"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."
"The barbarian speaks truth, Master," Pigsy said. "Let us bring the prince to you."
Tripitaka glanced at his brutish face, and his eyes widened in alarm, but Monkey only grinned. "Not all of us. Master—only me."
"Now, how did Monkey say he was going to do this again?" Chalmers asked nervously, eyeing the monastery gate, where Pigsy and Sandy lounged, one at either side against the wall, their weapons ready to hand.
"He said he's going to change himself into a rabbit," Shea muttered back, "a white rabbit. Apparently, they're pretty special here, and Monkey seemed pretty certain the prince would drop everything to come chasing him."
"But what about his entourage?''
"Monkey seemed pretty sure he could lose them." Shea eyed Pigsy and Sandy. "Just in case he can't, though, Pigsy and Sandy are supposed to surround them and keep them here."
"Surround them? How few does Monkey think there are going to be?"
"It doesn't seem to matter. Would you want to go up against our worthy travelling companions, no matter how many people you had at your back?"
Chalmers took another look at Pigsy's face, and shuddered.
Shea stiffened, laying a hand on Chalmers' arm. "I hear dogs."
"Do you?" Chalmers lifted his head. "Why, yes so do I!"
The belling of the hounds came closer. Suddenly, a small white blob came dashing across the meadow, straight toward the monastery gates. As it dashed through, the riders came into sight—four of them, with a young man in embroidered silk robes at their head, He rode yelling with excitement and dashed through the gate just as the white rabbit dodged in through the temple door. "Curse it!" the young man cried, dismounting. He threw his reins at Shea, crying, "Hold him, fellow!" and ran into the temple.
Shea stared at the reins in indignation, then looked up at Chalmers, who was trying to hide a smile—but a racket at the gate distracted them. They turned to see the four other riders come plowing up a cloud of dust as they halted—then looked up in alarm as the gates slammed shut, and Pigsy and Sandy stepped out from the wall.
"Keep your seats," Pigsy grunted, levelling his muck-rake.
The hunters pulled together in sudden fear, but one of them tried to bluster. "Who do you think you are, fellow? Hold our horses and stand aside! We must follow our master!"
"This is a holy precinct." Sandy grinned, showing pointed teeth—not filed, naturally grown, the only vestige of his monstrous past. "This is a holy precinct, and men of violence are not allowed inside."
The man eyed Sandy's halberd, no doubt noticing the glint of sharpness along the edge, and tried one more weak protest. "What kind of monks are you, who hold weapons?"
"Very strong ones," Pigsy answered. "I have repented my violent ways—but alas! My temper keeps getting the better of me!"
"Be at ease," Sandy invited, though his blade did not waver. "Your master will rejoin you soon enough."
The hunters eyed the two erstwhile monsters, and held their peace.
Shea wrapped the reins around the nearest post and beckoned to Chalmers. "Come on! This is one interview I really want to hear!
They got to the door of the Zen Room just in time to hear the prince rage: "Why do you not bow to me, foolish bonze? I arrest you for your impudence in failing to bow to a prince!" He looked behind him to gesture to his men—and suddenly realized he was all alone.
"The white rabbit, too, has disappeared," Monkey said. "Why not your men?"
"How dare you talk, audacious rascal! Know you not that monkeys only chatter?"
"I am the Stone Monkey," the simian answered, "and my master, Tripitaka, is as much a prince as yourself."
"So I was born," Tripitaka admitted, "but I have forsworn all worldly titles. I am only a Pilgrim Monk, Your Highness." His back was as straight as ever, though.
The prince was not all that dense; he was beginning to get the drift that something unusual was going on. He frowned at Tripitaka and said: "I do not seek wisdom yet."
"Every prince should seek wisdom," Tripitaka returned, "the more so when he shall one day rule— as you shall have to do, and very soon, too."
The prince's sword flashed out. "Do you speak of slaying my father, fool?"
Monkey calmly reached up and took hold of the prince's wrist; the young man's eyes bulged, and he dropped the sword with a tiny mew of pain.
"Your father is already dead," Tripitaka said gently. "He has been dead for three years, and he who sits on his throne is an imposter." Then, to Monkey, "Release him."
Monkey let go, and the prince held his wrist, massaging it and staring wildly at Tripitaka. "What nonsense is this you speak! I saw my father only yesterday, and he was as hale and as hearty as ever!"
"You saw a sorcerer who had stolen his appearance," Tripitaka answered, then began to tell him the whole tale from the beginning. The prince stood listening, his eyes growing wider and wider.