by I.F Rowan
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"You must take this," Deng said, holding out a small leather bag. "You have saved our family, our house, you are a man of honour, a man of courage. Your ancestors must look on you with pride. Please, take this."
"No, honourable Deng," I said. "I cannot take your money this day."
"But you must—"
"No." I closed my hand around his, gently pushed the bag back towards him. "I have remembered that I ah, I made a propitiatory sacrifice to my grandfather's spirit on this day exactly 12 moons gone. I vowed that to mark the day henceforth I would pass the day in poverty, with not a coin to my name."
"You are an honourable man, sir. A truly honourable man." There were tears welling up in Deng's eyes.
"Thank you." I said simply. I bowed modestly and turned and walked away, holding my left arm tight against my body so that the meagre contents of my purse would not clink and give the lie about passing the day in poverty. I let myself out of the door, and started off down the road back towards the old town. Dusk was falling, and when I looked at the sky the stars began to come out one by one. The smothering heat of the afternoon had passed, and a cooling breeze was floating down from the mountains, gently shivering the leaves on the trees.
I thought about all that had happened, and I thought about the future. I had a power I never knew I possessed, over an enemy I never knew existed. A power which I could put to work for the good of all, if I chose. A power that would lend my life meaning and value, waging a war against evil, fighting a battle against wicked forces from another plane. I luxuriated in this noble thought for a while, and then dismissed the whole idea out of hand. It was impractical, and besides, it was dangerous. If I wanted a dangerous job I would have become a tax collector or the writer of polemical scrolls. How many true ghosts could there be out there? This was the first I had come across. A man had to eat, after all, and drink and enjoy the company of women and perhaps the occasional game of moon tiles. A man would grow thin on a diet of noble deeds alone. After all, why hunt monkeys when you can milk goats?
As I wandered along the road back to the city. I kept telling myself this. I would lead a safe life, leave the horrors of hidden darkness to others more moral and strong-hearted than I. All this would be buried in my past, and I would go back to a life of quiet contentment, living off the fears of the gullible.
As events had showed, I am a man of considerable talent for deception. By the time I reached the city, I almost believed what I was saying. Almost.
ABOUT THIS BOOK
Thank you for reading Looking For Goats, Finding Monkeys. I hope that you enjoyed it. This was the first of four Dao Shi stories that were published in Black Gate magazine, thanks to the kindness of John O'Neill.
If you want to read what happens to Dao Shi next, my collection 'Welcome To The Underworld' is available. This features all four Dao Shi stories: the next three are a lot longer than Looking for Goats, and the collection totals 40,000 words.
I love to get feedback from readers - you can email me at [email protected], contact me on Twitter, or you can find out more about me my website: www.iainrowan.com. If you like crime fiction, or chilling stories of the weird and the strange, you might like some of my other books published under my full name, Iain Rowan.
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Thanks again for reading.
Iain
September 2011