“Maybe I know her.”
Yún returned his gaze calmly. “The princess is our friend. We bring her news from home.”
“Anyone can bring news. Can you prove that you’re her friends?”
His face was pleasant enough. Ordinary and maybe he knew how to laugh. But right now, his eyes were narrowed and he stood stiff and cautious. A worm of cold worry crawled up my spine.
“What about you?” I said. “Why should we trust you?”
Now he did laugh, but it was a short unhappy one. “You can’t. My apologies for my presumptions. If you will excuse me, I must hurry homeward. Twilight falls slowly in the southern plains, but it does fall. Don’t let it take you by surprise.”
Already he was edging away from us.
Then it came to me, a way to see if he really did know Lian.
“Wait,” I called out. “Do you know the story of her heart’s desire?”
The student spun around. Stared at us with an expression caught between curiosity and apprehension. “I do,” he said cautiously. “What of it?”
“Then you know the names of her friends.”
His expression eased, but only slightly. “Kai Zou and Yún Chang.” He spoke softly, more to himself than to us. “Yes, I should have known. But what kind of news do you bring?”
Yún shook her head. “It’s private.”
Another sharp assessing glance. “I see. Well, you won’t find the princess in these dormitories. She used to have rooms nearby, but several months ago, the emperor invited her to live in the Imperial Palace. An honor that she could not refuse, you understand.”
“And where is the palace?” Yún asked.
“Too far away for you to reach before dark, I’m afraid.” He paused. “My rooms are poor, but I would be honored to have you both as my guests tonight. I live just a few districts over.”
“With the beggars?”
The young man flushed. “I apologize for my companions. But yes, I live with the beggars. It comes in handy for my work.”
I didn’t understand, and I wanted to say so, but Yún was smiling the same way as when she’d figured out a really complicated equation. “Thank you,” she said. “We accept. Do you mind griffins, by the way?”
His eyes widened. “Um, not at all.”
“Good. Kai?”
I glared at her. She glared back. “Very well,” I muttered.
But as I trotted behind the pair, I found myself recalling Yún’s warning about coincidences. Sure, we’d been lucky to find a friend and shelter so easily. Someone who even knew Lian. But was it a coincidence, or something else?
11
OUR NEW FRIEND INTRODUCED HIMSELF AS QUAN Dei Tsang. He was a medical student, he said. Or rather he had been. Having taken his degree two years ago, he had applied for a research position to study diseases and their cures. While he waited for an appointment, he attended lectures and earned cash by tutoring students.
“Do you really live in the Beggars’ Quarter?” I asked.
He shrugged. “The rent is cheap. And I find it useful.” Useful?
We reached the main boulevard, which was crowded with bicycles and carts and electric trams. All questions had to stop as we threaded our way through the chaos. Quan led us uptown a couple of blocks, then ducked into a narrow opening between two tall buildings. It was like a tiny slice of quiet in that noisy city. There was barely enough room to walk single-file. My boots made a soft padding noise that whispered from stone and brick walls.
The passage opened into a wider lane edged by rows of tiny shops—butchers and candle makers, tailors and fishmongers, astrologers and scribes—all with brightly colored awnings stretched down to bamboo poles. The sharp scent of curries and peppers hung in the air. The neighborhood reminded me of the bazaars in Lóng City, especially the hawkers accosting passersby. There was even one old man guarding tanks of live fish and eels. I stopped by one and saw several ugly prickly creatures scuttling along the bottom.
“You like magic crabs?” the man said.