The Twelve

by Cindy Lin

  The red-faced woman made her way over to them. “What’ll you have?” she barked in a thick Hulagan accent.

  “A pot of tea, if you please, and five cups,” said the Tigress calmly.

  “And?” prompted the red-faced woman.

  “Some of your traditional meat buns,” said the Tigress. “That will be all.”

  As the red-faced woman waddled away, grumbling to herself about stingy Midagians, Saru nudged Usagi. “Hear anything interesting?”

  It was time for her to get to work. Usagi closed her eyes, reaching for the tiny wooden rabbit at her neck. Rubbing its carved body, she scanned the snippets of conversation around the noisy room with some difficulty. After a while, she could pick out a pair of voices here, a trio there, and caught fragments of arguments, joke-telling, and negotiations.

  There was a table of peddlers laughing at a story: “He expected rice and got a mouthful of maggots!”

  “Ha! Serves him right for being such a toad!”

  A wife berating her husband: “How could you bet our last gold mon on a six sticks game?!”

  “I was on a winning streak!”

  Foreign merchants haggling over a deal in heavily accented Midagian: “Have you lost your senses? Two bolts of silk for five bricks of tea is robbery!”

  “I’ll give you one more brick of tea if you add a bolt of cotton, then.”

  None of it seemed to be of any importance to their mission. “I’m not sure what I should be listening for,” Usagi said with a grimace.

  “Just continue to use your ears,” said the Tigress. “You will know if and when you hear it.”

  Usagi squeezed her eyes tighter still and sifted through the cacophony. There was a slap and a shout from the red-faced woman, berating a hapless youngling. “Worthless empty dumpling skin! Never bring back an empty tray!”

  A petulant young man whined to his traveling companions. “That tailor had better be finished when we get back to the city. I refuse to attend the spring festival celebrations in these old rags.”

  Then a different sound. Usagi’s eyes popped open—it was the rattle of armor and clopping of horse hooves. “A mounted patrol is coming,” she hissed. “Should we go?”

  “No need to panic,” said Tupa. “We might get good information from them if we stick around and listen.”

  “We’ll break out in a song and dance if we have to,” Nezu said stoutly.

  Saru’s face grew a shade paler. “What if they’re Strikers?”

  “Maybe we should leave,” Inu frowned.

  A young boy came by and delivered a platter of meat buns and their tea. Nezu poured a cup for the Tigress, who calmly took a sip. “We shall be fine. Do not draw unwanted attention to yourselves and remain alert.” She picked up a meat bun and took a bite. “Quite good.”

  Nezu passed Usagi the platter of buns. The soft white bread was warm and steaming, but she barely nibbled, unable to focus on anything but the whooshing breath of approaching horses and squeaking clank of armor. “There’s the inn!” a man’s voice shouted.

  “Sounds like regular Guard—at least eight of them,” Usagi reported. “And they’re definitely headed here.” The music and bustle of the tea garden swirled around them, while she and the Heirs sat watching the entrance.

  At last the Guard burst through the door, all raucous laughter and coarse jokes. They swaggered into the inn wearing their swords, while the tea garden immediately quieted. Only the birds continued to sing.

  The tallest Guard looked down his long nose around the inn. He spotted the musicians, who’d frozen in the midst of their performance. “What’re you lookin’ at?” he roared. “Play!” He swept a glare over the tea garden and glimpsed the Heirs and Usagi in their entertainers’ garb. He pointed at them. “You! Entertain us! Give us a show!”

  Slowly, Inu stood up, followed by Nezu and Saru. Usagi made to get up too, but Inu cast a dark look over his shoulder. “Stay put and keep listening,” he muttered. “But be prepared to run if need be.” She shrank back, clutching her rabbit pendant.

  As Inu, Nezu, and Saru made their way to the musicians’ corner, the Guard settled themselves at a table near the door, blocking the way out. They heckled each other as they removed their helmets and put up booted feet, ignoring the furtive glances of other travelers. The festive, bustling mood of the inn had disappeared.

  The trio of musicians struck up a lively tune, and Inu, Nezu, and Saru began a juggling routine, grabbing items from nearby tables: a pair of empty cups, three plates, a set of rice wine bottles. Despite her anxiety, Usagi smiled as they threw them into the air, spinning and catching everything with ease. The atmosphere around the tea garden lightened and conversations started up again.

  Usagi glanced at the Tigress. The old warrior patted her hand. “Carry on, youngling. There is nothing to be afraid of.”

  “We’ll be on our way soon enough, after our jugglers finish their routine,” said Tupa, cramming down the last of his meat bun and swigging some tea.

  With a tiny nod, Usagi relaxed. The Tigress was right—what was there to be afraid of? Although she would feel a lot better if she’d had a weapon like the others. She sipped her tea and took a bite of her bun, straining to hear the Guards’ conversation. Over the music, twittering birds, and trickling fountain, the hum of other patrons talking and laughing, the clink of feedsticks on plates and bowls, and the shouts that Saru, Nezu, and Inu made while tossing cups and bottles back and forth, Usagi could barely make out what the Guards were saying. She craned her neck, trying to read their lips.

  The tall one with the long nose leaned forward. “We have orders to be in Dragon City as soon as possible. The Dragonlord has a big execution planned.”

  Usagi’s heart slid up to her throat. The younglings—Uma! She swallowed hard and listened, catching only some of the words through the din, the rest a muddled garble.

  “Is this . . . garble garble . . . new Striker captain?” asked a grizzled Guard. “I heard he . . . garble garble . . . Captain Wono for the post. The Dragonlord thinks he’ll do a better job, especially with . . . garble garble . . . involved.” He picked up a glass of wine and tossed it back. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he said something else Usagi couldn’t quite hear. Blast all this noise. She needed to get closer—she couldn’t afford to miss anything.

  Frowning, Usagi got to her feet and looked around. She stopped a youngling with a tray of full glasses. “Here, let me help you with that,” she said, and hefted the tray out of his hands.

  “But I don’t need any help,” said the befuddled boy.

  “What are you doing?” hissed the Tigress as Tupa’s eyebrows shot up.

  “There’s talk about important things,” Usagi told them, not wanting to say too much in front of the young server. “I won’t be long.”

  Before anyone could reply, Usagi had wound her way around the tables to the Guard. “Tea or wine?” she asked, a little too squeakily.

  “Wine all around, and two cups of tea,” said the tall Guard. As nonchalantly as she could, Usagi began putting drinks on their table.

  A squat Guard belched. “Those younglings at the palace—freaks with demon abilities. I can’t believe he’s keeping them there.”

  “It’s like his own little zoo,” said the grizzled Guard. “Unnatural things. They should be exterminated.”

  On Usagi’s tray, the remaining cups and glasses clinked like chattering teeth. She fought to steady herself.

  The squat one leered at her. “What’s the matter, little doe? Never seen warriors before?” His smile looked like a chewed-up corncob. Usagi wanted to dump the tray of drinks on his head.

  “Leave her alone,” said the tall Guard in a bored voice. He waved Usagi away. “That’s enough for now.”

  She put the last glass down and turned straight into the red-faced woman. The boy who was supposed to serve stood forlornly next to her.

  “How dare you interfere with my servers?” demanded the woman, hands on her h
ips. “You don’t work here.”

  “I—I just meant to help . . .” Usagi stammered. She shoved the tray back at the forlorn server. “You all seemed so busy. . . .”

  A fat, hairy hand closed around Usagi’s wrist. It was the squat Guard with the corncob teeth. “Hullo, Madam . . . is this youngling giving you trouble? I’m happy to send her to the mines, if you like.”

  The woman’s glare gave way to a sickly smile as she turned her attention to Corn Teeth. “Thank you, sir,” she simpered. “My apologies for the interruption—it’s so hard to find good help these days!” She frowned at the serving boy. “Go get these gentlemen a round of wine on the house.” The boy bobbed and ran off.

  “Free wine—how kind.” A gleam appeared in Corn Teeth’s beady eyes. “I’m always in the mood for something sweet.” Loosening his grip on Usagi’s arm, he moved closer to the red-faced woman, who tittered and smoothed her frizzy hair. Usagi was pressed uncomfortably between their bellies, all but forgotten as they made eyes at each other. The smell of his breath and the sweat and grease on the woman’s apron made Usagi gag.

  Usagi ducked out of the Guard’s grasp and slipped out from between them, falling to her hands and knees. There were legs everywhere—chair legs, table legs, people’s legs. She crawled as fast as she could through the forest of legs.

  Bumping a table, she heard cups rattle and the splash of tea. “Oi!”

  She brushed against a calf and a woman gave a startled squeal. “Stars!”

  “Get her!” shrieked the red-faced innswoman.

  The squat Guard grabbed Usagi by the scruff of her neck, hauling her to her feet. “Not so fast.”

  His grip hurt. Usagi tried to stomp on his feet. “This one’s got some spirit,” laughed Corn Teeth. “The mines will break it nicely!”

  Usagi glanced around frantically. People were staring. Tupa and the Tigress were on their feet, while the other Heirs had stopped juggling. Nezu made a discreet motion with his hand, and a squirt of water flew from the fountain and hit the Guard from behind.

  “What the . . . ?” Corn Teeth wiped the back of his head and scowled at his wet hand. Usagi saw her chance and yanked free. She was hemmed in, tables of diners crowded around them. She clambered onto a tabletop, sending dishes and cups scattering and crashing to the floor. “Sorry, so sorry,” she babbled, and scrambled to another table, squashing a steamed bun. She stepped to a third table, knocking the hat off of an old farmer. “Beg pardon!” Usagi hopped again.

  “Come here, little brat!” Pushing people roughly aside, the squat Guard headed for Usagi, his hand at the hilt of his sword. Screams and squeals went up as tea garden patrons launched out of their seats and scurried out of the way.

  Usagi spied a broom leaning across the next table, dropped by one of the servers. Grabbing it, she swatted at Corn Teeth with its bristles. He laughed. “You can’t sweep me away that easily.”

  He swung his sword, and Usagi raised the broom to block the blow. The curved blade sliced off the bristles, leaving her with nothing but a stick. Usagi yelped.

  “Oh ho,” Corn Teeth chortled. “Keep it up and your foot’ll be next!”

  Shorn of the broom head, the thick wooden handle was more balanced, almost like her walking stick. In desperation, she flipped the cut end up at the Guard, hitting him squarely in the nose. He grabbed his face and roared angrily. Usagi swung and jabbed once more, shoving with all her might. He sprawled back into an abandoned table and chairs, knocking them over.

  The other Guards rushed her, swords drawn. Nezu raised his hands and scalding hot tea rose out of cups all around. With a quick pushing motion, he hit them full in the face. Howling in pain, they stopped in their tracks. The tea garden patrons looked around in bewilderment as Usagi jumped down and ran toward Tupa and the Tigress.

  “No, no! To the door!” shouted Tupa. Raising his firehorn, he blew a giant plume of flame that made everyone duck. He snatched a wisp of fire from the plume and lit a firecracker. As it sparked and flared, he threw it up. There was a loud bang and a shower of sparks, followed by a cloud of smoke. As people shrieked and ran about, he and the Tigress slipped out.

  The tall Guard, his face dripping with tea, came at Usagi, brandishing his sword. In desperation she heaved herself toward the inn’s entrance. Leaping high, she sailed through the inn’s courtyard over the Guards, the red-faced woman, the smoke, and the diners. Shouts and astonished cries filled the tea garden. Landing neatly at the open door, Usagi glanced back. The other three Heirs were on her tail, while the tall Guard pointed their way. “It’s a pack of freaks! After them!”

  They ran out of the inn and onto the Ring Road. “They saw us use zodiac powers,” Usagi gasped. She was still clutching the broom, her walking stick left behind in the chaos.

  “What were you thinking?” Horangi’s green eyes glowed furiously in the dark.

  “No time to talk,” Tupa warned. “We’re going to have company soon.” He pointed to the lights of the inn twinkling in the distance. The Guards were mounting their horses, and one had started galloping toward them.

  With a flick of his wrist, Inu scattered a jangling handful of chestnut spikes across the Ring Road, where they lay gleaming in the moonlight. “That should slow them down some,” he said. Then they raced off for the capital as fast as their spirit speed would allow.

  Chapter 20

  The Palace of the Clouds

  THEY SLIPPED THROUGH THE GATES of Dragon City just as dusk was falling.

  Jostled by crowds of people entering and leaving the city walls before the gates closed, Usagi gawked at a place she’d only heard about. For centuries, the capital was known as Guardian City, filled with sprawling temples to the gods and tall shrines that celebrated the Twelve. The temples remained untouched—and unlike in the provinces, the invaders had refrained from razing the shrines honoring various Zodiac Warriors, for they served as excellent watchtowers.

  Tiered towers with soaring metal spires and curving tiled roofs rose over the city like armored sentries. A grid of streets stretched out before them, paved in the famed white stone of the island’s Marble Gorge. The buildings lining the streets were bigger and finer than anything in Goldentusk, with multiple stories, swooping eaves, glazed ceramic ornamentation, and filigreed windows. Narrow lanes and byways branched off into countless districts and neighborhoods. And all about, people were hanging garlands of paper flowers, sweeping doorways, and hurrying with packages in preparation for the spring equinox.

  “It’s so big here,” Usagi said faintly. She leaned on the broom handle from the Pearl Garden, overwhelmed by both the sights and the sounds. The din of the inn was nothing compared to the capital city. The force of it was almost painful, like when she was little and first began noticing her animal talent.

  “If you ever get lost, just look for the Phoenix River,” Tupa told her. “It runs the length of the city, starting from the hills where the Palace of the Clouds sits.” He scowled as someone bumped him, and turned to the Tigress. “Teacher, let me carry you on my back—there are far too many people here.”

  The old warrior patted his arm. “Thank you, Fire Ram, but I can walk just fine. I must say, the capital streets are the busiest I have ever seen.”

  Crowds pushed by, men and women shouting, arguing, talking, while laughing younglings ran after each other. The hum and buzz of city folk going about their lives made Usagi’s head swim. Dogs barked and snarled in the alleyways. Horse-drawn drays and ox carts clattered through the streets. There were even small two-wheeled pullcabs drawn by men instead of animals—Usagi had heard about this invention from Waya but had never seen one before.

  The residents of Dragon City didn’t wear the same haunted look as those in Goldentusk. People here weren’t as thin, and while the streets reeked of animal dung, sewage, and the sweat of far too many bodies, many seemed downright happy, dressed in colorful silken gowns and exotic-looking costumes, chattering in unknown languages.

  Usagi caught the lilti
ng cadence from the Empire of Waya, the hissing lisp that Hulagans affected when they spoke, and strange tongues she couldn’t identify. While there were plenty of ordinary Midagians about, a good many people appeared foreign—ruddy-faced men with beaked noses and frizzy clouds of golden facial hair, those with dusky skin and eyes a startling icy blue, ghostly pale people with flame-colored hair, and some with blue-green tattoos inked in swirling patterns on their faces.

  She saw tributes to the Dragonlord everywhere. Above doorways, on stall posts, and even from towers were hung paintings of a stern-faced man with handsome features, dressed in the regalia of a king in formal silk robes, with a dragon crest on prominent display. Statues of the man guarded city wells and fountains, and little carved dragons sat on window ledges or perched on the roofs of pullcabs and palanquins, as if keeping a close eye on everyone. The Guard were all around, patrolling the streets, standing watch up in the towers, spilling out of teahouses reeking of rice wine.

  “There must be thousands of Guard here,” Usagi observed nervously, tugging at the collar of her tunic. With the spring equinox less than two days away, it felt almost too warm, especially coming from the slopes of Mount Jade.

  Saru scanned the streets and gave Usagi a half smile. “The good thing about being around so many people is that we hardly stand out. Especially with all the visitors from other lands.”

  “Since becoming Dragon City, more outsiders have come with their odd customs and speech,” Inu agreed. He pushed the shaggy hair out of his eyes. “You can hardly understand half the people in the capital these days.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Nezu, flashing a grin. “As long as they bring good food, what’s not to understand?”

  Inu shook his head, frowning. “They’re not bringing us anything—they’re taking. You’ve seen it yourself—most ordinary Midagians aren’t getting rice.”

  The Ram Heir clapped Inu’s shoulder. “Enough talk,” he said briskly. “Let’s get to the riverwalk—a seldom-used path there will take us to the palace district. Follow me.”