Nine Gates (36 page)

Righteous Drum was nodding. “Ox, with Rat, is of the House of Construction, but being the yin representative of that astrological house, she is more concentrated on solid foundations than on aggressive gain. If I were choosing merely on astrological grounds, Ox would probably be my first choice.”

Pearl smiled. “I’ll admit. I’m biased. Of the three, she
was certainly my favorite, for all she died when I was still a child.”

“Foundations,” Shen mused, “that’s just what we’re looking to establish for our Nine Gates. Yes, Ox would be our best choice.”

“I don’t want to put a damper on things,” Des said, “but you do realize that Exile Ox is also going to have some difficulties when she learns how matters have progressed with her lineage. Not only has the line of the Ox fallen away, but how Hua, Exile Ox’s heir, was treated contributed to the disaffection of several other lineages.”

“I think the approach to take,” Pearl said, “would be to show that Hua was loved and admired by her peers, even after the Exiles had begun to fear that Hua’s bloodline would make her less than perfectly suited to her role.”

“That might work,” Des admitted, and Honey Dream noted a grudging note in his voice. “Fine. Now that we’ve decided on our target, just how do we go about establishing contact with the Exile Ox? Are all of us necessary or can a few work the ritual?”

Shen responded not to the words, but to that grudging tone. “Des, from the start you have resisted the idea of our trying to contact one or more of the Exiles. To answer your question, a few can work the contact ritual, but if you are to remain in charge of the group in the guardian domains, you’re going to need to get comfortable with the idea of working with ghosts.”

Des looked angry, possibly for the first time since Honey Dream had met him. The expression reminded her that for all Roosters were known for their elegance and theatricality, they were fighting creatures as well.

“If I don’t do it, Shen, who’s going to? Certainly not our apprentices. They’re willing, but they’re not ready. Certainly not any of our allies from the Lands. These Gates must be Orphan artifacts. It’s our spell. You and Pearl are…”

Des stopped in midbreath, aware he was being tactless, but Shen did not spare him.

“Too old? Too fragile? I admit, our bodies are not what they once were, but we might manage. However, remember, the situation has changed from a few weeks ago. Albert and Gaheris are no longer suffering amnesia. Deborah plans to join us fairly soon. Any one of them could take over.”

Pearl nodded. “I had actually thought about asking Albert if he could accompany the first venture to the Nine Springs. His bloodline is attenuated, true, but he is still of the line of the emperors who held the Jade Petal Throne. Such things count in the afterlife.”

Des had had time to recover from his outburst, and now he looked distinctly embarrassed.

“I’m sorry Pearl, Shen… All of you, really. I just…” He rested his hands on the table with an audible thump. “I guess I heard too many ghost stories when I was a kid. I’ll admit it. The idea of working with a ghost makes me nervous.”

Righteous Drum looked interested. “I don’t know if ghost lore is the same here as in the Lands, but if it is, I think you are wrong to fear those ancestral spirits.”

Des looked at him, angling his head sharply as a rooster does when it wishes to fix the focus of one eye on its subject.

“Would you explain, sir?”

Righteous Drum looked so profoundly scholarly that Honey Dream felt her breast swell with pride.

“Correct me if our traditions vary greatly from your own, but our beliefs hold that after death the soul fragments. There are various theories as to how many parts the soul has, but that doesn’t matter here. What does is that the good and the bad, or perhaps the spiritual impulses and the animal impulses, separate.”

“The hun and po souls,” Des said softly.

“Ah, so our traditions are similar,” Righteous Drum said with satisfaction. “Now, because the po soul with its more animal inclinations is what lingers with the body, we are all
taught to be careful around graves, to fear ghosts. Is that correct?”

Des nodded.

“But when you go in search of the Nine Yellow Springs,” Righteous Drum said, “your guide will be the hun soul, the soul purged of the more animal inclinations. So, you see, you have little to fear. Your guide—this Exile Ox, let us say—may have memories of past wrongs, old slights, but she will not be as emotionally tied to them. She will be elevated, purified. If her time since her death has been spent with an awareness that sacrifices have been maintained even after her daughter’s line strayed from affiliation with the Orphans, she will probably feel gratitude as well.”

He paused, and Honey Dream was gratified to see that Des was nodding, the tension that had lingered about him visibly relieved.

“Thank you, sir,” Des said, bowing from the waist so deeply that his forehead touched the table. “Your wisdom has greatly relieved me of what I now see was a foolish and juvenile anxiety.”

When he raised his head and faced the rest of them, his eyes held their more usual cheerful, enthusiastic expression.

“Count me in, for contacting ghosts, and certainly for working with the team that’s establishing the gates. I agree that having Albert along when we try to reach the Yellow Springs would be a good idea.”

Doubt dimmed the brightness in his eyes. “I mean, I’ll go if people still want me to, especially after seeing me behave like such an ass.”

Nissa leaned across the table and patted his hand. “Don’t let it get to you, teacher dear. I think we all like you better than ever for not being quite perfect.”

“When do we begin?” Honey Dream asked.

“The Double Hour of the Ox,” Shen said promptly, “which begins—unfortunately, from the point of view of our getting our beauty sleep—at one in the morning.”

Pearl glanced at the clock on the wall. “That gives us ample
time to make preparations, choose our team, and make sure everyone involved gets some rest.”

“And the rest of us?” Brenda said.

“We can always,” Nissa replied, “use more amulet bracelets.”

“Pearl Bright’s
residence,” Brenda said, answering the phone from the kitchen extension.

Although the voice on the other end spoke with measured control, a rasping note underlay the words, as if the speaker was trying not to scream.

“Put her on.”

“I’m sorry,” Brenda said. “She’s not available.”

“Tell her,” the voice said, “I know she was responsible for what happened, and that I’m not going to forget it. She might have had friends but now…”

“May I say who’s calling?” Brenda said, doing her best to keep her voice level although the ferocious anger in the speaker’s voice was pretty scary.

The only answer was a hard click as the phone on the other end was hung up.

Brenda stared at the receiver for a long moment, then replaced it in its cradle. Pearl really wasn’t available, but Des was. When Brenda went looking for him, she found him in the kitchen, mixing a marinade that smelled of ginger and sherry.

“Man or woman’s voice?” Des asked, when Brenda finished her report.

“Woman. I think. Tell the truth, whoever was on the other end of that phone hardly sounded human. I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone so angry.”

Des nodded. “Happens. If I had to guess, I’d say your caller was Tracy Frye. My guess is that she and her friends have discovered not only that the mah-jong sets are gone, but that they were removed in such a fashion that she and her associates are going to have no luck proving who took them.”

“I wonder that they took this long to figure it out,” Brenda said. “Didn’t Shen say something about Tracy Frye, at least, sleeping with hers under her pillow?”

“True,” Des said, “but I don’t think Tracy trusts the others very much. There were probably a lot of accusations and checking and double-checking before they decided that—impossible as it must seem—somehow we’d removed the sets.”

“Impossible? But the caller said she
knew
what happened,” Brenda said.

“Saying you know, and proving you know to, for example, the police, is another thing,” Des said. “Note that your caller didn’t say what precisely ‘happened.’ My guess is that she hoped whoever answered the phone would be tempted to do some bragging. She probably had a tape running.”

“Is that admissible in court?”

“She wouldn’t need to go to court,” Des said, “not the type of court you’re thinking of at least. She’d probably want to try the Rock Dove Society first.”

“Do you think she’ll go to the police?” Brenda asked. “I mean, she has receipts to prove she bought the sets.”

“No, I don’t,” Des said. “Police tend to ask questions such as how could the sets have been removed without setting off alarms, and wonder if you’re trying to pull an elaborate insurance fraud. Besides, I don’t think Franklin Deng will want to raise a fuss—no more than Albert does.”

“Yeah…” Brenda sighed. “But whoever was on the phone sure sounded angry.”

“Tell Pearl about it when she comes out,” Des said.

Brenda nodded. After a morning spent in various activities—including crafting amulets—everyone had scattered. Flying Claw, Waking Lizard, and Riprap were over at
Colm Lodge doing some sort of weapons practice. Nissa had taken Lani to a kids’ party sponsored by Joanne—the woman who had been “stage-mothering” Lani.

Pearl, Shen, Albert, Honey Dream, and Righteous Drum were closeted in Pearl’s office doing something complex and arcane in connection with raising the spirit of the Exile Ox. After some consideration, they had decided they wouldn’t try the ceremony right away, not after the immense ch’i drain of last night’s activities, but would wait until the next double hour of the Ox.

That left Brenda and Des to handle the various preparations for the arrival of Deborah Van Bergenstein, the Pig and the remaining “active” member of the Thirteen Orphans.

Brenda hadn’t minded. She’d thought about going along to the weapons practice, but the fellows were planning on helping Riprap discover the strengths and limitations of the rather nasty-looking wolf’s-tooth staff Flying Claw had found among the weapons left by the dead assassins. The mixture of spells and weapons that Pearl had been working on with Brenda when they had been attacked nine days ago had once again been postponed.

Deborah Van Bergenstein was due to arrive in San Jose from her home in Michigan shortly before dinner. As interested as Brenda was in meeting Deborah, she was more enthusiastic about the other expected arrival. Gaheris Morris was also flying in. He was due to arrive with enough time to rent a car. Then he would meet Deborah’s flight and bring her over to Pearl’s.

Good thing Pearl has lots of spare room
, Brenda thought, heading upstairs to the third floor, her arms piled with sheets and towels.

Deborah would be staying in the room that had been Flying Claw’s when he was Foster, since it had its own bathroom. Shen had moved from Foster’s room in with Des. Dad and Albert had been offered sofas, but Dad had opted for a hotel, pleading the need to squeeze in a few meetings. Albert lived close enough that he could easily drive.

Even so, Pearl had asked Brenda to drag out a couple of folding cots so they could air, “Just in case.”

To distract herself from the cold shiver that went up and down her spine whenever she thought about how angry that voice on the phone had been, as Brenda went about her chores, she used her cell phone to place calls to various friends. She was trying hard to stay connected to her “normal” life, but it wasn’t proving easy with anyone except her mom. The problem was that between the three-hour time difference between California and South Carolina, and the added complexity of summer jobs, finding the right time to connect was tough.

Still, Brenda managed a few good chats while getting the cots out and the guest room set. When she went downstairs to make a double batch of the chocolate mousse that had become quite popular with the residents of Pearl’s household, Brenda felt a relieved sense of being part of the “real” world.

Brenda didn’t
know much about Deborah Van Bergenstein, other than that she was from the generation between that of Shen and Pearl, and Gaheris and Albert. Now, while separating eggs and putting a scandalous amount of cream in the microwave to scald, Brenda asked Des about the impending guest.

“Deborah?” he said, his hands never pausing in their rapid chopping and slicing. “She has an interesting background. Her mother married a German immigrant—a refugee from Hitler’s Germany. Deborah was born before the end of World War Two and grew up knowing that there were people who didn’t like her father for no other reason than that his native country had once been an enemy of the United States.”

Brenda poked the tip of her little finger into the cream and decided it needed a little more heating.

“Not nice,” she said in a tone that invited Des to say more.

“Nope,” he agreed. “Deborah wasn’t an only child, though—Pigs run to large families—so she had plenty with whom to share the burden. Her parents encouraged education
for both boys and girls, so Deborah started out teaching elementary school. She decided that wasn’t for her, and trained as a nurse. Sometime in her mid-twenties, she settled down with a nice German-American boy who understood exactly what she’d been through as a child. They have—if I remember right—six kids and tons of grandkids.”

“Wow,” Brenda said. “And with all of that, Deborah kept up with being an Orphan, too?”

“And made sure her heir apparent—Liesel’s about your dad and Albert’s age, a few years younger—got her training to be the next Pig, too,” Des agreed. “Liesel, by the way, is a philosophy professor at the University of Michigan. She’s promised to come out if we need her, but she’s teaching summer session, and with her kids out of school, she’s pressed.”

“How many kids does Liesel have?” Brenda asked.

“Two,” Des answered, “but Liesel started late, and her kids are still quite young. Five and three, I think.”

“Is Deborah nice?”

“In a drill sergeant sort of way,” Des agreed. “Organized. Efficient. She’s going to be a lot of help—among other things, she can help me get you three apprentices up to speed.”