The Haunted Onsen

by Phil Gabriel

  “And me?” asked Daeng. “I bet there aren’t any Thai in that show.”

  “Oh, that’s where you’re wrong,” screeched Pam as she slapped my thigh hard enough to leave another red handprint. “You’re perfect! The long-legged, big-boobed woman with enormous hands and a penchant for hooker-heeled footwear. Even the name is perfect.”

  “There’s someone in this show named Daeng?” she asked.

  “Not that name,” said Pam. “Where are you from? What is your name for your people’s kingdom?”

  With a puzzled look, Daeng said, “I’m Lanna Thai. But I still don’t see—”

  “LANA!” screeched Kitty-Sue, as if proving a point.

  It took me a moment; then I started giggling. Even John smiled at the joke, leaving Daeng in the dark. I finally laughed out loud and turned to Pam and gave her a high-five. Kitsune are crazy and prone to all kinds of jokes, but I like that in a girlfriend.

  “If you want to call me Lana,” said Daeng with a perfectly deadpan expression, “that’s OK.” Then she pushed her glasses up on her nose and held up a finger. “But I charge extra-extra-extra!” She held the serious expression for about ten seconds, then exploded into giggles.

  I passed out more chilled drinks from our cooler. Like my bag, it was bigger on the inside and held a large number of drinks. Unlike my bag, the spell was temporary and would fade by dawn.

  Socially lubricated, we waited for the first match. Muay Thai style fights are very common in Thailand. The best students of each school or area come to compete against the best of the competitors. The matches are rigorous and fairly fought.

  If you believe that, you’re a sucker. Real Muay Thai fighting only takes place in the gyms and the occasional back alley. In the public arenas, where bets can be made, the fights are more of a spectator sport than a real competition.

  Just as the first opponents of the night entered the ring, a short, balding Thai man sidled up to Daeng and whispered to her. Kitty-Sue heard every word. She turned to me with Pam’s smile on her face and said, “He’s offering Lana a cut of our losses if she can convince us to bet on the fights.”

  Daeng shook her head violently, rejecting the offer.

  It was nice to have an honest student. Of course, the fact that she had helped me create five wallets with magical booby traps that morning might have had something to do with her attitude. The wallets had one hundred dollars in each of them, as well as a note in Thai that a reward was offered for the return of the wallet and contents. If not returned, the note promised an aging curse that would subtract five years of life from the thief. I had gone out with all five wallets, refusing her offer to accompany me, to walk the crowds in the tourist area. If she had been with me, the pickpockets would have avoided the bait.

  Two hours later, I had returned, minus the five wallets. After another two hours, the deadline to return the wallets for a reward passed. Daeng and I had just completed our dancing exercises to attune to Chiang Rai and were back in our room. I had been leaning against the counter, breathing heavily. Daeng was still chipper and full of energy, not even breathing hard.

  Daeng watched as the life energy of five thieves flowed into me, making all my tattoos glow as they conducted the siphoned life force. What a rush! My deep breathing smoothed out and the sweating stopped.

  Daeng bit her lip before asking, “Is it fair to take life energy for minor theft?”

  “Is it fair to steal from anyone?” I asked. “Our branch of magic requires truth and working only through Deals,” I said. “We have a lot of power. So much power that we have to place restrictions on ourselves.”

  “Restrictions, Deals?” she asked. “You made no deals with the pickpockets. You just took their energy.”

  “Stealing from a magician is making a Deal,” I said. “Only with no bargaining. The magician decides what to charge.”

  “Aren’t you stealing this armor from another magician?” she asked. “Won’t he be able to take your life?”

  “That’s not going to happen,” I said. “We are taking the item back to the original owner, so it’s not theft.”

  “Your rules are confusing,” she said, then bit her lip before asking, “What if I break a rule by accident? Will you suck out my life?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “You’re my student, my responsibility. No one will make a Deal with you.”

  “This is confusing,” she said.

  “Welcome to magic,” I said.

  So Daeng was reluctant to make a deal to rip off the ignorant farang tourists. After the gambler had left, I asked, “Why didn’t you take the deal? I could bet on the bouts.”

  “Ajarn-Scott,” she said, “you will always lose. Whoever you bet on will lose. You might win one or two bets, then he will double the wager, and you will lose.”

  Kitty-Sue leaned over and said, “Tell him what else he said. About your father’s debt.”

  Daeng looked embarrassed. She looked down and wouldn’t meet my gaze. “He offered to cancel my family’s debt if I could get you to bet enough,” she said in a whisper.

  “Your father owes this man money?” I asked. Daeng kept quiet, obviously uncomfortable with the subject.

  I felt a sharp elbow in my ribs from Kitty-Sue. “That’s why she’s”—cough— “was a hooker in a low-class bar in Bangkok. Most of the girls who go to Bangkok do it to pay off family debts.”

  I opened my mouth to ask questions: How much money? How long had she been “paying off” this loan? Hell, she was only about nineteen or twenty now. How old had she been when she volunteered to pay off these debts? I closed my mouth without saying a word. She would probably not want to answer these questions.

  “So, call the asshole back,” I said. “Tell him I love to bet on sports.”

  “No, Ajarn-Scott,” said Daeng. “You will lose much more than my debt.”

  “You know I can’t lose, right?” I said.

  “Even if you win, he will send the fighters after you to take all of your money,” said Daeng. “He has lots of enforcers. That’s how he gets people to pay up. The fighters serve as his enforcers.”

  I looked to my right, at the two deadliest people I knew. “Are either of you worried?” I was greeted by a laugh from John and a feral gleam of anticipation from Kitty-Sue as her blue eyes took on the tawny gold color of a fox.

  Kitty-Sue’s eyes faded back to the blue of her assumed identity, and she said, “Boss, isn’t this going to delay our mission? We don’t have much time left before we have to return to Hakone.”

  “The truth is that I don’t have enough magic reserves to find the armor and get it back,” I said. I hated to admit I couldn’t do something, but this was a serious problem. “Without Akiko’s help, I need to be fully charged up to evade any magical traps the thief has set up.”

  “What about your dancing?” she asked. “Isn’t that helping?”

  “Dancing with Daeng is a big help,” I replied. “But progress is slow.” I grabbed another bottle of Singha beer and leaned back in my folding chair. I chilled the beer down and popped the top.

  “I need to find a way to recharge faster,” I said. “Draining the life force of criminals is the best way to get it done.”

  “Mmph,” said Kitty-Sue, “if your energy is so precious, why are you wasting it chilling down beer?”

  “Touché,” I said. “But it only takes a tiny amount of magic to chill a drink. You certainly aren’t complaining when I chill your beer. But you’re right. I shouldn’t be wasting energy, especially here, in a magical dead zone.”

  Daeng suddenly looked alert. “Is that why it feels so, so dry here?” Kitty-Sue looked surprised, as the air in the tiny stadium was oppressively hot and muggy. Since Daeng didn’t have a word for lack of magic, she had to use the closest approximation.

  “The word we use to describe the lack of magical energy is ‘anamanic,’” I said.

  “Anamanic?” asked Kitty-Sue, the new word tickling her linguist instincts. “Isn’t t
hat the wrong prefix for that word? Shouldn’t it be—”

  “Let the magicians handle the labels, Kitty-Sue,” I said.

  Turning back to Daeng, I said, “Yes, that dry feeling is the lack of mana, the energy of magic. Places like casinos, hospitals, and churches don’t have much magic.”

  “So how do we do magic here?” asked Daeng. With a frown, she concentrated, and the can of soda in her hand dropped suddenly in temperature, a hint of frost on the side indicating she was getting better at the spell.

  “Because magicians can store magical energy inside themselves,” I said. “The more you learn and train, the more energy you can store internally. Then, there are other ways to store energy.” I raised my hand to point to her Buddha amulet but stopped myself. Pointing is rude to Thais. “Your Buddha amulet lets you store some energy.”

  “Boss,” interrupted Kitty-Sue, “can’t you save your hocus-pocus lessons for when we aren’t on a deadline?”

  She was right; I had a tendency to lecture when the subject of magic came up. “She’s right,” I said to Daeng, “no time to waste. Call the bookie over, and we’ll bet on the next match.”

  The two opponents entered the ring one at a time. Muay Thai fights have a lot of rituals. The fighters enter without their gloves, but still wearing a headband called a mongkhon and an armband called a pra jiad, as favors for luck. They then perform a wai to a Buddha, then circle the ring and perform three wais in each corner, always moving in a counterclockwise direction. After the circuit is complete, the fighters perform a dance called wai khru ram muay, or ram muay. Some fighters do acrobatic maneuvers, fingertip push-ups, handstands, and flips. Other fighters perform simple forms.

  I remembered one fight I saw many years ago; the more acrobatic and flamboyant fighter saw the simple ram muay of his opponent and forfeited the fight without a blow exchanged. At the time, I hadn’t realized how much you could tell about an opponent by how well they moved through even the simplest form.

  Muay Thai fighters are divided into many weight classes so that opponents rarely have more than five pounds difference between them. For this bout, the fighters were probably within one pound of each other. The first to enter the ring, in bright yellow shorts, performed his dance with a lot of verve and energy.

  However, his opponent in bright green trunks, although he performed a simpler dance, moved like his joints were oiled steel, each move precise and controlled. Repetitive motions always followed the same path through the air, with no variation in angle or distance. He danced with the precision of our Nang Tani tree spirit.

  John and I exchanged a glance and a nod; green trunks was the better fighter.

  “Tell the bookie that I want to bet on the guy in the green trunks,” I said.

  Daeng raised her hand to call the bookie over. She then pulled her glasses down and examined the fighters. “I think I went to school with that fighter.”

  “Which one?” asked Kitty-Sue in Pam’s voice, “the one in the green trunks?” At Daeng’s nod, Kitty-Sue continued, “Ohh, he looks nice. Did he treat you nice?”

  Daeng was confused by the question but nodded.

  “Then we’ll kill him last,” Kitty-Sue said with the air of someone doing a great favor.

  “Thais don’t joke about that,” said Daeng.

  “OK, OK,” said Kitty-Sue, “old boyfriends are off-limits. We won’t kill him.” This she said with the air of a queen granting clemency.

  “He wasn’t a boyfriend,” said Daeng primly. “Just one of the few who treated me decently.”

  “Not a boyfriend,” mused Kitty-Sue. “Just a friend? I won’t kill him, just inflict a lot of pain.”

  Daeng looked for a long moment at Kitty-Sue, searching for a trace of humor. She was met with the blank gaze of a feral.

  The tension built up for several seconds, then Kitty-Sue said, “Let’s just enjoy the fight, OK? I won’t hurt him if I can help it.”

  They exchanged one of those glances that women use to convey a ton of information in a second. Kitty-Sue narrowed her eyes, then asked, “So what’s your boyfriend’s name?”

  Before Daeng could answer, the bookie hurried up. While we had been talking, the first round had started. Unlike US boxing matches, Muay Thai fights allow betting during the fight. The odds can change a lot after the crowd has seen the first round.

  It took a few seconds to place my two-hundred-dollar bet on green trunks, and we watched the fight.

  The fight followed standard Muay Thai rules: five rounds of three minutes each, with a two-minute rest break between rounds.

  Of course, I won. Both because Daeng’s friend was the better fighter and as bait for me to continue betting. I raised my bet to five hundred dollars on the next match. I won that match also. The bookie paid off with fake reluctance, muttering in Thai about lucky farangs.

  When betting on the second match, I “accidentally” let the bookie see my wad of US cash. His eyes flashed with greed.

  The third bout started. This time the fighters were much heavier and more evenly matched. On this match, I bet two thousand dollars.

  My fighter wore red trunks; his opponent was in dark green. Both muscled like Greek statues with improbably thick thighs, a combination of diet and harsh Muay Thai training. Watching the intro dance, I could tell my fighter was much better than his opponent.

  He fought well, dominating his opponent with a flurry of punches and kicks. But after the fifth round, when the winner was announced, he had lost.

  The bookie came over, and I paid off the bet. He said through Daeng, “It was a very close match. You almost won. Would you like to bet on the next match?”

  Grimacing like a sore loser, I said, “Hell, no. That was fake!” I took a big swallow of my beer before continuing. “Hell,” I said, “I’d bet double or nothing that my friend could kick his ass.”

  The bookie looked at John, who raised his whiskey flask in salute. He licked his lips, anxious to get some more money from the foreign chumps. “It’s true that we have an open competition match after this fight. If you would care to wager on your friend, we could set it up.”

  Looking back to John, I said, “Hey, John, are you up to a fight with one of these midgets?”

  “Hell, yeah,” John replied. “Set it up; it sounds like fun.”

  The bookie had a whispered conversation with Daeng. I could tell from Kitty-Sue’s puzzled expression that they were talking in the local dialect. The bookie had caught that Kitty-Sue could understand standard Thai and had shifted to the local dialect. After he had left to make arrangements for John’s bout, I turned to Daeng and asked, “Has he canceled your debt?”

  “Not yet,” she said. “He promised after John gets beaten.”

  “Oh hell,” said Kitty-Sue, “that’ll never work. John won’t get beaten.”

  “Will he cheat with magic?” asked Daeng.

  “No,” I said, “that would never work. All fights have rituals that prevent cheating with magic.”

  “Rituals?”

  “Yes, for Muay Thai, the ritual dance eliminates the effects of magic. In Japan, the sumo fighters throw salt in the ring to prevent any magical influence. Humans have developed ways to prevent magic from influencing sports.”

  “So how can Kuhn-John win without magic?”

  “He’s very strong and very skilled,” I said.

  Daeng said, “I’ve seen this before. A lot of farangs think because they are bigger and heavier than the Thai fighters that they can beat them. Even if Khun-John is strong, he hasn’t had the training to go up against a professional fighter.”

  John just smiled. How to explain this to Daeng? “Have you ever heard of the ten-thousand-hour rule?” At her headshake, I continued, “It’s the belief that if a person can work at some skill for ten thousand hours, he can become an expert.” I considered how to phrase this without lying and without giving up any of John’s secrets.

  “John has studied martial arts for a long time,” I said, hoping she
wouldn’t ask how long. John probably had more than ten thousand hours of study of every martial art, one of the advantages of a long lifespan.

  Daeng still looked doubtful, so I added, “Even if he loses, we can still follow through on the plan.” This was met by a small humph from John and a Pam-like giggle from Kitty-Sue.

  As we chatted, the last fight finished. I hadn’t bet on this fight, so I wasn’t interested in the outcome. The bookie came back to our row and asked, “Is your friend ready to fight?”

  “Hell, yes,” said John as he stood, only staggering slightly. He grabbed the back of his chair to balance. “Pam, honey,” he said, “you have anything of yours I can wear as a favor?”

  “Favor?” asked Daeng, “what is this favor?”

  “Cool,” squealed Kitty-Sue as she reached into her purse and pulled out two silk scarves.

  Kitty-Sue quickly spun the first scarf into a tight roll, stood, and wrapped it around John’s head, tying it off with a knot in the back. She then did the same with the second scarf, this time wrapping it around John’s upper arm.

  “You’re using these favors as a mongkhon and a pra jiad,” said Daeng. “But the mongkhon is supposed to come from a teacher.”

  Instead of answering, I asked, “John, has Kitty-Sue taught you anything about fighting?”

  John looked down at the back of his left hand, which still showed the scar from underestimating Kitty-Sue, laughed, and said, “Yes, it was a painful lesson, but well received.”

  John stepped into the aisle and walked up to the ring, turned, and waved at the crowd. Kitty-Sue followed, saying, “I never thought I’d end up being a cheerleader for a monkey, but here I am.”

  The bookie said, “So, how much do you want to bet on your friend?”

  It had gone from the “double or nothing” of the two-grand bet to “how much do you want to bet?” in a few minutes.

  Pulling out a wad of cash, I thumbed through and counted out eight thousand dollars. “Think you can cover this?” I asked as I handed the money to Daeng.