Five Odd Honors (21 page)

“No, Righteous Drum,” Flying Claw said. “We are forming a scouting party. Already our numbers are sufficient to draw unwelcome attention. Remain in the Land of the Burning until we bring back information. Prepare magics against our probable need to go into battle.”

Albert said mildly, “Righteous Drum, Flying Claw does have a point. I’m certain we could all argue why we need to go along, but probably a smaller group will have a better chance of success.”

“Flying Claw speaks wisely,” Righteous Drum agreed with a sigh. “Very well.”

Twenty seven-Ten spoke, his tone of voice so polite that it managed to be insulting. “And so my comrades and I will be kept from the Lands even longer? I thought that the entire reason for taking us on this journey was because we were going home at last.”

“Circumstances have turned out,” Albert said, gesturing toward the swirling landscape on the other side of the Ninth Gate, “rather differently than we intended.”

Pearl added, her words a silky snarl, “Consider that we are doing you a kindness, my young friend. If the scouting group encounters your former associates,you might find your loyalties strained in dangerous directions. Best that others scout first, so you will be protected from undue influences.”

Twentyseven-Ten—so like Flying Claw in some elements of appearance and bearing, but coarsened, like a photo run through a low resolution scanner—narrowed his eyes with unspoken resentment, then nodded.

“Very well,” he said stiffly, “but don’t forget that our alliance with you was based upon the promise that we could return home.”

Pearl looked at him, and Brenda shivered a little at the naked contempt in the Tiger’s eyes.

“Fine. Just let me know when you want to return to being a prisoner. I’d be happy to arrange it—and this time the cells might not be so comfortable.”

A group
of seven was still large enough to be quite noticeable, and the ghosts immediately took steps to make their number less obvious. Loyal Wind changed himself into a chestnut horse that closely resembled his “deceased” magical companion, Proud Gamble. Nine Ducks took on her strong, solid ox form.

“We shall serve as mounts,” Loyal Wind said to Flying Claw and Riprap.

Riprap grinned. “Okay. I’ll go with that. Flying Claw, you’ve ridden on Loyal Wind before. If Ms. Nine Ducks d oesn’t mind my weight . . .”

“A feather,” the Ox replied, “but you might find my spine rather sharp. Do you have a blanket in that pack of yours?”

They worked out a makeshift saddle and Riprap hoisted himself astride.

Gentle Smoke, the Snake, said, “If I shift my form, I can ride on one of your arms or perhaps around your neck.”

Riprap shrugged. “Sure enough, ma’am. I’m not queasy about snakes, and seems to me I might need telling about what’s what here. This is a very strange place indeed.”

“Strange for me, too,” Flying Claw assured him. “Copper Gong, would you care to ride behind me?”

The Ram shook her head. “No. I think I would prefer that none of us are too heavily burdened. If I take my animal form, and Bent Bamboo his, then I will be able to carry him.”

Bent Bamboo chortled. Loyal Wind thought the Monkey was about to say something lewd, but perhaps remembering that even female Rams have horns—and quite solid horns at that—Bent Bamboo politely excused himself. When he returned, his shape was that of a long-armed, squat-bodied monkey, with a tail so short as to be almost nonexistent. He carried his clothing in his arms.

Conversation was minimal as they traveled, for adjusting to the peculiarities of their constantly changing surroundings took all their attention.

Flying Claw was taking the journey seriously. Repeatedly as they moved on, he took an elaborate compass similar to those used for feng shui readings from his pack and noted their progress on a makeshift map. After they had hiked for a few hours in more or less a straight line, he asked them to halt while he took another reading.

“At last,” Flying Claw said, relief lighting his face, “I have located Center.”

“Center is important,” Riprap said, showing something of a student’s eagerness to display his knowledge. “Des told us that the ideogram for China is the same as that for Center. Did you expect not to find Center?”

Flying Claw gestured at the chaotic, shifting landscape that still surrounded them.

“I had tried several times and failed. I was beginning to wonder if somehow it was gone. Removal of the center, the hub on which the other four directions turn, seemed quite possible given all of these other changes.”

“Center,” Copper Gong said, lipping idly at a bit of rust-purple grass. “The location of the Jade Petal throne, the prize of a hundred, even a thousand battles. Should we head there or avoid it? If our enemies survive, that is likely to be their base.”

“Eventually,” Flying Claw said, sliding his compass into a forest green brocade drawstring bag before putting it in its case, “we may need to go to the Center. However, I agree with Copper Gong that it is unlikely to be a safe location for us. I would prefer to scout the fringes, see if we can learn anything from the inhabitants, and then spiral in when we know more.”

“Inhabitants,” lisped Gentle Smoke from where she hung in her snake form about Riprap’s neck and shoulders. “We have seen none living thus far.”

After their return from the Ninth Gate, despite all the persuasion Pearl and Shen had turned on him, Gaheris Morris had kept to his threat to take Brenda away. He must have pulled some strings—or miracle of miracles, paid full price for two plane tickets—and by the next day he and Brenda were gone.

The day following the Morrises’ departure, the scouting party returned. Their report was not encouraging. They had found no humans. Those few hsien they met couldn’t tell them anything about how and why the Lands had been so tremendously altered.

“We’re going to need to go back,” Riprap said firmly, “and penetrate more deeply, see what we can learn.”

There had been considerable discussion about this and how best such a search could be conducted. In the end, the group of seven had been augmented by one. Des Lee had all but begged to go along.

“They’ll need magical support,” Des began.

“What about the former ghosts?” Pearl said, rather more sharply than she had intended. “They have magic.”

“Do they?” Des countered. “I’ve talked to them. Internal abilities, like shifting shape, still seem to work, but Nine Ducks told me that she has found storing ch’i for later use more difficult. She hopes it’s simply that she’s out of practice.”

“Why you?” Pearl pressed.

“Face it,” Des said. “Righteous Drum who, as I am the first to admit, would be the logical choice, simply isn’t up to the job. Too much of his magic relies on gestures he can no longer make. If he needs to rely on written charms, well, then, I’m more versatile.”

Shen joined the discussion. “How about Honey Dream?”

Des glanced at the Snake. “Honey Dream has already said she won’t leave her father.”

Pearl thought, judging from the look that flitted across Honey Dream’s face, that the young woman might be regretting that statement.

When the scouts had returned, Flying Claw had clearly been saddened—even upset—to find that Brenda had already departed. Clearly, Honey Dream would have liked to take this opportunity to renew her own pursuit of the young man, when Brenda would not be there to offer competition, but having proclaimed her filial piety so loudly, she could not without her motives seeming suspicious.

Shen nodded. “As the other Dragon, I know I’d be a logical choice, but frankly the events of these past few weeks have brought home to me that I’m simply not up to rough and tumble. I’m a good theoretician, but not a fighter.”

Pearl had thought about offering to go, but hesitated. Colm Lodge and the house in the Rose Garden were her properties, their residents her responsibility. And, although her broken hand was healing nicely, it was still not ready for use.

Moreover, earlier that day she had received a very discreetly worded note from Dr. Broderick Pike. The note had indicated that some people left unnamed—but Pearl didn’t doubt that Franklin Deng was one of them—had expressed concern as to the continued possible threat from the Lands. No. As much as she wanted to do so, Pearl couldn’t leave now, not merely to serve as a scout—and Des really would be a good choice.

After a day to rest and gather gear, the scouting party had departed once more, promising to check in daily if at all possible.

“Although it might not be,” Des had confided to Pearl. “I have a feeling that the erratic state of ch’i in the Lands is going to make direct magical communication difficult. We may need to relay messages through Righteous Drum’s friend the chiao, and then impose on one of the rulers of the guardian domains.”

“Pai Hu should be willing,” Pearl said, “as a favor between Tigers. He has not forgotten that if we had not intervened, he would not be in a position to help anyone.”

Des nodded. “That was my impression, too. I’d place a healthy bet the two events—that attack on the guardians and the current condition of the Lands—are connected.”

“And that would be a bet I would decline,” Pearl said, “but I cannot work out the connection.”

“Well, maybe we’ll learn something,” Des said. “We’d better.”

The day after the scouting party left, Deborah and Shen came to Pearl’s office shortly after breakfast.

“If you and Albert don’t mind,” Deborah began, “I’d like to go home to Michigan—at least until I’m needed for something definite.”

“And Umeko has been making noises,” Shen said, “asking if she should consider herself widowed. We have been gone quite a while—five weeks.”

Pearl nodded. After Gaheris’s departure with Brenda, then the scouting party’s initial, indefinite report, both she and Albert had expected something like this. Unlike Des and Riprap—both of whom held jobs that paid the rent, but didn’t exactly tie them down—Deborah and Shen had homes and families.

Deborah’s husband was a placid, home-loving workaholic who was probably getting along fine without Deborah, but Shen’s wife had a hotter, more artistic temperament.

And it wasn’t that long ago that Umeko believed Shen had suffered a stroke so severe as to alter his memory. I don’t blame her for wanting him back.

Within a few days, Shen and Deborah had departed.

Albert returned to his home in San Francisco. Although he called regularly, Pearl sensed he was somewhat relieved to give at least some attention to his home life and the business of Your Chocolatier.

Honey Dream and Righteous Drum continued to reside at Colm Lodge with Twentyseven-Ten, Thorn, and Shackles. Daily workout sessions continued.

Righteous Drum was working hard at schooling his body into alternate means of casting spells. Pearl knew that he was also struggling to learn to write well enough with his remaining arm to make the ink-brushed charms that served those from the Lands as the amulet bracelets did the Orphans.

Honey Dream, aware of her father’s basic defenselessness, had busied herself writing charms and spells for his use. As the days passed, she began to look thinner, a bit transparent even, and Pearl felt she must warn her to take care.

“You won’t be any good to anyone if your ch’i is so depleted that you cannot cast a spell. What if the scouts were to return at this very minute, telling us the time to act is now?”