by P J Tierney
The four Warriors of the Way followed the smell of broth to the verandah of the noodle house. A fine layer of dust had settled on the floorboards and on the plastic-covered table where guests ate. It was quiet inside.
Jamie knocked on the screen door. They waited. Jamie knocked again, harder this time. There was a crash from inside, then footsteps ran towards them and the door swung open with a bang. Old Mama Chow burst out wearing her dressing gown and wielding a wooden broom handle. She swung it at Jamie, who felt the rush of air as he leaped out of its way.
‘You’ve got a hide coming back here,’ she said, jabbing at him with the broom handle as if it was a sword. ‘After what you did to my grandson.’
Jamie dodged each blow. ‘I didn’t do anything to Feng!’
‘He taught you everything you know,’ she screamed, ‘and then you go and double-cross him like that!’
Old Mama Chow had bits of old rice sticking to the front of her dressing gown and her grey hair was all frizzy. She looked and sounded crazy, but she wasn’t entirely wrong about Feng. He had taught Jamie kung fu, but Jamie suspected that Feng leaving the village had more to do with his grandmother than it did him. If he had to choose between being possessed by a rogue spirit and living with Old Mama Chow, he would have chosen the spirit too.
She swung the broom handle at Jamie again, keeping him at bay. ‘You didn’t even know about the Spirit Warrior until he told you! He’s the first son of the dragon, not you. You’re not even Chinese!’
Mr Fan sneaked up behind her, grabbed her and pinned her arms to her body. The broom clattered to the ground. Old Mama Chow struggled and used language that would have made the fishermen blush. She rammed her heel into Mr Fan’s shin and he sucked a breath in through his teeth. He looked like he might use some of the same words, but instead he exhaled and said in a short, clipped tone, ‘Mamasan, I am astonished that any man would leave you.’
She twisted around to look at him. ‘My own grandson,’ she said. ‘They’re supposed to look after us when we’re old, aren’t they?’ Then all the bluster evaporated, leaving her looking frail. ‘They all leave me. First my son, now my grandson. And to think I was so happy I had boys. Now I have nothing.’
Mr Fan released her slowly and nodded. ‘We can only hold them so tight for so long, and then we must let them go.’
She said with a sob, ‘But they don’t come back. Not to me anyway.’
Jamie really did feel sorry for her.
‘We make our family out of those we love and respect,’ Mr Fan said, ‘not necessarily those we happen to be related to.’
Old Mama Chow paused for a moment to think and Mr Fan took the opportunity to ask if she was serving breakfast this morning. She blinked a few times, then looked around at the neglected setting. She seemed to come alive and quickly wiped the table and pulled the stools out for them. Then she went to the kitchen and a short time later brought out bowl after bowl of steaming broth and noodles. She fussed over them as they ate, straightening Wing’s shirt and flattening down Jamie’s hair.
When she went back to the kitchen, Wing leaned over and said quietly, ‘She’s mental, isn’t she?’
Jamie spent the morning resoldering the electrical cable from the Lin Yao, but a large part of his attention was focused on the Leungs’ front door. No-one came and no-one went. By early afternoon, Jamie could bear it no longer. He put his tools down and went over to The Swift. Hector was in the galley, leaning over a glass of whisky.
‘It’s quiet around here, Dad,’ Jamie said.
Hector looked up at the sound of his voice and seemed surprised to see him.
‘It wasn’t a few days back,’ he said, and flicked a hand towards the forward cabin, where newspapers with Jamie’s photo all over the front page were strewn across the bare mattress. ‘Been inundated with folk wanting a piece of you.’ He took a long swallow of whisky and shuddered. ‘And a piece of the rest of us too.’
Jamie’s stomach clenched. Nothing scared Hector, so the shudder didn’t bode well. ‘What do you mean, the rest of you too?’
‘Huh?’ Hector said.
‘What did you mean when you said they wanted a piece of the rest of you too?’ Jamie repeated.
Hector frowned as if he was hearing the words for the first time and they didn’t make sense. Jamie sighed and left him to his stupor. He went to the engine hold. He grabbed the books Mrs Leung had lent him when he was trying to learn to read and headed towards their house, his bound excuse held tightly to his chest.
He knocked loudly on the courtyard door. There was no response. He pushed on it and it creaked open. Jamie peered inside. ‘Hello,’ he called. ‘Is anybody there?’
He pushed till the opening was large enough for him to squeeze through, then he crossed the courtyard and listened at the front door. He blocked out the first layer of sound, leaned closer and strained to hear more, but there was no second layer. No television, no radio, no voices. He knocked anyway, and was startled by a glass shattering and the loud scraping of chair legs against a stone floor. Hurried footsteps came towards the door. Jamie stepped back and took a defensive stance.
It was Bohai, all red-faced and flustered, who yanked the door wide open. He looked past Jamie to the empty courtyard and his face fell. His eyes settled on Jamie. ‘I didn’t know you were back,’ he said.
Mrs Leung rushed up behind Bohai; she looked eager and flustered too. Like Bohai, she looked past Jamie into the courtyard, then the light in her eyes diminished. She slumped against the doorjamb, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
She held her arms out to Jamie and said, ‘It’s good to see you.’ She wrapped him up in a big hug and rocked him back and forth. Bohai had to pull her away.
Jamie held the twins’ learn-to-read books out to her. ‘Thanks for these, Mrs Leung. They were really helpful.’
Mrs Leung looked at the books and tears welled in her eyes. She took them from him and cradled them to her chest. Bohai put his arm around her shoulders and turned her back inside the house. He gave Jamie a curt nod and went to close the door.
Jamie stuck his foot out to stop him. ‘Is everything all right?’ he asked.
‘Fine, everything’s fine,’ Bohai said, and he pushed on the door a little harder.
Jamie bit his lip against the sudden pain in his foot. He was bewildered that his friend wasn’t at least a little bit pleased to see him.
‘Um,’ he said, searching for an excuse to stay talking, ‘you want to come and see our new boat?’
‘Not right now,’ Bohai said as he looked nervously over his shoulder into the house.
Jamie took advantage of his distraction to wedge his shoulder into the opening too. ‘You showed me an almanac before I left,’ he said. ‘An old one your dad brought home from the museum.’
Bohai tensed and held his hands up to stop Jamie talking. He stepped outside, pulling Jamie with him, and closed the door behind them.
‘What about the almanac?’ he said in a hurried whisper. ‘What do you want it for?’
Jamie pulled away from Bohai’s tight grip and the wild look in his eyes. ‘I just want to check something,’ he said.
Bohai’s eyes narrowed and he formed his hands into fists. Jamie backed away and held his hands up in a gesture of compliance.
‘There’s someone who wants me dead,’ he said. ‘I just need to find out who he has working for him.’
Bohai continued to eye him suspiciously. ‘Is that all?’
This was hardly the response Jamie had expected after telling his best friend someone wanted him dead. ‘Are you okay, Bohai?’
Bohai took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I’m fine,’ he said, but he looked far from fine. He looked desperate.
‘The almanac?’ Jamie prompted in a tone that pleaded.
Bohai shook his head. ‘I haven’t got it any more. Dad had to take it back to work.’ He opened the front door. ‘I’m sorry, Jamie, I really am.’ Then he went back inside.
‘Ca
n you call him?’ Jamie blurted. ‘Ask him to bring it home?’ The final few words were said to a closed door.
‘When will he be home?’ Jamie called through the lock as the key turned.
On the Lin Yao, Jamie continued working on the electrical cable, all the while keeping watch on the Leungs’ house. He welded a new chequer-plate panel over the rusty hole in the gantry, and while the welder was powered up he installed a pole in the corner of the bridge. He positioned a small platform two-thirds of the way up the pole, then welded a rod all the way round as a handrail — or, to be more precise, a paw rail. Jet squawked his approval and climbed up the pole and swung onto his new perch.
By lunchtime, Jamie had tested the tug’s electronics and radio, flushed and refilled the freshwater containers and made a temporary seal for the wobbly windscreen. He was sick of waiting. He went over to Lucy, who had just finished cleaning the deck of puke and pus. She’d sprayed disinfectant on the mess, then hosed it off into the water, all without coming within three metres of the crud.
‘Want to come and buy supplies with me?’ Jamie asked.
‘Ooh, shopping,’ Lucy said, clapping her hands together.
Jamie regretted asking her already. He’d have preferred to go with Wing, but he was still very pale and grimaced whenever he lifted anything.
Jamie put on his hat and pulled it down low to disguise his face.
Mr Fan looked up from his newspaper. ‘Are you only going as far as the marketplace at the top of the escarpment?’
Jamie bit his bottom lip. ‘Oh, just a little bit further,’ he said, trying to sound casual. ‘Maybe into the next town. I want to buy some dive gear … you know, in case I need to check the hull or something.’
‘And you can’t buy that at the market?’
‘Not the right sort,’ Jamie said, avoiding eye contact.
Mr Fan glanced nervously from Jamie to Wing’s shoulder. ‘Maybe we should all go then.’
Jamie tensed and shot a look at Wing, who, thank goodness, got it. He gave a weak cough and pulled his shirt out to look down at his wound.
‘Do you think this smells a bit like the back of a butcher’s shop?’ he asked Mr Fan.
Jamie and Lucy caught the bus up the winding mountain road, past Stanley then down the other side. They went through two tunnels and thirty-five minutes later they were standing in front of the towering National Museum of Antiquities. Looking up the wide concrete stairs, Jamie felt minuscule. All of a sudden his plan to march in and demand to see Mr Leung seemed naive.
Lucy must have read the apprehension on his face. She squeezed his hand and said, ‘Don’t worry, Jamie, you’re in my world now.’
A wave of relief swept over him and he — rather bravely, he thought — squeezed her hand back.
A grey-haired woman whose face was layered in thick, pasty make-up sat at the enquiry desk. The badge on her lapel said Volunteer — Marjory. She smiled at them, but her lips stayed tightly together; it sure didn’t reach her eyes.
‘Dears,’ she said in an ingratiating tone, ‘we can’t interrupt the important professors at their work now, can we? How about you two run along to the children’s interactive area on level two?’ She beamed as if she was offering them a rare treat and added enthusiastically, ‘There are colouring-in sheets.’
‘Ah, right,’ Lucy said, looking past her for someone who might actually be able to help. ‘Professor Leung is expecting us. Please call and tell him Miss Lucy Wang is here to see him.’
Marjory made no sign of having heard her; she patted Lucy’s hand. ‘Where are your parents, dear?’
‘Well, now that you ask,’ Lucy said, ‘my father is a supporter of this museum.’
‘Oh, lovely,’ Marjory said, smiling indulgently. ‘We have so many lovely sponsors and we appreciate every single one of them, no matter how big or small their contribution may be.’
Lucy seemed to lose her sense of humour about Marjory. Her expression went blank.
‘So tell me,’ Marjory went on, ‘has your father made it to our special sponsors’ page?’ She pushed a photocopied list of names in front of Lucy. ‘Because if you’re on this page, you get a free cup of tea in the cafeteria.’ She tapped the page with her long, painted nail. ‘Is he here, dear?’
Lucy didn’t even bother to look at the page. ‘No,’ she said, ‘he’s not on that list.’
‘Well, then,’ Marjory said, pulling the page back as if that was exactly what she’d expected.
Lucy said, ‘He’s not on that piece of paper because his name is on the wall.’ She kept her eyes on Marjory and pointed behind her to a panel above the huge doorway into the museum’s newest, most gleaming wing that said The Wang Family Gallery.
Marjory gave Lucy her most condescending smile, then her face fell as she looked more closely at her. She turned to the framed photograph beside the entrance to the wing. It had been taken during the ribbon-cutting ceremony and the girl wielding the scissors was indeed the girl standing in front of poor Marjory now.
‘Oh, Miss Lucy Wang, of course,’ Marjory said, smiling broadly and bobbing up and down as if she was attempting a courtesy. ‘I’m so sorry I didn’t recognise you. You look so pretty in that photo —’ She stopped herself as she looked down at Lucy’s current outfit of T-shirt and training pants. Lucy challenged Marjory with a glare. Marjory flushed and cleared her throat. ‘Who was it you wanted to see again?’
Jamie and Lucy were escorted to the research department by an enormous security guard. He was tall and broad and took up most of the space in the lift, his shoulders almost touching the sides. His shirt collar didn’t fit around his massive neck and gaped open under his tie, exposing a black undershirt. He used a swipe card to select a floor that was labelled Authorised Access Only. His nametag said Security — Eugene. Jamie caught Lucy’s eye and made a face that said he sure didn’t look like a Eugene.
The elevator doors opened onto a long metal-lined corridor. It reminded Jamie of a hospital and smelled like one too. Eugene made them put on white paper coats and little booties over their shoes.
‘It’s atmospherically controlled down here, to stop contamination,’ Eugene explained.
Jamie felt he should be there to ask about a medical procedure and not an almanac.
The laboratories where the restorations took place were behind glass walls. The people inside all wore white coats; some prodded delicately at various objects, others tapped away at keyboards. In the first lab they passed, the restorers were dabbing at large terracotta statues with small paintbrushes. In the next one, they were working on a painting with a soft cloth. In the third — the one that interested Jamie — someone was examining a piece of paper on a lightbox. The person in the white coat wasn’t Mr Leung, however.
Eugene knocked on the door. On it were printed two names: Professor Leung and Professor Low.
The white-coated woman stood up and waved them in. She looked nothing like you’d expect a professor of antiquities to look. She was youngish, with long hair that she tucked back behind her hoop-adorned ears. Her eyes were lined top and bottom with thick, dark make-up and underneath her open white coat she wore jeans and T-shirt. Lucy caught Jamie admiring the picture of a motorcycle on the front of the tight-fitting shirt and he quickly averted his eyes.
He glanced around for Mr Leung, and for the almanac too, but neither was in sight.
‘Hey,’ Professor Low greeted them, ‘I won’t be a minute,’ then returned to the microscope. She held a tiny fragment of paper with a pair of tweezers and lined it up next to a slightly larger piece. She sighed and put the fragment back onto a glass sheet that held at least a thousand more pieces of the same size.
‘You know, I’m beginning to think the invention of paper wasn’t such a great thing after all,’ she said, and smiled. Then she cocked her head slightly at Lucy. ‘Hey, I know you, don’t I?’
‘Yes,’ Lucy said. ‘You snuck out of the opening of the new gallery with me. You got us hot dogs and we ate them on
the balcony.’
Professor Low nodded. ‘I remember, they were good hot dogs. There’s only so much goat’s cheese on teeny crackers that a girl can take.’
Lucy nodded sympathetically.
‘So what are you doing here?’ Professor Low asked. ‘Come to see what your father’s money has bought?’
Lucy smiled, looked around the room and said, ‘We’re looking for Professor Leung.’
‘Well, you’re out of luck,’ Professor Low said. ‘He hasn’t been in for a few days.’
‘Are you sure?’ Jamie asked. Bohai had definitely told him his father was at work.
Professor Low smiled and gestured around the small room. ‘He’d be difficult to miss. His oldest boy rang in, said something about his father being bitten by a stray dog and waiting for a rabies test to come back.’
Jamie and Lucy shared an ominous look.
Professor Low caught their exchange and raised her eyebrows. ‘You mean he’s not at home?’
Lucy recovered quickly. ‘Yes, he’s at home. We just haven’t seen him much, you know. You can never be too careful when it comes to rabies.’
‘No, you can’t,’ Professor Low said suspiciously.
Lucy smiled brightly. ‘So do you mind if we have a quick look around?’
Professor Low smiled back. ‘You know, Lucy, your father gave me this job because we went to the same school. He was a few years ahead of me, of course. Well, quite a few years ahead of me. But I heard you’re at that same school now?’
Jamie’s heart missed a beat. Lucy whipped around to Eugene, who was hovering near the door. Professor Low shot him a look that must have meant ‘dismissed’ because he grunted and left. Lucy opened her mouth to speak, but Professor Low shook her head and raised her eyebrows towards the door. Eugene’s shadow was visible on the floor in front of the glass wall and it wasn’t moving.
They waited, till finally the shadow disappeared.
‘You went to Lucy’s school?’ Jamie asked the professor. ‘I can’t imagine it’s changed much. Which dormitory were you in?’
She smiled and said, ‘The Western Pavilions — the only one they have for the students.’ When they didn’t look convinced, she added, ‘Between the Grand Pagoda and the dining pavilion, opposite the Dragon Rock. They got a new cook just before I left, a skinny woman with a baby. What was her name?’
