“What if all I’ve got right this moment is fear that goes all the way down? And a broken arm that hurts like a mother? And a mind that can only focus on what I don’t have and won’t stop coming up with calamities?”
“You use what you’ve got.”
A moment of silence. “That sucks.”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Liangzhou, Dragonhome
Eight hours later
THE docks at their last stop before reaching Lang Xin bustled with commerce—silvery fish flopping in a net, cargo in crates, sacks, and barrels being loaded or off-loaded from various vessels. Their own boat’s crew was mostly absent at the moment, either dealing with merchants or seeking refreshment in a tavern. One of the sons sat on the roof of the structure at the rear of the boat, keeping watch. Gulls swooped and called, their voices almost drowned out by the voices of people. At the other end of the pier, a small orange being darted between all those busy people.
Rule stood near the prow and watched Gan. She was dashtu, but he could see her. Not well; she was a person-shaped blur, visible mostly when she moved. The translation charm had somehow gifted him with that ability.
The first time it happened, a couple of cities back, Grandmother had said airily that seeing into dashtu was “a matter of translation, wasn’t it?” and pretended not to be surprised. She’d since come up with three different explanations, none of which made sense to Rule. He didn’t think they made sense to her, either.
“Take your charms off,” she instructed him now.
He turned to see her staring at him. “Why?”
“Never mind. I believe this will work.” So saying, she reached for the chain around his neck that held the charms, pulled it out, and wrapped her hand around one of them. “Do you see Gan now?”
He looked back at the crowded pier. “No, but with so many people that isn’t—”
She released her grip.
A blurry orange figure trotted up to their boat, easily—if not clearly—visible. “Ah. There she is. What did you do?”
“Interrupted the charm that protects you from mind magic. I had not realized that it reaches into dashtu, but it must. I had wondered how it worked, since it does not seem to create a shield. I think it shifts hostile mind magic into dashtu. An elegant solution. The translation charm is interacting with it.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“It is unexpected. I cannot tell if it is good or bad. Perhaps,” she said thoughtfully, “it is also affected by your innate ability to enter dashtu.”
“That makes no sense whatsoever.”
“Tch. What do you think happens when you enter the Change?”
He stared.
“It is not the same . . . I will call it frequency. You do not use the same frequency of dashtu as Gan. You lose physicality; she does not. That loss of physicality prevents you from remaining dashtu the way she does, but it lets you emerge in a different body. This is why lupi are unique.”
Rule felt sucker-punched. What she said made sense. He did not want it to make sense. He didn’t know why. “I don’t . . . it’s not . . .”
“Rule. You go out-of-phase with the rest of the world when you Change. What is that if not dashtu?”
He decided to think about it later and changed the subject. “Does Gan have the folder? I can’t tell.”
“She has something. We will learn what in a moment.”
The chún-chún did not ride high in the water. The boat’s sides were only slightly higher than the dock; Gan jumped aboard easily. The boat rocked slightly, but the son guarding it didn’t seem to notice. She trotted up to Rule and Grandmother and sat, which put her head below the side of the boat and so out of sight of those on the pier. And abruptly sprang into focus. She had a cloth satchel slung over one shoulder and a big grin on her face. “That was fun!”
“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” Rule said. “Do you have it?”
“Maybe.” She removed the satchel and offered it to Grandmother. “It was in the place you told me to look, but I’m not sure about the writing on the front. It all looked the same to me.”
The magistrate of Liangzhou had indeed made them wait while he finished his correspondence. The delay made Rule want to pull his hair out. Or the magistrate’s beard. They were close enough to Lang Xin now that he could almost justify jumping ship and running the rest of the way. But even if he had been willing to arrive in the capital as a wolf, lacking clothes, weapons, money, and those who could implement his plan, he might have a problem getting there.
People here had good reason to travel the river and not on land. Dragonhome was home to some very large beasts. Predators, of course, but herd beasts could be dangerous, too. Any wolf knew that. In the United States, many more people were killed or injured by deer than by wolves and bears. And some of the herd beasts here were enormous. He’d seen a herd of shānjiǎo—literally translated, “mountain’s feet”—from the boat and thought they were much closer than they were, his brain refusing at first to get the scale right. Surely they couldn’t be that big . . . but they were.
And that shouldn’t have been such a surprise in a place where dragons thrived. Dragons would need an abundance of large prey animals. Rule would like to have seen a dragon take on one of the shānjiǎo, but none had appeared to grant his wish before the herd was out of sight. Which, he supposed, he ought to be grateful for.
Nor would Grandmother ensorcel the beastmaster into leaving. She could have done so without damaging his mind by telling him he had already picked up the magistrate’s mail. He would have believed this and left. Rule had pointed that out more than once, finally resulting in her giving him a look. “You are not in charge of me, wolf. I must do some harm. I accept this. I will do no more harm than I must.” Then she’d set off for the magistrate’s court.
Rule had objected to her going alone. She’d sniffed and ignored him. And she’d been right in all that she hadn’t bothered to say aloud. He was too memorable. Even if he’d used some of the magical ointment, his height made him stand out. So he’d waited at the boat, restless and anxious and trying not to snarl at everyone. Eventually she’d returned, not detained, jailed, or otherwise inconvenienced. She’d obtained directions for finding the magistrate’s library and which shelf and folio should contain the most recent decrees. Which meant that she’d been right about that as well. It was highly aggravating.
Then she’d sent Gan to retrieve the documents she wanted.
The folio Grandmother pulled from the satchel was stiff, pale leather. On the outside was an embossed stamp of seven stylized suns set in a circle; what Rule supposed was the date was written in beautiful calligraphy along one side. Inside was a small stack of papers.
Grandmother took those out and glanced through them. “You brought the correct folder,” she told Gan, “but I should have had you bring the last two. Ah, well. This may be enough.” She tapped the pages together and began to read.
The plan was for her to read the stolen documents quickly so Gan could return the folio—hopefully before it was missed. Rule called on his wolf for patience as he waited. And waited.