Fox and Phoenix (Lóng City 1)

Six hours into our journey, Yún switched channels again. I recognized the man who reminded me of a vid-screen actor. “Who is that?”

“Kaishan Zhu,” Yún said. “The emperor of the Phoenix Empire.”

“And those others?”

“His trade ministers.”

The gabbling onscreen sounded like the same gabbling as before, except that now the emperor was explaining how recent purchases of magic flux supplies from various neighboring kingdoms would ease this temporary shortage in the empire. He went on to reassure us that new negotiations were underway in the central mountain kingdoms to ensure a permanent solution.

“How can it be temporary and permanent at the same time?” I said.

Yún didn’t answer. She punched a few buttons on the keypad. Most of the windows on the screen closed, replaced by one filled with text. Yún kept tapping at the keyboard. More text scrolled by, too fast for me to read. It was obvious she didn’t want to talk.

The rest of the evening passed in dreary silence. Yao-guài fell asleep in a small snoring heap. I ordered another meal of cooked beef and packed all the dishes into cartons and stowed them in our packs. Yún was still studying the screens when I finished picking up all our scattered belongings from around the cabin and packed them away, too. As the hazy disc of the full moon rose above a bank of clouds, I rolled myself in my blankets and fell asleep.

A LOUD SQUEALING woke me. I bolted up.

“Yao-guài?”

The squealing came from outside the train. The griffin darted around the cabin, adding squawks and trills to the noise, while the squealing went on and on. Yún must have turned the windows to opaque, because a smothering darkness enveloped our compartment. Groaning, I switched the window to transparent. A flood of bright sunlight poured through the glass, blinding me and sending Yao-guài on another frantic circuit. Late morning, my bleary mind calculated.

Yún sat up rubbing her eyes. “What is it?” she croaked.

“I don’t know.”

Our vid-screen chimed. A woman’s voice announced, “One hour to Phoenix City. Please make ready for departure.”

We had plenty of time to wash and eat breakfast. As the train slid into the station, Yún and I were already standing by the doors. The griffin had not protested once when Yún tucked him into her backpack, but I could see him squirming around inside.

The doors hissed open, letting a wave of warmth roll into the train. Dry air, tinged with smoke and grease and the electric scent of magic.

I nearly lost sight of Yún in the first two minutes. We had to grab each other’s hands to keep from getting separated as we squeezed our way past hordes of travelers trying to board the train. Overhead, signs glowing with magic flux showed arriving and departing trains by platform number. Children shrieked. Voices from the loudspeakers announced changes to the schedule. Vendors hawking spiced rice, roasted chicken, and grilled squid shouted out their wares. An old woman carrying a live chicken in a cage stomped past us, both of them screeching at each other. We might have introduced ten noisy griffins and no one would have noticed.

By the time we squeezed through the last doorway into a wide square outside the station, I was sweating. It was far warmer than I’d expected. More like late summer than almost winter—a very damp summer where rain clogged the air but never fell.

“Do you remember Lian’s address?” I said.

“She has a set of rooms near the university. Used to. She said something about moving when we last talked, but she didn’t say where. But the university should have her new address. We can ask once we get there.”

We exchanged our money at a small kiosk next to the station. Yún asked the man for directions to the University Quarter. He grunted and waved his hand toward the opposite side of the square, as if that answered our question.

We did the squeeze routine again, sweating even harder than before. Eventually we popped out of the crowd next to rows of shops and vendors. And one strange, six-sided tower.

It was short, barely taller than I was, and painted a dull black. Each side had a big slot, a little slot, and a metal plaque with instructions. On top was a mesh cage. As I squinted at the instructions, a gnarled old man elbowed me aside and shoved a coin into a smaller slot. He jabbered into the slot in a thick southern accent. I heard a whirring noise. Poof. A flame shot up from the mesh cage, followed by a cloud of sickly-sweet-smelling incense. A minute later, the old man pulled a small square of paper from a larger slot and hurried off.

Yún planted herself in front of the machine and inserted a coin. “University Quarter,” she said briskly. “Headquarters for student dormitories. First year students. Political science and magical studies.”

More flames and smelly incense. The tower clicked and whirred and spat out another square of paper. Yún crammed it into her pocket.

We ducked into a nearby alley and examined the paper. Flowing script covered one side—directions to the University Quarter. On the other side was a map of the square where we stood. Magic flux flickered over its surface in the shape of an arrow pointing southwest. As we turned to see what lay in that direction, the arrow shifted with us. When we took a couple steps, the map changed to show a smidge more on one side, less on the other. A small gold-stamped device in one corner let us change the map’s resolution from just a few streets to the entire city, with the widest avenues shrinking to needle-thin lines.

I whistled. “Fancy.”

“It’s the new techno-ink-magic. Let’s go.”

According to the map, the train station was near the city center. The student dormitories were in the southwest quadrant of the city, thirty li away.