Tiger (12 page)

Fu shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He must be seeing things.

The Drunkard spoke with a deep, gravelly voice.

“What is your name?”

“Fu.”

The Drunkard paused. One eyebrow raised up. “Who would give you the name
Tiger?”

“My temple's Grandmaster.”

“Your name is Cantonese,” the Drunkard said, stumbling closer. “But Canton is very far from here. What temple are you from?”

Fu folded his arms. “What do you care?”

“What do you care that I care?”

Fu cocked his head to one side. “Why do you answer my question with a question?”

“Why are you so reluctant to answer?”

Fu leaned back, frustrated. “You talk like a monk, you filthy bum.”

“Perhaps that is because I've spent some time with monks,” the Drunkard said, smiling.

“Sure you have.”

“Surely, I have,” the Drunkard said.

Fu sneered. “Next you're going to tell me that the
monks you spent time with were from the great Shaolin Temple, right?” Fu leaned forward.

The Drunkard leaned forward, too. “Perhaps,” he said. The Drunkard lost his balance and stumbled into the cage. It shook violently.

Fu leaned back. “You're pathetic. You only say that because Shaolin is so famous, even a lowly, homeless Drunkard would have heard of it. What would you know about Shaolin?”

The Drunkard brushed his tangled hair to the side. “I know that the monks there never attack innocent villagers.”

Fu banged his fists against the front of the cage. “That's not fair! I said I was sorry!”

The hair fell back over the Drunkard's eyes. He continued to stare but said nothing more.

“What more can I do?” Fu asked. “I made a mistake, but I am not entirely at fault. Those hunters should share some of the blame.”

“Really?” the Drunkard asked.

“Really!” Fu said. “Listen to what I have to say, Drunkard, since no one else in this stupid village will. I am a Cangzhen monk. My temple was secret, founded by Shaolin monks who fought for Truth and defended Justice. We were recently attacked and our temple was destroyed by a traitor, and I've been sent to find others to help me stop the traitor before he ruins even more lives. That traitor is none other than Major Ying. In my search for help, I happened across some men hunting tigers for sport, one of whom was
the Governor. As a Cangzhen monk, I cannot stand around while tigers are destroyed for no reason.”

“No reason?” the Drunkard said. “Did the hunters tell you that they were only hunting for sport?”

“They didn't say that they weren't,” Fu replied.

“Perhaps you should have asked them what they were doing before you attacked.”

“I
saw
what they were doing!” Fu said.

“Not everything is the way it looks, young man,” the Drunkard said in a fatherly tone. “Sometimes you need to listen, too. You've said it yourself.”

Fu slammed his fist down on the floor of the cage. “They had nothing to say!”

“Really?” the Drunkard asked.

“Really!”

“Tell me then, monk—what do you think of the Governor?”

Fu rolled his eyes. “He is a fool.”

“Really?”

“Really! Really! Really!” Fu said, slamming his fist down again. “A thousand times, really! Only a fool would promise those scrolls to Ying.”

The Drunkard scratched his scraggly beard. “How is the Governor to know what Major Ying might do with the scrolls?”

“I was
trying
to tell him!” Fu replied. “All the Governor had to do was listen to me for a second.”

“So you're saying that anyone who doesn't listen to you is a fool?”

“Yes! I mean, no!” Fu took a deep breath and
paused. “What I mean is, anyone who doesn't listen in general is a fool.”

“Okay, that's fair,” the Drunkard said. He sat down on the ground in front of Fu. “I have something to say, then. Are you listening?”

Fu rolled his eyes again but kept his mouth closed and his ears open.

“The Governor's wife was killed by that tiger you saw in the pit this morning,” the Drunkard said.

“What!” Fu shouted. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“I say it because it is true,” the Drunkard replied. “And remember Ho, the boy you attacked? She was Ho's mother.”

“How … how do you know this to be true?” Fu asked. He felt dizzy.

“I saw some things and heard many more. But you can decide for yourself. Did the tiger in the pit have a broken spear in its shoulder? A decorated spear?”

“Yes, it did,” Fu said. “One of the hunters must have stabbed it while it was in the pit.”

“No. That is not necessarily true. You see, several days ago Ho and his mother and father were out near the forest's edge looking for wild mushrooms, and a tiger attacked Ho's mother without warning. The Governor happened to be carrying one of his fancy spears to scare off thieves, and as the beast dragged his wife away, he bravely ran up and sank the spear deep into the tiger's shoulder. This I saw with my very own eyes, having been drawn to the scene by Ho's cries. I
ran up to help the Governor, and the spear broke. The wounded tiger released the woman and fled with its cub, but it was too late. Ho's mother's spirit never made it out of the forest.”

Fu couldn't believe his ears. However, the look in the Drunkard's eyes told him that the man was telling the truth. His dizziness grew worse.

“Once a tiger has hunted a human,” the Drunkard said, “it will very likely do so again. Especially if it is wounded or lame like this one was with the spear in its shoulder. Even more so if it has a cub to feed. So you see, the Governor had no choice but to hunt down the tiger.”

Fu lowered his eyes.

“And here's something else you should know,” the Drunkard said. “The cage in which you now sit was not built to keep the tigers from getting out; it was built to keep the villagers from getting in. The plan was to destroy the mother and its cub and bring their bodies back here to throw in the cage for all to see. These villagers would tear the tigers' bodies to shreds with their teeth, they are so upset about the loss. If not for the cage, they might tear
you
to shreds.”

Fu lay down. He was so dizzy now that he could not sit up any longer. To think, he once considered the Governor's son lucky.

“I—I understand why they would be upset with the adult tiger,” Fu stammered. “But why kill the cub?”

The Drunkard stood up. “It is said that once a tiger has had a taste of man, it will always be a man-eater.
Perhaps the cub did not bite the Governor's wife, but it saw what its mother did. The Governor did not want to take any chances.”

Fu felt nauseous. The cage was spinning fast now, and the food he had devoured earlier rose to the back of his throat. He coughed, struggling to focus on the point where the Drunkard stood. But the Drunkard was no longer there. Fu opened his mouth to say something, but the pressure on the back of his throat was too great. He coughed again. Then he shook his head and closed his eyes.

Y
ing crouched behind the fire he had built at the front corner of the Cangzhen compound, near the Forgotten Pagoda. He watched his shadow dance on the perimeter wall and listened closely to the sounds of the night. Ever since the young monks had fled Cangzhen, Ying had felt like he was being watched. He couldn't tell where the watcher was positioned, which could only mean one thing. There was only one person alive who could fly this close beneath his nose and not be seen.

Tonglong approached Ying from the opposite side of the large campfire.

“Greetings, sir,” Tonglong said. “I hope all is well with you this fine evening.”

Ying grunted and stood. He stared over the flames at his number one soldier. “Tell me, Tonglong—since the men seem to think you're so clever—what is the best way to catch a crane?”

Tonglong paused and leaned back on his boot heels. “A crane? You mean the large water bird? I've never hunted one—are they tasty?”

“I don't know,” Ying said, turning away. “Perhaps we will find out.”

“What do you intend to do?”

Ying took a deep breath. “I sense someone has been watching us for quite some time, and I think it is Hok—one of my former brothers.”

“One of the young monks?” Tonglong said. “Commander Woo and the men seem certain we're being watched by restless spirits.”

“Commander Woo is a superstitious fool.”

Tonglong rubbed his strong jaw. “He is what he is, Major Ying. If you want to change his mind—and the minds of the men—you'll need to catch this Hok.”

“I don't care about changing anyone's mind,” Ying scowled, pivoting around to face Tonglong. “I only want to catch Hok.”

“I see,” Tonglong said. “May I ask you a question, sir?”

Ying grunted.

“Perhaps it is because I'm Cantonese, but I'm curious about something.
Hok
is the Cantonese word for ‘crane'; likewise
Ying
is the Cantonese word for ‘eagle.' Why do you Cangzhen monks have Cantonese
names? Your temple was not in Canton. Everyone in this region speaks Mandarin Chinese—including you.”

Ying frowned. “Grandmaster was from Canton. He wanted to keep the temple secret, so he gave us all Cantonese names and taught us to speak Cantonese as a second language. If we were ever away from the temple, we were supposed to speak Cantonese and pretend that we were just passing through the area.”

Tonglong's eyebrows raised. “You were supposed to lie?”

“Yes,” Ying replied.

“But
Cangzhen
means ‘hidden truth,' does it not?”

“Yes.”

Tonglong looked off to one side. “It seems odd that your temple is called
truth,
but you were asked to lie.”

“I know,” Ying said, watching Tonglong closely.

“What was the big secret?”

“Grandmaster never told us,” replied Ying, his eyes still glued to Tonglong. “But I have my suspicions. Why are you so curious?”

“I'm just making conversation,” Tonglong said, glancing over at Ying. “Also, I find it interesting. I am sorry if I have offended you.”

“I appreciate your curiosity,” Ying said. “But I have trouble trusting people.”

“If you do not trust people, you make them untrustworthy,” Tonglong said.

“I know that!” Ying snapped. “It's an old Buddhist proverb. But proverbs mean nothing to me. They are
just words. Actions have far more meaning than words.”

Tonglong folded his hands. “But words can change a person's heart.”

“So can actions!” Ying raised a fist. “But I doubt you would understand my position.”

“I might,” Tonglong said calmly. “I have been through quite a bit myself.”

“Really?” Ying said, leaning forward. “My entire family is dead.”

“Mine, too,” Tonglong replied.

“Oh? What about friends? Did you ever have a best friend?”

“Yes, once,” Tonglong said.

“Did he die?” Ying spat.
“Right in front of you?”

“Actually, yes,” Tonglong said.

“I don't believe it,” said Ying, looking away.

“Believe it or don't, that is your choice. I will tell you about it, if you would like to listen.”

“I don't care about your experiences!” Ying said. “And I no longer feel like talking!”

Tonglong responded respectfully, “Sir, I did not come over here expecting a conversation. I came over only to say hello. But since we're talking, I would greatly appreciate it if you would answer one or two more questions. For the men—I will pass the information along.”

Ying nodded once.

Tonglong tapped his chin. “I know that the large young monk called Fu escaped with his life, and now
you've mentioned one called Hok. That is two. What are the names of the three?”

“Malao, Seh, and Long.”

“Monkey, Snake, Dragon?” Tonglong said. “Are all Cangzhen monks named after animals?”

“No,” Ying said. “Just those five are, plus myself. There was a seventh, but he is no more.”

Tonglong's head tilted to one side. “What was his name?”

Ying paused, closing his eyes. “His name was Luk.”

“Deer?”
Tonglong asked, surprised.

“Yes!” Ying said, opening his eyes. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“I am sorry, sir,” Tonglong said in a sincere tone. “Please do not be offended by this, but I can't imagine a deer being a very dangerous fighter. They're so … timid.”

“You would not question the style if you'd ever seen Luk in action!” Ying sneered. “He was unbeatable with antler knives in his hands.”

“Again, I am sorry, sir.” Tonglong paused, staring into the fire. “Your voice is filled with sadness and anger. Why?”

“Luk was my best friend,” Ying replied.

“How did he die?” Tonglong asked, looking up. “Was it some kind of accident?”

“It was no accident!” Ying shouted, suddenly bursting with energy. His eyes glowered at Tonglong from the opposite side of the fire. “It was all Grandmaster's fault! Grandmaster took a group of us
on a mission for the new Emperor. We killed hundreds. The Emperor wanted to reward us handsomely, but Grandmaster refused to accept anything for our efforts. The Emperor noticed my frustration and offered me a special reward if I would do him a favor. The favor required two people, so Luk came with me. Things went wrong, and Luk died.”