"That really makes me want to help you," Shea said slowly.
"Fool!" the spirit raged, and swung a back-handed blow at him. Shea knew it would not hurt, but by sheer reflex, he fell back out of the way and rolled— and heard Monkey saying: "Xei! What troubles you!"
"Him!" Shea pushed himself up on one elbow, jabbing out a forefinger—and found he was pointing at empty space. He blinked, stupefied. "He was there, I tell you! He was there!" Then he sagged. "It must have been a dream."
"Why, then, tell it to me, and I will tell you the meaning of it." Monkey sat down beside him, looking grave.
Shea looked up with a weak smile. "I thought that was supposed to be my line."
"As you will. But who was it whom you saw in this dream?"
"A wet man! Sopping wet, from head to toe! He wanted to know where Tripitaka was, but I wouldn't tell him!"
"Sopping wet?" Monkey raised his head, eyes glowing. "How was he dressed?"
"In silken robes, and he had a funny sort of hat on his head."
"A king, then," Monkey said. "Did he strike you when you would not tell him?"
"Yeah. And he stepped right onto my sword, too— it went into his chest by a foot, at least, but he just kept on threatening me."
"A ghost," Monkey said with conviction, "the ghost of a king who died by drowning. And he wanted the Master, you say?"
A hoarse scream echoed down the hall.
Monkey was out the door like a shot. Shea followed, yelling: "Pigsy! Sandy! Doc! It's Tripitaka!"
Pigsy and Sandy passed him halfway down the hall.
He swerved in through the door of the Zen Boom, to find Tripitaka seated in lotus with his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. Monkey knelt by him, Pigsy and Sandy a little farther off. "He was wet through," Tripitaka was moaning.
"Yes, but he is gone now, Master," Monkey soothed. "Lift your head and look about you, so that you may see there are none here but your disciples and friends."
"I know, I know," Tripitaka moaned, lifting his head. "I saw him leave, I saw him go!"
"Then you know there is no further cause for alarm," Monkey assured him. "Tell us the tale from its beginning, then—it will purge it from your mind and heart."
"There is truth in that." Tripitaka composed himself, sitting up ramrod straight again. "I meditated long, but about the middle of the night, I must have lapsed into a doze for I saw a man come in through the door. Thinking him to be one of the monks, I kept silent, and he came to me and demanded, 'Are you the Pilgrim Monk?' Now I began to be afraid, for I could see the night lamp through him, and saw that his garments were soaked — indeed, that water ran off him to pool on the floor, and I knew I was in the presence of a ghost of one who had died by drowning. Still, I took courage from the thought of Buddha's serenity and replied, 'I am. Who ate you?'
" 'I am the rightful King of Crow-Cock,' he answered, 'and he who sits on my throne now is a usurper, and my murderer.'
" 'That is surely a grievous crime,' I answered, though I was far more shaken than I would let him see. 'How could he have done this to you?'
" 'Because he was my Prime Minister,' the ghost answered. 'One day, as we were walking in the garden near the well, he suddenly pushed me in, then changed himself into my exact duplicate—and thus did I discover that he was a sorcerer. When he was sure I had drowned he took my throne, commanded that the well be covered and hidden, and took over the rule of my kingdom.'
"What a horrible tale!" Pigsy cried. "Out upon this sorcerer! We must revenge the rightful king!"
"We do not speak of revenge, disciple, we who follow the Noble Eight-fold Path," Tripitaka said sternly, and Pigsy shrank back. "Even as you say, Master."
But Tripitaka was looking troubled again. "There is the worst part of it, though, Monkey—for the ghost of the King implored to help him in his revenge!"
"Asked a monk to help in revenge?"
"Yes. He asked me to tell his son the truth of his father's death. Once convinced, the prince will be sure to revenge him." Tripitaka buried his face in his hands. "Revenge! How can I, a priest of Buddha, condone revenge?"
"Be easy in your heart, Master," Monkey soothed again. "Did you not perform a similar deed, in righting the wrong of your own father's death?"
Tripitaka stilled, then lifted his head slowly. "There was justice in that, not revenge—the punishment of a murderer and regicide. But you speak truly, Monkey—here too we find a situation that cries out for justice, does it not?"
"With the voice of the poor and the starving," Monkey agreed.
"Yes, even as in my own country. The usurper, of course, did not have the Mandate of Heaven, and so the land suffered under his rule. The fields would not bear crops; the woods were filled with bandits. The people starved."
"But this usurper has been enthroned for only three years," Monkey protested, "and already, as what came into Crow-Cock, we have seen one deserted village and several barren fields! We traversed a wild forest, which lies only half a league from this very temple— and as we passed through it, we were attacked by bandits and had to fight them off—which is much more difficult when we must try not to kill them, I can tell you! Truly, Master, the land has begun to suffer under the usurper! If you do not wish that suffering to extend to the people, if you aspire to justice in any way, you must help this poor drowned ghost— the more so since all he asks of you is to tell his story to his son!"
"Not as easy as it sounds," Shea put in. "What would you say if somebody told you the man on the throne was an imposter? He looks the same, he sounds the same, but he isn't the real thing. If you believe that, let me tell you about a piece of land you might want to buy ..."
Tripitaka looked up, frowning, but Monkey said: "The point is well taken. How shall you prove the truth of what you say?"
"The King left that behind." Tripitaka pointed.
They all turned to look and saw something white on the floor by the wall in a puddle of water. Gingerly, Sandy picked it up by thumb and forefinger, and brought it to lay at Tripitaka's feet, shuddering. "There is the feel of death about it."
It was a white jade tablet, inscribed with columns of Chinese characters.
"This was his, and his alone," Tripitaka told them, "and he was never without it. He assured me that if his son can see it, he will know that whoever bears it, speaks truth."
"That should be convincing," Shea said, though he had his doubts. "How do we get to the prince, though?"
"The drowned king told me that tomorrow, his son will go hunting in the forest," Tripitaka said.
"And it is only half a league away." Monkey gazed off into space, musing.
"I hope you're not thinking of taking Tripitaka into the woods to try to ambush the prince," Shea said.
"Truly?" Monkey looked interested. "Wherefore not, Xei?"
"Credibility," Shea answered. "Would you pay any attention to some nut who jumped out of a bush and cried, 'Your father's really dead—that guy who's sitting on the throne is just a delusion!' Would you, really?"
Tripitaka nodded slowly. "But how else am I to speak with him?"
"Let us bring him to you. If he comes in this door and sees you sitting here, calm and cool, he's going to be thinking of you as a sage, not a wild-eyed hermit."
"But it is not fitting!" Tripitaka protested. "It is a violation of protocol!"
"Why? You're a prince, too, you know."
"Yes, but I have forsworn such worldly vanities, Xei, as I keep telling you!"
"Those worldly vanities, unfortunately, can be rather necessary when you're dealing with worldly people," Shea said.
"Even so! Even if I were to tell him my rank—I am the visitor in his kingdom, not he in mine! It is fitting that I come to him, not him to me!"
"Fitting, but totally impractical. He'll have a dozen retainers around him, and you can be sure every single one of them will be loyal to the current king, and eager to ingratiate himself by reporting every word the prince says."