Warrior (33 page)

“Pretty rough bunch,” Day murmured, looking at Altan and his men further away.

“The Heirs have over a hundred men,” Gabriel said. He drew Thalia close, until her hip touched his. It wasn’t the most subtle signal, but Gabriel didn’t give a damn. “Being snobbish isn’t an option.”

The head monk began to look frantic, waving his arms. With a groan, the giant gate was opened so everyone in the party, including their camels, was able to enter the monastery. Monks of every age watched the strange parade of brigands, steppe tribesmen, Englishmen, including one of black skin, a Chinese man, and a white woman in Mongol clothing filing into the large outer courtyard of the temple. Once everyone was inside, the door was shut as quickly as possible, which wasn’t very fast at all, and bolted.

“Impressive defenses for a place of worship,” Gabriel remarked. He noticed that the stone pagoda he had seen earlier was seven stories high. It stood just inside the walls, close to the gate, and would make for an effective lookout station.

“It is not uncommon for the monastery to be attacked by bandits,” the head monk said, casting a wary eye at the brigands. The men in question looked around at the gilded pillars that supported the interior buildings, as if trying to figure out how to pry the gold from the columns. Gabriel wondered if the bandits would simply cut the pillars down and strap them onto their camels’ backs.

“Then you’re prepared for a siege.”

The monk shook his head. “We are not equipped for warfare, only for protecting ourselves.”

Gabriel cursed as he surveyed the monastery, trying to determine the best ways to fend off an attack. Their numbers had increased slightly, but that only barely increased the probability they could not only keep the Heirs back, but defeat them as well. As he scanned the courtyard, Thalia spoke with the Blades.

“Tell me how you got here,” she insisted.

“Found out about poor Tony the morning after he was murdered,” Graves explained, somber. “We knew he was heading to Mongolia, so Day and I took the first ship we could, but it was weeks later. Like Hsiung Ming said, we met up with him in Peking and went to your father in Urga. He told us that you and Captain Huntley were already on the trail.”

“While we were there,” Day continued, “Franklin’s servant Batu showed up and told us all what had happened, and that you and the captain were trying to get the Source to a place of safekeeping. Quite a tale. You’ve done an incredible job, Thalia. You and Captain Huntley both have, and neither of you are even Blades.”

Thalia didn’t seem to focus on his praise, though Gabriel knew it meant quite a bit to her. “How on earth did you get here so quickly?” she asked. “We nearly killed ourselves covering the same amount of distance.”

“Graves,” Hsiung Ming said, admiration plain in his voice. “He built…I suppose you might call it a ship that sails upon the land. It took us here much faster than any horse or wagon, and never tired.”

Gabriel turned and couldn’t help gaping at the inventor. “That is something I need to see.”

“Perhaps later,” Graves said with a smile. “First, you and your party need to get something to eat, and then we can discuss strategies. I believe Lan Shun, the head monk, wants to be involved. This is his monastery, after all, and he knows more about the Source than any of us.”

“The Heirs aren’t more than a day behind us,” Gabriel said, grim. “And I don’t know if this place is going to have what we need to defeat them.”

“Captain, there is something you should know.” Graves took off his spectacles and carefully cleaned them with a fine lawn handkerchief, embroidered on the corner with CAG. “If there’s one word to describe me, it’s resourceful.”

Thalia hadn’t any actual experience with war councils, but she found it difficult to believe that a finer collection of minds had ever been assembled, though the location was a bit unusual. Buddhist monasteries were places of peaceful contemplation and prayer, yet there was nothing peaceful or contemplative about the discussion going on at that moment inside Sha Chuan Si’s temple.

Statues and images of the Buddha and his disciples stared out from altars, unruffled and unconcerned with earthly matters, as the council sat on the floor to debate their strategy. Hsiung Ming provided an ongoing translation for Lan Shun, the head monk. Since Gabriel was deeply mired in the conversation, Thalia translated the English for Altan. Catullus sketched out a plan of the monastery’s layout, which consisted of the temple, several halls, courtyards, and smaller living quarters and spaces for meditation. The tall, round pagoda soared seven stories high close to the front wall. Even though it was plain that Gabriel didn’t much care for Bennett, he’d set aside his ill feelings so they might confer on the placement of what Gabriel kept referring to as “troops,” although Altan took umbrage at the idea that his men were so weak-minded they needed to be in the army.

A mechanically minded intellect, a seasoned soldier, a code breaker and expert strategist, a Chinese scholar, a Buddhist monk, a bandit chief, and an Englishwoman more at home on horseback than in a salon. All talking battle strategy. It sounded like the beginning to a bizarre joke. Yet there wasn’t much amusing about the situation they faced. The Heirs would most likely be at the monastery by the following morning, just over twelve hours hence.

Thalia kept glancing at Gabriel as he was deep in discussion with Altan and Bennett, translating back and forth from Mongol to English and back again. Focused, intense, Gabriel reviewed options and proposed ideas, sharply alert so that his eyes glittered like golden coins. She watched the play of muscle in his arm as he pointed out an area on the monastery map that would need particular attention, and wondered at the strange design of the world, to give her the man she needed but at a moment when everything was uncertain. Such a short amount of time they had left together. She knew they needed to plan for the battle that lay ahead, but she wished desperately that the hours they had remaining could be spent more privately.

Every now and then, Gabriel would look over at her, and their gazes would lock and hold. The paired intoxicants of desire and tenderness overwhelmed her each time. It amazed Thalia that he could be at all jealous of Bennett, when everything she felt for Gabriel was plainly written in her face, her eyes. The polished charm of Bennett Day meant nothing to her compared to the real emotion one gruff soldier had shown her.

The Blades were her brothers, but Gabriel was her heart.

“They’ll try to breach the outer wall,” Gabriel said, interrupting her thoughts, “through the door, but we should also consider their coming over the walls themselves.”

“Grappling hooks?” Bennett asked.

“Most likely, since they won’t have time or resources to build siege towers or ladders.”

“Perhaps we could cut the lines attached to the grappling hooks,” Thalia suggested. “Though I don’t know with what.”

“I believe I have an answer to that, though it doesn’t involve cutting the ropes, exactly,” Catullus said. On another piece of paper, he drew up a diagram and quickly explained how the idea he had in mind worked. Everyone agreed that this invention would make itself very useful, so a few monks were given direction by Hsiung Ming on how to assemble the devices.

“My men can take up sniper positions on the outer wall,” Altan offered.

“That will be helpful,” Gabriel said. “But we need to consider what will happen if the Heirs get inside the monastery. How are they with hand-to-hand combat?”

The bandit chief grinned. “It is one of their favorites.”

“And Blades receive training in close combat,” Bennett added. “Although Thalia—”

“Will be fine,” she said firmly. The idea that she might, and probably would, kill someone soon set her stomach to flipping over and over, but if it was a choice between the life of an Heir or their mercenaries versus someone she cared about or an ally, she knew she could make the right decision.

“You should have seen her at the nadaam festival,” Gabriel said, pride warming his voice. “She could out-shoot Genghis Khan.”

They shared an intimate smile. Only Gabriel could make a compliment on her archery sound like the wickedest kind of flirtation. She felt herself already growing damp.

Catullus cleared his throat, reclaiming their attention. “I will construct some incendiary devices for outside the monastery walls. I’ve also been working on a weapon that I think will be effective for closer combat, should the walls be breached.” He showed them another drawing that made Thalia gape like a baby at the circus. “The construction of it will be somewhat involved,” Catullus continued, “so I believe I will have to take care of it myself as soon as we have finished here. Operating the weapon is a two-man job so Hsiung Ming and I will commandeer it during the battle.”

“Holy hell,” Gabriel said with a shake of his head. “You must be running a fever, to keep the machinery in your brain going so fast.”

The smile Catullus gave Gabriel was rueful. “A family blessing and curse. I never get a full night’s sleep, since I’m always jumping out of bed to write something down.”

“Perhaps you need a better reason to stay in bed,” Bennett suggested.

Catullus rolled his eyes. “I’m surprised you get anything done, since you’re always in the prone position.”

“Not just prone, but standing, and sitting, and—”

“Gentlemen,” Thalia said, interrupting. “We’re discussing warfare, not Bennett’s acrobatics.”

“We’ll need to find someplace safe for the monks,” Gabriel said. “One of these dormitories could work.”

“Excuse me,” Lan Shun interjected through Hsiung Ming. “The kettle is ours to protect. We will not meekly hide while you risk your lives to defend us and the kettle.” The object in question was cradled in his arms.

“You said that you weren’t equipped for warfare,” Gabriel said. “Only for protecting yourselves.”

The head monk nodded. “That is true. But we have a special way of protecting ourselves that, I think, will be more than useful.” He rose and bade everyone follow him into the courtyard outside the temple. When they had assembled, Lan Shun called two monks, who gathered in their bright robes and bowed, first to Thalia and her party, and then to each other. Only Hsiung Ming seemed to understand what was about to happen, but he kept silent.

“I don’t see how that is much of a defense,” Bennett said dryly. “Unless the monks plan on ‘courtesying’ the Heirs to death.”

Lan Shun paid Bennett no heed. “Watch.” At his signal, the monks tucked their robes close to their bodies and bowed to each other again. Then one monk, slightly taller than the other, advanced on his brother with a series of flying kicks that happened so quickly, Thalia could barely see them. The shorter monk nimbly dodged the blows, then launched his own attack. With powerful fists, he struck out, and the taller monk barely avoided catching one in his chest. The tall monk tried to sweep his leg under the short monk and knock him to the ground, but again, the short monk danced out of reach. When the tall monk advanced, throwing sharp punches with the sides of his fists, the short monk leapt forward, grabbed his opponent’s arm, twisted it around, then flipped the tall monk onto his back. While the tall monk lay on the ground, the shorter one brought the side of his hand down onto his throat, just pulling up so that he did not actually make contact, but the intent was clear. If the shorter monk had wanted to, he could have hit his opponent with a choking strike.

Then the short monk backed away, the taller one stood, and they faced each other again before bowing. They left silently when Lan Shun dismissed them.

Everyone, with the exception of Hsiung Ming, gawked. “What the bloody hell was that?” Gabriel demanded after a pause.

“Shaolin kung fu,” Hsiung Ming said, and Lan Shun nodded. “An ancient art of defending oneself and harnessing the body’s magical energy that the monks practice. I have seen and studied it, myself.”

“I want to learn,” Gabriel said.

“Me, too,” seconded Thalia, simultaneously with Bennett.

“As would I,” added Catullus.

“It takes many years,” Lan Shun said. “Which we do not have. But you will not shoulder the burden of protecting the kettle alone.”

“How many monks reside here?” Gabriel asked.

“With myself, fifty-three.”

“And do you have any weapons, or are you trained only in hand-to-hand combat?”

“Spears and short swords. I retain the key to the armory.”

Gabriel nodded. “We’ll need someplace to keep the kettle so that it remains secure.”

“It will do its part,” Lan Shun answered.

Thalia asked, “You’ll use its magic?” When Lan Shun nodded, she turned to Catullus. “Can Blades do that?”

“The code of the Blades prohibits them from using magic that is not their own, but it allows for the Source’s original owners to do so,” he answered.

Intrigued, Thalia asked Lan Shun, “What does it do?”

“As I said, it will do its part,” was all the head monk would say.

“Can you not tell us anything about it?” Catullus asked. “Its purpose, its age?”

Lan Shun walked from the courtyard, everyone following, into a smaller building, stocked to the rafters with scrolls of paper. A library. The room whispered of ancient knowledge and smelled of ink. Though Thalia read no Chinese, she would have loved to spend at least a few hours pouring over the scrolls, feeling the power of the words they contained. Lan Shun spoke with the monk who tended the library, and the librarian took a ladder to scale the walls. At the very top was a locked cabinet, which the librarian opened using a key tied with yellow silk around his wrist. He took from the cabinet a fragile scroll, brittle around the edges, and carefully brought it down to Lan Shun.