The Bookman - Lavie Tidhar [127]
He would have thought them monks, but no monk he knew wore black. Their robes stole the night and made it their own. He could tell nothing about them, could see no faces or eyes, nothing to tell him who or what they were. He had noticed one thing, though: they did not come empty handed.
When the cowled figures came close they halted. Above their heads the sign for Mr. Wu's Celestial Dry Cleaning Emporium stood dark. They halted before Mr. Wu and Mr. Wu made a stiff bow in their direction, his hands joining together before his chest, a mark of respect. To Kai's surprise, the monks – if that's what they were – returned the gesture, their hands rising higher than Mr. Wu's had: showing him the greater respect. Why?
The monks spread out before Mr. Wu. Four of them came forward then. They were carrying a heavy-looking crate suspended between them on thick poles of bamboo.
They lowered the crate to the ground. There was another strike of jagged lightning high above, and the thunder came much quicker this time. The storm was approaching fast.
Mr. Wu made a jerking movement with his head, aimed at the crate. He said, "Open it." His voice sounded raw.
Two of the monks brought out wrenches. The others fanned out around them, facing the street. The crate made keening sounds as it was opened, nails groaning, wood splintering. Mr. Wu said, "Careful, now." There was another flash of lightning and in its light Kai thought he'd seen, for just a moment, another figure moving in the distance, between the trees. Then the crate was fully opened and he turned to look and forgot everything else.
The moonlight hit the figure inside the crate. The two monks with the wrenches moved back. Mr. Wu came forward and knelt down beside the broken crate. A scaly, inhuman face – the face of a giant lizard – stared out of the crate. It was made entirely of jade, apart from its eyes, which were giant emeralds. Mr. Wu reached into the crate –
The silence was broken, too quickly, the sound foreign and unexpected. Kai had heard it only once before, but he knew it instinctively.
Gunshots.
One of the monks dropped to the ground. His robes seemed to grow even darker. Mr. Wu turned his head, startled. He saw Kai and his eyes opened wide. The monks shot out across the street, dark shapes moving without sound, like characters in Kai's wuxia novel, like Shaolin monks or other kung-fu secret masters, only the sound of gunfire was growing more intense now and it was coming from the forest and the invisible shooters were finding their targets with deadly accuracy. "Get inside!"
Mr. Wu, sheltered by the monks, reached into the crate and pulled out the statue. Kai stared at it, fear momentarily forgotten. It was beautiful – though perhaps that was not quite the right word. Majestic, perhaps.
Or strange. A lizard carved in jade, with shining emerald eyes. Sitting cross-legged, like the Buddha. For just a moment he thought he could hear it whispering, a tiny voice in his head, then it was gone and his father was carrying the statue in his arms, back into the relative safety of the Emporium. Kai watched the monks – and now there were people coming out of the jungle, several figures the colour of foliage, and they carried guns. The black-clad monks attacked them. He watched them, mesmerised – they seemed to almost fly through the air, jump off walls and onto the attackers. The fight spread out across the street. One of the green-clad men killed two monks before a third sailed above his head, landing softly behind him and twisting the man's neck – almost gently, it seemed to Kai – and the man dropped down to the ground, a leaf falling from a tree, the gun