by Derwin Mak
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
Introduction
The Character of the Hound
The Fortunes of Mrs. Yu
Goin’ Down to Anglotown
The Polar Bear Carries the Mail
Lips of Ash
The Man on the Moon
Across the Sea
Mortal Clay, Stone Heart
Dancers with Red Shoes
Intelligent Truth
Bargains
Threes
The Son of Heaven
Shadow City
The Water Weapon
The Right to Eat Decent Food
Papa and Mama
Běidŏu
Afterword
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
One day she would have to return to her true form ...
Frothy waves rolled up around my legs, each one larger than the last. All the colors of the ocean shimmered under the sun: blue and green and white, silver and copper and gold. The tide churned, and I saw shapes in the water: the little mermaid, resurrected from her sea form existence, the deadly kelpie tossing back its mane, a sinuous dragon clutching a pearl under its bearded chin.
The waves rose and enfolded me, and suddenly I was crying against the mother I had never known. She knelt in the water, her arms around me. Seaweed twined in her black hair.
“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” I sobbed.
“Hush,” she said. Her voice was a whispered roar, as if it were coming out of a seashell. “All you had to do was ask.”
She touched her clammy lips to my forehead. Something tumbled from her mouth. I caught it in my hand. It was a jade fish. I placed it under my tongue and tasted salt.
—From “Threes” by E.L. Chen
Also Available from DAW Books:
A Girl’s Guide to Guns and Monsters, edited by Martin H. Greenberg and Kerrie Hughes
Here are thirteen tales of strong women, armed with weapons they are not afraid to use, as well as fists and feet of fury, from authors such as Tanya Huff, Mickey Zucker Reichert, Jane Lindskold, Kristine Kathryn Rusch, Nina Kiriki Hoffman, Irene Radford, and others. These are urban and paranormal stories certain to appeal to all readers of this most popular genre. So sit back and enjoy as these empowered women take on all challenges with weapons, wit, and skill—and pity the poor monsters and bad guys who’ll need rescuing from them!
Timeshares, edited by Jean Rabe and Martin H. Greenberg
Welcome to timesharing like you’ve never experienced before. This is not your chance to acquire some rental property in the Bahamas. The stories you’ll find within these pages are your tickets to real timesharing—taking a vacation through time. Afraid of flying? The high cost of gas got you down? Want to really get away? Step into your local Timeshares agency office, venture through their time travel device, and you can find yourself in exotic, adventurous locations. Of course, you and your fellow vacationers may also find yourselves caught up in all manner of trouble and mysteries—and definitely in danger. With stories by Kevin J. Anderson, Michael A. Stackpole, Greg Cox, Donald J. Bingle, Chris Pierson and Linda Baker, and others.
Cthulhu’s Reign, edited by Darrell Schweitzer
Some of the darkest hints in all of H.P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu Mythos relate to what will happen after the Old Ones return and take over the Earth. What happens when the Stars Are Right, the sunken city of R’lyeh rises from beneath the waves, and Cthulhu is unleashed upon the world for the last time? What happens when the other Old Ones, long since banished from our universe, break through and descend from the stars? What would the reign of Cthulhu be like, on a totally transformed planet where mankind is no longer the master? It won’t be simply the end of everything. It will be a time of new horrors and of utter strangeness. It will be a time when humans with a “taint” of unearthly blood in their ancestry may come into their own. It will be a time foreseen only by authors with the kind of finely honed imaginative visions as Ian Watson, Brian Stableford, Will Murray, Gregory Frost, Richard Lupoff, and the others of Cthulhu’s Reign.
Copyright © 2010 by Derwin Mak, Eric Choi and Tekno Books
All Rights Reserved.
DAW Book Collectors No. 1511.
DAW Books is distributed by Penguin Group (USA).
All characters and events in this book are fictitious.
All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
First Printing, May 2010
S.A.
eISBN : 978-1-101-18738-8
http://us.penguingroup.com
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Introduction copyright © 2010 by Tess Gerritsen
“The Character of the Hound,” copyright © 2010 by Tony Pi
“The Fortunes of Mrs. Yu,” copyright © 2010 by Charles Tan
“Goin’ Down to Anglotown,” copyright © 2010 by William F. Wu
“The Polar Bear Carries the Mail,” copyright © 2010 by Derwin Mak
“Lips of Ash,” copyright © 2010 by Emery Huang
“The Man on the Moon,” copyright © 2010 by Crystal Gail Shangkuan Koo
“Across the Sea,” copyright © 2010 by Emily Mah
“Mortal Clay, Stone Heart,” copyright © 2010 by Eugie Foster
“Dancers with Red Shoes,” copyright © 2010 by Melissa Yuan-Innes
“Intelligent Truth,” copyright © 2010 by Shelly Li
“Bargains,” copyright © 2010 by Gabriela Lee
“Threes,” copyright © 2010 by E.L. Chen
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
“The Son of Heaven,” copyright © 2010 by Eric Choi
“Shadow City,” copyright © 2010 by Susan Ee
“The Water Weapon,” copyright © 2010 by Brenda W Clough
“The Right to Eat Decent Food,” copyright © 2010 by Urania Fung
“Papa and Mama,” copyright © 2010 by Wen Y. Phua
“Bĕidŏu,” copyright © 2010 by Ken Liu
Afterword copyright © 2010 by Derwin Mak & Eric Choi
Introduction
Tess Gerritsen
I grew up in a household where ghosts and demons were real and ancestors’ spirits hovered over our family, where incense was burned every morning and mysterious brews of whiskey and medicinal herbs often simmered on the stove. My mother, an immigrant from Kunming, China, never stopped reminding me that our family came from a land far older than America. She filled our heads with tales from her own childhood, of fighting monks and ghostly lovers and wise men who could magically walk on water.
“It’s true, these stories are all true,” she insisted. “In China, these things really happen.”
And I believed her.
But I grew up. I went to college and medical school and built a career as a doctor, and later as a writer. China may be stamped on my face and in my DNA, but in every other way, I thought of myself as an American. I believed in science, not superstition. As my memories of childhood receded, so too did my mother’s tales of ghosts and demons, of a far-off country so ancient that magic is part and parcel of its history. I forgot just how Chinese I really am.
When I read this marvelous collection of stories, my Chinese childhood came rushing back to me. Here, in The Dragon and the Stars, are tales of wonder and magic, of immigrant families, and ancient history re-imagined. Each of these writers knows what it means to be p
art of a Chinese family, to grow up with parents who no doubt spun mystical stories for them, just as my own mother did.
In this treasure chest of stories, you’ll discover a point of view that western literature too often ignores. Some of these tales are set in the ancient past, some in the near future. Some deal in magic, some in realism. In “Bargains” by Gabriela Lee, a young woman has a fateful encounter with a Chinatown shopkeeper who has dreams to sell—dreams with consequences. In “Papa and Mama” by Wen Y. Phua, a Chinese daughter struggles to remain dutiful to her parents, despite the fact they are both dead and inconveniently reincarnated as a fish and a bird. In “The Fortunes of Mrs. Yu” by Charles Tan, a blank strip of paper inside a fortune cookie spells an uncertain future to a diner. These three are just a sampling of the wildly imaginative tales you are about to enjoy.
In Chinese numerology, eighteen is a lucky number. The eighteen writers who contributed to The Dragon and the Stars hail from around the world, and their stories are each delightfully unique. But all of them have something in common: they reflect the experience of what it is to be Chinese, an identity that none of us ever truly escapes, though we may grow up far from the shores of China.
The Character of the Hound
Tony Pi
AUTUMN, in the Thirty-First Year of the Shao-Xing reign period of the Southern Song Dynasty, on the southern shore of the Yellow River, Henan Province
Not long past sunset, halfway through my inspection of another paddle-wheel warship, an anxious messenger arrived delivering a strange summons.
“All soldiers who bear the character of the hound, come with me!” he cried.
Our generation all bore a chengyu—a proverb—tattooed down our backs. What the herald sought was the ideogram for hound, which had two forms:
I stepped over the foot-treadle and greeted the herald, fist-in-hand. “I am Wu Fan, and my chengyu is qiū ho wú fàn.”
I had chosen the chengyu when I turned twenty as a vow to my deceased father, and I also took my courtesy name from it. Literally new feather not harm, the proverb meant one who would not commit the slightest offense against the people; it was my eldest brother who had tattooed those words into permanence at my capping ceremony.
No others aboard bore a tattoo that fit the summons, but my guide seemed satisfied with me and shoved me toward the exit. I had barely enough time to call out instructions to my ragged crew: “Load the thunderclap bombs without me!”
Off-ship, the sandy shore was crowded with makeshift camps and grim soldiers preparing for battle. Snatches of lewd songs and laughter rose amid the sounds of toil, but the overall mood remained bleak. The Jin army had massed four hundred thousand strong on the northern bank of the Yellow River, whereas our river fleet had only twenty thousand men. If we could not stop them from crossing at sunrise, they would lay waste to the lands we had reclaimed from them ten years ago, and the sacrifices of a hundred thousand lives would be for naught.
A flurry of messengers boarded and left other creaking boats, some alone, a few accompanied by men in their twenties like me, called to the same duty. The lack of seasoned warriors with the hound mark did not surprise me. Soldiers of the generation before us who had fought under Yue Fei, the Spirit General, all bore the same tattooed motto as he did, utmost loyalty serve country:
It was only after the recapture of the capital Kaifeng, during the years of fragile peace, that men and women began wearing proverbs of their own choosing.
All of us seemed to be converging on the grand vessel holding court among smaller ships—eleven paddle wheels a side and one of the finest trebuchets in the fleet. We called her the Longma, after the legendary dragon-horse guardian of the Yellow River. I had admired the flagship from afar but had never set foot upon her.
But I could not dispel my unease about this strange summons. My superiors had not asked after knowledge or skills but required a man merely for the shape of a word on his skin. A blood sacrifice to ensure victory on the morrow?
To my surprise, we approached a stark vessel in the shadow of the flagship, where a handful of scowling men already gathered. A Qitou-rank officer guarded the gangplank, wielding a snake halberd as he would a flag-spear, only a red paper lantern hung from the base of the halberd blade. A slip of paper with calligraphic characters swayed beneath the light, the black ink still wet, proclaiming a riddle: one dog, four mouths.
“Only a man who knows the answer may board,” the officer said.
Three of the men shook their heads and stepped back. Illiterate, perhaps? The rest of us considered the puzzle in earnest.
Lantern riddles intrigued me. As youths in my native Sichuan, my brothers and I had matched wits against many riddle-hands during the Lantern Festivals. Sometimes, a riddle depended on words with double meanings, and other times several ideograms had to be combined to yield the final word. By the puzzle’s form, I suspected the latter.
Dog suggested the character for hound, which can be combined with four instances of the character for mouth. Only one word fit the riddle: qi, the character for tool or receptacle.
I was first to give the answer. Satisfied, the officer dismissed the others and stepped aside to let me board.
Unlike the other wheel-ships in the fleet, which had been rigged with trebuchets, this squat vessel held on deck only a windowless cabin with a door slightly ajar. I gathered my courage and entered.
Two men stood in heated argument in the lantern-lit chamber. I recognized the wispy-bearded man in his early fifties as Admiral Zhang, bedecked in his imposing lamellar armor. A veteran of the war against the Jin, Zhang had been given the command of our river fleet by the Spirit General himself.
The other, a balding man in his thirties, bore a deep diagonal scar crossing both lips. His uniform marked him as a Yongdui, a platoon commander.
“Our ships and weapons are superior. Even without its magic, we can win tomorrow!” Admiral Zhang insisted. “I, who am beneath your flag, beg you to reconsider.”
Beneath your flag? The Admiral’s use of the honorific for the Yongdui ill-fit the proper chain of command.
The scar-lip man shook his head and answered Zhang in a calm and sonorous voice. “No. It remains the key to holding the Yellow River and must not fall into Jin hands at any cost.”
I knelt in obeisance. “I, your servant Wu Fan, am at your disposal.” This posture brought my eyes to fixate on a pool of drying blood before a closed interior door. A sudden chill overtook me.
“How will this man help?” Admiral Zhang asked.
Scar-Lips drew his sword from its leather scabbard and stepped so close that his trouser leg brushed against my tied hair. “He has a mind for riddles, it seems.” He touched the flat of his sword on the nape of my neck and slid its entire length down my back, between cotton and skin. I dared not move, and held myself as still as I could against the gentle rocking of the boat. A sudden breeze tickled my back, and my cotton tunic fell in two parts, sliding down my arms. “And he has the hound upon his back.”
Admiral Zhang snarled. “But is he loyal?”
“I, your servant, have known scoundrels who rip their shirts to show honor written down their backs, even as they lie and steal,” I said, unable to hold my tongue. “My tattoo may not shout the same allegiance, but I take my chengyu’s moral to heart. I am true to the Emperor and would never turn traitor. Let my deeds prove it.”
“Would you lay down your life here and now to save the kingdom?” Scar-Lips asked.
“I give it without hesitation,” I blurted.
“Then it seems you have the heart as well.” Scar-Lips sheathed his sword. “Wu Fan, you will hear many strange and secret things tonight, not to be repeated upon pain of death. If you understand, rise.”
I let my arms slip from the sundered tunic as I stood. “I do.”
“Call me Kou Shen.” Kou shen meant mouth god or mouth spirit, leaving me to wonder about the nature of this man. “There is an urgent matter of the state, the theft of a rel
ic from this ship. Do you know the legend of the Hetu?”
“Yes, the sacred River Chart,” I answered. “In ancient times, as a gift to the king, the Yellow River sent a dragon-horse from its depths with a magical map of the river’s secrets upon its back.”
Kou Shen nodded. “The Hetu is real, and in the hands of a sorcerer, the hide can raise floods or calm waters on the Yellow River. The currents flow in our favor, and enemies who slip underwater never surface alive. Thanks to the Hetu’s magic, the Jin armies have feared the river. But that advantage may be lost.” He pushed the door to the adjacent room open. Two robed men and a guardsman lay dead at the foot of a silk-draped table, their throats cleanly cut.
I turned away. I had seen more gruesome deaths in my three years of military service, but the cold precision of these murders disgusted me. “Who did this?”
“A traitor among us, one of high rank who knows about the Hetu,” Kou Shen said.
Admiral Zhang’s face twisted with anguish when Kou Shen said traitor. “The sorcerers may be dead, but our fleet will rise to the challenge.”