The effect was immediate. Danny’s great-grandfather straightened up and returned the bow, obviously charmed.
“Now that’s more like it. Good to know that some young people still know how to be respectful . . .” He beamed at Suki, then turned his gaze back to Danny. “So what are you doing here, Danny? It’s not Thanksgiving already, is it? I told your mother I wasn’t coming until that ignoramus she married learns how to cook a turkey without turning it into charcoal—”
“No, Great-Granddad, it’s only May and you’re thinking of Aunt Kathy’s husband,” said Danny patiently. “We need to ask your advice.”
“Don’t marry a man who can’t cook a turkey, that’s my advice,” said Great-Grandfather Dragonbreath, and elbowed Wendell. “Eh, Wanda? ”
They followed him into the surprisingly modern living room. Great-Grandfather Dragonbreath dropped into his recliner with a chinking noise.
When Suki had finished telling her entire story, Danny fished the shuriken out of his pocket and handed it over. “They left this.”
The old dragon peered down at it, brow furrowing. “That’s the sigil for Spurtongue Clan . . . hmm.”
“Do you—” Danny started to ask, and was waved into silence.
Finally, Great-Grandfather Dragonbreath turned to Suki. “Child, I will need to look into your past lives. Will you permit me? ”
Suki rubbed the back of her neck. “Will it hurt?”
“It is quite painless.” He beckoned her forward with a claw, then laid both hands on top of her head.
Wendell was never able to say afterward what happened in the room, except that it suddenly seemed a great deal smaller and darker, and the ancient dragon seemed a great deal larger and more powerful.
The smell of camphor was replaced with a cold, metallic smell, like snow and steel.
“Yesssssssssss. . . .” The ancient dragon let his breath out in a long hiss. Shadows danced in the corners and over the mantelpiece.
And then it was over. Great-Grandfather Dragonbreath released Suki’s head and rubbed his palms together as if they stung. Suki blinked.
“Is that—was that it, sir? ”
“Indeed, child.” The old dragon pushed himself out from his chair and went into the kitchen. “Tea . . . I need tea . . .”
“What did you find out? ” Danny wanted to know.
“Hmmm? Oh.” Great-Grandfather Dragonbreath leaned out of the kitchen. “Your little friend is the reincarnation of the great warrior Leaping Sword, who used to rule the Spurtongue Clan of ninja frogs a few hundred years ago.”
Suki’s jaw dropped.
“Ooh! Ooh! Do me next!” Danny bounced on his feet. “What I am the reincarnation of? ”
“SOMEBODY WHO MUMBLED A LOT!” roared Great-Grandfather Dragonbreath from the kitchen.
“Awwww. . . .”
When he emerged from the kitchen, the old dragon was carrying a tray of tea. He handed a cup to Suki. “Here. Tea makes everything better.”
She took the teacup. “What does it mean, sir, that I’m the reincarnation of this warrior? ”
“Anyway, it doesn’t mean anything. It just is. Danny has an overactive imagination, Wanda and I wear glasses, and you’re the reincarnation of an ancient ninja lord.” Great-Grandfather Dragonbreath tossed back his tea. “We all have our little quirks.”
“That. Is. So. Cool,” said Danny, deeply envious.
“So why are the ninjas coming after her? ” asked Wendell, trying to ignore the whole Wanda thing. “Are they enemies of the Spurtongue Clan? Are they trying to take revenge on Leaping Sword? ”
One of Suki’s hands crept out and, apparently quite by accident, grabbed Wendell’s arm. Wendell looked down, looked at Suki, and then tried to pretend he hadn’t seen anything.
“Oh, heavens, no.” Great-Grandfather Dragonbreath waved a hand. “That’s the furthest thing from their mind. Spurtongue’s after her because they want her to come back and rule them again.”
“You mean they want her to be their queen?” asked Danny, highly delighted. “Just think of it, Suki! You can wear tabi boots and have shuriken and climb around on rooftops and throw black lotus pollen on your enemies—”
“I don’t want to be a ninja!” yelled Suki, yanking her hand off Wendell’s arm so that she could grab her head. (Wendell tried not to look disappointed.) “I want to be a veterinarian!”
“Gaaaah! Tell her, Great-Granddad! Tell her she wants to be a ninja!”
The old dragon’s eyes twinkled. “Very useful profession, veterinarian. I approve of that. Never liked ninjas . . . all that ninjing about.”
Danny flailed, and appealed to his last hope. “Wendell, you tell her!”
Wendell shook his head slowly. “I dunno, Danny. Ninjas are cool and all . . .”
“Yes! Exactly!”
“. . . but they probably won’t let you see your family, and I bet they don’t spend much time reading comic books. Plus if you screw up a mission, they kill you and stuff . . .”
Danny groaned.
“So I think it’s cool that there are ninjas, but it’s probably not much fun being a ninja.” Wendell pushed his glasses up, looking very serious.
“Thanks, Wendell,” said Suki quietly.
Danny heaved a full body sigh, and waved off the resulting smoke. “Fine. . . . Fine.”
“So.” Danny turned back to his great-grandfather. “If she doesn’t want to be a ninja”—he rolled his eyes at this inexplicable behavior—“can we call the Spurtongue Clan and tell them she isn’t interested?”
“Ha!” Great-Grandfather Dragonbreath poked a claw at Danny’s chest. “You think it’s that simple, do you? Ninjas don’t give up that easy, boy!”
“Really? ” Danny clasped his hands together. “Do we have to defeat the ninjas? Do we have to go into their lair, like the end of Vengeance of the Thirteen Masters?”
The old dragon narrowed his eyes. “Can you breathe fire yet, boy? ”
“Then you won’t last five minutes. Those frogs can do things with a shuriken that would curl your toes.” He reached down to the side of his recliner and pulled a lever. The footrest came out and he leaned back. “Ahhh. . . .”
“So what do we do? ” asked Suki.
“It’s simple.” Great-Grandfather Dragonbreath folded his hands and closed his eyes. “You must enlist the aid of the sworn enemies of the Spurtongue Clan—the Geckos of the Golden Chrysanthemum.”
“Ooooooh . . .” The name conjured up vivid images in Danny’s brain of warrior lizards setting forth to do battle with the amphibian foe. “Where do we find them? Do we have to go on the journey of three mountains, like in Red Fist of the North, to find the secret cave and—”
“They’re about fifteen minutes down the road. Follow the path, turn left at the mailbox with the golden chrysanthemum on it.”
“I get together with the officers on Tuesdays to play Trivial Pursuit,” said his great-grandfather. He sighed. “I’d go with you youngsters, but my joints are old, and I’d just slow you down. Be careful with the geckos. Don’t let them talk you into anything foolish.” He handed the shuriken back to Danny. “Show them that if they doubt your word.”
“Thank you, Dragonbreath-sama,” said Suki.
“It was my pleasure, my dear. Nice to meet you, Wanda—”
“Wendell,” said Wendell hopelessly.
“—that’s what I said. Danny . . .”
Danny hugged the old dragon, who returned it with surprising force. He hung back as his two friends filed into the hallway. “Say, Great-Granddad, can I ask you a question? ”
“Yes? ” The old dragon peered over his glasses.
“I can’t seem to get my fire-breathing right. I did it once, but only because I was really scared. Is there maybe some secret kung fu technique you could teach me? ”
“Yeah!”
Danny’s great-grandfather sighed. “First of all, kung fu is Chinese, not Japanese. I realize that those movies you watch are not terribly
clear on the difference, but you’d do well not to confuse the two. Secondly . . . well, let’s see you try to breathe fire.”
“Okay . . .” Danny took a deep breath and tried to summon up the feelings from the last time he’d breathed fire. Unfortunately that had involved a very angry giant squid, and it was hard to get quite the same intensity standing in his great-grandfather’s living room.
“Close your eyes,” Great-Grandfather Dragonbreath said. “Breathe deeply. Center your chi.”
The resulting belch filled the room with smoke. “Cool!” said Danny, pleased. “I don’t usually get that much smoke ! ”
“Yes . . . well . . .” Great-Grandfather Dragonbreath waved the smoke away from his face. “That’s something, anyway.” He tugged at his whiskers.
“Oh well . . .” Danny sighed. He’d been hoping the ancient dragon would have the magic answer. “Thanks, Great-Granddad.” Danny headed for the door. “I’ll remember what you said.”
“Open a window on your way out!” came the voice behind him. “And quit mumbling!”
NICE BIRDIE
“I wonder what the Geckos of the Golden Chrysanthemum will be like,” said Suki as they trudged down the cobblestone road. The snow had drifted over the edges of the paving bricks.
“If they play Trivial Pursuit with my great-granddad, they’re probably old,” said Danny gloomily. He was feeling rather disillusioned by the whole adventure. Ninjas were apparently jerks, and Suki didn’t want to be a ninja queen. Plus, there was no super-secret kung fu technique for breathing fire, and the grand quest to find the enemies of the Spurtongue Clan involved a fifteen-minute walk and a mailbox. If they made a kung fu movie out of this adventure, it would probably be called Savage Fist of Boredom.
Worse yet, he thought, watching Wendell and Suki walk at a carefully measured distance from each other—not close enough to be walking together, but not far enough to not be walking together—there would be a lengthy romantic subplot.
Those never went well in kung fu movies. Somebody always died tragically. He’d hate for it to be Wendell, and while Suki’s insistence that vets were better than ninjas was enough to drive anybody crazy, he didn’t want her to die, tragically or otherwise.
Besides, he’d get blamed if anything went wrong. Wendell’s mother always blamed Danny when they wound up in the emergency room, which was totally unfair. It was hardly ever his fault. Usually it was just bad luck.
At least fifty percent of the time, anyway.
Danny and Suki looked at him. Wendell shrugged and hunched his shoulders. “What? Mom has some in the garden.”
Danny exchanged a glance with Suki. It felt weird, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that she understood exactly what he was thinking.
They followed the path up to a small ornamental bridge, with nothing much going under it.
“Is there even water in that stream or just rocks? ” asked Danny.
“Well, there’s something over there—” said Wendell, pointing. “It’s something white. It was moving a second ago—there!”
Danny put a hand on the bridge railing and vaulted over it. “I think it’s alive!”
The other two hurried off the bridge and into the rock “stream.” The rocks were black and slick.
“What is it? ” asked Wendell, baffled, as they got closer.
“It’s a crane !” said Suki.
“A crane? ” Danny frowned. He knew what cranes looked like—big, bulky machinery with arms that went dozens of feet into the air. “But it doesn’t look anything like—”
“She means the bird, idiot,” muttered Wendell, elbowing him.
“I knew that,” Danny said.
However graceful the bird might be in flight, once on the ground, the crane was an awkward flopping scarecrow, all pointy beak and shedding feathers. It flailed its wings, scattering down like falling snow.
“I don’t know if it’s hurt,” said Danny, after a minute. “I think it’s stuck. There’s something wrapped around its wing.”
“Oh, the poor thing,” said Suki. “We have to help it!”
The crane hissed at them and struck out with a beak like a javelin. Danny hadn’t known that cranes could hiss, or that they were quite so good at it.
“Um,” said Wendell.
“I’m all for helping,” said Danny, “but that thing doesn’t seem to want much help.”
“It’s a bird. Birds calm down if you cover their heads,” said Suki matter-of-factly. She stuck out a hand. “One of you, give me your shirt.”
Danny and Wendell looked at Suki. They looked at the crane. They looked at each other.
“Um,” said Wendell again.
Suki glared at them both. The crane hissed. Wendell sighed and stripped off his shirt.
“There’s a good birdie,” said Suki in a singsong, approaching the crane with the striped shirt in her hands. Wendell stood shivering in his scales. Danny snickered.
“Good birdie . . . nice birdie . . .” Suki moved closer. The crane watched her with hard, bright eyes. The beak scissored open and another hiss drifted out.
She tossed the shirt. It landed over the bird’s eyes. She stepped in fearlessly and grabbed the other end of the shirt, knotting it loosely over the bird’s head. Danny and Wendell held their breath, expecting her to become a salamander-kebab, but the crane stayed silent.
“There,” said Suki with satisfaction, turning to the injured wing. “Danny, hold its head. Wendell, help me stretch out its wing.”
“Um,” said Wendell a third time.
Danny had done a lot of things in his life that, upon careful reflection in the ambulance, had been needlessly risky.
It did not take much careful reflection to realize that holding the head of a gigantic, angry, hissing bird was maybe not the best idea.
He did it anyway. If Suki—a girl—was able to tie a blindfold around the crane, refusing to hold its head would be pure cowardice. Wendell would never let him hear the end of it, and Wendell was terrified of all kinds of perfectly safe things, like gunpowder and bottle rockets.
“Here. You stretch the wing out—gently!—
and I’ll get this thing off . . . looks like some kind of strap . . .”
Danny waited for the crane to get tired of Suki manhandling its wing. He wondered if he’d even feel the snap, or if he’d just suddenly be short an arm. Or a head. Maybe he’d just have a beak stabbed all the way through him. That would probably be best. They could still have an opencasket funeral, which they generally didn’t do if you were missing a head.
“Oh, you poor thing,” murmured Suki. “Your poor wing! Who did this to you? ”
The crane, being a crane, said nothing, but did try to pull its wing back.
“Hold it steady!” Suki snapped at Wendell, in a much less soothing tone than she used on the bird. Wendell sighed and braced his feet, trying to stretch out the bird’s wing.
Astonishingly, the crane still hadn’t killed him. Maybe Suki had been right about covering their eyes.
“There,” said the salamander, sounding satisfied. She stepped back, holding some sort of black leather strip with weights on the end. “All done. It’s lost a couple of feathers, but it didn’t break the skin. Wendell, let it go.”
Wendell did not need to be told twice. He jumped back to a safe distance. Suki waved Danny away from the crane’s head, then carefully pulled the blindfold free and stepped back out of range herself.
“There you go,” she said. “All better.”
The crane shook itself, then got its legs under it in a complicated motion that reminded Danny of someone jacking up a car with a flat tire. Standing, the crane was at least twice as tall as any of them. It made Big Eddy look small.
The crane stretched out its injured wing carefully, flexed it once or twice, then folded it back against its side.
Bright gold eyes regarded Suki. The crane turned its head from side to side, peering at her carefully. It was impossible to read anything in that flat
, emotionless gaze.
It took a step toward Suki. Next to Danny, Wendell tensed. Danny wondered if there was any chance he could breathe fire if things got messy—sure, he really couldn’t do it on command, but he had done it that one time when the squid was about to eat Wendell, and maybe if the crane was about to eat Suki he could figure something out—
It took another step forward. Suki stood her ground, but Danny heard her gulp.
Center your chi, Danny’s grandfather had said. Let the energy of fire fill your lungs. Was that the energy of fire or indigestion? Oh well, only one way to find out. . . . He took a deep breath.
Then—and Danny could scarcely believe it—the crane bowed to Suki, like an actor in a movie. Suki bowed back.
The crane straightened up, turned, and took three running strides along the black rock streambed. Then it launched into the air, seeming to barely miss the green bamboo trunks. In a moment it vanished against the white of the clouded sky.
Danny realized that he was still holding his breath, and let out a cloud of smoke. Wendell coughed and fanned at his face.
Suki handed Wendell back his shirt and looked desperately smug. Still, Danny thought, he had to admit, she’d probably earned it.
“Vet, huh? ” he said.
“You’d better believe it.”
HELLO, GECKO
The thing on the crane’s wing turned out to be a bola, which Danny recognized from Nine Nights of Ninjas. A bola was a long leather strap with two heavy spiked weights on the ends. Both weights had the spiral sigil of the Spurtongue Clan.
“I really don’t like those guys,” said Suki. “I mean, reincarnated ninja lords, fine. But attacking innocent birds is just cruel.”
Attack of the Ninja Frogs Page 3