“In the borderlands to the north. I was wandering in the desert. I don’t know why I kept going the direction I was going, but eventually I saw a caravan in the distance. I followed them to a gate with five bright-white arches and a wall inlaid with bricks of many colors. It was beautiful. I feared that I would immediately be identified as an outsider, unwelcome, but this city—Shule, they called it—was a tapestry of every culture in this part of the world. Chinese, Turkic, Mongol . . . even Indian and Himalayan.”
“So why did you feel the need to disguise yourself?” said Bren.
“Besides the fact that I enjoy playing dress-up?” said Lady Barrett, smiling. Suddenly Bren realized how much he’d missed her. He wondered, laughing to himself, if Sean felt the same way. “The truth is, I soon learned that two groups known as the Black and White Mountaineers were fighting for control of the city. By far the safest people were the merchants and traders. After all, they are the ones that give Shule its life. So I decided to join one of the caravans. I figured that was also my best bet for getting out of there. A built-in excuse to leave, if you will.”
“So what happened to the Tamer of Beasts?” said Bren.
Lady Barrett reached for the dull grey blade she had been carrying. She picked up one of the stones ringing the fire and began smacking it against the blade. After a few good hits, a hint of gold shone through.
“Hard to look like a local merchant with a gold and scarlet sword,” she said.
“Isn’t it against some supernatural law to deface a magical artifact?” said Sean.
Lady Barrett laughed. “Possibly. But the thing is, I’m not sure it’s magical anymore.”
Bren nearly jumped out of his seat. “It doesn’t work anymore?” He thought back to their recent leopard attack. “You didn’t use it to keep the beast from killing me?”
“No,” she said. “You’re lucky to be alive. We all are.”
Bren dug around in his pocket until he produced the black jade stone. “Mine doesn’t work anymore, either!” He looked at Sean. “That’s why I jumped in front of you back in the cave. I thought I could protect all of us because of this.”
They all fell silent for a while, considering everything they just told one another. Finally Bren said, “It must have something to do with the Dragon’s Gate. Mouse didn’t want me to open it because it would supposedly release the full power of the Eight Immortals back into the world. But maybe . . .”
“Maybe once the artifacts were back on the other side, the Immortals kept them there?” said Lady Barrett. “The power that animated them, anyway?”
Bren nodded. “Maybe. Yaozu did talk about how the Ancients had abused their power. The Emperors of Heaven and Hell had given them real magic—natural magic—and the Ancients had created the artifacts instead to make magic easier to use. Our stones—mine and Mouse’s—supposedly had the divided spirit of one of the Immortals himself. Perhaps opening the gate was his chance to return to his real body, and the Immortals’ chance to undo their mistake.”
“You should hear yourselves,” said Sean, still determined to be skeptical, despite all he had been through with Bren.
“I just know my stone seems to be worthless,” said Bren. “And so does Lady Barrett’s sword. We have no idea about Yaozu’s jade tablet, because no one knows what happened to him, or it.”
“Why don’t we discuss all the magic in the world, or lack thereof, on a full stomach,” said Lady Barrett, rattling through her things for a dinner pot.
“I didn’t know you could cook!” said Bren, whose admiration of the dashing adventurer, antiquary, and magician was coming back in full force.
“What’s to know?” said Sean. “It’s yak’s milk ten different ways!”
Lady Barrett laughed. “I did miss you too, Mr. Graham.”
“Why didn’t you tell us who you were sooner?” said Bren.
“I wanted to tell you as soon as I saw you,” she said. “I wanted to run right up to you and throw my arms around you. You too, Mr. Graham.”
Sean blushed.
“But if I had done that, the rest of the caravan would have wondered who I really was, and then we all would have been under suspicion. I could have told you privately, but in my experience, the fewer people to know a secret, the better.”
“What did you know about the two men who attacked us?” Sean wondered.
“Not much,” Lady Barrett admitted. “They had signed on not long before you. Maybe now’s as good a time as any to tell me why they thought you had something worth stealing?”
Bren hesitated before answering. He wasn’t sure how to begin. “Lady Barrett, have you heard of the League of Blood?”
“No,” she said, smiling broadly, “but it sounds deliciously sinister. Tell me more!”
Bren explained about their trip from Khotan to the Leopard’s Nest, and the men in red sashes, and what Ali-Shir had told them about the League of Blood. He didn’t want to remove his tunic, because even by the fire it was cold at night, so he sketched, from memory, a rough drawing of the tangka in his journal, the one thing he had managed to hang on to since Khotan, for Lady Barrett.
“You say this is sewn into your shirt?”
“Yeah,” said Bren. “I had no idea until the monks with red sashes caught up to us.”
“It’s interesting, but I’m afraid I’ve no idea what it is or what it means. I bet Archibald would know,” she added with a wink. Bren immediately felt heart-sore for his old friend.
“Something just occurred to me,” said Sean. “You explained how the monk warned you by using pictures of navy signal flags. How on bloody earth did a monk living in the mountains nowhere near the sea know navy signals?”
Bren thought about it for a second. “I don’t know.” He looked to Lady Barrett, who just shrugged.
“Oh well,” said Sean, who began preparing his bedding for the night. “So now what? Do we still travel to Leh? Or do you have another plan?”
“I think we should proceed to Leh,” said Lady Barrett. “The road is well established, and it goes in the right direction—toward home. We can make a new plan from there. Plus we could send a letter from there to Bren’s father, and Archibald, with decent hope that it will reach them.”
Bren and Lady Barrett prepared for bed as well. As he lay down, Bren couldn’t help but think about the Dragon’s Gate, and his experience compared to what Lady Barrett had told them.
“Lady Barrett, did you see anyone on the other side of the gate? Someone you knew, perhaps?”
“What do you mean, Bren?”
Now that he’d brought it up, he wasn’t sure how much he really wanted to talk about it. He decided to change the subject. “Never mind. You don’t really believe there’s a Beast of the Black Gravel Pass, do you?”
“I’m going to be the Beast of the Black Gravel Pass if I don’t get some shuteye,” said Sean. “Pipe down, both of you. We have long days ahead of us.”
Lady Barrett, whose bedding was close to Bren’s, whispered, “I’ll let him pretend to be in charge just this once.”
“Good plan,” he whispered back, suppressing a laugh. Then, feeling guilty, he added, “I really don’t know what I would have done without him since we all split up.”
In the darkness he felt Lady Barrett reach out and squeeze his arm. “We’re together again,” she said. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
He immediately felt better, and was soon asleep.
CHAPTER
7
THE QUEEN OF CASHMERE
Archibald Black stared at the girl with the uncommonly green eyes, and she in turn stared back at him. They were sitting face-to-face in an ornate, vaulted room that completely defied Black’s expectations. He and David Owen had been led by Prester Thaddeus down a dark alley to an unmarked door, and when the girl let them in, they had passed through a crumbling corridor that reeked of garbage and twitched with rats.
The girl had led them down several corridors, and then up a flight
of stairs, and just before passing through an unremarkable door into this remarkable room, Prester Thaddeus had taken David away.
“Do you mind if I ask where we are?” said Black. “Where is my friend?”
“Which question do you want answered?” the girl replied.
Black thought about it. “Both. In that order.”
“You are in Cashmere. Your friend is elsewhere,” said the girl, and she got up and left.
“I suppose I asked for that,” Black mumbled to himself. He stood up from the sofa he was sitting on and walked to the door where the girl had exited. It was locked. There were no other doors or windows in the room. He sat back down and looked more closely at the decorative motifs along the walls. They appeared to be murals of a sort, depicting Indian kings or gods, elephants, monkeys, cobras, and more than a few scenes of men and women that made Black feel flush.
Before long, he heard the lock turn and the door opened again. The girl came in, followed by a strikingly tall woman who seemed to glide across the floor. She wore a soft gold embroidered blouse, and a pale pink-and-white skirt that flowed past her feet. She wore pearl bracelets on both wrists and pearl earrings, multiple strands of precious stones around her neck, and a jeweled headpiece that featured a large ruby that lay across her forehead.
She was so striking Black almost failed to notice the two armed men who followed her into the room. They each carried monstrous swords whose blades got wider from the hilt, and they took positions on either side of the sofa while the woman and the girl stood in front of Black.
“Have I done something wrong?” said Black.
“You tell me,” said the woman.
Black glanced at the two armed men before answering. “No?”
“How long have you been a spy?”
“A spy?” said Black, and he burst out laughing. “Wait, are you serious?”
“Quite,” said the woman.
Black thought about it for a moment. He had hoped Emperor Akbar would presume him and David dead after the earthquake. But if he knew they were alive, and came to the conclusion that the whole reason for the Royal Survey was to spy on the Moguls, then he and David quite possibly might have triggered an international incident.
“I can see how it looks,” said Black, squirming now. “But I can assure Emperor Akbar that we have absolutely no intention of spying on him.”
The woman furrowed her lustrous black eyebrows. “Spying on him? No, my dear, I am accusing you of spying for him.”
Black was stunned. “Who are you exactly?”
The woman’s casual, friendly demeanor vanished, replaced by a fierce look that made Black scooch back on his sofa cushion. “I am Shveta, the only living descendant of Queen Kota Rani, the last legitimate ruler of Cashmere. And I intend to restore her line.”
Black’s prominent Adam’s apple bobbed up and down his long neck as he swallowed hard. “Very well. But . . . I am not a spy.”
“Prove it,” said Shveta.
“How?”
“That’s your problem, bub.”
The armed men laughed, and Black started calculating his chances of getting past all of them and making it out the door. Assuming it wasn’t currently locked. He glanced at the green-eyed girl, and he could have sworn that she shook her head, just barely, as if she could read his mind and was warning him not to do anything stupid.
“Ani, go get the other one,” said Shveta, “and bring the book.”
The girl left. Ani, thought Black. And at least David is alive. While they waited, Black tapped his foot nervously while Shveta continued to lord over him, folding her arms across her stomach with her hands hidden up the sleeves of her blouse. He couldn’t look at her, so he turned to the bodyguard on his right.
“And what is your name, my good man?”
The guard held the gruesome sword in front of Black’s face. “This is my name.”
To Black’s relief, Ani returned with David, clutching Black’s Bible. She sat him on the couch. “Nice to see you again,” said Black. “Did they accuse you of being a spy as well?”
David nodded. Shveta glided over and gently removed the Bible from his arms. One of the armed men fetched a small, low table, which he set in front of the sofa, and the other retrieved a chair for Shveta.
“What is this?” she said.
“I told you—” David started to say, but she held her hand up to his face. She wanted Black to answer.
“It’s one of the original Gutenberg Bibles,” said Black. “The first book produced with movable type. It’s a technique whereby—”
“I’m aware of movable type,” said Shveta. “I just don’t believe you.” She opened the book to a random page. “What is this language? Latin?”
“Naturally,” said Black. “It was printed from the Vulgate, the officially recognized version of the Bible, which is written in Latin.”
Shveta flipped through more pages, seemingly with no purpose in mind but to stall for time. “Latin isn’t one of the languages I speak. In fact, I don’t know anyone who reads or speaks it. Which of course makes it the perfect language for you to record your espionage.”
This was getting to be too much for Black. “If I were keeping secret notes, why on earth would I record them in a gigantic tome that I have to lug around like a pack animal?”
“You’re right, it’s a silly idea,” Shveta agreed, and then narrowed her eyes. “Which is why no one would suspect you.” Before Black could protest, she added, “Also, I’ve had some of my people look into this, after your friend here gave us his story. This is not what the binding of these so-called Gutenberg Bibles looked like. And they were bound in two volumes, not one.”
Black was indignant. “I’ll have you know that my family was an early investor in Mr. Gutenberg’s project. My great-grandfather requested one complete volume, and this binding was created specifically to accommodate the larger book.”
Shveta started to reply, but this time it was Black who cut her off. “And if you have people who can research all that, you expect me to believe you can’t find someone who can read Latin and tell you that this is, in fact, a Bible and not a spy journal?”
Shveta, who had folded her arms again, hiding her hands, slowly drew them out of her sleeves, showing Black a set of razor-sharp, inhuman claws. And then they were gone again. Black felt David grab his arm.
“Honestly, we’re not spies,” said Black.
Shveta tilted her head to one side. “Well, spies or not, perhaps there is a way for you to win your release.”
“Anything!” David blurted.
“You landed at Bombay Island, yes?” Shveta began. “And traveled with Akbar’s men through central and northern India?”
Black nodded cautiously.
“That’s a very long time to eavesdrop on careless soldiers talking about their emperor’s plans, yes?”
Black drew in a deep breath. “I’m afraid you’ve terribly overestimated our usefulness. David and I spent most of our time trying to figure out how to get free of the army.”
“We may have overheard a few things,” David put in.
“Go on,” she said.
“Akbar and Queen Adeline had some sort of arrangement for Britannia to help the Moguls take over the south, below the Deccan Plateau.”
Shveta waved her arm like she was shooing a fly. To Black’s relief—no claws this time. An illusion, perhaps? “Everyone knows that,” said Shveta. “So why did he take you north instead? Where were you headed before you supposedly escaped?”
David shrugged. “I’m not sure. Archibald was telling you the truth.”
“Archibald!” one of the armed men blurted, rubbing the top of Black’s mostly bald head.
“I think you know more than you think,” said Shveta. “You are surveyors, yes?”
“Not really,” said Black.
“I’m actually a mapmaker,” said David. “For Rand McNally.”
“Ah, you see, I am learning more and more about you by the m
inute. So you have traveled these many miles with Akbar’s men, with your trained mapmaker’s eye surveying the land as you go.”
“We didn’t actually survey anything,” said Black. “Not until we reached Agra, anyway. We never understood what was going on. We were just trying to get to Persia. David’s son is missing. It’s a rather long story.”
“And a delightful one, I’m sure,” said Shveta. “But you do understand this, don’t you? That you’re not going anywhere until I get what I want?”
“We’re not spies,” Black said again.
“We may never agree on that,” said Shveta. “But what I do believe is that you and your mapmaker friend here could give me a great deal of useful information about our enemies. I want you to draw an accurate map of what you’ve seen and heard, the terrain and positions of Akbar’s army, along with any other intelligence you shall recall when you try hard enough.”
Black was beginning to suspect that Shveta never thought they were spies. That it was all just an elaborate setup to pressure them into this. And he had to hand it to her, it was working. “And when we present this map, then what?” he said.
Shveta smiled. “Do you always ask so many questions, bub? Let’s see what you come up with first. Then we’ll talk.”
CHAPTER
8
A PRINCELY RESCUE
“Do people ever ride their yaks?” Bren asked, thinking about how nice it might be not to walk all the time. He put his hand along the broad back of the bull he was walking beside, as if measuring it for a saddle.
“They do,” said Lady Barrett, who was leading the cow. “But merchants on long caravans consider the yaks’ backs more valuable for carrying goods than people. I don’t know if these two have ever been ridden.”
They were so slow and sturdy, thought Bren, and their curved horns were practically like handles. He didn’t weigh much more than a bundle of silk cloth anyway.
“I suggest we just keep walking,” said Lady Barrett, to Bren’s disappointment. “I know it won’t be easy, but who’d have thought we’d make it this far, all things considered?”
The Sea of the Dead Page 5