The Ghost Dragon's Daughter Read online

  The Ghost Dragon’s Daughter

  A Seventy Kingdoms Story

  by Beth Bernobich

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this story are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  THE GHOST DRAGON’S DAUGHTER

  Copyright © 2015 Beth Bernobich

  www.beth-bernobich.com

  COVER ART

  Copyright © 2015 Sarah A. I. Schuhmann

  http://www.saraais-artwork.com

  All rights reserved.

  First Edition: October 2015

  Cover Design: Robert Bernobich

  The Ghost Dragon's Daughter

  by Beth Bernobich

  We’re in the basement, the three of us—me, Lili, and Mei. In the middle of the floor is the thing we call the monstrosity machine, aka, 50% of our final grade in magic and mathematics. Tonight we make our first trial run. Tomorrow we present our final progress report. Our deadline is three weeks away.

  Did I mention we’re a little behind schedule?

  Ai-ya. No pressure at all, as Lili would say.

  Mei bends over the tangle of wires, double-checking each plug inside the machine. Lili is curled up on a pile of blankets, with an old-fashioned data writer in her lap. I’m standing next to Mei, holding an oil lantern up high to illuminate the monstrosity’s interior. We would do better with real magic flux lamps—lots of them—but we don’t have the cash for such luxuries. At least we have this basement, which is big and dry and only a little dusty. Mei’s mother has cleared out one corner for our project. She also keeps Mei’s little sisters and cousins away from our equipment.

  “Jun, are you sure about those equations?” Mei asks.

  I glance at the yellowed pages of my second-hand textbook, propped open on a table next to me. “I’m sure. It’s just basic multiple integrals and—”

  “My dearest Jun,” Lili drawls. “As we all know, the terms basic and multiple integrals are inherently contradictory.”

  Lili is mimicking our teacher again. She’s good at it, too. She knows all of Feng Hsi’s favorite phrases, even that bit of dialect from south of the Seventy Kingdoms that pops out once in a while.

  “Very funny,” Mei growls. After scrambling around underneath the machine, her clothes are a mess and her cheeks are smudged with dirt and oil. My hands itch to wipe away the grime. Truth be told, my hands itch to do a lot more, but while I’m sure how I feel about Mei—almost sure—I don’t know how she feels about me.

  Idiot. Gschu’s voice echoes inside my skull. What makes you think she’s interested in you or anyone else?

  Gschu is my spirit companion. She’s a crocodile lizard, swift and prickly, and she has no patience with me.

  Shut up, I tell her.

  Gschu hisses—I think she is laughing at me—but doesn’t say anything more. Meanwhile, Mei wants an answer. “The numbers are right,” I say. “I’m sure.”

  Lili grins like a cat—a small, satisfied cat. No wonder her spirit companion is a lynx. Lili’s supposed to be entering linguistics data for our monstrosity, but right now she’s watching me with a look that makes my stomach flutter. I suspect she knows my feelings about Mei, but she hasn’t said anything. Yet.

  “Fine,” Mei says. “Let’s make our test.”

  She closes up the machine, then plugs in the special handheld scope that measures the frequency of magic flux. Hsi has loaned us the scope from her own personal laboratory. It’s the latest technology, designed to monitor our magical inputs, down to the smallest increment. When Mei hands me the scope, I set the lamp to one side and cradle the device in my lap. Such a beauty, it’s nearly enough to make me forget Mei’s presence, geek girl that I am.

  “Readout filter, medium,” Mei says.

  I turn the filter dial to the middle range. We want enough detail to adjust any problems, but not so much we get lost in the flood of data.

  “Ready,” I reply.

  Lili says nothing. Her cat-face has disappeared, and she looks plain and anxious.

  Mei presses the main power button. The device hums. Good, good. Humming means our monstrosity is powering up correctly. The air around us crackles with flux, and the scent of dust vanishes, overwhelmed by the sharper scent of magic flowing around and between us.

  Once the power lights burn steadily, Mei flips the levers to initiate the startup sequence. Now a series of check lights flicker on and off. I can almost read our machine’s progress by their pattern. Internal clock initiated. Bootstrap program loaded. Memory check complete. Micro-systems functioning and ready for input.

  Lili leans forward, her hands clutching at her blanket nest. I want to laugh, but my own heart beats faster as the monstrosity’s hum takes on the quality of a human voice. If all goes well, our device should speak the words Ready for input.

  All at once, a loud crack splits the air. The lights go dark—even the oil lamp—and a noxious cloud rolls through the basement.

  “Nooooo,” Lili wails.

  “Shī, shī,” Mei says sharply. “Jun, you have the scope?”

  “I do.” My voice shakes, though I try to control it.

  “Let’s see what happened.”

  Lovely, competent Mei mutters a sequence of old-time syllables, in a rhythm both mathematical and mystical. Sparks leap from her fingertips to the oil lamp, which re-ignites. We have light, at least, if not illumination. Another of Hsi’s favorite sayings.

  I haul the lamp up as high as I can. What it shows is not so encouraging. The monstrosity sits wreathed in black oily smoke, like a dragon, bellowing its irritation.

  My fault, I think. I should have checked—

  No. My formulas are right, checked and double-checked. The same is true with Mei’s spells, now engraved on expensive copper plating. Maybe we should have taken the risk, bought those top-grade flux capacitors...

  “What happened?” Lili says.

  Mei and I bend over the scope. The read-out is a mess of numbers, but it seems one thing is clear.

  “The input current was too strong,” I say, and Mei nods agreement. Her expression is so bleak, I immediately add, “But it’s correctable.”

  “É? Really?” Lili says. “How much will that cost? And how much time?”

  She’s right. Hsi might grant us an extension, but only if we convince her that our original theory is plausible. There’s also the matter of expenses. We’ve all borrowed as much as we dare from family and the city money-lenders. We don’t have the credit to buy new components.

  We’re so close. We only need a little more time, a little more money.

  Gschu is silent, but her presence hovers close. I sense the other spirit companions too—Mei’s Ning and Lili’s Biyu—all of them chattering in their private language. Then with a ping, their presence winks out, like snuffed candles, and it’s just me and Lili and Mei.

  “So, so,” Mei says. “We have three more weeks. We’ll present our interim findings tomorrow and see what our teacher says.”

  “Tell the truth,” I blurt out.

  Both my partners stare at me. Mei seems insulted at the suggestion we might lie. Lili seems dismayed by the opposite.

  “I mean— I mean we ought to—”

  “I know what you mean,” Lili says. “And you’re right. It’s just...”

  Her hand flutters up and around, taking in the monstrosity and its clouds of oily smoke. Her manner is just like those street players she loves, at once sardonic and silly. In spite of my bad mood, I have to smile. “Just so. Honesty includes the excellent as well as the awful.”

  Another of Old Hsi’s favorite sayings. Lili snorts in recognition. Mei smiles, briefly. “Let’s
clean up,” she says. “I’ll write our report for Honored Teacher.”

  Lili hums, and shifts softly from foot to slippered foot. I know that dance. It means she’s got somewhere to go. Somewhere secret. Lili calls these excursions extracurricular activities, but Mei and I both know that translates to a new love, someone not acceptable to Lili’s merchant family. I huff out a sigh of resignation.

  Mei is more gracious. “Oh, not you. You have promises and obligations.”

  “Thank you,” Lili says. She slings her backpack over her shoulder and hurries up the basement steps. I hear her exchange a good night with Mei’s mother as she speeds out the front door.

  Leaving me and Mei in uncomfortable silence.

  “I’ll stay and help,” I say.

  Mei nods, but absently. She no longer looks so bleak, merely distracted, as if she considers matters far greater than tonight’s setback. Maybe to her this setback is minor. After all, her mother and father work in the hospital pharmacy. They have money enough for this enormous house, never mind feeding six daughters plus two cousins and a couple aunts. Not like me, stuffed with my sisters and parents in a small set of rooms over my mother’s laundry business.

  Except that’s not fair. The enormous house belongs to one of the aunts, a relic from her more prosperous days, and Mei’s parents work long hours at their hospital jobs. Mei herself spends her afternoons divided between studying and watching over her sisters and cousins.

  So I quash the envy and set to work disassembling our monstrosity and stowing the equipment away. Over the past six months, the work has turned into a comfortable routine. Cables disconnected. Wires coiled. Scope returned to its crate. All our tools, magical and electronic and ordinary, sorted into their various boxes. The monstrosity itself gets tucked into the corner. We didn’t need to worry about her cousins or sisters touching anything. They know Mei will sacrifice their curious fingers to the watch demons if they do not obey.

  Then I ask the unmentionable.

  “What if Hsi tells us no?”

  Mei is suddenly quiet. No surprise. I’m not sure how I would answer that question. But when several minutes pass and she says nothing at all, I turn around to see her huddled over a box of spare gadgets. Her eyes are shining with tears.

  “Mei!”

  I flop down next to her. “Mei, I’m sorry. I didn’t— I never—”

  Stupid girl, Gschu growls. You never think about anyone but yourself.

  With a ping and a pông, my lizard companion vanishes. I want to shout at her to explain herself, but Mei chokes back a sob, which is so unexpected I forget everything else but my friend.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask softly. “Other than our world blowing up?”

  She laughs, then hiccups. “Nothing. Nothing except I want... I need this certificate, Jun. Mā mī already talks about me taking a job at the hospital. They could use a couple more magic workers to check the purity spells in the pharmacy, she says. I don’t need a certificate. I could start as an intern and work my way up. She could train me herself. Oh, it’s a good job,” she bursts out. “My mother loves it. Why shouldn’t I?”

  I fold Mei into my arms and hug her tight. “Āi āi āi. It’s not the end of everything. The monster booted up. It ran through that startup sequence as smooth as butter melting into tea. We can fix it, I swear. We can re-jigger the formulas. Maybe find a box of those new ceramic resonators on sale...”

  I’m babbling, but Mei doesn’t seem to care. She leans against me and buries her face into my shoulder. My skin buzzes with excitement. Sweet, clever, amazing Mei who is so gifted with mathematic and magic. I love the way she talks. How her skin smells of electricity and ozone and everything geek. The way she spirals right to the heart of any problem.

  I kiss her hair. Once. Twice. When she lifts her face, I press my lips against hers.

  Right away Mei goes still. “Jun. No.”

  Her voice is breathy with panic. I flinch back. “I’m sorry. I—”

  We stand up and turn away from each other as fast as we can. My hands are trembling as I hurry to stow the rest of our equipment. Mei is just as agitated as I am. When I mutter about updating our progress journal, she immediately says she can write the entry herself.

  I don’t argue. It’s clear she wants me gone. I stuff my notes and books into my backpack, say good-bye to Mei’s mother, and leave.

  The bells are tolling as I step into the street. It’s late—almost eleven o’clock. At this hour, the city has an empty, almost deserted air. No surprise, what with the queen’s watch demons on patrol since nightfall. Only fools or desperate criminals would dare the streets without a medallion, signed and spelled by the royal mages. Lili has one from her merchant family, who often do business after dark. I bought mine with savings from my job washing dishes, but I have to renew it each month. There’s been a week here and there when I didn’t have the cash and I took the risk, running from Mei’s house to the nearest underground train station. I guess that makes me a sometimes fool.

  Not tonight, at least. My medallion lies dead and cool against my skin. If there were watch demons in the neighborhood, it would buzz with magic to shield me from their notice.

  I shift my backpack to a more comfortable position and march at double-time up the hill. The train station is a good three or four li away, and by the time I reach my destination, I’m gasping. I hand over a ten-yuan paper bill, my last before payday tomorrow. The attendant gives me a token and my change. I stuff the coins into my pocket and climb aboard the train. The cars are empty, except for me and one couple halfway to copulation.

  Copulation. I taste the word on my lips and think of Mei.

  My throat squeezes shut at the memory of her turning cold and stiff in my arms. I drop into the seat at the far end of the car. Damn, damn, damn. I have screwed up everything. Our monstrosity. Any possibility with Mei. I hardly notice when the ready-whistle blows and the train jerks into sudden motion.

  Do you love her? Gschu says softly.

  I don’t know. I want to find out. I mean, I wanted to.

  Silence. Then, She is still your friend. Find someone else to love.

  So easy for this lizard to say. Spirit companions live for centuries, always connected to a human soul. When one human dies, another takes their place.

  I hear the soft hissing that is Gschu’s laughter. It’s not so simple.

  Ó? Why don’t you tell me about it then?

  When you’re older, maybe.

  Right. My mother says the same thing, whenever I ask a hard question. I drop my head into my hands and let the rhythm of the cars lull me into a state of semi-maybe-almost-okay. I try not to think about Mei and what other stupid things I’ve said or done. Gschu doesn’t talk to me again, but I sense her presence inside. Close enough for comfort. Silent, as I need her to be right now.

  The train stops here and there, picking up a few new passengers. Other students. A weary group of factory workers, heading home after their shift. An angry old man who mutters to himself about taxes. Half an hour later, we get to my stop. I stand and weave my way past the sexy boy and girl, and exit the train.

  Outside the station, I pause. Moonlight splashes over rooftops and chimneys, but down here in the street, the darkness is thick and unnerving. I can almost see the fluttering shadows of the watch demons, and in spite of my medallion, I shiver.

  At home, my mother and step-father will be awake, working on their accounts. They might ask about my project and how are things at school. I love my parents, but I don’t want to answer their questions. I don’t want to hear them say, Maybe it’s for the best.

  On impulse, I pull out my talk-phone. I tap a message on the keyboard. Home soon. Counting the stars. Then, I hurry back to the underground tunnels.

  A copper yuan gets me entrance to the pedestrian passageway. These tunnels are much lower, much narrower than the ones for trains, but like them, they are spelled against the watch demons. Not that a watch demon would want to climb the hundr
ed thousand flights of stairs between each level. It takes me an hour to reach the north edge of the city, and once I do, there’s another set of stairs to climb up and over the city walls.

  I climb the stairs. I pause by the recording devices that monitor anyone going into or out of the city. Then I’m over the walls and onto the open mountain side. It’s early summer, the air is damp and cool, and the stars are bitter bright against the clear night sky. I continue over the shoulder of the mountain until I come to my favorite point, which overlooks the valley. I settle on a rock and tilt my head back. And think about my future.

  We are late with our project, so very late. We had hoped to finish a month ago, but we’ve underestimated how complicated the math and magic are.

  It seemed such a simple thing at the beginning—a device to translate between the common dialects of the Seventy Kingdoms and those of the Phoenix Empire. The idea is not a new one. The diplomatic corps owns half a dozen, fashioned by the royal engineers, but those are expensive devices, and they depend on special wiring to connect to the magic flux. Our goal was to create one both portable and cheap enough that smaller merchant companies could afford them.

  We only need to prove the concept, Mei has said.

  True, but that small victory isn’t enough. I want more than a passing grade and my certificate. I want that special golden insignia, the one that shows I graduated with honors. Then I can work for the best magic shops in Shēn Xiù City. Then I can save enough to pay my own way to the far-away Phoenix Empire and its university...

  I’m halfway through the long chain of if this, then that, when a flicker off to one side catches my eye. It’s like a candle flame, faint and transparent, gone almost before I see it. Another midnight visitor from the city? Someone trying to sneak around the guards?

  A slim lizard shape pops out of nowhere to spiral upward in the sky. Another and another and another follow. I catch my breath when I recognize what they are.

  Ghost dragons.

  I’ve heard about ghost dragons all my life. I’ve seen them once or twice before from a distance. Their kingdoms exist beside our human ones, and their kings and queens have signed treaties with ours. They are beautiful, dangerous, and proud.