Nine Gates (18 page)

Magic did exist in this world, but most considered it a matter of superstition. Those who had magic kept themselves
hidden away. The law would not detect a magically done murder, and from what she was learning about the Orphans’ relationship with the various indigenous magical traditions, the locals would probably not care if the Orphans were wiped out.

The simplest course of action would be to eliminate (a nicer word than murder) those who were affiliated with one of the Earthly Branches. It might even be necessary to eliminate an heir apparent, if that heir apparent had received training in arcane matters. Then, when this was done, Shen Kung’s plan for persuading the ancestral spirits to join their cause could be put into action.

Raise them. Speak with them. Show them how useless their descendants were, explain how the bindings must be broken. Then, when this was done, all should be simple. How much easier it would be to establish the Nine Gates with the spirits of twelve powerful sorcerers as allies, rather than with these pathetically weak American imitations.

Ah, but there would be problems in carrying out this tidy little plan—doubtless why her father and Waking Lizard were so involved even now, even when another course should be clear to them, in discussing how to make do with partial measures.

In short, there were the treaties. The first had been signed when Honey Dream herself had been caught some weeks ago during her attempt to rescue Flying Claw. It had bound Righteous Drum and Honey Dream from expanding their aggression to include the relatives, allies, and even friends of Pearl Bright and her associates. Later, when Flying Claw’s memory had been returned to him, and after Waking Lizard’s arrival, they had been “requested” to also sign the treaty and had done so.

Then there was a second treaty, more detailed, more complex, that protected both sides of their uneasy alliance from betrayal.

They were good treaties. Honey Dream knew this better than most, for as the Snake she had been called upon to help
design them. Moreover, both treaties had been sworn to over the blade of Pearl’s sword, the sword called Treaty, a sword that seemed to have a will of its own where such bindings were concerned.

Fleetingly, Honey Dream wondered about the genesis of that sword, for it had been forged not for Pearl Bright, but for her father, Thundering Heaven, one of the original Exiles. Tigers such as Thundering Heaven had been were not usually concerned with treaties, but with what happened before there were treaties and when treaties failed. Perhaps the sword had been forged when he was an old man, disappointed in his girl-child heir, tired of war.

Honey Dream shrugged, and saw Brenda Morris looking at her oddly. No wonder, for the current conversation was not one to which a shrug could be considered a fit response. Honey Dream raised her eyebrows, endeavoring to look wise and inscrutable. Brenda rolled her eyes and very deliberately looked away.

Honey Dream settled herself to seeming attentive, dipping her brush into the ink, making a few characters on the page before her. Already, though, her thoughts were drifting back to her nascent plans.

The treaties might seem an insuperable obstacle, but Gaheris Morris’s report had revealed those who might be willing to ally themselves with Honey Dream in return for new magical lore—or merely because they feared what horrors might ensue if the battles of the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice spilled into their world.

She could use this to her advantage, turn others into her tools, make allies of her own. If she did it right, they might even be protected by the very treaties that bound her own hands.

That would be a delicious irony.

Let the others make their limited, ridiculous plans. She would dream bigger dreams, she would be like Chang-o, who reached for immortality and not only became immortal, but became Queen of the Moon as well.

And unlike Chang-o, who shared her realm with a Toad and a Rabbit and a certain amount of notoriety, Honey Dream would share her triumph with a Tiger, with Flying Claw, and they would dwell together in glory, among the highest in all of the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice.

The thought was so delicious that Honey Dream could have purred, but being a Snake, she settled for hissing.

“Right,” Des said, and Brenda could tell he was trying to sound enthusiastic when he was anything but, “it looks like our first move is going to be trying to get those four mah-jong sets. Any idea how we go about it?”

“Buy them,” Dad said. “Simple and direct. Might even be able to get them for a reasonable price—they’re bone and bamboo, common materials, not Bakelite or jade or something.”

“I agree, Gaheris,” Albert Yu said. “I would further suggest that I be the one to go out and do the buying. Although I am a second-generation Californian, my Chinese heritage is obvious. Well-established businessmen of a certain ethnic background are known for peculiar collecting habits, for reconnecting to their ‘roots.’ I don’t think my wanting to purchase antique mah-jong sets will raise any flags. I might even work through an agent.”

Brenda could tell that Dad wasn’t exactly thrilled by the ease with which his plan had been adopted. She couldn’t figure out why. It seemed as if Albert got on her dad’s nerves without even really trying. Was it that bit about being a “successful businessman”? Did Dad feel challenged?

She really was going to have to ask Auntie Pearl—the old manner of address seemed right in this context—about what there was between those two. It might be important later, when they all had to work together.

Inadvertently, Brenda glanced over at Honey Dream. She didn’t believe that slinky Snake’s excuses for being up in Brenda’s room that day—not for one minute—but if Brenda
was supposed to pretend they were buddies and work together for the good of the Cause, well, Dad could learn to do the same.

Pearl cut in, as aware as Brenda of the tension between her two former students.

“Very good, Albert, you work out the details. I’m wondering if we should try to get our Snake’s mah-jong set as well. She is very old, and is not likely to be a great deal of help to us in this. Certainly, we could not ask her to help establish the Nine Gates. The best we could hope for would be that she would be willing to make the journey to the Lands with us—and to expect such of a somewhat senile octogenarian…”

Her pause was eloquent of the dangers and disasters that could be involved in that journey. His expression thoughtful, Riprap paused with his hand partway to the chip bowl he had nearly emptied during their conference.

“I’ve been wondering about something related to just that matter, Pearl, ever since Des told us how old the Snake is. The Snake and the Monkey are two of the Thirteen we’re going to have trouble including in our plans, but it occurred to me—we have a Snake and a Monkey: Honey Dream and Waking Lizard. If I understand how these affiliations work, they even represent versions of the same Branches that we do—attenuated versions, but the same. Why can’t Honey Dream and Waking Lizard stand in?”

Neither Pearl nor Shen, who might have been expected to reply, were the first to answer. Surprisingly, the one who did so was Righteous Drum.

“I thank you for your affirmation of the bond between us, Riprap. However, much as my associates and I would be delighted to spare even some of your company the dangers that will be part of involvement in these matters, most of us lack one essential element to fulfill the role. We may be affiliated with the same Earthly Branch, but we lack the blood tie.”

Riprap’s head lifted, like a hunting dog questing after an elusive scent. “Most of us, you said… Who?” Then his expression cleared. “Of course, it must be Flying Claw.”

Brenda heard the sudden intake of breath from Pearl, saw the older woman’s knotted hands tighten in her lap, sending the cat who had just returned to settle in once more shooting off into the shrubbery.

But this only registered in her peripheral attention. Like the others, her attention had been drawn to Flying Claw, as suddenly and irrevocably as if he were a powerful magnet and they all iron filings.

The young man sat very erect in a cedar patio chair, a long-necked beer bottle held loosely in one hand. His expression was remote and serious, without a trace of the humor it had held when they had spoken in the parlor only a short time before. Although all eyes were on him, his attention was focused on Pearl, gauging her reaction and apparently finding little in it to surprise him.

Riprap broke the tension with the same skill he had used professionally to defuse brawls.

“I don’t know why I took so long to consider the probable closeness of the relationship,” he said easily, his tone holding only interest. “Pearl knew who Flying Claw was even before she spoke to you because you so strongly resembled her father. How close is the connection?”

“My grandmother,” Flying Claw said, “was Thundering Heaven’s sister. Pearl is my second cousin, if I understand how you people use the terms. The relationship would be considered a close one in the Lands.”

He said this last almost apologetically, and Brenda knew why. Although Pearl had softened somewhat toward Flying Claw, her resentment of him—because he resembled the father who had rejected her, because he was the male Tiger she could never be—had caused a considerable amount of tension in their little household only a few weeks before. Indeed, it had taken Nissa threatening to walk out—and the other three agreeing that they felt Foster deserved better treatment—to get Pearl to moderate her stance.

Since then Flying Claw had done nothing to give Pearl
reason for maintaining her poor opinion of him, and even a few things to earn him points with her. But this reminder…

Brenda bit her lip, wondering how Flying Claw would deal with Pearl. He surprised her by giving Pearl a gentle, almost whimsical smile.

“My family is a large one,” he said, almost inconsequentially, “but we have never forgotten to make offerings to Thundering Heaven’s spirit—certainly for many years before his actual death. We did so privately, because his role as a member of the Shamed and Defeated—as the Twelve were publicly referred to when I was a boy—is still remembered. An official imperial decree made it a crime to remember them at all, but after a few years no one looked too closely at what was done at private memorials.

“But we could not forget that what prosperity, indeed, what freedom and life we possessed, had been given to us because Thundering Heaven and his associates surrendered and accepted exile to protect us. In public, we agreed that they were all cowards and wrong-thinking scoundrels. In private, we revered them. For this reason, at least one male in each line was trained after the arts of an adept, in the hope that one day one of us might again bear the Tiger’s mantle.

“I am not an only child,” Flying Claw continued. “I have an older brother who will make sacrifices to our ancestors and care for our parents. I have an older sister who is considered something of a wise woman, despite the fact that she is not much older than I am. I have two younger siblings as well. However, I had the good fortune to be the one chosen to go into training. I left my family when I was only a small boy, and was dedicated to the task of becoming one of the Twelve—and most especially to becoming the Tiger.”

He looked at Pearl as if expecting her to say something scornful, but Pearl’s lips were pressed tightly together. Brenda recognized this for what it was—an effort to hold back tears—and spoke quickly to give Pearl a moment to compose herself.

“So that’s why you didn’t remember anything about your family—I mean, after your memories were stolen away by the spell. Even before you went away to be taught, you must have been set on trying to be the Tiger. You couldn’t remember one without remembering the other.”

Flying Claw nodded. “I was, I have been told, a very focused child. My favorite bedtime stories, even when I was smaller than Lani, were about Thundering Heaven—or rather about heroic Tigers. I fear that my imagination compressed them all into one impossibly heroic man.”

“That’s how myths are made,” Nissa said almost inconsequentially, “according to my English teacher, at least.”

“I know now,” Flying Claw said, “how great a legend I created. I have learned for myself how difficult it is to be a heroic Tiger—and Thundering Heaven was even younger than I am when he was recruited into the Twelve. I wonder if the circumstances were similar?”

Pearl had control of herself now, and when she spoke her voice was the gentlest Brenda had ever heard it. “So your idolizing of my father was what got you into this mess, was it?”

Flying Claw responded to the tone, not the words. “I was idealistic, yes, and when I was approached with the opportunity to restore to the Jade Petal Throne the line of the very emperor who Thundering Heaven himself had served, I was not in the least difficult to convince. The previous Tiger had been friend and mentor to me, and I also wished to carry out his dreams.”

Brenda held her breath, waiting for Pearl to say something cutting, but Pearl surprised her—and perhaps herself—by looking Flying Claw squarely in the eyes and saying, “Thundering Heaven would have approved of you. You can be certain of that.”