The Inquisitor's Apprentice

well, Irish and Italians and … you know … that sort of people. Isn’t that right, Inquisitor Wolf? Or I mean … well … is it?”

Suddenly Sacha forgot to be offended by Lily’s crack about real Americans. Something truly strange was going on. Lily’s voice had gone all tight and scratchy during this little speech. And she had the oddest look on her face — like she was trying to trick Wolf into saying something she really didn’t want to hear.

Wolf heard it too. Sacha was sure he did. He was looking at Lily as if he felt sorry for her.

“Like I said,” he told her, “you’re much too young to worry about politics.”

By now the cabbie had turned off Broadway and begun to nose his way down Mulberry Street. They were in the heart of Chinatown. And though they were only a few blocks from Grandpa Kessler’s synagogue, Sacha barely knew these streets. He stared as they inched past gaudily painted shopfronts full of silks and spices and dusty packets of Chinese medicines. In one store, he even glimpsed a stuffed albino tiger as big as a horse, with its claws unsheathed and its teeth bared menacingly.

The street peddlers here didn’t carry their wares in pushcarts. Instead, they balanced long bamboo poles across their shoulders with red-lacquered baskets that bobbed on either end like candied apples in a carnival booth. And the smells wafting from those baskets were incredible. Caramel and curry and carp and crispy duck and a thousand other exotic delights tickled Sacha’s nose. His head was spinning and his stomach rumbling by the time the cab pulled up in front of a nondescript herbalist’s shop.

Wolf whisked them into the shop — and then straight through it and out the back door into a high-walled inner courtyard hung with so many clotheslines that they seemed to be walking under a solid roof of fluttering white sheets and linens. The shopkeeper’s entire family seemed to live around the courtyard, along with a flock of unusually lively chickens. As Sacha hurried past, he glanced through an open door and saw them all sitting down to lunch around an ingenious little table with a portable cookstove built into it.

Behind the first courtyard lay another courtyard. This one contained only a very large mulberry tree and a very tiny old man, who was carrying two fat white mice in an ornate wicker birdcage. The old man pantomimed an introduction as they raced by: Children, meet mice; mice, meet children. Wolf paused just long enough to nod politely to the mice. Then he yanked open a narrow metal door that looked like it led to a broom closet, slipped inside — and vanished.

When Sacha stepped through after him, he found himself in a place that was like nowhere he’d ever been before.

It wasn’t just the size of the place — though it seemed enormous. It was that, for the first time in his life, Sacha couldn’t hear even the faintest sound of traffic. Instead the air was filled with the chirping of crickets and the warbling of sparrows and the sharp smell of the ancient pine trees whose twisted limbs blocked out half the sky. Sacha had the eerie feeling that he was no longer in New York at all, but had stepped through some magical door into the heart of China.

At the far end of a long courtyard stood a massive wooden gate built from age-blackened timbers. It looked as if it had stood there for centuries, as did the tile-roofed building behind it. Above the gate, emblazoned on a fluttering silk banner, stretched four immense golden Chinese characters.

“What does that sign say?” Sacha asked.

Wolf smiled ever so slightly. “It says ‘White Lotus Young Ladies’ Dancing and Deportment Academy.’ But don’t worry. There are boys here too. It’s an orphanage. And it wasn’t a dancing academy even before it was an orphanage. They just call it that to stay out of trouble with the police because it’s illegal to teach … well, you’ll see.”

Wolf pulled at the bell rope beside the heavy oak door, and a deep bell tolled somewhere far off inside the building. A moment later they heard the patter of bare feet on stone, and a child opened the door for them. The child was wearing a pigtail and the same white cotton pajamas that Sacha had seen Chinese men wearing. Sacha thought it was a boy, since he was wearing pants, but he wasn’t really sure. And after another look, he wasn’t even sure if he was Chinese or not. The hair and eyes looked right. But whoever heard of a Chinese person with freckles?

The boy knew Wolf, though. He let them in with a friendly smile before vanishing into the shadows and leaving them to find their own way to wherever they were going.

Wolf led them down a dim hallway and into a cavernous space that smelled pleasantly of wet stones and soapy water. Balconies rose above them on all sides, supported by columns hewn from whole tree trunks and polished smooth by the touch of many hands. Heavy beams supported the high ceiling, and the floor was paved with massive flagstones even larger than the ones that lined New York’s sidewalks. The place felt as solemn as a church, yet it was alive with the faint sounds of children’s movement and laughter that drifted in from the surrounding rooms.

And it was alive with magic too: a magic as vast as oceans that seemed to belong to a far older city than the New York Sacha knew.

At the moment, the only person in the great room was a thin Chinese woman on her hands and knees next to a bucket of soapy water, scrubbing at the stone floor with a hard-bristled cleaning brush. Wolf glanced briefly at her. Then he walked around the edge of the room, carefully avoiding the freshly scrubbed stones, sat down on a sack of rice, and took out his newspaper as if he knew they were in for a long wait.

Sacha sat down beside Wolf, wishing he had a newspaper too.

Meanwhile the cleaning lady kept scrubbing. This was a woman who took her cleaning seriously, even by Hester Street standards. She scrubbed with intent, like a master baker rolling out his dough or an artist preparing a canvas. Or, Sacha realized, like a shammes cleaning the synagogue before a high holy Day. What was this place?

Sacha turned to Wolf, meaning to ask him. But Wolf was watching the woman too. His newspaper had dropped to his lap, forgotten, and he was staring at her with a look of longing that even a thirteen-year-old boy couldn’t mistake for anything but unrequited love. Sacha glanced sideways at Lily to see if she’d noticed — and sure enough she had that gushy, dewy-eyed look on her face that girls always got when they smelled romance in the air. Sacha wanted to shake her for mooning around like a silly girl instead of asking the obvious question: How on earth could the most famous Inquisitor in New York possibly have fallen in love with a Chinese cleaning woman?

Finally the cleaning woman gathered up her brush and bucket and slipped out of the room, leaving them alone.

“Is she going to get her master?” Sacha asked, unable to contain himself any longer.

Wolf smiled very faintly. “Not exactly.”

She came back a few minutes later — this time bearing a heavy lacquered tray piled high with tea things. She poured tea and handed around warm sweet rolls. Then she sat down opposite Wolf in a way that left Sacha quite certain she was no mere servant, even before Wolf introduced her as Shen Yunying, the proprietress of the White Lotus Young Ladies’ Dancing and Deportment Academy.

“So,” Shen said when the introductions were over, “the student returns to the master. And he comes bearing … children? You don’t think I have enough children in my life already, Max?”

Wolf muttered something that sounded like the beginning of an apology, but broke off to run a finger around the inside of his shirt collar as if it had suddenly gotten too tight. “I was hoping you could … teach them.”

Her dark eyes widened in amazement. “You want me to train a pair of Inquisitor’s apprentices? What on earth makes you think I would do that? Unless you think I owe you a favor.”

“No!” Wolf lowered his voice, struggling visibly to control himself. But when he spoke again, he still sounded angry. “You don’t owe me anything. I just thought … well, you taught Payton.”

“Payton’s different. he’s not going to be an Inquisitor.”

“He’s an Inquisitor in all but name,” Wolf said impatiently. “And if it weren’t for the color of his skin, you know damn well it would be official.”

“You make it sound like the color of a person’s skin is just an insignificant detail. Try walking around in my skin for a day.”

“Come on, Shen!” Wolf protested. “What do you want from me?”

“What do I want? You’re the one sitting in my house asking me for favors.”

“Oh, for God’s sake! You’re the most infuriating—”

Suddenly Wolf seemed to remember Sacha and Lily. To their bitter disappointment, he clammed up and