by Mark Crilley
Mr. Hu was smiling now, but his eyes were at odds with his mouth. They were glassy, unblinking.
“Great,” said Billy, opening his notebook. “Well, first I need to hear about any previous creatch sightings near Huaqing. Even ones from decades ago.”
Mei Jun translated. There was a long pause. Then Mr. Hu answered at length. Billy had the momentary sensation of having heard Mr. Hu’s voice before, and very recently at that. He searched his brain for an explanation. It was impossible, any way you looked at it. He’d never met the man before in his life.
Mei Jun translated Mr. Hu’s answer. Billy uncapped his ballpoint pen and jotted everything down in his notebook, along with his own theories about which creatches—if any—had been seen: 1962: trees uprooted north of the village. Seven-toed footprints nearby. Possibly forest creatches: pugvuggins or long-necked nimribs.
1971: small furry beings sighted in the woods south of the village. Glowing orange eyes. Roaming snuds?
Even as Billy took notes, he sensed that little valuable information was to be found in anything Mr. Hu was saying. The real story was Mr. Hu himself.
It’s like the kids this morning. All these answers sound coached.
Billy proceeded to his next question. “Are there any stocks of food in the village that might lure a hungry creatch?”
Mei Jun translated. Again, a pause. Then came the answer, much shorter this time.
“No. Nothing. Farmer Lin has some pigs. After that, families keep a few chickens here and there throughout the village. Nothing else.”
Billy peered into Mr. Hu’s eyes. There was a blankness behind them. Billy felt as if he were staring into the eyes of a frog. All right. Time for another curveball. Gotta throw this guy off balance if I’m going to get anything useful out of him.
“Very nice calligraphy,” said Billy, pointing at one of the scrolls. “You did all these yourself?” Mei Jun raised an eyebrow at this sudden change in the course of the interview but translated Billy’s words without comment.
Again, a pause. This time longer than before. Finally Mr. Hu nodded and said, “Dui, dui. Dou shi wo xie de,” which Mei Jun translated as “Yes, yes. I did them all.”
Billy rose and crossed the room, coming to a stop next to the marble table. “I’ve never had the chance to see a calligraphy master at work. Could you give us a little demonstration?”
Mei Jun cleared her throat and turned to Billy with a frown. Billy gave her a reassuring look and motioned for the translation. Mei Jun obliged.
There was another long pause; then Mr. Hu’s eyes betrayed a look of mild panic. Before he could say anything, a whistling sound pierced the air. Mr. Hu rose with an expression of great relief. “Pao cha, pao cha,” he said as he trotted off to the kitchen to take the boiling water off the stove.
“Billy,” Mei Jun said, “what does a calligraphy demonstration have to do with creatches? We don’t want to waste Mr. Hu’s time.”
“Trust me, Mei Jun. This is part of the interview process.”
Mei Jun frowned again. “Okay. But don’t get carried away with this kind of stuff. In China it’s very important to show respect to elders.”
“I’ll be careful.”
She’s right, thought Billy. But I’m on to something here, I know it.
The fragrance of Chinese tea filled the room as Mr. Hu returned from the kitchen. He was carrying a dark brown teapot and three matching cups, which he proceeded to set on the table. Billy returned to his seat.
Mr. Hu spoke at length with Mei Jun in Chinese, which she periodically translated. He was singing the praises of the tea they were about to enjoy, and Mei Jun was a very receptive audience.
“Silver Needles tea,” she told Billy with a knowing look. “Very hard to find. Not cheap, either.”
Billy smiled and thanked Mr. Hu as he raised one of the tiny brown cups to his lips. The tea was bitter, but tinged with sweetness and a lingering floral aftertaste. “Delicious,” Billy said, producing a satisfied smile from Mei Jun.
There was a silent moment of peaceful tea appreciation, which Billy effectively destroyed with his next sentence: “Now how about that calligraphy demonstration?”
Mei Jun groaned.
Billy was undeterred. “Mr. Hu, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind writing a character or two for me.”
Mei Jun sighed and translated Billy’s request.
Mr. Hu looked thoroughly unsettled. It was as if he’d been asked to do a handstand or juggle power saws. He stuttered a bit, then mumbled a few quiet syllables. Mei Jun said, “He says he’s not as good as he used to be.”
Billy waved Mr. Hu’s modesty aside. “Come on. Just write one word for me. How about fearless? Wu wei. It’s just two characters, right?” Billy knew exactly what the characters for wu wei looked like. They were sewn onto the back of his favorite jacket back in Piffling, the one he wore for skateboarding competitions.
Mr. Hu made no sign of rising from his chair. He looked trapped.
This guy’s not the real deal. If he were, he’d have no trouble showing off his calligraphy.
“Let’s make this as easy as possible,” said Billy. He turned to a fresh sheet of paper, rotated the notebook until it faced Mr. Hu, then slid it across the table along with the ballpoint pen. “Wu wei.” He smiled a hard smile at Mr. Hu. “Can’t be that difficult.”
For a moment Mr. Hu looked truly frightened.
He’s a fake. His handwriting is probably no better than Mei Jun’s.
“Come on,” said Billy, sensing that he had Mr. Hu cornered and vulnerable. “Either write the words, or tell us the real reason why you don’t want to.”
All he needs is a little prodding. If I can make him believe that I already know what he’s up to, he’ll snap and reveal everything.
Billy turned to Mei Jun, who—fearful of offending Mr. Hu—had stopped translating. “Tell him I know what’s going on here in Huaqing. Tell him I know he’s a part of it.”
“Billy …”
“Please, Mei Jun. You’ve gotta trust me on this. It’s going to pay off, big-time.”
Mei Jun swallowed hard. “Okay. I’ll tell him you know what’s going on in Huaqing, but I’m not going to accuse him of doing anything wrong.”
“All right, all right,” said Billy. “Just tell him …” He paused and chose his words carefully, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “Tell him if he’s got anything to get off his chest … now’s the time to do it.”
Mei Jun took a deep breath and translated Billy’s words, slowly and quietly.
Suddenly Mr. Hu smiled. It was a very weird smile, asymmetrical and creepy. He raised a hand to his shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of gray cloth. Billy immediately recognized it as a torn scrap from an AFMEC uniform.
Mr. Hu said one or two sentences in Chinese. His expression was bold. Predatory.
Mei Jun turned to Billy with wide eyes. “Mr. Hu says a villager found this on a rooftop near the center of town. Someone was up there this morning. Someone who broke a drainpipe off the side of a building.”
Billy swallowed hard. Mr. Hu smiled another creepy smile and added a final brief sentence.
“Someone,” said Mei Jun, “who looked a lot like you.”
CHAPTER 15
Now it was Billy who felt trapped. Mr. Hu’s creepy grin made him uncomfortable, but not nearly as uncomfortable as Mei Jun’s accusing stare. If you’ve got anything to get off your chest, her eyes seemed to say, now’s the time to do it.
“I was investigating,” said Billy. “That’s part of my job.”
Mei Jun leaned forward and spoke quietly but forcefully. “I’m pretty sure your job doesn’t include breaking things, then not telling anyone about it.”
“Okay, what about that PA system I found up there?” Billy turned to Mr. Hu, trying to get back in command of the interview. “See if Mr. Hu can explain that.”
Mei Jun gave Billy a suspicious squint, then translated Billy’s question.
After a mom
ent Mr. Hu answered calmly and without hesitation. “It’s a warning system for the fire department. Newly installed just last week. They’re quite common now. You’ll find them all across China.”
“But …” Billy ran a hand through his hair. Things weren’t supposed to be like this. Mr. Hu was supposed to be confessing by now.
“But what?” Mei Jun was stony faced, much more on Mr. Hu’s side of things than Billy’s.
“Okay, well, what about the calligraphy? Tell him to write the characters. If he’s the real Mr. Hu, he should be able to write those characters.”
“If he’s the real Mr. Hu?” Mei Jun looked at Billy as if he’d totally gone off the deep end. “Billy, you’re not even making sense anymore.”
“Yeah, well how do we know this guy’s who he says he is? He could be anybody.”
“Billy, this is the real Mr. Hu. There’s an old newspaper article about him back at the temple. With a photo.” She stared at Billy for a moment, allowing the words to sink in. “It’s him. That’s all there is to it.”
“But …,” Billy said, suddenly unsure of the evidence he’d uncovered, or even if it counted as evidence at all. “… The Chinese characters. Why won’t he write them?”
Mei Jun sighed and shook her head slowly back and forth. “Billy, if you don’t have any more creatch-related questions, I suggest you apologize to Mr. Hu about the broken drainpipe and wrap this interview up as quickly as possible.”
Billy stared at the tabletop.
I blew it. Mr. Hu’s not going to give up anything else tonight.
Billy had to back off. “Tell him AFMEC will have that drainpipe repaired. I’ll see to it personally.”
“And what else should I tell him?” asked Mei Jun with a knowing glance.
“Tell him I’m … uh, you know … sorry.”
Mei Jun translated Billy’s apology—presumably without the “uh, you know.” Mr. Hu graciously accepted it. Billy and Mei Jun finished their tea and excused themselves. As soon as they were back on the streets of Huaqing, Billy decided to risk letting Mei Jun in on his theory about Jarrid Glurrik. It suddenly seemed terribly important to get her back on his side. He needed her to understand that he wasn’t crazy. That the weird interview questions, the sneaking around, the broken drainpipe, all this stuff had reasoning and logic behind it.
“Mei Jun, you’re not from Huaqing, right?”
“No. Never been here until last week.”
“Have you noticed anything strange about the people here?”
“Strange?”
“They’re all acting very suspiciously. The children we saw this morning. Mr. Hu. Everyone. When they talk it’s never spontaneous. There’s always a long pause. Like they’re reciting something instead of just saying the first thing that comes to mind.”
“I know what you mean, Billy.”
Great. She sees it too.
Mei Jun lowered her voice. “This village is so isolated. I think they’ve just developed their own way of talking.”
“It’s more than that, Mei Jun. These people have all been coached for these interviews. Everything they say has been fed to them by someone else.”
“Fed to them?”
“I’ve been trained to recognize this stuff. Someone in this village is getting hold of these people before we do. Telling them what to say. Telling them what not to say.”
Mei Jun’s eyes widened with new understanding. “You think there’s someone behind the scenes. Controlling everyone. Pulling strings.”
“That’s right, that’s right.” Billy’s words bubbled forth now that he knew he had a sympathetic ear. “Mei Jun, I am so close to cracking this thing. With your help I can do it. I have a pretty good idea who it is: this guy named Jarrid Glurrik. It’s just a matter of time before I figure out what he’s up to.”
Mei Jun nodded. “Go on.”
“Okay, first of all, the PA system. That thing was not installed by the fire department, mark my words. It’s way too compact, way too high-tech. I think it’s something for transmitting information to the people in the village.”
“What, like high-speed Internet?”
“Maybe. It’s probably how Glurrik gives everyone their marching orders. Like, ‘The AFMEC people are coming to interview you. Here’s what you should tell them.’ ” Billy’s mind was racing, coming up with a plan. “If we could do some kind of door-to-door search, maybe we could find receivers through the village, maybe even—”
“Billy,” Mei Jun interrupted with a raised finger. “I’ve figured it out. I know what’s going on here.”
“You do?”
“Yes. It’s not the first time. I’ve seen it before.”
“You’re kidding.”
“It’s called multiple-creatch-op stress disorder.”
Billy blinked. He’d heard the phrase before, but it didn’t seem to apply to the current situation at all. “You think the people of Huaqing are suffering from multiple-creatch-op stress disorder?”
“No, no.” Mei Jun placed a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “I think you are suffering from multiple-creatch-op stress disorder.”
“Me? I’m not suf—”
“You are, Billy. You are. You’ve been on one too many missions this past month, and it’s catching up with you. This happens to Affys a lot. You’re starting to see problems that aren’t really there. Go lie down, Billy. Get some rest.”
I can’t believe this. She really does think I’m nuts.
“But, Mei Jun, you said it yourself. The people in this village are acting weird.”
“They’re mountain people, Billy. They have their own way of doing things.”
Billy was speechless.
“Take it easy, Billy,” said Mei Jun. “Take a break from all the sneaking around and coming up with theories. Trust me. A good night’s rest. That’s all you need.”
Billy just stood there for a moment, staring at his feet. Then he raised his eyes to Mei Jun’s and tried his best to sound casual and unconcerned. “Okay. I’ll go lie down for a while.”
“It’ll do you a lot of good, Billy,” said Mei Jun. “Help you stop worrying about things.”
Billy said good night to Mei Jun and began the short walk back to the van. With every step he took, his spirits sank further. The day had started off so well, and he’d been making so much progress, but now everything had gone wildly off course somehow. He felt lost, as if he didn’t know up from down or right from wrong.
Is Mei Jun right? Am I seeing suspicious stuff that’s not even there?
CHAPTER 16
When Billy got back to the van he knew he had to come clean about what had happened on the roof. He told Ana all about the drainpipe and apologized for not having mentioned it earlier.
“Well, Billy,” said Ana, “these things happen.” She had a surprisingly sympathetic look in her eyes. “I’ll have to put it in my report on the mission, you know. That can’t be avoided. But I’ll also point out that you later admitted your mistakes.” She smiled and added, “Guys at AFMEC high command love it when Affys do that.”
“Thanks, Ana,” said Billy.
“Don’t think you’re off the hook, though,” said Ana, her face hardening into a severe expression. “You’ve got to really stick to the rules from now on. One mistake like this is understandable. Two is not. I don’t want to put you in line for an enforced leave, but I will if I have to.”
An enforced leave. No participation in any creatch ops for ten weeks. It was bad enough to get one if you were an Affy. If you were an Affy-in-training, it was accompanied by a demotion to entry-level status. Like going all the way back to square one.
“Don’t worry, Ana,” said Billy. “I’ll go strictly by the book from now on.”
Ana nodded and stomped her feet to stay warm. “Go lie down, Billy.” She checked her watch. “You’ve got two hours and fifty-seven minutes to rest. I’d use every second if I were you.” She winked and added: “That midnight shift is the worst.”
&nb
sp; Billy took Ana’s advice and grabbed some sleep in the van. After what felt like only ten minutes, Ana was shaking him awake.
“Come on, Billy. It’s midnight. Your watch.”
Billy sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Any blips on the creatch detector?” They had replaced the power cell and it was now in good working order. Hopefully.
“Nothing,” said Ana, yawning. “That’s the problem with being an Affy. It’s either too much action or no action at all.”
“Get some sleep, Ana. I’ll see you at three.”
After Ana hit the sack, Billy grabbed his glaff rifle and sat on a large rock near the front of the van. He then placed the creatch detector at his feet and thought about the interviews, the evidence, and all that had happened the day before.
Billy raised his rifle and took a few imaginary shots at an imaginary creatch on the other side of the bridge.
The kids. They seemed coached to me, but not to Mei Jun. It’s a matter of interpretation. They sure didn’t seem that frightened for kids who’d seen a rogmasher, but that could just be what Mei Jun said: mountain people have different ways of showing emotion.
Half an hour crawled by. Billy checked the creatch detector periodically: nothing. Another half hour crawled by. Billy stood up, stretched his arms, and gave his neck a good crack.
What about the PA system? Is Mr. Hu telling the truth, that it’s just for the fire department? I still think it’s too high-tech for that. Then again, the high-speed Internet idea doesn’t sound right either.
He checked the creatch detector: nothing. He gazed across the bridge at the road beyond, and the woods beyond that. Water quietly gurgled under the bridge, but otherwise, all was silent.
Another thing: the kids’ not knowing the song. Very strange, but how does it fit into all of this? If Jarrid Glurrik is coaching interviewees, that only explains the stiff-sounding answers I’m getting. It doesn’t begin to explain why those kids didn’t know the song at first, but then suddenly knew it seconds later.