Treasures of the Twelve

by Cindy Lin

  “Let’s get them out of sight,” Saru told the boys.

  As they began dragging the Strikers away, Usagi hustled Tora and Rana into the Hall of the Golden Throne. “Get ready,” she murmured. Saru left the boys to deal with the knocked-out Strikers and quickly joined them. They moved in formation through long galleries, marching to the throne room as if they were the new watch team, passing Guards and servants.

  Would anyone here notice that they weren’t actual Strikers? Usagi willed herself to breathe slowly, as if she were practicing mind-the-mind. Concentrate. You are a Striker. The Treasure watch stood at attention in the deserted throne room—two Dragonstrikers at the doorway, and two more flanking the altar with the Treasures.

  But as Usagi and the others entered, the roaches by the door seemed to know something was wrong. “Halt,” said one. She frowned. “Who are you?”

  “We’re here to relieve you, of course,” said Saru, sounding offended.

  Taking a step forward, the Striker reached for her firecannon. “I don’t recall ever seeing you. What’s the watchword for the day?”

  Usagi’s heart sank. Watchword? They’d never thought there might be such a thing.

  Saru shot her and the others a look. “It’s ‘Now’!” said the Monkey Heir, and sprang at the Striker. She threw the sleep powder in her face, and the Dragonstriker coughed and squinted, fumbling with her weapon before collapsing to the floor, unconscious.

  The other Striker aimed his firecannon at Tora. But just as he was about to fire, Rana reared back and spit in his face. With a curse, he grabbed at his eyes. Tora pounced and shoved a palmful of sleep powder into his nose and mouth. He gave a muffled cry before falling silent and going limp.

  Usagi heard the two Strikers by the altar move to attack. Powder clutched in each hand, she whirled and leaped to them in a single bound. Before they could react, she threw the sleep powder squarely in their faces. The Strikers coughed and sneezed once before stiffening. Their eyes rolled up, revealing the whites, and the roaches hit the ground with a thud.

  “Get the Treasures!” Saru urged, nodding to the altar. She dragged the first Striker away from the doorway, and Rana followed with the second.

  Usagi seized the pen and bowl, sticking them deep inside her fake ammunition pack. “We need the replacements!”

  “I have them.” Tora pulled a hammered metal bowl and enameled brush pen from her own disguised pack and placed them on the altar. Goru had created them that morning with the Conjurer, right before they entered Dragon City. They looked exactly like the real Treasures, down to the nicks and scratches the ancient items had gathered over the centuries. “There. Now if anyone happens to look in, they won’t see that they’re missing till we’re long gone.”

  “Get the roaches by the altar,” Rana reminded them. “They’ll come to in a couple of hours.”

  “Tie them all up,” said Saru. “And move them out of sight.”

  They quickly bound and gagged the four Strikers and dragged them onto the dais. An enormous, painted folding screen backed the throne, so they pulled the Strikers behind it to hide them.

  “All right, let’s go,” said Saru, and they hurried out of the Throne Room. As they started through the innermost gallery, they were met by Goru. “Did you get them?” he asked.

  Usagi patted her bag. “Right here.” The Pen of Truth was back in her hands at last, as was the Bowl of Plenty, tucked beneath the Tigress’s robe. An old knot of guilt in her shoulders loosened.

  “I’m going to hammer out a few fake Strikers for the throne room,” Goru told them. “It’s all well and good that we have the fake Treasures in there, but if they’re unattended, it will raise alarms.”

  Saru nodded. “Good idea.” They slowed their pace, delaying their exit, till Goru rejoined them. Then with a brisk step, they slipped out of the hall and reunited with Nezu and Inu in the shadows of the courtyard.

  “How’d it go?” asked the Dog Heir.

  “It was close,” replied Saru. “There was a watchword that we didn’t know about. We had to take them out with Rana’s sleep powder.”

  Nezu tugged at his whiskers. “Spirits. These were the easy ones. We can’t even get to the other Treasures till the Blue Dragon goes to sleep.”

  “We should get ourselves to the Inner Court,” said Saru. “It’s early still, but he’ll be retiring to his chambers after evening meal.”

  Only three more Treasures to go. They began crossing the palace grounds in tight formation, returning salutes from passing Guards and Strikers.

  Then Tora muttered, “Oh no,” and pulled her helmet down lower.

  “What is it?” Usagi whispered. She heard a familiar voice in the distance and stumbled. “Never mind. I hear them.” It took all her strength not to call out or start running toward the voice.

  A group of Academy cadets was approaching, and one of them was her sister.

  Chapter 22

  The Blue Dragon’s Lair

  “QUICK,” SAID TORA. “WE CAN’T let them see us.” With an abrupt turn, they filed behind a building, waiting for the Academy cadets to pass. Rana, Tora, and Goru pulled nervously at their helmets. As former students at the Dragonlord’s Academy, they ran the greatest risk of being found out if their old classmates got a good look at them.

  Usagi reached for her silver rabbit pendant, but it was behind her armored breastplate. As the cadets drew closer, teasing and bantering, she could hardly breathe, hearing her sister’s voice among them. She homed in on Uma’s conversation and realized her sister was talking to Jago, the little boy from their hometown of Goldentusk. His rooster flight and capture was what had led them all here.

  “Don’t pay attention to them,” Jago said. “They’ve always been jealous. They’re just looking for an excuse to pick on you.”

  Her sister sighed. “Thanks, Jago, but maybe you shouldn’t walk with me. Those bullies will make you pay for it.”

  “I don’t care,” Jago said stoutly. “You’ve always looked out for me.”

  “Well, I’m looking out for you now. Run ahead. I’ll wait here for a bit.”

  Usagi’s brow furrowed. She knew she needed to stay out of sight. But it sounded like Uma was in trouble. Unable to stop herself, she peeked around the corner. Down at the other end of the building, Uma stood alone, watching as Jago marched ahead with the rest of the cadets. She looked just as she had when Usagi had glimpsed her in the Mirror of Elsewhere, dressed in severe cadet blues, her long hair tied in a high tail. But her sister was taller now, Usagi could see, and she seemed sadder, too.

  If only Usagi could run to her, give Uma both a hug and a good shaking, and make her realize how mistaken she’d been for placing her trust with the Blue Dragon and his minions. Was she no longer one of his star cadets? Why? How were they mistreating her at the Academy? Usagi leaned farther out, trying to get a better look.

  “Get back, Usagi,” hissed Rana. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s Uma,” she shot back. “She’s right there.”

  “Rabbit Girl, let her go. I know you miss her, but we’ve got to stick to the plan,” said Nezu.

  Usagi scowled. “I know the plan! Can’t I just look at my own sister for two seconds?” She waved them off impatiently, rattling her armor. Uma turned her head. Usagi ducked back behind the corner. Scabs.

  “Er . . . she might have seen me,” Usagi admitted. “We should go.” But as the others began to move, her rabbit ears detected the rapid patter of Uma’s feet speeding toward where she’d spotted movement. Alarmed, she urged Rana and the Heirs to run. Just as her sister was nearly upon them, Usagi impulsively stepped out before her.

  Uma came to a violent halt. “U-Usagi?”

  Though Usagi’s Striker helmet sat low on her head, there was no hiding her identity. She raised her chin and looked Uma in the eye. “Hello, little horse. How you’ve grown. Is everything . . . are you okay?”

  “What are you doing here? And why are you dressed like a Dragonstriker?�
� Uma’s wide eyes were bewildered, and a mix of emotions flitted across her face—shock, anger, relief, fear.

  Usagi faltered. “I—I needed to see you. It’s been too long.” She heard the others stealing away. Hopefully they would be able to get to the Inner Court as planned. “Uma, surely you don’t want to stay here still? Come away with me. I promise you’ll be better off.”

  “Better off?” Her sister frowned. “How can I believe that? You’ve lied to me before.”

  Usagi saw the suspicion in Uma’s eyes and recognized her mistrust. It felt as if she were gazing into a mirror. “I never meant to deceive you. But I understand why you think you can’t believe me. I know what it’s like having someone you trust lie to you. All I can do is promise to be honest, and prove what I say through my actions.”

  “You’re still with those rebels, then?” Uma glanced around, but no one was in sight.

  Hearing her friends’ footsteps fading well into the distance, Usagi felt something release. “They’re the rightful Heirs to the Twelve, Uma, and so am I. Remember all the stories Mama told—that I used to tell you and Tora? Midaga was once so different. It can be that way again.”

  Uma shook her head. “I hardly remember Mama. And those stories . . . they were nice tales, but Lord Druk is in charge now.” She took a deep breath. “It’s best to do what he says. What choice do we have?”

  “We all have a choice,” said Usagi. “We can go along because it seems easier, or we can resist when we know something is wrong. And what he’s done, what he’s doing—it’s wrong. You must know that, deep down.”

  Turning her head, Uma bit her lip and didn’t say anything. Usagi tried again. “I’ve seen and heard some things around here, Uma—I don’t want to see you mistreated.”

  Her sister crossed her arms. “I’m fine. They’re just . . . testing me.”

  “You haven’t been fine.” Usagi looked at her sister pleadingly. “Don’t stay here.”

  “Running away isn’t going to fix things,” said Uma. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Lord Druk’s forces get stronger every day—he’ll hunt every last traitor down. There’s no escape for the disloyal. Being on the winning side is power. It’s the only way forward for Midaga.” She spoke rapidly, as if she were reciting something that had been drilled into her. Opening her eyes, she looked at Usagi. “Besides, not everyone here is so difficult. Like Jago. Remember him? Or have you been too busy with your new friends to recall your old ones?”

  “Of course I remember Jago! I can’t believe you’d think I wouldn’t.”

  Uma shrugged. “Then you know I can’t leave him behind—he needs me.”

  Putting her hands on Uma’s shoulders, Usagi tried to keep her voice steady. “I know I can’t force you to see what I do, or to come away with me, but I only want the best for you. I think of you every day.”

  In silence, Uma stood unrelenting. Usagi sagged and embraced her sister. “I hope you’ll be able to understand and forgive me someday,” Usagi whispered. “You’ll always be my baby sister.”

  For a brief moment she felt Uma slump, then she tensed and pushed Usagi away. Her eyes narrowed. “So are the others here too? Tora? Goru and Rana? If they get caught, the Dragonlord will make them pay.”

  Usagi hesitated. She’d promised not to lie, but she couldn’t let her sister jeopardize their mission. The burnt fragment of her old wooden rabbit pendant, the one that their father had carved and that Uma had burned in a fury, seemed to warm in the rabbit-shaped locket beneath her breastplate. What should she do?

  If she wanted her sister to trust her, Usagi would need to trust Uma too. With a deep breath, she admitted that she was on a mission, but didn’t elaborate. “I said I’d be honest with you, and so I am. But if I tell you any more, it could be dangerous—for you and for others.”

  Her sister stared at her, then backed away. “Doesn’t matter. I think I know what you’re here for, and it’s not me.” She glanced around. “I’m warning you, there’s no peace for the wicked. Where the king sleeps, the floors sing.” She took another step back. “I’m going to the Academy now. I’ll tell Jago that I saw you”—her breath caught—“in a nice dream.” Whirling, Uma ran off before Usagi could say another word.

  Usagi stared into the gathering darkness. Her sister was gone. Was she letting Usagi go? Or would she raise an alarm? But what Uma had said about the floors singing sparked a bit of hope. She needed to find the others right away and tell them.

  The moon emerged like a luminous eye, keeping a cool gaze on her as she hurried to the Inner Court. Lanterns and torches flared to life as workers lit them around the palace grounds. No one looked twice at her, dressed in her Striker armor. As she neared the former royal residence halls in the Inner Court, she heard someone whisper her name. It was Tora, calling from a path leading to the gardens. Following her voice, Usagi slipped into the grounds. In the moonlight, the bare branches of manicured trees looked like lacy black fringe embroidered on the sky.

  She remembered this garden well—through here Usagi had escaped the palace in the dead of night, tunneling through the wall with Rana and Goru’s help. Now they and the other Heirs had taken refuge in an ornate open-air pavilion overlooking a crescent-shaped pond. As she drew closer, Usagi saw that it was twin to the one at the Shrine of the Twelve. Even in the dark, she could tell it was identical to the Tigress’s Nest on Crescent Lake, with a gilded roof and the animals of the zodiac sculpted into twelve brightly painted pillars.

  Inside the pavilion, she was met by Tora and the others, all of them relieved to see her, yet angry. Contrite, Usagi immediately apologized.

  “What in the name of the Twelve happened back there?” barked Inu. “How did you get away?”

  “I didn’t tell her details, but my sister knows I’m here on a mission, and she didn’t try to stop me,” said Usagi. “She won’t leave the Academy, though I tried to convince her. And she also said something interesting: ‘Where the king sleeps, the floors sing.’”

  “She told you about the warning system?” Frowning, Nezu pulled at the whiskers on his lip. “Why would she do that?”

  “Wait, what warning system?” asked Rana.

  “The cricket floors,” chorused Tora and Goru.

  Looking out across the pond to the complex that once housed the king and his family, the Monkey Heir pointed. “‘No peace for the wicked’ is an old saying about the floors in there. They’re rigged to chirp with every step, remember?”

  “Oh right—that’s why we need the Belt of Passage,” Rana said.

  “The cricket floors were installed by the Warrior Council generations ago, so that no one can sneak up on the king while he sleeps,” Nezu told her. “Not that it helped poor King Ogana, may his spirit rest.”

  “We should move forward with the mission,” Usagi urged. “Given Uma’s warning about the floors, I get the feeling she isn’t going to say anything about seeing me.”

  “Either that, or we could wind up in a trap,” said Inu doubtfully.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Usagi replied. “I don’t want to abort the mission now, do you?” They all shook their heads, including Inu.

  Tora’s snaggleteeth gleamed. “Let’s finish this.”

  Usagi prayed that their plan would work. They’d studied the layout of the palace grounds for weeks, especially the royal residence. In the shrine library on Mount Jade, there was one detailed scroll from a hundred years ago that featured the royal family in their private chambers—the king in the North Wing, the queen in the South, and princes and princesses in the East and West Wings. Each well-guarded wing contained dozens of rooms linked by long corridors. Not much had changed here after the Dragonlord had taken over. Even in Striker uniform, it would be a challenge to get in and out with the Treasures.

  They watched and waited, shivering and stamping in the cold night air, until activity around the Inner Court ceased and windows grew dark. “It’s time,” said Saru.

  In groups of two and th
ree, they struck out for the former royal residence halls, now guarded by the Dragonlord’s elite forces. None of the other roaches seemed to notice as they joined in patrolling the quiet central courtyard of the four connecting buildings. The grand residences loomed over them. The moon had climbed above their high peaked roofs, casting its glow on the elaborately decorated ridgelines teeming with zodiac animal guardians. It was nearly the hour of the Rat—the Blue Dragon was sure to have retired by now to his chambers in the North Wing, its entrance flanked by Strikers.

  Saru and Rana made the first move, marching toward the former hall of the queen. The Dragonlord had given it over to favored advisers, and it was lightly guarded compared to his own. They slipped through the South Wing’s unattended entrance, followed not long after by Goru and Inu. When Usagi, Nezu, and Tora reached the doors, they stole through and joined the others. The corridors were empty and quiet, dimly lit by sconces along the wall and stately lantern fixtures hanging from the ceiling. As a unit, they began moving through the building. To Usagi’s dismay, a chorus of chirping crickets erupted, their every step announced by the rigged floorboards.

  “Stop! The whole building will hear us,” Usagi hissed. “There’s no way we’ll even get close to the North Wing without notice.”

  Nezu flashed a grin. “Time for the belt.” He took off the Belt of Passage and whipped it toward the end of the hall. The belt stretched into a long bridge of rope and wood planks that ran the length of the corridor, suspended just below the gilded rafters above their heads. “See? We won’t have to touch the floors.” He gave Tora a boost.

  Reaching down from the bridge, Tora grasped Goru’s hands, pulling while Inu and Nezu grunted beneath his weight.

  “He’s smaller but he’s not any lighter,” gasped Inu, straining to lift Goru.

  Goru smirked. “Never judge a person by their size.”

  Saru swung onto the bridge with Rana in tow, and Usagi hopped up. Once Inu and Nezu joined them, they crept down the hall. The bridge creaked and swayed but was far quieter than the singing floors below. Usagi’s heart raced as she listened for approaching servants or Strikers, but the only other sounds were their booted feet tiptoeing along the wooden slats of the bridge, and the occasional rattle of their armor.