Monkey (13 page)

“Suit yourself,” Malao said. “I'm going to find me a nice big oak.”

“Hang on,” Fu said. “Before you go, let me take a look at the scrolls.”

Malao sprang backward on the trail. “I don't think so, Pussycat. It was my plan that got them back, so I'm
going to be the one to deliver them to the monks at Shaolin. You're not going to take all the credit.” He grinned.

“I'm not going to steal them, Malao. I just want to make sure someone isn't toying with us.”

“I'm not sure I believe you,” Malao said, tapping his chin. “I tell you what. I'll look the scrolls over myself tonight, and maybe—if you're really, really nice to me—I'll let you take a peek when we get to the village. How's that sound?”

“Stop playing around. Just give me one, okay?”

“You're no fun,” Malao said. He pulled a scroll from his robe and handed it to Fu.

Fu opened the scroll. “It looks like the real thing to me. I had to dry them out the other day, and I recognize this one.” Fu rolled the scroll back up and reached out to return it to Malao.

Malao shook his head. “We should probably split them up in case something happens to one of us. You carry that one, and I'll carry the other two. All right?”

Fu's eyes widened. “What?”

“I know it's not nice to think about something bad happening to one of us, but—”

Every muscle in Fu's body tensed.

“Hey, are you okay?” Malao asked.

Fu took a deep breath. “Malao, how many scrolls did you take from Ying?”

“Three,” Malao said, slowly backing away. “Why?”

Fu's eye filled with fury. “There are FOUR dragon scrolls, Banana Brain!”

Y
ing woke to blurred vision and a fierce headache. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. As the world came into focus, he realized he wasn't in his tent. He was outside for some reason, next to the campfire. It was daylight, and a huge pot of
seefan
—rice porridge—was cooking over the fire.
Seefan
was the soldiers’ morning meal.

Confused, Ying called out, “Number One Tong-long! Commander Woo! Captain Yue! Report to the campfire! Immediately!”

Ying stood on shaky legs. He felt dizzy and nauseated. It took every bit of strength he had to stop himself from throwing up.

Captain Yue arrived first. “Sir?” he said hesitantly.

“What is going on?” Ying asked.

Captain Yue fidgeted with his luxurious silk robe. “You fell asleep, sir.”

“I fell asleep here?” Ying said. “Next to the fire?”

“Yes, sir. Last night. Don't you remember?”

“No.”

Captain Yue turned away and stared off into the distance. “I wasn't here much, Major Ying. I spent most of yesterday evening getting a splint on my leg. If you'll recall, my leg was injured back at the village when my horse fell on it. Commander Woo had
his
leg treated first, so
I
had to wait. Perhaps if I had been treated first—”

“Stop your whining, Captain,” Ying said. “Where is Commander Woo?”

“Coming, sir!” Commander Woo said as he appeared from the opposite direction. Tonglong was at his side. Soldiers began to slowly file in around them.

“We were looking for clues to what happened last night,” Commander Woo said. “We believe the young monks are responsible.”

“Responsible for what?” Ying asked.

Tonglong cleared his throat. “Check your robe, sir.”

Ying looked down and saw that his robe was pulled open over his chest. His eyes narrowed. “The scrolls!”

“Yes, sir,” Tonglong said. “As Commander Woo said, we believe the young monks are responsible. If you look where you were lying, you'll find tracks that are too small to have been made by an adult. We recently discovered matching tracks on the trail that
leads back to the village. We believe the young monks took the scrolls from you and have since headed back to the village.”

Ying scowled. “How could this have happened? Where was I while all this was going on?”

“You were asleep, sir,” Tonglong said.

“And no one bothered to wake me?”

“We tried, sir,” Commander Woo replied. “But you would not respond to any noise or physical contact. We believe you were drugged.”

“Drugged?” Ying said. “Who would dare do such a thing?”

“Again, we put the blame on the young monks,” Commander Woo said. “I may have to take part of the blame, too. Since you ate no dinner last night, we can only assume the dragon bone elixir I prepared for you was tainted.”

Ying took a step toward Commander Woo. He popped his knuckles one at a time. “And how could that have happened, Commander?”

Commander Woo swallowed hard. “I—I left the goblet unattended for a few moments. Perhaps one of the monks slipped something into it while I was catching the snake.”

Ying took another step toward Commander Woo.

“Wait, sir,” Tonglong said hurriedly. “Not all was lost.” He reached into his wide red sash and pulled out a scroll. He handed it to Ying.

“What's this?” Ying asked.

“It's a dragon scroll,” Tonglong replied. “I found it
in your tent. You must have left it there before going to the campfire last night.”

“Oh, really?” Ying said. “What were you doing in my tent without my permission?”

“Forgive me, sir,” Tonglong said. “I was only looking for clues.”

“Looking for clues?” Ying snapped. “Fu must have knocked something loose when he struck your head! How dare you enter my quarters uninvited? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't tear you apart right now?”

Tonglong leaned forward and whispered, “Because the men might view such action as excessive. There's a great risk of losing their respect.”

“Respect?”
Ying raised an eagle-claw fist, then paused. He remembered what he had read in the first dragon scroll. He scowled. In a low voice he said, “What do you suggest we do, then, Tonglong?”

“We must shift our focus to the young monks,” Tonglong whispered. “Give the men a plan, and keep them thinking about only one thing—catching the boys.”

Ying relaxed his fist. “What plan?”

“I suggest you lead the men to the village and capture the boys. I'll go to Shaolin Temple, just in case.”

“Shaolin?”
Ying said.

“Yes,” Tonglong replied. “Though I am almost certain the young monks will head back to the village, they may go to Shaolin instead. I want to prevent that from happening. If I take my horse, I should be able to
arrive well before them. I'll patrol the surrounding area and cut them off before they make it to the temple.”

Ying ran his hand through his short black hair. “How will we communicate with you?”

Tonglong raised his voice slightly. “If you and the men stay at the village, I'll report to you there. In my opinion, the men could use a break. It might make sense to let them rest for a few weeks. Some fresh food and sleep would do them good.”

Ying glanced at two nearby soldiers. The men looked exhausted.

Ying turned to Tonglong. “Leave. I'll see you at the village.”

Tonglong turned and walked away. Ying frowned and looked at Captain Yue. “You were at the village. Why do you think the boys would return there? Aren't these the same villagers who captured Fu and took the scrolls from him?”

“Yes,” Captain Yue said. “But I believe the villagers have had a change of heart. There's also the Drunkard to consider—”

“Who?”

“There was a drunkard,” Captain Yue said. “He is a big, powerful man and an excellent fighter. He stood up for the boy called Fu. In fact, he's the one who injured my horse and caused it to fall on top of my leg. We shot him with a
qiang,
but he may have survived. If the boys are looking for allies, this man would be a strong one. Perhaps they went back to find him.”

Ying looked at Commander Woo. Commander Woo shrugged his shoulders. Ying spat.

Ying turned back to Captain Yue. “Tell me more about this Drunkard. What did he look like?”

Captain Yue began to fidget. “He had long, tangled hair and a scraggly beard. Also, his clothes were in tatters and he spoke with a deep, gravelly voice.”

Ying's eyebrows raised. “What did he fight like?”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Did his fighting techniques resemble the movements of a specific animal? Like a python, or perhaps a bear?”

“If I had to guess, I would say a tiger, sir,” Captain Yue replied. “Albeit a drunken one.”

Ying grinned and the grooves in his face deepened. “A
tiger?
You don't say. …”

“
W
ake up,” Fu said in a gruff voice. “We need to get moving.”

Malao opened his eyes and squinted in the morning sun. He looked around and scratched his head. He was high in the slender, sticky arms of a pine tree. This was not a tree he would normally climb, let alone sleep in.

Malao looked down at Fu and remembered what had happened the previous night. Fu had chased him up there!

“Come on, Malao,” Fu said. “I'm not going to hurt you. I promise.”

Malao hesitated. “You're not upset about the scrolls anymore? I thought you were going to kill me last night.”

“Yes, I'm upset about the scrolls,” Fu replied. “But it wasn't your fault. You didn't know how many scrolls there were. I probably should have told you there were four.”

“Whoa,” Malao said, wide-eyed. “Was that an apology?”

“Don't push me, Malao.”

Malao giggled and climbed down, carefully avoiding the tree's irritating needles. By the time he hit the ground, Fu was quite a ways up the trail. Malao jogged to Fu's side.

“I swear Ying only had three scrolls in his robe,” Malao said. “He was probably reading the fourth one somewhere else. He must have put it away. Or maybe he set it down and someone else picked it up. Or maybe—”

“Or maybe you could stop talking about it,” Fu interrupted.

“Oh, sorry,” Malao said. “How about if we talk about something else? Tell me what you've been doing. Did you miss me?” He grinned.

“Can we just walk in silence for once?”

“Come on, Fu. You've had several different adventures, and you haven't told me about any of them. Tell me how you defeated Tonglong.”

Fu didn't respond.

“All right,” Malao said. “Then tell me about the young tiger. Or tell me how you met the Governor. Or—”

“That's enough, Malao. I told you, I don't want to talk. Please.”

“But—”

“No.”

Malao pouted. “Fine, then how about if I tell you about my adventures with a huge bandit named Bear.”

“No,” Fu said. “I just want a little peace and quiet.”

Malao stopped and put his hands on his hips. “I'm not going to stop until you tell me at least one story. Why don't you tell me about some of the people I might meet in the village? Did you meet anyone our age?”

Fu stopped and turned back to face Malao. “The Governor has a son our age. Everyone calls him Ho, but I wouldn't be surprised if his name was actually Ho Dao. Are you satisfied?”

“Ho Dao?”
Malao said.“ ‘Forgiving’? What does he have to forgive you for?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Come on, Fu. Tell me how you met the Governor's son.”

“No. It's a very long story.”

“Just give me the short version,” Malao said. “You could—”

Fu growled and leaned his face in close to Malao's. “I smashed a spear shaft into Ho's ear so hard, I nearly made him deaf for life. And you know what he did to deserve it? Nothing. How do you like that story?”

Malao began to squirm. “Sorry, Fu. I … I didn't know.”

Fu stared hard at Malao. “That's right. You
don't
know. When I say I don't want to talk, I really mean it.
Especially when it comes to Ho. I did something wrong and it makes me feel terrible.”

“I'm sorry,” Malao said again.

Fu grunted and walked away.

Malao waited a bit before following Fu up the trail. He wanted to give Fu plenty of space.

Malao followed Fu this way the rest of the morning. On several occasions, Malao thought he caught a glimpse of something watching him from high in the trees. Something white. Over time, however, Malao realized that he was just imagining things. The patches he hoped were monkey fur turned out to be sunlight.