Dragon Magic Read online

  Dragons—but how could there be dragons in that old house? Kim thought of the few words he had caught clearly, puzzled over them. An idea sprang into his mind. What if he went there himself to see? But one did not enter an empty house, it was against the law.

  Only, this house was going to be torn down soon, maybe even this week. So it was not breaking and entering—or was it? A dragon—dragons—those boys mentioned more than one in the house. Pictures or carvings, or maybe a screen. He had heard that the man who once lived there had traveled all over the world. It could well be that he had brought dragon pictures back from the East. And Kim wanted to know—he had to know!

  Kim noted that when the bus let them off at the school Artie made no move to hurry away to where Greg Ross and his friends stood arguing over Saturday’s game. Rather, he stayed with Sig and the boy who called himself Ras, all three of them still talking excitedly together. Also, when they were able to ask for library passes in the homeroom period, Kim was not the only one who put up his hand. The three did the same for the first time he could remember.

  He watched them in the library, as well as he could when he thought they would not guess that he was doing so. Sig and Ras appeared to know what they wanted. But Artie hesitated and then asked a question of the librarian. She seemed a little surprised and went to the catalog to turn over cards, leaving the drawer open a fraction when she went on to the shelves to pick out a book.

  Kim went to the catalog, pulled out the drawer, and looked. There was an open space and he read the title of the book on the card at that point. The Lantern Bearers, a book about Roman Britain. He had read it at the other school. It was good—all about the time when the Legions had to leave Britain and the people were left to fight the Saxon invaders on their own. There was a lot in it about the man who was supposed to be the real King Arthur, not the one with the knights and the Round Table.

  But what had that to do with dragons? And what were Sig and Ras so interested in? Completely mystified, Kim managed to stand in the checkout line just behind them, making an effort to see the books each held.

  Sig had one of hero tales, Ras one on ancient Egypt. Artie joined the line immediately behind Kim with his selection. As they started for the next class the three joined forces again, each showing his book to the others. But what did Egypt, hero stories, and Roman Britain have in common? Kim shoved his own absent-minded choice into his book bag, absorbed more and more by the mystery of this sudden alliance.

  He thought about it off and on all day, until at last he made up his mind. The roots of the mystery must certainly lie in the old house, and it had something to do with dragons.

  Much as he had held apart from the boys in this new school (they looked upon him as a—they called it “kook,” as he had heard several times), this mystery made him suddenly want to actually solve it. Even if that meant trailing the three, or poking into what they would consider their business alone.

  He would not have much time, perhaps no longer than today. So he would try after school, though he still felt queer about going in the old house. If the boys themselves went back he would go after them.

  But the three did not even glance at the old house as they got off the bus that afternoon. Instead they went straight on up the street. Sig lived the closest. Kim followed very slowly, trying to make up his mind for sure. When they reached Sig’s house they went along in with him, still talking.

  Now Kim walked very slowly indeed. Sig’s front door opened and banged shut. They were safe inside. What should he do? He had to make up his mind quickly, there would not be much time. Mother would wonder why he was not home if he lingered too long.

  He made his decision and hurried back to the drive which led to the old house. Though he still had caution enough to pause there and make sure no one was watching. There were plenty of bushes, you could slip along behind those.

  The front door had a big board nailed right across it. Where had Sig, the others, gone in? Must be around back somewhere. Kim plowed through the piles of leaves toward the rear of the house. He saw the porch and the muddy tracks across it, leading to the window. That was it. Again he paused. What was he going to do? He could still go back. Only, a second later he knew that he never could. He had to follow this adventure to the end.

  Kim struggled to raise the window and then climbed in. Here was a big, dark room. He had been stupid to come without a flashlight. But to get one meant going home, and then maybe not being able to get back. There was light enough to see across the big kitchen, maybe enough in the rest of the house for him to explore. They had all been here before him. And if Artie and Sig and Ras could do it, so could Kim Stevens.

  But he did take off his glasses and give them an extra polish with his handkerchief, as if that could make him see better through the gloom. There were odd noises, little creaks, sighs, which made him uneasy, though he knew that they must come from old boards, and maybe rats or mice, things you find in old houses where no one has lived for some time.

  Kim pushed on through the pantry to the dining room, stopping to look about there. Nothing here to suggest even the smallest dragon. He thought the big old furniture was dull and ugly, and there was thick dust everywhere.

  Nor did the living room, with all the furniture covered with sheets and newspapers, have anything in it to suggest that anyone had explored here. No dragon pictures or carvings, though Kim wiped the dust by hand from a couple of glass-fronted cabinets, to see within some cups and saucers and small figures of people and animals.

  There was a hall beyond and here were tracks to guide him to the doorway of another room. The door was ajar and he paused to listen. Almost he expected to hear movement beyond. He had the strangest feeling, as if something stood on the other side waiting for him. But after a moment or two Kim knew it was not dangerous at all, only exciting.

  He opened the door a little wider and slipped inside. There was nothing there but a table and a chair sitting by it, as if someone had just left. But light came from one uncovered window and on the table were colors, very bright colors, glowing almost like small lamps.

  He went closer to those jewel-like colors. A puzzle! He had had one given to him last Christmas. It had been round, with all kinds of wild animals on it. They had all helped put it together. Mother had set up a table in the room just to hold it while they could work on it. And it had taken a long time to put it together, almost a week.

  Kim picked up the lid of the box to look at the guide picture. Dragons! Four of them, all different. And three of them had been fitted together already. Only the golden one was still a spill of pieces on the tabletop. He examined the picture of it on the cover. It was an imperial dragon—the five-toed Lung! Now, as he looked at the other three, he saw that they were not Chinese—especially the strange blue one. But the gold one was just like those he had seen pictured so many times in Hong Kong.

  A lot of the pieces on the table were upside-down and there were red markings on them, like the brush strokes of the old-time writing. Kim poked a few around with a fingertip, and of themselves almost they snapped together so that a red character was plain. He knew a few of the old characters—not many—he could not really read much. Though this one looked strange at first, it made sense.

  Just one character, written in red. Another idea swam into his mind, though he did not know from where. In the old days the Emperor was always supposed to write in vermilion, and was not vermilion a kind of red color? Kim wondered where he had learned that.

  This character—memory he was not sure of supplied a word, or rather two words: Shui Mien. That meant “sleeping.” But how did he know that? He was sure he had never seen that character before.

  Shui Mien—Lung, added his scrap of memory. Kim was startled, more than a little afraid. Shui Mien Lung! It was as if someone standing unseen in the dusty, half-dark room had repeated the words for him. Yet he had heard nothing—it was as if he heard it in his mind! As if you could hear with your mind!

  Shui M
ien Lung—sleeping dragon. No, again that strange mind-voice corrected him: “Slumbering dragon!”

  What—or rather who—was the slumbering dragon?

  Kim dropped in the chair, and without planning to do so began to sort out the pieces of the golden dragon, turning over quickly those with the disturbing word on the back so he could no longer see it. This went here, that there, a five-clawed foot of an imperial dragon took shape. Then he had it all except one piece for the head—an eye on it. But the eye was closed, the dragon slept. Or did he? Was there the smallest hint of a raising lid? Did the dragon only pretend to sleep?

  CHIN MU-TI

  The light of the four lamps in the chamber was not enough to reach into the corners where shadows crouched. Chin Mu-Ti blinked and blinked again, fighting sleep. It was as if the Minister had forgotten him altogether and he was not to be dismissed this night to his pallet in the guards’ hall. Though it was a great honor to be sword bearer and page to Chuko Liang, it was a wearing life, for the great one was ever restless and seemed never to feel weariness himself.

  His master was looking from the window toward the distant mass of black hills. Somewhere in those hills Ssuma, Commanding General of Wei, led some twenty regiments of the enemy. Thinking about them, Mu-Ti felt a cold chill deep inside him, the marrow of his bones was close to melting. Ssuma’s men were not to be driven lightly away, like autumn leaves by a wandering wind, nor would they disappear like March snows at the coming of the sun.

  Once more he blinked sleepily, his eyes upon Chuko Liang’s straight back. In these chambers the First Minister did not wear armor but rather the robe of a magistrate, his black cap stiff and straight upon his head. He was a spare man, with almost the leanness of one in famine time, tall as one of the trees on the distant hillsides.

  Also he was one whose thoughts could not be read upon his face. But now all men knew what lay before them. And though Chuko Liang was one who drew ever from the well of wisdom, it was also true that no man may escape this shadow no matter how fast he runs—even though he be one of the three great heroes who have sworn a blood oath to the Emperor Liu Pei.

  Though the Empire of Han had come on evil times and had been carved apart into thirds, yet all men knew that Liu Pei in truth was the Son of Heaven, of the House of Han, with the favor of the gods. There could not be two suns in the sky, let alone three, or three kings over the people.

  Mu-Ti fought sleep with thought. What did they say of heroes? Their virtues—courage, justice, loyalty, mutual faith, truth, generosity, contempt for wealth—he listed them one by one in his mind. And, he remembered, courage itself was of three kinds. Courage in the blood: the face turns red when angry. Courage in the veins: the face turns blue. But courage of the spirit was the strongest of all: a man’s face did not alter, only his voice strengthened in power, his eyes grew more piercing and—

  One of the lamps, having exhausted its supply of gourd oil, flickered out. At the same time a hollow tramping sounded in the outer hall. Mu-Ti straightened to full attention as Chuko Lian came from the window. His was not a warrior’s face, being thin and pale, with long drooping mustaches shading his mouth. He was more like a scholar than a man of action. Yet to the Son of Heaven he was both counseling head and fighting arm.

  The dragon lies upon the sword; when the blade is raised the dragon makes war.

  The generals Ma Su and Weng Ping had come in answer to their commander’s midnight summons. They were in armor, their dragon helmets throwing demonlike shadows upon the walls, the bronze cheek pieces in the form of tiger’s heads half concealing their faces. Ma Su’s round, full jowls sprouted a closely cut fringe beard; his eyes glittered so that he seemed the war god from some frontier temple come to walk among men.

  And he tramped ahead of his companion, as he was used to do in most company, pushing always before his fellow officers, his hand ever lying in show near the hilt of his sword. He was well read in the arts of war, which he let no man forget. From him was ever the first comment to come, as if he lived by the saying that to be heard afar one must beat a gong upon a hilltop. Yet he was a lucky leader of some skill, who had had his victories, though perhaps too many dead men paid for their general’s reputation.

  Mu-Ti watched him with hostility. It was well no thoughts could be read as they lay in the mind, or he would be in danger. But that his own father, Chin Fang, had paid with his life for a reckless sortie ordered by Ma Su, to no real gain, was graven on the boy’s heart. Not that Ma Su knew or cared. What was a captain of mounted archers to a general of the forces? That was the measure of the man, for Chuko Liang would not have risked lives for show, neither would he thereafter have forgotten those who died.

  “You have summoned us, Excellency?” Ma Su did not even wait for the Minister to speak, affecting the brusque manners of the soldier so eager in the service of the Emperor that he came running at summons, to stand with one foot in the stirrup ready to mount. Had he never heard that the mouth is sometimes a door leading to disaster?

  Chuko Liang came in two long strides to the table on which still lay the message that had arrived less than an hour ago and the map he had been studying thereafter.

  “Ssuma marches through the Hsieh Valley. If he succeeds he may easily pierce to the heart of Wu. This he must not do. Above all he must not take the Yangping Pass—” As he spoke the Minister stabbed here and there with his long forefinger on the surface of the map. He spoke abruptly, which was unusual—harshly, as if he could so make more quickly known to those who listened the full danger of what lay ahead.

  “If the enemy reach Chiehting, they can block off all our needed supplies. Then all Shensi will lie open to them. We shall be forced back to Hanchung. They will cut roads, and with a month’s starvation—” He made a gesture with those hands which seemed more fitted to grasp a writing brush than the hilt of the sword Mu-Ti now held scabbarded and upright, resting point down to the floor, its hilt between his palms.

  “Ssuma is no fool: he knows we must at all cost prevent him doing this, lest our cause be ended here and now. Above all we must hold Chiehting. But let no man not understand that this is an act in which there is near ten-tenths of a chance that death waits—”

  “We do not command an army of sword jugglers ready to show their skill at some festival, Excellency.” Ma Su wrapped self-confidence about him as a thick cloak protecting against winter winds. “Not yet are the forces of Wu birds trapped in a net, or fish dumped into the cooking pot. Give me leave to march and Chiehting is as safe as if ten dragons loop their bodies around its walls!”

  One of the Minister’s slim hands rose; his fingers pulled at a drooping mustache end, rolled the long hairs between thumb and forefinger. Chuko Liang did not look at his general. Rather, his eyes were still on the map.

  “Dragon begets dragon; battle, battle. Death and life are predetermined, riches and honor depend upon the will of Heaven. This city is small, but its value to us now is like the pearl in a sea oyster. You are deeply read in the rules of war, but strict defense is a different matter from the clash of swords, the thrust of spears, in open meeting with the enemy. There is no wall at Chiehting, no natural means of defense to work behind.”

  Ma Su shrugged. “Excellency, since I was a boy I have studied the arts of war. I am as well learned in those as a scholar in the sayings of the Revered Masters. Why should this defense be deemed so difficult by you, who know well what we have done in the past?”

  “Mainly because Ssuma is no common general. Even our own fingers are of unequal length and strength, and Ssuma is above eight-tenths of a leader. Also Chang Ho, who commands his van, is a man whose banners make others tremble, and with good reason.”

  “I have faced great leaders before, Excellency. Stout men, not stout walls, make a well-held city. This much do I wager on what I shall do at Chiehting—let it so be added to the roll of oaths: if I do not hold fast as you wish, then let my head be struck from my shoulders!”

  Now Chuko Liang did look st
raight at him. And there was a hiss of breath from Weng Ping, who had not spoken.

  “This is no hour for jesting. Keep such words for moments by the wine bowls—”

  “I do not jest, Excellency. Let my oath be set down with brush and ink—placed in record, Weng here being witness.”

  “Jade and men are both shaped by harsh tools; be not unaware of sudden changes of fortune.”

  “Set it so, Excellency—that Ma Su shall hold Chiehting or else his head rolls!” There was a hot note in the General’s voice, his full cheeks flushed.

  “So will it be done. Now, I give you a legion and a half of men, and Weng Ping shall march with you. He is to use the care and caution for which he is known to all, and is to camp in the most commanding position so that the enemy may not steal by. Do not think small of Ssuma, he is the best the false Emperor has to serve him.

  “When you are so set as to command the road by which the enemy must travel, then do you draw me a map of your defenses and all the local places to mark, and this must be sent to me. But above all—change not, nor add to, nor lessen from, these orders. And that when you go into battle you may not lack a single fighting man, my page here, Chin Mu-Ti, shall ride with you to be the map messenger when you have it ready for my hand.”

  “To speak is to have it done—” began Ma Su.

  But Chuko Liang held up his hand to silence that formal acknowledgment of orders received, as he continued; “Northeast of Chiehting is the city of Liehliucheng, and near to that a hill path. Kao Hsiang will camp there in a stockade with a legion. If the threat to Chiehting becomes too great he will move to your assistance. Wu Yen will bring a troop to the rear of Chiehting as further reinforcements. Remember, you must take up your post on the most dangerous road to the Yangping Pass. Do not regard this all as idle talk, or make any move to spoil the plan.”

  “That is understood, Excellency.” Ma Su saluted, tramping out of the chamber, Weng Ping again a stride behind. Mu-Ti had time only to lay the Minister’s sword carefully on the table as he hurried to follow. He went reluctantly. Though Ma Su was not his commander, yet to be even so attached to his service for a time was galling, and he hoped he would not have to ride with him for long. As he left, he saw that Chuko Liang was again stooped over the map, studying its lines with fixed intensity.