Sherlock Hong: The Immortal Nightingale

by Don Bosco

  I nodded. It was starting to sound familiar. I had heard about similar cases back in London. “Why did Uncle Chan fall for this tall tale?” I asked Aisha. “Did the pirate mesmerise him and put him in a trance?”

  Aisha had no idea what I was talking about. Hypnotism was a popular hobby in London, but it had yet to reach Singapore. “I’m just telling you what I heard,” she said as she finished her banana pancake. “When the nightingale suddenly died, Uncle Chan was devastated. That’s when his son Chan Suk recommended the services of a man named William Fong, to bring the nightingale back to life. And so Uncle Chan made a deal with him.”

  I remembered what Auntie Mei had said. Uncle Chan wanted to be a Heavenly Immortal. He was obsessed with this.

  My brain worked furiously as I tried to connect the dots. I had more questions. “And what are William Fong’s qualifications? What do we know about him?”

  “I hear that he’s a necro... necro...”

  I stared at Aisha. “A necromancer?”

  “Yes!” she exclaimed. “That’s the word my aunt used.” She paused, then asked, “What’s a necromancer?”

  “A person who can communicate with spirits and dead people,” I told her.

  “That’s creepy!” Aisha shuddered. “Do you think he really has such powers? No wonder people are paying to see him at work!”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. “What did you just say?”

  “There are posters all over town,” Aisha said. “You can pay to watch Uncle Chan’s nightingale come back from the dead. It’s happening at Chan Mansion tomorrow afternoon. Tickets cost one dollar each. And I hear they’re selling like hot cakes.”

  Father wasn’t home from Sumatra yet. And it didn’t seem like he would get back in time. I thought about Auntie Mei’s desperation. I thought about justice and the Order and my achievement badge and about being young and brave.

  “Make sure you get a good night’s sleep, Aisha,” I said. “First thing tomorrow morning we’ll pay William Fong a visit!”

  Aisha was surprised. Then she got suspicious. She folded her arms. “Ever since you came back, you’ve been acting strange. What are you not telling me?”

  But she wasn’t expecting an answer. She shook her head and walked away. “I don’t know if we can be friends like this, Sherlock. I just don’t know anymore.”

  I was stunned. Should I tell her about the International Order of Young Seekers? About my desperate wish to earn my first achievement badge before my next birthday?

  Would she understand? Or would she make me choose between the Order and being friends with her?

  I stood there in the cold night under the full moon realising for the first time that things were different now between us and that when morning came, I would have to take on William Fong on my own.

  CHAPTER 7

  Father didn’t come home that night. Early the next morning, I found out that he had been asked to extend his stay in Sumatra for another week to take care of a local headman’s daughter who had contracted a very high fever and was getting weaker every day.

  The headman believed that a rival tribe had placed a curse on his daughter. If my father could not help the girl to recover, a war would soon break out between the two tribes.

  As for the dead nightingale, I decided I had to take swift action the first thing in the morning right after I finish breakfast.

  I ignored the pot of porridge in the kitchen and helped myself to some red bean cakes. I knew that if I left the house, there would be consequences to face, and I might even be punished. Miss Priya would turn up at nine o’clock and find me missing. My mother would be disappointed. And she would tell Pa. But how could I be deterred by all that? The future belongs to the young and the brave!

  I hurried across the immigrant quarter until I reached Chinatown. There were many young men waiting along the main street, all hoping to be hired for the day. Most of them would work down by the Singapore River, loading and unloading the boats. Others would be taken to a nearby plantation and assigned their duties. They looked anxious. If they didn’t get employed, they wouldn’t have any money for food or rent or medicine or fun.

  I walked on and turned into a side street. I found a green shophouse with a low gate in front of it. “Pui!” I shouted. “Come out, Pui!”

  A teenage boy looked out of the second storey window. He was chubby and had a crazy grin on his face. “Sherlock!” he cried happily. “My uncle is going boar hunting today. Do you want to join us?”

  Pui was the son of a textile merchant. He was also a good source of information. “Are you hungry?” I showed him my red bean cakes. His eyes lit up and he squealed like a happy little puppy.

  Ten seconds later, he was out in front with me and trying to cram the red bean cakes into his mouth, two at a time.

  He had heard about the dead bird show, as he called it. It was the talk of the town. Pay a dollar to watch a powerful mystic bring a dead nightingale back to life. But Pui wasn’t interested in such distractions. Not unless he could roast the bird and eat it afterwards.

  Pui told me that William Fong lived on Mount Emily and described the man with such vivid detail that I felt I had known him forever.

  Never mind Aisha. I would learn to operate without her.

  The area was quiet. I hurried up Mount Emily and followed some signs until I found the bungalow. I walked up the front path and knocked the door.

  No answer.

  So I decided to sneak around the back

  Then I heard a shout behind me, fierce and threatening. In my surprise, I almost bit my tongue.

  “Oi!”

  From that moment, things unfolded very quickly. Someone grabbed the back of my shirt, shook me violently and then shoved me so hard that I hit the ground.

  I rolled over frantically, wary, waiting to be pounced on.

  An imposing figure towered above me. He was tall with broad shoulders, and there was an odd-shaped scar on his left cheek which looked like a star or a Christmas tree ornament. He also had a short silvery beard which was unusual for a Chinese man.

  “Who sent you?” he barked and took another step towards me.

  Pui’s description was spot on. This was William Fong.

  And I was in deep trouble.

  CHAPTER 8

  I scrambled to my feet, dusted myself and pretended to be much more shaken than I actually was.

  “I’m... I’m here about the nightingale show,” I stammered. “I’d like to buy a ticket please.”

  He sniffed and cracked his knuckles. “Show me your money!” he commanded.

  All I had intended to do was snoop around his property and see if I could find anything about him. Anything that would expose the man as a fake and a cheat.

  I didn’t expect to be confronted like this!

  There was nothing else I could do. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my coin.

  “I... I have it here. One dollar.”

  “It’s two dollars a ticket, you monkey. Didn’t you hear? I’ve raised the price!”

  My heart was beating fast. I held out my coin and acted indignant. “But this is all the money I have!”

  William Fong laughed when he saw my disappointment. “The ritual starts in just a few hours,” he said. “If you don’t come back with the other dollar, you won’t get to watch it.”

  And then I heard a cough. Another man came out from behind the bungalow.

  He was sweaty and dirty. As he got closer, I caught the smell of fresh paint and sawdust.

  “I’ve completed five coats,” he grumbled. “Come and see if it’s good enough for you!”

  William Fong turned to glare at him.

  “Get back there, Ah Chye, and just keep painting,” William Fong instructed. “Let me deal with this kid first.”

  He suddenly grabbed my coin and bit on it to check that it wasn’t fake.

  “Hey!” I protested.

  William Fong dropped the coin into his pocket and sneered. “I’ll hold on
to this. You can consider it a down payment. Hurry back with the other dollar, if you want your ticket. You don’t have much time.”

  I remembered the Chinese martial arts instruction books that I had read in the private library of my mentor in London. And I remembered his advice about defending myself against bullies. Should I kick up a fuss and try to get my dollar back? Could I hope to fight William Fong and his friend, Ah Chye? Could I win them in armed combat?

  They were both big men, roughly the same height, and they had the same hardened features, except that one looked outright cruel, the other tired and resentful.

  In the end, I sulked and walked off. What else could I do?

  I thought I heard William Fong chuckling away behind me. But it could have been the wind.

  Once I was out of their sight, I rushed around to the other side of the hill and scrambled through the thick hedge until I could see their backyard.

  I watched William Fong inspect a stack of crates. Each one had the insignia of the East India Company. Ah Chye had been trying to cover these with paint. But he had done a terrible job. The markings were still very much obvious. Even at a distance.

  Ah Chye looked frustrated. But he didn’t complain. He dipped his brush into a pail and started painting again.

  The sun was getting hot. William Fong walked under a tree and sat in the shade. He scratched his beard and watched Ah Chye struggle with the paint job. He didn’t offer to help.

  CHAPTER 9

  Later that day, a crowd gathered outside Uncle Chan’s mansion at the end of River Valley Road where the rich families lived.

  The price of the tickets had increased and I didn’t have money to buy one. But Ah Mah was friends with one of the servant girls who worked in that house. Her name was Su Mei. She recognised me when I waved to her from outside the back compound, and that was how I managed to get in through the servants’ entrance.

  Su Mei was friendly and offered to show me around the mansion. From her, I learnt that the ritual would be conducted in the big ceremonial hall.

  People started to stream in. The air was filled with anticipation, excited whispers and nervous sighs. William Fong had created a stage at one end of the hall. It was made of a few boxes, all small and flat, unlike the crates that I had seen in his backyard.

  There was a table in the middle of the stage and a silver tray in the middle of the table. On the silver tray, I could see the dead nightingale lying on its side.

  I hid in the crowd and watched everything and everyone. I was nervous too. I almost didn’t recognise William Fong. He was dressed in a bizarre way, crazier than any stage illusionist I had ever seen in London. He wore a baggy ceremonial coat with red silk trimmings and he had a Tibetan helmet on his head which came down over his forehead and almost covered his eyes.

  Under that helmet, his face was painted like a Chinese street opera performer, with black swirls on both cheeks and gigantic red patches around each eye as well as a blue blob on his forehead.

  In front of him, some distance from where he had set up his stage, approximately forty people waited, eager to witness a miracle, but also afraid that they would experience something terrifying.

  William Fong clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Stand back, ladies and gentlemen. I need your cooperation. We’ll soon be summoning the spirit of this precious nightingale!”

  A murmur ran through the crowd. Some of them had brought their protective charms and amulets, which they started to play with nervously. Did they really believe that William Fong had special powers? Apparently they did.

  William Fong continued, “It’s possible that some other invisible entities might also be called forth in the process. For your own safety and sanity, get behind the red line. Yes, that red line that I’ve painted on the ground. Let me repeat, I won’t be held responsible for any accidents!”

  The crowd moved backwards in a hurry. I looked around for Ah Chye but he wasn’t there. There was no sign of Uncle Chan either, which surprised me. But I noticed a man in a black coat at the door, scowling and counting his money. This was likely to be Chan Suk, Uncle Chan’s notorious no-good son.

  Then I felt someone poke me from behind. I whirled around, half expecting to see Ah Chye waving a knife. But to my surprise, it was Aisha!

  What was she doing here? Did she buy a ticket?

  “I’ve been looking for you since breakfast,” she hissed urgently. “Your mother and your tutor too! They searched the whole neighbourhood for you. Over there, standing next to Chan Mei!”

  Aisha pointed, and I glanced across the room. Doot! I saw my mother! She didn’t believe in magic. So what was she doing here? I grabbed Aisha and hid behind her. I knew that if Ma saw me, she would march me home right away and punish me by making me do taiji squats until my thighs got numb.

  At that very moment, there was a high-pitched scream of terror.

  “The dead bird!” a woman’s voice cried out in alarm. “It’s coming to life!”

  CHAPTER 10

  Was it true? Did the bird move? The people in the room jostled to get a better look. But none of them dared to go any closer to the stage.

  I craned my neck and squinted. Did I just see the bird move its wing? Did it raise its head just a bit? Or was it a trick of the light? I couldn’t be sure.

  William Fong closed his eyes and started to chant in a deep voice. It was creepy! I felt a strange sensation on the back of my neck.

  I tugged on Aisha’s sleeve and started making my way to the front of the crowd. But she refused to follow.

  “We shouldn’t get involved,” Aisha whispered. “Besides, if he fails to bring the nightingale back to life, this crowd will be angry. They won’t let him off so easily.”

  She jerked her head and turned to look at the far wall. I followed her gaze and saw a young man in a brown uniform standing there, looking very watchful and tense.

  Aisha said, “That’s Constable Richard Flint from the Central Police Station. He’s here to make sure things don’t get out of hand.”

  William Fong must have sensed something. He suddenly opened his eyes and looked in our direction. He stopped chanting and stared at me.

  Of course I was scared. But more importantly, something inside me was sure that he was a fraud. And if I exposed him in front of everyone here, they would realise the foolishness of their superstition. And they would thank me for it!

  So, to Aisha’s horror, I dashed forward and jumped onto the stage. As you can imagine, William Fong was furious. “Boy! Get off or else...”

  Everyone was stunned. The room went so quiet that I could hear Chan Mei’s voice. “Madam Hong, what’s your son up to?” she asked. Mother didn’t reply. I could imagine her shaking her head in exasperation.

  I held out my hand and said innocently, “Sir, you don’t know how much I admire you, for your skill and your kindness in bringing Uncle Chan’s nightingale back to life. Please, may I have the honour of shaking your hand?”

  William Fong looked confused. I saw the man in the black coat, Chan Suk, rush out the door. Probably to get his servants to throw me out.

  To my surprise, a short gentleman in the front row got up and shook his finger at William Fong. He had a thick Scottish accent. “Go on,” he said, “just shake the boy’s hand! He’s not asking for much. He bought a ticket to see your show, didn’t he?”

  My eyes darted all around the stage, searching for clues, looking for anything that I could use to expose William Fong. I had to do something fast!

  The whole room was anxious to see what would happen next. “I know you’re up to no good,” William Fong growled.

  “I’m warning you, leave this place now. Or you’ll regret it!”

  I stared at his face. Something didn’t look right. I closed my eyes and called up my memories from earlier that day. The first time I met William Fong, the unpleasant incident at his house. Then I opened my eyes again and looked at the face in front of me. Even with all that make-up on, I could tell t
hat he was missing a prominent scar on his left cheek. How odd!

  William Fong lost his patience. He grabbed my shoulder and tried to shove me off the stage. But I noticed his hands. There was paint under his fingernails.

  And then he coughed.

  He coughed!

  Inside my head I could feel the pieces clicking into place. And so I did the first thing that came to mind.

  I grabbed William Fong’s silvery beard and pulled hard.

  “AAAAARRRGHHHHH!”

  And that was when the crowd went berserk.

  CHAPTER 11

  The beard came off in my hand. I stared into the pair of frenzied eyes. It wasn’t William Fong at all. The cough gave him away! It was Ah Chye pretending to be William Fong. Some people in the audience began to shout. They demanded to know what was going on.

  Constable Flint rushed forward to take control of the situation. “Move aside, let me through,” he ordered. But before he could get closer, Ah Chye leapt off the stage and elbowed Constable Flint out of the way. Then Ah Chye squirmed through the crowd and ran out the door!

  Constable Flint recovered quickly and went after Ah Chye. I ignored my mother’s shocked expression and followed closely after them.

  The future belongs to the young and brave!

  Ah Chye led us on a crazy chase across Chinatown, dodging through the crowd, vaulting over carts, shoving rickshaws and baskets and people aside.

  We turned into Boat Quay. I remembered those crates with the East India Company markings. Was Ah Chye headed for the Singapore River? Was William Fong waiting there for him with a getaway boat?

  Alas, in my haste I tripped over a heavy sack of something and went flying through the air towards a rickshaw that was hurrying across my path.

  Moments later: crash! Constable Flint heard the commotion and turned around. I was sprawled on the ground and clutching my side, my face contorted in pain. Constable Flint couldn’t decide if he should continue chasing Ah Chye or turn around and help me.