the servant gate. Bring nothing extraordinary. No extra bags. I'll make sure to provide anything she needs—clothes, gear, food.”

“What about money? We can smuggle that out.”

There was the briefest flicker of pain in Quan's normally impassive eyes. “I do not ask her for money.”

Okay. Note to self: Get money anyway. Don't tell Hero Boy.

A sensible person would have kept his mouth shut. A sensible person would listen to Quan's plans and trot back to the palace to report to his princess. But as my mother said too many times, I was not the most sensible person in the world.

Which is why I blurted, “Why
did
you ask Lian for money?”

Quan stopped abruptly and stared at me. His face turned dark with anger. No, shame. Then he blew out a shaky breath. “I suppose that's a fair question.”

Maybe-so-or-not, but I wasn't going to object.

“It was for a hospital,” Quan said.

“A what?”

“A hospital,” he said patiently. “For the Beggars' Quarter. I'd raised enough money to rent an old warehouse that nobody was using. Some of my friends at the medical school offered their time, and we had others who donated equipment. We had opened a few rooms for a day clinic, but we hoped to do more. Surgery. A druggist. Then, a month ago, the landlord came to me demanding a higher rent or he'd cancel our lease.”

“Cancel? Isn't that illegal?”

He made a dismissive gesture. “There were loopholes. I'm not a lawyer. I can't afford one.”

The story made so much sense. And yet it didn't.

“Why didn't you tell Lian it was for a hospital?” I said suspiciously. “What about that woman at court who gave you money?”

Now Quan looked truly embarrassed. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and stared at his feet. “I tried to tell her,” he said. “I thought I did. But I was so distracted that I did not express myself as well as I hoped. And. And there were other circumstances. You see, I chose a particularly unfortunate day to ask her for such a great favor. Afterward, she would not hear me, nor would her fox spirit listen to my companion.”

I swallowed, thinking of a hundred reasons why Lian would misunderstand a good friend.

(A lover. A very new lover.)

(Yeah, Lian said almost that much herself.)

“If she asks,” Quan said softly. “Tell her that the other woman is a friend of my family, nothing more. I asked her for money, yes, but only to help with the hospital.”

After a few more moments of us not looking at each other, we circled back to the alley way behind the Scarlet Lotus Noodle House, talking over fall-back plans and other details. Quan took off to find his smuggler friends. I returned to the caravan offices, then zipped back to the palace on the next tram. My magical medallion got me past the guards without any questions. One of them even told me the best shortcuts between the entrance and Lian's rooms. If only we didn't have to worry about kings dying and emperors trying to take over the world (or at least the Seventy Kingdoms), the palace could be a pretty sweet set of digs.

And if wishes were crickets, we'd never get any sleep,
I thought as I rounded the last corner onto the wing where Lian had her quarters.

Right away, I scurried back.

The emperor. Here in the same wing as Lian's suite. Maybe I had imagined it, I told myself.

Cautiously, I peered around the corner and ducked back even faster this time. It
was
the emperor, striding down the gallery with at least a hundred minions trailing after him. A young nobleman dressed in silks and jewels strode next to the emperor. One of the emperor's sons—had to be. Even this far away, I could see the resemblance between them.

(Any bets which one?)

(The youngest, of course.)

Brisk sharp tones echoed from the approaching entourage. Old man. Young man. Neither of them happy. Oh, the words they spoke were all polite, slipping off their tongues like thrice-filtered oil, but I could hear the discord underneath. Something about marriage, obedience, duty toward the empire. Definitely the youngest son. Were they talking about Lian? Curious, I leaned forward, thinking I could overhear them better as they walked past.

Emperor and son rounded the corner and stopped.

Hurriedly, I dropped to my knees. My forehead touched the marble tiles as the emperor swept past in a whisper of voluminous robes. Invisible, I was just one of ten thousand invisible servants in this palace. No one noticed me. I was safe. I was—

Two slippered feet stopped in front of me. The scent of musk and sandalwood floated down from above.

I held my breath. Whoever it was didn't move on. Some self-important flunky? Or maybe a senior invisible servant who wanted to critique my style in groveling? I dared a glance upward and had to choke back a squeak. Double-damn. It was the emperor's youngest son.

His eyes were dark slits in a narrow face. His scarlet-painted lips were set in a thin line. Magic glittered over his shaved head, making him look more like a skeleton than ever. I'd seen friendlier expressions on a gargoyle.

“Mountain Boy,” he said. “What are you doing here? Spying?”

(Play stupid. You're good at that.)

I grinned.

Wrong move. The prince flicked his hand up, ready to slap me.

“Mei-shan.” It was the emperor. “Do not torment the servants. I expect better from you.”

The prince muttered a curse and stalked away. My breath trickled out. Safe, safe, safe. But then I caught a glimpse of the emperor. He, too, continued down the corridor, but not before letting his keen glance pass over me.

 

 

 

TWO HOURS LATER, Yún, Lian, and I sat around an old battered table in a storage room next to the basement library. Lian had given the excuse that she needed to research tax codes from the Seventh Imperial Reign for a paper. We were there to take notes and run errands. It was quiet here, nothing but scrolls and books and paper dust spinning around in the musty air, glittering in the faint light of a single shaded lantern. The griffin paced back and forth, leaving tiny dusty tracks over every available surface.

Lian listened intently as I reported everything about my meeting with Quan. And I mean everything. What he said, how he said it. What he left out or tried to skip over. When I mentioned the part about the money, she flinched. When I got to the part about why he wanted the money, she sat as still as any mountain.

Finally, I ran out of report. My throat was parched from dust and worry. Yún handed me a flask of water, and I drank. Lian said nothing.

“Do you trust him?” Yún asked after a moment.

The silence went on for almost forever. “I believe him,” Lian said at last.

Not an answer to the question, but an answer.

L
IAN SENT OFF A NOTE TO HER ADVISOR, REQUESTING an interview the following morning. She explained about her father and wished to discuss how she might continue her studies over the winter. She expected to return next spring, and hoped to attend her regular classes once more.

“Very nice,” Yún commented. “Very . . . sincere.”

“My studies in political rhetoric were useful, then,” Lian said drily.

She summoned a runner and gave him the message and directions for its delivery. The runner, an older man in palace livery, promised to return with the reply before sunset.

“Twenty yuan says the emperor hears of my plans within the hour,” Lian murmured.

A sucker bet. Yún and I just shook our heads.

The reply came back from Lian's advisor long before sunset. Ten o'clock, the professor wrote. Please to bring notes and drafts for any current research papers, as well as a list of materials available for her studies in Lóng City. His tone made it clear he thought the list would be a short one. Lian's lips curled. “Alas, he would be correct. Our libraries are nothing like the libraries in Phoenix City.”

“Are you sorry to leave?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I am only sorry that my father is ill.”

There wasn't much I could say to that one. We ate an early dinner together, mostly to satisfy the spies and vid-cameras, then went to our separate rooms and to tense, scattered slumber with ominous shadow dreams.

 

 

 

AT SIX O'CLOCK, the brass clock chimed its alarm.
Chirp, chirp, chirp.
Swearing, I fired a pillow at the cursed thing. The clock chirped louder. Then something bounced off the bed with a rattle of wings. The next minute, there was a horrible crunching noise.

Oops.

I lurched into a sitting position. Screws and broken glass littered the floor. A puddle of dark gooey liquid was spreading over the carpet. It looked like blood; it smelled like oil. Across the room, the griffin clutched a jumble of wires and shiny metal between its front claws. Yāo-guài shot me a triumphant glare, then bit into the clock's remains. I swear the little monster was chortling.

“Remind me to feed you more often,” I said.

Still chortling, Yāo-guài set to munching his kill.

At least I'd be long gone before the steward could charge me for damages.

Remembering the spy cameras, I tried to act like this was a regular day. I scrubbed my face, cleaned my teeth. I dressed in my thinnest cotton tunic and trousers, as though I expected to spend all day in the palace, instead of escaping to the northern mountains.

It took some skill (and blood) to separate the griffin from the clock. Yāo-guài hissed and growled, but in the end allowed me to carry him away. As we left the room, I glimpsed the magical tea tray, crouched just inside its slot in the wall. Quickly it ducked out of sight.

Yún waited outside. She gave me a nervous smile.

“Let's go,” I murmured.

“Well put,” she murmured back.

Lian waited for us in the same small parlor from two days before. Jewels winked from her raven-black hair, and more lights—magical ones—glinted on her dark blue formal robes, which swept in a long train behind her. She looked like a star-filled midnight sky. But when she turned around, I could see the tight set of her jaw.

“Please sit,” she said, gesturing to the chairs. To a hovering maid, she said, “You may bring the tea now.”

She was silent until the tea service arrived and the maids withdrew. Then she laid an exquisite perfumed scroll on the table. “Read it,” she said softly.

Yún and I glanced at each other. “Bad news?” Yún whispered.

“Read it,” Lian repeated.