Day of the Dragon King (4 page)

The oxcart bumped across the wooden bridge that crossed over a moat. Then it passed guards standing by giant wooden gates.

“Are the gates ever closed?” Jack asked.

“Oh, yes, every day at sunset,” said the scholar. “When the gong sounds, the gates close. The bridge comes up. And the city is sealed shut for the night.”

“I guess visitors have to leave before that happens,” Annie said. “Or they'll be stuck here for the whole night. Right?”

“Yes,” said the scholar.

The cart bumped between the city gates.

Rows of small houses were bunched together on either side of the street. They were made of mud with straw roofs. People cooked over outdoor fires. They washed their clothes in wooden tubs.

As the oxcart bumped along, the houses got larger. These were made of painted wood and pottery tiles. They all had curved roofs.

“Why are those roofs like that?” asked Jack.

“To keep away the bad spirits,” said the scholar.

“How do they do that?” said Annie.

“The spirits can only travel in straight lines,” said the scholar.

“Wow,” whispered Annie.

The cart went by some open tea shops. Then it passed a large market square filled with stalls and shoppers. People were buying and selling fish, chickens, firewood, wagon wheels, silk cloth, furs, and jade jewelry.

Some people were lined up at a stall filled with tiny cages.

“What's for sale there?” said Annie.

“Crickets,” the scholar said. “They make good pets. You can feed them tea leaves and enjoy their delicate song.”

The cart moved on toward the Dragon King's walled palace. They stopped in front of the palace gates.

“Grain delivery!” the scholar shouted up to the guard at the tower.

The guard waved them through. Inside were beautiful gardens and huge mounds of earth surrounded by a low brick wall.

“That is the Imperial Burial Grounds,” said the scholar, pointing at the mounds.

“Who is buried there?” asked Jack.

“The ancestors of the Dragon King,” said the scholar.

“What are
ancestors?
” Annie asked.

“They are the people in your family who lived before you,” said the scholar. “Someday the Dragon King himself will be buried there. Three hundred thousand workers have been building his burial tomb.”

“Oh, man,” said Jack.

He looked over his shoulder at the burial grounds. He wondered why it took so many workers to build a tomb.

“
No!
” said the scholar.

Jack whirled around.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

The scholar pointed at the palace courtyard. A dark cloud of smoke was rising into the sky.

“
Fire!
” said the scholar.

“
The books!
” said Jack.

“
Hurry!
” said Annie.

The scholar snapped the reins. The oxen trotted up the stone path. When the cart rolled into the courtyard, soldiers were everywhere.

Some threw wood on a huge bonfire. Others were carrying bamboo strips down the steep stairs that led from the palace.

“Are those books?” asked Jack.

“Yes. The strips are tied together into different bundles,” moaned the scholar. “Each bundle is a book.”

“Look!” said Annie, pointing to the palace entrance.

Stepping outside was a man in a rich, flowing robe and a tall hat. Jack knew him at once—
the Dragon King!

The Dragon King watched the bonfire as it blazed up toward the sky. Around the fire the air was thick and wavy. Bamboo books were stacked beside the fire, waiting to be burned.

“Hurry!” said the scholar.

They jumped down from the cart and joined the crowd by the bonfire.

The Dragon King shouted to the soldiers. They began throwing the books into the fire. The bamboo crackled as it burned.

“Stop!” cried Annie.

Jack grabbed her.

“Quiet!” he said.

Annie pulled away.

“Stop!” she shouted again. But her voice was lost in the noise of the roaring fire.

“
There's
your story!” said the scholar.

He pointed to a bamboo book that had fallen off a waiting stack.

“I'll get it!” said Annie.

She dashed over to the book.

“Annie!” cried Jack.

But she had already snatched up the bundle of bamboo strips and was charging back to them.

“Got it! Quick, put it in your sack!” she said.

Jack put the bundle of bamboo strips in his
sack. Then he looked around fearfully. He gasped.

The Dragon King was glaring at them! Then he headed their way.

“Seize them!” the Dragon King shouted.

“Run through the burial grounds!” the scholar said to Jack and Annie. “The soldiers will be afraid to follow. They fear the spirits of the ancestors!”

“Thanks!” said Jack. “Thanks for everything!”

“Good luck!” cried Annie.

Then she and Jack took off. Soldiers shouted after them. An arrow whizzed by.

But Jack and Annie kept running. They ran down the path to the burial grounds. They jumped over the low brick wall and ran between the huge mounds of earth.

Suddenly arrows filled the air around them. The archers were shooting from the tower!

“Look!” cried Jack.

There was a doorway in one of the mounds. Jack and Annie ducked inside.

They were in a long hall lit with oil lamps.

“It's so quiet,” said Annie. She walked down the passageway. “Hey, there are some steps here.”

“Don't go any farther!” said Jack.

“Why not?” said Annie.

“We don't know what's down there,” said Jack. “This is a burial tomb, remember? It's creepy.”

“Let's just take a quick look,” said Annie. “Maybe it's the way out of here.”

Jack took a deep breath.

“You might be right,” he said. “Okay, but go slow.” He didn't want to stumble upon a dead body.

Annie started down the steep steps. Jack followed. The lamps lit their way as they kept going down and down. Finally, they reached the bottom.

Jack blinked. Even though oil lamps glowed everywhere, it was hard to see at first.

When Jack's eyes got used to the strange light, his heart nearly stopped.

“Oh, man,” he breathed.

They were in a room
filled
with soldiers—thousands of them.

Jack and Annie stood frozen.

The silent soldiers did, too.

Finally, Annie spoke.

“They're fake,” she said.

“Fake?” whispered Jack.

“They're not real,” she said.

“They
look
real,” said Jack.

Annie walked straight toward the front row of soldiers.

Jack held his breath.

Annie pulled the soldier's nose.

“Fake!” she said.

“Oh, brother,” said Jack. He walked over to the soldier and touched his painted face. It was as hard as stone.

“It's amazing,” Jack said.

Annie nodded. “It's like a museum.”

She walked down a row between two lines of soldiers.

“Wait. This is spooky,” said Jack. “What
is
this place?”

He put down his sack and pulled out the China book. He found a picture of the frozen army and read aloud:

“It's like the pyramid in ancient Egypt,” said Jack. “Remember? The queen was buried with a boat and lots of things to take to the afterlife.” He looked around. “Annie?”

“I'm here,” she called. She was far down another row.

“Come back here,” yelled Jack.

“No,
you
come here,” said Annie. “It's so cool. All their faces are different.”

Jack threw the book into his sack. Then he hurried down the row to Annie.

“Look,” she said. “Just look.”

In the flickering lamplight, they wandered down the rows of soldiers. No two soldiers had the same nose, the same eyes, or the same mouth.

“Oh, man. No wonder so many people had to work on this tomb,” said Jack.

“They really did a good job,” said Annie.

“Yeah,” said Jack.

There were kneeling archers and foot soldiers dressed in red and black armor.

There were real bronze swords, daggers, axes, spears, bows, and arrows.

There were even life-size wooden chariots with horses. The horses looked completely real. They were different colors with white teeth and red tongues.

“I have to take some notes about all this,” said Jack.

He pulled out his notebook and pencil. Then, kneeling on the brick floor, he wrote: