Eagle (6 page)

“Where are we?”

This time, Long answered. “We're in the back room where the temple-keepers store their junk. There is a secret tunnel that leads here from the fight club. The temple-keepers don't even know about it.”

Long headed over to a small rug and kicked it aside. He ran the fingers of one hand along a narrow floorboard and pressed down on one end. That end of the board sank downward, while the opposite end popped up.

Ying watched as Long lifted a trapdoor.

“You go first,” Long whispered.

Ying looked into the narrow hole and saw a flimsy bamboo ladder. A small lantern flickered on the ground next to it.

“Hurry,” Long said, his eyes now pleading.

Ying placed the bundle of
qiangs
next to the hole and climbed down. Once he reached the bottom, Long handed him the
qiangs
and came down himself, repositioning the rug above them as he closed the trapdoor.

Ying took a step back, gripping the chain whip around his waist. It seemed Long had no intention of harming him, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Long picked up the lantern, hunched over, and headed into a low, narrow tunnel.

Ying hoisted the
qiangs
over his shoulder and followed, hunched over, until they came to a small underground room. Long placed the lantern on a makeshift shelf, and Ying saw that the entire room was filled with trinkets, much like the back room of the temple.

“LaoShu made this tunnel so that he could secretly steal items from the temple,” Long said. “He sent me there many times. He and I were the only people who knew about this tunnel and storeroom. Now that he is gone, you should be safe here.”

Ying looked around. The room and tunnel were simply constructed, probably dug by fight club prisoners who would have never survived their very next trip into the pit arena. No witnesses.

Ying turned to Long and wondered again why Long was doing this. He stared his former brother in the eye, and Long spoke as if reading his mind.

“I heard that you were seen leaving the burning fight club with Hok, Seh, Fu, and Malao,” Long said. “You saved all four of them. I felt I should return the favor.”

“Why?” Ying asked.

“Because they are my brothers and sister. It is the honorable thing to do.”

Ying scoffed, “Your honor might get you killed.”

“Possibly.”

“What were
you
doing in the fight club?” Ying asked. “You used to hate fighting.”

“I still do,” Long replied. “Except Grandmaster told me and the others that we must change the Emperor's
heart. I hope to win the championship and join his ranks. I will make changes from the inside out.”

“You are wasting your time,” Ying said. He patted the bag of
qiangs.
“This is how you make change.”

“No,” Long said. “Brute force never changes people. People need to change themselves.”

Ying smirked. “If you say so.”

Long turned away and took a small candle from the shelf. He lit it with the lantern and gave the candle to Ying.

“I held a bit of hope that you would join me in some way,” Long said. “After all, you and I want the same thing—change. However, I can tell that you are neither interested nor capable of handling things my way.” He pointed to a strange glass object on the shelf. It was half filled with sand and very large. “That is called an hourglass, or in this case a six-hourglass. LaoShu stole it from a foreigner. Turn it upside down and the sand will slowly pour from the top segment to the bottom. Once the sand has stopped flowing, six hours will have passed. Flip it over now, and leave when the time has elapsed. It will still be dark then and the soldiers should be resting at that time. Go back out the way we came in, and don't worry about locking the temple's exit door. By the time anyone discovers it, you will be long gone.”

“You're leaving?” Ying asked.

“Yes. I've already been away for too long.”

“Where are you going?”

“To join the search for you!” Long said with a wink.

“Where will you go? I will do everything I can to direct the search away from your destination.”

Ying glanced at the bundle of
qiangs.
He knew exactly where he'd be going, but he didn't want to tell Long. “I'm not sure,” Ying lied.

“You should go to the wharf and attempt to arrange passage to some place far from Jinan,” Long said. “I will keep my team away from that area.”

“You will stay clear of the waterfront?” Ying asked. “How do I know I can trust you?”

Long stared at Ying. “Because I am a dragon.”

Ying returned the stare, but Long didn't flinch. Ying felt
chi
radiating from Long like heat from a flame. Long was without question a dragon. A strong one.

Ying waited for Long to say more, but Long only offered a slight bow. Ying returned the courtesy.

Long picked up the lantern and walked quickly away without so much as a parting glance. If Long was offended, Ying didn't care. Long would still keep his word. Likewise, Ying would keep his word to meet with his former brothers and sister at the wharf after sunset tomorrow. In the meantime, he saw no reason not to get some rest here in the tunnel.

Ying took a deep breath and exhaled. The earthy odor reminded him of the time he used to spend alone in Cangzhen's escape tunnels. For some reason, he had always been happiest alone and underground.

Comfortable and relaxed, Ying flipped the hourglass, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

Y
ing woke some hours later, completely refreshed. He sat up in the dim underground room and saw that the candle had burned down to a short stub and the vast majority of sand had sifted to the lower half of the hourglass. It was time to go.

Ying stood and wrapped his chain whip around his waist, noticing a pile of luxurious white silk in one corner. He tore a piece free and tied it across his face, then grabbed the
qiangs.

Ying made it through the tunnel and temple back room without any problems. Once outside, he felt as if he had the entire city to himself. He could not see, hear, or sense another soul. The soldiers were most likely resting, as Long had suggested, and the civilians would be under curfew. Anyone who wasn't part of
Tonglong's forces would be forbidden to walk the streets until daybreak.

Ying glanced up at the clear night sky. The storm had moved on, leaving a humid late-summer stickiness in its wake. It was going to be a warm day. He could tell by the position of the moon that the sun would be rising in a couple of hours. He needed to get moving.

Ying headed for the waterfront. He wanted to scout the area where he was to meet Hok that evening. He also wanted to see someone about bartering the
qiangs.
His bruised ribs and shoulders were sore from lugging them around, and they weren't exactly the most subtle weapons to carry. What he needed was a short
qiang.

A short
qiang
would be very difficult to come by, but Ying knew a man who specialized in finding hard-to-locate goods. Understandably, his warehouse was located in the heart of the Jinan wharf, the region's trading hub.

The man's name was HukJee, or
Black Pig
in Cantonese. He was the ringleader of a vast underground network that distributed black-market goods. If you had enough money, HukJee could get it for you, no matter what “it” was.

Ying had met HukJee after winning an impressive string of fights at the Jinan Fight Club. Ying had been an unknown fighter at the time, and HukJee had won a lot of money by betting on him. Ying had a hunch HukJee would remember him.

What Ying wanted was simple enough. He planned
to trade all three of his long
qiangs
for one short one. Ying thought the deal was fair. If HukJee's opinion differed, Ying felt confident he could persuade him otherwise.

With the blanket full of
qiangs
over his shoulder, Ying hugged the moon shadows for more than two hours, staying out of sight. Several times, he circled back upon himself to check if anyone was following him. No one was.

Ying reached HukJee's warehouse as the sun was rising. The building was situated on the crowded bank of the mighty Yellow River, surrounded on three sides by docks. Each dock contained several slips of various sizes, and each slip was filled with some sort of vessel.

In the morning glow, Ying saw small and large Chinese junks, as well as a wide range of skiffs and a few foreign boats he couldn't identify. This was a busy place.

Although the curfew must still be active, no one at the wharf seemed to pay any attention to it. Dock-workers were busy loading and unloading vessels, carrying items to and from the warehouse's many doors.

Breakfast was being prepared on several of the boats, and tantalizing aromas twisted Ying's stomach into knots. He hadn't eaten in almost two days, and his last meal had been nothing more than a few handfuls of raw vegetable trimmings he'd plucked from a trash pile.

Ying stifled his hunger pains and continued toward
HukJee's front door. As he approached, he felt someone watching him. Several people, in fact. Ying adjusted the white silk across his face, doubtful that any of them would recognize him. He glanced at his Pit Cleaner's uniform, and his heart skipped a beat. People who tended to frequent places like HukJee's also tended to frequent the fight club. He hadn't thought of that.

Ying hurried the rest of the way to HukJee's warehouse entrance and banged on the front door with his fists. It was still early, but hopefully an ambitious businessman like HukJee would already be in his office.

“Go away,” a deep voice mumbled from behind the door. “Come back after breakfast.”

Ying heard someone slurp loudly, then belch. Ying tried the door and found that it was unlocked. He pushed it open.

Inside, Ying saw a small front office occupied by a huge Chinese man. The man had a gigantic head, unusually dark skin, a piglike nose, and more chins than Ying could count. Creamy rice porridge dripped off the man's lower lip onto a large table covered with an unbelievable amount of food. It was HukJee,
Black Pig.
Flanking the doorway were two huge men, both covered with thick muscles from their ears to their ankles. The men scowled at Ying and folded their impressive arms.

HukJee scowled at Ying, too. He wiped drivel from his chin with a stubby forearm. “How rude,” he said. “Who do you think you are? You were not invited.”

Ignoring the muscle-bound men, Ying put the bundle of
qiangs
under one arm and stepped through the doorway. He closed the door behind him and ripped the silk from his face.

“Ying!” HukJee proclaimed, his round face breaking into a smile. “Why didn't you just say so? Come in, come in!” HukJee tried to stand, but his enormous belly was wedged beneath the table. He shrugged and sat back down.

Ying cringed, and HukJee laughed. “I suppose I could be stuck in worse places than the breakfast table,” HukJee said. “I'd offer to have you join me, but as you can see, I barely have enough food here to feed a starving mouse, let alone two grown men like us.”

Ying glanced at the mountain of food. He didn't reply.

HukJee looked at the men guarding the door. “Why don't the two of you go get some fresh air? Leave me alone to catch up with my old acquaintance.”

The bodyguards nodded and left.

HukJee shoved a salted egg into his enormous maw and muttered, “You do know that there is a healthy price on your head, don't you?”

“I assumed as much,” Ying replied.

“Well, you have nothing to fear from me,” HukJee said, swallowing. “I learned long ago never to burn any bridges, no matter how unstable they may appear. I can't give you refuge, but I see no reason why we can't make a deal or two. I see you've brought something. Is that a bundle of
qiangs?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. I can never have enough of those. They're worth their weight in gold, you know.”

“I'm not interested in gold,” Ying said. “I want a short
qiang.
Do you have any?”

“I might,” HukJee replied, leaning back in his chair. “What do you have in mind?”

Ying placed the bundle on the ground and unwrapped it. He laid two of the
qiangs
side by side and picked up the third. “I want to trade these three long
qiangs
for a short one.”

HukJee scratched one of his many chins. “Interesting. I don't suppose any of them are loaded?”

Ying smirked and aimed the
qiang
in his arms at HukJee's huge head. “This one is.”

“I see. Are you saying I don't have a choice in this matter?”

“Of course you have a choice. You just might not like all your options.”

“All right, then,” HukJee said. “Anything else?”

“I need a new robe and pants,” Ying replied. “Black silk, with an extra piece to use as a mask.” He glanced at the table. “I also want some of your breakfast.”

HukJee burst into laughter. “Put the
qiang
down, Ying. Your offer is both reasonable and amusing. No one has ever threatened to kill me for my breakfast!” He clapped his fat hands once loudly, and Ying heard a flurry of footsteps outside. “My men are coming back. If they see that
qiang
in your hands, they will show you what they can do with theirs. Then you'll miss the
best breakfast of your life. That would be a shame, wouldn't it?”