The Eleventh Tiger

by David A. McIntee

  She and Vicki had told Ian their story too. It had amused him and lightened his mood, which he supposed was their reason for telling it. Ghosts, indeed!

  The Doctor, much to Ian’s surprise, was taking the story seriously. ‘It sounds to me, Barbara, very much like you’ve found yourself a stone tape. Yes, a stone tape.’

  Ian and Barbara exchanged puzzled looks.

  ‘Stone tape?’ Ian echoed.

  ‘It’s an explanation for ghosts, young man. You have certain minerals and oxides on the surface of a magnetic recording tape, yes?’

  That much Ian understood. ‘Yes, they form the pattern of the recording according to what electrical signals the tape machine receives. Then they’re decoded and the patterns are converted to electrical signals and played out through a speaker.’

  The Doctor nodded. ‘Now, Chesterfield, many of those same minerals and oxides are also present in brickwork and certain types of rock formation. And those can record electrical signals just like a tape machine and play them back, d’you see?’

  Ian could see what the Doctor was getting at, but a brick was very different from a piece of tape on a reel. ‘But how?

  You’d need a pretty big tape recorder to play a wall.’

  The Doctor tapped his forehead. ‘The human brain, dear boy. It is simply an electrochemical machine, is it not? It generates signals that can be recorded, and so it can also decode existing recordings.’

  ‘I think I understand,’ Ian said doubtfully. ‘You mean if a brain reacts the right way with one of these stone tapes, it’s like putting a tape on a player? It plugs an image - a hallucination, I suppose - right into the brain?’

  ‘Precisely so. You’re learning!’

  ‘Thank you, Doctor,’ Ian said dryly. ‘They say doctors make the worst patients, so I dread to think what sort of students teachers make.’

  ‘Ones who can’t be left alone for a minute without getting themselves into mischief.’

  ‘All right, I suppose I walked into that one, didn’t I?’

  Ian grinned. Whether it was the medicines, the company, the food or just the Doctor’s acid humour, it had worked. Ian now found his mind turning over the Doctor’s theory about himself and the other Chesterton.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier, about me meeting those people again in my future but their past.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, surely that means nothing can happen to us now. At least until we make that trip.’

  The thought made him feel better. He might be hurting, but at least he could feel confident about walking around in this time and place, and not have to be constantly on the lookout for danger. Since boarding the Ship he’d become so accustomed to staying alert to the dangers they kept running into that he’d forgotten how much of a strain it could be. He had also forgotten how comfortable and relaxing it was not to be looking out for where the next trouble would come from.

  The Doctor shook his head, clucking his tongue. ‘I’m afraid it isn’t quite as simple as that. For one thing, it’s only you who needs go back and meet those disagreeable fellows at a later date.’

  ‘But I can’t fly the TARDIS. Which means it can’t be just me.’

  ‘And nor can Barbara or Vicki, neither of whom those ruffians seemed to recognise.’

  This sent a chill into Ian’s bones. Did it mean the girls didn’t make that trip - and if not, why not? He couldn’t imagine letting Barbara stay behind somewhere and travelling without her. The alternatives he could think of were worse.

  ‘In any case,’ the Doctor went on, ‘something could easily happen to you or me. We’re not indestructible, you know.

  Time doesn’t make us invulnerable just because we appear to have an appointment somewhere else.’

  ‘But if anything did happen to us before -’

  ‘It would cause a paradox, and that could be a minor irritant to the universe, or a major catastrophe, but we should never know which if we’re fortunate.’

  Ian had never been particularly superstitious. He didn’t care about walking under ladders, and could never remember whether a black cat crossing his path was supposed to be lucky or unlucky. If someone told him they had a feeling of danger when none was present - a premonition, he supposed he would call it - he would dismiss it as just a nervous fear.

  None of which stopped a voice in his brain from screaming that Vicki and Barbara would be in danger here, and that they should get back to the Ship and leave as soon as they could.

  The fear crept along his arms and caressed his sides, just under the skin where he couldn’t brush it off. He wished he’d never had that conversation with the Doctor about being safe until they came to Canton at an earlier time.

  Fei-Hung appeared in the doorway. ‘Doctor. Someone wants to see you.’

  ‘Someone?’

  ‘His name’s Jiang. He’s a teacher at the gungfu school here, under my father.’

  ‘Then I shall come along at once.’

  Jiang had been careful to get off the carriage a few streets away and make his way into Po Chi Lam separately from the soldiers.

  It would have been satisfying to see the look on Wong-sifu’s face, but Jiang wasn’t going to sacrifice his promotion from deputy to master for the sake of a pleasant image or a quick gloat. He had seen too many people fall by the wayside because they were emotional, rather than practical, to make the same mistake himself.

  When he had seen Wong Kei-Ying boarding the carriage Jiang had run straight over, knowing that Kei-Ying, Fei-Hung and anyone else who was around would see that he was not with the soldiers, and that he was as surprised as they were.

  ‘Sifu’, he cried out in feigned, but convincing, anguish. ‘What is happening?’

  ‘It would seem I am under arrest for the moment,’ Kei-Ying said.

  He didn’t seem too concerned, but this didn’t worry Jiang.

  Kei-Ying had never let anything get on top of him, for as long as Jiang had studied under him.

  ‘It is, of course, merely a misunderstanding,’ Kei-Ying continued.

  ‘Nonsense,’ Jiang snapped. ‘It is an outrageous slur. You need only say the word and I will deal with these guards, and-’

  ‘No, you will not.’

  Jiang waited expectantly for Kei-Ying to continue. He had no idea what he would have done if Kei-Ying had told him to go ahead.

  ‘The school and the surgery are more important. Their names must not be besmirched.’

  ‘I will look after them well during the moments you are absent,’ Jiang promised.

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Kei-Ying told him.

  Then he smiled and there was something in this smile that Jiang didn’t like. Recognition, perhaps, or worse, understanding. Wong-sifu had always been a good judge of character and this unnerved Jiang.

  ‘The Doctor will administer the school and take over the surgery during my absence. He too is a medical man, and I sense wisdom in him.’

  Jiang felt his cheeks sting and burn. ‘You’re turning Po Chi Lam over to that gwailo? I am your deputy -’

  ‘And a good one, Jiang, but you’re not ready yet. Don’t worry, it won’t be long.’

  Then a soldier was pushing Jiang aside with a casual shove of his rifle, and the carriage was moving.

  Now, looking into the Doctor’s eyes, Jiang knew why Kei-Ying had chosen him. The Doctor held his gaze with the same air as Kei-Ying did, and judged his character in the same way.

  ‘And what can I do for you, young man?’.

  Jiang didn’t hesitate. ‘Accept my challenge.’

  The Doctor blinked. ‘Challenge? What challenge? What are you talking about?’

  Jiang smiled, but the smile remained strictly confined between his chin and his moustache. ‘It is a tradition here that the master of a school must be able to defend himself against any master of any other school. If you wish to stay master of this school, old man, you must prove yourself capable by fighting and defeating me. The day afte
r tomorrow, at noon, Doctor.’

  ‘And what if Wong-sifu is back by then? Did you ever consider that?’ The Doctor didn’t wait for Jiang to answer. ‘No, I didn’t think so. You young people aren’t the considering types, are you?’

  ‘Consider this, gwailo. My most difficult task will be to decide whether to kill you or merely maim you. Make your peace with your god, and I will return on Saturday at midday.’

  CHRPTER THREE

  Warriors Two

  l

  Ian had taken the opportunity to explore Po Chi Lam while the Doctor was speaking to Jiang. Two main wings split off from the central hall, and the general effect was a cross between a rather Spartan stately home and an oriental tea-room. Unlike a western stately home the building was all on one level, though the ceiling of the hall was high enough to accommodate another floor. Everywhere within it smelt of jasmine and sweat, and warm dust creeping in through the doors.

  The surgery was in the west wing and seemed to be a kind of outpatients’ accident and emergency room. No-one else was staying there, but some of Kei-Ying’s students were preparing herbs and spices for potions and poultices, while others applied plaster to the broken wrist of one of the martial arts students from the east wing. There was a training hall there, but it was very small as most of the training was done outside in the courtyard. There were private apartments in the east wing, but Ian didn’t go into them. He felt enough of an interloper as it was, and didn’t want to taint his gratitude to the Wongs by trespassing.

  He felt strangely comfortable at Po Chi Lam. Something about the wood on the floors was just right. It felt not too new to have a personality of its own, and not too old. It was comfortable and assured.

  ‘Doctor, I’ve been thinking,’ Ian began, when he returned to the main reception hall.

  The Doctor was walking slowly back into it, looking rather bemused.

  ‘If we’re staying here for a few days, perhaps we should take proper lodgings at an inn or hotel. I’m grateful to Master Wong, but I don’t want to seem like a limpet -’

  ‘And what happens the next time someone can’t tell you from... you? Hmm? I should say you would have a season ticket to this surgery anyway. Besides which, if I am to be looking after this place for Master Wong, then I have to be here. And not somewhere else.’

  ‘I thought you’d see it like that,’ Ian admitted, but the Doctor had already wandered a little way off again. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, yes, Chesterman. I was just pondering how best to engage in the duel to which I have just been challenged.’

  ‘A duel?’ Ian exclaimed. He could hardly believe what the Doctor had just told him.

  Fei-Hung came running at the sound of Ian’s exclamation.

  ‘Do you know what he’s talking about?’ Ian hoped that, as an independent witness, the young man would be able to set his mind at ease on this point.

  Fei-Hung nodded reluctantly. ‘Jiang, one of my father’s deputies, has challenged Doctor-sifu.’

  ‘Yes,’ the Doctor said, ‘and I must say I’m quite surprised, too. But the man has issued his challenge -’

  ‘It doesn’t necessarily follow that you have to accept it!’ Ian protested.

  ‘Oh, but it does. It’s the custom here, you see. Master Wong has entrusted me with looking after Po Chi Lam until we get this nonsense about his incarceration sorted out. Since there is a custom of challenging the masters of different schools, so that they may prove their worth, it would seem that I ought to accept.’

  ‘But you’re not a... a kung fu master, or whatever they call it.’ Ian hesitated. The Doctor was a lot older than he seemed, and had an almost limitless amount of experience at the most surprising things. ‘Are you?’

  ‘Until Master Wong comes back, it would appear that I am.

  And if I am to honour his request and the trust he has placed in me, then I must respond to this challenge as any master would.’

  Fei-Hung shuffled slightly and, not meeting the Doctor’s eyes, said, ‘Ches-Ian is right.’

  The Doctor glared at them. Are you implying that I’m too old?’ he asked sharply. ‘The old boy’s past it - is that what you think?’ He drew himself up proudly. Haven’t you looked around, young man? Many of the most respected masters here are men you would probably consider frail and past their sell-by date.’

  Ian winced, recognising the verbal minefield he and Fei-Hung had blundered into. He certainly didn’t want the Doctor’s temper to explode. ‘I just meant that those medicines of yours from the TARDIS have done the trick. I feel as fit as a fiddle, and it’d be a shame to let that go to waste.’

  The Doctor looked down his nose at him, clearly not fooled.

  ‘And tell me, Chesterton, are you experienced in the martial arts? Hmm?’

  Ian flexed his fists. ‘I boxed a little during my National Service days, yes.’

  The Doctor snorted. ‘But the styles of Chinese wuxia are hardly Marquess of Queensbury. Do you have any experience with them?’

  ‘No, but -’

  ‘Exactly! In other words you’d be just as foolish as you accuse me of being, wouldn’t you?’

  Ian couldn’t really deny this, but nor could he find the words to say that it didn’t matter so much if he got beaten up again. After all, he wasn’t needed to control the Ship if it came to it.

  ‘The Doctor has a point,’ Fei-Hung said to Ian. ‘There are many aged masters who are more than capable of winning a bout just like this one.’

  ‘Yes, but -’

  ‘Some are even older than the Doctor.’

  The Doctor chuckled. ‘I should find that a little difficult to believe.’

  ‘Doctor, this man is a younger, stronger expert in martial arts,’ Ian said. ‘How on Earth will you defeat him?’

  ‘With brains, dear boy. The intellect. Brains will win over brawn every time, and there I have the distinct advantage, don’t you think?’ The Doctor chuckled to himself and looked smug.

  Ian couldn’t understand him. For some reason, he seemed to be relishing the prospect of the duel.

  Cheng put a bottle of something on a table in the Hidden Panda, and started to drink from it. There was no label on it, and he hadn’t bothered to check what it was. So long as it was alcohol, then sooner or later it would deaden his hands so that they stopped shaking, and flush away the worry about what he should do next. If it didn’t, then at least it would drive him to unconsciousness and he wouldn’t be thinking enough to worry.

  He was still frustratingly sober, and shaking, by the time the bottle was all but empty. He swept it aside and went to his room at the back of the building, and lifted up the stone he kept the takings under. Neither the restaurant nor the honest life per se were very profitable, but there was enough for a fast horse and a small cottage somewhere in the endless, muddy fields of the northeast.

  When he straightened up he found Pang looking at him with a kicked-puppy expression. ‘You’re leaving?’

  ‘We’re leaving,’ Cheng corrected him.

  ‘We are?’

  ‘We are if we have any sense.’

  He scooped up a handful of coins and pressed them into Pang’s clammy hand. He started looking for his saddlebags, which he had kept for such a contingency. The room was such a mess of empty bottles and unwashed clothes that it could take a week to find them, but Cheng didn’t let this stop him. He knew that if he stopped he’d shake and gasp for breath.

  ‘Remember that last caravan we robbed? Two years ago?’

  Pang nodded.

  ‘Remember the cave and the three monks?’

  Pang nodded again.

  ‘I saw them last night.’

  Pang’s head whipped around, as if the monks were sneaking up on him at that very moment. ‘They’re here? In Guangzhou.’

  A moment of calm overtook Cheng, and he knew Pang would have to hear about what had happened. ‘They mutilated Lei-Fang.’

  Pang’s mouth opened slightly, his eyes widening. Then his fa
ce crumpled. ‘No...’

  ‘Yes. And -’ Cheng’s voice broke, and he sat down on his flea-ridden cot, head in hands. ‘I didn’t do anything, Ah-Pang. I just wanted to get the hell out of there. I don’t know how they came to be above Lei-Fang in the Black Flag, but they’ve got half the militia eating out of their hands.’

  ‘Lei-Fang...’

  Cheng nodded, and put his arm around Pang. He could barely reach.

  ‘We have to go. I think the abbot recognised me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, he said -’

  ‘Why do we have to go?’ Pang asked patiently.

  Cheng leant back. ‘You must be joking. They’ll be after us -’

  ‘We should be after them,’ Pang said quietly. ‘Lei-Fang was your friend.’

  Cheng knew that; the little piece of emptiness in his heart was reminding him of it every moment.

  ‘We ran as far as we could, didn’t we?’ Pang asked.

  Cheng sniffled. He wiped his nose and eyes on his sleeve.

  ‘I think we did.’

  Fei-Hung arrived at the Hidden Panda, and almost walked straight past it because all he could see was Miss Law’s face looking up at him, bathed in moonlight. She would be worried already, and if she didn’t hear from him soon her parents would probably think he was no better than any other young man.

  Fei-Hung knew he was better. Better for Miss Law, anyway.

  He took a couple of steps backwards and entered the Hidden Panda. The Doctor had left the scheduling of training sessions to him, and it was time to talk to Cheng about the progress of his Black Flag class.

  He found Cheng and Pang at the back of the inn, sitting over a few bottles. Three were empty, the fourth was getting there.

  ‘He’s more than a match for us,’ Cheng was saying. ‘You remember that.’ Pang nodded.

  ‘And anyway, he’s one of our brothers now. Can we -’ He broke off when he saw Fei-Hung. ‘Sit down, come on. Have a drink on the house.’