Nine Gates (22 page)

“Correct.” Honey Dream nodded approval.

The Snake moved restlessly to join them, shaking down a long sleeve. Brenda had a sudden insight that made Honey Dream humanly vulnerable.

She wants a mirror. She can’t tell if she’s gotten everything on so it looks right.

Des seemed to realize the same thing. His folder containing the pictures of the Men Shen still in his hand, he moved over to inspect Honey Dream’s costume with a detached professionalism he must have acquired when working as an artist’s model.

“That’s a wonderful shenyi,” he said. “Very classic in style, with little influence from the later garments that evolved from it.”

“Among our Twelve,” Honey Dream said, “all our ceremonial attire takes its form from the fashions of the days when the Lands were created. The robes conform in shape and style to the regulations and rituals as set down in the Book of Rites.”

“I’ve read the Book of Rites,” Des said, “or at least the version that came to us. The shapes that make up the shenyi express a balance of square and round, reflecting the balance of the universe. The hem must be cut perfectly, long enough to conceal the ankle, but never touching the ground. This creates a garment laden with symbolism, practical as well as elegant. I notice, however, that your embroideries show the influence of protective charms from later ages, as well those that were common at the time of the Ch’in Dynasty.”

Honey Dream actually grinned. Brenda couldn’t believe how approachable the expression made her seem.

“Well,” Honey Dream said, brushing a hand along one section of her skirt. “When one is working with dangerous elements—and magic can be very dangerous—one does not limit the protections one can gain. My robe is dominated by snakes, of course, but there are both bats and clouds to bring happiness and good fortune, and crabs to repel evil magic.”

“Can you move comfortably swathed up in all that fabric?” Nissa asked.

“Easily,” Honey Dream replied. “Indeed, until I came to your world, I would have wondered why you asked.”

Brenda noticed that in one way at least Honey Dream’s elegant shenyi was clearly a working garment. The waist was cinched with a leather belt—the bronze buckle worked in the twisting form of a snake, of course—and various tools hung from the supple, polished leather. There was a curved dagger Brenda had only too good a reason to remember, as well as three bottle gourds whose surfaces had been elaborately painted with stylized Chinese characters. Tucked on the right side, a bit toward the back, was a small flat case that Brenda thought might hold inkstone and brushes.

Brenda had seen how Honey Dream could do magic
through written characters, so she understood why the Snake would carry the means for writing. She was momentarily puzzled by the bottle gourds; then she remembered that bottle gourds were often featured in Chinese fairy tales or folk legends as containers that held magic.

“I’ve already discussed this next part with Flying Claw,” Des said, “and with Pearl. She reminded us how on the Night of the Three-Legged Toad, she had reason to draw rather more strongly than usual upon her Tigerness. Therefore, the White Tiger of the West may already be aware of us. This could be good, but it also could mean trouble. Much will depend on whether the Tiger will feel we have honored the connection between him and our own tigers or exploited it. When we open the gate, I want everyone to let Flying Claw invoke the Tiger. No matter how rough things get, don’t interfere unless Flying Claw directly asks.”

Brenda thought Des gave Honey Dream a particularly meaningful stare, but the Snake only smoothed one of the folds of her shenyi and looked mysterious and serene.

Riprap seemed about to ask a question when the door to the storage closet opened, and Flying Claw emerged. His appearance was so remarkable that all conversation stilled.

Flying Claw was wearing armor. It wasn’t the body-enclosing armor of a medieval knight, but a torso-covering tunic made from thick leather scales, studded with iron. The leather scales had been embossed so that they created a relief portrait of a snarling tiger’s face, the details enhanced with a few carefully placed metal studs.

The armor was worn over a long-sleeved, knee-length tunic of heavy green brocade. The brocade was elaborately worked with various designs in which the tiger predominated: sometimes prowling, sometimes pouncing, sometimes leaping among clouds. Bats flew overhead. Crabs scuttled beneath.

Flying Claw’s neck was protected by a heavy scarf or cowl made from fabric dyed a rich, dark red. Fabric of the
same color cuffed the sleeves of his undertunic. It provided a nice contrast to the green brocade.

And
, Brenda thought,
red is a great color for hiding bloodstains.

Flying Claw’s long hair was worn in an off-center knot, bound at the base with more of the red fabric. He carried a helmet under one arm, so apparently he didn’t go bareheaded into battle. His sheathed sword was worn at his waist, as were a dagger, a pair of gourds, and a writing case.

I thought I heard his sword rattling in that duffel
, Brenda thought.
But for some reason I never thought of armor.

Brenda found herself thinking that, dressed this way, Flying Claw looked somehow familiar. That was absurd, since the only other time she’d seen him in his Chinese costumes had been shenyi-style robes.

Then she realized where the sense of familiarity originated. This was the same sort of armor and hairstyle worn by those famous terra-cotta warriors. For the first time, Brenda felt the connection between a series of events in Chinese history, rather than knowing them as dry, memorized facts.

The emperor who had ordered the elaborate tomb in which the thousands of terra-cotta warriors had been found had been Shi Huang Ti, the first Ch’in emperor. That was the same man who had ordered all those books burned, all those scholars murdered, and who had in doing so inadvertently created the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice.

Wasn’t Shi Huang Ti also the same man who had ordered the Great Wall of China built? Hadn’t he simplified the writing system, passed hundreds of new laws, ordered connecting roads to be built, and sent out expeditions beyond China’s borders? And hadn’t his reign lasted only fourteen or fifteen years? Shi Huang Ti must have been an extraordinary individual—but not, Brenda thought, someone she’d necessarily want to know.

But he created not one new land—the empire of China—but two, and the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice could be said to be an entire universe, not merely a land.
I wonder if Shi Huang Ti knew. I wonder, if he knew, what he would have thought.

Des gave Flying Claw an appreciative once-over.

“You look very martial,” he said. “If you folks will excuse me for a moment, I’ll get myself ready, and then we can go.”

“Ready?” Riprap said. “You mean you have robes like these?”

“Closer to Honey Dream’s shenyi than to Flying Claw’s armor,” Des replied. “My grandmother insisted.”

Des wasn’t gone long, and when he emerged he was wearing a shenyi cut from silvery white brocade, so heavily embroidered with roosters and other lucky signs that the color beneath was almost lost.

“White,” Des said, shaking his head so that his long braid hung straight between his shoulder blades, “is the Rooster’s color. However, it is also the color associated with loss. Grandmother thought the coloration of this robe provided a good compromise. You’ll notice that in addition to the crabs, clouds, and bats that adorn our friends’ robes, I also have any number of other symbols. I’ll explain them later, if you’d like, but they’re mostly for wealth and longevity. That’s because, elaborate as it is, my shenyi is a general-purpose garment, meant as much for ceremony as for anything else.”

Des turned to Honey Dream and Flying Claw. “I mention this specifically as a reminder to the two of you. You’ve donned your working clothes and so may forget that with the exception of Riprap’s miliary service, the four of us have fought very few battles in our lives.”

For me, really only two
, Brenda thought,
the one against Righteous Drum, and the one during our practice session—and I pretty much stood around during that second fight and got attacked. Our encounter with Flying Claw in that parking garage was more a situation of mutual shock than a battle.

Honey Dream preened, smug and pleased, as if his admission improved her somehow, but Flying Claw looked very serious.

“I will not forget. We have had too little time to practice since our first session was so rudely interrupted by Twentyseven-Ten and his associates. Let us all rely on what we know best.”

“And most of all, let’s hope all this talk about fighting is unnecessary,” Des added.

He was holding three small brocade bags in his hand, and now he handed one each to Brenda, Nissa, and Riprap.

“We haven’t had time to order your own robes,” he said, “and in any case, I agree with Flying Claw that now is not the time to add new complications.”

“Walking in skirts,” Riprap agreed, “would definitely be an unwelcome complication—at least for me.”

Riprap had been opening his bag while he spoke and now he shook the contents out into his hand. It proved to be a satin cord from which hung a translucent stone pendant that, despite its yellow hue, Brenda was certain had to be jade.

“A dog!” Riprap said with delight. “A fierce fellow, too. I’m so glad it’s not a Peke.”

“It’s a Tibetan mastiff,” Des said. “I commissioned it a few weeks ago and have been waiting for the auspicious time to give it to you. I’m glad you like it.”

Nissa had shaken her own pendant out, and happily displayed the figure of a green jade rabbit. This was no cuddly bunny, but a watchful creature sitting up on its haunches, ears raised, nose tilted back to sniff the wind.

“It’s lovely!” she exclaimed. “Did you commission this one, as well?”

“I did,” Des said. “Rabbits are pretty easy to find, but I wanted this one to be unique.”

Brenda had hesitated to open her own bag, knowing that since she wasn’t the Rat, such a charm would be presumptuous. However, as attention turned to her, she did so. Her pendant was cut from a shining black stone—the Rat’s color—but as she expected, it was not a rat, but a frog.

“The Frog,” Des said, “is associated with both wealth and
protection.” He indicated one embroidered on the sleeve of his shenyi. “I chose this over many other symbols because I wanted to remind you of your encounter with the Three-Legged Toad. You did very well then—unpredictably well—and I didn’t think you should forget that.”

Brenda ran her thumb over the smooth black stone. She hugged Des, quick and hard, taking care not to squash his elegant robes or to let the tears welling up in her eyes stain the silk brocade.

“I suggest,” Flying Claw said, reaching out and stopping Nissa in midmotion, “you hang those charms from a loop on your belt rather than around your neck. It is never good to give an enemy an easy means to strangle you.”

Nissa looked momentarily startled, but complied. Brenda followed suit. The stone frog hung heavier than she’d expected, so that she felt it even through her jeans. She touched the array of amulet bracelets she’d strung around her wrists that morning.

Des looked approving. “I had time to put some minor protective magics in these, but nothing else, so don’t count on them replacing your own abilities.”

“Right,” Riprap said. The two women nodded.

“Ready?” Des asked, opening his portfolio, and removing the pictures of the Men Shen. “Then let us begin.”

From the
moment Pearl opened the front door of her house to admit Albert Yu, she knew something was wrong.

The Cat’s grooming was meticulous, as usual, but somehow he still gave the impression of having dressed hurriedly.

“Come in, Albert. Righteous Drum and Waking Lizard
arrived about ten minutes ago. They’re out on the patio with Shen, having tea and discussing our next move.”

Albert accepted her invitation with a slight bow that did nothing to remove Pearl’s impression that something was wrong.

“And Des and the others?”

“They left about an hour ago, according to plan. My guess is that they are establishing the first of the Nine Gates even as we speak.”

“And Lani?”

Pearl smiled slightly. “She is having a playdate combined with another screen test. My friend Joanne is taking her. They will be gone until slightly before Lani’s bedtime.”

“Good,” Albert said. “I have some disturbing news.”

“I thought as much,” Pearl said. “Have you eaten?”

“Not much,” Albert admitted. “If you have something easy…”

Pearl smiled again, every iota the gracious hostess. She had learned long ago that acting what you wished others to believe often created the very mind-set you were trying to achieve. Right now Albert needed her to be the strong, calm Tiger, and although she wanted to shake his news from him, that strong, calm Tiger was what she gave him.

“With Riprap living here,” she said, “there is always something to eat. This morning they made some sort of egg pie with cheese and chile. We can heat you some. There’s coffee and fruit set out on the patio already.”

They joined the others in a few minutes, Albert carrying the plate with his breakfast, Pearl with a tray holding more coffee and tea. She had a feeling they were going to need it.

After greetings were exchanged, Albert began, ignoring the meal he’d said he wanted.

“As planned, I set out to acquire the mah-jong sets representing the lapsed branches. I also decided that the recommendation that we acquire the Snake’s set was not a bad idea. She is not wholly senile, but she does have a rather scattered focus at times. In any case, an eighty-three-year-old woman
should not be asked to make the journey we are contemplating.”

Pearl bit back a sarcastic comment, but she and Waking Lizard shared conspiratorial glances. Ability, not age, should be the basis for such judgments. It wasn’t that Pearl didn’t agree with Albert’s assessment. It was simply that she’d prefer he didn’t make age sound like something that could be measured by one of those signs they put up by amusement-park rides. She imagined this one as a sort of timeline, “Those over this date cannot participate in this activity.”