Wrath of the Blue Lady (4 page)

“They don’t want each other.” Kwan Yung elbowed one man in the face that had made it to his feet, then kicked another in the head.

The crashing serving trays and plates during the escape from the Blinding Onion had been impressive. The act of discretion hadn’t been one of Shang-Li’s better escapes. But any escape he could walk away from …

“I am not happy.” His father walked across the alley, which was now filled with unconscious Nine Golden Swords warriors.

Shang-Li shook his head in disbelief. “You’re never happy.”

“I trained you to always be subtle.” His father held his hand in front of him and moved it with delicate precision. “You are supposed to be like water. You flow. You do not cause disruption. You do not ruffle feathers.”

Shang-Li counted to ten in Shou, and then again in Elvish.

His father threw up his hands in frustration. “I blame your mother for this. She was impulsive. She could never pass by an opportunity for confrontation. You are like your mother.”

And you could never pass by an opportunity for discussion, Shang-Li thought, could you, Father? Arguments had filled their house while he’d been growing up. A casual onlooker might not have believed his parents had cared for each other as deeply as they had. But they had loved one another more than anyone else Shang-Li had ever seen.

“Could we not bring Mother into this? We still have a book to liberate from a wizard’s tower.”

“If that task remains possible.”

“It does.” At least, as possible as getting that prize initially was. “We know where the book is, and we planned to get it

tonight anyway. Now we have time to get some rest before we break into the wizard’s home.”

His father snorted again. “You talk as if that will be easy.”

“You planned that part of the mission. You told me I had nothing to worry about.” Shang-Li paused but his father never broke stride. “I don’t have anything to worry about, do I?” He didn’t relish breaking into wizards’ homes. Thieves got killed—or worse—quickly while doing that.

“You cannot even serve a simple tureen of sauce without spilling it. How can you expect to break into a wizard’s home even if I plan everything?”

“I could have served the sauce without spilling it. A child could have—”

“Hah!” His father wheeled to face him and threw a finger up into his face. “See? I told you that you angered Captain Trolag because you wished to.”

Shang-Li bit back a sharp retort.

“This is why I wished to come along on this task. You lack discipline and this task is important.” His father gazed up at him and the wavering light of the nearby street torch played across his face. Embers from the flaming bundles swirled from the iron cage but extinguished before they struck the ground.

The uneven glow highlighted Kwan Yung’s wrinkled features and gray hair.

When did he start getting so old? Shang-Li wondered. He remembered his father as the man that had taught him to fight at the monastery, had taught him his love of books and history. His mother had given Shang-Li his wanderlust and shown him the mysteries of the woodlands. Pirates had killed her when Shang-Li had been fourteen. That was when Kwan Yung had lost part of himself.

“I could have done this, Father.” Shang-Li spoke softly, hoping to prevent a further tirade. “But I am glad you’re here” Mostly. “We haven’t spent much time together of late. This could be good.” Gods, he thought, please let it be good.

That caught his father off-guard. Kwan Yung regarded him suspiciously.

“I’m not going to forget that you spilled the sauce on purpose.”

“That will make two of you.” Shang-Li smiled. “I made sure the sauce was very hot.”

Kwan Yung’s hand flared out quickly and tweaked Shang-Li’s nose hard enough that he barely kept from crying out or cursing. Either would have been a mistake.

“Pay attention.” His father’s voice lashed like a whip. “You need to focus. I would rather not report back to the monastery in shame after you ruin this opportunity to recover what was lost so long ago. Especially since the Nine Golden Swords might know about this prize as well. We cannot miss this chance.”

Shang-Li rubbed his stinging nose and concentrated on breaking into the wizard’s home. If he was fortunate enough to do that, there was a chance he might live to see morning.

Ś@- ŚŠŚ ŚŠ• Ś&

Bayel Droust cowered in the chair of the small area where he worked. For all the years he’d spent under the sea as the Blue Lady’s prisoner, he’d never become so jaded that he lost his fear of her. As the Blue Lady strode into the hull of the ship, Droust’s guts threatened to turn to water, even though he’d asked her to come. He steeled himself and waited.

Outside the porthole by his desk, the verdant growth ran rampant, claiming the whole of the sea bottom that lay within the Blue Lady’s power. Twitching vines that moved over their own accord wreathed twisted trees and warped bushes where horrible monsters dwelt.

Droust had given names to some of them only so he could tell them apart. Perhaps the whiptails, eye-piercers, and slashsails had started their lives as something else,

either in this world or the one that the Blue Lady had been forced from, but they no longer remained recognizable as anything Droust knew. Some of them had been changed by the Spellplague, but others had been changed by the Blue Lady’s protective spell over the area, and maybe others had simply lain under the sea so far that no one had ever before seen them.

Liou Chang’s two books lay before Droust on the desk. He never went anywhere without them. They were his greatest burden, and they were the only things that kept him alive. That and the Blue Lady’s power. He’d already lived beyond the normal life of a human, and still the years didn’t touch him. If he weren’t a captive, those added years would have been wondrous things.

The books were in the same pristine shape all these years later as they had been when Droust had first found them. Back then, Droust had thought only of ferreting out the information and selling it to wizards. But the book’s code remained beyond his talent and skill, despite years of work. Fortunately, it was also beyond the Blue Lady’s skill.

“Well? What is it?” The Blue Lady stood in the doorway. A group of kuo-toa stood behind her with their weapons bared.

“There has been a … problem with the recovery of the book in the Pirate Isles. The men in our employ have run into an obstacle.”

“I don’t want to hear about obstacles.”

Droust shrank in his seat. “Nor do I, lady. Still, it might be our good luck this time.”

“How so?”

“The obstacle they encountered is a Shou monk from the Standing Tree Monastery.” “How do they know that?”

“They know this one from previous encounters.” The Blue Lady thought about that, and Droust feared the dark thoughts that constantly paraded through her

head. She directed her cold gaze at him. “You’re certain this monk is after the same book we are?”

“Lady, the Standing Tree Monastery has been searching for Liou’s books for hundreds of years. It was my good fortune when I happened on the two in my possession—”

“My possession. Do not forget your place, manling.”

Droust bowed his head and raised his hands in supplication. “Of course not, lady. I spoke in error. I’m tired.” Despite the longevity of the scribe’s life, he still wearied as though made of normal flesh and blood. He’d almost forgotten what the sun looked like. Caelynna used others as go-betweens for the agents that served her on land.

“Your good fortune began when I needed someone who could teach me more of this world.” The Blue Lady’s eyes blazed. “That you had those two books was merely a blessing. And a curse. I should kill you for your inability to translate them.”

Droust quavered. “Lady, I can still be of help to you. If I can learn the code that Liou used for these books, I can translate the books. I only need someone to show me. And I will be loyal to you.” He had no choice. He wanted to live, and that shamed him most of all. Surely all of the Inner Sea would suffer the Blue Lady’s wrath and more if she was successful in bringing her war to this world.

“Where are the warriors now?”

“Still in the Pirate Isles, lady.”

“Contact them. Tell them to let this monk take his chances with the wizard and his books.”

“Lady, I know—knew—the man that wrote that book. He was a ship’s officer. He would have recorded where Grayling went down. You decided”—Only after Droust had pointed it out to her—”that exact knowledge of where the ship went down was dangerous. It’s better if everyone believes a storm took Grayling?

“I know that.” The Blue Lady drew herself up in haughty indignation. “But this book has served to draw this monk

to us. We should not overlook the chance this provides.”

“If this man is as good as the Nine Golden Swords believe at avoiding traps, he could get the book.”

“Fine. Have them take it from him then. And while they’re at it, I expect them to capture this monk as well. Both tasks are equal. Perhaps if he is so skilled at stealing things, he might be skilled as stealing sense from locked words.”

“Yes, lady.” Droust turned back to the spelled crystal he used to contact the Nine Golden Swords the Blue Lady had employed.

“Keep me informed, manling.” The Blue Lady glanced up. “There is a ship sailing through my waters that I intend to bring down.” She showed him a cold, cruel smile. “Pray that it doesn’t harbor a scribe more cunning than you.”

Droust cursed himself for being a coward, but he prayed that she wouldn’t find someone to replace him. And he hoped that the monk died a swift death at Kouldar’s hands. That would be far more merciful than falling into the Blue Lady’s thrall.

.Are you awake?”

From half-closed lids, Shang-Li watched as his father reached for his nose. Shang-Li blocked the move and took a half-step back. He glanced at his father as they stood in the alley where the encounter had taken place only a handful of hours ago. “Don’t do that. I’m awake.”

“You shouldn’t have slept back in our room. You should have stayed awake and prepared. Now you’re all befuddled. You move like you’re older than I.”

Shang-Li gestured to the small bag and the katana over his shoulder. “I was already prepared. And I needed sleep. Not all of us got to wash vegetables at the Blinding Onion. Some of us had to lift heavy trays of food and wash dishes.”

His father waved the complaint away. “You complain far too much. Work is good for you. You could have studied. I brought books to read.”

“I’ve read the books you brought”

“They’re good books. I’ve read them before too. They’re worth re-reading.”

Before he could stop himself, Shang-Li sighed.

“Don’t be insolent.” His father slapped the back of Shang-Li’s head. Shang-Li moved farther away.

His father stared up at the wizard’s tower jutting up over the next building. The structure bent and twisted, and it gave the impression of a coiled snake. People in the city called it the Serpent’s Tower. If he hadn’t known, Shang-Li would have guessed that that the tower had been designed and built by dwarves deep into their cups.

Magic lurks in the mortar of Serpent’s Tower, Brianthom the Traveler had written in his history of the Pirate Isle— one of the books Kwan Yung had insisted Shang-Li read again. No one knows what secrets the edifice contains. If any thief has ever chosen to brave the tower’s magical defenses, none has ever escaped with the tale. The Wizard Kouldar entertains only a few guests, and those seldom. None of them have ever seen the entire interior of the Serpent’s Tower.

As he looked up at the tower corkscrewing toward the dark night sky, Shang-Li admitted to himself that he was more nervous than he’d expected. He’d broken into the lairs of wizards on other occasions. He’d gotten away with his life. Usually someone that crossed a wizard and got caught didn’t get the chance to learn from his mistakes.

“Stop fidgeting.” His father stood placidly, as if they were planning to go for a walk instead of invading a wizard’s stronghold.

Shang-Li adjusted the pack over his shoulder and didn’t look at his father. “Mentally preparing myself.”

“Do you think you will be finished sometime before the dawn?”

Shang-Li frowned at his father. He wished he knew what to say. Usually when he took risks like this, his father wasn’t around. He’d thought of leaving a letter telling his father his innermost thoughts, not to blame himself for whatever happened, and that he cared for him.

The thought of telling Kwan Yung that in person was just too awkward.

“I told the others that you could do this,” his father said.

For a moment, a flicker of pride sparked inside Shang-Li.

“So do not embarrass me.”

Shang-Li thought about telling his father that if anything went wrong he’d be too dead to worry about embarrassing anyone. But he didn’t. He nodded and smiled. “I won’t.”

Then he shot across the alley, caught the edge of the low roof, and flipped himself up onto it with a lithe move. On top of the building, he lay prone and reached for Moonwhisper’s senses.

ŚŠ•<§>

The owl sat on the rooftop of a tall lighthouse that commanded a view of the town. Through the owl’s eyes, Shang-Li saw himself lying on the building’s rooftop, the river to the left of the Serpent’s Tower, and the crooked edifice that earned the building its name.

At Shang-Li’s urging, Moonwhisper fell forward and caught the wind from the sea with his wings. He glided toward the tower.

The tower’s exterior was rough, irregular stone mortared into place. Shang-Li felt confident he could climb it if he had to. But that was a long way to go without being discovered by someone. He planned to cut down on that distance by a considerable amount. Wicked-looking gargoyles manned the roof and a widow’s walk a third of the way down the tower.

From the widow’s walk, an observer could watch the

sea in the distance. Someone with good eyes, Shang-Li felt certain, could identify a specific ship in the harbor.

Or a wizard could keep watch over his tower. The thought hung like sour grapes in Shang-Li’s mind.