She stared, stricken, then burst into tears. The prince was on his feet beside her in an instant, arms open to console, but she shrugged him off and tottered over to sit by the window again. She mastered her sobs, nodding. "It is even as you have guessed, my son. Your father suddenly turned very cold toward me, and has remained so to this day. He avoids me as much as he can, and when he cannot, he treats me with cold civility. Oh, he is never cruel or infuriated — but I could wish that he were!"
"The monk's dream was true, then," the prince said, his face grave. "Forgive me for having saddened you. Mother." He bowed and started to turn away, but she caught his sleeve and cried: "Wait! Surely now you must tell me this dream the monk spoke of!"
The young man hesitated. "It might imperil you to know of it ..."
"I think I do already! For know, my son, that I, too, have had a dream, only this night past—a dream in which your father appeared to die, and he was soaking wet from head to toe. I cried out, asking him what was the matter, for I had seen him hale and hearty only a few hours before. He told me that the Prime Minister, he who disappeared so suddenly and with so little explanation three years ago, had actually drowned your father in a well, then taken on his face and form—and throne!"
The prince bowed his head. "It is even this that the monk told me."
"Then there must be more, for your father's ghost told me that he had asked the Pilgrim Monk to avenge him! Oh, son, is this true? Is there any proof?"
"The monk showed me the white jade tablet that Father always carried with him, and that the King has not shown to anyone these three years past."
The Queen turned away with a wail of grief.
"Mother ..." The prince stepped forward, reaching out to the Queen.
"No, no, I will endure, I will endure!" she said between her sobs, mastering the emotion and wiping her eyes. "There will be a time for grief, there will be a time! For now, son, you must seek out proof that all the ministers of the kingdom will acknowledge, and aid the monk in avenging your father's death!"
"I must, and I shall." The prince knelt before her, bowing his head. "Courage, mother. Soon we shall talk more freely, and the kingdom will share our grief."
She clasped him in one more brief, impulsive hug, then pushed him away. "Go, and be quick, and careful! For if I should lose you, too, I should wish to lose my life!"
The prince bowed and turned to the window.
Monkey dropped off his perch and buzzed away toward the carved screen.
Shea staved only a moment longer, for one last look at the Queen, who was quietly weeping, then leaped into flight and followed Monkey.
The freedom of flight was glorious, without an airplane or a broom between him and the elements. Shea resolved to get Monkey to teach him the spell, then remembered that it probably would not work in any other universe—and he was not sure he would want to try, if he did not have guaranteed results. He resolved to enjoy it while he could, and found himself almost sad to be soaring in through the door of the Treasure Wood Temple and settling on the floor. It was a real wrench to feel himself growing so huge and leaden, becoming human once more.
By the time he had readjusted, Monkey was already finished with his report, and Tripitaka was asking, "So he is bound back here to us, then?"
"He is," Monkey confirmed.
"And he's in such a stew that he probably isn't going to think to be careful," Shea added. "He'll probably have five spies following him before he's out the city gates.
"Well, they will not manage to follow him all the way through the wood," Monkey answered, and turned to Pigsy. "Will they?"
Pigsy grinned and said, "Of course they shall not, Monkey." He turned away to the door.
"Remember, no killing!" Tripitaka called, alarmed.
"No killing," Pigsy agreed, with real regret. "I will not even give them one more blow than is necessary— but I assure you, Master, they will not follow the prince here."
"Even if they did, what matter?" Monkey shrugged. "Who could fault a prince for visiting a temple?"
"That is so, " Tripitaka allowed. "But what are we to tell him when he has come?" Boots sounded in the hall.
Monkey looked up, alert. "Sandy! Make sure Pigsy succeeded!"
The reformed cannibal gave him a sharp-toothed grin and turned to the door. He bowed as the prince strode in, then slipped out.
The prince had not even noticed him. In fact, he did not even seem to notice Monkey, Shea, and Chalmers. "Reverend prince! Holy sage! I apologize most abjectly for my rudeness and my skepticism!" And he bowed low.
"I am honored by your apology." Tripitaka inclined his head. "But I must caution you, prince, to seek only justice, not revenge."
"Justice will have to satisfy me, then," the prince sighed, "though I will not deny that I had rather see the usurper suffer the Death of the Thousand Cuts. Still, if justice it must be, I shall be content. How, then, are we to go about it?"
Tripitaka sat very still. Shea hid a smile; the monk had been about to ask the same question.
"It would seem to me," Monkey said, with deference, "that before we can speak of justice against this sorcerer, we must capture and hold him. Then may we judge him."
"True." The prince frowned. "Yet if we do not kill him outright, how are we to convince his ministers and generals that he is a false king?"
"How are we to prove it even if we were to kill him outright?" Monkey countered.
Chalmers cleared his throat and stepped forward.
Both princes looked up, surprised.
"Pardon my intrusion into so lofty a discussion," Chalmers said, "but it is written that the sage seeks wisdom from the East and from the West."
"It is?" Shea stared.
"By W.S. Gilbert, Harold," Chalmers hissed. "How is it written?" Monkey demanded. Chalmers recited,
"And you are from the West." Tripitaka smiled. "Though, I hope, you are not a fool. Well, then, Magician Chao-mar-zi, what wisdom have you to offer, to aid us in our plight?"
"An instance from the law of my country, Reverend Sir. There, if a man is imprisoned and not released after three days, his counselor can demand that the jailers present the body, to prove that the man is alive and well."
"Or beaten and dead," Monkey said darkly. "Drowned, in this case—but I take your meaning, Chao-mar-zi." He looked up at Tripitaka.
The monk nodded. "Surely presenting the dead body of the king would be most convincing proof of the usurper's falseness. Do you not agree, Your Highness?"
"Why, of course," the prince said, astonished. "But how are we to retrieve it?"
"That, I think we may leave to the wizard who recommended the course of action," Tripitaka said slowly. "May we not. Wizard Chao-mar-zi?"
Chalmers stared, totally taken aback.
Shea stepped forward. "Why, of course, Reverend Sir." Frantically, he was trying to figure out what sort of spell could raise a dead body from a well.
He still had not figured out the answer by the time the prince left to start plotting, and Monkey turned to him with a grin. "Excellently thought, Xei! And how shall you raise the dead king's body?"
Shea stalled. "It'd be kind of chancey. It would need a brand-new spell, and I don't need to tell you how many things could go wrong with that."