17
SPIES
When she returned to the kitchen shortly before the midday meal, Kancil hoped she would find Kitchen Boy alone. He was the only person she could talk to about what she had heard at the joglo.
It was a vain hope: Kitchen Boy was nowhere to be seen and both Bibi and Ida were there. Bibi’s forehead was stuck all over with patches of jamu paste to draw out the bad air causing her head to ache. The patches didn’t appear to be working very well because Bibi was in an even fouler mood than usual.
Each household took it in turns to feed the workers in the field. Today was Bibi’s turn. She stomped around and threw things as though this duty had been designed specifically to make her life difficult. Even Ida became fed up with her. “Your head would ache less if you didn’t shout so much,” she said under her breath.
“You’ll keep your mouth shut,” Bibi retorted, throwing a hunk of coconut husk at her. It caught a gourd of coconut milk that was sitting by the stove, spilling its contents all over the floor.
“You clumsy fool,” said Bibi.
“It was your fault,” Ida shouted back.
The morning continued like that. Kancil was relieved when Bibi told her to take the tray of food to the workers.
When she arrived at the pondok, where her shell necklace once lay hidden, she discovered that Kitchen Boy was taking his turn at working in the field. He arrived at the pondok with a basket of rice paddy snails just as she got there. Two other village boys were with him. One carried a hoe and the other a basket of weeds. They rinsed their muddy legs at the water barrel that stood near the pondok steps then set about devouring the rice and greens Kancil had brought them, without even a glance in her direction.
Kancil’s stomach grumbled loudly and the boys looked up.
“Isn’t she the dumb girl who works in your kitchen?” one of the boys asked Kitchen Boy.
He nodded. “Her stomach’s not so quiet though,” he said.
“Here, girl, you can eat with us,” said the other boy, making room for her.
Kancil joined them gratefully. When the meal was finished, the village boys rolled onto their backs to sleep. Kitchen Boy reached for the kendi to take a swig of water.
“Bah! Empty!” he said. “Come on.” He motioned for Kancil to join him as he stood up. “Walk with me to the spring.”
“That kendi’s not empty,” said Kancil when they were out of earshot. She had been the last to drink from it.
“I know, but you wanted to talk to me,” Kitchen Boy replied.
“How could you tell?” she asked, astounded.
Kitchen Boy shrugged. “I could tell by looking at you,” he said. “What’s up?”
Kancil filled him in as quickly as she could; they had already reached the spring.
“You’re not certain it was the prince you heard speaking like a thief?” he asked when she had finished.
Kancil shook her head.
“So it’s possible that he is who he says he is but he’s got bad taste in servants?”
Kancil nodded slowly. “But,” she said, “even if he is a prince, he’s up to something. He must know they’re Sunda low-lifes; they were speaking openly in front of him. And then there’s the local man – there was something not right about him.”
“There’s only one thing for it,” said Kitchen Boy. “We’re going to have to spy on them.”
“How?” Kancil asked.
“I’ll figure something out. What sort of a mood is Bibi in today?”
“Bad, she has a headache.”
“Interesting,” said Kitchen Boy, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I think I have an idea. Leave it to me.”
“I know the perfect jamu for you. It will cure that head in an instant.”
Kitchen Boy had returned from the fields and was preparing the snails he had collected, scooping the meat out of the shells and skewering it on sharpened bamboo sticks. Bibi was hunched in the corner near the fire. Rain poured down all around and she complained that she felt like it was drumming into her head. Kancil made her a ginger tea then retreated to the narrow verandah at the front of the kitchen where Ida had already wisely moved – it was far enough away to be safe from Bibi’s throwing arm.
Bibi grunted in reply to Kitchen Boy’s suggestion. Undeterred by her response, he continued, “The problem is, it requires dusk lily buds.”
“Never heard of such a thing,” Bibi scoffed.
“They’re not very common and they have to be picked at dusk to be effective,” Kitchen Boy continued. “I know where they grow, deep in the forest. I’m happy to collect some for you. I’ll have the jamu ready first thing in the morning. I’ll need help, though. Perhaps Ida would come with me?”
“Forget it,” said Ida. “You won’t catch me in the forest at night, take the girl.”
“Is that all right, Bibi?” Kitchen Boy asked.
“I don’t care what you do,” she groaned. “Just make sure the stupid bint doesn’t get eaten by a tiger or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Bint, thought Kancil. That had been Bibi’s name for her ever since she got in trouble for calling her bandit spawn. And someone else had said it recently. Kancil had a feeling it was important, but she couldn’t remember who it was.
“Is there really such a thing as a dusk lily?” Kancil asked when they were a safe distance from the village.
“Not as far as I know,” Kitchen Boy replied.
“So what will you tell Bibi when you don’t have jamu for her?”
“Oh, I’ll have jamu for her. If I tell her it has dusk lily in it, she’ll believe me.”
As they got closer to the joglo, Kancil thought of more and more reasons why spying on the prince was a bad idea. “Wouldn’t we have been better to stay at Big Uncle’s and listen in to the elders meeting at the pendopo?” she whispered to Kitchen Boy. “Perhaps they know something that we don’t.”
Kitchen Boy stopped and looked at her. “Don’t be stupid,” he said. “You’re the only person in this place who knows anything.”
The compliment didn’t make her feel proud, it made her anxious. What if she had made a mistake? Imagined the whole thing? What would happen to her if she were caught spying on a prince? What would happen to Mother?
She regretted telling Kitchen Boy about her suspicions. She was supposed to be working on the dalang to help her get out of here, not racing around trying to solve the mystery of the prince’s true identity. How was this going to help her find Agus?
They stepped off the path and into the forest. It was difficult walking through the undergrowth. The concentration required to avoid touching itchy weed or thorn bushes while walking soundlessly distracted Kancil from thinking about her impending doom.
Nearer to the joglo they could see the soft glow of a lamp shining from the pendopo and hear the rumble of quiet conversation. They edged round the wall to the back gate. Kitchen Boy tested the bars and chose a spot where he thought he could squeeze through. Kancil caught his wrist. “You’ll get stuck,” she hissed.
“I might not,” he replied.
“Well, then, I’ll get stuck,” she said, “and even if we do get through, there’s nowhere to hide in there. If one of them comes around the back, we’ll be caught for sure.”
“You got a better idea?”
Kancil thought a better idea would be to scurry back to Big Uncle’s home as fast as possible. She didn’t think that would be a good way to convince Kitchen Boy to give up his crazy scheme, though.
“Around the front,” she said instead. “It’s dark now so they won’t see us if we sneak through the front gate and we can hide in the black bamboo in the courtyard. I think we’ll be able to hear them from there and if they get suspicious we can make a run for it out through the front. If we’re quick enough, they’ll think we’re a couple of monkeys looking for scraps.”
Kitchen Boy grinned. “You’re actually quite good at this sneaking around, spying on people business, aren’t you?”
<
br /> “No,” Kancil whispered back, “I just don’t want to get caught.”
They slipped around the front gate and crouched in the bamboo. The men were gathered in the pendopo, passing around a flask made from a long bamboo tube and taking turns to drink from it. Kancil had seen flasks like that used for storing tuak palm wine.
The black bamboo was a good hiding place, but Kancil discovered a flaw in her plan as she strained to listen – the men were being more cautious now that it was dark so they were speaking quietly. She would have to move closer if she wanted to hear what they were saying.
“If I can get close to the joglo, I can slip under the edge of the pendopo floor in the gap I noticed when I was waiting on the men earlier,” she whispered.
The problem was getting to the joglo: she would be out of sight if she hid behind one of the two stone guardians in front of the steps, but there was no way to get from the bamboo to the guardian or from the guardian to the joglo without being in the open long enough for someone to see her.
“Can you distract them?” She pointed towards the wall on the other side of the courtyard. “Throw a stone or something over there so they all look that way for a moment, to give me time to get under the pendopo.” She couldn’t quite believe that she was suggesting this. Kitchen Boy looked at her with admiration.
“I have a better idea,” he whispered back. “I’ll be able to get you under there, but you’ll have to find your own way out. I’m sure you’ve already thought of that, haven’t you?”
Kancil chewed her lip. “I guess I’ll be stuck there until they all go to sleep, or go inside. What if they post a guard at the gate? I’ll be stuck there all night! I’ll have to pretend somehow to arrive with Ibu Tari in the morning. I take it back; it was a stupid idea.”
“Pah!” said Kitchen Boy. “Now you’re thinking too much. If you always thought about what might happen, you’d never do anything. You’ll need to come up with an idea for escape. I’ll be at the pondok. If I don’t see you there by dawn, I’ll come back and get you.” And before Kancil could stop him, he leaped up and darted out the front gate.
“What was that?” one of the men said, clearly enough for her to hear. The men looked up.
“Monkey,” said another and the quiet conversation resumed.
18
GOLD
Kancil waited behind the bamboo. She was beginning to wonder if Kitchen Boy was playing a cruel trick on her when she heard a long rumbling growl followed by the shriek of terrified monkeys. A moment later Kitchen Boy dashed through the gate, waving a stick in his good arm. He ran straight up the steps and scooted around to the far side of the pendopo, falling to his knees and bowing to the floor.
The men leaped up. Some were looking over the wall, towards where the growl and shrieks had come from, and others were staring at the strange figure at their feet. All were looking in the opposite direction to where Kancil was. She saw her opportunity, dashed across the courtyard and squeezed herself into the gap under the pendopo floor.
“Forgive me, Bhre,” she heard Kitchen Boy wail. “The mighty tiger was not pleased with me collecting jamu in his forest at night. I beg you let me stay near the safety of your lamp until he loses interest in teaching me a lesson.”
“A tiger? Really?” Kancil recognised Scar’s voice. “I’d like to see that. Fatty, light that torch. Let’s go and take a look. Come on, boy, you can show us where he is.”
“I’d really rather not,” said Kitchen Boy in a squeaky voice.
“What?” roared Scar. “You’ll do what you’re told!”
“Oh, leave him be,” said the parasol bearer. “Can’t you see the kid’s terrified?”
Kancil had never heard a tiger’s growl so she didn’t know what it should sound like. The growl in the forest had convinced the monkeys, though, and Kitchen Boy was making a very good show of being scared. Yet it must have been him mimicking a tiger – it was too much of a coincidence that a tiger should appear moments after he went looking for a way to distract the men. Kancil remembered Kitchen Boy’s story about meeting his tiger spirit in the forest. Her skin prickled.
“I’ve lit this torch now,” someone said. “We might as well go and have a look.” The floor creaked and through the gaps between the floorboards Kancil could see two men descend the steps and walk towards the front gate. One of them was Scar and the other was the tallest and skinniest of the jempana bearers. Kancil guessed that he must be Fatty.
“Why were you collecting jamu at night?” the parasol bearer asked Kitchen Boy.
Kitchen Boy explained about the dusk lilies and elaborated with a list of other medicinal plants that were more potent when harvested at night. He went on to tell them about various close encounters he had had with tigers over the years. Kancil willed him to be quiet and let the men get on with their conversation. She hadn’t folded herself into this cramped hole to listen to Kitchen Boy show off.
As Kitchen Boy prattled on, Kancil heard a soft whistle from behind the building. One of the men muttered, “That’ll be him. Get rid of the boy,” in Sunda language before thumping down the steps and around the side of the building.
“Time for you to go home to bed now, kid,” the parasol bearer said. “Sounds like your tiger’s gone elsewhere anyway.”
“I thank you most humbly for your protection,” Kitchen Boy said in polite Jawa language. Kancil smiled. She had taught him that phrase.
When Kitchen Boy left, Kancil suddenly felt very vulnerable. Don’t be stupid, she told herself, you were no safer with him up there than you are now. A part of her was still in shock at her decision to spy on the prince but mostly, despite the fear, she felt exhilarated. She realised now how much she missed the comings and goings at the market in Muara Jati, where she used to help Mother most days. Whenever a new boat pulled in at the harbour, there would be different faces to look at, languages to listen to. Here, every day was the same, everybody looked the same, sounded the same. Until now.
Two pairs of legs passed by her hiding place and the timber above her head groaned as the men sat down. Carefully, she eased herself back towards the edge of the pendopo, further away from the light of the lamp.
“Rat! What took you so long?” the prince demanded. It was definitely the prince and he was definitely talking the thieves’ dialect.
“Don’t call me that.” It was the local man Kancil had seen that morning.
“Why not?” asked the prince. “You’re just like a rat, sneaky and clever. That’s a compliment where I come from.” The men all laughed loudly. They had been passing around the tuak and were a lot more relaxed now. Kancil suspected she would have been able to hear them from the hiding place in the bamboo.
“Anyway, what’s the news?” the prince continued. At that moment Scar and Fatty rounded the front gate.
“Where’s that kid?” asked Scar.
“Gone,” said the parasol bearer. “What’s your problem?”
“I’d like to see where that tiger was, is all,” Scar grumbled. “Couldn’t even find footprints and we searched all over.”
“What kid?” asked Rat.
“Some kid out collecting jamu in the forest got spooked by a tiger and came running in here. Don’t worry, we sent him on his way.”
“Cripple?” asked Rat.
“Possibly. Might have had something wrong with one of his arms. Why? Do you know him?”
“No, but that witch I told you about – the one who used to spy on us in the forest – I heard a rumour she was training up some cripple who was supposed to be a tiger charmer.”
Suddenly, Kancil remembered what had been troubling her – the local man had called her a bint, and now she thought about it, he sounded a bit like Bibi when he spoke. Could he be Bibi’s son, the scoundrel? And if he was the scoundrel, were these the bandits who had stolen the temple treasure all those years ago?
“We’d better be careful,” the prince said. “Do you think she might have sent him to spy on us? Are you sure h
e’s gone? Go check to make sure he’s not hiding near the gate. Go on, Itam, do something useful for a change.”
Kancil watched as the man she had nicknamed the moaner lumbered down the steps and peered out into the darkness beyond the wall. “No sign,” he said when he came back, “and even if he was here, he wouldn’t understand us.”
“Maybe not, but she might. She’s cunning, that witch. She might have sent him to distract us while she slipped in through the back,” said the local man.
“All right, go and check,” the prince sighed. “Doesn’t hurt to be careful.”
Kancil held her breath and curled herself up into as small a ball as she could. She had recognised this as a perfect hiding spot straightaway this morning. What if they did the same? If they looked under the pendopo, she was done for.
She heard the men stomping around outside and through the dalem. “No sign,” Itam said when they returned. “If you ask me, Rat’s making us jumpy on purpose.”
“And why would I do that?” the local man snarled.
“Because you messed up. You can’t find it, can you?”
“Eh?” said Rat.
With each swig of tuak the bandits had slipped further into their Sunda low-life dialect. Kancil had to concentrate hard to understand them and she guessed the scoundrel was also struggling.
“You … can’t … find … the … gold,” Itam repeated.
“It’s not my fault,” Rat whined. “The mountain’s a completely different shape to what it was before it blew, and the trees I used as markers have all gone. Anyway, I told you: if someone can get into the old house to get my stick, I’ll be able to find the gold no problem.”
“You and your precious stick,” Itam snorted.
“Enough of this,” the prince snapped. “Remember what we’re all here for.”
No! thought Kancil. Don’t just remember. Say it! Stop talking in riddles! Her legs were starting to cramp. She was more than ready for them to reveal their secret so she could get out of there.
“I don’t understand how a stick hidden down a well is going to help us find the gold,” said Itam.
Tiger Stone Page 12
