Bridge Of Birds (21 page)

“That horrible thing is crawling up on top of the ruins of the palace!” Miser Shen yelled.
“If it gets on top of the wall and we keep circling like this we'll run right into it!”

He was right, but nothing could persuade the Bamboo Dragonfly to change course. Flames and
black smoke spurted out behind us, and with one more circle we would be in the clutches of
the Hand from Hell.

“Take off your tunics!” Master Li yelled. “Try using them as rudders!”

We ripped off our tunics and spread them behind us to catch the wind, and by some miracle
it worked. Just as we reached the wall we suddenly veered to the left, and the Hand must
have snatched at us because the slabs on top of the wall began to teeter precariously.
Then the wall fell apart, and stones tumbled down into the lake of lava, and then there
was an enormous splash that sent fiery molten rock a hundred feet into the air.

The monster slowly rose to the surface. What had been invisible was now covered with black
lava, and we gazed in terror at an enormous hairy hand, perhaps sixty feet long. The palm
was up, and the fingers were tightly clenched, and suddenly it jerked convulsively and the
fingers opened. They weren't fingers at all, but the legs of a giant spider, and the heel
and palm was a loathsome bloated sac! A cluster of evil eyes glared up at us, and a
hideous round mouth opened and displayed a circle of gigantic pointed teeth, and then lava
poured into the mouth and the Hand That No One Sees sank forever beneath the fiery surface
of the lake.

The Bamboo Dragonfly flew steadily on, and the tragic shattered city faded behind us. We
sat in shaken silence, and finally Li Kao cleared his throat.

“I suspect that it was simply an oversized relative of the common trapdoor spider,” he
said thoughtfully. “Invisible, because before the eruption it had lived underground, where
there was no need for sight perception. Nature is astonishingly adaptable, and there are a
great many sea creatures that have become transparent to the point of invisibility, and a
few insects.”

He turned and gazed back as the city dwindled to a tiny speck in an endless expanse of
white salt.

“It really is a pity that we couldn't keep the body to study. I would have liked to learn
how it managed to eat during the centuries after it devoured the inhabitants of the city,
and whether its eyes were atavistic or acquired. A remarkable specimen! Nonetheless,” said
Master Li, “I do not think that we will mourn its passing.”

Hour after hour the palm-leaf blades whirled overhead and flames and smoke spurted out
behind us as the incredible Bamboo Dragonfly flew across the searing white salt. We used
our tunics to guide us around whirlwinds, and the heat from the desert was like fiery
fingers that pushed us higher and higher into the sky. With the last light of the setting
sun, Miser Shen pointed ahead to a long dark line on the horizon.

“Those are trees!” he exclaimed. “The Desert of Salt is coming to an end.”

The best proof of that lay in the dark clouds that were building up. Lightning flickered
in the distance, and I doubted that it had rained in the desert for a thousand years.

“Gentlemen, we could be in bad trouble if the basket that we're riding in fills with
water,” Li Kao pointed out.

We pried three bamboo pieces from the framework at the bottom of the basket, which not
only made a drainage hole but also provided us with three poles for umbrellas. Thin strips
from the circular rim provided the frames, and our trousers served as the covers. We
finished just in time. Lightning flashed and thunder roared and rain fell in torrents, but
we clutched our umbrellas and sailed through the storm quite comfortably.

“I have always wanted to fly through a thunderstorm!” Master Li shouted happily.

“Magnificent!” Miser Shen and I yelled as one.

It really was spectacular, and we were rather disappointed when the storm passed and the
moon and stars came out. Wind whistled around our ears and a river gleamed like silver far
below us. The Bamboo Dragonfly flew steadily on, and flames and smoke spurted out behind
us as we drifted gently across the deep purple sky of China; a tiny spark that flickered
beneath the glow of a million billion trillion stars.

Miser Shen dozed off, and then Master Li, and I rode through the night staring up at the
stars and down at the moonlit earth far below. The sensation of flight was far different
from that which I had experienced in my dreams, and to tell the truth, I far preferred
dream flight. Then I was like a bird, using the wind like the current of a stream,
delighting in almost total freedom, but now I was simply a passenger riding in a basket
beneath whirling blades, and I silently chided myself for being too cloddish to appreciate
properly an experience that was very close to being miraculous. Master Li was also chiding
himself, as I learned when he began to mutter in his sleep, but for a different reason.

“Fool,” he muttered. “Blind as a bat. Use your head.” Then he shifted restlessly and
scratched his nose. “Why not
on
the island, waiting at the end of the bridge?” he muttered angrily. “Stupid! Makes no
sense.”

He fell silent again, and it occurred to me that if he was dreaming about the Hand That No
One Sees, he had a good reason to think that it made no sense. Assuming that the Hand
guarded the duke's treasure trove, as the tide had guarded the first one, why not put the
monster on the island silently and invisibly waiting at the other end of that narrow
bridge? Anyone who approached the treasure would simply be serving breakfast in bed to a
hungry spider.

“Children,” Master Li muttered, restlessly turning and shifting. “Games. Stupid or
childish? A little boy?”

He sighed and his breathing grew more regular, and then I heard nothing but deep snores.
Miser Shen was dreaming too, and a tear was trickling down the sharp curve of his nose. He
was making faint sounds, and I leaned close.

“Ah Chen,” he whispered, “your father is here.”

He said no more, and finally I too fell asleep. When I awoke I discovered that we were
flying through pink and orange clouds, pale against a turquoise sky, and the morning sun
was shining upon mountain peaks all around us as Li Kao and Miser Shen used their tunics
to guide the Bamboo Dragonfly through a narrow pass where fantastic trees precariously
perched, spreading their branches to capture wisps of clouds and to weave them into the
patterns of dreams, like the landscapes of Mei Fei. I yawned and spread my tunic behind me
like a rudder, and we passed so close to one high jagged peak that I let go with one hand
and reached out and scooped up a handful of snow, which tasted delicious. Then we sailed
through the pass and began to fly over a beautiful green valley, where tiny wisps of smoke
drifted up from fields where farmers were burning weeds, and the breeze was fragrant with
wet earth and trees and grass and flowers.

Around mid-morning the tubes of Fire Drug began to sputter and fizzle. The palm-leaf
blades whirled slower and slower, and we began to descend toward a small village nestled
beside a broad river. You may be sure that peasants gathered from miles around to watch
the gradual descent of a fire-breathing bird from Heaven. We hovered above the village
square, and the Fire Drug produced one final spurt of flame and puff of black smoke, and
then we settled lightly to earth. The crowd gaped at three Chinese gentlemen, tastefully
attired in loincloths and money belts, who stepped grandly from the basket clutching
umbrellas.

“My surname is Li and my personal name is Kao, and there is a slight flaw in my
character,” said Master Li with a polite bow. “This is my esteemed client, Number Ten Ox,
and this is Old Generosity, formerly known as Miser Shen. We hereby donate the incredible
Bamboo Dragonfly to your delightful village. Build a fence around it! Charge admission!
Your fortunes shall be made. And now you may direct us to the nearest wineshop, for we
intend to stay drunk for a week.”

Miser Shen would have liked to do just that, but by some incredible stroke of luck our
flying machine had brought us very close to the Cavern of Bells. It was only a short
distance downstream, so we bought a boat and shoved off into the current, and two days
later Miser Shen pointed ahead.

“Stone Bell Mountain,” he said. “The entrance to the Cavern of Bells is at the water's
edge, and we should be able to sail right inside.”

Li Kao nudged my arm.

“Ox, I have heard that the duke's tax trip takes him past Stone Bell Mountain,” he
whispered. “If the painting in the Cavern of Bells is as Miser Shen described it, then the
Duke of Ch'in may have more than a casual interest in the place.”

I remembered his earlier warning, and I peered around fearfully for two-hundred-foot
armor-plated winged water moccasins as our little boat glided through the dark entrance.
But then I cried out in wonder and delight. It was like sailing into one of those
beautiful undersea palaces in Buddhist fairy tales. Sunlight from the entrance struck
emerald water that glittered like green fire, and then the rays bounced up the stone walls
that were studded with crystals that sparkled with every color of the spectrum. It was a
world wrapped in rainbows. The strangest rocks that I had ever seen pointed up through the
water and down from the roof. They were like spears, but turned around so that the thick
handles pointed out. Li Kao had never visited the cavern before, but he had read a great
deal about it.

“The bell stones,” he said. “When the water rises, it strikes the stones on the bottom,
which ring like bells, and the vibration causes the stones on the ceiling to respond with
bell sounds of their own. The phenomenon is called sympathetic resonance. Deeper in the
cavern are other stones formed from soft rock, through which tiny holes have been worn,
and when the water rushes through the holes it provides more music to accompany the bells.
Su Tung-po has written an interesting monograph on the subject.”

We reached a wooden pier and tied our boat to one of the posts. A flight of stone steps
led up to the great hall of the cavern, where a shrine had been set up. We appeared to be
the only visitors, and the shrine was tended by four monks. Three of them wore black
robes, and the fourth wore crimson, and the one in crimson came trotting up. He was a tiny
fellow with a high squeaking voice.

“May Buddha be with you,” he said with a deep bow. “I am the custodian of the Temple of
the Peddler, and my three brother monks belong to a different order nearby. In the passage
to your left you will find the sacred painting of the deity of the Cavern of Bells. It is
very ancient and very mysterious, and neither I nor my predecessors truly understand it.
It is undeniably divine, and I live in hopes that some day a visitor will be able to
explain it to me. May you be the wise visitors I seek,” he said with another bow. “Will
you forgive me if I do not accompany you? My brothers and I are slowly going mad as we
attempt to balance our subscription books.”

The little monk pattered back to join the others, and we walked down the passageway that
he had indicated. At the end of it there were flickering torches that framed something
upon the wall, and Miser Shen pointed to it.

“The painting that I spoke of,” he said, while Li Kao and I stared at ghosts.

There could be no question about it. The painting depicted an old peddler with his back to
us who was facing the murdered maiden whose ghost we had seen at the Castle of the
Labyrinth. To her left stood the murdered maiden whose ghost had appeared on the island,
and to her right stood a third girl who could have been their sister.

Li Kao snatched one of the torches from the brackets and went over the painting inch by
inch. The peddler's robe was covered with colored pearls and lotus blossoms, and he was
supported by a crutch beneath his left armpit. His hands were extended to the maidens. In
the left hand he held three tiny white feathers, and in the right hand he held a miniature
flute and crystal ball that were precisely like the ones in Li Kao's belt, as well as a
tiny bronze bell. The painting was very ancient, but what did it mean?

“The emblems on the lame peddler's robe usually signify Heaven, in which case this might
be a painting of T'ieh-kuai Li, the Fourth Immortal,” Master Li said thoughtfully. “But
two things are wrong, and one of them rules out such an interpretation. He should be
carrying a large calabash on his back, and he could not possibly be leaning upon a wooden
crutch. After all, the name means Li with the Iron Crutch.”

He went back over the painting, with his eyes no more than an inch from the surface.

“On the other hand, the emblems on the robe can signify the supernatural, and that
includes the evil supernatural,” he muttered. “We know that two of the girls were
murdered, and I am willing to lay enormous odds against the possibility that the third
girl died peacefully in bed. The maddening thing is that I can find no trace of something
that should be included.”

I looked at him inquiringly.

“Ginseng,” he explained. “Ox, for some mysterious reason our quest for the Great Root and
the ghosts of the handmaidens are linked together, and so are the games of children, the
village of Ku-fu, Dragon's Pillow, nonsense rhymes, feathers, birds that must fly, the
Duke of Ch'in - all of the dukes, come to think of it - and Buddha knows what else.”

He straightened up and shrugged.

“If we ever figure it out, it should make a marvelous story.” he sighed. “Let's go see if
those monks can tell us something useful.”

The three monks in black had disappeared, but the little monk in crimson was more than
helpful. “No, we have never been able to grasp the meaning of the trinkets and the
feathers,” he said. “The feathers are particularly puzzling, because there is another
painting deeper in the cavern that depicts feathers. It is so old that most of the paint
has worn away, but one can clearly make out feathers and the symbol of the constellation
Orion. Again I have no idea what it means.”