Once Upon a Time: New Fairy Tales Paperback(5)

? Yoon Ha Lee ?

fact that each one had the head of an extinct bird. Swords rested on polished stands, cabochons of opal and aquamarine gleaming from their gold-washed scabbards, their pale tassels decorated with knots sacred to the compass winds. There were crowns of braided wire cradling fossils inscribed with fractured prophecies, some still tangled with the hair of long-dead sovereigns, and twisted ropes of pearls perfectly graduated in size and color, from shimmering white to violet-gray to lustrous black.

“None of these will do,” Tern said. “These are quotidian treasures, fit for rewarding captains, but not for impressing the Twenty-Seven Great Families.”

The chancellor blanched. “Surely you don’t mean—”

But the young empress had swept past him and was heading toward the second treasury. She drew out her heaviest key and opened the doors, which swung with deceptive ease on their hinges.

The guards at the door eyed her nervously.

The smell of salt water and kelp was suddenly strong. A dragon’s single, heavy-lidded eye opened in the darkness beyond the doors.

“Who desires to drown?” asked the dragon spirit in a low, resonant voice. It sounded hopeful. Most people knew better than to disturb the guardian spirit.

“I am Weave-the-Storm’s daughter,” Tern said. “They call me Early-Tern-Journeying.”

The eye slitted. “So you are,” the dragon said, less threateningly.

“I’ve never understood your dynasty’s need to change names at random intervals. It’s dreadfully confusing.”

“Does the tradition trouble you?” Tern asked. “It would be difficult to change, but—”

The light from the hallway glinted on the dragon’s long teeth.

“Don’t trouble yourself on my account,” it said. Musingly, it added, “It’s remarkable how you resemble her around the eyes. Come in, then.”

“This is unwise,” the chancellor said. “Anything guarded by a dragon is locked away for a reason.”

? 23 ?

? The Coin of Heart’s Desire ?

“Treasures hidden forever do no good,” Tern said. She entered the treasury, leaving the chancellor behind. The door swung quietly shut behind her.

Despite the dragon’s protection, it was difficult to breathe through the dream of ocean, and difficult to move. Even the color of the light was like that of rain and lightning and foam mixed together. The smell of salt grew stronger, interspersed curiously with the fragrance of chrysanthemums. But then, it was better than drowning.

“What brings you here?” asked the dragon, swimming alongside her. Its coils revealed themselves in pearlescent flashes.

“I must select twenty-seven gifts for the Twenty-Seven Great Families to impress them with the dynasty’s might,” Tern said. “I don’t know what to give them.”

“Is that all?” the dragon said, sounding disappointed. “There are suits of armor here for woman and man, horse and elephant. Give one to the head of each family—although I presume none of them are elephants—and if they should plot treachery, the ghosts that live in the armor will strike down your enemies. Unless you’ve invented gunpowder yet? The armor’s no good against decent guns. It’s so easy to lose track of time while drowsing here.”

Tern craned her head to look at the indistinct shapes of skeleton and coral. “Gunpowder?” she asked.

“Don’t trouble yourself about it. It’s not important. Shall I show you the armor?” The undulating light revealed finely wrought armor paired with demon-faced masks or impressively spiked chanfrons.

She could almost see her face, distorted, in the polished breastplates.

“That’s no true gift,” Tern said, “practical though it is.”

The dragon sighed gustily. “An idealist. Well, then. What about this?”

As though they stood to either side of a brook, a flotilla of paper boats bobbed toward them. Tern knelt to examine the boats and half a verse was written on one’s sail.

“Go ahead,” the dragon said, “unfold it.”

She did. “That’s almost a poem by Crescent-Sword-Descending,”

? 24 ?

? Yoon Ha Lee ?

she said: one of the empire’s most celebrated admirals, who had turned back the Irrilesh invasion 349 years ago. “But it’s less elegant than the version my tutors taught me.”

“That’s because Crescent was a mediocre poet, for all her victories at sea,” the dragon said. “Her empress had one of the court poets discreetly rewrite everything.” Its tone of voice implied that it didn’t understand this human undertaking, either. “In any case, each of the boats is inscribed with verses by some hero or admiral. If you float them in the sea on the night of a gravid moon, they will grow into fine warships. To restore them to their paper form—useful for avoiding docking fees—recite their verses on a new moon. And they’re loyal, if that’s a concern. They won’t sail against you.”