Instead he’d nodded with matching seriousness and spoken another truth. “That’s true. Our plan depends on you.”
He’d expected her to preen. She hadn’t. She’d nodded back at him solemnly, then stared out over the dark water, its ripples slicing the moon’s reflection into glimmering life.
The moon would be full tonight, he thought as they reached the end of the dock. Her call was strong and sweet, impossible to ignore but not yet imperative. That song would turn from a beckoning to a demand when she rose above the horizon an hour after sunset . . . just as the gates to Earth were flung open and all hell broke out in two realms.
“I suppose,” Grandmother said sourly in Chinese, “that is the line we must join?”
A line of people stretched out of the door of a small building set slightly back from the street that ran alongside the docks. Twenty or thirty people stood, chattered, scowled, and waved paper fans at their faces, hoping to stir up a breeze. Many, but not all, wore hats. A wizened old man pulled a huge pottery jar set on wheels alongside the line, dispensing cups of tea for . . . Rule paused, listening. He could hear the old man’s voice, but it was too far for the translation charm.
The boat father assured her that it was, adding that “old Chen Mu’s tea is very good. Only one dìsì a cup. We will get some tea, eh?”
“And baozi,” Rule said in his extremely limited Chinese. He’d picked up a little more of the language with the translator charm whispering in his ear all the time. Not much, but a little. He’d developed a fondness for the bland food ever since breaking his too-long fast with them. But baozi did lack meat, and it was lunchtime. “And . . . shāokǎo?” He wasn’t sure of his pronunciation of the spicy kebabs he could smell but didn’t see.
After a bit of polite dithering about who would pay—Grandmother won—Mei Bo sent his daughter to obtain lunch and the rest of them headed for the back of the line. And Grandmother gave Gan the sign to leave them.
The little one scampered off, then paused, looking back at them. Rule couldn’t see her well enough to make out her expression, but there was something wistful about that looking-back. A smile was all the reassurance he could give her at the moment, so he offered that.
“It is good of you to keep us company,” Grandmother was saying to Mei Bo.
“I am happy to do so, madame.”
He did seem to be. Not that he’d had any choice, Rule reflected.
Grandmother continued to meet the boat father’s eyes steadily. “You have been a good host on our trip. I am glad to repay a small part of your kindness.” She said all that in Chinese, then added a short English phrase—“Wake up”—before going back to Chinese. “Are the shānjiǎo in place?”
“Oh, yes,” he told her, sneaking an awed glance at Rule. “All is ready. My cousins tend them now.”
“Very good. Forget that I asked about them.” And, in English, “Sleep.”
“I am sad that I do not get to buy a meal for you,” Mei Bo said. “Did not this great swordsman of yours save my life? When that dragon . . .”
Rule!
Yes. I’m here. Rule spoke under-the-tongue so he didn’t have to move his lips in public. I’m in line, waiting to see the tax-stamp officials.
I’ve got people around, too, so I’ll makethisquick. Needtotellyou that Ah Hai brought me my weapon this mornananan the ammo, then told me about theclaimed—they’re the bfaffitions. And they’re descenackafum thekanas. You remember whuitollu about them? The oneshooifima zhurnneistope backa?
Your words are coming through garbled, he said. I don’t know what you said.
Dammit!
That came through plenty clear. You have people around you? You’re trying to subvocalize to use mindspeech?
Yes. Focus . . . is . . . hard . . . when I’m . . . walking . . . andtalking. Need to . . . waitaminute.
Lily hadn’t had much experience speaking under-the-tongue. That seemed to affect her ability to use it to shape her thoughts for mindspeech. He was closer to her than he had been—close, his wolf whispered at him, close—but she was still on the other side of the city, and apparently distracted by those nearby. Is your information urgent as well as important? he subvocalized, not knowing if she was “listening.”
Both. The . . . barefoot ones . . . seemtobe slaves . . . are onourside. Ah Hai . . . saysthespawn . . . will be . . . busy . . . preparingfortheir . . . ritual. Long prep. I . . . Dammit. Igottago.
The barefoot ones? What did she mean? Frustrated, Rule was frowning as Mei Ling came skipping up, holding one of the ubiquitous string bags in one hand and skewered meat in the other. Her smile faltered.
Couldn’t have that. Hating himself, he smiled at her in the way he had no business smiling at anyone but Lily. She blushed and held out the mystery meat—mystery being the key word here, as he had no idea what animal it had come from. Probably one not found on Earth, though it smelled a bit like goat.
She told him shyly that there was a juggler, and would he like to go see? Then blushed again, for of course she assumed he didn’t understand what she’d said, and turned to her father to ask permission to take Wu Tǔ Ní to see a juggler. Wu Tǔ Ní was the name Grandmother had bestowed on him, claiming that it mimicked his real name closely enough to help him remember to respond to it. The naming had amused her greatly. Later he’d learned that those syllables could mean anything from rainbow dirt to local wool to vomit mud.
“. . . a very good juggler, Father,” Mei Ling said earnestly, “and it is not far to go, being only down the street in front of the scribe’s stall.”
Mei Bo chuckled and asked Grandmother if she minded if the two young people went to see this amazing juggler. He thought she needn’t fear attack here, eh? And so had no great need for her swordsman. Ever since the dragon attack, he had insisted on referring to Rule as a swordsman.
Grandmother looked sour, which fit her character, but grudgingly agreed and told him in English, “Take your time. The line is long.”
In other words, everything was proceeding as they wanted it to. He hadn’t even had to come up with a reason to extract himself from the line. Mei Ling had done it for him. But her timing sucked. He needed to talk to Grandmother about Lily’s garbled message, see if she knew who these “barefoot ones” were that Lily thought were on their side.
Lily would have to tell Grandmother about them herself. He gave Grandmother a small bow and said, “Thank you, madame.”
“Yes, yes. Go on.” She made a shooing gesture.
He did, preparing himself to be charming. The trick to charming people was really no trick at all. Men and women alike were charmed by those who found them charming. With some people that could be difficult, but not with Mei Ling. Shy and lovely, silly and smart, she was as appealing as a kitten. No, the hard part would be hiding his guilt.