by Laurence Yep
“And what’s that?” Tom asked, pointing at the strange creature.
Mr. Hu put a hand on Tom’s hand and quickly pushed it down. “At Goblin Square it’s considered rude to point with one finger, Master Thomas. If you must indicate something, do this,” and he waved his entire hand. “That happens to be a water sheep from the Nine Brilliant Mountains. Their fleece repels water. My own suit is spun from their wool so I never have to worry about rain. And it never wrinkles so I never have to have it pressed.”
“And it’s high time you bought another suit,” a voice said. “The one you’re wearing went out of style fifty years ago.”
Tom had been expecting Mr. Hu’s friend to be another tiger or a human, so he was surprised to see a dragon. She was curled up like a cat next to a stall made out of giant bones.
She wasn’t very large—about the same size as Mr. Hu; her body was thin as whipcord, and her daggerlike claws looked even deadlier than the tiger’s. The scoring and dents in her scales testified to many battles.
When she stirred, he could see the powerful muscles ripple beneath the hide of her slender legs and torso, yet she didn’t look nearly as strong or deadly as the dragons always did in books.
What he had not expected was how beautiful a dragon could be. Her scarred scales were black as chips of night, and in the light falling from the stall’s fire sprite lanterns, the edges gleamed iridescent, so that the dragon seemed a creature carved out of obsidian caught in a rainbow net.
Mr. Hu strolled over to her. “My, my, Mistral, how the mighty Harmatannids have fallen—but you’ll make a fine doorstop for someone.”
The dragon lifted her head with a playful growl. “I’ll have you know that I am a bodyguard to a very wealthy and important merchant. I have never been an article of furniture for anyone.”
“From the filth on the stall, I doubt that,” Mr. Hu grunted, “but I suppose it makes you feel better to think that.”
A slender, furry creature with large black eyes the size of saucers popped up from behind a display of spices. “Bhima at your service,” he said, bobbing his head up and down like a toy as he kept bowing. “And since you’re a friend of Mistral’s, I’ll give you a good discount.”
Mistral laid her head back down. “Don’t bother, Bhima. He came to see me.”
“Oh,” Bhima said, disappointed, and disappeared back behind the counter. From the clink of the jars, Tom supposed the merchant was still unpacking his stock.
Mr. Hu squatted down beside the dragon. “I would think you’d be tired of guarding pots by now.”
“It pays good,” Mistral said, closing her eyes, “and I get to sightsee quite a bit.”
“We have more than pots—though we have the finest if you need them. But I really stock the Wonders of the World,” Bhima boasted, waving a paw at the banner over his stall, which announced to everyone that Bhima’s Emporium was where all the kings and queens of the globe came for their desires; there were even helpful illustrations for those who could not read.
“I have a job for you,” Mr. Hu coaxed. “Something more worthy of the talents of a descendant of Harmattan, the son of Calambac.”
The dragon yawned. “Like what?”
Mr. Hu lowered his voice. “I can’t go into details now. I need the bold warrior who once faced the king of all dragons and called him a fool.”
“I never said that,” Mistral said, shifting her head.
The tiger folded his arms. “So rumor claims.”
“I called him a lazy clown,” Mistral corrected Mr. Hu.
“And so I need that same honorable dragon,” the tiger coaxed.
“That dragon is dead,” Mistral mumbled. “For too long she has had to eat the rice of strangers.” Mistral finally opened one eye to stare at the tiger. “It’s strictly cash in advance now.”
“This would have to be out of friendship,” Mr. Hu said.
“I have no friends,” Mistral snorted. “The lives of non-dragons are too short compared to mine so it’s pointless to cultivate them. And all dragons have turned their backs on me.”
“And yet you and I were close at one time,” Mr. Hu said.
Mistral frowned. “Another error in a life of errors. Find someone else.”
“I thought dragons were supposed to be brave and noble,” Tom said indignantly, “not greedy slugs.”
“This hatchling needs to be taught some manners.” Mistral turned her open eye toward the boy. “Whoever he is.”
“This is Mistress Lee’s grandson,” Mr. Hu said softly. “The Ghost Cart carried her away this afternoon.”
Instantly the dragon’s manner changed. Her eyes were both open as she raised her head again. “I saw it in the distance, but I didn’t know it was for her.” She bowed her head respectfully. “Your grandmother was a great and generous woman. Once I was so seriously wounded that I thought the Ghost Cart would come for me, but she nursed me back to health.”
“Thanks,” Tom said, beginning to think better of the dragon.
“We need you,” Mr. Hu said.
Mistral glanced at Bhima and then dragged a claw over a cobblestone. “But this job is comfortable even if we do travel around the world.”
“Did Mistress Lee ever worry about her comfort?” Mr. Hu asked.
Mistral arched her elegant neck so she could press her face against Mr. Hu’s. “You are shameless.”
“Absolutely,” Mr. Hu agreed. “I can’t protect her grandson on my own.”
“Is he at peril or,” Mistral asked meaningfully, “is it something else?”
“What do you think?” Mr. Hu asked. “But your ancestress Longwhistle would be proud for you to undertake this mission.”
“Don’t talk about ancestors,” Mistral said bitterly. “I have none. My family disowned me just so they could protect their own comfort and privileges.”
“Even if you have no debt to your family, you still owe Mistress Lee,” the tiger reminded her.
Mistral sighed. “You’re shameless, but your point is unfortunately well taken. She was a jewel among humans. I’m sure she was a dragon in another life.” Mistral said it as if that were the highest form of compliment.
“Yes, she was a fine person.” Mr. Hu beamed.
“No, no, no, you cannot steal my bodyguard.” Bhima leaped down from the counter onto the dragon’s back. Scrambling up, he wrapped tiny black paws around the dragon’s neck and began to wail and weep. “She is like a daughter to me.”
“Bhima, I’ll find someone to take my place,” Mistral promised.
As Bhima clung to her neck, he asked slyly, “I don’t have to pay you for the three days you worked this week?”
When the dragon hesitated, the tiger reminded her, “This is for Mistress Lee, who helped you when every hand and paw were turned against you.”
Mistral winced. “Hu, you are worse than shameless.” With a heavy sigh Mistral nodded her head to her present employer. “No, you don’t have to pay me.”
Bhima’s sorrow vanished completely as he hopped nimbly back up to his counter. “The replacement must be reliable.”
“Yes, yes,” Mistral said, getting up. “I’ll start looking around right now.”
“You’re so good at faking feelings, you should have been an actor,” Tom told the merchant.
“Acting is piffle-paffle,” Bhima said with a modest wave of his paw. “Bargaining is everything.”
“Find that replacement soon,” Mr. Hu urged.
As they wandered down the aisle, Tom asked, “Can you trust her? She seems a little greedy.”
Mr. Hu stopped by a stall made out of old hides. “Don’t be so quick to judge Mistral. If she first thinks of herself, it’s because her life as an outlaw has taught her that. The only one who was kind to her was Mistress Lee. She saw Mistral’s true heart when no one else did, but that was ever your grandmother’s way with people—from dragons to humans and at least one tiger.”
Tom glanced back over his shoulder at the dragon, who
had coiled up on the ground again like a jeweled black rope. “She’s beautiful though.”
“It’s what a poet once called a terrible beauty,” Mr. Hu said, following his gaze. “She’s like a sword covered with gems, lovely to look at but deadly.”
“And who is Longwhistle?” Tom asked.
“A dragon who created the Feather Grotto and the Fire Gardens, among other wonders of the dragon kingdom,” Mr. Hu said, selecting a toothbrush. “Ah, warthog bristles.” He nodded to Tom. “They’ll clean your fangs best.”
Tom tried to ask more questions, but Mr. Hu insisted on concentrating on the task at hand: getting the necessities for a human cub. However, since the elderly tiger didn’t have a clue as to what those were, he left it to Tom to buy such things as clothes and underwear—which they could have done at a regular department store.
But the dandyish tiger would not have been able to indulge his own tastes in a human establishment, because there would have been no cravats of silk woven by dragons in the Underwater Kingdom. Nor would there have been books written by ghost sages, the pages of which were as light as tissue and seemed to float when you read them and the words of which appeared and disappeared with a breath.
They did not stop shopping until Tom had almost as much as he could carry. The tiger would have left then, but Mistral had never been far from Tom’s mind and he felt he ought to buy the dragon a gift to make up for being so critical of her. He couldn’t take back his first words. “What do dragons eat anyway?”
“Little boys,” Mr. Hu said, grinning wickedly.
The thought of the dragon’s great fangs and claws made Tom want to take to his heels, but he forced himself to stay put. “Besides that.” He nodded to the square. “Is there something else she’d like?”
Mr. Hu rocked up and down on his heels. “Harumph, you’re being awfully free with my money.”
Tom looked warily at the tiger, who seemed so sensitive about his authority. Swallowing, he risked saying, “We never had many visitors, but my grandmother always tried to make them feel welcome.” Even if few of them had ever come back. “If Mistral’s going to visit you, you ought to have something. I’ll use my own money if I have to. Do they take American cash?”
“They take anything of value.” The tiger squirmed a moment and then cleared his throat. “Well, I can think of one thing Mistral would like.”
He led Tom over to a little bakery cart that sold fish-shaped cakes filled with a sweet sea slug paste. Though Mr. Hu would have bought them, Tom insisted on doing it. Of course, the bag of cakes was added to Tom’s load as well.
On the way back to the store, Mr. Hu bought the late edition of the newspaper. There on the front page was a picture of a pit where Mistress Lee’s house had once stood.
The article said that there were few clues in the burnt rubble to the cause of the explosion, but the authorities seemed inclined to blame it on a gas pipe. They were waiting for the debris to cool before they sifted through it; but from the photo Tom doubted they would find his grandmother’s remains. They would think both he and his grandmother had died.
Tom fought back his tears and looked around him at the busy street. A distracted woman hurried by, her hands full of plastic bags stuffed with groceries. A man passed by pushing along a rack of blouses. “Look at them. No idea of monsters. I wish we could have told the police. Everyone used to call her a weirdo—someone should know how brave she was.”
“A Guardian’s battles are solitary ones and fought in the shadows. A very few must protect the many, and with no thanks for their efforts,” Mr. Hu said, but he picked up his pace as if he were in a hurry now to reach the store.
Once inside, he slapped a charm upon the front door. “There, we should be safe now.”
Tom was still skeptical after seeing how his grandmother’s wards had been destroyed. “Will that keep the monsters out?” He tried the door, but it acted as if it was glued shut.
Mr. Hu saw how sad and anxious his apprentice looked and tried to comfort him. “Have no fear, Master Thomas. The thieves will find this a fortress against them.”
The tiger inspected the rest of the wards in front and then went into the rear apartment to check the ones there. Tom felt exposed in the store on his own and, with a shiver, he followed the tiger.
When the tiger had double- and triple-checked all his wards, they held their own memorial for Tom’s grandmother. Mr. Hu wrote her name in Chinese on a tablet and set it up on a small table with tiny cups of sand. Into these he thrust burning sticks of incense, and in a bowl he burned shiny paper money and paper servants and even a paper house—all of which he had purchased at Goblin Square.
When the tiger cried, he muttered, “I don’t know what they’re putting in the incense nowadays. That smoke irritates my eyes.”
Tom stared at the Guardian. There were times when he seemed like a wild beast, and yet there were other times, like now, when he seemed quite human. “Mine too,” he said.
Giving one last swipe to his eyes with the back of his hand, Mr. Hu said, “Well, it’s been a hard day. I could use some sleep, so let’s turn in. You can have my bed tonight. Then we’ll sort out something for you tomorrow.”
Mr. Hu’s bed was in a room small enough to be a closet. The bed was only a cot. Most of the room was taken up by a bureau carved with strange flowers and trees and birds. There was barely enough space for both the tiger and boy to squeeze in. The tiger cleared off the clutter of statues and books.
Tom wasn’t frightened at first until the tiger turned off the light and left the room. Suddenly the black bulk of the furniture loomed over him like a monster. And the old boards of the store creaked to one another in squeaky complaints—probably about the inconsiderate boy pounding around all day.
As he lay in the dark, he remembered the monsters’ claws again. “Now would be a great time to wake up.”
He closed his eyes, telling himself that he was really at his grandmother’s. And when he opened his eyes, he would go into the kitchen and find her making hot cocoa with little marshmallows for him.
But when he opened his eyes, he was still in the strange room with an even stranger tiger outside.
“It’s time to quit dreaming,” he said, and pinched himself very hard. But he remained in the room, and now his forearm hurt.
The worst of it all was that his grandmother was really dead. He’d never felt more alone. And he’d never felt more lost. She’d been the one person who really loved him. And yet he had abandoned her when she had needed him. He’d been absolutely worthless to her when it really counted. The shame was so intense, he ached inside.
When he heard a thump outside, he slipped out of bed and peeked out the door.
Bright amber eyes glowed in the darkness. “Go to sleep, Master Thomas,” Mr. Hu said.
But Tom groped by the doorway until he turned on the bedroom light. “Can’t you sleep either?”
Enough light fell into the next room to show him the tiger sitting in a chair before the rose. He had taken off his suit and gotten comfortable in a Princeton sweatshirt and sweatpants and had taken his true shape again. Then, as Tom stared harder, he saw that Mr. Hu’s cheeks glistened.
Hurriedly the tiger raised a paw to shield his face from view. “I’m keeping watch, so don’t worry. Go back to bed.”
Tom was curious. He padded across the cold floorboards until he was right by the tiger.
Embarrassed, Mr. Hu turned his head. “I told you to sleep, Master Thomas.”
Tom circled the chair so he could see the tiger’s face. “You’re crying again.”
Mr. Hu wiped at his face, but the tears kept wetting his skin. “There never will be anyone like Mistress Lee. She was the only one I ever loved. And I could not save her.”
Seeing the powerful tiger weep, Tom felt his own eyes sting. “Me too.” And he began to cry as well.
“I only hope you and I can do half as well as she did.” Mr. Hu hung his head and his great body shook.
> The tiger looked so sad that Tom put his arm around Mr. Hu’s shoulders. “You’ll do okay,” Tom assured him. “She chose you, didn’t she?” Tom was startled when the tiger laid his head on Tom’s chest. The weight nearly knocked the boy down.
Suddenly Mr. Hu straightened. “This is a terrible way to begin my Guardianship—bawling like a calf.” He brushed his sleeve over his face. “I swear I will punish whoever attacked her.”
“Grandmom always said it was okay to cry,” Tom said, wiping at his own eyes.
Mr. Hu stared at him uncomfortably and then looked down at his toes. “Master Thomas, I’ve always been too busy fighting to have a family, so I confess I don’t know much about cubs, and I never expected to have one underpaw.” Tom looked up again and the tiger’s great amber eyes seemed to grow larger and larger until the boy thought he would fall into them. The tiger gave a growl so deep it seemed to vibrate in Tom’s own chest. “But Mistress Lee trusted you to me, as well as the rose. And I swear that as long as I draw breath, you will not come to harm.”
Tom could almost hear Grandmom whispering to him that, as terrifying as the tiger could be, Mr. Hu would slash his own throat before he would ever hurt her grandson. Tom stared at Mr. Hu for a long time. The tiger had loved Tom’s grandmother as much as he did, so he couldn’t be all that bad, and he even seemed to be trying to extend that love to the grandson of his beloved mistress.
Wild or tame, maybe it was good to have Mr. Hu on his side. “Thank you,” he said.
When Tom went back to bed, he left the door open so he could see the tiger’s eyes glow in the darkness, watching for monsters. And knowing that the Guardian was keeping watch over him as vigilantly and tenderly as over his precious rose, the boy forgot to be sad and afraid and finally fell asleep.
Chapter 6
Loo is a creature with a blue face and red hair and clothes. He has fangs and three eyes. He uses an umbrella to spread illness.