by A. J. Low
Jimmy’s hand continued to stay up. Mom and Dad were getting more agitated, but their voices were still too low for me to hear what they were saying.
“You can find instructions on how to fold your paper from various shopkeepers in Ssamzigil,” Bok Joo continued. “They are expect—”
“Excuse me,” I interrupted. “Aren’t you going to let Jimmy ask his question?”
Bok Joo stayed silent for a moment, then said, “I just assumed I would eventually answer it without him needing to ask, but since you’re so insistent—yes, Jimmy, what is your question?”
“What is Ssamzigil?” he said, finally putting his hand down.
“Oh. Okay. I guess I wouldn’t have answered that question,” Bok Joo said, flicking her hair behind her shoulder. “It’s the big art mall there.” She pointed behind us. I turned and saw a large building with a faux-wood exterior and many shopfronts. There was an open-air entrance near the centre, and signage with small Korean characters as well as Roman letters spelling out “Ssamzigil” underneath that. Below that were two more large characters that looked like two giant yellow chicken footprints.
“That is ridiculous!” Mom suddenly exclaimed. “There is no way Gong Yoo is cuter than Lee Seung Gi!” All of us, including the two robots, turned to look at my parents, who had suddenly started to argue.
“Gong Yoo is the handsomest man in the world!” Dad replied, waving his hands about in agitation. “He’s even handsomer than me, and I’m pretty handsome! And anyway, that wasn’t even what we were discussing! The bromance between the Goblin and the Grim Reaper is much better than the one between Oh Gong and Ma Wang!”
I quickly passed Wendy and Jimmy notes I had written earlier, which they read.
“That doesn’t matter!” Mom said. “They are romances first and foremost, and the romance between Oh Gong and Samjang is better than the one between the Goblin and Eun Tak!”
They both nodded at me and stuffed the notes in their pockets.
“Well, that’s true,” Dad said. “I’ll concede that, but—”
“Perhaps-it-is-not-the-best-time-for-this-discussion,” Watson-in-Moran said.
Wendy, Watson and I had heard our parents discussing the various relative merits of two Korean dramas, Goblin and Hwayugi, many, many times. Dad thought Goblin was better, while Mom thought Hwayugi was better. They never agreed, but we also knew it wasn’t a real argument. They just liked to talk about their favourite shows. Officer Siva had once discounted both shows and talked about how Mexican telenovelas were inherently better than Korean drama, and they yelled him out of the kopi shop.
“But when better than while we’re in Korea?” Mom asked smiling.
“I-do-not-know,” Watson-in-Moran said. “Perhaps-when-we-finish-these-ridiculous-games-and-Moran-and-I-are-back-in-our-proper-bodies?”
“As fascinating as this discussion is,” Moran-in-Watson said, “I also would prefer it wait for a more opportune time, Madam Mom and Master Dad.”
“Oh, right,” Mom said. “Yes, let’s table this for now, dear.”
“Yes, right,” Dad answered. “Under the table it shall be shelved. Wait, I mean, on the shelf it will be tabled. No, wait—”
“Let’s just talk about it later,” Mom said, stifling a laugh.
“I didn’t want to say anything, but you do have a time limit here,” Bok Joo said. “So, you should probably get going. But for the record, Mr Tan is right—Goblin is the better drama.” Her projection blinked out of existence.
“Ludicrous,” Mom muttered.
We walked to Ssamzigil and entered the large, open-air art mall where the next game awaited.
Wendy squealed again.
CHAPTER SIX
Ssamzigil had four floors of various shops selling arts, crafts and food. The four floors were connected by a spiralling pathway so that you could walk to all of them without taking any stairs or lifts. Many of the small shops that lined the levels were selling craft materials that we presumably could use to make the ddakji. All the shops were beautifully and whimsically decorated, and the storefronts were cheerful and quirky.
We turned to look at Wendy, who appeared to be in a daze. Mom had to gently pry her away from (literally) drooling over a collection of handmade notebooks that were displayed in the window of one of the pretty stores.
“Which store should we go to, Wendy?” I asked.
“ALL OF THEM,” my sister replied, her eyes shining.
“Right. Okay. But which one should we go to first to get the materials we need?” I clarified. “You know, so that our robots can be fixed.”
“Oh, right,” Wendy said, giving her head a shake. “Robots. Fixing. Right.”
She looked around and pointed at one of the shops that seemed to specialise in paper materials. “That one.” She then dashed away in a very Jimmy-like manner.
“I-am-not-confident-that-Wendy-has-our-best-interests-at-heart,” Watson-in-Moran said. “Or-remembers-who-we-are.”
“It’ll be fine,” I said, looking at Mom. “Right?”
Mom winced and shrugged. Dad scratched his head.
“We should probably go after her to make sure,” Mom replied.
When we entered the store, Wendy had already made friends with the young salesperson at the counter. The neatly dressed lady had two plain rectangular sheets of paper in front of her and was folding them slowly—she must have figured out earlier that Wendy didn’t understand any Korean so she was letting her actions do the talking. Wendy was nodding and carefully watching the girl’s skilful movements. Once the salesperson was done, she politely presented her work to my sister. Wendy thanked her and turned the square item about in the palm of her hands, as if weighing it, deep in thought.
“Can we talk now?” Dad whispered.
Wendy looked at him and grinned. The young salesperson smiled at us.
“This is a ddakji, guys!” my sister said, holding up the square pieces of folded paper. “It’s actually pretty simple to make. I can show you.”
As we watched, Wendy then proceeded to unfold the ddakji before refolding it. Jimmy and I took turns trying to fold the sheets after. She was right, it was relatively simple—you just had to make sure that you tucked the edges in tightly. The key to winning though, was hitting your opponent’s square at just the right spot, with just the right amount of force to make it flip. Science!
The salesperson, who had gone back to her duties, suddenly shrieked when Bok Joo’s projection appeared in the middle of the shop. She held her hand to her chest and quickly made her way back behind the safety of her counter.
Mom and Dad immediately apologised on our behalf.
“I had a feeling that Wendy would immediately head to this store,” the Mysterious Mastermind said. “It’s one of my favourites too.”
Wendy made a face. I thought I heard someone say “lot of fitting” in the background of Bok Joo’s holocast, but I couldn’t be sure. Was it static?
“Now all you have to do is select the material you want to use to make your respective ddakji and you can begin. Remember, play by the rules or the game is forfeit,” Bok Joo said, before vanishing.
I stared at Moran-in-Watson, who looked back at me. I waved at him and he waved back.
“Hello, Master Sherlock,” Moran-in-Watson said. “I am glad to see you too.”
“What are you doing, Sherlock?” Jimmy said, waving at Moran-in-Watson as well, prompting the polite robot to wave back. “Is this part of the game?”
“No, Jimmy,” I said. “I was just...being friendly.”
“So I’m going to use this beautiful recycled paper with flower petals in the shape of cat faces,” Wendy said, sighing over her selection.
“You just want to buy that,” Mom said, tsking.
“Bok Joo didn’t say that we couldn’t keep the ddakji after we were done, right?” Wendy asked.
Jimmy thought for a moment then pointed at something in the recycle bin—it was cardboard that had been disposed of. It
looked like packaging of some sort.
“May I have that, please?” he asked running over to the bin and lifting out two thin sheets of cardboard, all the while smiling sweetly at the young lady behind the counter. She giggled and gestured that it would be fine.
“Of all the things in the store, that’s what you’re using, Jimmy?” Wendy said, looking aggrieved. “You know that I get to keep your—I mean, you get to keep your ddakji too, right? Wouldn’t you rather use the handcrafted paper with the leaves mimicking a warm autumn day? Or the printed paper with the clouds that look like cupcakes?”
Jimmy just shook his head and focused on the recycled material he had chosen. Moran-in-Watson hovered next to Jimmy, but did not say anything, lest he break Bok Joo’s rule.
I looked around the store—the ddakji needed to be sturdy enough so that it would hit the opponent’s square with sufficient force, but not so heavy that it would just land on the ground and stay there. I decided on conventional construction paper—in orange, of course (though Wendy strongly lobbied for me to pick teal).
Mom paid for our paper and we left the store to find a more secluded area to play in. Wendy had written a big “W” on her ddakji, Jimmy a big “B” (for Benjamin the hamster and cat) on his, and I an “S” on mine.
We played a round of Scissors-Paper-Stone, and Wendy won, so she would go last. She would have the advantage of not being eliminated in the first round, plus her ddakji would stay intact for longer.
The first match was between Jimmy and me. He was grinning maniacally, and his stance made him look like he had been playing ddakji professionally for years. I, on the other hand, felt like I had two left feet. However, I knew all about physics—about angles, speed, force and mathematics—or I at least I thought I did, right up until I threw my folded paper square and it harmlessly bounced off Jimmy’s. Fortunately for me, while Jimmy’s stance looked cool, his random throws meant that he could not overturn my ddakji either. The two robots and Mom were watching the match intently.
We were at a stalemate. However, as the rounds continued, my paper construct was getting banged up; the corners weren’t as sharp as they had been when I first made them, but more importantly, the folds were coming loose. Jimmy’s cardboard square, though, remained as firmly folded as ever. I strongly suspected that Jimmy had made a better choice than Wendy and me when it came to selecting materials. Always recycle, everyone!
Right then, with his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth, Jimmy threw his ddakji with just the right amount of force and acceleration, at just the right angle—it felt like I was watching it in slow motion—and my ddakji finally flipped.
Mom and Wendy applauded, then stopped, looking guiltily at me, Watson and Moran—I didn’t blame them; I was actually having fun. But I saw the two robots watching us and grew more serious immediately.
Given his win, Jimmy would automatically be exempted from the cut.
The next match was between Wendy and me. Right from the start, she was cradling her beautiful ddakji close to her, unwilling to use it. Finally, after much cajoling, she closed her eyes and randomly tossed hers at my paper construct that was lying flat on the ground. Needless to say, I won the match easily. Wendy did not look too disappointed and immediately suggested that she should “investigate” more at the other shops, just in case there were other “clues” to be found.
I figured that Bok Joo knew my sister well enough to realise that Wendy wasn’t throwing the game on purpose, so she didn’t accuse her of deliberately losing. At least, that was what I hoped.
Just then, as expected, Bok Joo reappeared from Moran-in-Watson’s metallic form with a smirk on her face.
“Well, well, well…” she said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“This game went just as I had predicted,” she said, waving goodbye to Dad and Wendy who had to separate from the group. My sister already had Dad’s arm in a death grip and was dragging him towards the shop with the notebooks.
“But I really wanted to go to a spa and use some of those free hydrating face masks,” Dad said to my sister.
“I knew it would be Wendy,” she said with a smirk. “There was no way she would pick material that was actually good for the game. She wouldn’t have been able to resist the variety of hugely impractical and unsuitable paper available.”
“It’s just Jimmy and me left, Bok Joo,” I said. Mom and the two robots were also still with us, but they couldn’t take part.
“Indeed, Sherlock,” she said. “I’m glad you’re still in the game. I was actually expecting you to beat Jimmy easily using your math skills to calculate the perfect angles, but Jimmy’s turning into quite the wild card, isn’t he?”
I didn’t reply. But it was true, Jimmy’s strength was his unpredictability. That and his unfathomable ability to fall but never ever get hurt.
“You must be eager to move on to your next destination,” Bok Joo continued.
“No-one-is-more-eager-than-Moran-and-I,” Watson-in-Moran said. “It-is-getting-exceedingly-harder-to-remain-sarcastic.”
“Yes, the urge to engage in sarcasm is becoming increasingly strong, Master Watson. I can now understand why you employ it so often,” Moran-in-Watson said, still projecting’s Bok Joo’s holographic form.
Jimmy moved to stand right next to the two robots. He put his arms around the both of them and hugged them.
The robots’ comments worried me. Despite my grumbling about Watson’s grumpiness, I wouldn’t change a single thing about him (or Moran). If there were any chance their personalities might be irrevocably altered—no, I wouldn’t let that happen. I would solve this mystery before it got that far.
“What’s the next clue, Bok Joo?” I said. I walked over to lean against the wall, slightly away from Mom and Jimmy, and stuck my tongue out at Moran-in-Watson, who remained unmoved. Watson-in-Moran did glance in my direction for longer than normal, however. Bok Joo didn’t react.
“The next clue is…design! And your next riddle is quite simple,” she said. “In Korea, if I were born on 21 December 2007, how old would I be on 4 January 2018?”
“That’s easy,” Jimmy said, “you’d be—” I rushed over and covered Jimmy’s mouth with my hand before he could get out a reply.
“12!” I shouted. “You’d be 12!”
“Huh? That’s not right, Sherlock,” Jimmy said, confused. “That person would be 10, right?”
“Very clever, Sherlock,” Bok Joo said.
“Hey, I watch some Korean drama too,” I replied, grinning at Mom, who gave me finger-hearts in return.
“Koreans are one year old at birth, and we add a year to our age on the first day of every new year, regardless of when our actual birthdays fall,” Bok Joo replied.
“You-are-only-as-old-as-your-insides,” Watson-in-Moran added.
“Oh! So even though that person would be 10 by counting actual birthdays, in Korea you add one year to their age for being born, and another because it’s a new year. So that’s...10 plus two which is 12! I got it, Sherlock!”
“Good job, Jimmy!” Mom said.
“We solved your puzzle, Bok Joo,” I said, “So where are we headed next?”
“For your next game, go to Myeongdong where all the food carts are gathered. I think this might be your favourite game, Sherlock,” Bok Joo said with a grin.
“If-it-is-an-eating-challenge-Sherlock-will-reign-supreme,” Watson-in-Moran said.
“But I’m a wild card!” Jimmy exclaimed.
Bok Joo snorted. “As always, the driver will take you. May the stronger stomach win,” she said before vanishing once again.
The food carts in Myeongdong were legendary. However, based on what I now knew about Bok Joo’s games, going to the food carts meant that I would not get any food to eat. I had to prepare. And by prepare, I meant I needed a snack.
“Did she say design?” Mom asked.
“It was a bit hard to hear because it was kind of noisy,” Jimmy added, still standing next to Moran-in-
Watson. “I thought her friends were asking her about a clock and books.”
“So we have shopping, food, water and design,” Mom said. “Design is a bit more specific, don’t you think, Sam?”
I nodded. It definitely was.
I wished Nazhar were around to spout his historical and cultural facts. And Eliza, too—she always had something intelligent to contribute. I also missed having Wendy, Dad, Officer Siva and Inspector Lestrade around just so that we could bounce ideas off each other. We were a team and we each had our strengths. Separating us was probably the smartest thing Bok Joo could have done, even smarter than throwing unexpected challenges our way, most of which did not involve logic or deduction. No wonder she had bested James—she was less self-involved and focused on her opponents’ weaknesses instead of proving her own brilliance.
Then I remembered something.
“Moran, I feel a snack attack coming on. May I please have some scones and cream?” I asked.
“Of course, Master Sherlock,” Moran-in-Watson immediately replied.
I still could not quite get over Watson’s form being so polite. Plus, I couldn’t see it, but I could feel Watson’s irritation emanating from Moran’s metallic body. I knew it wasn’t possible, but I thought I saw Moran’s moustache quiver with ire.
“I-thought-I-had-at-least-escaped-from-Sherlock’s-snack-attacks. Alas-it-was-too-good-a-dream-to-be-true,” Watson-in-Moran said, allowing Moran-in-Watson access to his food storage area.
Quietly, I gestured for Jimmy and Mom to huddle around me, away from the robots’ line of vision.
“Jimmy, what did you just say?” I asked.