by P J Tierney
‘Okay, this is good,’ Mr Fan said.
‘Good?’ Jamie gasped. ‘Didn’t you see the baseball bats?’
‘Yes, Jamie,’ Mr Fan said, turning away from the men. ‘If they need bats as weapons, then they are not fighting with the Way. Bats we can deal with.’
Jamie doubted that.
The men were getting close to the village square now and Jamie still had to turn The Swift around and reverse into the mooring. They would never head them off in time. He revved the motors and swung The Swift a little too quickly.
‘Slowly, Jamie,’ Mr Fan said. ‘Timing is everything.’
The men were crossing the square now.
‘They’ll get to the Leungs before we do!’ Jamie cried.
‘It’s important that they do.’
‘What?’
‘They need to know that Bohai is not the boy they’re looking for.’
‘How will they know that?’
Mr Fan said slowly, ‘Because we will let them get there first.’
Jamie stared open-mouthed at the old man, barely believing what he’d heard. He had to quickly change course to avoid ramming the dock. ‘And when they find out it’s me they want?’
‘They’ll never suspect it’s you,’ Mr Fan said, far too quickly.
The men were almost at the dock now, the first of them only metres from the Leungs’ house. Mr Fan watched their every move. ‘Why won’t they suspect it’s me?’ Jamie asked.
‘Because you’re not Chinese.’
Jamie opened his mouth to protest and Mr Fan added quickly, ‘Enough. You’re not Chinese enough.’
The men were close now, too close. Jamie could see the logo on their black shirts clearly: the silhouette of a figure doing a high kick within a yellow triangle.
Mr Fan turned to Jamie, grabbed both his shoulders and bent so they were eye to eye. He said very sternly, ‘Make sure they see your face when we go in. But you must also stay close to me. Do you understand? I have to be able to see you.’ He gave Jamie a shake. ‘Do you understand?’
Jamie nodded.
Mr Fan said, ‘I won’t lose you, not now,’ but it sounded more like a vow to himself than to Jamie.
The first of the muscled brutes kicked at the Leungs’ door and the hinges ripped from the ancient stone. Jamie heard Mrs Leung scream and saw the man disappear inside.
‘Now!’ Mr Fan shouted as he made a running leap towards the dock. ‘Stay close,’ he reminded Jamie over his shoulder.
Jamie threw the mooring line over the pile and charged after him. As he ran, he felt for his dive knife and took a sliver of comfort from its weight strapped to his thigh.
Mr Fan sprinted towards the closest man, dropped to one knee and skidded along the ground. The man yelled out in surprise as his legs were swept from under him. He hit the ground with a dull thud.
His two companions turned and confronted Mr Fan. Mr Fan crouched low, one leg forwards, the other bent and bearing his weight. He held his arms high, ready to defend.
The man on the ground jumped up, and all three circled Mr Fan slowly, sizing the old man up and misjudging what they saw. The men attacked in elaborate sequences of punches and kicks that looked well rehearsed. Mr Fan dodged the punches and jumped away from the kicks. He didn’t seem to block, but simply moved around their attacks. The barrage was ceaseless, yet he didn’t take a single hit.
One of the men swung a baseball bat at Mr Fan’s midsection. He dodged it so quickly it looked as if it had passed straight through him, surprising the man on the other side just before it made his ribcage cave in. He crumpled to the ground, gasping for air.
This made the attacker seethe. He raised his bat and slammed it down towards Mr Fan’s head. Jamie tried to call out a warning, but he couldn’t get the words out. Mr Fan must have heard the bat coming, though, because he dived sideways and it crashed into the ground.
Mr Fan flipped up and into the air. He landed on the bat, pinning both the weapon and the attacker’s fingers to the ground. But Mr Fan’s footing was all wrong as he balanced on the rolling bat and the third man saw his chance. He positioned himself to attack.
Jamie saw a flash of surprise cross Mr Fan’s face. Jamie tugged his knife from its sheath, aimed the hilt at the black T-shirt and threw. The blade glinted as it spun in perfect arcs. It hit the man hard, right between the shoulder blades, but it hit him hilt-first. The knife bounced off harmlessly.
No!
The man felt the impact and turned to see Jamie staring, wide-eyed and defenceless. That small distraction, however, cost the man dearly. Mr Fan repositioned his weight, freeing one leg to kick while keeping the first attacker pinned. When the man turned back, Mr Fan swung his foot into the man’s jaw. Blood and teeth splattered the ground.
Mr Fan nodded his acknowledgment to Jamie. A well-aimed back kick dealt with the man still pinned by the bat, and Mr Fan and Jamie were running towards the Leungs’ house. Mrs Leung’s screams were louder and more desperate.
The intruder had Bohai against the kitchen wall, pinned by the throat. Bohai’s face was a deep, dark red and his eyes bulged. His lips were turning blue and he was clawing frantically at the hand that held him.
Mrs Leung slammed a massive steel wok into the man’s back. The reverberations shook her whole body, but the man showed no sign of even noticing her.
Jamie didn’t stop to think; he lined himself up with the back of the man’s legs and charged. His shoulder hit the man’s knees and they both slammed into the wall. The man bounced off, tripped over Jamie and dropped Bohai. Bohai slid down the wall, gasping and clutching at his throat.
The attacker leaped to his feet, kicking and swearing at Jamie, his face red with rage. Mr Fan was waiting. He took a fighting stance, his weight perfectly balanced, his left arm forwards with his palm upright, his fingers bent at the top joint. The tiger claw. His right hand was pulled back and ready to strike.
The difference in age and size between the two men was considerable. The black-clad man smirked. He seemed almost embarrassed for the old man. His muscles rippled in a way that was supposed to intimidate, but Mr Fan didn’t flinch. He stood tense and ready, his gaze locked on his opponent.
The man charged, swinging first his arm then his foot at Mr Fan’s midsection. Mr Fan shuffled backwards and out of reach. The man swaggered and smirked, interpreting the retreat as a sign of weakness. He repositioned himself and charged again. Mr Fan met the onslaught by slamming his flat palm into the man’s lower abdomen. There was a ringing, slapping sound and for a fraction of a second the larger man hung in the air, stopped dead by Mr Fan’s palm, his arms and legs flung forwards by the momentum. The slapping sound was quickly followed by a sharp and sickening crack. The man’s eyes bulged and he gurgled up spit and blood. He fell to the ground. He tried to get to his feet, but the pain was too intense. He doubled over himself, spat again and turned a deep, deep scarlet.
Only then did Mr Fan ease from his pose.
‘What did you do to him?’ Jamie gasped.
‘Broke his pelvis,’ Mr Fan replied as he stepped over the writhing man to tend to Bohai.
Jamie swallowed, his stomach a strange mix of nausea and tension. His father had taught him that the one golden rule of fighting was ‘Never hit below the belt’.
Jamie’s confusion must have been written on his face because Mr Fan looked up from Bohai’s wounds and said, ‘Sometimes you fight for honour, Jamie, but if you are fighting at all, then you are fighting to win.’
Jamie looked at Bohai’s swollen face and the burst blood vessels in his eyes and felt relieved that the hands that had almost strangled his friend were now clutching at a broken pelvis.
Mr Fan allowed the men to crawl and stumble their way back to their car. He assured Jamie that they would report back to whoever had hired them that there was no-one of importance at Sai Chun — just a crazy old man, a half-caste kid and a Chinese boy who, even on the brink of death, couldn’t invoke the Way. When Jamie thought how
close Bohai had come to being strangled to death, it seemed a very high price to pay.
He watched the white Mercedes move slowly back along the overgrown track. When he looked back down at the village square, he caught a flash of movement in the window of the loft room above the shop. Feng Chow had seen the whole thing.
The police came, descriptions were given and reports filled out. Bohai was taken to hospital, just as a precaution. Then came a telling moment for Jamie. When it came to signing the report, the police officer asked for his parents. Jamie explained that Hector was in hospital and he didn’t have a mother.
‘Guardian then?’ the officer asked.
Jamie told him there wasn’t one.
The police officer turned to the villagers who were milling around in excitement. ‘Who will sign for this boy?’
His plea was met with an awkward silence.
‘Come on, someone’s got to be looking after this kid?’
If Mrs Leung had been there, she would have signed for him, Jamie was convinced of that. But there was only Low See Fut, who scoffed and turned his back; Feng Chow, who laughed and said, ‘Me, a guardian?’; and Old Mama Chow, who flicked the question away as if it was a stray dog.
Jamie felt himself shrink where he stood.
‘If no-one will sign for the boy, I’ll have to take him to the department,’ the officer said.
‘I’m okay,’ Jamie said. ‘I’ve looked after myself loads of times.’
‘Doesn’t say much for your father now, does it?’
Jamie bit his bottom lip.
Mr Fan strode to the centre of the square, seeming to grow in stature the closer he got to the villagers. ‘He is one of your own. Will you not stand for him?’ he called out.
Jamie knew exactly the words that were forming in Low See’s head and possibly in the others’ too: that he wasn’t really one of theirs. None of them was brave enough to voice them though.
‘If you will not claim him,’ Mr Fan said firmly, ‘then I will.’
He took the folder from the police officer and scanned the completed form, then changed one of the entries. Jamie peered over the edge of the folder, but of course he was unable to read the details. Mr Fan caught him peeking and winked.
‘I am proud to sign for this boy,’ he said loudly as he wrote on the bottom of the form. Then, so only Jamie could hear, he whispered, ‘I think they may come to regret this moment.’
Jamie had no idea what Mr Fan was talking about, but he smiled. For the first time ever, he wasn’t embarrassed to be Jamie Reign.
Chapter 12
Around the village, Jamie heard windows and doors being shut against the cold night air and the memory of the violence that had rampaged through their home. He shivered and not just because it was cold.
He called the hospital and because Feng had the only phone in the village, the mountains too steep to let any wireless signal through, Old Mama Chow got to hover and listen while Jamie asked about his father.
There had been no change in Hector’s condition. Jamie figured he would be on his own for a while, a prospect that would have thrilled him only a few days ago. Now, however, things seemed different and a little bit scary too. Jamie was sort of hoping that by signing for him, Mr Fan would feel obliged to him in some way.
‘You know, Jamie,’ Mr Fan said, patting his stomach, ‘I can’t remember the last time I ate.’
Only partially drawn from his thoughts, Jamie said, ‘It was a spam and ketchup sandwich — you were back there,’ and he waved his hand towards the deck.
Mr Fan chuckled. ‘You’re quite right.’
Jamie realised that probably wasn’t what he was really asking. ‘I can cook,’ he said, pleased to have an excuse to keep Mr Fan around a little while longer.
In the galley, Jamie dug through the cupboards. Vegetables weren’t a problem — he had six bunches of choy sum. There were two cans of soup — one tomato, the other chicken noodle — but he decided they probably wouldn’t mix well together. He put them on the bench and searched further.
Mr Fan watched from the table. ‘It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it, Jamie?’
Jamie wasn’t quite ready to think about everything he had seen in the past twenty-four hours. ‘I’ve got noodles,’ he said. ‘They’ll taste all right with the choy sum and some dried shrimp.’
He lit the cooktop and boiled water, put the noodles into a basin, rehydrated the shrimp, anything to keep busy. Mr Fan sat in silence. Jamie poured the hot water over the noodles and waited while they grew plump and pliable.
‘Jamie,’ Mr Fan said firmly, drawing him to the table, ‘there’s more I must tell you.’
Jamie pointed at the noodles in a last attempt to put off whatever was coming.
‘They need a few minutes,’ Mr Fan said. ‘We have some time.’
Jamie resigned himself and sat down, although after the bug thing he was pretty sure he’d seen the worst of what was out there.
‘Have you heard the stories about the Warriors of the Way?’ Mr Fan asked.
The Warriors of the Way were the stuff of legend. They were fantastical warriors who fought with thunder and lightning, upholding honour and protecting the vulnerable. Jamie’s stomach fluttered and he felt trapped; he had heard the stories, from Bohai. But those sorts of stories were only for the Chinese boys and he didn’t want to get Bohai in trouble.
‘It’s all right,’ Mr Fan said, seeing Jamie’s hesitation. ‘Stories do not lose power in the retelling. It’s all right for you to have heard them.’
Jamie relaxed. ‘Are the stories real?’
Mr Fan nodded. ‘Parts of them, at least.’
‘Which parts?’
Mr Fan smiled. ‘Only the parts that are difficult to believe. The Warriors discovered the secrets to the Way in an ancient text written on scrolls two and a half thousand years ago. They learned to harness energy from the world around them, to draw it to them. This energy took the form of —’
‘Lightning?’ Jamie said, remembering the weapons from the stories.
Mr Fan nodded again. ‘Although it’s not actually lightning. This energy takes the form of …’ He paused and prompted Jamie with his eyebrows.
‘Little balls of light?’
Mr Fan smiled. ‘It was you, wasn’t it? You Summoned the Way.’
‘I think so,’ Jamie breathed. ‘How did you know?’
‘Just like your Riding the Way drew those men to your village, your Summoning of the orbs told me that someone with a connection to the Way was here.’
‘And that’s why you came to Sai Chun?’
‘Yes. You see, the Warriors of the Way all but died out — I am one of few who remain — but recently their skills have been returning. There are young people with the knowledge from lifetimes past — the new Warriors of the Way. My task, Jamie, is to find them. You are one of those Warriors of the Way.’
Jamie scoffed and waved away the thought. ‘No, I couldn’t be. They’re Chinese stories and, well …’ His voice trailed off.
Mr Fan smiled at his denials. ‘Your mother was Chinese.’
Jamie thought of what little he knew about his mother. Her name was Mayling, she was Chinese, and she had abandoned him when he was a baby. All he had of her was his mixed blood, fine hands and an old piece of tapestry. It didn’t add up to much.
‘So this text,’ he said, ‘where is it now?’
‘Oh, you’ll find it in any old bookshop,’ Mr Fan said. ‘It’s been reprinted and translated a thousand times. The Tao Te Ching. We keep our secrets hidden in plain sight.’
Jamie had heard of the Tao Te Ching. It had been written two and a half thousand years ago by an elderly philosopher, Lao Tzu. Feng Chow was forever quoting from it: Lao Tzu said this, Lao Tzu said that. Jamie doubted he’d ever once realised the treasure hidden within its pages.
‘Can anyone read it and find the secrets?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ Mr Fan said. ‘But only if you know what to look for.’
Mr Fan had not finished. ‘There’s a reason I have to tell you this, Jamie.’ From the seriousness of his tone, Jamie knew this was the real reason for the conversation. ‘You see, there is someone in particular we are all looking for,’ Mr Fan went on. ‘He is an old soul returning to earth. He brings with him the wisdom of the ages and a connection to the Way that will make the skills of the rest of us look insignificant. We know only one thing about this person: the day he was born.’ Mr Fan was looking deep into Jamie’s eyes now. ‘We know this because a Ki-Lin announced his birth. Do you know what a Ki-Lin is, Jamie? It is the king of all mythical beasts. It lives beyond the clouds and on extremely rare occasions comes to earth. When it appears to us, it is doing one of three things: foretelling the reign of a kindly Emperor, predicting the imminent death of a ruler or …’ Mr Fan paused and his eyes glinted, ‘it is announcing the birth of a great person.’
The breath caught in Jamie’s throat as he remembered Mr Fan lying about his age and crossing something out on the police report. Mr Fan nodded, reading his expression.
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘The Warrior of the Way we are all looking for was born on your birthday.’
Jamie stared, wondering if maybe, just maybe …
Mr Fan held his hand up. ‘It doesn’t mean you are that person, Jamie.’
His stomach fell.
‘We have been looking for this Warrior for twelve years, examining every child born that New Year’s Day. So far we have ruled out every child we know about. But here you are, unbeknown to anyone, right under our noses.’
Hidden in plain sight, Jamie thought.
‘No birth certificate, no school records, nothing to let anyone know you exist.’ Mr Fan smiled. ‘No wonder you’ve remained hidden for so long.’
Jamie squirmed. He’d never been special to anyone: not his mother, who’d abandoned him, nor his father, who beat him. He couldn’t read, and he sure didn’t carry with him the wisdom of the ages.
