The Inquisitor's Apprentice

CHAPTER FOURTEEN. The Immortals of Chinatown

NATURALLY, it was Lily who first worked up the nerve to ask Wolf where they were going.

He gave her a long, blank stare instead of answering. Whatever strange mood had come over him at the mention of the White Lotus Young Ladies’ Dancing and Deportment Academy, he hadn’t recovered from it.

“What do you know about the Immortals of Chinatown?” he asked finally.

“They’re the masterminds of magical crime in Chinatown,” Lily promptly answered. “They run the tongs — that’s Chinese for street gangs — and their word is law, and they brook no opposition and deal harshly with dissenters.” She might have been reading straight out of a penny detective novel. “And … let’s see, what else? Oh, yeah, they have these tunnels that connect everything under Chinatown and have entrances all over the city kind of like the subway, so they can just sort of pop out anywhere and wreak deadly havoc without warning.”

“You forgot to mention the opium smuggling and white slavery,” Wolf pointed out. Sacha was pretty sure that even Lily must be able to hear the sardonic edge in his voice. But, amazingly enough, she couldn’t. Sacha was starting to suspect that Lily Astral didn’t get much of a chance to use her sense of humor at home. It seemed weak and shaky, like a muscle that didn’t get enough exercise.

“Right,” Lily corrected herself, still oblivious to Wolf’s sarcasm. “I knew about that. It just slipped my mind for a minute. Is there anything else I should know?”

“Actually,” Wolf said, “I think you’d be better off if you knew less. The Immortals have nothing to do with the tongs. And they have no power over anyone, certainly not the power of fear.”

“But they are wizards,” Lily pestered him.

Or at least Sacha told himself she was pestering. Deep down he was a little jealous, though. He wondered where she got the gumption to talk to Wolf like that, as if she just naturally assumed they were equals. He guessed it came from being richer than God and hobnobbing with Roosevelts and Vanderbilks.

“Yes,” Wolf told Lily. “They’re just about the most powerful wizards there are.”

“So why don’t the Inquisitors arrest them?”

“It’s not illegal to be a wizard,” Wolf replied, “any more than it’s illegal to be a Kabbalist or a druid … or even a good old-fashioned New England witch.”

“So then what is illegal?” Lily asked.

Wolf laughed uncomfortably. “That’s … shall we say a gray area? A hundred years ago there were country witches and warlocks all over New England. They put out shingles and took paying customers. They even advertised in the newspapers. The Inquisitors were more like traffic cops than witch-hunters back then. We were really just around to make sure no one got cheated. But then the bankers and Robber Barons turned magic into big business with their factories and railroads and sweatshops. They started squeezing out the little independent witches and warlocks. Then … but that’s politics.” He stopped short, obviously feeling he’d said too much. “And you two are far too young to worry about politics.”

But Lily had gotten hold of a bone and she wasn’t ready to let go of it. “But that’s just … just…”

“Ridiculous?” Wolf teased.

“Yes, frankly! You talk about bankers and Robber Barons as if they were all conjure men. But surely some of them are honest businessmen.”

“I’m sure they are.” Wolf sounded like he desperately wanted to change the subject.

“My father doesn’t do magic, does he?”

“I certainly didn’t intend to suggest anything about your father, Miss Astral.”

Sacha thought the temperature inside the cab must have dropped twenty degrees in the last sixty seconds. But Lily was too busy arguing to notice.

“No respectable person uses magic these days, Inquisitor Wolf. Oh, I know it used to be different. My mother says that when she was a girl all the best New England families used to give their daughters witchcraft lessons, just like they give them drawing lessons and dancing lessons. But nowadays real Americans don’t do magic. Only, well, Irish and Italians and … you know … that sort of people. Isn’t that right, Inquisitor Wolf? Or I mean … well … is it?”

Suddenly Sacha forgot to be offended by Lily’s crack about real Americans. Something truly strange was going on. Lily’s voice had gone all tight and scratchy during this little speech. And she had the oddest look on her face — like she was trying to trick Wolf into saying something she really didn’t want to hear.

Wolf heard it too. Sacha was sure he did. He was looking at Lily as if he felt sorry for her.

“Like I said,” he told her, “you’re much too young to worry about politics.”

By now the cabbie had turned off Broadway and begun to nose his way down Mulberry Street. They were in the heart of Chinatown. And though they were only a few blocks from Grandpa Kessler’s synagogue, Sacha barely knew these streets. He stared as they inched past gaudily painted shopfronts full of silks and spices and dusty packets of Chinese medicines. In one store, he even glimpsed a stuffed albino tiger as big as a horse, with its claws unsheathed and its teeth bared menacingly.

The street peddlers here didn’t carry their wares in pushcarts. Instead, they balanced long bamboo poles across their shoulders with red-lacquered baskets that bobbed on either end like candied apples in a carnival booth. And the smells wafting from those baskets were incredible. Caramel and curry and carp and crispy duck and a thousand other exotic delights tickled Sacha’s nose. His head was spinning and his stomach rumbling by the time the cab pulled up in front of a nondescript herbalist’s shop.

Wolf whisked them into the shop — and then straight through it and out the back door into a high-walled inner courtyard hung with so many clotheslines that they seemed to be walking under a solid roof of fluttering white sheets and linens. The shopkeeper’s entire family seemed to live around the courtyard, along with a flock of unusually lively chickens. As Sacha hurried past, he glanced through an open door and saw them all sitting down to lunch around an ingenious little table with a portable cookstove built into it.

Behind the first courtyard lay another courtyard. This one contained only a very large mulberry tree and a very tiny old man, who was carrying two fat white mice in an ornate wicker birdcage. The old man pantomimed an introduction as they raced by: Children, meet mice; mice, meet children. Wolf paused just long enough to nod politely to the mice. Then he yanked open a narrow metal door that looked like it led to a broom closet, slipped inside — and vanished.

When Sacha stepped through after him, he found himself in a place that was like nowhere he’d ever been before.

It wasn’t just the size of the place — though it seemed enormous. It was that, for the first time in his life, Sacha couldn’t hear even the faintest sound of traffic. Instead the air was filled with the chirping of crickets and the warbling of sparrows and the sharp smell of the ancient pine trees whose twisted limbs blocked out half the sky. Sacha had the eerie feeling that he was no longer in New York at all, but had stepped through some magical door into the heart of China.

At the far end of a long courtyard stood a massive wooden gate built from age-blackened timbers. It looked as if it had stood there for centuries, as did the tile-roofed building behind it. Above the gate, emblazoned on a fluttering silk banner, stretched four immense golden Chinese characters.

“What does that sign say?” Sacha asked.

Wolf smiled ever so slightly. “It says ‘White Lotus Young Ladies’ Dancing and Deportment Academy.’ But don’t worry. There are boys here too. It’s an orphanage. And it wasn’t a dancing academy even before it was an orphanage. They just call it that to stay out of trouble with the police because it’s illegal to teach … well, you’ll see.”

Wolf pulled at the bell rope beside the heavy oak door, and a deep bell tolled somewhere far off inside the building. A moment later they heard the patter of bare feet on stone, and a child opened the door for them. The child was wearing a pigtail and the same white cotton pajamas that Sacha had seen Chinese men wearing. Sacha thought it was a boy, since he was wearing pants, but he wasn’t really sure. And after another look, he wasn’t even sure if he was Chinese or not. The hair and eyes looked right. But whoever heard of a Chinese person with freckles?

The boy knew Wolf, though. He let them in with a friendly smile before vanishing into the shadows and leaving them to find their own way to wherever they were going.

Wolf led them down a dim hallway and into a cavernous space that smelled pleasantly of wet stones and soapy water. Balconies rose above them on all sides, supported by columns hewn from whole tree trunks and polished smooth by the touch of many hands. Heavy beams supported the high ceiling, and the floor was paved with massive flagstones even larger than the ones that lined New York’s sidewalks. The place felt as solemn as a church, yet it was alive with the faint sounds of children’s movement and laughter that drifted in from the surrounding rooms.

And it was alive with magic too: a magic as vast as oceans that seemed to belong to a far older city than the New York Sacha knew.

At the moment, the only person in the great room was a thin Chinese woman on her hands and knees next to a bucket of soapy water, scrubbing at the stone floor with a hard-bristled cleaning brush. Wolf glanced briefly at her. Then he walked around the edge of the room, carefully avoiding the freshly scrubbed stones, sat down on a sack of rice, and took out his newspaper as if he knew they were in for a long wait.

Sacha sat down beside Wolf, wishing he had a newspaper too.

Meanwhile the cleaning lady kept scrubbing. This was a woman who took her cleaning seriously, even by Hester Street standards. She scrubbed with intent, like a master baker rolling out his dough or an artist preparing a canvas. Or, Sacha realized, like a shammes cleaning the synagogue before a high holy Day. What was this place?

Sacha turned to Wolf, meaning to ask him. But Wolf was watching the woman too. His newspaper had dropped to his lap, forgotten, and he was staring at her with a look of longing that even a thirteen-year-old boy couldn’t mistake for anything but unrequited love. Sacha glanced sideways at Lily to see if she’d noticed — and sure enough she had that gushy, dewy-eyed look on her face that girls always got when they smelled romance in the air. Sacha wanted to shake her for mooning around like a silly girl instead of asking the obvious question: How on earth could the most famous Inquisitor in New York possibly have fallen in love with a Chinese cleaning woman?

Finally the cleaning woman gathered up her brush and bucket and slipped out of the room, leaving them alone.

“Is she going to get her master?” Sacha asked, unable to contain himself any longer.

Wolf smiled very faintly. “Not exactly.”

She came back a few minutes later — this time bearing a heavy lacquered tray piled high with tea things. She poured tea and handed around warm sweet rolls. Then she sat down opposite Wolf in a way that left Sacha quite certain she was no mere servant, even before Wolf introduced her as Shen Yunying, the proprietress of the White Lotus Young Ladies’ Dancing and Deportment Academy.

“So,” Shen said when the introductions were over, “the student returns to the master. And he comes bearing … children? You don’t think I have enough children in my life already, Max?”

Wolf muttered something that sounded like the beginning of an apology, but broke off to run a finger around the inside of his shirt collar as if it had suddenly gotten too tight. “I was hoping you could … teach them.”

Her dark eyes widened in amazement. “You want me to train a pair of Inquisitor’s apprentices? What on earth makes you think I would do that? Unless you think I owe you a favor.”

“No!” Wolf lowered his voice, struggling visibly to control himself. But when he spoke again, he still sounded angry. “You don’t owe me anything. I just thought … well, you taught Payton.”

“Payton’s different. he’s not going to be an Inquisitor.”

“He’s an Inquisitor in all but name,” Wolf said impatiently. “And if it weren’t for the color of his skin, you know damn well it would be official.”

“You make it sound like the color of a person’s skin is just an insignificant detail. Try walking around in my skin for a day.”

“Come on, Shen!” Wolf protested. “What do you want from me?”

“What do I want? You’re the one sitting in my house asking me for favors.”

“Oh, for God’s sake! You’re the most infuriating—”

Suddenly Wolf seemed to remember Sacha and Lily. To their bitter disappointment, he clammed up and refused to say anything more. Then the two grownups just sat staring at each other, Wolf with a hangdog look on his face and Shen with an amused smile that seemed to suggest that it would take a lot more than one angry Inquisitor to rattle her.

To Sacha’s amazement, however, it was Shen who gave in first.

“All right. I’ll teach them. You knew I would.”

“Wait a minute!” Lily broke in. “I’m not learning any magic! I won’t have anything to do with that!”

“Who said I was going to teach you magic?” Shen asked calmly. “Why should I, when I can teach you how to beat a grown man in a fight without using any magic at all?” She shrugged philosophically. “Though if you don’t want to learn magic, then you probably don’t want to learn kung fu either.”

“Oh, don’t I?” Lily exclaimed with a dangerous glint in her eye. “Just try me!” But then her face fell. “Except, well… I don’t have the proper clothes for it.”

“I have a number of young lady students. I can lend you a set of clothes that you can leave here and change into when you arrive for your lessons.”

“Oh.” Lily grinned. “Good idea!”

Throughout this exchange, Sacha had been trying not to stare at Shen too obviously. But he must have been doing a pretty bad job of it because suddenly she looked him square in the eye and smiled. He’d never seen such a smile before. It cut straight through him, sweet and sharp and bracing as the wind off the ocean.

“So tell me,” Shen asked, still smiling that astounding smile, “how did you get that beautiful shiner?”

“Uh … baseball?”

“Really? The rules must have changed quite a bit since I last played. And it must hurt like the devil. Come along and let’s get something on it to take the swelling down. You too, Lily. Let’s see what we can do for your scraped knuckles … which I suppose you’re also going to claim you got playing baseball?”

She led the two of them around the edge of the stone-floored room to a curtained alcove whose walls were lined from floor to ceiling with the same exotic ingredients Sacha had seen in the cluttered herbalists’ windows on their ride through Chinatown. Before they quite knew what was happening, Shen had massaged Sacha’s bruises with some sort of pungent concoction, dressed Lily’s hand, and talked enough baseball to establish that all three of them were die-hard Yankees fans.

“They should be ready for their first lesson in a week,” she told Wolf when she brought them back. She appeared to hesitate, although the hesitation was so brief that Sacha wondered if he’d imagined it. “You needn’t bring them. They can come by themselves.”

“But how will we find you?” Lily asked.

“Don’t worry,” Shen told her with a little smile. “People can always find me when they need me. And when they can’t, it usually turns out that they didn’t really need me in the first place.”

Lily didn’t look at all satisfied by this explanation, but before she could ask another question, Wolf was herding them back down the long corridor — while he lingered behind to say a frustratingly private goodbye to Shen.

“Wow!” Sacha whispered to Lily while they waited. “She’s something, isn’t she?”

“I’ll say!” Lily’s eyes were shining. “I’ll bet she’s a kung fu master. She’s probably even a Shaolin Monk, just like the ones in Sword for Hire and Exotic Adventures.”

Sacha was about to ask Lily if she did anything at all in her spare time but read pulp magazines when Wolf caught up with them.

“That went well,” he said. “I think you two made a good impression.”

Lily started to ask a question, but Wolf waved it away. “Come on. You two have had a rough day; I’m going to send you home early.”

He marched them across the courtyard to the little blue door through which they’d first entered Shen’s domain.

But when he opened the door, Sacha and Lily both gasped. Instead of the courtyard with the mulberry tree and the white mice, they were looking at an uptown street — Seventy-second Street, to be precise, just at the corner of Fifth Avenue, next to the Astral mansion.

“But — but — that’s magic!” Lily protested.

“Inquisitors are law enforcement officers, Lily. Our job is to prevent people with magical abilities from misusing them. Don’t you think that would be rather difficult to do if we couldn’t use magic ourselves?”

Lily looked horrified. Clearly she had never thought of this before.

“Do you have a problem with magic, Lily? Some kind of phobia? If so, you won’t make a very good Inquisitor.”

“I — no — I mean—” Lily’s face was practically scarlet, though Sacha couldn’t tell if it was with embarrassment or anger. “But if Inquisitors are allowed to use magic, then who prevents them from abusing magic?”

“That is an excellent question,” Wolf replied, “and I wish I knew the answer to it. Now, go home. And apologize to your charming mother for the scraped knuckles or she’ll be calling up Commissioner Keegan to complain about me.”

Lily opened her mouth to ask another question. Then she gave a little shrug and turned to go. But just as she was about to step through the door, she turned back and walked over to Sacha and held out a hand for him to shake.

He took her hand, feeling silly and awkward. She didn’t seem to notice his awkwardness, though; her grip was as firm and no-nonsense as her clear-eyed gaze.

“Good job back there with the Hexers,” she told him. “You ought to stand up for yourself more often. You’re too quiet. It makes people think they can walk all over you.”

“So you think I should go around insulting street gangs instead?”

She grinned. “Life’s too short to walk away from a good fight.”

Sacha started to grin back, but he stopped when he noticed Wolf watching them. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Anyway,” he said, “sorry about your hand.”

“Hah! You should see the other guy!”

Lily strode through the door, and a moment later he saw her dashing up the marble steps of the Astral mansion.

“Your turn, Mr. Kessler,” Wolf said cheerfully. “Where to?”

Sacha panicked. “I — uh — that is—”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little magic.”

“Actually, yes.” Much as he hated letting Wolf think he was afraid, Sacha knew this was the perfect excuse. “Can’t you just drop me at the nearest subway station? If it wouldn’t be too much of a bother.”

Wolf gave Sacha a smile that tied his insides in knots. It made Sacha feel as if Wolf actually liked him — and suddenly he felt horribly guilty for lying to him.

“No, Sacha,” Wolf said gently. “It’s not too much bother. And anyway, grownups like to be bothered. It makes us feel useful. But you’re not the sort who bothers grownups with your problems, are you? Pity. You should try it sometime.”

Silence stretched between them until Sacha thought he was going to burst into hysterics if someone didn’t say something.

“A man solves his own problems!” he blurted out. It sounded like the sort of thing his father would say.

“I see. and are a man’s friends allowed to help?”

“I—”

“Never mind. We don’t know each other very well. I don’t suppose you have much reason to trust me. What subway stop did you have in mind?”

“I — uh — Astral Place?”

“Astral Place it is.”