The Empress's Tomb (33 page)

“They came for Oona,” I said, though I could hardly believe it. “We had to hide.”

“She gave herself up to save us,” Betty told the group through her tears. “They came to get her while we were upstairs, and she knew if they didn't find her they'd look down here.”

“Oh, Oona!” Luz moaned.

“Looks like I made a bad bet,” Kiki confessed. “I was gambling on our search coming up short. That way we might have convinced Oona to leave the mansion tonight.”

“Did you find the drug they were going to use?” I asked DeeDee.

“Tubocurarine.” DeeDee shook off the shock. “It's a plant toxin from South America. Tribes there once used it to poison dart tips, and for a while doctors used it to keep people still during surgery. But now it's considered too dangerous. There's no reason for Lester Liu to have it. We found it sitting on the counter in the kitchen. We replaced it with tap water.”

“You found it on the counter? Are you sure you switched it in time?”

“I think so.” DeeDee didn't sound as confident as I'd hoped.

“Betty,” Kiki said, taking charge of the situation, “do we have outfits for tomorrow?”

“They're a little old-fashioned and may not fit, but if we drench ourselves with perfume we might get through the front door.”

“Good enough. Ananka? Is the Empress safe for now?”

“She is,” I reported.

“Luz?”

“I chipped out a small corner of the coffin. It was all I could do with the tools I had. But it's enough to let air in, and I don't think anyone will notice.”

“Then nobody panic. The plan's a go.”

By seven o'clock the following evening, the Irregulars were ready for the ball. Betty had done her best with the contents of Cecelia Varney's closet, but none of us were destined to make the night's best-dressed list. The lumpy bust of DeeDee's strapless blue dress was stuffed with several pairs of stockings. Luz refused to wear high heels and paired a fifties-style dress with her own scruffy combat boots. Betty had pinned a rose-colored gown to my less-than-adequate form. If one pin popped, the entire ensemble could fall to the ground. Betty wore a bright yellow frock that Luz had refused, and the color made her look sickly—though Kaspar didn't notice. Only Kiki's beaded black dress seemed to suit her, though it was clearly several sizes too big. The rest of us would have to depend on our Fille Fiable to convince the doormen that we belonged anywhere other than an asylum.

Kaspar would not be attending the gala. Cecelia Varney hadn't owned a tuxedo, and her dresses were much
too small for him to go in drag. So while the rest of us waited for the Empress to awaken, Kaspar would take the Taiwanese artists to Oona's house. He was happy to do his part, but he insisted on returning to Central Park to search for his squirrels. Everyone knew it was an excuse to be near the museum in case Betty needed assistance. Kiki tried to convince him to stay in Chinatown, but he simply refused to hear of it.

Shortly before seven, Kiki and Luz left us to scope out the mansion. At seven fifteen they returned with word that everyone had left for the gala. With Kiki leading the way, all seventeen of us moved quickly through the darkness of the mansion's east wing. We reached the foyer without any trouble and were almost at the door when we heard a low chuckle from above. Sukh waved at us from the second-floor landing but seemed loath to give chase.

“What are you waiting for? Get the door!” DeeDee shouted.

“Going somewhere, Princess?” Sergei Molotov emerged from the Staffordshire Room and pointed the barrel of his gun directly at Kiki.

“What are you doing here?” Luz demanded. “We saw you both leave.”

“We drove Mr. Liu to the gala. It is only a few blocks away. You did not think Mr. Liu would leave children home alone, did you? That would be very irresponsible.”

“So what are you going to do, Molotov? Shoot us?” Kiki spat. “Go ahead and try. Your gun doesn't have enough bullets.”

“You are correct,” Molotov sneered. “I have only six
bullets. I tell you what. You choose the five friends you would like me to shoot. The last bullet I will keep for you. Whoever is left can do as they like.” Molotov smiled. He knew we couldn't afford to fight him. Kiki might have taken chances with her own life, but she wouldn't let harm come to the rest of us.

“You aren't allowed to hurt us,” Kaspar pointed out.

“Nor am I allowed to let you escape. It is a dilemma, no? What do you say we make this easy for everyone? You go back to the room, and you will not be shot. Sukh, please show the children to their chamber.”

“Certainly, Mr. Molotov,” the butler replied.

I heard two footsteps, a heavy thud, and a moan. My eyes snapped to the staircase where Sukh lay sprawled on his back, the expression on his face a mixture of pain and confusion. He picked himself up and limped slowly down the stairs. Only ten steps from the bottom, his large body lurched forward. With his arms stretched out in front of him, he appeared to have taken flight. Then gravity reasserted itself and brought him crashing down to earth. He bounced off three stairs before landing in a motionless lump at the bottom. To those of us who'd been watching, one thing was obvious. The butler had been pushed. But there wasn't anyone behind him.

Kiki was not among the witnesses. While most eyes had been trained on the spectacle, hers had remained locked on Sergei Molotov. With his attention momentarily diverted, she sprang into action. A shot rang out and glass shattered. Molotov scrambled for his gun, which Kiki had kicked into the Staffordshire Room. Kiki, Kaspar, and Luz bolted after him. Before they made it to the
door, a tremendous crash sent a tremor through the foyer and left the chandelier swaying. Then everything was strangely still. Kiki, Kaspar, and Luz stood frozen in the doorway.

“What just happened?” Betty finally asked.

“Umm….” Kaspar searched for a way to explain what he'd seen. “A cabinet full of figurines just fell.”

The rest of us rushed for the doorway. Shards of glass and porcelain littered the floor of the Staffordshire Room. One of the tall wooden cabinets that had stood against the wall now lay facedown on the floor. Two carefully polished Italian shoes stuck out from beneath it. The feet inside them weren't moving. Beside the toppled cabinet stood the one figurine that had escaped undamaged. It was a girl playing with a kitten.

“How could it fall on its own?” DeeDee asked.

“It couldn't,” Kiki replied.

•     •     •

A wide strip of burgundy carpet ran like a river of blood from the edge of Fifth Avenue to the entrance of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Limousines, Bentleys, and Rolls-Royces waited in line to disgorge their fabulous passengers at the curb. Despite the snow piled in the gutters and the arctic breeze whipping through the trees, there was scarcely a coat to be seen. Celebrities and socialites offered prim poses for the crowds of paparazzi who toed the edge of the carpet. Occasionally, the flashes would pause to allow a stiff-backed old lady or a bespectacled nerd to saunter past. Though their faces were unknown to New York's tabloid readers, these were
the gala's most important guests—people so fabulously wealthy that they felt no need to mug for the cameras.

The Irregulars watched the action from across the street while Luz's teeth chattered like castanets and my skin turned an alarming shade of purple. Our midnight scavenger hunt in Lester Liu's mansion may have turned up ball gowns and poisons—but none of us had thought to grab coats.

“Everyone ready?” As pale as an ice sculpture brought to life, Kiki seemed perfectly at home in the cold. Unable to speak, the rest of us nodded stiffly, and Kiki passed around the bottle of Fille Fiable. “Don't go easy on it. Getting through the door is going to be the hardest part.”

Reeking of body odor, the Irregulars bypassed the red carpet and hurried straight for the entrance of the museum. A muscular guard in a tight black suit nudged his companion and started to snigger as we climbed the stairs. Both men stepped forward, using their formidable bulk to block our path. Kiki took the lead. Even in heels, her head reached no higher than the guards' chests. They peered down at the tiny girl with amusement. Like most New York doormen, they lived for the chance to keep rabble like us away from their rich and beautiful bosses.

“Invitations,” one barked.

“We don't need invitations,” Kiki said confidently. “We're personal guests of Lester Liu.”

The men's laughter trailed off as our Fille Fiable finally reached their nostrils.

“What's that god-awful stench?” asked one guard, smelling the air.

“I believe it's you two.” Kiki pinched her nose. “Forget your deodorant this morning, gentlemen?”

Betty giggled as both guards attempted subtle sniffs of their armpits.

“Pretty bad, huh?” Kiki said. “Most monkeys smell fresher. But I'm afraid I don't have time to give you a lesson in personal hygiene. Lester Liu is waiting for us.”

One of the guards whipped out a walkie-talkie. “I'll just check with Mr. Hunt.”

“I wouldn't bother the director,” Kiki advised. “What if he decides to greet us himself? One whiff of you guys and you're out of a job.”

“She's right, Lenny,” the other guard said in a low voice. “Maybe we should just let them in.”

“I think that's probably best for everyone,” Kiki agreed.

“Please don't say anything,” the first guard pleaded as he opened the door of the museum to let us inside. “I need this job to pay for calf implants. Otherwise I'll never be able to wear shorts.”

“Don't worry,” said Kiki. “I'd never think of coming between a man and his shorts.”

Inside the museum's Great Hall we found New York's rich, famous, and fabulously dressed milling around crab apple trees dripping with thousands of brilliant red blooms. Projected onto the museum walls, an image of a cross-eyed Fu-Tsang dragon circled the guests like a predator patiently choosing a victim from the herd.

“Teeheehee.” Behind us, two girls were whispering to each other. They made no effort to hide the subject of their conversation. I recognized them immediately. They
were both famous for playing sweet, innocent characters on film and living debauched off-screen lives.

“What?” demanded Luz. “Do you find something amusing?”

The blonde giggled again. “We were wondering who your stylist is,” she sneered. “She must be very dedicated. I bet she had to dig through a dozen Dumpsters to find those boots.”

“At least my friend doesn't dress like an over-the-hill showgirl,” Kiki countered. “I'd hang on to that outfit if I were you. The way your career is headed, I have a feeling you'll be wearing it again soon.”

The smiles on the girls' faces shriveled. “What are you, some kind of albino midget?” snarled the brunette before turning to her friend. “Why are we wasting time with these freaks? Let's go find the party.” As they pushed past us with their noses in the air, Luz casually placed one heavy combat boot on the train of the brunette's sequin gown. A loud rip could be heard over the chatter in the hall. The brunette squealed when she felt a cool breeze on her exposed backside. She clenched her fists and started for Luz.

“You've got to be kidding!” Luz laughed. “Bring it on, sister.”

Kiki grabbed the brunette's thin arm and forced her to inhale a little Fille Fiable. “You should go home before something very unfortunate happens,” she counseled. “And next time you go to a party, don't forget to wear underwear.”

“That was fun,” I said as the brunette hurried for the door while her friend watched in shock. “Let's have another
celebrity showdown. How about that sleazy little actor who's always bragging about his revolting love life? He's over there, bothering some poor lady at the bar.”

“We're not here to have fun,” Kiki reminded me. “No more brawls tonight. We need to find Oona as quickly as possible.”

•     •     •

A plush jade-green carpet flanked by white flowering crab apple trees led up the stairs from the Great Hall. Guests grouped in twos and threes were beginning to follow the path to the Empress's exhibit. The Irregulars tried our best to blend into the crowd, but heads still turned at our unusual outfits, and more than a few people sniffed at us with undisguised disgust. We were just about to pass the second-floor ladies' room when an elderly woman in an understated dress emerged. I ducked behind a crab apple tree only to find that it offered little in the way of cover. Principal Wickham squinted at me through the branches. I was frantically preparing an explanation when she turned and charged down the carpet toward the exhibit. I had no idea if she'd seen me, and I prayed I could avoid her for the rest of the evening. Otherwise, saving Oona would cost me my freedom.

I caught up with the Irregulars as they forged ahead into the exhibit. Imperial dragons floated on the walls while guests mingled and marveled at the Empress's treasures.

“All this for a traitor,” I heard a woman say, and my flesh turned to ice. For all I knew, Lester Liu was thinking the same thing about Oona.

“Those Egyptians really knew how to send a girl out in style,” a man remarked to his companion as they barged past me for a closer look at a tiny replica of an Imperial palace.

“Walter, you're
such
a cretin,” his friend whispered. “This stuff isn't Egyptian; it's
Japanese.”

“Actually, it's all Chinese,” Betty politely informed them.

“Do you see her dress?” The first man tittered. He hadn't even waited for Betty to walk away. “If
anything
belongs in a museum …”

“Don't,” DeeDee warned me when she saw the fury on my face.