Jeff Stone_Five Ancestors 06 Page 4

  “Where do you think you are going?”

  “To get the sack.”

  “Why?”

  “To collect the food offerings.”

  “No,” Tonglong said. “They are to stay here.”

  ShaoShu looked at him, unsure what Tonglong wanted him to do.

  “I didn't bring you along just to be my servant,” Tonglong said.

  ShaoShu glanced around at what little he could see of the cemetery, and his nose twitched. He didn't like the sound of this at all.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I need you to retrieve something.”

  “From where?”

  Tonglong pointed to the circular painting high up the wall of his father's final resting place. The painting of the mantis tearing the bird to pieces.

  “In there.”

  CHAPTER

  6

  ShaoShu glanced up at the circular mantis painting on Tonglong's father's final resting place, then at the formidable statues. There was only one thing inside that building, and ShaoShu had no interest in retrieving it.

  “How do you expect me to get in there?” ShaoShu asked.

  “That painting is only rice paper glued to a round wooden frame,” Tonglong said. “It's called a spirit window. You can easily tear through it.”

  ShaoShu glanced up at the night sky and muttered, “Why did he have to wait for night?”

  “I heard that,” Tonglong said. “Not that it's any of your business, but I'd rather not have anyone see what you are about to do.”

  “I won't be able to see, either, sir!” ShaoShu pro tested. “I can't do it. I don't think I can squeeze through there.”

  “You will do it,” Tonglong said. “Or you will die. Do you understand?” He gripped the straight sword sheathed neatly in his sash.

  ShaoShu lowered his head, defeated. “I understand. I'm going to need a boost, though, sir.”

  Tonglong led ShaoShu over to the front of the small building, stepping around the food offerings. He grabbed ShaoShu by the waist and lifted him up, but ShaoShu's head was barely in line with the painting.

  “I need to be higher, sir,” ShaoShu said. “Can I stand on your shoulders?”

  “Grab hold of the window recess.”

  ShaoShu gripped the lip of the recessed circle containing the mantis painting, and Tonglong let go of his waist. As he dangled there, Tonglong squatted down, grabbed ShaoShu's ankles, and planted ShaoShu's feet firmly on his shoulders before standing up again.

  ShaoShu found that the bottom of the round window was now in line with his belly button. This was better. He poked at the rice paper covering the circular recess, and his fingers easily broke through.

  “Tear the whole thing out and put your head in,” Tonglong said. “Tell me what you see.”

  ShaoShu gladly tore the scary painting to pieces and threw them to the ground. He pushed against the wooden frame, and it crumbled in his hands. With the circular opening cleared, he pressed his head through it, but the rest of his body was stopped short by his shoulders. He pulled his head back out and looked down at Tonglong.

  “I can't see anything, and I can't fit. Please let me down.”

  “No,” Tonglong said. “You're not finished yet. Take hold of the recess again, and keep your balance. I'm going to squat once more.” Tonglong squatted and reached down as ShaoShu teetered on Tonglong's shoulders. ShaoShu couldn't see what he was doing.

  Tonglong stood, and ShaoShu maintained his grip on the window opening for support. Tonglong said, “Lower your right hand.”

  ShaoShu dropped his hand, and Tonglong slapped something cold and slimy into it.

  “Ew!” ShaoShu cried. “What is it?”

  “Beef tongue. Nice and slippery, thanks to the flies. Pull off your robe and wipe it against your shoulders. You'll squeeze right through.”

  ShaoShu paused.

  “I could always cut off one of your arms instead to help you fit,” Tonglong said.

  Remembering Tonglong's straight sword, ShaoShu began to worry. “Why do you think I can make it, sir?”

  “Because a mouse can fit its entire body inside any opening that can accommodate its head. It does so by dislocating its joints. I felt your arm earlier, and you have very loose joints, like your namesake. I suspect that you can dislocate one or even both of your shoulders without too much trouble. I can help you, if you like.”

  ShaoShu swallowed hard. “No, thank you, sir. I'll manage.” While it was painful, he'd done it before.

  He pushed his robe off his shoulders, down to his waist, and gooseflesh formed across his back and arms in the cold night air. He quickly slathered the rotting beef tongue up one shoulder and down the other, then threw it aside.

  ShaoShu shoved his head back through the opening and craned his neck in the darkness of the interior. He could see nothing. He slipped his right arm and part of his right shoulder into the window and groaned. “A little higher, please, sir.”

  He felt Tonglong grasp his ankles, and slowly he began to rise. The moment his hips were in line with the opening, ShaoShu wrenched his right shoulder violently in toward the center of his chest. With a muffled cry and a loud crack, squish! he thrust his upper body through, his left arm and shoulder following with the help of the slick beef tongue juice.

  He was in up to his waist.

  ShaoShu took a deep breath, sweating profusely, trying to block out the tremendous pain in his dislocated right shoulder. Before he could make his next move, he felt Tonglong preparing to give him one final shove.

  “No!” ShaoShu squeaked. “Not yet, sir!”

  But it was too late. ShaoShu felt Tonglong twist him through the opening like a screw. An instant later, he landed in a heap on the cold stone floor, not having had a chance to pop his shoulder back into its socket. Without two arms to cushion his fall, his head struck the floor violently.

  ShaoShu slipped into unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER

  7

  Charles sat on the deck of his sloop, straining his eyes in the dim light of a paraffin lamp. In one hand, he held a block of flint; in the other, a large stone hammer. Raising the hammer high, Charles brought it down with great precision against a subtle crack in the flint's side. A flake roughly the size of his thumbnail sheared off, landing at his feet in a shower of sparks.

  Charles smiled. He loved knapping flints in the dark. If he had enough time, he would make a whole pile of flints for his Dutch mates to use in their pistols. That would be an appropriate gift in exchange for the hospitality he would surely receive.

  With thoughts of Dutch delicacies racing through his mind, and his eyes on his work, Charles didn't see the others until they were standing on the bank not fifteen swimming strokes from his sloop.

  “Ahoy, matey!” Malao said. “Permission to come aboard?”

  Charles set down his tools and stared at them across the short span of water. What are they doing here already? he wondered. It had only been one day.

  “Well?” Fu growled.

  “Of course you can come aboard,” Charles said. “But what about Ying's mother?”

  Someone coughed—a deep, wet cough—and a slender, attractive woman with long black wispy hair stepped forward from behind Ying. She bowed.

  Charles was dumbstruck. It was WanSow, Ying's mother.

  WanSow stumbled, and Ying grabbed her by the waist.

  “Don't let her fool you, Charles,” Hok said gently. “She is not as strong as she might look. She needs treatment.”

  “I am fine,” WanSow retorted, and Charles heard a slight gurgle in her voice.

  “She has fluid in her lungs,” Hok explained. “Can you take us to the large apothecary in Hangzhou?”

  “That is where you had planned to take her all along, isn't it?” Charles asked.

  Hok nodded in the darkness. “Yes, I'd like to wait for her to get stronger, but we have to leave this location. WanSow believes others may come now that Tonglong has the treasure.” />
  “I don't understand,” Charles said.

  “Tonglong stole a famous treasure hoard,” Ying replied. “It included a set of legendary white jade swords and a suit of white jade armor. The swords and armor are purely symbolic, but the treasure can be used to bribe any number of officials. Remember the Southern Warlord I told you about?”

  “HaiZhe?” Charles said. “Yes. I remember that sniper's tattoo.”

  “That's right,” Ying said. “My mother has told us that HaiZhe has been after that treasure and those powerful symbols for years, and he suspects that my mother knows where the treasure was hidden. I am certain no one was spying on us before Tonglong attacked, so the sniper must have arrived afterward. HaiZhe probably sent someone to follow Tonglong's ship, and once word got back that Tonglong came here, HaiZhe posted the sniper. As soon as Tonglong starts spreading the treasure around, or HaiZhe realizes that his sniper hasn't reported back, HaiZhe will come looking for my mother. We need to leave.”

  “Aye, aye,” Charles said. He grabbed a stout rope and tied one end to the sloop's sturdy mast. Then he hurled the remaining rope to shore and grabbed a length of sailcloth. “Pull that rope taut and tie it to a tree. I'm going to rig up a sling to get WanSow aboard. With any luck, we'll make it to the apothecary before sunrise.”

  CHAPTER

  8

  ShaoShu opened his eyes to find that he had a splitting headache, a dislocated shoulder, and no idea what time it was. Even so, he grinned as his eyes adjusted to the near pitch-black darkness. His mouse was snuggled up against his neck, nibbling on his hair. It didn't appear to have been injured while ShaoShu squeezed through the hole in the wall or when he fell.

  His happiness didn't last long, however.

  “ShaoShu,” Tonglong called from outside the small building. “Can you hear me?”

  “Umm … yes, sir,” ShaoShu groaned, his cloudy head beginning to clear.

  “Is anything broken?”

  ShaoShu thought for a moment as he struggled to pull his robe back on. “My shoulder is still out of joint and it really hurts, but I think that's all that's wrong.”

  “That's not what I meant,” Tonglong hissed. “Did you break anything that belonged to my father?”

  “I don't think so.”

  “Good. Look up. I have something for you.”

  ShaoShu looked up at the small round window and saw something float down. It was a silk bag.

  “Pick it up,” Tonglong said.

  “Ouch,” ShaoShu said with a grunt, struggling to stand with his one good arm. “I need to do something first, sir.” He made it to his feet and walked to one of the walls. ShaoShu tapped it with his foot to gauge his distance in the dark.

  “ShaoShu, I need you to—”

  “Wait, sir, please!” ShaoShu snapped. Building up his courage, he lunged forward, slamming his right shoulder into the stone wall. “Arrrrgh!” he groaned between gritted teeth. He hadn't hit it quite hard enough.

  “Are you—” Tonglong began.

  “Please, wait!” ShaoShu squeaked. He took a step backward, then lunged forward again, ramming his shoulder into the wall a second time. “Owwww!” he howled, and dropped to the floor, sweating despite the chilly night air. His second attempt had been successful.

  After a few deep breaths, ShaoShu stood on wobbly legs. He rotated his right shoulder and shrugged it several times. It hurt tremendously but seemed to work more or less normally. He picked up the silk bag.

  “Sorry I was rude, sir,” ShaoShu said in a shaky voice. “What should I do now?”

  Tonglong scoffed. “The building has only one room, and you are in it. There is a heavy stone pedestal in the very center. On it rests a porcelain urn. Carefully pour the contents of the urn into the bag and throw the bag out to me.”

  “But, sir—” ShaoShu began to say, thinking about the contents.

  “Do it.”

  ShaoShu bit his lip. He had no choice. Without Tonglong's assistance, he would never get out of there.

  He stumbled through the darkness on his still-wobbly legs until he kicked what could only be the pedestal. He reached up for the urn and heard a sickening scrape as he accidentally bumped the fragile container with his elbow. There was a tremendous crash, and the urn shattered on the stone floor.

  “ShaoShu!” Tonglong roared in his metallic voice.

  “Just a moment, sir,” ShaoShu said nervously. He dropped to his knees and began to hurriedly sweep the urn's contents into the bag. Soft powdery ash stuck between his sweaty fingers.

  ShaoShu frowned. “I'm sorry,” he whispered to Tonglong's father's spirit.

  As he was finishing, ShaoShu's hand knocked against something that felt like metal. He heard a soft clank! as the object slid across the stone floor, striking the base of the pedestal. He slid his hand over the area until his fingers wrapped around what felt like a small key with lumps on it.

  “I heard that noise,” Tonglong said. “Did you find something among the ashes?”

  “Yes,” ShaoShu replied. “A key, I think.”

  “Good. Throw it to me.”

  ShaoShu tossed the key out the window. He heard Tonglong's hands clap together as he caught it.

  The next thing ShaoShu heard was Tonglong walking away.

  “Hey!” ShaoShu shouted. “Where are you going?!”

  “I have what I need,” Tonglong replied. “I am returning to the ship. I have much work to do.”

  “What about me?”

  “You have served your purpose,” Tonglong said, and he laughed. “I'll be sure to mention you when I rewrite history.”

  ShaoShu's eyes darted around the room, searching for something that might make Tonglong turn around. He remembered the silk bag.

  “What about your father?” ShaoShu said in a desperate tone. “What about your past?”

  “I have even less use for him now than I do for you,” Tonglong replied, his voice already far away. “Goodbye, Little Mouse.”

  CHAPTER

  9

  ShaoShu felt like crying. He looked up through the blackness at the small round hole that served as a dead man's window. This was going to be his final resting place, too. His body would rot beside Tong -long's father's ashes.

  He sniffled. There was no way he could reach the window. Even if he could climb onto the pedestal and jump high enough to grab hold of the opening, he would never be able to squeeze back through without something supporting his feet.

  ShaoShu lowered his head. Unless someone happened to pass by in the next few days, he was doomed.

  A soft scraping sound caught his attention, and ShaoShu lifted his head. Was that Tonglong's father's spirit, there to punish him?

  He glanced nervously around the darkness and determined that the noise was coming from one corner of the room. He crawled slowly in that direction. As he neared, he figured out what it was. Something was digging.

  ShaoShu drew closer to the sound, and he saw that it was only his mouse. He had forgotten all about it. Grateful for the company, he reached out to pick it up. It darted forward, however, quick as a flash, disappearing into the tiny crack it had been pawing at.

  ShaoShu pouted. Even his little friend had abandoned him, preferring to hide within the walls. He sighed and lay down to get a closer look at where the mouse was hiding. Perhaps he could coax it out by pretending to have some food.

  As he pressed his eye to the crack, ShaoShu uttered a small cry. He could see a faint sliver of moonlight! The crack went clear through to the outside. What's more, the crack appeared to be wider on the outside than on the inside, and the stone floor gave way to dirt in this corner.

  ShaoShu recalled what Tonglong had said about a mouse being able to squeeze through any space that could accommodate its head, and he scrambled back over to the pedestal. He felt along the ground until he found what he was looking for—a large, sharp section of the broken urn. He hurried back to the crack and began digging.

  It took several hours and many diffe
rent urn shards, but ShaoShu eventually opened a hole that he could easily slip his head through. In fact, he could have stopped earlier and probably still gotten out, but he didn't feel like dislocating his shoulder again.

  By the time he hauled himself out, the sun was beginning to rise. Exhausted and covered with dirt from head to toe, ShaoShu said goodbye to Tonglong's father and dragged himself around to the front of the building. He'd hoped to find a few bites of apple or other offerings left that animals or insects hadn't ravaged. Instead, he was greeted by a sight that made him forget all about his hunger.

  “Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.”

  ShaoShu frowned. It was Lei.

  Tonglong was there, too. He offered ShaoShu a slight bow and said, “Well done, little one. You have impressed me. That is not easy to do.”

  ShaoShu stared coldly at Tonglong. “You were going to leave me in there, weren't you, sir?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You are a bad man.”

  Tonglong grinned. “So I've been told.”

  ShaoShu turned away, and he heard a slight scurrying sound. He glanced down to see his mouse racing toward him. It hurried up the outside of his pant leg and across his sash, nestling itself deep inside the empty, dirt-laden pouch.

  He rested his hand on the pouch, smiling inwardly.

  “Isn't that cute,” Lei said.

  ShaoShu ignored him.

  “You have proven yourself, ShaoShu,” Tonglong said. “From this point forward, you are a valuable member of my team.” He turned to Lei. “You will keep your cat a respectful distance from ShaoShu and, more importantly, from his mouse, understand?”

  Lei bowed. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good,” Tonglong said. “Let us get back to the ship. We shall sail on this morning's tide.”

  It was late in the day by the time ShaoShu had cleaned the last bits of dirt from behind his ears and beneath his fingernails. This was no easy task with the ship rolling about over heavy seas, but he managed after the cook took pity on him and let him borrow a brush normally reserved for scrubbing potatoes.