by Dan Lee
Chang Sifu looked at him. ‘Why?’
‘Well, we’ve been practising some moves – you know we train together – and we want to run through them one more time. Because we want to use them in the tournament. But we can’t let the Shanghai team see, otherwise they’ll know what to expect.’
‘I see,’ said Chang thoughtfully. ‘And they are important to you, these… moves?’
‘They’re very important, sir,’ said Shawn.
‘Very well,’ said Chang. ‘Five minutes.’
‘Hey, how come you’re letting those guys slope away?’ protested Carl loudly.
‘Because I trust them,’ Matt heard Chang say, as he led the Tangshan Tigers to the changing room.
‘OK,’ said Matt, ‘this is the problem. We know that Jade Dish is the real one, stolen from the museum. But how can we prove that without giving it away that we broke in?’
‘There’s another problem too,’ said Shawn. ‘We need to prove that the theft was an inside job, that my dad’s security system didn’t fail.’
‘We have to expose the culprits,’ said Olivier. ‘It’s no good just saying, “Oh, look, here’s the original dish, I wonder how that got here.”’
‘And how did it get there, anyway?’ asked Shawn.
‘We need to think,’ said Matt. The changing room had an interactive whiteboard, which Chang occasionally used to illustrate team tactics. Matt drew a large circle on it with a cartoon dragon’s head in the middle. ‘That’s the Jade Dish, right? Here –’ he wrote ‘Mr P’ in one corner – ‘is Mr Pei, and here –’ he wrote ‘SJ’ in the opposite corner – ‘is Sensei Johnson. Now, what’s the connection?’
‘The Jade Dish was in Mr Pei’s museum,’ said Shawn at once.
‘Right,’ said Matt. He drew an arrow from Mr P to the dish. ‘And what about Johnson?’
‘He was expecting to win the dish!’ said Catarina.
‘Right!’ said Matt again – and he drew an arrow from the Jade Dish to SJ. ‘Now we also saw Mr Pei and Johnson talking together today, like they know each other – so there’s a connection between them too!’ He drew a double-headed arrow connecting the two names. ‘So the dish was going to go from Pei to Johnson, that was the plan –’
‘But that would have taken months of planning!’ said Olivier. ‘They’d have to arrange the theft, disable the security system, and make sure to coincide with the tournament!’
‘They’ve had months,’ said Matt. ‘The date of this tournament was fixed well in advance. I’d guess either Mr Pei, approached Johnson, or Johnson approached Mr Pei, and they cooked it up between them to smuggle out the real dish and present it to the winners – then they’d sell it and split the proceeds!’
‘But how could they be sure the Shanghai Academy would win?’ asked Catarina.
‘Over-confidence, I guess,’ said Matt. ‘They’d won it six years in a row, so it must have seemed like a good bet.’
Olivier gave a low whistle. ‘It’s a pretty clever way to steal a valuable art treasure, you have to admit. To have it awarded to you in public with everyone clapping!’
‘That’s it!’ said Catarina. ‘I never trusted that Mr Pie!’
‘The only problem is, we don’t have any evidence!’ said Shawn. ‘How are we going to prove it?’
‘The only way I can see,’ said Matt, ‘is that we have to win the tournament! Then we’ll have the Jade Dish – and we can somehow “discover” it’s the real one – and find a way to prove who stole it! But the first thing is to win, right? Because, if we don’t win, the Jade Dish goes home with the Shanghai team and we never see it again.’
‘Right,’ said Catarina. ‘So let’s go out there and win!’
Chapter 9
COMBAT!
‘Ah – you are ready?’ said Chang Sifu, as Matt and the Tangshan Tigers returned to the team bench. ‘You have perfected your – moves?’
‘I think so,’ said Matt. ‘We know what we’ve got to do!’
‘Good,’ said Chang. ‘I have here running order for the tournament. You will be fighting last, Matt – against the Shanghai captain, Anthony Brooke.’
A thrill of anticipation ran through Matt – partly nerves, partly excitement. He knew the name. Brooke had quite a reputation. He had never lost a competitive fight. He was a karateka, also expert in ju-jitsu. He was said to be the dirtiest fighter in the Shanghai team. And that was saying something.
It was quite an honour to be pitted against the Shanghai captain. Matt was determined to acquit himself well. It was possible, of course, that by the time the last bout was fought, Beijing would already have an unassailable lead; but it was equally possible that the match would go to the wire, and then, Matt realized, he would have to fight with everything he had.
He looked across at the Shanghai team, wondering which one was Brooke. At that moment, one of the Shanghai fighters detached himself from the group and walked over to the Beijing team. He was tall and muscular and walked with a confident swagger. He had dark hair and pale blue eyes that seemed to stare right through the Beijing team. Matt thought he was a seriously tough-looking individual.
‘Hi, I’m Anthony Brooke,’ he said, smiling. Matt noticed the way that the smile didn’t reach his pale blue eyes. ‘I just came to say: good luck.’
‘Thanks,’ said Matt, thinking someone should speak up on behalf of the Beijing team. ‘You too.’
‘ We won’t need luck,’ said Brooke, still smiling. ‘But you will. You’ll need a miracle.’
Before anyone could reply, Brooke had turned his back on them and was swaggering with deliberate, provocative slowness back to his team.
‘Take no notice,’ said Chang quietly. ‘He is trying to anger you. Remember importance of controlling emotions.’
Only a minute to go now. The hall was full. Matt saw Mr Wu, dressed with impeccable smartness as usual, sitting in the centre of the front row. His face was calm, but the way he twisted his fingers together in his lap showed the tension he was feeling. Then Matt saw his mother. She smiled and waved at him. Matt felt his face flush with pleasure.
Mr Lau struck a tiny silver bell on the table in front of him. ‘The tournament will begin. Bout One: Wolfgang Becker of the Beijing International Academy versus Ricky Lopez of the Shanghai Academy of Excellence.’
Chang touched Wolfgang on the shoulder. ‘Remember what you have learned.’
The first bout began.
It was a fast and furious fight. Matt saw at once that the Shanghai team intended to take no prisoners. The Shanghai fighter, a judo specialist like Wolfgang, attacked relentlessly, but Wolfgang defended well and was able to hold his own – until Sensei Johnson, from the side, barked out a command. In response, the Shanghai fighter whipped in a punch that started low, travelled up and struck Wolfgang in the eye. Matt cried out in protest. A shout went up from all the Beijing supporters. It was a strict rule that no blows to the neck or head were permitted. But the punch had been cleverly thrown on the blind side of the judges; they had not seen it and could not give a foul. Half-blinded, Wolfgang could no longer defend himself. The Shanghai fighter got him in a ju-jitsu armlock, forced him down on the mat and held him there.
One–nil to Shanghai.
A bad start. Matt couldn’t believe it.
And it got worse. In the next bout, no illegal blows were used, but the Beijing fighter – a Lebanese boy named Abdul – was constantly wary of the possibility and this made him lack confidence. The Shanghai fighter was hot stuff, Matt had to concede, and he floored Abdul with a flurry of kicks and punches right in front of the judges’ table.
Two–nil to Shanghai.
And Beijing needed to win six out of nine, Matt realized.
The noise level in the hall was rising. Some of the spectators were getting to their feet, calling out, ‘Come on, Beijing!’ and ‘Come on, Shanghai!’ Although it was a home match for the Beijing International Academy, the Shanghai Academy of Excellence had brought a lot of fans with them.
In the midst of all the noise, Chang remained calm and impassive. He touched Catarina’s shoulder. ‘Remember what you have learned.’
‘Watch out for your face,’ said Matt.
‘She hits my face, she’s gonna wish she hadn’t!’ was all Catarina said. She walked out to fight. Gracefully dancing round her opponent, easily avoiding or blocking the girl’s attacks, she built up a clear lead, landing several kicks to the body. Sensei Johnson barked out his order again as soon as Catarina had her back to the judges’ table. But Catarina was ready for that one. As the girl struck at her face Catarina grabbed her wrist and in one easy movement threw her flat on her back. Matt jumped to his feet.
‘Go, Catarina!’ he called out. The Beijing team cheered wildly.
Two–one.
Carl Warrick was up next. ‘Remember what you have learned,’ said Chang.
‘Yeah, right,’ said Carl, with a curl of the lip. He swaggered out on to the mat.
His opponent was a tall, shaven-headed, tough-looking boy of Asian appearance. They gave each other a bow that was little more than a nod.
As soon as the bout began, Carl rushed to the attack, launching a combination of strikes and kicks. His opponent blocked them all, hard. Then he counter-attacked. He was a kung fu exponent, fast and agile. Carl was soon reeling before an onslaught of body–punches and high kicks. Matt couldn’t help feeling sorry for him – he was outclassed and had no answer to the other’s fighting style. But whatever Carl’s faults he did not lack courage. He hung in as best he could, and stayed on his feet. He was able to avoid some of the more vicious strikes, the ones aimed at the face or neck, by twisting away, shifting his centre of gravity, constantly changing direction. Matt was reminded of something, and then he got it – Carl’s evasive action was exactly like the agile, twisting movements they had performed when trying to catch the butterflies. It was this that saved him from more serious punishment.
The bout ended. The verdict was never in doubt.
Three–one to Shanghai.
And now Beijing needed to win five out of seven.
Carl came back to his team area looking shell-shocked. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.
‘No need to feel sorry,’ Chang told him swiftly. ‘Today you met a stronger fighter. You fought with spirit.’
Carl didn’t answer, but sat down and studied the floor.
Next up was Shawn.
‘Good luck!’ said Matt, clapping his friend on the shoulder.
Shawn fought cautiously at first. The Shanghai fighter, a ju-jitsu specialist, kept trying to get him off balance and take him down on the mat. But Shawn kept his balance superbly – and at last he saw his moment and swept the Shanghai fighter off his feet with a ko soto gari throw. He pinned him on the mat with a scarf hold.
Three–two!
Shawn returned to the team area smiling.
‘Way to go, Shawn!’ said Matt, delighted both for his friend and for the team.
‘It was all that work on balance we did with Chang!’
Things were looking up for the Beijing team. Olivier, and the Italian boy, Dani, both won the next two bouts for Beijing, benefiting from Chang’s training in observation. They watched their opponents like hawks, protecting themselves against illegal blows, anticipating attacks and spotting the precise moment to counter-attack.
Four–three to Beijing!
Sensei Johnson was red in the face now, pumped up, shouting and roaring at his team. And Mr Pei, Matt noticed, was feeling the strain. His face wore a hunted look, and he was biting his lip.
But, urged on by Johnson’s frantic shouting, Shanghai won the next bout, their fighter landing another illegal blow on the blind side of the judges.
Four–all.
Then Beijing scored another victory. Lola, the daughter of a Nigerian businessman and the only other girl in the team apart from Catarina, made it five–four.
Shanghai came storming back and won the next.
Five–all!
Everything hinged on Matt’s final bout. The winner of this would deliver a six–five victory to their whole team.
‘Matt James and Anthony Brooke,’ called the head judge.
‘Remember what you have learned,’ said Chang quietly.
It seemed a long way to the centre of the tatami. Matt blanked out the noise of the excited spectators; he blanked out everything except the fight ahead of him. The world had shrunk to himself, his opponent and the tatami mat they were fighting on.
Matt stood facing Anthony Brooke. The two boys locked gazes.
‘Matt, huh?’ says Brooke softly. ‘That’s where I’m gonna put you, kid. On the mat!’
‘You’re welcome to try.’
They bowed.
The bout began.
They circled one another warily. Brooke came in with a spear-hand thrust at the body. Matt blocked this double-handed, but he sensed it wasn’t a serious attack, just a testing of his defences. He didn’t counter-attack immediately. He was watching, observing, as Chang had taught him to do.
Brooke came forward again. He aimed a karate chop at the side of Matt’s neck – a seriously illegal blow, which could have put Matt in hospital if it had connected – but it didn’t connect. Matt dodged in the nick of time. And he had spotted something. Brooke had a trick of feinting by dropping his left shoulder, so that you thought he was going to strike from that side, then attacking with the right hand instead. But there was no time to dwell on this. Brooke launched a front kick at his stomach! Matt stopped it with a downward block and now, for the first time, he counter-attacked, landing a kick squarely in Brooke’s ribs. Thud! That felt good. Brooke backed off.
Matt, emboldened, went on to the attack with another kick, a sweeping crescent kick, which Brooke blocked at waist height. Sensing he had Brooke on the retreat Matt tried a forward punch straight through Brooke’s guard – but that was too obvious, a terrible mistake. No! thought Matt as Brooke blocked, grabbed his arm and swivelled. Now Matt was caught in an armlock. Brooke tightened the lock – the pain was excruciating; it felt as if Brooke was trying to break his arm. But Matt still had the other arm free. He delivered two short, fast punches to Brooke’s side, as Chang had taught him. Brooke grunted, his grip loosened momentarily and Matt pulled free.
Brooke came straight after him, throwing punches and chops at Matt’s face and neck, illegal attacks that Matt only just avoided. Brooke was not even on the blind side of the judges; he didn’t seem to care any more – he was desperate to win at all costs even if he got disqualified afterwards. Matt just wanted to avoid serious injury. He stayed calm, controlling his emotions as Chang had taught him. He dodged. He blocked. He watched. And then he saw it – that drop of the left shoulder. Matt knew what was coming next. When Brooke moved to strike with the right hand his defence would be momentarily down. Matt had a quarter of a second in which to act.
And he used it.
He turned, he twisted and he executed a back kick with all the speed and force he possessed. Brooke ran straight into it. Matt felt his heel driving hard into Brooke’s midriff, all the strength of his body behind it.
Brooke crashed back on to the mat. He didn’t get up. He could hardly breathe.
It was over. The fight was over.
Matt was the winner.
The world around him swam back into focus. Matt heard the cheering, he saw his mother standing up to clap, he saw his team-mates jumping around wildly. Even Chang was smiling.
Beijing International Academy six; Shanghai Academy of Excellence five.
For the first time in six years, the trophy was coming back to Beijing.
‘It gives me great pleasure,’ said Mr Wu, and Matt could see that he meant it – he was smiling all over his face, ‘to present this fine replica of the Emperor’s Jade Dish to the Beijing International Academy!’
Chang Sifu gave Matt a tap on the shoulder and nodded; it was for him, as winner of the final bout, to go up and collect the trophy.
Matt�
�s head was spinning as he walked towards the judges’ table. What should he do next? Just accept the Jade Dish and then later reveal that it was genuine and confide his suspicions of Sensei Johnson and Mr Pei to Chang Sifu? There didn’t seem much else he could do, but he was troubled that he didn’t have the definite proof that they needed to put Shawn’s dad in the clear…
∗
He held the beautiful trophy aloft. The Beijing supporters’ cheers rang up to the ceiling. He saw Johnny grinning, his mother clapping for all she was worth. Mr Pei stood on the podium by the judges’ table, looking as sour as if he’d just bitten into a lemon.
And suddenly Matt’s mind went into overdrive!
This was too good an opportunity to miss.
As the cheering died down, Matt made a show of examining the Jade Dish closely.
‘Er, I think there’s something a bit funny here,’ he said. ‘Something a bit funny about this dish.’
A hush fell.
‘What do you mean?’ said Mr Wu, his smile fading.
‘It’s really heavy, like it’s made of real jade or something. And there are these weird bits of wood stuck to the back of it – as if it used to be glued to a plinth. I might be wrong, but… are we sure this is a replica? It couldn’t be the original, could it?’
Mr Pei was looking ill now.
‘What do you mean?’ said Mr Wu again. ‘Of course it is a replica. Let me see –’
‘If we had an art expert here – but wait a minute!’ said Matt. ‘We do have an art expert! Mr Pei, what do you think?’
He placed the Jade Dish on the table in front of Mr Pei.
Matt heard Olivier give a low whistle, and Catarina laughed. They had both seen the trap Matt had laid for Mr Pei. Mr Wu and the other judges were looking closely at the dish now. Mr Pei could hardly deny the Jade Dish was genuine – if he did, and it was shown to be real, everyone would know he had lied. On the other hand, if he admitted it was the real thing, the game was up: there’d be no chance of winning it back at next year’s tournament, or ever again. It would be returned to the museum, placed under heightened security, and his own role in its disappearance would be investigated. There was nothing he could do – no way out.