In the Orient (9 page)

Without warning, something black scurried across the street barely missing Archibald’s foot as it disappeared down a small opening between two of the lean-tos. Startled, Willow stopped in mid-stride and asked in a hushed voice, “Was that a cat or a rat?”

“It was big enough to be a cat, but looked a lot like a rat to me,” Archibald answered under his breath.

Willow got the answer to her question a moment later when they passed close by an open trash can on the side of the alley. Inside, three rats, almost the size of hedgehogs, scurried around, fighting over a large fish head that was still attached to its skeleton.

When Wu Feng finally stopped in front of a lean-to with a Chinese lantern hanging next to a freshly painted red door that had a doorknocker in the shape of a dragon’s head, he announced, “We are here.”

“Why is the door painted red?” Willow asked.

“It has always been red,” Wu Feng answered. He went on to say that Ming was highly superstitious, adding that the color red was considered to be very lucky by most Chinese.

“It’s true,” May confirmed. “It’s not uncommon for many Chinese to paint their doors red right before the Chinese New Year.”

“I will knock now,” Wu Feng said, reaching up and rapping the metal dragon’s head twice.

Seconds later, the door opened. A picture of Confucius that had been shown in one of the SLAP classes instantly flashed into Archibald’s mind when he saw the old man standing on the other side of the door. Ming Wei was about five feet six inches tall and very
thin. He was wearing a hanfu, the traditional Chinese silk robe.

“Enter,” Ming said, bowing.

When tea had been served, Ming asked May to recount everything that had happened during their encounter with the Monkey Clone. Even though Ming’s English was reasonably good, May spoke in Cantonese so there would be no misunderstanding.

Listening intently, Ming asked several questions, but for the most part he sat quietly. When she had finished, he said, “Monkey Clone never release boy. When you return Lantau, you must kill Monkey Clone. If not, Monkey Clone kill you. That for sure.”

Hoping Ming could provide an answer, Archibald posed the question that had been nagging at him since he and the others first entered the dungeon. “How did the legend of the Monkey King and its clone become real?”

“Ah, interesting question,” Ming replied thoughtfully. “Legends be mysterious things. Lao Tse tells us, ‘Let reality be reality.’ This now your reality.”

Convinced that his brother would die a terrible death if Ming couldn’t provide more concrete answers, Archibald pressed on, asking, “I’m not sure what this Lao Tse guy meant, but how do we kill something that’s immortal and that’s been living for over a thousand years?”

“I think I have way, but not hundred percent sure,” Ming answered. Then he smiled and said, “Remember that Kong also immortal, until Kong die.”

Ming went on to explain that he was fairly certain he could recreate the same metal the alchemist had used to forge the daggers that killed Kong. However, since the Monkey Clone wouldn’t be caught sleeping, someone would need to figure out how to get the metal into the Monkey Clone’s eyes.

“My aim is good with the flying dart,” May declared confidently. “In that cramped dungeon, I wouldn’t miss its eye.”

Having witnessed May’s skill at throwing flying darts on many occasions, Wu Feng gave credence to May’s confidence, saying, “On that, she is right.”

“Ah, the fei biao, or ‘flying dart’ as you English say,” Ming replied, stroking his long gray mustache and pointed beard. Then he nodded and said, “May work. Yes, may work.”

“I know what a dart is, but what’s a flying dart?” Archibald asked.

“Here,” Ming said, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a tapered metal object that was about three inches long. A sharp knife-like point was on one end of the flying dart, and a piece of cloth attached to a small ring was on the other end.

“The cloth is for stabilization,” May explained as she picked up the flying dart and looked around the room. “See that knothole on the wall over there?” she asked, pointing to a spot that was less than an inch in diameter, about fifteen feet away.

By the time Archibald said, “Yes,” the sharp end of the flying dart was embedded in the middle of the knothole!

“I’m deadly accurate at close range with a crossbow,” Willow added excitedly.

“I familiar with bei nu and ta nu, two type of old Chinese crossbow,” Ming said, nodding his head. “First one shot from back bending over. Other smaller one shot from foot.”

“No, no,” Willow interrupted. “I use my hands, not my feet. And the crossbow is in front of me when I shoot it, not on my back.”

“No worry,” Ming said. “You come back in four hour. I have two flying darts ready. Also, I have small metal tips for two arrows, and maybe other surprise for you.”

Turning to Wu Feng, Willow asked, “But where will we find a high-tech bow and the arrows at one o’clock in the morning?”

“That my task,” Wu Feng answered.

“I must work now, so you go,” Ming said, again bowing.

Ten minutes later when they were sitting in Wu Feng’s car, Willow again asked, “So, where are we going to find a crossbow and two arrows in the middle of the night?”

“I know nice sporting goods store,” Wu Feng replied, looking straight ahead.

“That’s open now?” Archibald said incredulously from the back seat.

“No,” Wu Feng calmly replied, cracking a slight smile.

“Then how are we—” Archibald started to say.

“Oh, no,” Willow cut in, suddenly knowing what Wu Feng probably had in mind. “You aren’t going to break into the store and steal a crossbow, are you?”

“No,” Wu Feng calmly replied. Then his smile broadened when he finished his sentence, “You are. You are one who must pick right crossbow and arrows, so you are perfect one to break in.”

At two o’clock that morning, the young woman from Sub-Station Zero became a criminal for the first and last time in her life.

After Wu Feng had disabled the alarm system and picked the lock of the back door of one of the largest sporting goods stores in Hong Kong, Willow quietly slipped in and started her quest to find the weapon she hoped would help save Jockabeb’s life.

Easily evading a night watchman who was half-asleep at his guard station, she finally located the hunting and fishing department where bows and arrows were sold. Luckily, the store carried a high-tech crossbow similar to the one she had back home, although it was a bit more compact in size.

After quickly testing her new weapon by shooting an arrow thirty feet directly into the left eye of a smiling mannequin wearing fishing gear and wading boots, she pumped her arm, whispered “Alright” to herself, and
triumphantly raised the crossbow over her head. However, her feeling of elation was immediately tempered by a pang of guilt when she saw the price tag dangling from the bowstring.

Before leaving the hunting and fishing department, Willow did something she hoped would make amends to store management. After looking at the price, she did a quick calculation of the U.S. dollar/Hong Kong dollar exchange rate. Reaching into the pocket of her jeans, she then took out two crisp one hundred dollar bills bearing Benjamin Franklin’s picture. A broad smile lit up her face as she placed the bills and the price tag in the outstretched hand of the mannequin she’d just blinded.

When Willow came rushing out of the back door with her trophy tucked securely under her arm, May breathed a sigh of relief, saying, “Let’s get out of here fast before we get caught. I can just see the headlines: ‘Daughter of Prominent Businessman Sent to Prison for Grand Larceny.’ No, no, my parents would not be amused by that!”

With several more hours to kill before Ming would be ready to deliver the deadly weapons he was preparing, Wu Feng suggested they all get something to eat. As soon as he told May he knew a dai pai dong where they could get some good Chiu Chow da lang, the cat burglar asked for a translation.

“Sorry,” May said, “dai pai dong are the street stalls that sell food, and some of them are open all night.
Chiu Chow da lang is a type of food that the Chiu Chow people brought with them when they came to Hong Kong from China’s Guangdong Province. While you might find it a bit salty, it is really very good.”

“Sounds okay,” Archibald said without much enthusiasm, still thinking about how his brother must be feeling back on Lantau Island.

“Now that my heart rate and nerves are back to normal, I could use something to eat,” Willow added.

May was right. The Chiu Chow da lang they all ate twenty minutes later was salty, but excellent nonetheless. While Archibald, Willow, and May washed their snacks down with bottles of Coca-Cola, Wu Feng sipped a cold Tsingtao beer.

All the while they were eating, they discussed just how they would confront the Monkey Clone in less than ten hours. Heeding the Monkey Clone’s warning, Wu Feng’s offer to accompany them back to Lantau Peak the next day was respectfully declined. As much as the three teens would have liked the Grandmaster’s help, they knew they couldn’t risk invoking the Monkey Clone’s ire before they struck.

By the time they all returned to the Vauxhall, the plan to rescue Jockabeb and Robert Liu, if he was still alive, had been just about finalized.

However, as they would find out soon enough, successfully preparing a plan doesn’t necessarily ensure its successful execution.

Ming Wei had worked his magic by the time he heard the knock on his front door a few minutes before five o’clock in the morning. When he opened the door and invited his four guests inside, two throwing darts, two arrowheads, and an old wide-capped metal flask had been neatly laid out on top of a wooden table.

“Have you arrows for crossbow?” the old man asked.

Handing over the two arrows she was holding, Willow said, “Here they are Mr. Ming.”

“Moment please,” Ming replied as he disappeared with the arrows and two arrowheads into a back room.

While Ming was gone, May practiced with the two flying darts. The thin red cloth that was attached to the back end of each flying dart appeared to be on fire as the deadly projectile flew through air. May’s aim was good, hitting the knothole nine out of ten times.

When May’s tenth throw landed the flying dart in the center of its target, Archibald clapped and asked, “You sure you can do that when it’s an eye and not a knothole you’re trying to hit?”

“Dead sure,” she answered with a serious look on her face. When she walked over to the wall and pried the flying dart out of the knothole, she repeated, “Dead sure,” but this time with steely resolve.

There was a large smile on Ming’s wrinkled face when he returned holding Willow’s two arrows. When
he handed them back to their owner, he said, “New tips fit good.”

Then looking at May and Willow, Ming warned, “You two aim good, Monkey Clone die. You aim bad, you die.”

Reaching down and lifting the old metal flask in his hand, Ming shook it and then handed it to Archibald, saying, “If Monkey Clone see you not have elixir, Monkey Clone kill your brother right away, then kill rest of you.”