“Oh, but I love my health,” I assured her sol
emnly.
“Oh, yeah,” Danzu said. “If he refused, his ma mi might lay a curse on him, turn him into a gargoyle. Not that being a gargoyle would hurt your looks,” he added.
He grinned. I grinned back. This time my teeth didn’t hurt so much. Gan just shook his head. Then Jing-mei started a long story about some old rich merchant who bought magic infused shirts because he wanted to impress his beautiful young wife. Gan followed with stories about early days in the academy and pranks they had played on their officers. It wasn’t exactly like old times. No Yún, for one thing. But the talk itself was good, and underneath, I could hear Chen’s snorfling and the faintest replies from Jing-mei’s monkey-spirit, Gan’s ox, and Danzu’s miserable goat.
“So,” Danzu said, pouring more tea into his cup, “what is going on with the king?”
Gan was just reaching for the last pork dumpling. He paused and gave Danzu a suspicious look. “He’s ill.”
“I know that, stone-face. But I hear rumors. Thought you might have the real story.”
“Me? I’m just a grunt in the academy.”
“Not anymore. I heard you graduated last week.”
“So? That only makes me a different kind of grunt.”
Danzu gave a quiet chuckle. “You are one careful Ox Boy. Okay, forget I asked. I was just curious.”
My skin itched, uncomfortable at how the mood had changed so quickly. Jing-mei must have felt the same way, because she scrunched her face. “We’re all curious, Danzu. You should know that.”
“And what makes you think we know more than you do?” Gan said.
“I don’t think so. But I ask, just in case. The more I know, the better I can figure plans for some special deals.”
“Smuggling,” I said, without thinking.
Danzu made a rude gesture. “No.”
“Then what kind of special deals do you mean?” Gan said. “You don’t talk to us anymore.” His glance slid toward Jing-mei. “At least you don’t talk to some of us. All we can do is guess.”
“Well, you guessed wrong.” Danzu stood up and dropped a bag onto the table. It landed with a noisy clank. “Here. My treat. See you later. Maybe.”
He stomped out the door and slammed it shut.
I blew out a breath. So did Jing-mei. Gan stared out the window. I followed his glance, and saw Danzu emerge from the tea shop. An older man and two young men crossed the square to join him. They all conferred a few moments, then melted away into the crowds.
“I have heard stories about the king,” Gan said softly. “But I didn’t want to—I wasn’t sure.”
Jing-mei laid a hand over his, then plucked it back and started fiddling with her cards, shuffling them in different patterns, over and over. I watched them both and thought how our good hour was just an illusion. The truth was, our gang had broken apart, and none of us felt comfortable talking about anything but fluff.
“I heard . . .” I said tentatively.
Both their gazed flicked up to mine.
I cleared my throat and tried again. “Ma mi told me yesterday that things weren’t good in the palace. I don’t know where she heard it, but she says the court physicians can’t figure out what’s wrong. They bled him, stuffed him with pills, read his latest astrology charts. Nothing helps. Even the potions cooked up by the royal wizards did zilch.”
“That’s what I heard, too,” Jing-mei whispered. She started another shuffle, stopped, and set the pack aside. “And it started so quick—right in the middle of a private talk with those tilt-nosed muckety-mucks from Lang-zhou City.”
“Diplomats,” Gan murmured.
“Same thing,” Jing-mei said.
She was right. Lang-zhou City was the biggest and richest of all the mountain kingdoms. Some claimed it was too far into the lower hills to count. No matter. Lang-zhou City guarded the main passes into the Phoenix Kingdom. Anyone who wanted to transport goods into or out of the mountains had to use their roads, just like anyone who wanted to trade with central and northern kingdoms had to go through ours.
Gan cleared his throat. “They say some of the nobles are plotting—I mean, planning what might happen if the princess doesn’t return in time.”