Chalmers recovered first. "We are travellers ..." Then he ran out of gas, and Shea snapped out of his stupefaction in time to take up where he'd left off.
"We're looking for a friend of ours," Shea called back. "Have you seen her, maybe? A pretty, slender woman—no, Doc, let me do the describing, you can't be objective! She would have appeared all of a sudden, the way we did!"
"Aye, such a one did appear yesterday, and we told her what we will tell you—that you trespass in the land of the Monkey King, and he will be wroth if he finds you here! She, at least, had the good sense to turn her footsteps down the slope. You had best do likewise, before our king comes!"
"Foolish, foolish people!" a younger monkey chattered. "You dare to trespass on his lands, believing that he has been imprisoned by Buddha!"
"Be still!" the older monkey snapped.
"Wherefore? Since our lord has just been released from his jail, after five hundred years of waiting! Surely the foolish mortals should flee, and not trouble us to beat them away."
"Beat?" Chalmers cried, dismayed, but Shea assured him, "They said Florimel had the good sense to go on her own, Doc. But we need a little background information, and we're in a good situation to get it." Then, back to the monkeys, "You mentioned Buddha. Is this China?"
"China? What is that? You are on the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit, behind the great Water Curtain, in Zhung-Guo—the Middle Kingdom!"
"Middle Earth? The center of all the universes?"
"What is a universe? Foolish mortal, Zhung-Guo is the Land Between the Four Seas, the country at the center of the world, which must therefore be an example and a source of governance to all other countries!"
Yes, that was China—at least, as seen by the Chinese. "Why was your king imprisoned?"
"Buddha clapped him in jail for five hundred years, to punish him for his mischief!" The monkey bared his teeth. "How unjust is this! As well punish a bird for flying, or a dog for barking!"
"I suspect it depends on the magnitude of the mischief ..."
A loud chattering went up at the fringe of the monkey band, and several of the little apes turned, then pointed to the sky.
"Yonder he comes!" The grizzled monkey pointed, too. "Flee, foolish barbarians! Or you will suffer greatly, for trespassing in the domain of the Monkey King!"
"What do you think, Doc?" Shea muttered.
"They may speak wisely," Chalmers answered, "but I confess my curiosity has the better of me. Besides, we couldn't be off this hillside by the time he arrived."
That was true enough. The monkeys were pointing at a little cloud that was growing larger and larger. As it came closer, they could see a speck on top of it, a speck that rapidly grew into the form of a gray monkey, a little larger than most, holding a two-foot stick.
Shea stared. "It's just mist! How does he keep from falling through?"
"Magic," Chalmers said tersely. "I think I'd better work up a few spells."
The cloud slanted downwards, diving toward them. As it touched down, the monkeys set up a glad chattering: "Monkey! Monkey! Our Monkey King!"
Monkey jumped off his cloud with a grin, flourishing his staff in triumph—until he saw the two humans. Then the grin disappeared, and the staff was flourishing for an entirely different reason.
He ran at Shea and Chalmers with a howl. Shea did not want to hurt the little guy, so he did not pull out his sword, just held out his staff to block ...
Monkey's two-foot cudgel cracked through Shea's staff as though it had been a spaghetti noodle.
Shea leaped back, staring at the two half-staves in his hands, then lifted them to block. Monkey howled and swung, and his staff grew even as it whirled, extending to six feet, with a dull sheen. Shea saw it coming and tried to roll with it, but it cracked into his shoulder anyway. He fell, pain flaring through his joint—but rolled up right next to Monkey and, still not wanting to really hurt him, slapped at the little creature's head as he stood up.
Pain shot through his whole hand.
"Yeow!" he yelled, leaping back. "What're you made of—granite?"
"Exactly!" Monkey snapped, and swung again.
This time Shea just dodged. With his left shoulder throbbing and his right hand a web of agony, he could not do much of anything else. But he did notice that behind Monkey, Chalmers was on his knees, frantically jabbing short sticks into the ground. That gave Shea hope—if he could just stay away from Small and Deadly long enough, maybe Doc could get him out of this.
But staying away from Monkey was easier said than done. leaping, swinging from tree branches, bounding down at Shea, bounding up, and always howling, howling, the little monster swung again and again with that lethal staff. Shea dodged and dodged, but he was beginning to tire, and the staff tagged him on the shin, on the hip, and left burning pain wherever it touched.
Then suddenly, iron bars seemed to fall out of the sky and land straight up. An iron roof slammed down on top of them, and Shea fell, rolling on an iron floor.
Monkey hit the bars of the cage with a horrendous scream, trying to reach through at Shea. When he found he could not, he leaped back and assaulted the cage with a dozen blows. Shea shrank into a little ball in the center as bars bent and the roof dented—but they held. Finally, the Monkey King ran out of gas and leaned on his staff, glaring at Shea through the bars and panting. Then he began to scream. "Round-eyed barbarian! Foul dungheap! Bag of offal!" He went on like that for a little while.
Shea waited it out, remembering Cyrano's comeback. When the little blighter finally shut up, he said, "You are? Well, I'm Harold Shea." He held out a hand.
Monkey nearly came through the bars, screaming again. "Foul, mannerless thief! I am the Monkey King, as you well know, and I shall tear this cage apart and rip you limb from limb!"
At a guess, he had not had a good day. Shea tried to remember that he was a psychologist and asked, "Why?"
Monkey stared, at a loss for a few seconds. Then he snapped: "Because you have trespassed on my mountain, and insulted me to boot!"
Shea did not feel it was tactful to point out that the only insults Monkey had received were the ones he had given, coming back at him. "I'm sorry about that—but we were looking for a friend of ours, who became lost."
Monkey frowned. "Why would you think he was on my mountain?"
"She, actually—and we just followed her trail, in a manner of speaking."
"A magical trail?" Monkey looked sharply at him. "You are a sorcerer, then."
"Just a general all-purpose magician."
"What is the woman to you?"
"My wife," Chalmers said behind him.
Monkey spun about, his cudgel coming up, but he only glowered at the older man and asked: "What was her appearance?"
"About this tall." Chalmers held up his hand. "Slender, with brown hair."
"And pale skin, and round eyes, like yourself?" Monkey nodded. "I came upon her on my way here."
"Really?" Chalmers leaped on it. "Where was she going?"
"Nowhere; she was beset by bandits. I was angry at bandits, for six of them had just tried to kill Tripitaka, the monk whom Buddha bade me accompany, and I slew them for it. Then the foolish bonze had the audacity to rebuke me! Rebuke me! For saving his life!"
Chalmers was in an agony of impatience to learn about Florimel, but Shea realized he was going to have to bring Monkey back to the topic gradually. "Maybe he had a good reason."
"Good reason! No, nothing more than that I could have spared those outlaws, could have disabled them as easily as slaying them! As though you should spare the life of someone who attacks you, simply because it is not necessary to kill him!"
"That does make sense," Shea said, "provided you think human life is something worthwhile in its own right."