The Eleventh Tiger

by David A. McIntee

  was either relying on the others to protect him, or he was a master. From the way he carried himself, with an air that said he had nothing to prove, Cheng was certain it was the latter.

  The abbot stepped forward, casual but alert. ‘Bandits! Give yourselves up now, and I will see that you are not executed.’

  Years breaking rocks under the sun and eating rats in a light-less dungeon didn’t seem much of an improvement over death to Cheng. His companions’ attitude was similar, and Cheng could see and hear them drawing their weapons as he pulled a sabre from his belt. ‘You’re outnumbered, monk,’ he said. ‘Leave now and I’ll let you keep the same number of limbs as you had when you came in.’

  The abbot didn’t reply. Instead, a flick of his foot sent Pang’s fallen torch spinning towards Cheng’s face. Cheng cut it aside with his sword, but the moving flame had wrecked his night vision and he found himself momentarily blind in the darkness of the cave.

  He moved instinctively, dodging behind a pillar he knew was on his left. The cave erupted with the sounds of running feet, steel on steel and wood on flesh. This last sound, he knew, was from that damned staff carried by the lean monk, who could take on several people at once with it - striking with one end to the front then the other behind in the blink of an eye, and then immediately swinging it like a club.

  As his eyes readjusted, Cheng thought he’d been tipped into one of the hells. Firelight waved and spun, causing shadows and darkness to tumble, as a couple of the bandits used their torches as weapons and swung them at the monks. He ignored them, and headed for the lean monk with the staff.

  As Cheng had feared, he already had two fallen bandits at his feet. Cheng darted forward, but the monk still managed to crack a bandit on the forehead and in the groin with opposite ends of the staff, and swing it up in time to block Cheng’s sabre. The wood was old and hard, and almost as dense as iron. The sabre bit into it a little, but the damned staff didn’t break.

  The monk twisted, and Cheng had to let go of his sabre and twist away to avoid being jabbed in the face with the tip of the wood. Then Li appeared between him and the monk, catching the staff in crossed butterfly swords. ‘Thanks,’

  Cheng whispered, not wanting to distract Li.

  The big monk, who was broader across the shoulders than even the bear-like Pang, was duelling with his nunchuks against those wielded by young Ho-Wei. There was no sign of the abbot, and Cheng hoped against hope that one of his men had put the old bastard down.

  He bent to scoop up his sabre, thinking he would help Li to teach the staff-wielder a lesson. As he straightened he saw a blur out of the corner of his eye. Pain exploded through his mind, overloading all his senses before his brain could finish telling him that the blur was an incoming roundhouse kick.

  His friends and enemies momentarily danced horizontally out from a wall. Cheng blinked, and realised he was lying on the floor, not leaning against the wall.

  He pulled himself to the wall of the cave, dodging instinctively without waiting to see whether or not the monk was lashing out at him again. His vision cleared, and the throbbing in his head became the stirrings of rage.

  It was the abbot, of course. Cheng twisted and rolled to his feet, lashing out with his fists. He had no idea where his sabre had landed. The abbot slid aside without any visible effort, letting all Cheng’s punches and kicks connect only with thin air. Then a flick of his wrist tapped Cheng’s ear with what felt like the impact of a horse’s hoof.

  This time Cheng stayed down, his arms and legs refusing his aching brain’s order to lift him up. From where he lay he could see Li finally take a blow to the back of his knees and crumple. He couldn’t see Ho-Wei or anyone else, but he didn’t hear any more sounds of fighting. One way or the other, the fight was over.

  A tremendous weight sank into the small of Cheng’s back, and the abbot grabbed his hands and pulled them behind him. ‘You should have listened,’ he told him. Cheng felt taut rope against his wrists. He tried to struggle free, but only succeeded in scraping his skin painfully against the rough bindings the abbot was putting on him.

  He could see the lean monk tying Li’s wrists. Cheng raged inwardly - he and Li were being made ready to be taken, like pigs to the butcher - but he was held too tightly to break free and give the abbot the kicking he deserved. ‘These men are good companions, not animals to be slaughtered,’ he snarled into the floor. ‘If you think differently, then it’s you who deserve to be executed.’ The abbot didn’t bother to reply.

  Maybe it was the blows he’d taken to his head, but Cheng thought he saw the false stars in the ceiling glow brighter for a moment, and the strange ripple of light pass more strongly overhead. The monk binding Li’s wrists must have noticed this because he froze in the middle of his knot-tying.

  Hoping that his own captor was similarly distracted, Cheng twisted against his grip and was suddenly free of it. His hands were solidly tied behind his back, but his legs were still unbound and he used them to roll aside. The abbot didn’t seem to notice but, after a moment, he straightened and started to turn away.

  Cheng’s blood was boiling with the desire to strike back at the young monk and kill him, but he knew he couldn’t. He simply wasn’t a match for the monks’ power and their training. The impotence he felt about this simply made his blood boil even more.

  As the abbot turned, Cheng caught a glimpse of his features, and all thoughts of violence fled his mind. The abbot’s expression was impassive, stunned, and he seemed to freeze, but his eyes were filled with light - not the poetic light of passionate emotion or vitality, but a soft, unnatural fluorescence. They were like two candle flames casting faint beams ahead of him.

  Cheng had never seen anything like it, and never wanted to again. The ghosts, he thought frantically. Pang had been right, and the place was home to ghosts. Not peaceful shen, the spirits of revered ancestors, but demonic kui seeking vengeance upon the living for whatever misdeed they per-ceived had been done to them.

  Cheng thanked his lucky stars that the kui had taken over the monks instead of him, and didn’t intend to give them a chance to change their minds. He used his free but shaking legs to push himself up against a pillar, and staggered for the exit. Pang and the others had already gone, and Cheng could see Li and Ho-Wei crawling towards the tunnel as fast as their injuries would permit.

  He didn’t stop to assist them - anyway, what could he do with his hands bound? It wasn’t as if he could help them to their feet, or carry one of them. He stumbled into the blackness of the tunnel, climbing up towards the light of the fire Pang had built in the cave earlier. It provided a point to aim for, though it didn’t help him to find the steps or avoid fallen rocks.

  Cheng slumped forward on to the rubble blocking the top part of the tunnel and wriggled through into the cave. He flopped on the earth floor and took a shuddering breath, the relief of having got out of the accursed hall almost overwhelming him. The freshness of the stormy air was electrifying after the fug below. For a moment he thought he’d burst into tears, but it didn’t quite come to that.

  He heard horses departing outside, and instinctively knew Pang and the others were making their getaway. He didn’t even think of pausing to consider how he might grab the loot lying by the fire. Instead, he went straight outside into the cool night air. The loot was surely cursed now anyway, and he had no further taste for it.

  The rain had stopped, though the wind was still strong.

  The eye of the storm was overhead and the sky was temporarily clear. Cheng froze for an instant, staring once again at the sky. The moon had gone and its place in the heavens was marked only by a hole in the stars. The night was as enclosed and dark as the cave behind him.

  Then a silver arc appeared in the blackness, like the white of an eye appearing as the eyelid parted on waking. It was the moon emerging from hiding, casting a gentle silver light on the hillside.

  Cheng ran awkwardly, his hands still tied, stumbling towards his horse. There was a
sword in a scabbard hanging from the saddle and he was able to cut his bindings with it.

  Then he mounted the horse and galloped off downhill, not caring which direction he was going in. All that mattered was that he was heading away from the unnatural cave and its ghosts.

  2

  A few miles ahead, the mountain of Baiyun rose up and melted into the pale, fading light, and the young man who walked hand in hand with his girl was glad not to be going that far. It was a pleasant enough evening for a walk in the countryside, the air fresh, the warmth of the setting sun matching the warmth of their companionship.

  A short way ahead the cart track turned and, beneath the trees, became a shadowy, overgrown path. To his surprise, the girl stepped off the road and tugged on his hand to follow her. Come on, I brought you this way for a reason.’

  The young man couldn’t really know what the reason was without being a mind-reader, but he could make an educated guess that was at least partly a wish. Feeling his blood buzz, he followed her.

  A hundred yards or so from the track, the path reached a flat space in front of an old temple.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Miss Law asked.

  The youth nodded. It was, in its way. It was old and tumbledown, but also shaded and full of the richest textures an artist could dream of. Then he looked up to where the roof beams hung down like broken teeth, and felt the temple’s beauty fade into intimidation.

  Fei-Hung tried not to tilt his head too far back as he looked at the broken beams and precarious walls, not wanting Miss Law to see that he was nervous about their surroundings.

  ‘This is your little hideaway?’

  She smiled, and sat demurely on a piece of broken wall near the shape of an old doorway. Her skirt clung to her thighs in a way that drove any fears from the young man’s mind. ‘Oh, yes. No-one ever comes here, because they think it’s haunted. So we’ll be undisturbed.’

  ‘Good, I’d hate to be disturbed.’ He sat beside her and embraced her happily. ‘I’m glad we’re alone.’ He seemed to recall he had practised the speech in his mind over the past few days, but the relevant part of his brain seemed to be empty. ‘I wanted to...’

  ‘So do I.’

  ‘You don’t know what I was going to say.’

  She cupped his face in her hand. ‘Doesn’t matter. I’d say yes to anything you wanted.’

  ‘Anything?’ His head felt as if it was floating.

  ‘Yes. I love you, you know.’

  He tensed, startled. He had known, of course. Or at least hoped. He still felt as if his head was floating. His stomach, weighing a ton, tried to drag it down. ‘In that case...’ He kissed her rather than continue.

  Their conversation became much less vocal from then on, words replaced by touches, and sensations, and emotions. If there was anything better in life than to make love under the stars of a clear sky, the young man couldn’t imagine what it might be.

  The night grew cool, but it wasn’t cold and the warmth each gave the other was enough to be comfortable with. In turn, the comfort was enough for them to relax and drift off to sleep.

  The stars wheeled imperceptibly overhead, and the animals of the countryside ignored the sleeping humans as they went about their nightly routines. In every way it was a safe, quiet and calm night, ideal for lovers spending it together in the countryside.

  In every way except one.

  The young man was startled into wakefulness. At first he thought a bird or animal had made a noise in its quest for food or a mate, but he heard nothing that he recognised as coming from the local fauna. Instead, there was a strange sound; a rushing, hooting noise as if all the demons in hell were moaning in agony. What is that?’

  Miss Law woke with a slight scream. She collected herself.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never heard such a thing before.’

  The lovers looked at each other, each seeing the same thought playing across the other’s face. ‘This place is haunted!’ they exclaimed together.

  Fei-Hung took Miss Law’s hand and led her towards the nearest gap in the temple wall. Suddenly, the air darkened in front of them and a pair of locked wooden doors appeared out of the darkness, blocking their path. An eerie light flared above, washing over the temple, though with no flame to cast it.

  The pair turned and ran for the nearest empty doorway. As they fled, the unnatural noise faded. And the instant they passed out of the old haunted temple the sound ceased altogether. Despite this, the frightened young people didn’t stop running until they reached the familiar tower of Zhenhailou, well inside the city.

  Only then did they stop for breath.

  ‘What do we do?’ Miss Law asked.

  ‘Ask my father; he’ll know what to do.’

  ‘Does he know about us?’

  ‘He’ll claim not to, but he’s not stupid. Come on.’

  The young man led the way, dodging through the empty streets. Miss Law followed, keeping up with him easily despite her restrictive skirt. It didn’t take long to reach the gates to the compound Fei-Hung called home. They were already locked for the night and the pair had to scale the wall to get inside. Luckily, it wasn’t high.

  The young man ran straight to the door of his father’s room and hammered on the nearest wooden beam with his fist.

  ‘Father! Father!’

  After a moment Wong Kei-Ying slid the door aside and came out, tying a robe tightly about himself. ‘What is it?

  Bandits? Police?’

  ‘No, no, it’s all right. I mean, it’s all right here, but we just saw...’ The youth hesitated, unable to put a name to what they had seen. ‘We heard something in the old haunted temple.’

  ‘Haunted temple? And what were you doing there?’ The older man’s eyes darted to Miss Law and back.

  ‘Well, I... We wanted somewhere to...’ Fei-Hung wished he could think of a phrase that wasn’t embarrassing for either Miss Law or himself.

  ‘I understand well enough. I was your age myself once.’ Kei-Ying turned to Miss Law. ‘You must be Miss Law. I spoke to your mother at yum cha the other day. She says good things about you.’

  Something in his tone suggested that the definition of good things didn’t extend to going to haunted temples with boys, and the young man winced slightly.

  ‘I hope Fei-Hung has been a proper gentleman in his deal-ings with you.’

  ‘Yes, Wong-sifu,’ Miss Law said. ‘It was my idea to see the old temple. I’d heard so much about it, and had no idea it was so late.’

  Kei-Ying nodded, his face softening into an almost-smile.

  He led them back into the main room, and sat beside a tea service that was kept permanently ready. He poured out three cups. ‘It’s just an old temple.’

  ‘Wong-sifu, it really was haunted.’

  ‘Really?’ He looked suspiciously at Fei-Hung. ‘Noises in the dark? The settling of stone?’

  Fei-Hung shook his head. ‘I swear it. There was a wailing from all the souls in hell, and then this dark gate appeared out of thin air. Father, you must believe me!’

  Wong-sifu’s eyes narrowed and he leant forward slightly, sniffing. ‘I believe,’ he said dryly, ‘I smell wine.’

  ‘Well,’ Fei-Hung admitted, ‘I had just had supper before we went, and a cup or two of wine to wash it down. I’m not drunk.’

  Without warning, Wong-sifu tossed a cup towards Fei-Hung’s head. The young man caught it deftly, and put it down. His father nodded to himself, apparently satisfied by the test. ‘All right, you’re not drunk. We will go and take a look at this gate of yours in the morning.’

  Fei-Hung couldn’t believe his ears - because his father had agreed to go to the temple, but also because he was going to wait so long before doing so. The demonic thing was there now. ‘The morning?’

  Kei-Ying nodded, sipping his tea. ‘When it’s light, and the wine has worn off, we will see everything more clearly.’

  Fei-Hung knew better than to press his father further, and was anyway in two minds
about going back to a haunted temple in the dark. Besides, he still had Miss Law’s company as they took tea, and that was more important.

  When his father had returned to bed the young people sat outside on the veranda overlooking the courtyard. The night again seemed calm and pleasant. There were plenty of lamps to banish the shadows, and perhaps even the memory of them.

  ‘Your father doesn’t believe us at all, does he?’ Miss Law sighed.

  Fei-Hung laughed, but not loudly enough to wake anyone.

  ‘If he didn’t believe us at all, he’d have given me a clip round the ear for waking him.’

  He looked north in the direction of the old temple. The city was in the way, but this didn’t stop his thoughts from returning there. Something had happened, and he wondered whether a mere mortal such as himself could ever understand what it was.

  3

  Ian Chesterton had finished shaving, and was patting his face dry with a towel, when something in the air changed.

  It was some kind of vibration from the engines deep in the bowels of the Ship. He never noticed it while in flight, but had been aboard the TARDIS long enough to know that when he became aware of this subtle change a landing was imminent.

  It was funny how one could get used to the strangest circumstances. A couple of years ago he had thought teaching basic science at Coal Hill School and living in a small flat in Shoreditch were normal. Now he thought his flat would seem dark and mysterious compared with the familiar sterility of the Ship, and his pupils almost as odd as the beings he’d met on more planets than he could count.

  He pulled on a jacket and left his room. He hurried towards the doors to the console room, almost bumping into Barbara Wright as she emerged from her room. This had never been unusual, as she used to teach history in a classroom just a couple of doors along from his own.