Scirye’s cloak had fallen off her shoulder once more and she pulled it back up as she shot an accusing look at Kles. “Did you tell my mother?”
When the griffin ruffled both his fur and feathers, he was the picture of indignation. “I am your retainer. I would never tell your secrets.”
“Yes, shame on you for doubting Klestetstse’s loyalty,” her mother scolded mildly. “The accounting office asked me about the receipts from the gym so it was easy to put one and one together and get a pair of rebellious daughters.”
“Sorry, Kles,” Scirye mumbled contritely.
By then, the museum docent had managed to gather up the photographers again so she could continue her performance. “Behold, the most venerated relic of the Kushan Empire.” She waved her hand grandly. “The Jade Lady!”
A reporter shoved his hat back with a whistle. “That crazy outfit must be worth a bundle.”
The docent did a half-pirouette as she faced the reporters again. “And deservedly so. Lady Tabiti was a princess from far Sarmatia in the Russian steppes who led her tribe of women warriors down to the Kushan Empire and saved it from a Persian invasion. The grateful Kushans nicknamed their fierce saviors the Pippalanta after a fiery pepper plant and hailed Lady Tabiti as Nanaia reborn. When she died, the Empire of the Moon—as the Kushan Empire is often called—buried her like an empress.”
The Lady Sudarshane gave a snort at the exaggeration, and the Pippalanta suddenly seemed to have developed a bad case of the giggles.
“What’s wrong?” Scirye whispered. Despite Kles’s lessons, Scirye still felt as if Kushan’s long history was a dense thicket she would never penetrate.
“Well, she came from Sarmatia, but she never claimed to be of royal blood let alone divine ichor,” the Lady Sudarshane murmured. “Our friend, the docent, is… um… embroidering the story quite a bit.”
Unaware of how she was amusing the Kushan, the docent spread her arms wide as if she were going to embrace the dais and the guards. “Of all the masterpieces that the Hearn wanted, the Jade Lady is to be the capstone. We assured the Kushan we would protect the exhibit with every device known to technology and every charm and ward known to magic. But the only way that the Kushan would allow Lady Tabiti to come here was if her own Pippalanta were allowed to watch over this exhibit day and night. Of course, her own tribe was assimilated by the Kushans long ago. Even though the Pippalanta are now a regiment open to any woman who can meet their exacting standards, they have continued to add glory to their name.”
A reporter jabbed his pencil at a ring carved from bone stained yellow and brown by the years. A triangular wedge protruded from the side and strange signs ran along the band but they were so worn that they were impossible to read. “Well, that looks pretty chintzy for a lady with all that jade.”
“It’s an archer’s ring. It protects the thumb when the archer draws back the string. You can see where the bow strings have cut grooves into the surface.” The docent smiled condescendingly. “And that humble ring once belonged to the Emperor Yü, the legendary ruler of China. Centuries later, a Chinese emperor sent it to the Kushan king in gratitude after an alliance between China and the Kushans destroyed the Huns. And then a descendant of that king presented it to the Jade Lady in honor of her service, and she was entombed with it.”
Bored, Scirye started to drum a heel against the floor but felt Kles squeeze her wrist in warning. Over the years, they had developed their own silent code of looks and touches.
Stilling her leg, Scirye drew out a small beaded purse from her sash and removed a piece of hard candy from it. As she slipped it into her mouth, Kles cleared his throat.
“Ahem,” he coughed softly. “I’m feeling a bit peckish myself.”
“You’re awfully spoiled, you know that?” Scirye teased. However, she slipped a small tin from the same purse. A faint chirping came from within and the girl stole a worried glance at her mother. But she was too busy being amused by the docent.
It was a tricky maneuver to pull off with just one hand because her griffin was on the other. But she managed to lift the lid and shove her fingers inside, probing until she caught a cricket. Snatching it out, she closed the lid immediately. As the small insect wriggled, she held it between her pinched fingers.
Kles took it carefully, tilting his head back as he swallowed it whole. Then he cleared his throat meaningfully.
“I don’t think I should,” she joked. “If you get any heavier, I won’t be able to carry you on my arm.” But she lifted the lid anyway. This time a green shape darted out. Startled, she dropped the tin, which fell open on the floor. The next moment a dozen crickets were hopping merrily about the gallery.
When Scirye heard Kles’s wings snap open, she immediately reached out her free hand to seize him. However, the griffin had already launched himself from her gauntlet. Kles might pride himself on being a scholar and a courtier, but there were times when blind instinct could overwhelm his reason and he reverted to a wild beast.
“Mine!” he screamed.
From the corner of her eye, Lady Sudarshane caught the blur of feather and fur. Immediately she knew who was to blame. “Scirye!”
Scirye jumped to her feet and held up her gauntleted arm. “Come back!” she commanded, and then gave the piercing recall whistle over and over.
Lady Sudarshane gave a sigh and did what she could to repair the damage. Everyone was standing around just gaping. “Catch the crickets,” she ordered the consular staff. A dozen of the costumed junior officials immediately fell on all fours and began to crawl about. Though the Pippalanta remained at their posts, the museum guards joined the hunt. Between the chirping of the crickets and the noise people made trying to capture them, the radio crew were going frantic trying to adjust the sound levels.
Then flashbulbs began to pop so that Scirye felt as if they were in the midst of a lightning storm.
“Mine!” the griffin shrieked again and dove, taking delight as photographers ducked and scrambled out of his way.
Scirye whistled until she felt her lips grow numb, but finally Kles heard her and, unable to fight his training, returned to the gauntlet. He stood there, panting and embarrassed. “I don’t know what got into me,” he said sheepishly.
“Your problem is that you’re all stomach,” Scirye scolded.
Kles hung his head, ashamed. “Everyone must be furious with me.”
The girl felt sorry that she had said anything. The proud griffin usually carried himself as if he were twelve feet tall rather than twelve inches so it was strange to see him acting so humble now. She loved Kles as she did no one else besides her family. He was usually the one to console her, so it was her turn now.
She stroked his feathery head gently. “It’ll be all right.” She added to herself, I hope.
Right at that moment, the Kushan Consul, Prince Etre, strolled over. Even if his ancient costume was a bit gaudy, it seemed to suit him more than modern clothes. He moved without the least bit of self-consciousness in wool trousers of orange, red, and yellow, a tunic that hung to his waist, a gold belt with plaques showing eagles, wolves, and griffins fighting with various animals, and an odd cap that rose in a curling peak and ended in a knob that bobbed with each step. Little silver moons and axes festooned the cap’s sides.
For this special occasion, he wore his family’s most precious heirloom—a golden sheath with a set of knives. Winding around the edge of the golden sheath was a line of animals, each attacking the one ahead in a dance of death. Protruding from the top of the sheath was the golden hilt of a stiletto decorated with a dancing bear. Hidden behind it were two small throwing daggers that Scirye would never have guessed would be there—if the prince hadn’t shown her one day. The sheath hung from the belt but there were also straps tying it tightly to his thigh.
He surveyed the spectacle of his consular staff upon their hands and knees. “Backsides weren’t quite the image we wanted to present, are they?” he asked Lady Sudarshane.
Scirye knew she needed to speak up before Prince Etre blamed her mother. While the Kushan diplomatic corps thought of themselves as modern as their American and European counterparts, Prince Etre was a throwback to the early Kushans who had been shaped by the vast steppe lands. When he was happy, he didn’t just smile—he sang. And when he was angry, he didn’t just frown—he raged like one of the great storms that swept across the plains.
Feeling like she was about to jump in front of a lightning bolt, Scirye gulped, “It’s all my fault, Your Highness.”
Prince Etre regarded the spindly girl and his lips twitched upward in a smile. When he began to laugh, Scirye breathed a sigh of relief. Outside of her family, Scirye liked Prince Etre the best of all the Kushans she had met. Scirye always knew where she stood with the prince. He didn’t say nice things to her face and then make snide comments behind her back.
Though his fingers were thick and blunt, the prince neatly snared a cricket in mid-jump, and held it with legs still wriggling between his thumb and index finger. “I had a lap griffin when I was your age,” he reminisced. “They can be a bit… demanding.”
“I humbly beg your pardon, Your Highness”—Kles swallowed— “but I see nothing wrong with expecting what is due my station as a member of Lady Scirye’s retinue.”
Sciryegrabbed Kles’s beak before his pride got them into even more trouble. “Hush, Kles,” she whispered in his ear. “Leave this to me.”
Bowing her head contritely, Scirye said to the prince, “I’m sorry, Your Highness. Confine me to my room. Put me on bread and water. Chain me to the wall.” Her voice rose to a dramatic crescendo. “You can even take away my books, my records, and,” she added slyly, “my ping-pong paddle.”
Prince Etre’s current passion was ping-pong though the paddle was dwarfed in his huge, calloused hand. His staff had been so worn out by his constant practice matches that they were grateful when Scirye had become his steady partner.
The girl hadn’t minded because before the prince had been appointed Consul, he had defended the empire’s borders and his adventures were stranger than anything even Scirye could imagine. And the prince seemed only too delighted to have such an attentive listener.
The prince jerked upright, the decorations on his cap jingling. “What? Lose my devoted ping-pong opponent? I think that would punish me more than you.” He added drily, “And it would certainly punish the rest of the staff who would have to take your place.” The prince might be bluff in his manner, but he was no fool and knew what his staff really thought.
What a dear, Scirye thought to herself. Maybe I’ll let him win a few games. The prince was an enthusiastic if not very good player, but he always took his losses cheerfully.
“Did your griffin cause accidents like mine?” she asked, hoping to find some defense for the scolding she knew her mother would give her later.
The prince regarded her as kindly as if she were his granddaughter. “Well, my fellow was rather excitable so it could get quite messy sometimes. I think there were always some of my clothes drying on a clothesline every day. Lucky for me”—he smiled—”my father said a griffin was the best way to learn responsibility.” He added, “But it took me a while.”
Lady Sudarshane closed her eyes as if she had a headache. “Please, Your Highness,” she begged. “Don’t encourage her.”
“Now, now.” Prince Etre chuckled. “Where would we be without our furry, feathered friends, eh?”
The cricket suddenly flung itself free from Prince Etre, but Kles twisted his head away from Scirye’s restraining hand and darted his beak forward to snag the insect adroitly. “Mine!” he said as he happily crunched it.
“Goal!” Prince Etre cheered. “You can be my Number One whenever we play air polo.” The Number One was the main offensive player on a polo team.
Kles clacked his beak to show his pleasure. “I’d be honored, Your Highness.”
Prince Etre never did anything by halves, especially when he was enjoying himself. Flinging off his cap, he declared, “This is the most fun I’ve had since I became Consul.” He winked at Lady Sudarshane. “And I was so afraid that I’d be stuck at another stuffy ceremony.”
“I’m glad Your Highness is so … um… open-minded,” Lady Sudarshane said with her usual delicacy.
“Well, mustn’t loaf on the sidelines while the first chukker’s still going on.” Despite his rheumatism, the prince got on all fours and then, laughing like a small boy, he joined the others scrambling around the room.
Lady Sudarshane rounded on her heel and stared down at her daughter and the griffin. “I don’t want either of you moving from this spot. Do you understand me?” she demanded.
Scirye and Kles nodded, uneasily contemplating their future. Prince Etre might have forgiven them but Scirye’s mother was another matter.
“And, young lady,” Lady Sudarshane warned, “we are going to have a good long talk later. A long, long talk.” Then, hitching up her costume, she got down on her knees, and with as much dignity as she could muster, she crawled after the Consul.
Leech
As soon as the museum’s doors swung open, Primo and the boys surged into the museum with the rest of the crowd as a film crew recorded their entrance. In his short, hard life, Leech had never been part of an event as big as this and it was strange to share the same excitement with so many people. In fact, he had never had much in common with anyone except his buddy, Koko.
Light fell through the huge stained-glass panels in the ceiling, coloring the marble tiles of the lobby floor. Leech always enjoyed that initial moment when he first went into the museum. On the outside, the building seemed as massive and strong as a fortress, but inside it was so elegant.
On previous visits, they had always gone to the Chinese gallery first, and Leech slowed, looking forward to going inside but also dreading it.
He was surprised when Primo headed in a different direction, following the signs and banners to the Kushan exhibit instead. “Don’t fall behind, boys,” the man ordered.
Koko deliberately settled into a stroll as he pulled out a silk handkerchief that he had found or stolen long ago. Always fastidious, he licked a corner of the handkerchief and rubbed at a spot on his shirt. “What’s the rush?” he muttered to the smaller boy.
Lately, if Primo wanted to do one thing, then Koko insisted on doing the opposite. It was getting hard to please both.
“It wouldn’t hurt to humor Primo,” Leech coaxed, deliberately picking up his own pace.
With a skip, Koko caught up with Leech. “Why do you keep doing what he wants? He’s not our boss.”
“He’s our friend,” Leech said. “After all, he rescued us from Big Hat and his gang.” Six months ago, Koko and Leech had been cornered in an alley when Primo had appeared. Though the odds had been six to one, Primo had been a whirlwind, knocking the gang members to the ground. That act alone would have been enough to earn Leech’s undying loyalty because up until then the only one who had been kind to him had been Koko.
However, from the first moment that Leech had seen Primo, the boy felt as if there was an even greater bond between them than friendship. When Leech had tried to talk about that feeling to Koko later in private, his friend had become jealous so Leech had never brought it up again. But it still puzzled him.
“So let’s give a thank-you card and go our own way,” Koko grumbled.
“And he’s teaching us how to fight,” Leech said.
“Okay,” Koko admitted, starting to drag his feet again, “but we’re just using the mug. We’re not buddy-buddies. Not like you and me, right?” Koko had made it clear to his friend that he put up with Primo only for the free fighting lessons and food.
Leech hesitated a moment, remembering their first visit to the Chinese Gallery. As soon as he had crossed the threshold, he had felt strangely at home, and yet it was impossible because he had never gone near the museum before this. The farther they went into the gallery, the more the sensation had grown unt
il Leech stopped before a tall, narrow painting of a golden tower—Primo had called it a pagoda. Storm clouds and lightning lit up the surrounding hills as a boy stood before the pagoda’s doorway. But it was hard to tell if the boy was taking shelter in the pagoda or about to run away.
Primo had been watching the boy closely. “Are you all right?” Primo had asked when he saw Leech shiver. “You were smiling just a moment ago.”
Koko was always protective of his friend so he looked about for a thermostat. “They ought to turn up the heater in this dump.”
Leech realized that it wasn’t the gallery that was so familiar: it was the scenes in the paintings.
“I’ve been there,” the boy said in a puzzled, frightened voice. “I know I have.” The memory, if that’s what it was, must have been a horrible one and yet he had not been able to take his eyes away from the picture.
“It’s possible,” Primo said kindly. “In China, people believe that they’re born over and over until they get things right.”
That seemed as good an explanation as any for what Leech was feeling about the paintings and especially about Primo. The boy had torn his gaze away from the painting to face Primo. “Is that why I thought I knew you when we first met?”
Primo had glanced from the painting and back to the boy. “Who knows? But maybe we’re working out some debt from another life. Perhaps I did something wrong to you in a previous life so I’m trying to make up for it now.”
“What was it?” the boy had wondered.
“I hope it was nothing terrible,” Primo had said, giving Leech the saddest look the boy had ever seen.
Leech tried to comfort him. “Well, you’re being a good friend in this life.”
“After you ran away from the orphanage,” Koko reminded him, “you would’ve starved if I hadn’t shown you the ropes.”
It had taken the rest of the week to assure Koko that Leech was still closer to Koko than anyone else.
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