by Laurence Yep
Mr. Hu glared up at the creature. “Monster, you should have died long ago. There’s no place in the world for you now.”
“But there will be,” the Watcher chorused. “Lord Vatten has promised.”
Faster and faster, Tom rose upward. The lips pulled back from the mouths, revealing sharp teeth. But then Tom halted abruptly, as if an invisible wall barred the Watcher. For a moment the creature seemed puzzled as it struggled to bring Tom within reach of its mouths.
“What stopped it?” Sidney asked.
“I gave him a charm,” Mr. Hu said, “but is it strong enough?”
Straining with all its might, the Watcher fought the magic of the charm and lifted Tom closer and closer. He tried to scream, but his throat was paralyzed. All he could do was close his eyes.
“Leave the boy alone. Take me,” the tiger roared desperately. As he tried to reach the Watcher, he broke so many of the strands that it sounded as if he were destroying a giant piano. And yet more hair kept shooting down from the ceiling to block him.
“I must have something that can cut that stuff,” Sidney said, desperately searching his fur. He pulled out a letter opener. “I guess this will have to do.” And the rat bravely padded after the tiger. In his hurry Mr. Hu had gotten a hind leg caught just as he was almost up to Tom. Still he leaned forward, sweeping his claws like scythes, in an effort to reach the boy.
Flashlight in one paw and letter opener in the other, Sidney hacked at the troublesome strands around the tiger’s leg. As soon as his limb was free, the tiger shed his coat and ripped off his shirt so that the huge muscles on his shoulders and chest rippled beneath his fur. Crouching, he roared, “I am the Guardian, and woe to any who harm my apprentice.” And the echoes of his anger rolled around the room like the judgment of Heaven.
When he sprang forward, at first the strands broke under his momentum, but as he fell deeper among them, they held so that he suddenly hung suspended in midair. He had plunged just far enough for one foreleg to reach the monster.
Trapped within its hair, Tom could smell the Watcher’s fetid breath and then there was a sharp pain around his heart. Suddenly his whole body felt on fire and he cried out, “Grandmom!”
With one last, despairing howl, the tiger wrenched his hind legs free so he could brace them against the floor. Grief and anger let the tiger shed years and become as he was when he was young—a furred lightning bolt, fighting now for his apprentice and for the world.
He sprang high into the air and raked a paw at one of the beast’s unprotected faces. Now it was the Watcher’s turn to shriek in pain. Down plummeted the cocoon of hair that held the boy.
“Master Thomas,” Mr. Hu panted to the boy, who now hung limp and silent among the strands. He began to cut with large sweeps of his claws.
In the meantime Sidney had dropped the letter opener and managed to dig out a small hatchet. Grasping the handle in his free paw, he swung it in huge, hair-breaking arcs. “You take care of that thing, Mr. H. I’ll get Tom.” When the rat had hacked through the last strands, he caught the boy barely in time, but his legs buckled under the sudden weight as he lowered Tom to the floor.
“I got him,” Sidney said.
“Get him back to the doorway,” Mr. Hu called urgently.
“Be right back, Mr. H.” Taking Tom’s arms, the rat dragged him to safety.
Mr. Hu’s ears flattened tight against his skull and his eyes blazed like a wildfire sweeping through a forest. “Come, coward. Or do you only attack small boys?”
The Watcher had had its fill of the tiger’s claws. Turning, it began to shoot strands to trap the Guardian.
“Come down here,” Mr. Hu raged as he batted the strands away with his paws. “Fight me.”
“You’ll pay,” the Watcher wailed. “All of you will pay.”
The tiger tried to spring upward again, but there had only been one such giant leap in his elderly legs and he kept falling far short. “I cannot reach him again.” As he fought to keep from becoming ensnared, he snarled to himself, “What did Mistress Lee say? Wits, not claws. Wits, wits. Yes.” As he went on defending himself, he whispered to Sidney for two things.
“Sure, I got them.” Dropping the hatchet, the rat hunted with both paws through his fur. Careful to use his body to screen himself from the monster’s sight, the rat pulled out from his fur a lighter and a can of hair spray, which he uncapped. “Here, partner. You hit it and I’ll light it. But as soon as I do, drop the can.”
Mr. Hu took the can behind his back, but with only one paw to defend himself now, strands found their mark. “Nasty cat,” the Watcher jeered. Hair, braided together thick as ropes, began to fall around the tiger as it sought to trap him in a net.
Picking up the hatchet in one paw, Sidney held the lighter in the other. “Ready, Mr. H.”
“Now,” Mr. Hu said. Only able to move one foreleg, he aimed the can at the spiderlike creature and squeezed as hard as he could. A thin plume of spray shot out; at the same time the rat lit it. The gas changed into a streamer of blue-and-yellow flame arcing toward the Watcher—but falling short.
“Blast, it’s up too high.”
But, as the fiery jet faltered, it fell across the ropes of hair binding the tiger to the monster. Instantly, lines of flame raced upward to the cloud of hair hanging down from the Watcher’s head. Hair fell like burning serpents, writhing and twisting, and the monster shrieked as the fire engulfed its massive head.
At the same time the fire had raced down the strands of hair toward Mr. Hu. Dropping the can of spray, the tiger began slashing desperately with his claws to free himself; but he wouldn’t have done it in time without the rat, who leaped upon his back and swung the hatchet, hacking the rest of the hair away.
“The phoenix,” Mr. Hu said. As clumps of flaming hair dropped all around him, the Guardian tried to leap toward the table but again fell short. With smaller hops, sometimes stumbling, he went on, though fire singed his fur and his pants. Gathering the precious rose in one paw, he staggered back toward the door where Sidney waited with an unconscious Tom.
In the outer chamber the booming had stopped. Mistral limped toward them with a bad gash on her hind leg. “Did you get it?”
Mr. Hu crouched beside Tom. “Yes, but at great cost.” Putting a paw to Tom’s throat, he felt for his pulse. “His heart’s barely beating.” He took his paw away, puzzled. “Master Thomas could not wait to be free of me. And yet in the end he gave his life that I might live. Why?”
“He said you were the important one,” Sidney reminded the tiger softly.
“No, he was wrong. He was the vital one—because he was the future. And as precious as the egg.” Tenderly, Mr. Hu brushed a bit of the Watcher’s hair from the boy’s face. “I should never have let him come. But he had his grandmother’s heart, so he could not stay from the battle. Mistress Lee would have been proud of him.”
“I’m sorry I’m late, but the rudest fellow detained me. Did I miss any of the fun?” Monkey asked as he joined the others. Despite his breezy air, his robe was torn and there was a cut on his cheek.
“We got the phoenix, but . . .” Mistral nodded toward Tom.
“I’ve gotten him killed.” Mr. Hu’s whiskers trembled. “Forgive me, Mistress Lee. I broke my word to you and to him, for I promised I would keep him from harm.”
Monkey slipped off his cap. “He would have made a good Guardian.”
“He was meant for great things,” Mr. Hu mourned.
Mistral chipped the wall when she thumped a paw against it in frustration. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”
“I’ve never seen venom work so fast.” Mr. Hu sighed. “He’s beyond healing spells already.” The fur on his face began to dampen with tears.
“Then let’s make him comfy.” From his fur, Sidney pulled out a tiny pillow, which he slipped under Tom’s head.
“What about a human hospital?” Mistral suggested desperately. “I hear they have devices that take out all the bad blo
od and put in good blood instead.”
Mr. Hu’s head jerked back up. “Yes, a transfusion.”
“He’s gone beyond the reach of human medicine,” Monkey said, shaking his head sadly.
“But not beyond magic after all,” the tiger said, growing excited. “The boy needs more than blood. I could give him some of my soul.”
“How do you do that?” Sidney asked, puzzled.
“Matter and spirit are one and the same thing,” Mr. Hu explained impatiently. “You can give energy from your soul—part of your life force—as well as blood from the body.”
“But you’ve already gotten on in years,” Mistral protested. “How much do you have to give?”
“I would give it all for his sake,” Mr. Hu said, and looked down tenderly at the boy. “He is impetuous and infuriating, but then so was I when I was a cub. And beneath the insolence lies a heart as noble as his grandmother’s. He has sacrificed everything for me. Can I do any less for him? If an apprentice cannot be selfish, neither can his master.”
“I like the boy as much as you do, but you’re not planning what I think you are, are you?” Monkey demanded.
“She would know how to do that,” Mr. Hu said.
“She is never to be woken,” Monkey insisted.
Sidney stared at the ape in surprise. “I never expected anyone to scare you.”
“She is one of the few who can,” Monkey said, wrapping his arms around himself.
“Well, who is she anyway?” Sidney demanded.
“The Empress Nü Kua,” Mr. Hu said in a low voice.
Monkey shook his head. “Not her! I hear she gave orders not to be disturbed. You can’t be sure what she’ll do if you wake her up.”
“I will not let his life end here.” The tiger’s eyes blazed as he gathered the boy into his arms and rose.
Mistral gave a warning shake of her head. “I wouldn’t go to her. What she thinks of as a good deed might not be your idea of one.”
Mr. Hu remained resolved. “Thank you all for what you have done. But now I take a path too perilous for anyone but myself.”
Monkey pretended to search for fleas in his fur while he thought, and finally he shrugged. “I like to see things out to the end. Count me in.”
Mistral lifted her head. “Never let it be said that an ape has more courage than a dragon.”
“Well.” Sidney tucked his paws into his fur. “Business has been a little slow lately, so I might as well try a new sales territory.”
“You’re always the optimist, aren’t you?” Mr. Hu asked with a trace of a smile.
Sidney waved a paw. “My mother told me that customers always buy more when it’s sunny, so I always look for the bright side of the street.”
“If this works, I’ll start looking with you, Sidney,” Mr. Hu promised.
Chapter 13
They returned by taxi to Mr. Hu’s store as quickly as they could. The Guardian carried Tom himself. They’d had to travel, of course, in human disguise—except for Sidney—but once they were at the tiger’s home, they changed back into their true shapes.
Though the elderly tiger was sore from his battle, he began his preparations while the others helped clear the wreckage from the rear apartment into the store so there was an open space.
“This may be the shortest Guardianship on record.” Mr. Hu shrugged. He paused long enough to check Tom’s pulse. “Good, Master Thomas. Your heart is still fighting.”
However, everyone noticed how the tiger hurried as much as his aching body would permit, stopping only to feel Tom’s wrist periodically. Every time he did, he looked more and more concerned.
When they had emptied out enough wreckage and Monkey had fashioned a crude stretcher from chair legs and a blanket, the tiger put on a fresh shirt and his coat, which Sidney had brushed and cleaned as best he could with a washcloth. “One can’t call upon an empress in rags, so you’d all better tidy up while I finish this.”
While Sidney fluffed up his fur and Mistral buffed her armored hide with a towel, Monkey groomed his fur with a borrowed comb. With a sigh, he fingered one of the many tears in his robe. “I can’t do much about my clothes, so maybe I’ll just stand behind you, Mistral.”
“It might be best if you left all the talking to Hu anyway,” Mistral said with a meaningful glance.
Wounded, Monkey placed a paw on his chest. “I’ve reformed. I’m always on my best behavior now. It’s just that people misunderstand.”
Mistral poked Sidney, who was munching at a stale bagel that he had taken from his fur. “And don’t even think of trying to sell her something, you fool rat. Or you’ll wind up as dead as Kung Kung.”
Monkey said, polishing his staff, “Anyway, in her time there wasn’t any money. People bartered for things.”
The horrified rat raised a paw to his mouth. “No money? That poor gal. Somebody ought to educate her.”
“For the last time, I’m telling you not to bother her,” Mistral warned him.
“She has a quick temper?” Sidney asked.
“She is . . .” Mistral paused while she hunted for the right words.
“She’s like a great river,” Monkey said, “that spreads across the land in the spring. The silt she brings renews the soil, but at the same time the flood sweeps away houses and drowns people.”
For once the dragon agreed with him. “Yes,” Mistral said, “she’s like Nature. She does certain things because she must and she does not care whether she helps or hurts the rest of us.”
“Humans,” Monkey added, “like to pretend Nature is like them—sometimes nice and sometimes angry. But Nature is indifferent.”
“The kind thing to do would be to help her since she’s been out of it for such a long time.” Sidney stared at a wall. “Let’s see. What would she need?” Even though the rat didn’t talk anymore about turning Nü Kua into a customer, he looked alarmingly thoughtful—as if he were trying to figure out how to teach her quickly about currency.
By this time the tiger had drawn a diagram on the floor with red ink. In the center of the complicated design was the image of a creature that was half woman and half snake. He crept around on three paws while he fine-tuned the diagram with his brush.
With Tom on the improvised stretcher, they gathered in a circle about the diagram. “I want you to drum on the floor this way,” the tiger said, beating his paws against the floor.
Then, taking his place in the center of the diagram, the Guardian began to dance on his hind legs to the beat, chanting under his breath as he lurched forward rhythmically in a limping dance.
The tiger’s deep growl rose and fell, then shot up again like a rocket and fell like a meteor. As he danced, Mr. Hu began to move his forepaws in patterns that left signs glowing in the air like neon. Whenever his body brushed the lingering symbols, they dissipated in a cloud of sparks. At first the little bits of light darted about like fireflies, but as the dancing went on, they began to settle upon the design so that it burned like molten gold.
Suddenly a warm breeze blew through the room. “That can’t be part of the spell,” Monkey murmured.
“No, it’s something else,” Mistral said, glancing up at the circle of pale white light shining on the ceiling.
The circle rippled outward like the surface of a pond into which a rock had been thrown.
Mistral swung her head toward the tiger. “Hurry, the Ghost Cart’s coming.”
“No one cheats the Ghost Cart,” Monkey said.
“I will,” Mr. Hu said, and went on with his spell.
They all felt a tingling down their spines as the design shone brighter and brighter, and suddenly the floor disappeared. Blue clouds began to swirl beneath them, and in the mist they could vaguely make out the shapes of towers and armies that whirled away before the details became clear.
Finally there was only the damp, sandy earth that gave off a pleasant smell like a beach after a warm summer rain.
Mr. Hu’s legs sagged, and he almost fell
but caught himself. “It’s done.”
“You need to rest a moment,” Mistral said, lifting a paw to support the tiger.
Mr. Hu shook her off. “We don’t have time,” he said, pointing as a pale, ghostly wingtip appeared near the ceiling. His ears flattened against his head and he snarled upward, “Not yet. Master Thomas is mine.” Whirling around, the tiger grabbed Tom from the stretcher and sank into the dirt.
“Is that quicksand?” Sidney gasped.
“No, but the earth has changed. Or we’ve transformed. Hu could tell you, but we don’t have time for explanations. Hurry and jump, Sidney,” Monkey urged with a glance above him. On one fluttering wing of the Ghost Cart, he could see the outline of a ghostly skull, drifting back and forth in the air.
“Hey, it’s like swimming,” Sidney said as he floated in the soil.
When Monkey dived in, he lingered near the surface of the hole. “The Ghost Cart’s just hovering in the room—like it’s searching. Why isn’t it following us?”
“The Way to the Empress is no longer properly part of the world,” Mr. Hu said. “Sidney, I think we’ll need the flashlight again.”
“Sure thing, Mr. H,” the rat said. Getting it out of his fur, he handed it to the tiger.
Mr. Hu gestured to Tom with it. “I need to lead the way. Monkey, will you take him?”
“Of course,” Monkey said, taking the boy. “How long can you hold the Way open?”
“I’m not sure. We’d best hurry.” Mr. Hu turned and shone the flashlight downward. By its beam they saw bricks and stones and part of an old lamppost.
As the dragon began to undulate downward after Monkey and Hu, Sidney made the mistake of holding on to her tail, which whipped him back and forth dangerously.
“Slow down. I’m going to be sick,” the rat complained.
“I don’t know how long Hu can hold the Way open for us,” Mistral snapped. “Do you want to be buried alive?”
“I guess I shouldn’t have had that bagel,” the rat said, and held on even tighter.