Kingdom of the Golden Dragon (11 page)

Dear girl! What a pleasure to hear from you! Of course I know about that statue. Every serious jeweler knows its description, it's one of the rarest and most precious objects in the world. No one has seen your famous dragon, and it has never been photographed, but there are drawings of it. It's about two feet long and is thought to be solid gold, but that isn't all: the craftsmanship is very ancient and very beautiful. In addition, it is covered with precious stones. According to legend, its eyes alone—just those two perfect, absolutely symmetrical, star rubies—are worth a fortune. Why do you ask? I don't suppose that you're planning to steal the dragon, the way you did the diamonds in the Amazon?

Kate e-mailed back, assuring the jeweler that robbery was precisely what she was planning, and decided not to remind him that Nadia had found the diamonds. It suited her to have Isaac Rosenblat believe she was capable of having stolen them. That way, she calculated, she would keep her former suitor's interest alive. She burst out laughing, but the laughter quickly turned into a fit of coughing. She dug through one of her many carryalls and pulled out a canteen containing her Amazon remedy.

Professor Ludovic Leblanc's reply was long and confusing, like everything he did. He began with an exhausting explanation of how, among his many attributes, he had been the first anthropologist to discover the meaning of the scorpion in Sumerian, Egyptian, Hindu, and . . . blah-blah-blah . . . mythology; then followed with twenty-three paragraphs on his accomplishments
and knowledge. But sprinkled here and there in those twenty-three paragraphs were several very interesting facts, which Kate Cold was able to extract from the tangle. The aging writer heaved a sigh of boredom, thinking what a burden it was to have to put up with that peevish man. She had to reread the message several times to be able to summarize the important parts.

“According to Leblanc, there is a sect in the north of India that worships the scorpion. Its members have that figure branded on their skin, usually on the back of the right hand. They have a reputation for being bloodthirsty, ignorant, and superstitious,” she informed her grandson and Nadia.

She added that during the fight for India's independence the sect had done the dirty work for the British troops, torturing and murdering their compatriots. Though they were widely despised, the men of the scorpion sect were still employed today as mercenaries, because they were ferocious fighters, famous for their skill with knives.

“They're bandits and smugglers, and they also kill for hire,” Kate informed them.

Alexander then told Kate what he and Nadia had seen in the Red Fort. If Kate was tempted to scold them for having done something so dangerous, she contained herself. On the trip to the Amazon, she had learned to trust the two young friends.

“I have no doubt that the men you two saw belong to that sect. Leblanc says in his e-mail that the members wear cotton tunics and turbans dyed with the indigo plant. The dye rubs off on their skin and over the years becomes indelible, like a tattoo, which is why they are known as the Blue Warriors. They are nomads, and they spend their lives on horseback. They have no belongings except for weapons, and they are
trained to fight from the time they are children,” Kate explained.

“Do the women have blue skin too?” Nadia asked.

“It's strange that you should ask, child. There are no women in the sect.”

“How do they have children if there are no women?”

“I don't know. Maybe they don't.”

“If they're trained for war from the time they're small, children
must
be born into the sect,” Nadia insisted.

“Maybe they steal them, or buy them. There's so much poverty in this country, so many abandoned children . . . And many parents just sell their children because they can't feed them,” said Kate.

“I'm wondering what business Tex Armadillo can have with the Sect of the Scorpion,” Alexander mused.

“Nothing good,” said Nadia.

“You think it has anything to do with drugs? Remember what he said on the plane, that marijuana and opium grow wild in the Forbidden Kingdom.”

“I hope that man doesn't cross our paths again, but if he does, I don't want you to have anything to do with him. Do you understand?” his grandmother ordered firmly.

The friends nodded, but the writer happened to catch the look they exchanged, and guessed that no warning of hers would restrain Nadia and Alexander's curiosity.

One hour later the group from
International Geographic
assembled at the airport to take the plane to Tunkhala, the capital of the Kingdom of the Golden Dragon. They ran into Judit Kinski there, who was taking the same flight. The landscape architect wore boots, a white linen
dress and a matching coat, and she carried the scuffed purse they had seen before. Her luggage consisted of two suitcases of a heavy, tapestrylike cloth, expensive but badly worn pieces. It was obvious that she had traveled a lot, though the general effect of her clothes and her suitcases was anything but shabby. In contrast, the members of the
International Geographic
expedition, with their stained and wrinkled clothes, their bundles and backpacks, looked like refugees fleeing some cataclysm.

The prop plane was an old model with a capacity of eight passengers and two crew. The other two travelers were a Hindu who had business in the Forbidden Kingdom and a young doctor who had graduated from a university in New Delhi and was returning to his country. The travelers commented that their little plane did not seem a particularly safe way to challenge the mountains of the Himalayas, but the pilot smiled and replied that there was nothing to fear: In the ten years he had been flying that route he had never had a serious accident, even though the winds between the precipices were often very strong.

“What precipices?” asked Joel González, uneasy.

“I hope you can see them, they're magnificent. The best time for flying is between October and April, when the skies are clear. If it's cloudy, you can't see anything,” said the pilot.

“It's a little cloudy today. What will keep us from crashing into a mountain?” asked Kate.

“These are low clouds. You'll see it clear soon, ma'am. Besides, I know the route by heart, I can fly it with my eyes closed.”

“I hope you keep them wide open, young man,” Kate replied curtly.

“I estimate that within a half hour we'll have left the clouds behind,” the pilot said, hoping to calm
her, and added that they were lucky, because sometimes flights were delayed for several days, depending on the weather.

Jaguar and Eagle were just happy that Tex Armadillo wasn't on board.

CHAPTER EIGHT

In the Forbidden Kingdom

N
ONE OF THE TRAVELERS TAKING
that flight for the first time was prepared for what lay ahead. It was worse than a roller coaster in an amusement park. They covered their ears and felt an emptiness in the pits of their stomachs as the airplane shot up like an arrow, then dropped several hundred feet, making them feel as if their guts were glued to their brains. When it seemed that finally they had stabilized, the pilot would bank sharply to avoid a mountain peak, and they would be hanging almost upside down; then he would perform the same maneuver in the opposite direction.

Through the windows they could see mountains on both sides, and below them, very far below, incredible precipices with seemingly bottomless chasms. A single false move, or a brief hesitation on the part of the pilot, and the small plane would threaten to crash against the rocks or drop like a stone. A capricious blast of wind from the stern would hurl them forward, but once past that mountain, the air currents would change and blow toward them, making them feel as if they weren't moving at all.

The merchant from India and the doctor from the Forbidden Kingdom were glued in their seats, less than relaxed, although they said they had lived through that experience before. As for the members of the
International Geographic
team, they held their stomachs with both hands, trying to control their nausea and fear. No one made the least comment, not even Joel González, who was deadly white, quietly praying and rubbing the silver cross he always wore. All of them were impressed by the calm of Judit Kinski, who was composed enough to be leafing through a book on tulips, showing no trace of vertigo.

The flight lasted for several hours that seemed like several days, at the end of which they made a nosedive landing onto a short field cleared in the midst of thick green. From the air they had seen the wonderful countryside of the Forbidden Kingdom: a majestic chain of snow-capped mountains and a series of narrow valleys and terraced hillsides covered with lush semitropical vegetation. The villages looked like clusters of little dollhouses, scattered here and there in almost inaccessible sites. The capital lay in a long narrow valley enclosed on all sides by mountains. It seemed impossible that a plane could land there, but the pilot knew his job well. When at last they touched down, everyone applauded, celebrating his amazing skill. Steps soon were run up to the plane. When the door was opened, the passengers got to their feet with great difficulty and staggered toward the exit, afraid that at any minute they might vomit or faint—all, that is, except for the cool and composed Judit Kinski.

Kate was the first to reach the door. A breath of fresh air hit her in the face, reviving her. She was surprised to see a beautifully woven carpet that ran from the steps to the door of a small building of polychrome wood with a pagoda roof. On
either side of the carpet, children waited with baskets of flowers. Set all along the path were slim poles topped with billowing silk banners. Several musicians dressed in vibrant colors and large hats were playing drums and brass instruments.

Right at the foot of the steps stood four dignitaries attired in full ceremonial garb: silk skirts bound at the waist with tight, dark blue sashes, a sign of ministerial rank; long jackets embroidered with coral and turquoise, and tall, pointed leather hats brightened with gold ornamentation and ribbons. They held delicate white scarves.

“Goodness! I wasn't expecting this kind of reception,” the writer exclaimed, smoothing her spiky hair and unfashionable thousand-pocketed jacket.

She descended the steps, followed by her companions, smiling and waving, but no one waved back. Her crew passed by the dignitaries and the children holding the flowers without winning a single glance; it was as if they didn't exist.

Judit followed behind, calm, smiling, perfectly poised. At that moment the musicians struck up a deafening chorus, the children began tossing a rain of rose petals, and the dignitaries bowed deeply. Judit Kinski returned their greetings with a modest bow, then held her arms out as the dignitaries stepped forward and draped scarves called
katas
across them.

The reporters from
International Geographic
watched as a party of richly attired individuals emerged from the small building with the pagoda roof. In the center was a man taller than the others, about sixty years old, though young in bearing, wearing a simple, long, dark red skirt, or sarong, that covered the lower half of his body, and a saffron-colored cloth folded over one
shoulder. His head was uncovered and shaved. He was barefoot, and his only adornments were a prayer bracelet made of amber beads and a medallion on his chest. Despite his extreme simplicity, which contrasted with the luxurious garb of the others, no one had any doubt that this man was the king. The foreigners stepped aside to let him pass, and automatically bowed deeply, as others were doing. Such was the authority the monarch communicated.

The king greeted Judit Kinski with a nod, which she returned in silence. Then they exchanged scarves with a series of complicated bows. She performed the steps of the ceremony perfectly. She wasn't joking when she told Kate that she had carefully studied the customs of the country. At the end of the ceremony the monarch and the landscape designer smiled openly and shook hands in Western fashion.

“Welcome to our humble country,” the sovereign said in a British-accented English.

The monarch and his guest withdrew, followed by the king's entourage, as Kate and her group scratched their heads, confused by what they had just seen. Judit must have made an extraordinary impression on the ruler, who was treating her as he would an honored ambassador, not a landscaper contracted to plant tulips in his garden.

They were collecting their luggage, which included the bundles containing the photographers' cameras and tripods, when a man approached them and introduced himself as Wandgi, their guide and interpreter. He was wearing the typical sarong tied at the waist with a striped sash, a short, sleeveless jacket, and soft hide boots. Kate noticed his hat, which was the kind the Italian mobsters wear in the movies.

They loaded their equipment onto a
broken-down Jeep, settled in as well as they could, and started off for the capital, which, according to Wandgi, was “just over there,” but turned out to be a trip of nearly three hours. What he called “the highway” was in fact a narrow curving road. The guide spoke an old-fashioned English and had an accent that was difficult to understand, as if he had learned it from a textbook without having had many opportunities to practice.

Along the way they drove past monks and nuns of all ages, some no more than five or six years old, all with their bowls for begging food. There were also many farm people on foot carrying bundles, young people on bicycles, and carts pulled by buffaloes. These were a very handsome people of medium stature, with aristocratic features and dignified bearing. They were always smiling, as if they were genuinely content. The only motorized vehicles they saw were a very old motorcycle with a parasol serving as improvised roof, and a small bus painted a thousand colors and overflowing with passengers, animals, and bundles. To pass the bus, the Jeep had to pull off to one side, because there wasn't room for two vehicles on the narrow road. Wandgi informed them that his majesty had several modern automobiles and that Judit Kinski was surely at the hotel by now.