Fox and Phoenix (27 page)

Yún jabbed me with an elbow.
“ShÄ«,”
she whispered. “We can trust him.”

Grumbling, I rubbed my sore ribs. Lian smiled smoothly to me, then to Danzu. “Very well. I place myself in your hands. Please do not disappoint me.”

HER WORDS MUST have frightened Danzu more than Yún or I ever could. He dashed off, leaving us to devour every speck of the magnificent breakfast. Servants reappeared with a second course of sweet cakes and more tea. We were finishing that off when Danzu came galloping back in.

“I've arranged everything,” he told Lian. “We will reach Lóng City by darkfall. I guarantee it. Whether I can smuggle you inside the palace depends on my client and her friend, er, friends—”

“Which clients?” Lian asked.

Danzu hesitated. “I'd rather not say yet. But you can trust them, your Highness. I swear it.”

“He's right,” Yún said.

That seemed to surprise Lian. She stared hard at Yún, who shrugged.

“What about the blizzard?” Quan said.

“I, ah, have some magical spells in reserve,” Danzu said. “Tricks from my uncle.”

More bragging. Well, Lian would find out soon enough if he was lying.

In the stables, two large covered wagons stood in the middle of the floor, surrounded by a dozen servants who were busy offloading crates, unpacking them, and transferring items wrapped in brown paper into reed baskets. Danzu waded into the chaos, shouting orders to transport those baskets carefully,
carefully
now, to the inn's storage rooms.

“You trust this innkeeper with your special consignment ?” I asked him as he passed by me.

“He's good enough,” Danzu said in an undertone. “Besides, I'm not leaving everything behind.”

He evicted the last of the stablehands and servants from the stables. A few men remained behind—the wagon drivers and two leathery-faced guards with ugly-looking weapons sticking out of their belts and boots. They hoisted the empty crates back onto the two wagons. Quan and Lian climbed into one wagon, each into a separate crate. Yún and I went into the second wagon, with the griffin stuffed into my shirt. Danzu's men handed us packets of cooked beef and dried apricots, a flask of hot butter tea and another of plain water. Then they packed fresh straw around us and wrapped the crates in thick blankets. Danzu had thought of everything.

Finally, the men closed up the crates and hammered the lids in place.

My stomach fluttered for no particular reason.
We escaped the emperor's palace,
I told myself.
We got away from his soldiers and trackers. We traveled the spirit roads and lived through a blizzard. All we have to do is get inside the Lóng City palace.

Now came the final preparations—men leading horses from the stables, heavy footsteps tramping over the stone floor, a jingling as the drivers harnessed their beasts, and at last a penetrating creak as the stable's outer doors opened. One of the drivers cursed the cold. Another one laughed and predicted how soon they would all have a drink of hot brewed ale in Lóng City's best taverns.

Danzu gave a shout. Magic flux streamed through the air. My chest went tight and the world shrank. Then a short sharp snap traveled through me. Warmth rolled through my crate, carrying with it an electric scent, mixed with the rich smell of crushed herbs. Magic. Magic keyed to a few words that any fool could unlock.

Ai-ya.
Some trick,
I thought.

Chen, softly chuckling.

The wagon jerked forward, throwing me against the crate's side. Yāo-guài chattered angrily. Stroking the griffin's feathers, I yawned. The blankets and straw were like a cocoon around me. The unnatural warmth from Danzu's spell made me sleepier than ever. My eyelids sagged shut. It had been a long day.

Sleep, young one,
said a familiar gruff voice.

Someone laughed. Not Chen, but I was too sleepy to care. I drifted off to sleep. To dream of warm cotton oceans, and hot soup, and a stickle-pig nibbling at my fingers. Hungry stickle-pig. It poked and prodded and tickled with one pin-sharp tooth, almost like a beak.

Yāo-guài bit down hard. I woke with a yelp. “What—”

Shī, shī,
Chen said.
We're inside Lóng City. We just passed the gates. And your monster is hungry.

Fumbling around, I located the packets of food Danzu had provided. Yāo-guài kept up a soft trilling noise until I thrust a handful of meat strips at him. Yāo-guài gobbled them down so fast, I thought he'd choke. The little monster finally settled down with a thick strip between his claws, chewing away, the way a cat chews a freshly caught mouse.

Happy now?
I asked.

The griffin made a noise that sounded like
nom, nom, nom.

The wagon rattled slowly over cobblestones, up an incline to the next terrace, then along a level road with smoother paving stones. At first, the noises outside the wagons were louder—people on foot hurrying home before nightfall, dogs yapping, the noise of metal scraping against stone as someone cleared their steps. These soon dropped away as we turned up another steep slope. The horses strained to pull the heavy wagons. Probably these were draft horses, used for hauling freight. Where and when had Danzu bought them? He made it sound as though he'd been in business a long time—ever since we won our reward. And Yún hadn't acted surprised. In fact, she'd mentioned something about Danzu weeks and weeks go, when she first showed me those expensive maps for the mountain roads.

Maybe you just need to listen harder,
Chen said.

I started to tell him to shut up, but the wagon jolted to a stop. Yāo-guài screeched, and we both tumbled on our sides, scattering beef strips and packets everywhere. By the time I could sort everything out, someone was tapping at the crate's lid.

The lid fell open. I blinked at the sudden change from smothering dark to light. Even if that light was dim and uncertain.

A hand grasped my arm. “Come along.”

Whoever that was hauled me out of the wagon. My legs, numb from the long day's trek, folded under me. I hit the cold stones of the courtyard with a thump. Yāo-guài gave a squawk and fluttered around me, fussing.

“D'you need help?” the man asked.

It was one of the drivers, I remembered. I shook my head and hauled myself to standing.

We were in a tiny, paved courtyard dusted with snow. Shadows pooled over the bare stones. There was a clean, cold scent in the air, mixed with the smells of horse and leather, a fainter one of crushed herbs and the electric fire of magic flux.

The driver helped Yún climb out. Another was doing the same for Quan and Lian. High overhead, dark clouds smudged a steel-gray sky. It couldn't be more than late afternoon. Snow trickled down from the clouds. Unlit lamps hung from the walls. The courtyard itself was bare, except for several clay pots where someone might plant flowers in the summer. There was a low iron gate—the one we'd just come through—and a pair of heavy wooden doors on the other side.

“Where are we?” I asked.

The doors swung open. A short slender figure marched out. “Danzu, you miserable idiot. You're late! Three days late! Where are my goods?”

“Hello, Jing-mei.”

Jing-mei spun around. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of Lian. “Princess?” she whispered. “Is that really you?”

“
I
T'S ME,” LIAN SAID.

Jing-mei stared from Lian to me and Yún. When she got to Quan, she paused. Her lips moved silently, as though she wanted to ask a thousand questions, but could not decide which one to pick first. Then she caught sight of Danzu, who was ordering the drivers to unload the rest of the crates.

“Explain,” she said shortly.

“Emergency,” he said, breathless. “Your shipment is safe. Truly. I left only a few crates in storage in Lake of the Blue Jewel.”

“The jewelry? The special holo-glasses? The essences of southern winter? You know those require warmth, special handling—”

“Not those,” Danzu whined. “The cheap stuff.”

“I. Do. Not. Sell.
Cheap
stuff, Danzu Qián. What have you thrown away from my shipment?”

“Nothing. I swear it. Ask the princess.”

Jing-mei drew a deep breath. Her expression reminded me of a watch-demon momentarily denied its prey. Except that watch demons had no faces, nor eyes that glittered with rage. She muttered something that sounded very much like “I'lltalktoyoulateryoumiserabletoad,” then turned to Lian. “My apologies, Your Highness.”

“The apologies are mine,” Lian said smoothly. “I ordered Danzu to convey me into Lóng City in the most discreet fashion he knew.”

“Smuggling,” I murmured.

Danzu and Yún glared at me. Quan shook his head. Only Jing-mei offered me a tight smile.

“I understand completely,” she said to Lian. “Come inside so we might discuss the matter. Let
Danzu
manage the horses and his shipment.”

She and Danzu exchanged angry smiles. Jing-mei apparently won, because Danzu shriveled inside his elegant cloak and turned back to the wagons and his crew.

Jing-mei smiled more sweetly (was this really the same bubble-headed girl from my gang?) and led us into a cavern of a room. She brushed her hand over a gray mesh panel by the door. With a hiss, light poured from shaded lamps overhead. I blinked at the sight of row upon row of crates, stacked almost to the ceiling. The air here was much warmer than I expected. Then I remembered Jing-mei scolding Danzu about delicate electronics. This was her warehouse for her special consignments. She kept the goods safe with magically warmed air.

Not rich. Clever,
Chen said quietly.
There are magic flux wells underneath these warehouses. She's tapping into them.

Was that legal? I wondered.

Lian too had obviously noticed. Her eyes narrowed at the pipes and vents, the flicker and twitch of magic flux currents. Normally, a person paid fees to the royal wizards for regular access to the magical flux within our kingdom. I'd seen the bills when I first explored my mother's papers. The wizards might not care about one-time, sometimes, once-in-a-while access. This setup, however, was a lot more than once-in-a-while. Lian sent a questioning glance toward Jing-mei, who smiled nervously. Heh. Probably not legal. This could prove interesting.

At the opposite side of the warehouse, a winding staircase brought us up two flights to a small landing. Very plain, except for a complicated set of locks on one door. Jing-mei used a series of keys, then laid her palm against the latch. The lock clicked open, and she gestured for us to come inside.

It was the same apartment I remembered from two months ago, but with a few differences. A broad desk crowded the tiny back room, its surface covered with accounting books, a shiny new calculor in the middle. All the trinkets and gadgets had disappeared from the hallway and nearby rooms. She must have moved them into that enormous warehouse.

“Come with me to the kitchen,” Jing-mei said. “I can brew some tea. And we can talk.”

Jing-mei managed to seat us all around the table, but barely. Lian and Quan tucked themselves into a corner, closer than absolutely necessary. Yún hesitated, then did the same next to me. Yāo-guài paced the tabletop, chittering with excitement and pleasure that we'd left the cold, dark wagons behind. I'd expected Jing-mei to chitter back, but she merely patted him on the head absent-mindedly in between whisking cups onto the table, setting a kettle of water to boil, and sending curious glances toward Lian and Quan.

“So who are you?” she asked Quan, as she measured tea from a canister into an elegant teapot.

“My friend,” Lian said firmly. “We studied at the university together.”

“Our rescuer,” Yún said even more firmly.

I rolled my eyes, which brought a laugh from Jing-mei. “Very well. None of my business. But you came to me for help. Tell me everything that happened.”

Lian exchanged a glance with Quan. “
Everything
will take some time.”

“Better to arm your warriors, than to fall victim to excess caution,” he murmured.

She smiled. “Very true. Here is what you must know,” she said to Jing-mei.

She told Jing-mei about the Phoenix emperor's plans to force her into marriage with his youngest son, and about the treaties the emperor used to drain other mountain kingdoms of their magic flux. How Quan arranged for our escape, how the emperor's soldiers nearly captured us, and our unexpected rescue by Nuó.