Home > Scourged (The Iron Druid Chronicles #9)(15)

Scourged (The Iron Druid Chronicles #9)(15)
Author: Kevin Hearne

But once I assure them all that they did a fantastic job, I’m allowed to visit Orlaith and see her puppies all nestled against her belly, nursing.

“Oh, my goodness, they’re so adorable!” I tell her. “How on earth did you ever manage six?”

<I was well fortified. Earnest did not neglect to feed us. But I’ve already started to worry what will happen to them all.>

I switch to our private line. What? Why are you worried? There’s no need. They’ll all be taken care of.

<But not with you and Atticus, right? Because you don’t need that many hounds. So where will they go?>

I’d been giving some thought to this during her pregnancy, because six extra hounds was quite a bit more than we could handle.

Well, how would you feel about them being the hounds of other Druids?

<What other Druids?>

Owen has six apprentices. They’re all young humans, so your puppies could grow up with them.

<Oh, yeah! I forgot!>

Maybe they would appreciate having hounds. I will make sure to ask. In any case, we have a few months before we need to make any decisions. You just do your thing and let me know if there is anything I can get for you, okay? Do you need anything?

<I’m fine right now. I just ate and drank before lying down here, and then you came home.>

Okay.

<Maybe you could stay here and tell me what you did today, though, because I’m pretty sure I smell blood. And give my ears a scratch or two?>

I would like nothing better.

Orlaith’s pups are three and three, just like their parents: Three gray-coated boys, and three cream-coated girls. Or wheaten, I suppose, is the proper term. They make tiny puppy noises every so often as they’re nursing, and it makes my heart all gooey.

You know what? I’m going to go grab myself a pillow and a blanket so I can sleep next to you. I do need to leave in the morning, but while I’m here I just want to snuggle.

<Sounds good to me!>

* * *

It’s difficult to leave Orlaith and the pups in the morning, but I must. Oberon understands and sympathizes, because Atticus had to leave him behind too.

<Sometimes you just have to do your duty,> he says. <It’s like we have a duty to chase after squirrels. You may not understand why, and we may not understand why you do the things you have to do, but we do understand duty.>

Thank you, Oberon. I give them all a hug, wave farewell to Earnest and the pups, and head for the bound tree behind the cabin, near the bank of the McKenzie River.

The bound tree in Taiwan turns out to be a Formosan gum tree, native to the island. It’s a bit elderly, indicating that no Druids or Fae have shifted here in quite some time, and I think it might be wise to bind a younger tree soon. Flidais is waiting there for me and says as much, noticing my regard.

“We should bind a stronger tree.”

We do just that, finding a younger specimen in the same area, which Flidais tells me is Yangmingshan National Park, near Taipei. My stomach audibly groans at the end of the binding, a long, hollow cry of dolor like that of a woebegone cetacean adrift in an empty sea. Flidais comments as if I had spoken a recognizable language.

“I hunger too. I know where to get really good beef noodles within a short jog out of the park, and then we can take an invention called the metro into the densely packed city, thereby avoiding a run of many miles. Have you heard of this invention? It transports many people at a time in these metal boxes that move on rails.”

I stifle a smile. “Yes, I have. Please lead the way. But tell me, how do you know this place so well?”

“Mandarin is one of my headspaces,” she says. “And Taipei is one of my favorite cities to visit.”

We travel west from the bound tree out of Yangmingshan, past hot springs and Beitou Park, onto Daye Road, where we enter an establishment called Wu’s Beef Noodles. I’ve never had them before and quickly discover that I’ve been missing out. It’s similar to phở in that you have noodles in a beef broth along with thinly shaved slices of beef, but the similarities end there. They aren’t rice noodles, for one thing, and the broth is different, as are the sauces arrayed on the side. Deeply satisfying and fortifying. I make a note to bring Orlaith here for a short break from the puppies.

The bill arrives and I experience a brief moment of panic: I have nothing resembling legal tender on me. But Flidais came prepared. She throws down Taiwanese bills and we exit, belching softly.

She leads me to the Beitou Station after that, and we ride the metro south to the Zhongshan Station in the middle of the city, and I gawk out the window like the tourist I suppose I am while I can; the Red Line is an elevated ride for half the distance before it goes underground and functions as a subway.

Like most big cities, Taipei offers the sublime alongside some truly worrisome signs for the planet’s future. The soaring tower of Taipei 101 is a marvel of modern architecture, and everyone I meet is unfailingly polite and gracious. And while it doesn’t have the apocalyptic pollution of China, where people often need to wear masks if they go outside, the air still punches the lungs with every breath, delivering a fistful of engine exhaust to the alveoli along with other assorted toxins. That’s due, no doubt, to the bewildering number of scooters on the road, which vastly outnumber cars and are not renowned for their efficient engines. People in the West think Rome has a lot of scooters—and it does—but it pales in comparison to the number in Taipei. They are everywhere, clogging the roads and parked on sidewalks.

And foot massages appear to be popular here. Not that I can read Mandarin, but I certainly can see neon footprint signs all over the place and make an inference. These aren’t relaxing massages, I’m guessing, or the kind of foot massages that Jules and Vincent Vega thought would cause Marsellus Wallace to defenestrate Tony Rocky Horror in Pulp Fiction, but rather intense sessions where pressure points on the foot are plied to improve all manner of health issues, redirecting chi.

I see so many places I want to visit and explore on the way: The Grand Hotel on my left, perched on a hilltop, looking like a beautiful red and gold palace. The Taipei Expo, an old football stadium that’s now a park and gardens. There are some boutique clothing shops and some open-air markets down certain streets hawking everything from fresh fruit to lightning chargers, but I also see large malls full of clothing stores displaying brands from America, Britain, and Australia. Huge posters of Hollywood movies drape over buildings with Mandarin characters on them, and I love it. I think I want to learn Mandarin next after I’m finished learning Polish. Perhaps a nice collection of poets from one of the dynasties would provide a decent headspace.

We exit the train at Zhongshan Station, an underground stop, and I grin at the people teeming around me. There’s a big bookstore down there and I want to browse, even though I can’t read the language yet. “I see why you like it here,” I tell Flidais. “Where next?”

“Time to see Sun Wukong.”

“Is he far away, meditating at the top of a mountain or something?”

“No, he runs a bubble tea shop in Twatutia.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s the oldest part of Taipei, in the Datong District.”

“No, I mean, the bubble tea thing. What is a Buddha like the Monkey King doing there?”

Flidais shrugs. “I assume he must truly enjoy it,” she says, climbing the stairs out of the station. “Immortals do things like this sometimes. Back in the late eighteenth century, I secretly ran a pub in Dublin with Goibhniu for nine months, until a mortal tasked with policing our treaty pointed out that the Tuatha Dé Danann were supposed to remain in Tír na nÓg. It was an amusing occupation while it lasted. I would guess the Monkey King seeks to keep himself busy by bringing a bit of enlightenment to the mortals. Eternity is a long time to spend doing nothing, after all.”

We start to jog down Nanjing West Road, taking deep stinging breaths every few steps, but quickly discover that too many beef noodles are sloshing around in our stomachs, so we slow to a walk and enjoy the bustle of the city. I am nearly run over by a scooter at one point and am so glad I wasn’t. Easy to laugh about it now, but that would have been a stupid way to die.

   
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