The Tiger's Apprentice Read online

  Mr. Hu’s whiskers twitched in amusement. “That emperor was a youngster compared to the empress I’m talking about. Many millennia before him, Nü Kua ruled China.” He spoke the name softly—as if afraid of being overheard.

  “Who’s Nü Kua?” Tom asked, feeling more ignorant than ever—and yet also feeling that what he didn’t know might get him killed.

  Raising a claw, Mr. Hu made a hushing sound. “A wise person speaks her name as little as possible, Master Thomas.”

  “Does she have spies around?” Tom asked.

  “Even the Lore can’t describe all of her powers. It may be she can overhear us.” The tiger even glanced around cautiously before he resumed. “She was perhaps the greatest and wisest and most powerful of all the rulers of China. I can see we have a great deal to cover. Well, what do you know about the Feng Huang?” When Tom looked blank, the tiger explained, “Westerners would call it the phoenix.”

  “I’ve read all about them,” Tom said, trying to impress Mr. Hu. “They’re reborn in fire.”

  Mr. Hu chuckled. “I don’t know where westerners come up with such preposterous things. There is no fire involved. The phoenix is far greater and more beautiful. He is one of the Four Supreme Creatures, and he is the king of all winged things and has the gift to transform evil hearts into good ones. Once long ago when the world was new, there was a Minister of Punishments known as Kung Kung.”

  “Who’s Kung Kung?” Tom asked.

  “A creature with terrible powers,” the tiger explained, “but still not as great as the Empress’s. Kung Kung was very strict about the laws, so strict that no one—dragon, spirit, or human—could live up to them; but he was harshest on humans. He objected to the way they multiplied and spread over the land. He wanted to limit them and for them to know their place. Finally he became so exasperated that he wanted to use the phoenix to force everyone to obey, but the Empress refused because she said what was happening was heaven’s will. So he raised the banner of rebellion, and he was only stopped after much death and suffering and destruction.”

  “Why didn’t the Empress use the phoenix to stop him?” Tom wondered.

  Mr. Hu seemed shocked. “Magic that forces someone to change taints itself. It poisons the heart of the user. The Empress understood that, where Kung Kung did not. Once Kung Kung was defeated, the phoenix himself decided that this was not the proper age for him and returned to an egg, for he has that ability as well. And the Guardians were created to protect the phoenix in his slumbers. So that its powers cannot be misused, the phoenix must only wake in times of peace.”

  “When you don’t really need it anyway.” Tom stared at the simple coral rose as the news sank in. If it really had that kind of power, he was beginning to understand why his grandmother would die defending it. “If this is really an egg, why does it look like a flower?”

  “It’s in disguise, just as I am,” Mr. Hu said, placing a hand upon the dome. “Since the first Guardian hid it as a grain in a bushel of rice, it has been the right of his or her successors to choose the shape it will have.”

  For a moment the red petals seemed to become translucent as glass, and Tom thought he glimpsed something dark swimming inside. Quickly he muttered the spell he had used to see Mr. Hu’s true shape, but this time the coral rose remained as it was.

  Mr. Hu was amused. “You’ll need more than that to break its disguise. Your grandmother protected it with the strongest, most complex spells.”

  “Well, how did the phoenix egg get here?”

  Mr. Hu regarded the rose somberly. “Though Kung Kung was destroyed, some of his rebels, who call themselves the Clan of the Nine, survived; and they have been attempting to carry out their lord’s original plan ever since. Throughout China’s long history, they have pursued the phoenix, and for just as long a time we Guardians have kept it out of their paws; but a hundred and fifty years ago, China was wracked by war and rebellion. It was too dangerous for the egg to stay, and the Guardian at that time became so desperate that he brought it to America.”

  Tom wrapped his arms around himself. “Why here?”

  “This country was safer at the time,” Mr. Hu explained. “And the Guardian was able to hide himself among the many Chinese who emigrated to work here.”

  “And Kung Kung’s rebels followed him too?” Tom asked.

  “If human gangs could come from China, why not truly evil creatures as well?” Mr. Hu clasped his hands behind his back. “Do you think ordinary humans were the only ones who had reason to travel to America? For the last century and a half, Kung Kung’s rebels and their descendants have been searching the four corners of the earth. The fact that they haven’t found the egg until now speaks well of that immigrant Guardian’s wisdom to leave China.”

  “How many more of them are there?” Tom asked with a gulp.

  Mr. Hu scratched his throat. “I don’t know their numbers, but they will be coming here from all over the whole world now that they have located it.”

  Tom was almost sorry he had found out what the rose was. Now that he knew what power it really had and what kinds of creatures were seeking it, he was even more scared. “I wish Grandmom had told me so I had a choice about being her apprentice. I’m the last one who could save the world.”

  “She was probably afraid of just this kind of response,” Mr. Hu said, watching him. “I’m sure she was waiting until you were stronger and more confident in your magic so you would feel ready to take on this burden. There were other apprentices after me and before you; all of them failed for one reason or another. The secret is too great to entrust to just anyone.”

  “Then why did you tell me?” Tom asked.

  “She kept you in ignorance because the times seemed quiet and safe. However, now that our enemies have found us, I can’t expect you to follow this path blindly and on faith,” Mr. Hu said. “Had Mistress Lee lived, I believe she would have revealed the truth as well.”

  The rose seemed so small that it was hard to believe it could change the world. The light shining on the petals’ edges curved like ominous smiles. With a shiver, Tom wondered if he would be better off in a foster home. At least he’d be with his own kind rather than with a tiger.

  When he turned around, he found Mr. Hu had begun to write out words and diagrams in red ink on long yellow strips of paper.

  “Grandmom’s charms didn’t work,” Tom pointed out. “Why should those?”

  “Because she didn’t have time to put up wards as strong as I will,” Mr. Hu said. “And because she dwelt above only a single line of ch’i. But my store is where several such channels intersect. That makes this place far more powerful.”

  “Why didn’t Grandmom move?” Tom wondered.

  “For a long time things have been relatively peaceful,” Mr. Hu said, fanning the paper to dry the ink faster, “so one line of ch’i probably seemed sufficient. And Mistress Lee loved that house.”

  “She used to talk to it as if it were a friend,” Tom said.

  “Perhaps it was, in a way.” Mr. Hu shrugged.

  “And the charms will tap into the ch’i?” Tom asked.

  Mr. Hu held up the paper so Tom could see what he had done. “Yes. Think of it as my own security system. It will be even better than burglar alarms and vaults against the kind of thieves we now face.”

  The tiger half drew and half wrote more of the charms. Leaving the others to dry, he taped a couple of the still-wet ones on the wall. Tom’s first job as an apprentice was to hold the tape.

  When they had set them all up, Tom said, “That doesn’t seem very hard.”

  Mr. Hu looked at him, annoyed. “The hardest part is yet to be done. To activate the charm takes a good deal of the soul.”

  Leaning forward toward a paper charm, he muttered a spell and breathed on it. Tom’s eyes widened as the red letters glowed like fire. Mr. Hu’s shoulders sagged as if he had just run a mile, and he grew more and more tired as he repeated the magic. By the time all the charms were glowing like
small neon signs, he could barely stand.

  Mr. Hu had moved so powerfully upon the roof that Tom had forgotten how elderly the tiger really was. Looking at the silver tips of the Guardian’s hair, Tom felt sorry for him. “You should sit down,” he said, trying to take the tiger’s elbow.

  Mr. Hu shook him off. “I’ll be fine in a moment.”

  But the aged tiger took his time shuffling into the rear apartment and didn’t object when Tom held out a chair. “It does take a bit out of me,” he confessed.

  He had left one charm on the table, next to a pouch embroidered with a bird that had long, red, fiery tail feathers. “This is what the phoenix looks like,” Mr. Hu explained, and tucked the last charm into the pouch. Then the tiger slipped the pouch’s long string over Tom’s head and lowered it so it dangled down Tom’s chest. “There is power even in his symbol. It should help keep you safe from minor pests like the monsters on the roof.”

  When Tom tucked the charm inside his shirt, he felt a sudden warmth and a tingle, as if it was alive. Then, at Mr. Hu’s direction, he got a bottle of black ink, a new brush, and a couple sheets of paper.

  Tom watched curiously as Mr. Hu began to write words in the same strange script as before.

  “More charms?” Tom asked.

  “No, I’m writing two friends for help.” Mr. Hu paused, nibbling at the end of the brush as he thought what to put down next.

  “Do you need envelopes?” Tom asked, looking around the room.

  “No, just matches.” Mr. Hu chuckled. Writing rapidly, he signed the first letter with a flourish and then waved a paw at a different table. “I think I left some there.”

  Tom fetched them for the tiger and waited for Mr. Hu to copy the letter again. Then, striking a match, the tiger held up one of the letters. Tom’s puzzlement changed to surprise when Mr. Hu set fire to it. Flames shot up the paper. As the tiger released it, the letter disappeared in a puff of smoke.

  “What are you doing?” Tom stepped back in alarm, thinking fire was especially dangerous with all the cans of paint and varnish in the room.

  Mr. Hu set fire to the second. “You could say I am mailing them.”

  Tom couldn’t imagine who or what could read a letter that way. “And your friends will come?”

  Mr. Hu nodded toward the rose. “They’ll come to protect that.”

  Tom circled the case. “Are you sure?”

  “They know I would summon them only in dire need.” Mr. Hu swept a few ashes into his paw.

  Tom had no sooner put away the inks than smoke suddenly gathered before the tiger’s nose, making him sneeze.

  Quickly the smoke solidified into a long, narrow piece of paper. “Ah, a reply already.” Mr. Hu snatched the letter from the air. He glanced at it and said with satisfaction, “She’s nearby. How convenient. Fetch my hat, Tom. We’re going for a stroll.”

  As Tom got the hat and handed it to the tiger, he jerked his head at the rose. “What about that?”

  “Our attackers are probably still waiting until the authorities leave your grandmother’s house so they can sift through the ashes. And that will take a while. If we can get help, it’s worth the risk.” Mr. Hu crumpled the letter into a ball and it vanished back into smoke. “It wouldn’t be a bad thing either to familiarize yourself with your new territory. And we can get you some clothes.”

  “Where are we going?” Tom asked, wondering what stores would be open this late.

  The tiger set his hat on his head and studied its angle in a mirror. “To Goblin Square,” he said, making a final adjustment. “Where else would you shop?”

  Chapter 5

  “I’ve never heard of Goblin Square,” Tom said as they left the store.

  “I’m surprised Mistress Lee never took you there,” Mr. Hu said as he locked the front door. “There is a whole hidden city within San Francisco, but you must know the paths and doors that lead to its various parts.”

  Under the light of the streetlamps, people with large plastic bags of food were rushing home. Mr. Hu took Tom past ornate Chinese buildings and down narrow alleys. The air was filled with mouthwatering smells as people began to cook dinner, and Tom remembered that he’d had nothing since the tea.

  As they walked through Chinatown, Mr. Hu began more of Tom’s lessons. “Now listen to me and you will live. The first thing is to know the territory in which your battles will be fought.” He told Tom about the streets and alleys as they passed through them. The tiger’s pride in Chinatown was plain as he told Tom of the legends and local gossip.

  “I thought you just came back to San Francisco?” Tom asked.

  “But I lived here for many years before you were born,” Mr. Hu explained.

  “Did you know my father?” Tom asked.

  “Yes, but he was still a small cub when I left,” Mr. Hu said. “At the time I assumed he would become the next Guardian, so I thought it safe to answer my clan’s summons.”

  “Why didn’t he?” Tom asked. “Why did he quit being an apprentice and become an archaeologist? Was it because Grandmom told him the truth about the rose?” He wondered if it had been too much for his father. Perhaps that was why his grandmother had resisted telling Tom for so long.

  “Only he and your grandmother knew,” Mr. Hu said, and tried to change the topic by waving a hand at an ornate building with pillars and a curved roof. Even though his claws were disguised as fingers, the nails were long and sharp. “Now do you see that bank over there? It used to be the telephone exchange.” He hesitated. “Am I boring you?”

  He was, but Tom was almost grateful for the change in topic. “No, go on.” As the boy listened to the tiger, he felt as if he was falling under Chinatown’s spell. Somewhere someone was blowing on a reed pipe, the mournful notes floating up the narrow alley to the strip of starlit sky overhead. Mah-jong tiles clacked rhythmically like tiny drums.

  He wasn’t sure when the asphalt had given way to cobblestone and only noticed the change when he almost slipped on the bumpy surface. However, the tiger caught him by the collar. “Steady on, Master Thomas. The way to Goblin Square is not for the clumsy.”

  “Humans aren’t as sure on their feet,” Tom said, pulling free. As he straightened his collar, he glanced up at the streetlamp. Instead of being electric, it was a jet of gas. Finally they came to the mouth of an alley that was pitch-black. No light came from the buildings on either side. Mr. Hu plunged into it as confidently as if he were back in his own store.

  “I can’t see,” Tom complained.

  Annoyed, Mr. Hu guided Tom’s hand to his coat. “Then hold on to me.”

  Gripping the hem of the tiger’s jacket, Tom walked side by side with him into the alley. In the darkness, all he saw were the tiger’s eyes, glowing a bright amber, and he gripped the tiger’s coat tighter, afraid that if he lost Mr. Hu, he would never find his way out again.

  “Ah, here we are,” Mr. Hu said, and halted.

  “What are we going to do now?” Tom asked, squinting hard at the darkness.

  “Continue our stroll as soon as the moon rises, of course,” Mr. Hu said, as if it should have been obvious.

  “I knew it,” Tom groaned. “You can’t see either so you need the moonlight.”

  “Nothing of the sort,” Mr. Hu said, annoyed. “Only the moon will open the road.”

  Tom saw the first silvery light tinge the rooftops overhead and then spill down the brick walls. And then a strange thing happened—the bricks began to glow. Tom thought he could see every detail of the bricks’ surface and the mortar between, from the chips to the edges.

  Suddenly where a wall had been was now a narrow street. And though he had not been aware of them before, he became aware of others waiting in the alley. Some had baskets, others even towed little handcarts. They all surged forward.

  “Stay with me, Master Thomas,” Mr. Hu said. Tom tightened his grasp upon the tiger’s coat as Mr. Hu joined the crowd.

  After a short while the cobblestones gave way to dirt, which
made walking easier, and the brick walls on either side began to be walls of decorated wood and stone. Sometimes Tom saw bats, sometimes elephants, but there were many more strange creatures on the walls. With a shudder, he wondered if any of them were like the monsters that had attacked his grandmother.

  Finally they came to a tall archway with columns carved with weird beings. Since Mr. Hu did not give them a glance, Tom assumed they were not monsters. Perhaps they were even the goblins that gave the square its name. Past the arch, they entered a large square surrounded on all sides by buildings like nothing Tom had ever seen. One was topped by a golden dome decorated with winged creatures. Another seemed to be carved all of ivory so that you could see inside to the rooms. It looked like a house of lace.

  At first Tom thought the streetlamps were gaslit, but when he looked closer, he saw that there were flames that fluttered around inside the lamp like butterflies. “Are they alive?”

  “Yes, they’re fire sprites,” Mr. Hu said, barely glancing up at them. “You feed them grass and straw three times a day, but their care can be quite complicated, so don’t even think of keeping one for a pet.”

  In the square the crowd began to fan out, and Tom saw that only some of the travelers were humans. There were some with short hair and modern clothes. But many more had their hair done up in top knots or braids, and they seemed to be of every race. A man in a kilt walked by, his pale skin covered with tattoos, his blond hair in a heavy queue. He dipped his head respectfully to Mr. Hu, who nodded back.

  Other customers were furred, others scaled, and Tom thought he saw a few beetlelike legs under robes scuttling across the square.

  The various creatures quickly began to set up stalls around the edges of the square—not without a little bickering over choice spots. Some of the stalls looked as if they had been thrown together out of pieces of old crates and cardboard. But others were of hammered gold and silver with mother-of-pearl inlay and could have been in a museum.

  “Ba-a-a,” an animal bleated.

  Tom turned and stared in amazement at a huge glass tank in which a sheep swam. When it baaed again, bubbles popped at the surface. Though its head was underwater, it seemed quite comfortable as it went back and forth from one end of the tank to the other, turning when its head butted against the glass.