stepped away from Herman and raised my arms, signifying that I would allow them to search me. The dark Asian man who had approached me patted me down quickly, stepped back, and pointed upstairs.
I was free to go.
That was fine but I didn't particularly want to go alone. I pointed at Herman.
The man shook his head.
Herman understood. "They only want you to go up there," he told me. "Don't worry. If anything happens, give out a holler. I'll be up there lickety-split."
I gazed around the chamber. "There's six of 'em, Herman."
"They won't be able to stop me," he said, "if they start to hurt Mi-ja."
Hollow words. I knew we were playing right into their hands. No weapons. Our strength divided. And I sure as shit didn't want to climb those last stairs alone. But what choice did I have? These foreign thugs were holding Mi-ja and they'd already proven that they'd do anything, including slicing off her ear and sending it special delivery to her mother, if we didn't follow their instructions exactly.
I started up the creaking steps.
THE TOP CHAMBER WAS THE SMALLEST OF ALL. THE ONLY LIGHT was moon glow filtering through oil-papered windows. A dark figure sat in the center of the wood-slat floor. Against the far wall, a shadow moved slightly and whimpered.
I could barely make out who she was: Mi-ja.
I could kick the shit out of this guy, grab Mi-ja, and carry her downstairs. But how far would I get? All the thugs downstairs looked tough and determined, and all of them made a big display of the leather-handled knives stuck in their waistbands. I wouldn't get far. But if it came to that, I'd have to try.
Better to try talking first.
The dark figure in the center of the chamber rose straight up, almost as if he were levitating, until he stood on two feet.
He was a husky man. Not as tall as me, but he exuded an aura of strength. Dark. Asian. Everything outsize. A big-boned man of raw power. He wore trousers and a tunic, like the men downstairs, and dirty linen wrapped around his head.
"Where is the jade skull?"
The voice cut into me like a blade. I took an involuntary step backward and cursed myself for showing weakness. It was the same voice I'd heard on the phone. In English. The voice that sounded like grating gears.
"We don't have it," I said. "The girl's father doesn't have it. He's never had it."
There was a long silence. "Then you must acquire it."
I pointed at the small figure cowering at the edge of the wall. "Let her go. You can get your jade skull without hurting her any further."
Stray beams of light shone into the man's eyes. For a moment it was as if two tiny moons were floating in the center of the chamber. I thought I heard something, along the outer wall. A scraping. If he heard it, too, he showed no sign.
"Do you have any idea how valuable this jade skull is?" he asked.
"Not as valuable as a little girl's life."
He barked a harsh laugh. "You are a fool. The jade skull is the most valuable antique in the world!" His eyes blazed brighter. Muscles in my face must've twisted. He noticed and stared at me quizzically. "You think I'm mad, don't you?"
I didn't answer.
"Then let me show you." He leaned over and lit a small oil lamp. The guttering flame cast eerie beams into the thick darkness. He reached atop his head, grabbed at the dirty linen, and ripped the turban off his head. Laughing crazily, he bowed. The flickering light showed a thousand scars crisscrossing the top of his head like some sort of nightmarish spider's web.
He rose and his mad eyes stared into mine.
"Do you know why these lines were etched on my skull? Do you have any idea?"
I realized that my mouth was open. I closed it.
"These scars are a badge of honor,'" he continued, "designed to remind me that my mission in life is to find the jade skull! They were put there when I was a boy, by the monks who trained me. Monks who trained me for high position. Why me? Why the son of a common Mongol yak herder? Why should I be trained for high
I was free to go.
That was fine but I didn't particularly want to go alone. I pointed at Herman.
The man shook his head.
Herman understood. "They only want you to go up there," he told me. "Don't worry. If anything happens, give out a holler. I'll be up there lickety-split."
I gazed around the chamber. "There's six of 'em, Herman."
"They won't be able to stop me," he said, "if they start to hurt Mi-ja."
Hollow words. I knew we were playing right into their hands. No weapons. Our strength divided. And I sure as shit didn't want to climb those last stairs alone. But what choice did I have? These foreign thugs were holding Mi-ja and they'd already proven that they'd do anything, including slicing off her ear and sending it special delivery to her mother, if we didn't follow their instructions exactly.
I started up the creaking steps.
THE TOP CHAMBER WAS THE SMALLEST OF ALL. THE ONLY LIGHT was moon glow filtering through oil-papered windows. A dark figure sat in the center of the wood-slat floor. Against the far wall, a shadow moved slightly and whimpered.
I could barely make out who she was: Mi-ja.
I could kick the shit out of this guy, grab Mi-ja, and carry her downstairs. But how far would I get? All the thugs downstairs looked tough and determined, and all of them made a big display of the leather-handled knives stuck in their waistbands. I wouldn't get far. But if it came to that, I'd have to try.
Better to try talking first.
The dark figure in the center of the chamber rose straight up, almost as if he were levitating, until he stood on two feet.
He was a husky man. Not as tall as me, but he exuded an aura of strength. Dark. Asian. Everything outsize. A big-boned man of raw power. He wore trousers and a tunic, like the men downstairs, and dirty linen wrapped around his head.
"Where is the jade skull?"
The voice cut into me like a blade. I took an involuntary step backward and cursed myself for showing weakness. It was the same voice I'd heard on the phone. In English. The voice that sounded like grating gears.
"We don't have it," I said. "The girl's father doesn't have it. He's never had it."
There was a long silence. "Then you must acquire it."
I pointed at the small figure cowering at the edge of the wall. "Let her go. You can get your jade skull without hurting her any further."
Stray beams of light shone into the man's eyes. For a moment it was as if two tiny moons were floating in the center of the chamber. I thought I heard something, along the outer wall. A scraping. If he heard it, too, he showed no sign.
"Do you have any idea how valuable this jade skull is?" he asked.
"Not as valuable as a little girl's life."
He barked a harsh laugh. "You are a fool. The jade skull is the most valuable antique in the world!" His eyes blazed brighter. Muscles in my face must've twisted. He noticed and stared at me quizzically. "You think I'm mad, don't you?"
I didn't answer.
"Then let me show you." He leaned over and lit a small oil lamp. The guttering flame cast eerie beams into the thick darkness. He reached atop his head, grabbed at the dirty linen, and ripped the turban off his head. Laughing crazily, he bowed. The flickering light showed a thousand scars crisscrossing the top of his head like some sort of nightmarish spider's web.
He rose and his mad eyes stared into mine.
"Do you know why these lines were etched on my skull? Do you have any idea?"
I realized that my mouth was open. I closed it.
"These scars are a badge of honor,'" he continued, "designed to remind me that my mission in life is to find the jade skull! They were put there when I was a boy, by the monks who trained me. Monks who trained me for high position. Why me? Why the son of a common Mongol yak herder? Why should I be trained for high
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