Day of the Dragon King - Mary Pope Osborne [5]
“And millions of books,” said Annie. “And no one burns them.”
“Right,” said Jack. “Everyone gets to go to school to learn to read them.”
The scholar stared at him and shook his head.
“It sounds like paradise,” he said.
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