“Riprap, you and your ‘classmates,’ for lack of a better term, had to learn to walk before you could run. To be more accurate, you had to learn the alphabet and the sounds the various letters make before you could learn to read. I suppose Des and I could have given you long lectures about potential dangers, but I’m not sure they would have made an impression.”
Riprap allowed her a brief smile. “Yeah. I’ve seen that. We start kids on a sport, and we’re required to tell them why they need protective equipment or helmets or whatever, but there’s nothing like a knee in the wrong place to teach a boy why he needs to wear a cup.”
“Brenda’s summoning of the Three-Legged Toad shows how much worse than a knee in the wrong place,” Pearl said a touch primly, “mistakes in magic can be. I know Des put up wards before permitting you and Brenda to start your first spells. I’m sure he warned you that if something went wrong, the consequences might be far worse than a mere loss of ch’i.”
“He did,” Riprap leaned forward, laced his fingers over one broad kneecap. “Pearl, you said we had to learn the alphabet before we learned to read. That’s what we’re doing now: learning the basic forms and combinations, how they can be shaped and reshaped to summon, to build barriers. I’ve a feeling there’s more to it. That spell you worked so we could talk to Foster, that was no simple ‘sentence.’ What you and Des have been working on, trying to create a spell that would release memories from the dragon crystals, that’s something again. Are we going to learn that, too?”
“In time. To stretch the analogy, what we’ve been teaching you is less to read than to memorize and recite. The memorization and recitation serves two purposes. One, it gives you tools you can use to defend yourselves, or in a limited fashion, to attack. We’re also using those recitations to teach you about the elements that go into spells.”
Riprap nodded. “Right at the start, Des showed us how we could use a basic limit hand and it would work, but he also showed us how if we tailored our choice of tiles to our own directions, winds, whatever, we’d create a stronger spell.”
Pearl smiled approval. “And learning to calculate those elements—suit, direction, wind, dragon, later on variations represented by the flower and season tiles—will give you what you need to work complex spells like the one we used to permit you to talk with Foster. Later still, you may learn what you need to create unique spells, but that is something not everyone learned—even back in the days when the Twelve were not exiles and were the protectors of an emperor. By the way, do you know why we chose to work the spell so that you could talk Foster’s language, rather than having him learn English?”
Riprap met her gaze unflinchingly. “I figured it was because you are better able to control Foster if he still is suffering under a language barrier.”
Pearl rewarded him with a marginal inclination of her head. “That is part of it, but the other part is that we know nothing about Foster other than his gender. We can guess he is a Tiger, or more accurately, that he was a Tiger. We do not know what type of Tiger he is. He does not know his date or time of birth. We cannot calculate his Heavenly or Earthly Branches. In other words, we lack what we would need to tailor a spell to him.”
“Interesting,” Riprap said. “I can see that. So you might have tried to work the spell to let him comprehend English, but it might not have taken.”
“More likely, it would have taken for a short period of time, but gradually it would have unraveled.”
“I see.” Riprap sat considering for a while, while Pearl sipped her tea. “Pearl, are we going to need to wait until we’re all-star players before we do something more than practice routines? We’ve been in California for ten days now. Albert Yu was attacked three and a half weeks ago. I know we’re not even to the end of June, but eventually, Brenda’s going to need to go back to college or face missing a term. Both Nissa and I have jobs that will wait for us, and you’re helping us meet the bills, but I can’t help but feel we should be doing more.”
“What would you have us do?”
“Brave Dog would search for his master, not hide away learning tricks.”
“Brave Dog was a character in children’s bedtime stories, not a real person.” Pearl held up her hand to interrupt Riprap’s protest. “Brave Dog may have been based on a real person, but that doesn’t mean he’s real, any more than the George Washington who chopped down cherry trees was a real person. He was an ideal, even a role model, but that doesn’t mean he was a real person.”
“I still think we should do something,” Riprap said stubbornly.
“You are. You’re learning the alphabet. You’re learning to read.”
Riprap held up a broad wrist encircled by several polymer tile bracelets. “Can’t these ‘sentences’ help? Can’t we use spells for searching?”
“We can,” Pearl said. “Des and I have tried, but whoever our enemy is, he has hidden himself much as we have hidden ourselves.”
“So we’re stuck here, waiting until our enemy—or enemies—finds us and make a move. Seems to me, he’s being pretty slow. I mean, it’s not like we’re hiding out in the Batcave or something. You may have an unlisted number, but it’s not like people can’t find out where Pearl Bright lives. We suspect we’re being watched, but that’s not enough.”
“But here we are guarded,” Pearl said. “I assure you, I have already laid in place various plans that should draw our enemies into revealing themselves.”
“I’ve noticed we’re dangling Foster as bait,” Riprap said. “But no one’s biting.”
“Not that we know of,” Pearl corrected.
A knock sounded on the office door, and Des stuck his head in. He had his hair braided tightly back and a pink satin mandarin cap Brenda had bought for Lani was perched jauntily atop his head.
“Dinner will be ready in less than ten minutes.”
“Thank you,” Pearl said. “Des, do you have any plans for after dinner?”
Des shook his head. The pink cap wobbled but kept its precarious balance. “Nothing that will take too long.”
Pearl went on. “Riprap has been asking me some questions. I’d like to have a group meeting after Lani is in bed. Would that work for you?”
“Fine,” Des said. “I was going to call my older daughter tonight—it’s her birthday—but I can do that while Nissa is putting Lani down.”
“Give Julie my best,” Pearl said, rising to her feet and gently pushing Bonaventure to the floor. When Des had gone upstair to tell Nissa and Brenda that dinner was nearly ready, Pearl returned her attention to Riprap. “Satisfied?”
“Sure,” the big man said. “Especially if we figure out how to do more than just talk.”
Brenda was reading her e-mail when Nissa entered her room through their connecting bathroom. Brenda waved the other woman to a seat.
“I’ll be off in a minute. Just checking in with some of my friends.”
“How do you explain your summer internship?” Nissa asked. She sounded genuinely curious. “I mean, my sisters don’t really ask for details. We’re all used to each other taking off and doing strange things. My boss is the one who wants to know every detail. He’s already imagining Lani starring in a film.”
“What have you been telling him?” Brenda asked, logging off and shutting down her laptop.
“That auditions take a while. That San Jose isn’t exactly the heart of the California film industry. I sent him copies of the pictures we had taken last week for Lani’s portfolio.”
“So you’re safe,” Brenda said.
“You sound relieved.”
Brenda shrugged. “I guess I’m getting tired of not being able to talk openly to my friends. When I first came out here, I told them I had gotten a good internship working for a friend of my dad’s. That’s true enough. I didn’t mention just who that friend is, not that I think most of them would be impressed by my working for a long-ago movie star. The details of what I’m doing here have been pretty easy to avoid since most of what m
y friends want to talk about is mutual friends or what we’re going to do when school starts. It’s me who wants to talk about more.”
“Are your friends mostly from college?”
“Some. Some from high school have stayed in touch, but we’ve got less in common now. One of my best friends from high school—we were in student government together—still keeps in touch. We have this strange story we’re writing together, and she’s been doing more with it now that it’s summer and her job—she’s got something in a state senator’s office—is boring her to tears. I try to keep up with my part, but …”
Brenda shrugged again.
“I didn’t know you wrote. What kind of story is it?”
“Sort of a fantasy thing. It seemed weird and really original when we started it, all about the two of us being transported to this kind of King Arthur world, getting separated, and what happened afterwards. We sort of tried to one-up each other on outrageous encounters with monsters and knights of the Round Table, but after the last few weeks, well, imaginary knights and ogres just don’t have the same appeal.”
“No kidding!”
“Yeah.” Brenda grinned.
The grin they’d shared faded from Nissa’s face. “Look, Brenda. I had something serious I wanted to talk to you about. You’ve got it bad for Foster, don’t you?”
“Oh, god … Is it that obvious?”
“Probably to everyone but Foster … and maybe Lani, and I wouldn’t be too sure about Lani.”
Brenda felt both crestfallen and relieved all at once. “You mean, I haven’t acted like too much of an idiot?”
“I mean that men—the good ones, at least—are usually the last to figure out when someone likes them. The ones who walk around assuming that every girl has fallen for them aren’t worth knowing. Trust me on this.”
Brenda thought about Lani, and how Nissa wouldn’t tell anyone who the girl’s father was, and thought she understood. She hesitated, then decided to plunge in. Talking about her crush was a relief after so long.
“So, Nissa, you think Foster is one of the good ones?”
“This version of him is,” Nissa said promptly. “I mean, he’s kind to Lani, and that takes some doing. I’m her mom, and I adore her, but a toddler is a demanding creature. Foster seems intelligent, and he’s very patient. And let’s not forget he’s drop-dead gorgeous. That wouldn’t matter if he were a creep, but it sure makes him easy on the eyes.”
Brenda didn’t know whether to blush or feel territorial. She had tried hard not to consider Nissa as a potential rival, but for all Nissa had a kid, she was still young and pretty and single—and easy, too, apparently.
Nissa gave Brenda one of those all too knowing looks, and Brenda felt her ears get hot.
“Okay, Brenda,” Nissa said. “Your mom isn’t here, and you don’t have any sisters. Your girlfriends don’t know you have a crush on Mr. Gorgeous, because you can’t really explain about him with having to explain a whole lot more. So I’m going to stick my nose in. Guard yourself. One of these days, Foster’s going to notice your interest, and he’s man enough that he might decide to take advantage of it.”
Brenda blinked, and suddenly got really interested in her fingernails.
“Brenda …” Nissa sounded exasperated, but not angry. “Look. He’s a guy. You’re a girl. I’ve noticed how you keep looking for a few minutes alone with him. I don’t think you’re trying to jump his bones, not consciously maybe, but depending on what Foster’s social programming is he might decide that’s just what you want. And that might lead to more than what you want. Got me?”
“Foster hardly ever talks to me,” Brenda said, trying not to let her sudden defensiveness surface. She had been finding reasons to seek Foster out when no one else was around. She didn’t know what she expected, but there was a high that came from being with him, waiting to see what he’d do. “I mean, not about anything other than the weather or basketball. I don’t think we’re exactly heading for bed.”
“What else does Foster have to talk about?” Nissa said practically. “He has no memory. No past. He’s got to feel like he has very little future, too. That’s not exactly going to make a man feel chatty—if he was chatty to begin with, and I have a feeling that Foster wasn’t.”
“Why?”
“A hunch.”
A knock came on the door and Des called, “Ten minutes to dinner. Nissa, I think Wong’s been helping Lani make mud pies.”
Nissa jumped to her feet and called, “Thanks, Des!”
She turned back to Brenda and said in a softer tone of voice. “Think about it? At least be careful?”
Brenda smiled, suddenly feeling a whole lot less alone. “Promise. And thanks.”
After dinner, Brenda took her turn doing the dishes while Nissa put Lani down. She wondered a little at the tension she’d sensed between Pearl and Riprap over dinner. It hadn’t been exactly unfriendly, but it had been there.
She looked around for Foster, telling herself that she just wanted someone to help dry the pots, feeling her cheeks get hot when she remembered her earlier conversation with Nissa. But Foster had gone upstairs after dinner, and there really weren’t that many pots to be dried.
The tea and coffee, and the plate of brownies along the length of the long table between the family room and the kitchen, kept the meeting from seeming quite like a council of war, but as soon as Riprap opened his mouth any illusion that they were just meeting for dessert vanished.
Almost by reflex, Brenda opened her notebook.
“Earlier today,” Riprap said, “I asked Pearl why we’re not doing more to take the initiative.”
“Initiative?” Nissa said. “You mean other than preparing to defend ourselves?”
“Right,” Riprap said. “We’ve focused on that. Maybe we’re even too good at defense, since we haven’t glimpsed our enemies since Foster charged in after Pearl and Nissa.”
“I saw someone,” Brenda reminded him.
“You might have seen someone,” Riprap countered. “That’s not the same.”
Pearl said almost reluctantly. “Riprap is correct. Our enemies are being very careful. I have even tried to prompt them to take some action by letting Foster leave the house. I’d thought that maybe they didn’t know where he was, and if they did, they’d come for him.”
Brenda didn’t feel as shocked as she wanted to. She’d already guessed that Pearl hadn’t softened toward Foster because she liked him any better.
“However, I have had no confirmed sightings of our enemies.”
“Maybe we’re going at this all wrong,” Brenda said. “Maybe if we could figure out what ‘they’ want, we could figure out who ‘they’ are. What could be so important that they’d be willing to renew old conflicts generations later?”
“On that point,” Pearl said, “my guesses might be slightly better than yours, but still guesses.”
“I’d still like to hear them,” Riprap said.
“Go ahead, Pearl,” Des prompted. “It’s probably beyond time for us to share some of what we’ve discussed with these three.”
“Very well,” Pearl said. “Now, remember, this is just speculation, some mine, some Des’s. We have done some auguries trying to test our theories, but augury is far from conclusive as a test. If we were absolutely right, we might get some indication that we were right, but the augury cannot tell us where we are off track.”
“Answer cloudy. Try again,” Brenda murmured. “The old Magic Eight Ball.”
“Rather more like that than you would imagine,” Pearl said. “One of the most obvious reasons someone from the Lands might come after us all these years later is something to do with the Cat. For example, they might need a new puppet, someone with a legitimate claim to the throne.”
Brenda noted this theory down, but even as she scribbled could think of all the reasons this wasn’t the best explanation for someone to come after the descendants of the Thirteen Orphans.
“Surely,” Nissa objec
ted, “in a hundred years the people who usurped the throne would have fathered or mothered bastards or minor family branches or whatever. Why would they need to come into another world for a candidate—especially one who is the grandson of the original Cat?”
Brenda doodled next to the words “claim to the throne” a round-headed caricature of a Chinese boy surrounded by twelve rather ferocious-looking animals. The rendition was cartoonish, but she filled it out as Pearl went on to her next theory.
“Another option is that there is some old rivalry that has flared up—and not necessarily a rivalry of the personal kind. It might have something to do with property or some inheritance. Remember, one of the conditions that the Twelve insisted upon before they would agree to go peacefully into exile was that their families would neither be attacked or beggared.”
After the number two, Brenda wrote: “Old Rivalry. Contested Inheritance.”
Pearl went on, “The third option is harder to explain, but it has to do with the threat—however passive—the Thirteen offer the Lands as long as we continue to exist.”
She glanced at Des, and Des took over.
“My theory is that as long as descendants of the Thirteen continue to exist, they provide something like a breach in the integrity of the Lands, a weak spot in its dimensional walls.”
Brenda scribbled this down. If you bought into the idea that there were other worlds or universes or whatever, and that natives of those universes could more easily go between them, then this sort of made sense. Riprap seemed to think so, too.
“This works for me, more than the rest,” he said. “That would explain why what they’re stealing is memories connected to being one of the Thirteen. Maybe if they can take those away, the physical inheritance—which in any of us but you, Pearl, is no better than a quarter and in most of us is a whole lot less—wouldn’t be enough.”
“Enough for what, though?” Nissa protested. “I’m beginning to see why you didn’t try and explain this sooner, Pearl. If I hadn’t sensed that Three-Legged Toad myself, seen the destruction it had done to your wards, I wouldn’t be able to believe this at all—I’ m having enough trouble as it is.”
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