The Tiger's Apprentice Page 3

  There was something in the determined way that the tiger spoke that made the boy shiver. Mr. Hu seemed quite comfortable with feuds, and Tom had seen how easily the wild beast could appear.

  Still, Mr. Hu seemed less dangerous than the monster on the roof, so Tom might as well take the tiger’s advice for now. He forced his legs to move down the street, but he couldn’t help looking back over his shoulder, wondering what was happening to his grandmother.

  A thick column of smoke twisted into the sky like a giant gray snake; in the billows, Tom saw flashes of light and stripes of white smoke.

  “Yes, Mistress Lee,” Mr. Hu murmured with satisfaction, gazing back over his shoulder as well. “Make them sorry they came without an invitation. And then join us.”

  Suddenly a blinding bolt of light sliced through the column straight up to the sky.

  Tom’s eyes were dazzled by the bright light. He thought he saw a giant moth flapping pale gray wings with brown spots that looked like skulls. It circled several times over the spot where his grandmother’s house had been and then soared upward into the sky.

  Mr. Hu’s voice thickened with shock and sorrow. “The Ghost Cart . . .”

  “You mean the moth?” Tom asked.

  “It comes for the souls of the brave and noble and good,” Mr. Hu said, gazing at the sky and choking for a moment. “Like your grandmother.”

  The last few minutes had felt like some horrible nightmare from which Tom would wake up, but suddenly he realized he would never see his grandmother again.

  “Grandmom . . .” There would be no more smiles, no more hugs, no more gentle words.

  Tom was so full of grief, he forgot to be afraid of the tiger. Turning, he threw himself against Mr. Hu and began to cry.

  The pungent smell of sandalwood filled his nose as he pressed his face against the tiger’s suit.

  The tiger lifted a paw and patted the boy clumsily on the back. “Remember your grandmother’s sacrifice, Master Thomas. This is what Guardians must do: protect that most precious object with their lives, even though few know of it. For thousands of years, we have kept it—and the world—safe.”

  His grandmother had thought the rose so important that she had given her life for it. “But who’s the Guardian now?”

  “I am,” Mr. Hu said solemnly. “And since I now stand in your grandmother’s stead, you are now my apprentice. Don’t worry. It will be your turn someday.”

  Chapter 3

  The flying rat has the body of a hare but the head of a rat. It flies through the air by moving the hairs along its back.

  —SHAN HAI CHING

  Even though he was stunned, Tom felt as if someone had just shoved an icicle against his back. He pushed away from the tiger. “I . . . I don’t think I want to be a Guardian anymore,” he said. “Grandmom told me about the monsters, but it’s not the same as meeting them.”

  “No one could really prepare you,” Mr. Hu admitted, “but fighting them is in your blood. As Mistress Lee’s grandson, it is both your heritage and your duty. You are part of a long tradition that keeps the rose safe.”

  The mention of his grandmother made Tom hesitate for a guilty moment, but the terror was still too fresh in his mind. “No, you’re the Guardian now. You choose your own apprentice.” Besides, after seeing Mr. Hu’s transformation into a wild beast, the tiger seemed almost as dangerous as the monsters. “You don’t want me. You said it yourself back on the stairs: I’m useless against monsters. I don’t have the magic or the claws.”

  The tiger gazed at the frightened boy almost as if he could see right through his skin to his insides. After a moment, the tiger nodded. “But you have the courage. It takes a brave heart to face creatures such as the ones on the roof without weapons.”

  “And get knocked over like a bowling pin.” Tom winced. He was sure his arms and legs were bruised.

  Mr. Hu clasped his hands behind his back. “I said you couldn’t stand up to such invaders—yet; but with training you can. Your grandmother saw the worth in you. And she was among the wisest of creatures. I can do no less than follow her judgment.”

  “She was my grandmom. And I only went along with the lessons because she wanted me to.” And now, the only one who loved him was gone. Tom felt like crying all over again. “Now that I know what I’ve gotten into, I don’t want to anymore.”

  As he stared at the frightened, miserable boy, the tiger seemed lost for a moment—as if he didn’t have the slightest notion of what to do with a human cub. “I’m afraid you have no more choice in being my apprentice than I have in being the Guardian. So come, Master Thomas. We must both obey your grandmother’s last commands. But first let’s clean that face.”

  Tom glanced at his reflection in a grocery store window and saw that when he had fallen on the rooftop, his face had gotten filthy. Pulling a red silk handkerchief from his coat breast pocket, Mr. Hu began to wipe the dirt away.

  “Ow,” Tom complained at the rough scrubbing.

  “I’m sorry. I see that human cubs are less durable than tiger ones.” Embarrassed, Mr. Hu handed the handkerchief to Tom.

  “Do you have children?” Tom asked.

  “No, between my studies and then the feud, I never had time to court anyone,” Mr. Hu explained brusquely. “But when I was with my clan, there were always cubs underpaw.”

  Tom studied his face in the window as he began to wipe his cheeks. He had his father’s eyes with the epicanthic fold but his Irish mother’s pale skin and brown hair. His didn’t look like the face of someone who could stand up to monsters.

  When Tom tried to return the handkerchief to Mr. Hu, the tiger waved it away. “I don’t want it back in that state. Put it in your own pocket, if you please. You can wash it out later.”

  Tom had expected Mr. Hu to work some magic to whisk them away, so he was surprised when they caught a bus that rolled past the stores and apartment houses lining Geary Boulevard.

  “Shouldn’t we get away as fast as we can? What if the monsters find us?” Tom whispered.

  “They won’t be looking for us,” Mr. Hu said. “They’ll think the rose was destroyed with your grandmother. But if by some chance they see us, they’ll think we’ve just been shopping.” He held up the pink bag with the rose.

  On Market Street they got off among the tall department stores and office buildings. Tom felt as if he was in a deep stone canyon in which people in suits hurried back and forth in the twilit streets.

  Lounging against the wall of a high-rise, bike messengers sat waiting for errands.

  “You’re back, partner,” a high, nasal voice called.

  At first Tom had missed the creature among the bigger humans until he padded toward them waving a paw. He was about two feet high, but his yellow fur was so bushy that it was hard to tell if he was fat or the hairs were long. On his head was a cap with furry flaps, and his feet were so large that they almost seemed like a rabbit’s.

  Mr. Hu’s nose wrinkled as if he had just smelled something very unpleasant. “You’re still alive.”

  “So are you.” The rat grinned.

  Mr. Hu glowered. “In the past I may have used your services, but only when I had no choice. That does not make us partners and never will.”

  The rat nudged Tom’s leg. “He’s a great kidder, is my Mr. H.”

  Mr. Hu bent over until his nose was almost touching the rat’s snout. “Go away, Sidney, or I will be forced to bite you—even if I’ll be rinsing with mouthwash for a month afterward.”

  Sidney took no notice of the angry tiger as he pulled a business card from out of his fur and handed it to Tom. “The name’s Sidney Stillwater, and who might you be?” he asked, holding out his paw.

  Tom stared down at the pink palm with its tiny, fingerlike claws until he realized the rat was expecting Tom’s business card in return.

  “Tom Lee,” the boy said, and patted his pants pocket apologetically. “I’m afraid that I don’t have any cards.”

  “No kidding,”
Sidney said. Snatching his card back from Tom’s fingers, the rat pivoted back to Mr. Hu. “So what’ve you been up to lately, Mr. H?” He lowered his voice. “Something important, I bet. Come on. You can tell your old partner.”

  “We are not—and never have been—partners, and it is none of your business,” Mr. Hu declared firmly. “Now, good day.”

  However, Sidney stayed with them as they walked along, wheedling, joking, and even begging on his knees once for information. He ignored all requests to leave them alone and apparently did not believe any of the tiger’s threats, no matter how dire. He did not stop talking even as he nimbly dodged a blow by darting behind Tom’s legs. The boy noticed that the tiger had only used the flat of his hand, so he had not meant the rat any great harm.

  Finally an exasperated Mr. Hu gazed up at the sky. “Give me strength,” he muttered.

  “Anything for my partner.” Sidney beamed, and from within his fur, he brought out a small blue bottle. “This strength tonic will pep up a skeleton, so it ought to work real good on a big strapping tiger like you. It’s normally twenty bucks, but for you I’ll make it five.”

  The tiger pounced on the rat, seizing him in his paws. “Sidney, I—”

  At that moment they heard a chirping sound. “Hold that thought, Mr. H. I’m being paged.” Wriggling out of Mr. Hu’s grasp, Sidney reached into his fur and pulled out a cricket that was rubbing its legs together frantically. The rat studied the position of the cricket’s antennae. “Oops. That must be the job I was expecting. Got to go pick up a package. Sorry, partner, we’ll have to catch up later.”

  Tom was expecting the rat to head back for a tiny bike, but after stowing the tonic and cricket away, Sidney just stood there and squeezed his eyes shut. Suddenly he seemed to puff out like a furry balloon. At first Tom thought he had inflated himself, but then he realized it was just the rat’s hair standing on end.

  When only the tip of his snout and his pink paws showed, the rat’s outline began to blur and Tom heard a soft, humming sound. Tom felt his own skin tingling; then, with a start, he saw the rat’s hair was vibrating all along its back.

  Slowly the shimmering rat rose straight up into the air like a helicopter. “Catch you later, Mr. Hu. Nice to meet you, Tom.” With a nod, he soared rapidly along the sidewalk, darting in and out through the crowd.

  As Sidney soared out of sight, Mr. Hu warned his apprentice, “Never let that rat inside your home. He’ll stay for weeks.” He sounded as if he spoke from experience.

  Tom glanced around at the jammed sidewalk. “But he’s not in disguise.”

  Mr. Hu shrugged. “Sidney doesn’t have that kind of magic.”

  Tom scratched his head. “But don’t people see he’s a talking, flying rat?”

  “You’ll find most people will see what they want to see. And what they see is a short little bike messenger in a fur coat and cap.” Mr. Hu nodded to the other bike messengers, who were dressed more outrageously than the rat. “Bike messengers are invisible.”

  “But he flew,” Tom pointed out.

  “He’s careful to stay at skateboard level,” Mr. Hu said, “and people are so busy dodging Sidney, they don’t look down to see if he really has a skateboard. Besides, he’s gone before they can say anything.”

  “Are there many others like him?” Tom asked. “I mean, animals that talk?”

  “Like me, you mean?” Mr. Hu arched an eyebrow. “Of course. The whole world loves to come to San Francisco to live. In a place with so many different types of people, who would notice a few who are a little more ‘unique’? If humans like to live in San Francisco, why not magical creatures? You will find griffins from Wales, garudas from India, trickster mantises from Africa. They all come here because of the ch’i.”

  Tom remembered his studies. “That’s like a kind of energy, isn’t it?”

  Mr. Hu shaped an invisible pipe with his fingers. “It flows through the world along channels just as blood flows through your body along arteries. There are some spots where there are many lines of it, and San Francisco is one. Anyone with magic would be drawn here.”

  Wondering what they were going to meet next, Tom followed the tiger as he turned up Grant Avenue. In the distance Tom glimpsed the tiled roofs of Chinatown and the bright neon signs with the Chinese characters.

  “We’re going to Chinatown?” Tom asked.

  “Where else?” Mr. Hu asked, as if there were no other place in the world for a proper tiger.

  The sidewalks were crowded with people, many of them tourists shivering in shorts and T-shirts because of the mistaken idea that San Francisco should be warm in the summer. No one took any more notice of the tiger here than they had on Clement Street. As Tom passed the fish swimming in tanks in a store window, the day felt even more like a dream.

  In the window of one souvenir store, he saw coral roses to match his grandmom’s. Some of them were attached to cheap bracelets. Others were meant to be worn as brooches. They lay scattered among the souvenir ashtrays and model cable cars. There were also fake ivory objects made out of white plastic as well as some made of a transparent yellow material.

  “Don’t dawdle, Master Thomas,” Mr. Hu said.

  “I was just wondering what that stuff was,” Tom said, pointing at some jewelry made from a translucent yellow stone.

  Mr. Hu said with a frown, “It’s amber.”

  “Did I say something wrong?” Tom asked.

  Mr. Hu looked away quickly. “I see your grandmother never explained. There is amber that comes from the sap of ancient trees.”

  “Like in the dinosaur movie where they got the DNA for the dinosaurs,” Tom said, remembering.

  Mr. Hu did not look as if he had seen many movies. “And then there is the other kind of amber that is made from the souls of tigers. It’s very powerful. I don’t like to see that sold as if it were just a trinket.”

  Tom stared at the window, horrified. “Is any of that here?”

  “No,” Mr. Hu said, “it seems like the tree kind, or”—he peered closer—“imitations made from resin.”

  He seemed in a hurry to leave the store behind, though, and Tom followed him. Pungent smells came from a herbal shop, and Tom rubbed his nose. “That stinks.”

  They went by more souvenir stores selling roses almost identical to his grandmother’s until the tiger finally ducked into a narrow alley where the buildings crowded forward as if trying to swallow up all the space. The sun could not reach here, so it seemed to be forever in twilight and shadow.

  Tom wasn’t expecting to halt, so he almost bumped into the tiger when he stopped by a dark brick building. On the street level was a store with a sign that said ART AND CURIOS.

  Taking out an ornate iron key, Mr. Hu opened the door. Tom’s nose wrinkled at the dusty smell. “When was the last time anyone cleaned in here?”

  “Quite a while. My uncle was long dead before I got the news I had inherited it,” Mr. Hu said.

  Mr. Hu’s store was just as odd as Tom’s grandmother’s house. On the walls were mirrors of all sizes with frames covered in Chinese words and different patterns of lines. Beside them dangled yellow scrolls with more Chinese words written in bright red. Some words Tom recognized, but some were little better than scrawls. Other scrolls had strange pictures and diagrams.

  The floor was crammed with antiques of all kinds. Massive teak cabinets loomed over painted porcelain cylinders a yard high. “What are those?” Tom asked, tapping the ceramic top of one.

  Mr. Hu brushed his hand away. “That drum stool is for sitting in the garden, not for playing. But don’t dawdle, Master Tom. We have much to do.”

  Tom pivoted slowly. Red lacquer snuff bottles lay jumbled on one shelf next to ivory carvings. “It’s like a museum in here.”

  “And you’ll get to know every part of it when you dust it.” The tiger hurried past the furniture and shelves to a door in the rear, and Tom followed him through it into a small apartment that seemed to double as a workroom. A table ag
ainst the wall was covered with jars of glue, cans of varnish, and brushes with sticky bristles. Against another wall was a small vault.

  “That looks like it belongs in a bank,” Tom said.

  “This store used to be a jeweler’s,” Mr. Hu explained. “And my uncle was never one to waste anything.”

  In the middle of the floor was a chair whose legs were tied with string and little vises. The tiger must have been repairing it for sale outside.

  But everything here, too, had a layer of dust.

  The tiger ignored the chaos as he reverently drew out the coral rose from the bag. “Behold your destiny, Master Thomas.”

  Chapter 4

  Kung Kung is a snake with a human face and red hair.

  —SHAN HAI CHING

  (Kung Kung is also referred to sometimes as the first rebel.)

  As a child, Nü Kua spent most of her time cutting wood near her parents’ home. When her brother became emperor, he summoned her; and when he died, she succeeded him. She had great power and wisdom and ruled the people well.

  —CHINESE TRADITION

  Tom stared and stared, trying to see something special about the rose. “It’s just another Chinatown souvenir. Why did Grandmom have to die for that?”

  “Because it is something that must never fall into the wrong hands—or claws, as the case may be.” Cradling the rose reverently in his paw, the tiger walked over to a table. Its legs were long and slender, and strange diagrams and symbols decorated their length and the top. Taking a domed glass case from the floor, he placed it gently over the rose.

  “But what is it?” Tom demanded, still feeling the ache inside that his grandmother was dead. “I want to know what I’m supposed to fight for.”

  Mr. Hu polished the glass dome covering the rose while he thought for a time. Finally he straightened. “Yes, considering what’s happened, I suppose I owe you that. What do you know of Chinese history?”

  “Grandmom didn’t get to that yet, but in school I read about an emperor who built the Great Wall,” Tom said.