Century #4: Dragon of Seas Read Free Page B

arranged.
    As he’s gathering the pages, Sheng explains to his mother that someone from the agency must have accidentally given out their home number instead of the office number.
    She doesn’t seem so convinced. “But why did it start up all on its own?”
    “Because that’s how it needs to work, Mom,” Sheng says. “When someone sends us a fax, we receive it.”
    “You mean other people decide when this contraption starts up?”
    “In a way, yeah.”
    “And we can’t prevent it?”
    “Well, no … not if we keep it on.”
    “It’s terrible. Typically Western. It means there’s no respect for our privacy.”
    “Mom, it’s a fax machine!”
    “Do you think it’s normal for someone to barge into our house without permission? I just don’t understand you and your father. You call this progress? It’s an invasion!”
    Sheng sighs. There’s no point arguing with someone so stuck in the past. He picks up the sheets addressed to his father and glances over them: the writer is requesting a cultural exchange in Paris so he can learn French.
    Still holding the pages, Sheng drops his arms to his sides, as if the flood of memories from his recent, turbulent summer in Paris is dragging him down. The stifling heat, the halls of the Louvre, the race through the city guided by Napoleon’s clock, the rickety old motor scooter he and Elettra rode to Mistral’s place …
    He runs his finger under his collar and discovers he’s sweating.
    The fax spits out the last page.
    Sheng notices the date printed at the top of it. September 18.
    “Oh, no!” he exclaims.
    It’s already September 18.
    And he forgot he’s supposed to meet someone.
    “Mom!” he calls to her, breathless. “I gotta go!”
    “But you just got home.”
    “A friend of mine is arriving at the station today!”
    “What friend? Tell me it isn’t one of those—”
    “Mom, please! But yeah, he is. He’s one of those Coca-Cola, jeans, comic books and computer friends!”
    His mom is so horrified, she looks ready to faint. “You aren’t bringing him back here to sleep, are you?”
    “No, he’s staying at a hotel.”
    “Of course, and I bet he’s staying at one of those hotels for big-spending billionaires.”
    “Mom, there are more big-spending billionaires in China than where they live!”
    His mother stares at him, a suspicious look in her eye. “I don’t know you anymore, son. I don’t know you anymore.”
    Sheng goes back to the gate, slings his backpack over his shoulder and gets ready to leave a second time. But before he opens the door, he peers out at the alley. It’s a couple of meters wide, gray and crowded with people.
    “At least take these,” his mom says, handing him a little bag full of rice balls. “That way you’ll have something to eat.”
    Sheng smiles at the kind gesture. “Thanks, Mom.”
    They’re probably awful, like most of his mother’s cooking, but it’s the thought that counts.
    “You wouldn’t happen to be in love, would you?” his mother asks, ruffling his jet-black hair.
    Sheng turns away, his face flushing.
Is it so easy to see?
he thinks, running outside to go to the central station.
    “Is that you, Mistral?” Cecile Blanchard asks when the girl walks into the apartment. She’s in the dining room, leaning over the table, which they’ve turned into the base of operations for their investigation. “I was looking all over for—” She stops, puzzled by her daughter’s elegant dress. A second later, she slaps her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Your exam!”
    “Audition.”
    Cecile rushes over to hug her. “How could I forget! Well, how did it go?”
    Mistral smiles. “They accepted me.”
    “Why, that’s wonderful! Then we need to … celebrate!”
    “Mm-hmm.” Mistral nods, putting down her purse made of aluminum pull tabs from Coke cans.
    Her description of the audition is calm. She doesn’t show any enthusiasm or particular emotion. Or criticism for her mother’s