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For Aled and Owain Lewis
~ G P J
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Teaser
Questions for the Author
Read all the Ninja Meerkats Adventures!
Copyright
I believe it was the great meerkat philosopher Booda Steachings who said:
A red traffic light means very little to the color-blind meerkat.
These words of wisdom would have been the first of many, had Booda not met his end under a twenty-ton truck one fateful night. It turned out he was putting his theory to the test.
“But what has this to do with the story I am about to read?” I hear you cry. You may well ask. But I will not answer … for I have already forgotten the question. And, indeed, what I am doing altogether.
So instead, allow me to introduce you to the Clan of the Scorpion …
Four ninja meerkats, all powerful warriors, ever ready to leave their home in the Red Desert and save the world from our deadly enemy, the Ringmaster.
Jet Flashfeet: a superfast ninja whose only fault is craving the glory he so richly deserves.
Bruce “the muscle” Willowhammer: the strongest of the gang, though in the brain race, he lags somewhat behind.
Donnie Dragonjab: a brilliant mind, inventor, and master of gadgets.
Chuck Cobracrusher: his clear leadership has saved the others’ skins more times than I care to remember.
Oh, and me, Grandmaster One-Eye: as old and wise as the sand dunes themselves.
In this adventure, the Clan journey to India to help out an old friend of mine, known as the Delhi Llama. He was a fearsome fighter in his day and it was he who introduced me to the poetry of Alan Gwidge-Smith. I will leave you with one of his poems:
When it rains, I do often wish
That I had a big umbrella.
But when the sun shines in the sky
I’m happy as any fella.
Enjoy the story of …
THE EYE OF THE MONKEY.
The streets of Old Delhi can be a confusing place for newcomers. They are noisy, dusty, and jam-packed with cars, vans, rickshaws, bicycles, street sellers, tourists, and cows, which are allowed to wander anywhere they wish, getting in everyone’s way. This can also be said of the tourists, although the cows tend to take fewer photos.
On this particular morning, there were also four meerkats who were enjoying the hustle and bustle because it allowed them to walk unnoticed through the streets.
“I still don’t understand where we’re going,” said Bruce.
“We’ve been through this,” said Donnie, who was wearing a hefty backpack full of gadgets, disguises, and inventions. “We have come to see Smo Ka, the Delhi Llama.”
“Smo who the what?” said Bruce.
“Smo Ka, the Delhi Llama. He’s a kung fu legend,” said Jet. “He invented the Lightning Spin Kick, a kick so fast if you blink, you’ll miss it. I’ve never managed it, but I’m hoping he’ll give me some tips. He also wrote The Four Elements of Kung Fu. I’ve brought along my copy to have it signed.” Jet held up a well-thumbed book from his collection of martial arts manuals.
“Many years ago, Smo Ka trained with our own Grandmaster One-Eye,” said Chuck. “That is how he came to hear of us and why he requested our help.”
“But what does he need our help with?” asked Bruce.
“That we do not know,” Chuck replied. “All we’ve been given is his address. He will explain when we see him.”
The Clan passed a street vendor with a large stack of samosas.
Bruce’s stomach rumbled. “Can we stop for a quick bite?” he asked.
“No, Smo is expecting us,” replied Chuck.
“But what about breakfast? All I’ve eaten since we left the Red Desert were those sugar-coated ants’ antennae,” moaned Bruce. “And doesn’t my mom always says it’s important to try the local food?”
“Your mom has never left her burrow in her whole life,” said Jet.
“Exactly. She always eats locally,” replied Bruce.
Donnie rolled his eyes. “All right, I’ll get you one of those samosas.” From his backpack, he pulled out a device made from a fishing rod and a pair of tweezers. He cast the line, sending the tweezers flying into the air. They latched onto a samosa on top of the pile.
“Nice one, Donnie,” Bruce cheered.
But the flying snack did not go unnoticed by the street vendor. “My samosa has sprouted wings,” he cried.
“Donnie, like the elephant who puts on a bikini and enters a beauty contest, you are drawing too much attention to yourself,” said Chuck sternly. “Release the samosa.”
“Sorry,” said Donnie. He reeled in the line and dropped Bruce’s snack on the ground.
Bruce reached for the samosa, but Chuck grabbed his arm. “No, Bruce. Quickly, everyone. Down this alley.” As the meerkats hurried down the quiet side street, Chuck turned to Donnie. “We are all grateful for your gadgets, but please remember—a ninja meerkat moves like a shadow through the streets. He does not steal samosas with a fishing rod.”
Suddenly, Chuck stopped outside a ramshackle shed that looked like it was two gusts of wind away from being a pile of firewood. “We’re here,” he said.
“This can’t be right,” said Jet. “A legend like the Delhi Llama should live in a palace, not a shed. We must have the wrong address.”
“A legend like the Delhi Llama would not care for things such as palaces,” Chuck replied.
“Why’s he called the Delhi Llama anyway?” asked Bruce.
“I’ll give you a clue,” said Donnie. “He lives here in Delhi and…” He paused and looked at his friend.
“And what?” asked Bruce.
“Honestly, Bruce,” said Donnie. “You are a brave, strong, and skillful ninja, but sometimes I wonder how you even manage to get dressed in the morning.”
Chuck banged on the door three times.
“Please enter,” spoke a voice from within.
Bruce pushed open the door and they stepped inside. The interior of the shed was even more rundown than the outside, with little more for comfort than a bed of straw and a bowl of water. A battered notebook and a pot of ink lay next to the bed, but there was no sign of the kung fu legend himself.
“Hello? Smo Ka, sir?” said Jet.
“You may call me Smo.” The voice made all four meerkats jump. It seemed to come from right in front of them.
“He’s invisible,” gasped Bruce.
“Not at all,” said the voice. “I am merely standing behind you.”
The meerkats turned to find a llama with dreadlocks standing in the doorway.
“How did you do that?” Jet asked.
“Years of practice. The ability to throw one’s voice can be useful. It can convince an enemy he is surrounded, when in fact he only faces one llama,” Smo replied.
“Oh! He’s a llama that lives in Delhi. That’s why he’s called the Delhi Llama!” Bruce exclaimed.
“Very perceptive, Master Willowhammer,” said Smo.
“How do you know my name?” asked Bruce.
“Grandmaster One-Eye has told me all about you. You are the legendary Clan of the Scorpion: Bruce “the muscle” Willowhammer, with the strength of eleven lions; Donnie Dragonjab—inventor, engineer, innovator; Chuck Cobracrusher, a wise and noble leader; and, of course, Jet Flashfeet, one of the most talented ninjas of his generation.”
“I am thrilled to meet you, sir,” said Jet. “I have read The Four Elements of Kung Fu many times. Would you do me the honor of signing my copy?”
“How kind of you, Master Flashfeet,” said Smo. “Of course I will.”
The llama took the book in his mouth and crossed the room, moving with a limp in his left hind leg. He lifted his front right hoof, dipped it in the pot of ink and carefully scribbled his name inside the book.
“Mr. Ka, sir, what is it that you need our assistance with?” asked Chuck.
“Please, call me Smo. Have you ever heard of the Eye of the Monkey?”
Chuck nodded. “It is an emerald which is said to give whoever possesses it the power of Infinite Protection.”
“What does that mean?” asked Donnie.
“It means whoever has the jewel cannot be harmed,” said Chuck. “The sharpest blade aimed at them will snap like a twig; the fastest bullet will bounce off their skin; even a bomb would be as harmless as a petal landing on their head.”
“Sounds amazing!” said Jet.
“Indeed. And I believe it may be about to fall into the wrong hands,” Smo replied.
“But its whereabouts have been kept secret for centuries,” said Chuck, frowning.
Smo nodded. “This is true. But a contact of mine has heard that someone has learned of its hiding place and is looking for a thief to steal it. My contact also revealed that the person we seek wears a top hat and travels with a circus.”
“The Ringmaster,” Donnie said with a scowl.
“Precisely,” said Smo.
“Then, we have no time to lose,” said Chuck. “We must get to the emerald ahead of the thief. Smo, where is the Eye of the Monkey hidden?”
“Tell no one, but the jewel is in a secret temple near the city of Agra,” the llama replied. “I shall take you there.”
“But why do you need us at all?” asked Jet. “Are you not the kung fu legend who single-hoofedly defeated the five vipers of Varanasi?”
Smo chuckled. “Yes, but I had four fully working limbs back then, while the vipers didn’t have a leg to stand on.”
“But you invented the Lightning Spin Kick!” protested Jet.
“So I did,” said Smo sadly. “Yet I’ve not performed it since I injured my leg. No, for this mission, I need the assistance of a brilliant leader, an inventive genius, an unstoppable force, and a dynamic fighter.”
“Then look no further. The Clan of the Scorpion is at your service,” said Chuck. “We will set off immediately.”
“Ninja-boom!” cried Jet.
Every morning, thousands of humans travel through Delhi Station. But in the crowd on this particular morning, there was also an elderly llama pulling a trailer. And hidden inside were the ninja meerkats.
“How come we were able to walk around yesterday, but today we’re cooped up in here?” grumbled Jet.
“Yesterday, we had no idea of our mission,” said Chuck. “Today, we know who we face. If we were seen with the Delhi Llama, word might get back to the Ringmaster.”
“Curse this wretched leg!” Smo muttered. “We’re going to miss our train!” He hurried over to the platform, jolting the cart along behind him, and arrived just as the train to Agra began to pull out of the station. “We’ve missed it!” he cried.
“Not yet, we haven’t,” replied Chuck, leaping out and unhooking the trailer. “Ninja meerkats, we have a train to catch!”
In most train stations in most countries, the sight of four meerkats running at full speed along a platform closely followed by a llama would have caused something of a stir. Such is the wonderfully chaotic nature of Delhi Station that, even as they barged past people selling hot chai and spicy biriyani, barely an eyebrow was raised.
The train was picking up speed as the meerkats approached the end of the platform. As they drew level with the last carriage, they leaped, one after the other, onto the ladder at the back of the train and clambered up onto the roof.
“Jump!” Chuck cried to Smo, who was struggling to keep up with the train.
“Can’t,” Smo wheezed. “Too weak.”
“To conquer your weaknesses, you must remember your strengths!” Jet called out to the llama.
A look of steely determination crossed Smo’s face. He put on a burst of speed, then threw himself at the ladder and clambered up onto the roof.
“I haven’t run that fast in years!” panted Smo.
Chuck turned to Jet. “Those were wise words,” he said.
“They are Smo’s words,” Jet replied.
The llama nodded. “It is the title of the final chapter in my book. You are right, Jet. I have allowed my injury to hold me back too long.” He bowed to Jet in thanks.
* * *
A couple of hours later, the train arrived at Agra. Smo led the meerkats out of the city into the dry desert-like landscape beyond.
“Where is this temple?” asked Chuck, after they’d been walking for almost an hour in the growing heat of the day.
“At the base of a waterfall, in the center of a jungle,” replied Smo.
“A waterfall and a jungle in this place?” Donnie snorted. “Looks like it rains here even less than it does back home.”
“It is a secret oasis, unknown to most,” replied Smo. “The water comes from an underground river. It’s not far now.”
He led them on, up a gently sloping hill. When they reached the top, Donnie gasped. For there far below, concealed by the surrounding hills, lay a lush green valley. At its heart stood a rocky outcrop, and a waterfall that splashed into a clear pool.
Smo led them down to the waterfall. A huge evergreen tree with spiky leaves stood beside it. Behind the tree was a stone door cut into the rock face and decorated with an elaborate carving of a monkey.
“Behind this door, it is said, is the temple that holds the Eye of the Monkey,” Smo told them.
“Let us hope we have made it in time,” said Chuck. “How do we get in?”
“I’m afraid I do not know,” the llama admitted.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get it open,” said Bruce. He took a long run up, then charged at the door … but bounced straight off it.
“I fear this door will not yield even to one as strong as you,” said Smo.
“I’ve got a skeleton key that will open any door,” said Donnie.
“A useful device no doubt, but one which requires a keyhole,” Smo pointed out.
“So my Air-Key Open Palm Move won’t be of any use either,” said Jet. “Hang on, there’s something carved into the rock here. What language is that?”
Smo squinted at the lettering. “It is written in the ancient language of Sanskrit, but I can translate it.” He pulled out a pair of reading glasses from inside his robe and placed them on the end of his snout, then said:
Use the puzzle to open the door,
To enter the temple you need four.
Three down gets one across,
If the three let go, it’s the other one’s wash.
“What does that mean?” asked Bruce.
“It’s a riddle,” said Donnie.
Chuck stroked his chin and looked around. His eyes rested on the nearby tree. “This is a monkey puzzle tree. Perhaps it is the puzzle the poem refers to.”
“How about the next line? ‘To enter the temple you need four.’ Four what?” said Jet.
“I believe the clue to that is in the third line of the puzzle,” said Chuck. “‘Three down gets one across.’ It must mean that it takes four to enter the temple,” said Chuck. “Three have to do something while one crosses the threshold. But what?”
“Look here,” said Donnie, who was examining the
tree more closely. “There’s something strange about these three branches. They’re not actually growing out of the tree. They’ve been chopped off, then reattached—see? They’re connected to some kind of mechanism using vines.”
“That’s it!” said Chuck. “Three of us must pull down these branches to open the door, while the other one enters the temple.”
“What about the last line of the riddle?” asked Jet. “‘If the three let go, it’s the other one’s wash.’”
“I suppose it’s about what happens if we release the branches while the other one is still inside,” said Chuck. “But we do not need to worry about that. Bruce, Jet, and I will hold the branches while Donnie and Smo go inside to check on the Eye.”
“Why Donnie? As the fastest, I should go in,” Jet protested.
“No, Jet, I fear this temple holds yet more monkey business that will be better suited to Donnie’s gadget know-how than your fighting skills,” replied Chuck. “And Smo understands the local culture better than any of us.”
“The rhyme says only one should enter,” said Smo. “Would it not be dangerous if two go?”
“If Donnie rides on your back, it will be as if you are one,” replied Chuck.
“So we’ve just got to hang around here like a bunch of bananas while he has all the fun?” Jet grumbled.
“It’s a monkey puzzle tree,” said Donnie. “So you’re really more like a bunch of monkey nuts.”
“Yeah? Well maybe this monkey nut will let go of his branch so you can find out what the last line of the riddle means!”
“You will do no such thing,” said Chuck. “Donnie, you’ve got your cell phone—keep in contact.”
Donnie nodded.
“Clan of the Scorpion!” said Chuck. “Take your positions and on my count, grab the branches. One … two … three. Now!”
Chuck, Jet, and Bruce jumped up and grabbed the three branches, pulling them down as hard as they could.
“Ow, these needles are sharp,” complained Bruce.
The Eye of the Monkey Page 1