Chen?
Someone laughed. Not Chen, but I was too sleepy to care. I drifted off to sleep. To dream of warm cotton oceans, and hot soup, and a stickle-pig nibbling at my fingers. Hungry stickle-pig. It poked and prodded and tickled with one pin-sharp tooth, almost like a beak.
Yao-guài bit down hard. I woke with a yelp. “What—”
Shi, shi, Chen said. We’re inside Lóng City. We just passed the gates. And your monster is hungry.
Fumbling around, I located the packets of food Danzu had provided. Yao-guài kept up a soft trilling noise until I thrust a handful of meat strips at him. Yao-guài gobbled them down so fast, I thought he’d choke. The little monster finally settled down with a thick strip between his claws, chewing away, the way a cat chews a freshly caught mouse.
Happy now? I asked.
The griffin made a noise that sounded like nom, nom, nom.
The wagon rattled slowly over cobblestones, up an incline to the next terrace, then along a level road with smoother paving stones. At first, the noises outside the wagons were louder—people on foot hurrying home before nightfall, dogs yapping, the noise of metal scraping against stone as someone cleared their steps. These soon dropped away as we turned up another steep slope. The horses strained to pull the heavy wagons. Probably these were draft horses, used for hauling freight. Where and when had Danzu bought them? He made it sound as though he’d been in business a long time—ever since we won our reward. And Yún hadn’t acted surprised. In fact, she’d mentioned something about Danzu weeks and weeks go, when she first showed me those expensive maps for the mountain roads.
Maybe I don’t know my friends at all.
Maybe you just need to listen harder, Chen said.
I started to tell him to shut up, but the wagon jolted to a stop. Yao-guài screeched, and we both tumbled on our sides, scattering beef strips and packets everywhere. By the time I could sort everything out, someone was tapping at the crate’s lid.
The lid fell open. I blinked at the sudden change from smothering dark to light. Even if that light was dim and uncertain.
A hand grasped my arm. “Come along.”
Whoever that was hauled me out of the wagon. My legs, numb from the long day’s trek, folded under me. I hit the cold stones of the courtyard with a thump. Yao-guài gave a squawk and fluttered around me, fussing.
“D’you need help?” the man asked.
It was one of the drivers, I remembered. I shook my head and hauled myself to standing.
We were in a tiny, paved courtyard dusted with snow. Shadows pooled over the bare stones. There was a clean, cold scent in the air, mixed with the smells of horse and leather, a fainter one of crushed herbs and the electric fire of magic flux.
The driver helped Yún climb out. Another was doing the same for Quan and Lian. High overhead, dark clouds smudged a steel-gray sky. It couldn’t be more than late afternoon. Snow trickled down from the clouds. Unlit lamps hung from the walls. The courtyard itself was bare, except for several clay pots where someone might plant flowers in the summer. There was a low iron gate—the one we’d just come through—and a pair of heavy wooden doors on the other side.
“Where are we?” I asked.
The doors swung open. A short slender figure marched out. “Danzu, you miserable idiot. You’re late! Three days late! Where are my goods?”
“Hello, Jing-mei.”
Jing-mei spun around. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of Lian. “Princess?” she whispered. “Is that really you?”
18
“IT’S ME,” LIAN SAID.
Jing-mei stared from Lian to me and Yún. When she got to Quan, she paused. Her lips moved silently, as though she wanted to ask a thousand questions, but could not decide which one to pick first. Then she caught sight of Danzu, who was ordering the drivers to unload the rest of the crates.
“Explain,” she said shortly.
“Emergency,” he said, breathless. “Your shipment is safe. Truly. I left only a few crates in storage in Lake of the Blue Jewel.”
“The jewelry? The special holo-glasses? The essences of southern winter? You know those require warmth, special handling—”
“Not those,” Danzu whined. “The cheap stuff.”
“I. Do. Not. Sell. Cheap stuff, Danzu Qián. What have you thrown away from my shipment?”