Five Odd Honors (8 page)

From the
expression on Shen’s face when he came out of Pearl’s office several hours later, anyone could have guessed that Loyal Wind’s report had been anything but good.

Brenda had to admire Pearl for her poise. As Shen started to speak, Pearl held up her right hand in a gesture that was almost regal.

“Why don’t we call Colm Lodge and see if Righteous Drum, Honey Dream, and Flying Claw can spare some time? That way Shen only has to give his report once. Moreover, we won’t need to entertain the same speculations twice, but can move directly into a plan of campaign.”

Despite her eagerness to have her suspicions about what Loyal Wind had learned confirmed, Brenda joined her voice to those murmuring agreement. Pearl did have a point. If the Orphans shared any trait, it was the ability to talk any issue nearly to death—and the Landers deserved a fresh shot at the problem.

Besides, Brenda had thought she wouldn’t have a chance to see Flying Claw today. Now her heart lifted at the prospect.

Riprap asked, “Want me to call Colm Lodge?”

“Yes,” Pearl said. “Tell them we’ll be over in about a half hour. I’ll call Albert and see if he can meet us there.”

They took two vehicles, since the lot of them would have squeezed the seating in the van to its limits. Lani stayed behind with Wang, Pearl’s gardener, freeing Nissa to be merely the Rabbit, not also the Bunny’s Mom.

“I want Lani to learn about the Orphans naturally,” Nissa said with a light laugh, “but asking a two-and-a-half-year-old to sit through a meeting is anything but natural.”

Colm Lodge was another of Pearl’s properties. Unlike the house in the Rose Garden district in which Pearl lived, Colm Lodge was set on several acres of land and included a horse stable and associated outbuildings. The acreage made it relatively private—a very good thing, given the oddity of Pearl’s latest tenants.

There were six of them: five men and one woman. Any of the residents of the adjoining estates probably assumed the tenants were from China, for three of them spoke no English, and the other three preferred to speak Chinese except when absolutely necessary. In fact, without a very carefully tailored translation spell that make it possible for Brenda, Nissa, and Riprap to understand Chinese, someone—probably Des, because he loved such word games—would have constantly been employed interpreting between the groups.

However, it’s a good thing that no one around here speaks Chinese
, Brenda thought.
Otherwise, the neighbors would quickly realize what an odd form of the language Pearl’s tenants speak. Their lack of information regarding current events, both here and in China, also would be certain to raise eyebrows
.

When the vehicles disgorged their passengers at the top of an elegant circular driveway, the front door of Colm Lodge was opened by Righteous Drum. The Dragon from the Lands was a somewhat stout, middle-aged Chinese gentleman dressed in a pale yellow polo shirt and khaki trousers. The shirt’s sleeve hung empty at the right shoulder, a visible reminder of how dangerous their situation had become.

Righteous Drum’s hair was cut short, in the modern style, and he was clean shaven. Brenda personally thought Righteous Drum looked a lot like Chairman Mao, and no matter how many times Riprap—who had a thing about precision—pointed out to her all the ways the description didn’t match, Brenda stubbornly stuck to it.

Maybe it has as much to do with how Righteous Drum carries himself. I mean, any other guy his age would look really dumb, always dressing in shades of yellow, but Righteous Drum carries it off. He’s got that poise that says, “I’m a person of consequence,” or something.

“Righteous Drum,” Pearl said as she mounted the short flight of steps that led to the front door. She spoke the Chinese of the Lands. “Thank you for accepting this invasion. We apologize for giving you such short notice.”

Righteous Drum smiled graciously, and opened the door wider.

“We expected some sort of visit today,” he replied in the same language, “especially when Riprap phoned to inform us that your household would not be joining ours for practice. Come in. Have you eaten?”

Brenda knew this last was a traditional Chinese greeting, and knew the proper response was to state that she had. Therefore, even though some wonderful odors drifting from the back of the house made her stomach rumble, she joined the others in saying she was well fed.

“Even so,” Righteous Drum said, and a twinkle in his eyes made Brenda wonder just how good his hearing might be, “my daughter, Honey Dream, is setting out a few refreshments and a variety of beverages. This house hold hopes you will avail yourselves of our hospitality.”

He gestured in the direction of the large formal living room that was set to one side of the entry foyer. Extra chairs had been brought in from other parts of the house. Brenda counted seating for eleven, and Righteous Drum answered the unspoken question.

“When your phone call came, I had the impression that we might be discussing sensitive matters. I thought that perhaps it would be best if the three who until very recently were our prisoners were not admitted into conferences that, after all, are related to matters of the Twelve.”

Pearl nodded, and no one else objected.

Brenda thought “The Twelve” was a rather loose way of describing their company, for the Orphans counted their full number as thirteen. She, technically, was not even one of those thirteen, since her father, Gaheris Morris, was still alive and still actively the Rat.

But Gaheris, as soon as the battle of Tiger’s Road was concluded, had departed San Jose. He ran his own business, Unique Wonders, and seemed to feel everything would fall apart if he wasn’t on hand to meet with clients.

Brenda joined Riprap and Nissa, who were heading out into the kitchen. Helping out had been the rule in the Morris house hold, and although Pearl still had her gardening service and maid service call at both residences, most of the time they all did for themselves. Matters were too sensitive—too flat-out weird—to permit outsiders easy, unsupervised access.

In the kitchen they found Honey Dream. Honey Dream did not resemble her father, Righteous Drum, in the least. In age, she was probably somewhere between Brenda and Nissa. Slender as the Snake that was her affiliate, Honey Dream managed to be voluptuous as well.

The red tee shirt she wore had a deeply scooped neckline, embellished with lacy beadwork flowers in contrasting crystal. Honey Dream wore shorts that were not as short as some Brenda had seen her wear, but that nonetheless admirably displayed the length of her legs. One bare ankle was looped with a tattoo of a small snake. Honey Dream’s long, ink-black hair was caught up in what looked like a casual style, but Brenda had tried something like it, and knew how difficult it was to pull off. To Brenda, that hairstyle gave away the effort Honey Dream had put into her appearance.

As always, Honey Dream’s sensuous physicality made Brenda all too aware that she herself was nearly as flat-chested and narrow-hipped as a boy. She swallowed a sigh and reached for one of the trays of dainties that stood on a counter waiting to be carried into the next room.

“Thanks, Brenda,” Honey Dream said, and those two words emphasized more than anything else that one thing had changed about Honey Dream. Unhappily, for Brenda’s recurring insecurities, if anything the change made the other woman more lovely.

Gone was Honey Dream’s prickly arrogance, replaced by something almost approaching humility. Honey Dream, perhaps more than any of them, had been tested by recent events. The solicitude with which she brought Righteous Drum his tea and a little plate of delicacies showed that Honey Dream had not yet forgotten how recently she had thought her father dead.

Riprap had stepped into a back pantry, and now he emerged carrying trays of glasses. He was accompanied by Flying Claw, the Tiger of this group, and the subject of a great deal of heady daydreaming on Brenda’s part.

Flying Claw was a counterpart for Honey Dream’s physical beauty, but there was nothing in the least feminine about him. He was neither as tall nor as obviously muscular as Riprap, but Brenda had seen Flying Claw hold his own and then some against the much larger man—and not only because Flying Claw had trained in fighting arts since he was a small child. There was strength in the young Tiger, as well as beauty, and grace to balance the strength.

Unlike Righteous Drum, who had cut his hair better to blend into modern America, Flying Claw still wore his hair long, nearly as long as that of any of the young women. Today he had it caught back with a series of silver pony tail holders that were ornamental even as they kept his hair from getting in his face. Brenda suspected Des’s hand in the choice of jewelry. The Rooster had a distinct sense of style, and had taken it upon himself to act as buyer and fashion consultant for the strangers.

Brenda knew that Flying Claw was related to Pearl—a not-so-distant cousin—and that physically he resembled Pearl’s father, Thundering Heaven, the source of their current problem.

I wonder if Pearl’s going to get all prickly with Flying Claw again,
Brenda thought, glancing over at the older woman anxiously.
She’s only just barely started treating him like he’s human. Now that I think about it, I wonder how Flying Claw’s going to take the news about Thundering Heaven. I mean, Pearl’s dad was his idol, the whole reason he studied to become a Tiger. This could be really bad.

A knock at the front door announced Albert Yu. Like Des Lee, Albert’s heritage was ethnically Chinese, and like Des, Albert was something of a flamboyant figure, although in a completely different fashion.

Des wore his hair and beard like those of a Chinese immigrant of a hundred or so years ago. If Albert resembled anything out of Chinese history, it was the idea of the exotic Orient as embodied by the stage magician. His dark hair was worn long enough to cover the top of his collar. His chin beard and full mustache were neatly trimmed yet saturnine, just a little wicked . To d ay, as most times Brenda had seen him, Albert wore a neat business suit. His only concession to the early August heat was the absense of a jacket and a slight loosening of his tie.

Brenda thought that, despite his neat attire, Albert looked rather haggard.

And no wonder. Albert is trying to run his fancy chocolate business, but unlike Dad he doesn’t keep cutting out on us. He’s really serious about being the leader of the Thirteen Orphans, but in a way, he’s like me. He has a place, but he doesn’t. I mean, there were twelve exiles, each tied to the zodiac. He’s the Cat, descendant of a kid who himself was a son of an emperor who got overthrown. What good is an emperor without an empire—who hasn’t had an empire for three generations?

Brenda knew some of her thoughts were colored by her father’s rivalry with Albert—a rivalry that dated back to when they were both boys. She also knew she was reacting to the fact that—unlike Gaheris Morris—Albert was here. He had a job. He had his own business, but he was here. By comparison, her own dad fell short.

Although with Albert’s arrival their company was technically complete, every chair filled, still they all felt the absence of Waking Lizard.

But that rascally old Monkey won’t be joining us,
Brenda thought sadly.
He won’t be here to puncture Righteous Drum’s pomposity with a casual “Drummy” or pull the best of the egg rolls right out from Riprap’s fingers with a dart of those long fingers. Damn. I hope I don’t start crying. . . . Somebody had better start talking or I think I’m going to lose it.

Perhaps sensitive to the prevailing tension, Albert assumed the role of informal chairman with a natural assumption of leadership that wasn’t in the least offensive.

“Shen, will you tell us what Loyal Wind reported?”

“Nine Ducks, actually,” Shen said. “Loyal Wind began the report, but he was weaker than he had wanted to believe, and Nine Ducks took over. You see, it seems that Loyal Wind’s meeting with Thundering Heaven went a bit out of control. Loyal Wind, well, he overstepped himself.”

Shen then proceeded to recount with just the right mixture of dry fact and sensational detail the encounter between the three ghosts.

Brenda listened with a mingling of anger and dismay. Yes, they had all had expected Thundering Heaven’s ultimatum, but this . . . Despite everything Pearl had said about her father, despite everything Thundering Heaven’s callous dismissal of his daughter and heir had implied about him, she had not expected him to be so vicious.

Shen finished by relating Nine Ducks’s assertion that she believed that given time Loyal Wind would recover from his injuries. Silence fell, broken only by the sound of melting ice cubes shifting in the pitcher of lemonade.

Then Albert asked the question they were all thinking.

“Well, Aunt Pearl. How do you think we should respond to Thundering Heaven’s ultimatum?”

Pearl was parting her lips to give what was doubtlessly a carefully considered reply when she was interrupted from a very unlikely corner.

Springing to his feet, his silver-ringed hair snapping behind him like a tiger’s tail, Flying Claw almost snarled the words, “There is only one answer that is acceptable. Pearl is your Tiger. Nothing must change that. Nothing!”

Brenda was astonished at the ferocity of the young man’s words. Until very recently, Pearl had been far from kind to Flying Claw. True, Pearl had never been precisely cruel, but Brenda felt Pearl had done little enough to earn this loyalty. Judging from the expressions on the faces of several of those present—Pearl herself included—Brenda was not the only one to think so.