The Eye of the Monkey

by Gareth P. Jones

  There was a thud from behind the stone door, then slowly it creaked open.

  “That’s neat,” said Donnie. He peered into the tunnel. “Looks dark in there—lucky I brought this.” He rooted around in his backpack and produced what looked like a child’s bicycle helmet with a flashlight strapped to the front. He popped it on his head, then hopped onto Smo’s back.

  “Tread carefully,” said Chuck.

  Donnie switched on the flashlight as they entered the tunnel. It smelled musty and damp, and grew steadily darker and colder as Smo ventured further inside, following the passageway as it twisted and turned deep inside the rock.

  Donnie’s keen eyes scanned their surroundings. “There are engravings of monkeys on the walls,” he pointed out.

  “Monkeys are sacred in India,” Smo explained. “Perhaps this temple was built to worship them.”

  They turned another corner and found themselves in a cavernous chamber. Donnie shone his flashlight around and gasped. There in front of them was a huge statue of a blue monkey sitting cross-legged, and wearing strings of black pearls around its neck, and a gold crown on its head. “Wow. That’s one big monkey.”

  “It is Hanuman, the Hindu monkey god,” Smo spoke in hushed tones.

  Donnie examined the statue’s face. One of the monkey’s eyes was painted green, but the other was empty, as though something had been removed from it. “We’ve been beaten to it!” cried Donnie. “The thief has come and gone!”

  “But how could anyone have climbed up so high?” said Smo.

  “With that,” said Donnie, pointing out a coiled rope on the floor.

  Suddenly, a loud bang echoed along the tunnel and around the chamber.

  “What was that?” whispered Smo.

  “I fear that Jet has got bored and let go of his branch,” said Donnie anxiously. “And I think that was the sound of the door slamming shut, locking us inside. But it’s not all bad news.”

  “It isn’t?” asked Smo.

  “No. At least we’ll get to find out what the last line of the riddle means.”

  “‘If the three let go, it’s the other one’s wash,’” Smo remembered. Then he added, “Isn’t that the sound of water?”

  “Ah! So the door closes, triggering a mechanism that redirects the waterfall through the temple,” said Donnie. “Clever! But don’t worry, I have just the thing.” He reached into his backpack and riffled around. “Now, where is it?”

  The sound of rushing water grew louder.

  “Haste would be no bad thing. Llamas are not natural swimmers,” said Smo.

  “Inflatable hat … inflatable car … inflatable fire extinguisher. I’m not even sure that works.…”

  A massive wave of water crashed into the chamber, and pounded toward them.

  “Hurry!” cried Smo.

  “Ah, here it is, my inflatable dinghy!”

  Donnie pulled the cord and they leaped aboard, just as the wave slammed down onto them.

  Donnie was wrong. It wasn’t Jet who had let go of his branch—it was Bruce. And not because he got bored, but because several small, hard objects had struck him in the back of the head. “OW!” he bellowed, falling to the ground.

  “No!” cried Chuck, as Bruce’s branch slotted back into position, and the door to the temple slammed shut.

  “Nuts!” exclaimed Bruce.

  Chuck and Jet dropped down beside him.

  “What is it, Bruce?” asked Chuck.

  Bruce rubbed his head and looked at the objects on the ground around him. “Nuts, like I said.” He picked one up. “Someone’s throwing nuts at us.”

  “Shaolin surprise!” cried a voice, as three monkeys sporting orange robes and spiky hairdos leaped out of the surrounding trees.

  “I am Brother Bataar, and this is Turbold and Kamil,” said the tallest of the three, nodding to the monkeys on his left and right. “We are the Shaolin Monkeys, protectors of this temple.”

  “Ha! You haven’t done a very good job of protecting it! Two of our friends are already inside,” Jet pointed out.

  “Insolent mongoose!” cried the monkey named Turbold.

  “Jet, be quiet,” Chuck said. “We mean you no harm. We are merely here to—”

  “Silence!” Brother Bataar commanded. “Shaolin troop, let us show them how we fight!”

  Turbold aimed a flying kick at Jet, catching him off guard and sending him barging into Bruce. Jet sprang back onto his feet, responding with a cry of “Ninja-boom!” and a powerful roundhouse kick. Turbold blocked Jet’s attack and spun around to hit him again, but Jet ducked and rolled out of the way.

  Nearby, Bruce took on Kamil, who seemed to have an endless supply of nuts, each nibbled into a sharp point. The monkey warrior threw them at the burly meerkat with the speed and force of bullets.

  “Hey, stop that!” shouted Bruce.

  “You cannot take it?” cried Kamil.

  “No, I just think you’re wasting perfectly good food,” Bruce replied.

  Meanwhile, Brother Bataar jumped up on his paws and catapulted himself at Chuck. Chuck bowed, so that the monkey flew straight over him. Then they both spun around and stood face to face.

  “The ground you are standing on is ours,” said Brother Bataar.

  “Then I will take my leave,” replied Chuck. He leaped into the air, twisting his body and swinging his tail at the monkey. Now it was Brother Bataar who had to dodge the attack. Chuck landed on the ground and aimed again, this time catching the monkey’s legs and bringing him crashing down. Within seconds, Brother Bataar was back on his feet and preparing to strike.

  “Please, listen! We are here to protect the Eye of the Monkey,” said Chuck.

  “As are we,” replied Brother Bataar, launching himself at Chuck once more.

  Nearby, Turbold jumped in the air and attempted to clap his paws around Jet’s head. Jet dodged and knocked Turbold off his feet.

  “I see you are familiar with the Drowned Rat style of combat,” said Jet. “Unlike your hairdo, it’s very fashionable at the moment.”

  “I am an expert in martial arts, but I do not care for fashion,” replied Turbold. “Victory never goes out of style.”

  “Let’s see how you look clothed in defeat,” Jet snarled, attacking with his claws.

  Turbold ducked. “Perhaps that’s an outfit that would look better on you.” He rolled into a ball and bowled himself at Jet, who jumped out of the way.

  “I’m not sure how long we can go on like this,” said Chuck, aiming a punch at his opponent.

  “You are tired?” sneered Brother Bataar.

  “No, but I can’t listen to anymore battle banter from those two. Can we call a truce for a moment?”

  Brother Bataar paused. “OK. Shaolin brothers, withdraw,” he commanded. The other two monkeys jumped into formation behind him.

  “You say you are the guardians of this temple,” said Chuck. “Who gave you this great honor?”

  “We are from a secret Shaolin temple in the Himalayas. For hundreds of years, our elders have picked the finest warriors to come here and stand guard over the temple and the precious Eye of the Monkey,” Brother Bataar replied.

  “Finest warriors, ha!” cried Jet.

  Chuck shot Jet a warning glance. “Please continue,” he urged Brother Bataar.

  “We keep a constant watch over the entrance to the temple,” the monkey explained.

  “Then why did you allow my friends to enter before attacking?” asked Chuck.

  “We knew that in dealing with you, the temple would eject them,” replied Brother Bataar.

  At that moment, a roaring sound filled the clearing.

  Brother Bataar grinned. “Ah, here they come now.”

  “Whoooahhh!” came a cry.

  The waterfall suddenly gushed as though someone had turned a tap on to full power. Riding the crest of the wave were Donnie and Smo, clinging to an inflated rubber dinghy, and screaming at the tops of their voices.

  They crashed down into
the pool below with a mighty splash, but soon surfaced and paddled to the shore.

  “Now, that’s what I call a ride!” said Donnie, climbing out of the dinghy and giving himself a good shake.

  “I haven’t had that much fun since I got lost in a field of sugarcane in Goa and had to eat my way out,” Smo agreed.

  Turbold gasped. “The Delhi Llama! I’ve read your book. You once beat the great bare-knuckle fighting bear of Bombay.”

  “Oh, he was just a teddy bear really,” Smo said with a smile.

  “You see, your friends have been successfully ejected. The Eye of the Monkey is impossible to steal,” said Brother Bataar, bringing them back to the point.

  But Donnie shook his head. “The jewel has gone.”

  “Impossible,” said Kamil.

  “We keep a constant watch from these trees and check on it every evening at dusk,” said Brother Bataar.

  “Well, someone has snuck in and taken it since you checked on it last, for I can confirm that the Eye is no longer there,” said Smo. “You have my word as a disciple of the great Shaolin Monkey warrior, Brother Li-Luv that it was not us.”

  Brother Bataar bowed. “Then I believe you. But how is this possible?”

  “You say you check on the jewel every evening,” said Chuck. “What if the thief observed what you were doing? Could they have waited until after you had checked on the Eye, then entered the temple and taken it?”

  “Impossible,” said Turbold. “We would have seen them.”

  “But even if someone could have gotten in without us noticing, the Eye was kept well out of reach,” said Brother Bataar.

  “Donnie, did you find any clues inside the temple?” asked Chuck.

  “There was a rope at the bottom of the statue in which the emerald was hidden,” said Donnie.

  “But the statue is designed to be unclimbable,” said Kamil. “Everything slopes down—the ears, the nose—there is no way of attaching anything to it.”

  “Then, what was the rope used for?” asked Jet.

  “I can think of only one answer: the Indian Rope Trick,” Donnie replied.

  “What’s that?” asked Bruce.

  “It’s an amazing trick. A magician takes an ordinary rope, conjures it to stand on its end, then climbs up it,” said Donnie.

  “Oh, that sounds good. I like magic tricks,” said Bruce. “My favorite is the one where they saw the lady in half.”

  “But the Indian Rope Trick is a myth,” said Chuck. “No one has ever actually done it.”

  “Except for—” began Turbold.

  “Hold your tongue,” snapped Brother Bataar. “We will take our leave of you now.”

  “If you have a suspect in mind, you should tell us,” said Chuck. “We could work together.”

  Brother Bataar shook his head. “This is a matter of pride for us. If the Eye has gone missing on our watch, we must retrieve it ourselves, otherwise we would never be able to show our faces in the Shaolin temple again. Shaolin Monkeys, come!” The three monkeys leaped into the trees and disappeared.

  “Well, they seemed nice,” said Bruce.

  “Nice?” said Jet. “They just ambushed and attacked us, listened in on Donnie’s ideas about the rope, and then ran off without telling us what they know.”

  “Yeah, but they had cool spiky hairdos and I liked their orange robes,” said Bruce.

  “The mention of the Indian Rope Trick clearly meant something to them,” said Chuck. “Smo, have you any idea who could perform such a trick?”

  “I’m afraid not, but I do know someone who might know,” replied the llama. “He is my trusted contact in Agra—the one who informed me that someone had found out about the jewel’s location in the first place.”

  “We must go to him at once,” said Chuck. “Bruce, you come with me and Smo. Jet and Donnie—follow those monkeys.”

  Donnie and Jet pursued Brother Bataar, Turbold, and Kamil on foot at first, taking care to stay hidden. The monkeys moved quickly, swinging from tree to tree out of the jungle, then jumping from rock to rock through the desert. When they reached Agra, they scampered up the sides of buildings and jumped across the rooftops.

  “We’re losing them,” said Jet. “We might be quick, but we lack their climbing skills.”

  “Let’s use the meerkite,” said Donnie. From his backpack he pulled out a small glider, with two fold-out wings. He opened up the wings and slid the control bar into position. Then Jet grabbed hold of one end, and Donnie the other.

  “Hang on tight!” Donnie cried, as they launched themselves off a rooftop. The wings caught a gust of wind and the two meerkats soared into the sky. Donnie angled the glider to the right to follow the monkeys. But as they did so, Jet noticed a huge circular red and black tent.

  “It’s the Ringmaster’s big top,” he said. “Let’s take a closer look.”

  “But what about the monkeys?”

  “We’ll be able to see them for miles from up here, and catch up with them quickly,” Jet assured him. “Anyway, if it is the Ringmaster who hired someone to steal the jewel, then we should definitely find out what he and his circus goons are up to.”

  “Good point.” Donnie steered the glider lower to get a better view.

  “Look, there’s Sheffield and Grimsby,” said Jet, spotting two sinister clowns patrolling the area.

  “And Doris too,” said Donnie, seeing the Ringmaster’s faithful dancing dog coming out of the tent behind a tall blond man wearing a red shirt and a black vest. “But I don’t recognize the guy she’s with.” The man had a belt full of knives strapped across his chest.

  They swooped lower, circling the tip of the circus tent. “Hey, I wonder what’s in those big trucks,” Jet added, spotting two large trucks parked alongside the big top.

  “Who knows, but we’d better get out of here before they spot us,” Donnie whispered, making sure that their enemies below couldn’t hear him.

  Suddenly, there was the sound of dramatic music. “Oh no! That’s my phone!” cried Donnie, fumbling to reach it.

  But it was too late. The clowns looked up.

  “Eh, Grimsby boy, what’s got two tails and goes arrrghh?” said Sheffield.

  “I don’t know, what has two tails and goes arrrghh?” replied Grimsby.

  “Those two meddlesome meerkats any second now.” He turned to the man with the belt of knives. “Herr Flick, bring ’em down.”

  “With pleasure,” replied the knife-thrower, speaking with a thick German accent. He selected a knife, took aim, and threw it. The knife spun through the air before slicing cleanly through the right wing of the glider, sending the meerkats spiralling to the ground.

  Jet pulled out his nunchucks and swung at Doris, catching her nose as she leaped at them. She yelped in pain and fought back with a tango step, a growl, and a bite. Jet evaded her teeth, slid under her legs, grabbed her tail, and flung her into a large pile of elephant manure.

  “Ha, the meerkätzchen threw the puppy into the poo poo,” said the knife-thrower. “Now, it is my turn to cut in.”

  He drew two knives from his belt and flung them at Jet, who was forced to leap into a midair roll to avoid them.

  Meanwhile, Donnie took on the clowns, both of whom had picked up huge rubber mallets. He dodged several blows, then whipped out a pair of handcuffs from his backpack and slapped them over the clowns’ wrists. Sheffield lifted his mallet again, but as he did so he brought Grimsby’s weapon down onto his own head.

  “Ow! Watch what you’re doing with that,” said Sheffield.

  “No, you watch it,” replied Grimsby, lifting his mallet and whacking himself in the head with Sheffield’s.

  With the two clowns occupied, Donnie was free to help Jet with Herr Flick. He delved into his backpack again and pulled out a large magnet. Then he hurried over to the nearest of the two trucks and hastily tied it to the front wheel. All of a sudden, the German knife-thrower found himself being dragged toward the magnet by his knife belt, and pinned to the t
ruck.

  “Nice one, Donnie,” said Jet.

  But the meerkats’ moment of victory was short-lived as the back doors of both trucks crashed open. Two gigantic elephants stomped out of the darkness toward them, their trunks raised menacingly. Suddenly, two jets of water shot toward the meerkats, lifting them off their feet and knocking them out.

  In another part of the city, Smo led Chuck and Bruce to the gates of the Taj Mahal. The area was full of tourists eager to have their photo taken in front of the famous monument. No one noticed the two meerkats and one limping llama who entered the lush gardens that stretched all the way to the temple. Chuck paused to admire the magnificent white building. “Humans are certainly capable of great things,” he said.

  “You’re telling me. You should try this chicken vindaloo with extra chili I found in the trash over there,” said Bruce, licking his lips. “It’s delicious!”

  “I’m not sure a half-eaten curry really compares,” said Chuck. “Smo, why are we here?”

  “This is where my contact lives,” the llama replied.

  They had stopped near an old box with a sign on it which read DEAF, BLIND, AND LAME: PLEASE HELP. Next to the sign was an old hat with a couple of coins in it. Inside the box sat a sorry excuse for a dog. Half of its left ear was missing, one of its front legs was in a plaster cast, and it was wearing a pair of sunglasses.

  A jolly American couple stopped to read the sign. “Hey, Herb, take a look at that cute little doggy,” said the woman. “Give him some money, won’t you?”

  “Sure thing, poor little guy. Reminds me of old Tex back home,” said her husband. He dropped a few coins into the hat as they walked past.

  “Hi, Smo,” said the dog, lifting off his sunglasses.

  “Hey, you’re not blind!” said Bruce.

  “I’ll have you know I have extremely sensitive eyes,” the dog replied. He lifted his leg out of the plaster cast and scratched behind his good ear, then glanced at Bruce’s curry. “That looks tasty,” he said.