After a great deal of meditation, Pearl had arrived at a solution that she thought would satisfy her allies, reward her unwelcome guest for his good behavior, and provide her with an edge for the future. She had confided her thoughts on the first two points to Des, and he had agreed to be satisfied. The third point, however, Pearl had kept to herself.
As Des had threatened to do after one of their earlier arguments regarding Foster’s treatment, he had rearranged the sleeping arrangements so that he and Foster now shared a bathroom.
The area at the top of the stairs opened into a broad, comfortable foyer. Long ago, Pearl had furnished this as a informal sitting area, where her boarders might visit without needing to invade each other’s rooms—or her own living areas. That was where she found Foster, seated cross-legged in a wide, high-backed chair, a book in his lap, his elbows resting lightly on the arms of the chair.
His posture was perfect, loose-limbed, yet not in the least bit sloppy. Pearl envied him that young, graceful body, that hair that shone as dark and glossy as her own once had, that youthful skin, clear and golden brown, without the faintest of lines or wrinkles.
Foster rose when he saw it was her upon the stairs, a graceful movement, lithe as that of a young animal. When Pearl topped the stairs, all too aware of the dozens of tiny protests age had set as a symphony in her limbs, he bowed deeply and stood with his hands folded before him, a gesture that recalled how he should have worn embroidered robes into whose wide, deep sleeves those strong, long-fingered hands would have vanished.
Pearl gave him a polite bow in return, and was pleased to see Foster’s eyes widen slightly in surprise at her courtesy. That was all that gave him away though. He stood, still and straight, a young tree, a young tiger, and waited to see what new storm the old woman in front of him would bring into his life.
Pearl spoke to him in Chinese, deliberately using the strange dialect which mixed up times and histories and that was the native tongue of those from the Lands Born from Smoke and Sacrifice.
“Foster, please, I pray, be seated. I have come to speak with you about some matters of great import.”
Foster moved a step closer to the chair in which he had been seated, but did not sit until Pearl herself had taken a seat in the matching chair. Then he lowered himself in, drawing up his legs and crossing them with automatic grace and ease. The chair had been upholstered in red, but over time the color had faded to the dusty hue of dried and faded rose petals saved from a Valentine’s bouquet. The color went very well with Foster’s coloring, and again Pearl felt the dangerous shifting of envy.
However, she had not come here to attack this young man, no matter that everything about him set her teeth on edge and made her want to growl.
“The other night,” Pearl said, “the night when you, Nissa, and Brenda played at mah-jong, I have been told you did us a great service. I am grateful.”
“I played with the babe, Honorable One,” Foster replied. “That is all I am good for, and if I did this well, then I accept your gratitude.”
There was bitterness in his tones, and in the cast of his eyes. Pearl could sense that Foster sought to hide that bitterness, but her ears were too schooled in the nuances of language and expression not to catch the hints. She didn’t doubt she knew the reason for Foster’s bitterness. Even if he remembered nothing about himself, he must feel certain he had been more than a nanny. The T-shirt he wore exposed his arms, and she could see the thin silver lines of scars. When she and Nissa had undressed Foster back in Virginia, they had seen other scars, including one that crossed his chest, as if a sword or spear might have cut quite deeply.
No. Foster only need look at himself in a mirror to know that once he had been more than a nanny.
“Let us not play games with each other,” Pearl said, adopting the tone of general to soldier. “We both know you are good for far more than playing with the babe. We do not know what other talents you have. Perhaps in time we will learn.”
“Desperate Lee says that you and he study upon the matter,” Foster said. “Have you learned something?”
“Some things,” Pearl countered, “but nothing that would mean anything to you. Foster, I have come to tell you that in reward for your patience and valor—in reward for your tending Lani with such gentle strength and so freeing her mother to enter into a battle from which she is still healing—in reward for these things, I have decided to grant you a gift.”
Foster’s face settled into neutrality, and no wonder. Pearl had shown him very few kindnesses. She recalled how she had learned to suspect her father’s gifts, to look for what Thundering Heaven hid behind apparent kindness. The recollection made her feel uneasy. She had seen her father in Foster’s face and form. She had never thought that she herself might have become a more genuine representation of Thundering Heaven’s self.
“A true gift,” Pearl hastened to clarify. “You have been barred from ease of communication with any in this house but myself and Des. I have it in my power to grant the others the means of understanding your tongue.”
Foster did not ask her how she could do this. If he had any trace memories, they would include sorcery. Words for spells and amulets were part of his vocabulary, those words untainted by any sense that “magic” was in the least a matter for doubt.
“I would like this,” Foster said politely. “I will admit to frustration that I can talk less easily than does young Lani.”
“I have another gift for you,” Pearl said. “Would you like to be able to leave this house and see something of the places without?”
This time Foster’s control failed him. He gaped at her, then collected himself and gave a seated bow.
“I would be very grateful, Honorable One. Your palace is lovely, filled with miracles, and with items of great beauty, but I will admit that the walls do close upon me.”
“Then you will have your freedom, but with one condition.” Pearl went on quickly, lest Foster think this reward no reward. “For now, I ask that when you leave the house, one of our number accompany you. You will not be able to speak to the majority of those you meet. There should be someone present who can translate. Also, there are many strange and dangerous things out there, and I would not have you go free only to have you harmed.”
Foster grinned, for a moment a young man, not a warrior /courtier. Then he resumed his more formal manner.
“Honorable One, I remember the journey I made with you and Riprap. I saw the many dangers, even though we traveled mostly within the car. Then, too, Nissa showed me the dangers in things as innocent-seeming as electrical cords and outlets. I can understand only too well how many other dangers there may be. I will abide by your ruling with honor and faith.”
“Nissa still rests,” Pearl said. “And the others are at their studies. Will you permit me to be your first escort? I fear my old limbs may have some difficulty keeping up with your young ones, but perhaps for a first venture, you will not need speed so much as care.”
Foster leapt to his feet and bowed.
“Shoes. I will need to put on shoes as I have not since coming to your palace, Honored One. If you would wait?”
Pearl smiled. “By all means. I will await you down by the front door. I think you will find this neighborhood quite interesting. I look forward to showing some of its wonders to you.”
19
There were several interesting developments in the days following Gaheris Morris’s visit.
Brenda talked to her mom just about every day, and managed to confirm her own suspicion that Dad had come to check on Brenda on his own initiative. Nissa was up and mostly recovered in less than a week after the encounter with the Three-Legged Toad. Perhaps mostly importantly, at least for how it changed the dynamic of the household, Foster could talk—or rather, they could understand what he was saying.
The spell Pearl and Des had worked had been pretty complicated, a series of spells rather than a single one. The final spell in the sequence had been the only one Bre
nda had come close to understanding, and that was because she’d helped work it out, since it was the spell that let the others link with her mind. The formula had involved her element, wind, time of birth, direction, color, and other things, but the end result was worth the effort.
Unlike the Dragon’s Tail or the other spells Brenda had learned so far, the sequence that let them understand Foster was relatively permanent. Until the spell was undone, Brenda’s brain had effectively been reprogrammed to believe that it had always known the peculiar form of Chinese Foster spoke.
Brenda even dreamed in that language now—not always, but enough that she was beginning to stop feeling startled by her new ability.
Foster hadn’t given up his desire to learn English, and he was learning a lot faster now that his teachers could explain complicated parts of grammar. Lani had been included in the spell, but there was no childlike innocence and ease in her acceptance of her new ability. She nearly drove them to distraction asking “why,” and Brenda privately believed that Nissa had gotten out of bed a day or two earlier than she really should have just to escape the little girl’s unceasing questions.
But chatting with Foster proved not to be as easy as merely bridging the language gap. His lack of memory made the kind of shared anecdotes that were the foundation of most friendships impossible. From him there was no “I get you. I remember when I first …” He listened with almost ferocious eagerness to their conversations, but unless they were discussing small household matters or the weather, he had little to contribute.
Now that Foster was off “house arrest,” Riprap decided to teach him basketball. Nissa wasn’t up to all the jumping about, but Brenda and Des took up the invitation to join. Brenda had played a little, both in school and with her brothers—although, honestly, she preferred soccer. As the hoop outside his house testified, Des liked shooting baskets.
There was a nice little park not overly far from Pearl’s house. Especially during the week, the half-sized court was usually empty.
Brenda was much smaller than the three guys, but she was quick and lithe—and tough enough that her episode of ch’i depletion had left her without any scars. She became adept at stealing the ball, although she didn’t make many baskets. Despite this, she enjoyed the games, enjoyed the time away from the excruciating memorization that went into learning how to create spell sequences.
Riprap and Nissa were both more attentive students than Brenda was, and Brenda knew this was because in her heart of hearts she felt like a fake. They were the Rabbit and the Dog. She was not the Rat. Whatever it was that might make her the Rat was gone, stolen away, perhaps forever.
During the basketball games, Brenda could forget this, forget how she didn’t quite fit in. It helped that Foster didn’t fit in even more than she did—or didn’t—or whatever. It helped that Foster seemed to like walking beside her when they went over to the park. It helped how her heart would beat harder when his hand brushed hers—always by accident, ever by accident, although sometimes, lying in bed at night, Brenda would replay the moments in her mind, wondering if there might be just a little bit of “on purpose” involved.
Maybe Foster liked her. That was impossible, of course. He was gorgeous. She was just her. He was someone remarkable, even if he didn’t remember right now who that was. But sometimes, when he smiled at her, or when he paused to let her go through a door in front of him, or when he seemed to wait for her to walk with him when surely one of the guys would be more interesting, then Brenda wondered.
Brenda knew she was behaving like an idiot, letting so much of her thoughts be occupied by something that was certainly all in her imagination—certainly, almost certainly, maybe not?
A bright-feathered, strangely colored bird flew overhead.
Foster, walking beside Brenda as they returned to Pearl’s house after a particularly spirited game, grabbed Brenda’s hand and pointed.
“Look!”
Brenda’s heart beat and her breath caught, so that all words, any words, in any language fled. Her world shrunk to that warm, roughly callused hand that held hers in a warm, living clasp.
Oh, please, she breathed in silent, inarticulate prayer. Oh, please. Almost certainly. Please, not maybe, not.
Pearl was amused to see that a new development had evolved from Foster’s increased freedom. Deprived of her playmate, Lani had cast about for others and had discovered Wong, Pearl’s gardener.
In short order, Lani had charmed Wong and been charmed by him in turn, so on the days he was working they became an inseparable duo. That gave Nissa a much-needed opportunity not only to catch up on her studies, but also to be something other than a mother/student.
Everything within and without the little household was quiet and peaceful. Pearl wondered why. She hadn’t expected it to be so. She had rather expected otherwise. She thought she had dangled bait so that surely the settled situation would unsettle. She wondered what she had missed.
She and Des continued to work on possible ways to break the spells that held Foster’s memory in the crystal globe. They were handicapped in that they could not test their theories without risking that they would work—and Pearl was not certain she wanted them to work. Foster as he was now was a tiger declawed. Foster with his memory back might well be a challenge to rival the Three-Legged Toad.
A knock came on the door of her office one afternoon as Pearl was making a phone call, setting up a screen test for Lani, arranging for someone to escort the child so that Nissa’s studies would not be interupted. Bonaventure was curled in her lap, a pot of tea near to hand, and for that moment she felt quietly content in a fashion she had not since Albert had been attacked.
“Come,” she said, expecting Des. Instead, the tall, dark, muscular form of Riprap nearly filled the doorway. “Come in.”
He did, treading lightly on the thick Oriental carpet. Big he was, but there was nothing cumbersome about his movements. Pearl remembered how Riprap had expressed apprehension that he would manifest as one of those little yap dogs that were what most people thought of when they thought of Chinese dogs at all: a Pekingese or a Shih Tzu or a Lhasa Apso. His aunt had manifested as a Lhasa Apso, although Riprap didn’t know that.
Pearl herself thought Riprap would be one of the hunting dogs, guarding dogs—a Chow Chow, maybe, or a Tibetan mastiff. Of the latter it was said that one alone could kill three wolves or two together a tiger.
Looking up and meeting soft dark eyes behind velvet lashes, Pearl felt suddenly glad that there were not two of Riprap, and wondered at her sudden chill of apprehension. To this point, she had found Riprap the easiest to deal with of the three apprentices, but today there was something undefinably different about him.
“Have a seat,” Pearl said. “Would you like tea?”
“I’m fine,” Riprap said, taking the chair she indicated. “I wanted to talk to you about what we’re doing, why we’re not doing more.”
Pearl looked at him, tilted her head to one side, projecting a willingness to listen, wanting him to explain himself. To her surprise, Riprap waited her out, silence matching silence, not in a duel of wills—or at least not overtly so—but of courtesy to courtesy.
Pearl remembered the account Brenda had given of her first meeting with Riprap, of watching the big man working as a bouncer in that noisy Denver club. Brenda had marveled at how Riprap had been able to control drunken tourists and cowboys on holiday without throwing a punch, only by speaking a few words. For the first time, Pearl wondered if she’d misunderstood Riprap, underestimating his complexity because he’d been the only one who seemed to be more on “her side” during the whole tension over Foster. Maybe he hadn’t been on her side, but on his own.
Time she learned what that side was.
“What we’re doing,” Pearl said. “Educating you, Nissa, and Brenda. Trying to find out what we can about the spell Foster would have used on me, but that I turned back on him. What more should we be doing?”
“That’s what I want
to ask you,” Riprap said. “I made copies of the Brave Dog stories before I left home. I’ve been reading them when I have time—at night, mostly, before I go to bed. What keeps getting to me is how the emperor is at the heart of these stories. Brave Dog protects him, leads his enemies astray, hunts out those who would harm him. There’s no emperor in our story. Heck, Nissa and I haven’t even met him.”
“That’s because he’s gone,” Pearl said gently. “Whoever is after us already captured Albert Yu. He has no memory of who he was. He’s just a man who sells expensive chocolate.”
“And tea and mints,” Riprap added without a trace of a smile. “I tell you, it doesn’t seem right.”
“What would you suggest?”
“Oh, no, ma’am. I already know you don’t take suggestions very well. I’m just asking some questions.”
Pearl raised her eyebrows and permitted herself a small smile. “That bossy, am I? Very well. Ask away.”
“All right. I’m good at this amulet-making stuff. I know it. Nissa’s good, too. I mean, as far as I can tell, both you and Des have let the Sparrow’s Sanctuary she put up stand unaltered, and you wouldn’t have done that if her spell wasn’t as good as you could do. So why aren’t we doing more?”
Pearl pursed her lips. “Nissa spent four days flat on her back after building that barrier. Do you call that good?”
“Nissa built that barrier after feeding you ch’i for your own spell. Then she got carried away. As I see it, the problem wasn’t that Nissa couldn’t handle the spell, it was that she wasn’t taught enough about the complications that could arise when doing something that complex.”
Pearl sighed and slid a finger under the tea cozy to see if her teapot was still warm. It was, and she poured herself a cup, then raised the pot in invitation to Riprap. He shook his head, and sat watchful, waiting.
Thirteen Orphans Page 29