Nine Gates (3 page)

Fading back into reality after assisting Pearl with the two defensive spells, Brenda leaned against her tree feeling very tired. Although she hadn’t cast the spells, her ch’i had been used to build them—and quite a lot of that ch’i.

Brenda had understood Pearl’s reasoning and agreed wholeheartedly. In an emergency, Pearl could cast a variety of spells, whereas Brenda—who until about six weeks ago hadn’t known that magic was as real at the tree bark poking into her back—would need time to prepare and compose.

As she came back into focus, Brenda realized the sword cut on her middle was beginning to hurt. She reached down and pressed her fingers where she’d wrapped her tee shirt. There was a sharp pain followed by an eddying throb.

“How does it feel?” Pearl asked.

“Like a giant paper cut,” Brenda said, trying to be honest, but at the same time not willing to make a huge fuss. It was impossible to take her own injury seriously with Righteous Drum lying there on the ground, apparently still unconscious. Honey Dream knelt next to him, her attempt at impassivity not hiding how worried she was. “How is Righteous Drum?”

Des had heard them talking, and now he came to join them, answering Brenda’s question as he did.

“Bad,” he said. “The arm is off. Even if we’d rushed him to a hospital right away, not even microsurgery could reattach it. The blade that took the arm off was spelled. That’s where the only good thing to happen comes in.”

“There’s good?” Brenda asked, incredulous.

“The same element in the spell that ruined the arm sealed the wound,” Des explained. “I doubt that any kindness was intended. Rather whoever did this wanted to make certain that Righteous Drum was put out of action, but not killed. However, he’s in no further danger.”

Disarmed
, Brenda thought, swallowing a hysterical giggle.
Oh, god! They disarmed him …

She must have looked wild around the eyes, because Des squatted next to her.

“Let me take a look at your injury. I’m no doctor, but I have some first aid training.”

Brenda obeyed, sitting up a little straighter and letting Des peel back her ruined tee shirt. A couple of times he poured on bottled water to loosen where blood had glued the shirt to her skin.

“Nasty,” he said, after careful examination. “But no sign that there was either poison or inimical magic on the blade.”

Pearl had been watching, and now Des turned to her. “Brenda must see a doctor. The sword sliced right through her shirt. Foreign matter in the wound could cause scarring or infection. She probably will need stitches.”

“I agree,” Pearl said. “If Brenda is willing to wait, I can arrange something with a doctor who won’t insist on too many explanations. Are you all right with that, Brenda?”

Brenda, who had already been wondering how she’d explain this injury to her mother—and considering whether she had to mention it at all—nodded in relief.

“As long as a real doctor checks it,” she said, “I’m perfectly fine with not going to a hospital or something.”

“A real doctor,” Pearl promised. “I’ll make some calls. Before I do… Des, what’s the situation?”

“We were attacked,” Des said, “by sixteen armed and armored men. At least five were capable of spellcasting, but certainly not all of them. That’s probably what saved our lives. Of the sixteen, we have four left alive: the one you hit on the back of the neck, two of mine, and one of Riprap’s.”

Brenda shivered and reached for her bloody shirt. That meant twelve people had died here in just a few minutes. She felt suddenly cold.

“And us?” Pearl said.

“All alive. Righteous Drum’s injury is worst. Brenda’s
next. The rest of us have various nicks, cuts, and bruises, but nothing too severe.”

“Waking Lizard?”

“Knocked out. Woozy. He’s tried to tell us something several times, but he can’t seem to form coherent sentences. I think he’s suffering severe ch’i depletion. Riprap has taken a car and gone for some yogurt for both Waking Lizard and Righteous Drum.”

“Righteous Drum is alert enough to eat then? Good. How are the wards?”

“Strong ones up, now, but it’s probable someone will have caught the eddies from our opponents’ arrival. Our earlier wards were meant to keep any casual passerby from noticing anything odd going on, not to block the force of a major incursion. After all, we’re on private land, so we didn’t need to worry overmuch.”

“Twelve bodies,” Pearl said thoughtfully. “Disposing of them is going to take some planning. First, however, let me get a doctor for Brenda. Brenda? Do you want me to call your father?”

Brenda blinked. “Uh, maybe not. Do we need to right away?”

“Only if you want him,” Pearl said. “You’re over eighteen, so the doctor won’t need permission from your parents to treat you.”

“No, then. Not now. There’s a lot more we need to handle.”

Pearl looked approving. “Good. I have my cell phone. I’ll try Dr. Andersen.”

“I’m going to check on Waking Lizard,” Des said. “Honey Dream is assiduously ignoring him, and Flying Claw has been standing guard over our prisoners.”

Riprap arrived back then, driving a secondhand passenger van that had been Pearl’s most recent acquisition. Without apparent difficulty, he lifted out several bulky bags.

“Flying Claw,” he said, “I bought more than yogurt. Grab the bags?”

Flying Claw, a handsome Chinese man, apparently somewhere in his twenties, nodded, sheathed his sword, and crossed to the van without comment. Brenda looked after him with an unsettling mixture of emotions.

Pearl left one alive. Des two. Riprap one. That means of the dozen killed, Flying Claw was probably responsible for most. I didn’t kill anyone. I have the impression Waking Lizard was out of it from the start. I think Pearl killed one. Righteous Drum couldn’t have killed more than one, not with his arm cut off. Honey Dream might have killed several, but I remember bodies all over, and she stayed by her dad. I knew Flying Claw was dangerous, but this …

Riprap had paused to drop several packages over by where Honey Dream sat by her father, then to give others to Des. They talked for a moment, then Riprap came over to Brenda.

She remembered when she’d been nervous about meeting Riprap. Now the big black man seemed much like a perfect older brother. He hunkered down next to her and proffered a carton of peach yogurt and a plastic spoon.

“Des says you have mild ch’i depletion from helping Pearl with the spells. Eat this. I’ll bring you some water.”

Brenda accepted the yogurt.

“You okay, Riprap?”

“My brain hurts more than my body,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “One minute Flying Claw is telling me about this Wolf Teeth staff that he thinks would be a great weapon for me, next I’m learning really fast why wooden baseball bat against sword isn’t a good combination.”

Brenda thought of the smashed head she’d glimpsed when walking over to offer to help Pearl, and had to fight to keep her yogurt from coming back up. Only vivid memories of what ch’i depletion felt like kept her from pushing the container away.

“You fought, though,” she said, trying to sound encouraging.

“I killed one man,” Riprap said. “Injured a bunch more. Flying Claw’s the one who saved us. That man really is a tiger.
I’ve never seen anything like it. I’d have been dead three times over without his help.”

“Me, too,” Brenda said, and wondered why she didn’t feel more grateful—only scared.

Riprap rose to bring Brenda the promised water, and Pearl came back.

“Nissa will be here in a few minutes. She’s going to drive the compact, and take you to the doctor.”

“And this?” Brenda said, indicating the bodies.

“We’ll deal with it,” Pearl promised. “We’ll deal with the dead and the living alike.”

The land
on which they had come to practice was one of several parcels that Pearl owned throughout the immediate area.

Most of her properties were rented out, contributing immensely to her wealth. However, there were always those that were between tenants. This park was attached to Colm Lodge, a large house—or small mansion—which until a few days before had been rented to the company of a traveling circus that was performing at various venues throughout the area.

“Jugglers and such,” Pearl had explained when she’d suggested they use the place, “acrobats, high wire. Very few animal acts, but they did have horses and some exotics. The barn worked well for them, and they kept props and stage settings in one of my warehouses.”

When the circus had moved out, Righteous Drum, Honey Dream, Flying Claw, and Waking Lizard had moved there from the somewhat expensive hotel in which they had spent the last few days.

Now that the initial chaos was over, and no new attack seemed to be in the offing, Riprap brought the van around, and the human casualties—for none of the captives were in ideal health—were moved up to the house. Then he and Flying Claw departed, taking the van so they could move the bodies to the shelter of the barn.

When she entered the house, Pearl felt the presence of wards that were not her own, but, true to their initial agreement, Righteous Drum had not done anything to bar her or her associates. What he had done was make the house infinitely more secure. Given the circumstances, Pearl could only be grateful.

“Honey Dream,” she began, “shall we take your father to his room?”

A weak but completely clear voice broke in from where Righteous Drum lay on the collapsible stretcher that had been one of Riprap’s purchases.

“No!” he said. “I must be present for the questioning. I must know…”

Pearl glanced at Honey Dream and the young woman nodded.

“He would only fret,” she said, her tone cold and analytical. “Although in his weakened state I could make him sleep, I would not wish for the consequences when he awoke.”

“Me either,” Des said with a grin. “Right. As I recall, the living room has several sofas. We’ll put him on one, Waking Lizard on the other.”

Honey Dream drew in her breath with a sharp hiss and looked as if she would spit.

“Him! That traitor should be with the other prisoners, bound and gagged, not treated as if he were an ally.”

Pearl frowned. She could understand the young woman’s reaction, but she thought it unmerited.

“Honey Dream,” she said sharply. “You forget yourself. Waking Lizard is no traitor—a tool almost definitely, but not a traitor. Were he such, we would all know. If you could reach beyond your passion, you would realize this.”

Waking Lizard, who like Righteous Drum lay on a stretcher, stirred, opened his eyes, and tried to speak. The words were so garbled that they might have been the form of Chinese spoken in the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice, might have been the English he spoke courtesy of a spell.

Pearl pressed her fingers into his arm.

“Quiet now. Rest. We will require you to speak later.”

The patients were moved onto sofas, Honey Dream assisting with her father, but refusing even to touch Waking Lizard’s stretcher. Fortunately, despite his height and long limbs, Waking Lizard was not very heavy, and between them Pearl and Des managed to move him.

The kitchen of Colm Lodge had been freshly stocked when the four from the Lands had taken up residence. While Des sat and spooned yogurt into Waking Lizard—live foods were one of the best cures for ch’i depletion, and now was not the time to worry whether Waking Lizard shared the modern Chinese tendency to be lactose intolerant—Pearl went out into the kitchen.

There she found the makings for simple refreshments: tea, rice balls, pickled vegetables, and almond wafers. Most of their group had not eaten yet. In any case, Pearl—part Chinese, part Hungarian Jew—had been indoctrinated from childhood that food would make any situation better.

She had just finished making tea when Riprap and Flying Claw came into the house through the kitchen door.

“We’ve got the bodies under cover,” Riprap said, “and locked the barn. We’re going up to wash. Flying Claw’s going to loan me some clothes.”

Pearl nodded, wondering how Riprap, both taller and broader than Flying Claw, would be able to wear the other man’s clothing, but she said nothing. She suddenly remembered her own bloodied and stained clothing and felt a strong desire to change.

She carried tea and refreshments into the living room, and said to Des, “I’m going to change. Happily, I store some
trunks of old props and costumes in the attic for a local little theater company. There’s probably something that would fit you. Shall I bring you down something?”

Des nodded. “Thank you.”

Pearl did not make the same offer to Honey Dream. The young woman was working very hard at ignoring them all, and Pearl was growing rapidly tired of her. However, Pearl also felt a certain amount of sympathy. After all, Honey Dream had just seen her father brutally mutilated, and unlike Pearl, whose relationship with the late Thundering Heaven had been complex, Honey Dream liked her father.

When Pearl returned from washing off in one of the spare bathrooms, and donning a neat dress that had been one of the mother’s costumes in a recent performance of
The Glass Menagerie
, she found Honey Dream gone from her father’s side.

“I sent her to wash,” Righteous Drum said. “And to dress decently. I apologize for her lack of manners.”

“She’s had a shock,” Pearl said.

“So have we all,” Righteous Drum said, twitching his right shoulder as if seeking to move an arm that was no longer there.

Des accepted the loose trousers and sports shirt Pearl had brought for him.

“Waking Lizard’s sleeping naturally now,” he said. “He needs it.”

“We’ll let him sleep,” Pearl promised. “Go get clean.”

Flying Claw and Riprap came thundering down the stairs at that point. Both were damp and shining clean. Riprap wore a pair of sweat pants that were a bit short in the leg and a tee shirt that stretched alarmingly over his broad, muscular chest.

Theoretically, there should have been nothing alike about the two men. Flying Claw was tall and muscular for a Chinese, but next to Riprap’s towering height and build he looked merely average. Flying Claw wore his shining black hair long—today, for practice, bound in a knot at the base of
his neck, but often in a long ponytail. Riprap wore his soft, tightly curled hair in a short, almost military cut. Flying Claw’s skin was golden brown, Riprap’s a dark brown that left no doubt as to his primarily African heritage.