The Ring of Water - Chris Bradford [77]
The Riddling Monk clapped twice and several of his disciples lit torches with a guttering candle. The flickering flames revealed hungry, gaunt faces, toothless and terrifying, their cracked lips ceaselessly whispering, ‘The Answer? … The Answer? … The Answer?’
Spiders, the size of fists, crawled up the walls and cobwebs hung like veils from the rafters. The Riddling Monk was now perched upon a wooden throne, festooned with rotting fruit and long-dead flowers. He wore a crown of thorns and in his hand was a gnarled staff, which he beat upon the floor.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
The whispering ceased and his disciples lay themselves down among the bones. Jack and Hana stood, still and silent, amid the madness.
Like a preacher in his pulpit, the Riddling Monk proclaimed, ‘Unless a fool dies, he won’t be cured.’
His disciples all cried, ‘He has the Answer!’
‘Only a fool thinks he knows everything. It’s the wise man who knows he knows nothing.’
‘He has the Answer!’ they praised.
The Riddling Monk stared at Jack and Hana with bulging eyes. ‘Are you wise fools or foolishly wise? Let’s see you pull the truth from its disguise!’
‘Ask a Riddle! Ask a Riddle! Ask a Riddle!’ chanted his disciples with feverish excitement.
The Riddling Monk held up a hand for silence.
‘Riddle me this! What can run but never walks, has a mouth but never talks, has a head but never weeps, has a bed but never sleeps?’
Jack was taken by surprise. He’d expected the original riddle about God and the Devil. But there’d be no point in arguing with a madman. He’d agreed to the challenge and so decided it was easier to play along with the monk’s crazed game. He thought hard over this conundrum. The one the monk had given him the first time they met – What gets wet as it dries? – had a logical answer despite its seeming contradiction.
Hana looked anxiously to Jack, whose brow was deeply furrowed. ‘Could it be a baby?’ she suggested.
‘Is that your Answer?’ chirped the monk.
‘NO!’ said Jack quickly. He whispered to Hana, ‘It can’t be a baby. They weep.’
The answer was on the tip of his tongue. A bed … a head … a mouth …
Recalling his nautical lessons with his father, Jack addressed the Riddling Monk. ‘The Answer is a river.’
‘Is it? Is it? Is it?’ intoned his disciples.
The Riddling Monk thumped his stick upon the floor. He glared at Jack before suddenly bursting into a crazed grin.
‘Correct,’ he replied, emphasizing each part of the word as if it pained him to say so.
A collective gasp from the disciples filled the pagoda’s creaking hall.
‘Now I must give an Answer for an Answer. Yes, I know of this rutter.’
Jack was taken off-guard by the Riddling Monk’s unexpected lucid response. ‘Where is it then? Do you have it?’
The Riddling Monk laughed wildly, slapping the side of his throne with glee. ‘Two more questions, two more riddles! Once again, you’re in the middle.’
Jack had been tricked. The Riddling Monk was playing games with them.
‘Riddle me this! What’s so fragile when you say its name you break it?’
Jack and Hana again fell into thought. This time the ideas weren’t so forthcoming. Not for the first time, Jack wished Yori was with them. A dull headache began to pulse at his temples and Jack saw Hana was rubbing hers too.
‘A china cup?’ offered Hana, but dismissed it straight away. ‘No, no, what other things break? Your leg … a wave …’
Then Jack thought of Jess and Akiko. ‘Your heart! When you say a loved one’s name that can break your heart, can’t it?’
Hana nodded slowly, but still looked unconvinced.
‘Answer me now or forever cower!’ taunted the monk.
His disciples began to beat the floor. ‘The Answer! The Answer! The Answer!’
‘What else could it be?’ said Jack, the rhythmic pulse piling on the pressure and his headache intensifying.
Hana didn’t answer. Her eyes were screwed up with pain. Jack