The Dreamweavers Page 12

  “Be quiet, the show’s starting!” one of the supervising aunts hissed. Two of Fu-Fu’s cousins—Cousin Big-Nose and Cousin Jabber, he called them—stopped their whispering in the second row.

  None of the cousins spoke to Fu-Fu, and that was just as well, because Fu-Fu didn’t like hanging out with any of his cousins. That was why he was especially delighted when he ran into the strange siblings earlier that week. He knew they weren’t supposed to be there. Probably beggars or orphans, or perhaps assassins and spies—although the contents of their bags proved the former was more likely. They contained nothing significant except for an old porcelain jar, and even that was boring. The Imperial City had thousands that were much nicer.

  The bags now lay at his feet, and he kicked them absentmindedly as he waited. The guards would surely arrest the twins as soon as he tipped one off about the trespassers. So far, however, Fu-Fu had not told anyone. Not yet. He’d decided to save that moment for the end of the performance, when he’d have his own big finale—a great reveal—and come out the hero. Then he’d show whiny Cousin Jabber who was boss. He’d show them all that he didn’t have to be related to the emperor to achieve greatness. That he didn’t need to have the best food or toys or maids and servants. Fu-Fu, the mere great-grandson of a high official, was just as good as the best of them.

  The stage lit up. The first performance was a juggling act. The audience clapped politely.

  The second performance was a sword swallower. The act made all the younger children gasp, and made the older kids tremble uneasily. They all watched in silence as the performer slowly sank the tip of the broadsword down his throat, inch by inch, until only the colored tassels around the pommel were left.

  “Do not try this at home!” the aunt reminded the audience sternly. “You will slit your throat as though it were a slice of raw tofu.”

  Now, every kid shuddered.

  The third and fourth acts were parts of an old Chinese opera. It was mildly interesting, but Fu-Fu was getting restless. Where were the twins he had asked for? He started to wonder whether the pesky servants had obeyed his orders.

  Just then, a hush fell over the audience. Fu-Fu sat up straight.

  The boy from the strange sibling pair was slowly walking onstage, his gait stiff and jerking. He looked woodenly at the audience. His pale lips mumbled something no one could hear.

  Confused murmurs emerged in the audience.

  “It’s a human puppet!” a six-year-old from the front squealed.

  “No, dummy, he’s obviously real,” Cousin Sharp-Tongue replied. “He’s just pretending to be a statue.”

  “Statues don’t move, stupid!” Cousin Big-Nose called out.

  “Did you call me stupid?”

  “No, he’s stupid.”

  While the aunts tried to get the kids to settle down, the boy’s sister ran onstage. “That, everyone, was called the Walking Corpse!” she laughed (a bit forcefully, Fu-Fu thought). “Give it up for this brilliant actor!”

  After the unenthusiastic clapping died down, the girl smiled and announced she was going to duel an invisible swordsman. She held up a toy sword and began whipping it back and forth, ducking and jumping here and there. Her movements were smooth and fast, and remarkably skilled, but watching someone duel an invisible opponent is about as much fun as watching someone jog in place. A few minutes later, the audience grew restless again. The girl’s brother stood silently beside her, as though he forgot how to move or talk. Perhaps he was mimicking a statue after all.

  “This stinks!” booed Fu-Fu.

  The aunts scolded him, but not before a flurry of snickers spread through the audience. Mei glared at Fu-Fu. Without a pause, she threw the sword down and marched forward on the stage.

  “For my next act, I need a volunteer from the audience,” she said.

  The room oohed. They’d never seen an interactive show before. Excitement rippled through the audience. The younger children shot their arms into the air, pleading, “Pick me! Pick me!”

  Mei swept her gaze over the audience. “I’ll pick”—she paused for dramatic effect—“that boy.” She pointed straight at Fu-Fu. “You.”

  Fu-Fu felt his face burn, but he stuck out his chin and pretended to act nonchalant. “Me?” he sneered.

  “Yes. I need you to hand me those bags you have.”

  The boy flinched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Those, the ones right beside your bamboo stick.”

  He immediately regretted bringing those twits’ bags with him to the theater. “I don’t have to give you anything,” he replied.

  But the aunts and cousins were all eagerly waiting for him to obey the performer’s orders.

  “Maybe she’ll turn them into puppets!” cheered the same six-year-old.

  Another cousin suggested the performers were going to guess what was inside the bags, which prompted several of the kids to debate whether Cousin Fu-Fu was in on the act.

  “That’s not fair,” Cousin Jabber called out, slamming his fist. “I’m third in line to the throne. How come I’m not picked?”

  Cousin Jabber’s outrage was what prompted Fu-Fu to agree in the end. He tossed the duffel bags onstage.

  “Thank you,” said Mei, snatching the bags. She turned to her brother and said in a low whisper, “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Hey, wait a minute!” yelled Fu-Fu, who had heard her. “They’re getting away with my stuff!”

  In her haste, Mei accidentally dropped one of the duffel bags. The porcelain jar rolled out, and the cap fell off with a clatter.

  Some of the cousins whispered to one another with puzzled glances. Did Cousin Fu-Fu own that thing? Impossible, he only gets hand-me-downs....Perhaps he stole it from one of the princes or princesses....We should check our rooms when we get back.

  “I didn’t steal it from any of you,” Fu-Fu retorted hotly above the murmurs.

  “Shh!” hissed one of the aunts, and the crowd fell silent again. They watched the girl onstage, who was wrestling with the jar.

  She popped the lid back on. “B-Behold!” She nervously laughed. “I call this the magic storm cloud! Don’t worry, it will dissipate.”

  Except there was nothing onstage that the audience could see. The girl caught the crowd’s confused looks and pointed to the air. “It’s right here. Look! Don’t you see the green-and-black cloud?”

  “And lightning,” croaked her sibling, who still stood as rigid as a puppet.

  A few uncertain giggles hiccupped in the crowd. The royal audience was not used to performances of such low quality. To make matters worse, Cousin Baby-Tooth had fallen asleep again in the second row and let out an enormous, well-timed snore. Within seconds, the whole room erupted in laughter.

  One of the aunts suggested the next performer come onstage in the interest of moving things along. The girl put the jar away, her cheeks fiery red. She nudged her companion, who woodenly began following her offstage.

  “I want my bags back!” Fu-Fu called loudly.

  “No, they’re not his—” the girl began to say, but one of the previous performers had already wrestled the bags from her hands. He presented them to Fu-Fu with a slight bow.

  “That’s more like it.” Fu-Fu was glad for the opportunity to display his power, especially in front of the newcomers. He puffed out his chest and said to the siblings, “You two can sit next to me and watch the rest of the show from the first row. I’m such a nice guy.” He grinned at the girl. “Aren’t I?”

  The girl glared at him. “We’ll find our own seats, thanks.” With one last furious scowl, she tugged her sibling along, and they disappeared offstage, nearly toppling the musician and his erhu waiting in the wings.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  十六

  The Phoenix Seal

  While the musician performed, Mei tiptoed through the audience to find Princess Zali. Yun was still recovering backstage from the disastrous performance, and Mei had taken this opportunity to
slip away on her own. Fueled by frustration, Mei had made a decision. The prince would be arriving with Grandpa in two days. Whatever complicated tactics her twin had in mind to get at the records in the Imperial Library by then, Mei was doubtful he’d be able to move fast enough. Princess Zali was their only hope.

  She spotted the princess sitting all the way in the back of the theater by herself; her attendants stood a good distance away. Perfect. Mei quietly approached her.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Your Highness,” she whispered. “I would like to speak with you in private, if I may.”

  The princess nodded. “That was an...interesting...act you did. Invisible clouds, huh?”

  “Something like that, sure,” Mei grumbled. It was like back at the village again, when she and Yun were the only kids who could see the fog. She wanted to kick herself for making the same mistake here in the Imperial City.

  “Who was that boy with you? Where is he?”

  “He’s nobody.” Mei couldn’t believe she had such a useless sibling. She had almost succeeded in getting their belongings back from Fu-Fu, while Yun had frozen like a block of ice. Moreover, their performance was the opposite of forgettable; they probably stood out like sore thumbs. Now they’d be more recognizable around the palace because of it. And their bags—and Grandpa’s jar—were gone. Again.

  “Maid, bookkeeper, and actress. You’re a woman of many talents, Mimi.” There was a lull in the music. Princess Zali waited for the strings to play again, then leaned in and said, “So what did you wish to discuss with me?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about...” Mei wished more than anything to tell the princess the truth. She knew Yun didn’t want her to, but Yun wasn’t here, and they were running out of time. Mei took a deep breath. “Truth is, I’m not a maid or a bookkeeper.”

  The princess motioned for Mei to move in closer. “I thought not. Who are you, then?” Her expression was kind and curious.

  Perhaps against her better judgment, Mei admitted quietly, “I’m an outsider. I snuck into the palace with my brother, who was onstage with me. We’re from a village down south.”

  The princess placed her hand on Mei’s shoulder. At first, Mei thought it was simply a kind gesture, until she felt something faint and sharp pressed against her neck. She saw the end of the gleaming chopstick between Princess Zali’s fingers.

  “Reveal your true identity,” the princess breathed calmly. “Or I’ll be commanding the guards to bury your body.”

  Alarmed, Mei rushed to explain. “M-My name’s Mei Wu. My brother and I are from a village in the mountains. Our village—” She paused, then figured she was locked into the truth at this point. She waited until the erhu player was playing a particularly loud melody, then whispered, “Our village has been cursed—by the same curse that befell the City of Ashes. We went there and met the spirit who caused the destruction there. The poet called Lotus. She told us she’d lift the curse if we prove her husband was framed and wrongly executed.”

  She winced. What she’d just said sounded like pure gibberish out loud. She might as well have admitted they’d made a deal with a talking animal and had a jar of dreams. If the princess wasn’t going to kill her for being an intruder, certainly she’d lock her up for being a dangerous lunatic now.

  For several long moments, there was only the sound of the erhu strings.

  “You say you’re from a cursed village in the mountains?” repeated Princess Zali.

  “Yes,” Mei said, trembling. “The curse started in the City of Ashes. It spilled over to our village somehow. During the Mid-Autumn Festival, the emperor’s son visited and wrongly arrested our grandpa for serving him bad mooncakes. That’s another thing. They’re on their way back here. I don’t know what your brother has planned for Grandpa, but he’s innocent. We have to set him free when they arrive in two days.”

  Princess Zali lowered her hand, revealing the glint of the weapon, then slowly drew herself up. One of the nearby maids approached to ask if she was alright.

  “I have to use the chamber pot,” she calmly answered. Two servants started to rush over, but the princess gave them a terse shake of the head. “I have a helper already,” she said, motioning toward Mei. “She will assist me.”

  Mei nervously helped the princess walk out the theater doors. Out in the empty corridor, Princess Zali took tiny steps until she leaned against the balcony overlooking the courtyard. Out on the lawn, a group of men were practicing martial arts in the moonlight—their kicks and punches identical and precise, no arm or leg raised too low or too high. The princess watched them longingly for a few moments. Then she folded her arms and gave Mei a stern look.

  “I suppose this—this quest of yours is why you’ve been so interested in the Imperial Library? You’ll be wanting to look at the historical records, won’t you?”

  “That’s right,” squeaked Mei.

  “Why did you lie to me?”

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell you the truth, Your Highness.”

  “You don’t have to call me that. We’re practically the same age.” The princess took a deep breath. “Back up a bit. How did you arrive? Did you come straight from the City of Ashes?”

  Mei told her about the journey from the village to the City of Ashes, and the magic cloud that took her and Yun to the Imperial City. Princess Zali stared at her, as if deciphering whether she was telling the truth.

  “If you are lying to me, you wouldn’t tell such an outrageous story,” she said after a moment. “Therefore...this all must be true.”

  “It is. I swear.”

  “Where are your parents?”

  Mei couldn’t answer. Princess Zali seemed to understand.

  “I ought to report you, if not outright kill you,” the princess said, her voice hard. “But I won’t.”

  “You won’t report me? Or kill me?”

  “Both.”

  Mei was too relieved and astonished to reply.

  “It’s mighty impressive what you’ve done,” continued Princess Zali quietly. “I’ve never done what you have. I’ve never been part of...of an adventure like that.”

  Mei thought of how she did not choose this particular adventure, to have her village cursed, her grandpa arrested, and her parents frozen in time. “I didn’t have a choice,” she admitted.

  The princess replied, “You could’ve stayed home and hidden, but you didn’t. You chose to venture into the unknown. I’m the one who doesn’t get a choice in anything.”

  “But...” Mei knew she shouldn’t interrupt, but she couldn’t help herself. “But everyone here listens to you. You give orders, and they obey.”

  “Sure, I ask for things, and people bring them to me. But that’s not the same as having freedom.”

  Mei looked at her questioningly, and Princess Zali looked out at the practicing soldiers again. The men had taken a break, and they were laughing together. Long, musical notes floated from inside the palace theater. The princess’s eyes lowered.

  “Being a princess means every part of your life’s controlled. More so, when you can’t walk well. You’re always surrounded by people waiting on you all the time, bringing you food, making sure you’re dressed comfortably. You can’t even get a drink of water without five people fumbling over you. Almost like you’re an infant.”

  Mei remembered how Miss Sha had fawned over Princess Zali with the threads, stitches that the princess could’ve done herself easily. She also remembered Princess Zali and Fu-Fu’s exchange back in her bedroom, and she wondered if the princess dealt with that kind of teasing constantly.

  “Don’t get me started about my parents’ and other people’s expectations. No, Princess Zali, you cannot join your brothers in physical combat. No, Your Highness, women must not run or shout from the rooftops.”

  This last reproach sounded familiar to Mei, and she felt a pang of sympathy for the princess.

  “For once, I want to be myself. Not the perfect princess people expect me to be.” Princess Zali raised he
r eyes to meet Mei’s. “Maybe tonight, I can take my first step, metaphorically speaking.”

  She made sure no one was in the hallway, then took out a folded paper from under the silk pink sash around her waist. She smoothed out the paper’s edges and showed it to Mei. On it was an intricate sketch of a map of the Imperial City with all its buildings and yards.

  “I drew this myself,” Princess Zali said. “I keep it with me at all times to study the layout of the city and memorize it—and imagine myself going wherever I please. I think it will help you with your quest.” She pointed to a building she’d circled. “This is the Imperial Library, inside the Pavilion of Literary Wisdom.” Dashed lines surrounded the square room. The princess explained the lines represented the protective enchantment.

  “What is the enchantment?” asked Mei.

  “The enchantment prevents anyone but those given the emperor’s permission from going inside the library. It alerts my father to any trespasser’s presence. Too many officials try to sneak in to rewrite history and modify records. But this is where you want to go. It has thousands of records pertaining to the histories of every city in China. All recorded arrests are there.”

  Mei blinked at the map, then at Princess Zali. “You’re helping me, then?” she whispered.

  “It’s not every day you hear about a quest to appease the spirit of a vengeful poet in a haunted city. I want to be part of your adventure, too.” The princess gave a small smile. “So yes, I’m helping you. But only to a point, I’m afraid. Ideally, I would access the records for you, but to get permission to enter the library, I’d need to request an audience with my father. Then he’d get one of his messengers to write the permission slip and assign select carriers to accompany me. It’d take at least a week, if not longer. I suspect you need access much sooner.”

  She placed the paper in Mei’s hand. An understanding passed between them.