Monkey (11 page)

“A tiger, sir,” the soldier replied in a hoarse whisper.

“A tiger?”
Ying said. “Are you sure?”

The man nodded ever so slightly. “A young tiger came out of nowhere to aid the boy called Fu, just like the monkeys helped the one called Malao earlier.”

Ying's carved face darkened. “Where are the boys?”

“Gone, sir.”

Ying paused. “Weren't there more men with you?”

“Yes There were five of us.”

“What happened to the other two men?”

“Gone, sir. Chased off by the tiger.”

Ying pointed to Tonglong and the other soldier in the clearing. “Are those two still alive?”

“I think so …,” the soldier muttered, “… just knocked unconscious by the boys. Those boys are not… normal, sir.”

“You don't have to tell
me
that,” Ying snarled. “How long have the boys been loose?”

“I'm not sure, sir. I keep passing out. But I think they ran off as soon as I fired the
qiang”

Ying looked up at the sun. “By the time we wake those two up and get back to camp, it will be late. There seems to be no point in trying to search for the boys after nightfall. You men can't even seem to get things done in the daylight.”

“I'm sorry, sir.”

“You should be.”

“No, sir,” the soldier said. “You don't understand

I'm sorry because I can't answer any more questions

I'm going to sleep now. …”

With that, the man closed his eyes and began to snore.

Ying shook his head. For the first time ever, one of his men had done exactly what he said he was going to do.

Ying spat and walked over to Tonglong.

Tonglong appeared to be unconscious. He lay on his stomach, with no identifiable wounds on his back. Ying rolled Tonglong over. The only injury Ying could find was a large lump on Tonglong's forehead, over his left temple. Ying scowled. He knew firsthand that Fu and Malao both had foreheads like iron and could wield them like weapons.

As Ying stared at the lump, his frustration grew. To him, the lump was a symbol of his men's continued failure. The lump pulsed in time with Tonglong's heartbeat, a pink beacon reminding Ying that his future had just taken another step backward.

Ying bent one arm sharply and drove his elbow into the lump. Tonglong's entire body spasmed, then relaxed.

Ying grabbed Tonglong by his thick ponytail braid and dragged him toward the horse, ignoring the two remaining soldiers. He was determined to make it back to camp before sunset.

“
C
ome on,” Malao said. “We need to keep moving while it's still daylight.”

“No,” Fu replied, sucking wind. He plopped down on the forest floor. “I need a break. I don't care if Ying and his men catch up. My legs are killing me.”

Malao rolled his eyes and walked over to Fu's side. He sat down and adjusted his singed robe. The decorated stick poked him in the ribs, but he didn't mind. He was just happy Captain Yue hadn't searched him before tying him up.

Malao scratched his head. “Where do you think we are?”

“Still pretty close to Ying's camp,” Fu replied. “I can smell them cooking dinner.”

“Dinner?” Malao said. “I'm starving. What are they cooking?”

Fu sighed. “Does it really matter? It's not like we're going to get any. I'd rather not talk about food right now.”

Malao began to fidget. “Okay, let's talk about something else, then. How about Hok? He didn't look so good back there.”

“Hok's fine. You know how tough he is. He's probably just exhausted. Who knows what he went through with Tonglong.”

“I guess you're right,” Malao said. He scratched his head again. “Do you think what Hok overheard about Grandmaster killing Ying's father is true?”

“I don't know what to think anymore,” Fu grumbled.

“What about the other things Hok said? Like Cangzhen being a base for secret activities and Grandmaster being some kind of powerful leader?”

“I said,
I don't know what to think,
Malao. Now will you please be quiet?”

“Fine,” Malao said. He stood and stretched. “You know, I can't believe Hok went to Shaolin Temple without us.”

Fu growled and stared at Malao. “Why are you still talking?”

Malao folded his arms and pouted.

“You could have gone with Hok, you know,” Fu said. “No one forced you to stay here.”

“But I felt bad for you, Pussycat. You looked so
lonely back there. I didn't want you to start crying or anything.”

“Watch it,” Fu said.

Malao giggled. “So what are we going to do about the scrolls?”

“I don't know. I'll think of something. Now, would you mind keeping your rice hole closed? I need to think in peace.”

Malao turned away. “Have it your way,” he said with a huff. He walked over to the base of a large elm and sprang up onto the lowest branch. As he scanned the tree looking for a suitable resting spot, the scent of cooking drifted past his nose.

Mmmm,
Malao thought.
It smells like mushroom soup.
His eyes suddenly widened and he leaped down from the tree, crashing into Fu.

“What the—” Fu began to say.

“Mushrooms! Mushrooms! Mushrooms!” Malao chanted. “Fu, do you think you can take me to the trail Tonglong's men cut through the forest?”

“Probably. Why?”

“I've got a plan, that's why! And it's a good one! Come on, Pussycat, we need to hurry. We've only got until sunset!”

“You look ridiculous,” Fu said.

“Do you have any better ideas?” Malao asked.

Fu didn't respond.

Malao smirked. “That's what I thought. Now keep quiet. Ying and his men may come along any moment.”

Malao adjusted the clumps of grass poking out of his sleeves and tightened the large bundle tied to his head. He walked over to a cluster of mushrooms and smiled. Just as he suspected—sleeping mushrooms. He'd recognized them when they'd passed by earlier with Tonglong and the soldiers. Malao picked two handfuls and tied them up in the lower corner of his robe. Now all he needed was Ying's pouch of powdered dragon bone to set his plan in motion.

“Let's go,” Malao whispered. He crept silently through the evening shadows toward Ying's camp, staying close to the makeshift trail that had led them into the forest with Tonglong. Fu followed, but Malao noticed he looked uneasy. A moment later, Fu signaled to Malao that he heard someone up ahead. Malao motioned for Fu to follow him up a large oak tree. Fu did so without comment. Malao grinned. He was enjoying being the boss for once.

Malao settled into the tree's enormous arms and crossed his legs. He formed a makeshift table on his lap with his robe and untied the knot around the mushrooms. Carefully, he laid each one upside down on his lap and removed the stems. He picked up a mushroom cap and flipped it over into his cupped palm, running a finger across the gills. Tiny spores sprinkled into his hand. He grabbed another cap, and then another, until he had collected spores from all of them.

Malao closed his fist tightly around the spores and stood, brushing the mushroom caps and stems to the
ground. They bounced noisily off the large, crunchy leaves that littered the forest floor beneath the oak.

Fu stuck his head around the tree trunk and glared at Malao. “Shhh! I think—” Fu stopped in mid-sentence and snapped his head back around to his side of the tree.

Malao peeked around the tree and squinted into the setting sun. He saw a stocky soldier hobbling in their direction. The soldier had a splint on one leg and carried a large leather bag over one shoulder. He also carried a long forked stick. Malao recognized the soldier as Commander Woo, the man who had held the goblet for Ying when he'd seen Ying bleed a snake.

Malao nodded to Fu. Fu returned the nod and hunched over, preparing to pounce.

But Commander Woo never looked up. He took a quick look around the base of the tree, then limped off into the forest.

Fu looked at Malao. Malao shrugged.

“It's better that he didn't see us,” Malao whispered as he folded the bundle of grass down over his face. “Trust me. Now, you follow him from the ground and I'll follow him from the trees. Don't attack unless it's absolutely necessary. Stick to the plan.”

“We'll see,” Fu replied. He leaped silently out of the tree and took cover in a thick bush.

Malao tightened his fist around the spores and jumped into a nearby tree. He paused a few moments before springing into a third. Malao looked down.
Commander Woo was directly below him, opening the leather bag.

Malao watched as Commander Woo set the forked stick aside and eased himself onto the ground. He rummaged through the leather bag and removed the pouch of dragon bone, a small spoon, and the goblet. The Commander steadied the goblet on the ground and opened the silk pouch clumsily. He dumped a spoonful of the powder into the goblet and retied the pouch. As Commander Woo put the pouch and the spoon back into the leather bag, Malao dropped out of the tree and wiggled from head to toe in the half-light, his grassy outline shimmering.

“What do you think you are going to do with that powder?” Malao asked in the same ghastly voice he had used back at Cangzhen.

Commander Woo looked up and his entire body jolted. His mouth moved like he was talking, but no words came out.

Malao choked back a giggle. “I see you've heard of me, Commander. Your men knew I would return if they mentioned me to anyone.”

“W-what does that have to do with me?” Commander Woo asked. “I didn't tell anyone about you.”

“Liar!” Malao said. “I know you told that witchcraft amateur Ying about me. Say goodbye to this life, Commander Woo. I have come to swallow your soul!”

“No!” Commander Woo said. “P-please, I'll do anything you ask.”

“Anything?”

“Yes!”

“Give me the dragon bone.”

Commander Woo paused. “B-but it doesn't belong to me. It's Major Ying's.”

“Would you like me to summon the spirit of the dragon that once called those bones his own?” Malao asked. “I'm sure he'd be happy to meet the man who is making a drink with his remains.”

“No!” Commander Woo said. “What if—”

A low growl erupted from a large bush behind Commander Woo. The Commander spun around.

Malao quickly brushed the mushroom spores from his hand into the goblet.

Commander Woo looked back at Malao. “W-what was that noise?”

“The dragon, you fool,” Malao said, trying desperately not to giggle. Fu was supposed to have hissed, not growled.

Commander Woo's eyes widened.

A voice suddenly rang out from the direction of the camp. “Commander Woo? Is that you?”

Malao recognized that voice. It was Tonglong.

Commander Woo turned toward the voice, and Malao disappeared into the undergrowth.

“
W
hat's going on here?” Tonglong asked.

Commander Woo stood awkwardly, favoring his injured leg. He held the goblet in one hand and the forked stick in the other.

“You're up and walking around already, sir?” Commander Woo said. “Shouldn't you be recuperating from that blow you took to the head? I heard that the young monk called Fu used his Iron Head kung fu to—”

“I'm fine, Commander,” Tonglong said. “Thank you for your concern. Now answer my question, please.”

“I was about to prepare a special drink for Major Ying,” Commander Woo said. “But I was, aahhh, sidetracked. I still need to catch a snake, so I'd better get going.”

Tonglong looked in the goblet. “Snake blood and dragon bone?”

“Yes, sir,” Commander Woo replied.

“Foolish witchcraft mumbo jumbo,”
Tonglong muttered.

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Never mind. Who were you talking to?”

“No one, sir,” Commander Woo said. “I was, aahhh, talking to myself. I feel foolish that you heard me.”

Tonglong looked Commander Woo in the eye. “Commander, have I ever lied to you?”

“No, sir. W-why do you ask?”

“Because I hold truth above all things,” Tonglong said. “And I would be greatly disappointed if I ever learned that one of my peers lied to me.”

“Your peers, sir?” Commander Woo said.

Tonglong smiled and put his hand on Commander Woo's shoulder. “Look, Commander. I know that I'm technically Major Ying's number one man and you're technically his number two. But the way I see it, we're equals. We have the same responsibilities and we do the same things. We're peers in my eyes. I would never lie to a peer for any reason. Peers need to stick together.”