Sir Harold and the Monkey King

Harold Shea loved to have friends drop in, but he did like a little warning first, especially if he was going to have to catch them.

He was working late at night in his study, taking a break from his usual toil—that of transcribing interviews with delusional patients into symbolic logic, looking for keys to the universes they were perceiving. For variety, he had started trying to transcribe the Tao Te Ching, The Book of the Way, by the legendary sage Lao Tzu. The book was the foundation of the Chinese religion of Taoism, and Taoist priests had the reputation of being magicians, so Shea was looking for clues to their magical principles—when he heard a sigh behind him.

He glanced up, thinking that perhaps Belphebe had wakened and come out, needing talk the demands of a newborn left her craving adult conversation—but all he saw was an amorphous, translucent white mass writhing in the dark of the study.

His hair tried to stand on end; he froze for an instant, then reached into the desk drawer and touched his dirk. Then he looked over his shoulder, hoping he wouldn't have to trust his safety to its two-hundred year-old design.

The amorphous mass became more and more opaque as it churned, pulling itself into a human form—and Dr. Reed Chalmers stood there, drawn and pale, in a medieval robe.

"Doc!" Shea cried, leaping out of his chair—and virtually caught Chalmers as he sagged. Shea turned, stepped, and lowered him into the desk chair. "Hold on just a minute—I'll get some brandy." He stepped out into the dining room, took a glass and a bottle from the liquor cabinet, poured, and took the snifter back to Chalmers.

Chalmers accepted it with both hands, drinking it off in a single swallow. His color began to return even as he lowered it. "Yes. Much better now. Thank you, Harold."

"Don't mention it," Shea said. "Travel by syllogismobile does have that effect, sometimes." Actually, it never had with him, but it sounded like a good face-saver.

"No, it wasn't really that." Chalmers frowned. "But how did you guess, Harold?"

"Something to do with the medieval robe, probably—and the fact that you didn't bother with the front door. What happened, Doc? Thought you talked us into a ban on inter-universe travel."

"Yes, but that was only for those who already know how. I never thought it would be necessary to tell someone who had never made a journey before."

"Florimel?" Harold stared. "Don't tell me your wife decided to try it on her own!" But his sinking stomach told him the truth; he remembered how Chalmers' wife had seemed relieved to have Reed take a "vacation" to his native universe.

"Well, of course, there was no good reason to deny teaching her how," Chalmers protested. "Unfortunately, she didn't bother learning symbolic logic completely before she tried ..."

"And with only a medieval education to back it up, she wouldn't be able to figure out the right referents anyway!" Shea stared in honor. "My lord, Doc! How can you tell where she went?"

"By this." Chalmers drew a parchment out of his robe. "Apparently she didn't keep too tight a hold on it when she travelled—I found it on the living room floor."

"But that means she doesn't know how to get home, either!" Shea snatched the sheet and frowned down at the symbols. "Nothing I can recognize, Doc—oh, a chain here and there, and a paradox-loop or two, but nothing coherent."

"So I feared," Chalmers sighed. "I tried it myself, but the terrain was so unusual, I thought ..." His voice trailed off.

"That you'd better come back for reinforcements?" Shea nodded and turned away. "Help yourself to the brandy, Doc. I'll just be a few minutes getting into my travelling outfit—and telling Belphebe. "

The travelling outfit was quick and easy—Shea always kept a general, all-purpose tunic and tights handy, along with his sword and quarterstaff—and his revolver, and a wallet filled with hardtack and pemmican. Saving goodbye to Belphebe, though, took a bit longer, especially since he didn't really want to.

He waked her with a feather-light kiss, but she came awake on the instant anyway, like the huntress she was. She smiled up at him with pleasure, then saw his outfit, and her eyes went wide. "Harold! What alarm calls you out?"

A surge of affection moved him, gratitude that she had seen the nature of the situation so quickly, and knew him well enough to know that only an emergency could take him from her and their six-month-old baby. "It's Florimel, dear. She has disappeared, leaving only a sheet full of equations behind."

"Florimel? Attempted the syllogismobile by herself? But Reed must be distraught!"

"Very much so, especially since he just got back from the universe she went to. It was so odd that he decided lie needed somebody to back him up."

"Of course you must!" She caught his hand, knowing his misgivings. "Fear not for the babe and myself—we shall be quite well in your absence. Only return safe and sound!"

"I'll do my best," Shea promised, and took her in his arms for a kiss that was the best pledge he could make.

A few minutes later, he came back into the study. "Okay, Doc. Let's go." He opened the desk drawer and took out a box of cartridges, slipping it into his wallet.

"But why the revolver, Harold?" Chalmers frowned. "It won't work, in an alien universe where magic is physics."

"Maybe not—but if we don't know where we're going, we might wind up in a universe where the rules are hybrid, and gunpowder does explode. I brought matches, too. If they don't work, I can always throw them away—-but if they do, I'm going to be son as hell that I didn't bring them. Shall we, Doer""

"By all means." Chalmers took his hand and held up the sheet of equations. They began to chant the symbolic logic statements in unison, as the study began to grow dim about them.

Suddenly, there was light.

Light all about them, and grass of an amazingly rich green, covering the slope beneath their feet—-a steep hillside that broke out into rocky shelves here and there, and that was adorned with trees and shrubs everywhere.

Everywhere, and every tree bore fruit, every shrub was burdened with blossoms. The air was perfumed, and all the colors were bright.

"Doc," Harold said slowly, "I don't think we're in any universe I've ever seen before."

"Nor I," Chalmers said evenly—but his hands trembled.

Shea knelt to run a hand over the grass. "It's real. It looked so perfect, I thought it might have been a carpet."

Chalmers nodded. "And isn't that a pagoda, over there? Though it's very tiny with distance."

Shea stood up, looked, and nodded. "All the colors are so bright! It's as though the air were super-clear!"

"Perhaps it's just that we've come to a place where the internal combustion engine hasn't been invented," Chalmers offered half-heartedly, "or that we're in the mountains. But do you notice, Harold!—no chiaroscuro?"

"Shading?" Shea looked about, realizing that everything was either full-color, or shadow, with nothing in between. "You're right, Doc. In fact, it looks almost ... like a ..."

"Chinese scroll," Chalmers finished for him. "I think we can assume we've left the Western hemisphere behind—especially since I see we're about to be visited by a band of local fauna."

Shea looked where he pointed, startled, and saw small brown and gray shapes flitting through the trees. Then he heard a whirling, racheting, burbling sound— the noise of a whole tribe of monkeys, shooting toward them.

In an instant, the animals were all about them, hooting and chattering. One large, grizzled old animal called down, "Who are you, strangers, and what do you here, on our Mountain of Flowers and Fruit?"

Shea did a double take—he wasn't used to having the local wildlife speak English. Then he remembered that he probably was not speaking English at all, but the language of this universe, instead. That helped— but not much. He still was not used to talking monkeys.

Chalmers recovered first. "We are travellers ..." Then he ran out of gas, and Shea snapped out of his stupefaction in time to take up where he'd left off.

"We're looking for a friend of ours," Shea called back. "Have you seen her, maybe? A pretty, slender woman—no, Doc, let me do the describing, you can't be objective! She would have appeared all of a sudden, the way we did!"

"Aye, such a one did appear yesterday, and we told her what we will tell you—that you trespass in the land of the Monkey King, and he will be wroth if he finds you here! She, at least, had the good sense to turn her footsteps down the slope. You had best do likewise, before our king comes!"

"Foolish, foolish people!" a younger monkey chattered. "You dare to trespass on his lands, believing that he has been imprisoned by Buddha!"

"Be still!" the older monkey snapped.

"Wherefore? Since our lord has just been released from his jail, after five hundred years of waiting! Surely the foolish mortals should flee, and not trouble us to beat them away."

"Beat?" Chalmers cried, dismayed, but Shea assured him, "They said Florimel had the good sense to go on her own, Doc. But we need a little background information, and we're in a good situation to get it." Then, back to the monkeys, "You mentioned Buddha. Is this China?"

"China? What is that? You are on the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit, behind the great Water Curtain, in Zhung-Guo—the Middle Kingdom!"

"Middle Earth? The center of all the universes?"

"What is a universe? Foolish mortal, Zhung-Guo is the Land Between the Four Seas, the country at the center of the world, which must therefore be an example and a source of governance to all other countries!"

Yes, that was China—at least, as seen by the Chinese. "Why was your king imprisoned?"

"Buddha clapped him in jail for five hundred years, to punish him for his mischief!" The monkey bared his teeth. "How unjust is this! As well punish a bird for flying, or a dog for barking!"

"I suspect it depends on the magnitude of the mischief ..."

A loud chattering went up at the fringe of the monkey band, and several of the little apes turned, then pointed to the sky.

"Yonder he comes!" The grizzled monkey pointed, too. "Flee, foolish barbarians! Or you will suffer greatly, for trespassing in the domain of the Monkey King!"

"What do you think, Doc?" Shea muttered.

"They may speak wisely," Chalmers answered, "but I confess my curiosity has the better of me. Besides, we couldn't be off this hillside by the time he arrived."

That was true enough. The monkeys were pointing at a little cloud that was growing larger and larger. As it came closer, they could see a speck on top of it, a speck that rapidly grew into the form of a gray monkey, a little larger than most, holding a two-foot stick.

Shea stared. "It's just mist! How does he keep from falling through?"

"Magic," Chalmers said tersely. "I think I'd better work up a few spells."

The cloud slanted downwards, diving toward them. As it touched down, the monkeys set up a glad chattering: "Monkey! Monkey! Our Monkey King!"

Monkey jumped off his cloud with a grin, flourishing his staff in triumph—until he saw the two humans. Then the grin disappeared, and the staff was flourishing for an entirely different reason.

He ran at Shea and Chalmers with a howl. Shea did not want to hurt the little guy, so he did not pull out his sword, just held out his staff to block ...

Monkey's two-foot cudgel cracked through Shea's staff as though it had been a spaghetti noodle.

Shea leaped back, staring at the two half-staves in his hands, then lifted them to block. Monkey howled and swung, and his staff grew even as it whirled, extending to six feet, with a dull sheen. Shea saw it coming and tried to roll with it, but it cracked into his shoulder anyway. He fell, pain flaring through his joint—but rolled up right next to Monkey and, still not wanting to really hurt him, slapped at the little creature's head as he stood up.

Pain shot through his whole hand.

"Yeow!" he yelled, leaping back. "What're you made of—granite?"

"Exactly!" Monkey snapped, and swung again.

This time Shea just dodged. With his left shoulder throbbing and his right hand a web of agony, he could not do much of anything else. But he did notice that behind Monkey, Chalmers was on his knees, frantically jabbing short sticks into the ground. That gave Shea hope—if he could just stay away from Small and Deadly long enough, maybe Doc could get him out of this.

But staying away from Monkey was easier said than done. leaping, swinging from tree branches, bounding down at Shea, bounding up, and always howling, howling, the little monster swung again and again with that lethal staff. Shea dodged and dodged, but he was beginning to tire, and the staff tagged him on the shin, on the hip, and left burning pain wherever it touched.

Then suddenly, iron bars seemed to fall out of the sky and land straight up. An iron roof slammed down on top of them, and Shea fell, rolling on an iron floor.

Monkey hit the bars of the cage with a horrendous scream, trying to reach through at Shea. When he found he could not, he leaped back and assaulted the cage with a dozen blows. Shea shrank into a little ball in the center as bars bent and the roof dented—but they held. Finally, the Monkey King ran out of gas and leaned on his staff, glaring at Shea through the bars and panting. Then he began to scream. "Round-eyed barbarian! Foul dungheap! Bag of offal!" He went on like that for a little while.

Shea waited it out, remembering Cyrano's comeback. When the little blighter finally shut up, he said, "You are? Well, I'm Harold Shea." He held out a hand.

Monkey nearly came through the bars, screaming again. "Foul, mannerless thief! I am the Monkey King, as you well know, and I shall tear this cage apart and rip you limb from limb!"

At a guess, he had not had a good day. Shea tried to remember that he was a psychologist and asked, "Why?"

Monkey stared, at a loss for a few seconds. Then he snapped: "Because you have trespassed on my mountain, and insulted me to boot!"

Shea did not feel it was tactful to point out that the only insults Monkey had received were the ones he had given, coming back at him. "I'm sorry about that—but we were looking for a friend of ours, who became lost."

Monkey frowned. "Why would you think he was on my mountain?"

"She, actually—and we just followed her trail, in a manner of speaking."

"A magical trail?" Monkey looked sharply at him. "You are a sorcerer, then."

"Just a general all-purpose magician."

"What is the woman to you?"

"My wife," Chalmers said behind him.

Monkey spun about, his cudgel coming up, but he only glowered at the older man and asked: "What was her appearance?"

"About this tall." Chalmers held up his hand. "Slender, with brown hair."

"And pale skin, and round eyes, like yourself?" Monkey nodded. "I came upon her on my way here."

"Really?" Chalmers leaped on it. "Where was she going?"

"Nowhere; she was beset by bandits. I was angry at bandits, for six of them had just tried to kill Tripitaka, the monk whom Buddha bade me accompany, and I slew them for it. Then the foolish bonze had the audacity to rebuke me! Rebuke me! For saving his life!"

Chalmers was in an agony of impatience to learn about Florimel, but Shea realized he was going to have to bring Monkey back to the topic gradually. "Maybe he had a good reason."

"Good reason! No, nothing more than that I could have spared those outlaws, could have disabled them as easily as slaying them! As though you should spare the life of someone who attacks you, simply because it is not necessary to kill him!"

"That does make sense," Shea said, "provided you think human life is something worthwhile in its own right."

Monkey's teeth writhed back, jeering. "I should expect your kind to think so."

"Well, yes, we do have a certain vested interest in human life. But maybe that's why Buddha assigned you to this monk."

Monkey frowned. "Why, how is that?"

"To learn Buddha's morality." Shea realized that he must be crazy, talking about Buddha as though the sage were still alive, and were something more than a myth—but maybe he was, in this universe. After all, his first trip by syllogismobile had taken him to a universe where the Norse gods were real. Anyway, he had to talk to Monkey on the beast's own terms. "Didn't he say anything about why you were supposed to go with the monk?"

Monkey glowered. "Something, aye."

"Was it Buddha who turned you into stone, too?" Mind you, Shea did not believe for an instant that something so alive as Monkey could really be made out of stone ...

... or maybe he could. After all, each universe had its own physics, its own principles. Why could not a living creature be made of stone? Maybe, to Monkey, Shea seemed odd, being made of soft tissue.

"Nay," Monkey said. "I was born so—if 'born' is the word for it."

" 'Hatched,' maybe?"

Monkey stared. "How did you know?"

Now Shea stared. "You don't mean you came out of an egg!"

"Aye.' Monkey sat down on his heels, grinning. "When the world was made, O Foolish Barbarian, there was made with it a huge egg of stone. For eons it stood, alone and waiting; then finally, when men had appeared upon the Earth, that egg broke open, and out tumbled myself—the Stone Monkey."

Shea tried to keep the look of disbelief off his face. After all, if monkeys could talk here, why couldn't one have hatched out of a stone egg? "How did you become king of the monkeys?"

"Shortly after I wakened, a band of them came tumbling along, playing as they went. They told me I was one of them, and brought me to look in a still pool. I saw that I was a monkey, too, and went with them a while—but I learned how sore beset they were, by tiger and by wolf, and began to wonder how to make them sale. Then, one day, we came to play near a Water Curtain ..."

"A water curtain?"

"A sheet of water that fell from a great height, fool! I wondered what lay behind that veil, and plucked up my courage to leap through it. I find myself here, on this mountain of eternal spring, then leaped back through the veil, to find them mourning me. They rejoiced to see me still alive, and followed me through the Water Curtain—with some trepidation, it must be admitted, but with willingness to follow. When they saw how rich and safe a place I had provided for them, they made me their king."

"Sounds great." Shea frowned. "But so far, I don't see anything Buddha should have punished you for."

"Nay. That came later, after some years, when I had begun to chafe at my life here, and to find it growing tedious. I wished to learn more of the world, and I wished to learn how to keep my monkeys safe from the occasional bear that stumbled through the Curtain. I heard of a sage in the south, the Patriarch Subodhi, who could teach me magic, so I departed from my little monkeys and went to him."

"Studying magic?" Shea frowned. "I begin to see possibilities for mischief."

"I assure you, I was the best-mannered of monkeys! The Patriarch took me as his disciple, and I studied as hard as, or harder than, any of the others. At last I came to so much knowledge of the Way of Virtue that he gave me a name-in-religion—I am the disciple Aware-of-Vacuity."

"Vacuity?" Shea frowned. "Why is it important to become aware of emptiness?"

"Because until you know that you are empty, you cannot begin to be filled. But I, having reached this stage, desired to demonstrate for my fellow disciples how much I had learned—so I displayed all the marvels that I could now work, as a result of the Patriarch's teaching."

A show-off, Shea realized. "I take it the Patriarch didn't like that too much?"

"Nay, he cast me out from his presence." Monkey grinned again. "Why should I care? I had learned the magic I sought. I came back to my mountains, and found my little monkeys sorely beset. I chased away the wild beasts and taught them Mock Combat, so that they would be able to practice Real Combat, if it ever became necessary—as it has, many times since."

"I take it you were planning to go on your travels again."

"Aye, for it is the way of monkeys to become easily bored. I flew to beset the Dragon of the Southern Ocean, defeated him, and exacted tribute from him ..." Monkey brandished his cudgel. "... this iron staff, that can grow amazingly when I wish it."

"Correct me if I am wrong," Chalmers said slowly, trying to hide his impatience, "but I thought dragons were heavenly creatures, in Chi ... in this country."

"They are." Monkey's grin grew savage. "The Jade Emperor of Heaven therefore invited me to take a place in his realm, so that I would cease to bedevil his subjects."

"The direct route to heaven?" Shea stared. "And you didn't stay?"

"Nay, for I found that the place he had for me was that of a groom in the Heavenly Stables! In revenge, I invaded the workroom of Lao-Tzu, the founder of the Way, and stole from him a flask of the Elixir of Life. It was for this that Buddha imprisoned me—but even He had to make my jail the top of a mountain! There He bade me dwell for five long centuries, until a monk should come who could teach me patience and humility. Now that monk has appeared- -a prince who has forsworn all the vanities of this world, and who has been sent by the Emperor of Tang to go to India, and bring back three baskets of Buddhist scrolls. For this he has taken the name 'Tripitaka', which means, O Ignorant Barbarian, 'Three Baskets'. And he has the gall to chastize me for having saved his life!" Monkey leaped to his feet again, reminded of his grievance. "I screamed imprecations at him for his ingratitude; I rushed off in anger. What need I with such a fool for a master? No, I have come back to my Mountain of Flowers and Fruit, and here I shall stay, whether Buddha wills it or not!" But there was a look of trepidation in his eyes as he said it.

Shea did not want that club to start whirling again— but he did want to be able to get out of that cage without becoming the Target for Today. "Sounds as though he was trying to teach you what Buddha wanted."

"What?" Monkey stared at him.

Shea shrugged. "If Buddha told you to become this monk's disciple, he must have wanted you to learn whatever he had to teach."

"To let murdering bandits live!?! How could this be holy?"

"Sometimes you just have to take it on faith," Shea explained. "We have an archetypal story about that, back where I come from—about a man who is famous for patience, but who really ought to be famous for holding on to his ideals."

"Ideals?" Monkey scowled at him. "Whatever are you talking about?"

"Job." Shea settled himself for a long session. "His name was Job, and he was a very religious man who had everything he could want—a beautiful, loving wife, well-mannered children, a fine house, and lots of money. But a, um, demon, tried to tell the, uh, King of Heaven, that the only reason he was religious, was because he had everything he wanted. Take all of that away, the demon said, and Job would lose his faith and curse the King."

"Surely the Jade Emperor would not listen to such foolish speech!" Monkey frowned. "Or is it so foolish?"

"That's what the demon said—and the King of Heaven figured it was necessary to prove that it was foolish. So He gave the demon permission to take away everything that Job held dear—house, money, children, wife. One by one, the demon did just that. First the children were killed by accidents and disease ..."

"Why, what goodness can there be in letting children die?" Monkey demanded.

"Presumably, they went straight to Heaven." Shea shrugged away the objection. "Anyway, it's just a story, to make a concept clear. Then a depression hit, and Job lost all his money. A fire burned down his house. Still, all he would do was to cry out to God to tell him what he had done to deserve all this. Finally, his wife began to despise him, because not only hadn't he kept all these things from happening, he wasn't even complaining about the King of Heaven being cruel."

"So she left him."

"Seen it happen before, have you? Yes, she left him, but Job still wouldn't cry out against the King of Heaven—and the demon acknowledged defeat. He had to admit that human ideals have something more to them than just reward and punishment."

"But what of this Job? Did he learn why he had been so accursed?"

"He didn't need to; the King of Heaven just sent an angel to tell him that sometimes He does things for reasons that people don't understand."

"And that was enough for Job?" Monkey stared.

"That was enough," Shea confirmed. "Once he was reassured that the King of Heaven was there, he had faith that there was a reason. All he really needed was to be reassured."

Monkey frowned at him, then bowed his head so that his chin rested on his chest, and was silent. Chalmers fidgeted in an agony of impatience, but kept his peace.

Finally, Monkey looked up. "There is merit in what you say—and I, who know personally that Buddha does exist, am a blind fool to doubt Him, am I not?"

"There is that possibility," Shea agreed.

Monkey gazed at him, brooding.

Then, suddenly, he leaped to his feet, slapping his thigh. "Come! I will return to the monk; I shall make my apologies. Perhaps, in time, he will convince me of the merits of humility. I doubt there are any, but I will give him his chance to teach me. Let us go!" He whirled about and struck the collection of twigs with his staff; the result was instant toothpicks, and the iron cage disappeared from around Shea.

Chalmers stared, horrified.

So did Shea, feeling suddenly very vulnerable. "You could have done that any time!"

"Why, so I could have," Monkey agreed, "but I was too angry to think of it. Let us go!" He beckoned, and suddenly a cloud swooped down from a clear blue sky.

"Wait a minute, now!" Shea backed away. "What do you mean, 'we'?"

"Why, the two of you as well!" Monkey gestured, and the cloud shot in against Shea's legs, and Chalmers'. They both yelped with surprise as they tumbled onto its surface. Monkey grinned and leaped aboard. "It is you who have inspired me—so you must come to see the fulfillment of your plan!" He looked back over his shoulder, and his grin turned menacing. "If it ends in disaster, so shall you."

"But my wife!" Chalmers cried. "What happened to Florimel?"

"Oh, the barbarian woman?" Monkey shrugged. "I sent her further on her travels. This world was not the one she had intended to visit, so I bade her tell me of the one she sought—a world ruled by a queen without a king—and sent her there. But enough! Come now, awav!"

Chalmers moaned.

"Travel by cloud isn't all that bad, really, Doc," Shea said bravely, "once you get used to the idea that it's a magic cloud, and a lot more like an innerspring mattress than a patch of fog."

"Perhaps," Chalmers groaned, "but I didn't think to bring my Dramamine."

Then they were both crying out in alarm, as the cloud tilted down sharply. A few seconds later, Monkey hopped off, crying: "Master! Forgive me!" and the cloud disappeared completely, dropping Shea and Chalmers with a very unceremonious thump. Shea pushed himself upright, massaging an aching sacroiliac, and saw a young man in a saffron robe sitting cross-legged—no, in the lotus position, without the slightest sign of discomfort! He looked a little nervous, and he had a robe of a rich red in his lap, with a matching hat that had a band of gold around its rim.

Monkey was bowing deeply before the monk. "I have erred. Master, in presuming to refute your teaching! If this is the Way of the Buddha, I shall learn it! Only forgive, and be patient with me!"

The young man nodded gravely. "You are forgiven easily, Monkey, for Buddha's mercies are manifold. In recognition of your spiritual progress, I give you this robe and hat, as signs of your advancement."

Shea frowned—how had Tripitaka known Monkey was going to be coming back? He was about to raise the issue, but Monkey caught up the red robe with a glad cry and pulled it on, strutting to and fro. "How well it looks on me! And just the right length, not quite to my knees! Master, you are a genius of observation!" He grabbed the hat and clapped it on. "Now! Do I not look like a king?"

"Like a jester!" Tripitaka's tone was suddenly stern. "You prance and caper with vanity! Really, Monkey, if I had known you would behave so ..."

That was as far as he got before Monkey turned on him with a roar, charging with his cudgel held high.

Tripitaka shouted out some words that Shea could not catch at all.

Monkey stopped dead in his tracks, howling in agony. He fell on the ground, tugging at the cap. "Take it off! Take it off! It binds about my temples like a clamp! It sends agonies through my brain! It will break my head!" The cloth ripped away, but the headband remained and would not budge.

Tripitaka only waited, face impassive.

"It was enchanted!" Shea gasped.

Chalmers nodded. "A trap!"

"Forgive me, Master!" Monkey cried. "I was wrong to lose my temper, to turn against you! I apologize!"

"Will you swear to do whatever I tell you?" Tripitaka demanded.

"I swear, I swear!" Monkey cried. "I will obey you in all things! I will never lift my hand against you! Only make the agony stop, Master, make the agony stop!"

Tripitaka gestured, reciting another short verse which somehow eluded Shea completely.

Monkey sagged with relief. "Thank you, Master! Oh, thank you! Where did you get that wondrous hat?"

"From the Bodhissatva Kuan-Yin," Tripitaka answered. "From Kuan-Yin! But she is the Goddess of Mercy! "Of mercy, certainly—but the Taoists are mistaken in thinking she is a goddess. She is a Bodhissatva, a person who has attained Enlightenment but postponed passing to Nirvana so that she may guide and instruct those of us here on Earth."

"Oh yes. Master! A Bodhissatva, not a goddess! Of course, Master!"

"But she is, as you say, the patron of mercy," Tripitaka rejoined, "so you can be sure that she must have a merciful reason, for so binding you to my authority."

Monkey stilled, half-risen. Then he lifted his head "Perhaps it is even as you say, Master. In any event, I have sworn to obey you, and I will."

"It is well." Tripitaka looked massively relieved.

"Why, he was as loath to hurt Monkey, as he was afraid of him," Chalmers hissed to Shea.

Shea nodded. "Exceptional young man, here. Maybe one of the ones who justified monasticism."

Tripitaka looked up, alert. "Who are these you have brought to join us, Monkey?"

Monkey looked up at Shea with blood in his eye. No, not blood—the little monster's orbs were actually beginning to glow with fire! "These? Why, they are the barbarian sorcerers who persuaded me to return to you, Master! This one is Xei, and that one is Chao-mar-zi."

Shea did a double take, but Chalmers only opened his eyes a little wider, then bowed politely. He had become accustomed to hearing his name mispronounced.

"They have a strange appearance." Tripitaka frowned. "But they must be wise, even magical, if they could have persuaded you. What did you tell him, barbarians?"

The "barbarians" was beginning to chafe on Shea, but he tried to ignore it. "Just a parable showing him the virtues of patience and respect for authority, Your Highness."

"I am only a monk now," Tripitaka protested. "I have forsworn worldly titles with all other vanities. If you are so wise and patient as that, I doubt not that you would be a great help on our quest. Do you wish to learn the Way of Buddha?"

"Well, actually, we were just visiting," Shea said. "We're trying to track down Dr. Chalmers' wife, you see, and Monkey tells us he found her and sent her further on her way. So if you'll just send us to the same place, Monkey ..."

"Nay." Monkey bared his teeth, but Shea could not have said whether it was a snarl or a grin. "I find I have taken a liking to your company."

"But my wife!" Chalmers cried.

"If you aid us in coming to India," Monkey said, "I will gladly send you to the place where she is—when we have found the stupa that holds the Three Baskets."

"But the time!" Chalmers cried. "Months may have elapsed!"

"Years," Monkey corrected, enjoying his discomfiture.

"Years! But any number of things could have happened to her in that much time! She could have fallen prey to bandits, been enslaved, or ..." Chalmers swallowed heavily. "... fallen in love with another man!"

"Monkey!" Tripitaka intoned severely.

"Oh, all right!" Monkey said, disgusted. "When we have attained our goal, I will send you not only to the land where she is, hut to the time at which she arrived there! Will that suit you?"

Shea goggled. "How can you do that?"

"Magic," Monkey said, all teeth. "Will it satisfy you?"

Shea looked at Chalmers, who gave him a frantic nod, then turned to Monkey with a sigh. "Why, sure. Monkey—anything you say. Which way is India?"

India was south and west, of course, and they did take a long time on the road. It seemed considerably longer because, though Tripitaka had a horse to ride, the rest of them were expected to walk, in spite of Monkey's knack with magical clouds. Shea kept trying to console himself, and Chalmers, with the spectacular scenery they were seeing, but their enthusiasm was somewhat dampened by the encounters they had along the way. For example, fairly early on, they started to cross a river, but wound up running away from the dragon that surged out of the waters. Everybody got to safety except Tripitaka's horse, which the dragon gobbled up as an hors d'oeuvre, then turned his attention to the rest of the band, intent on a five-course banquet. Monkey killed his appetite with a running fight, but had to go to Kuan-Yin for help. She changed the dragon into the spit and image of the horse he had gobbled up, and commanded him to go with the expedition, to help protect Tripitaka. Monkey almost forgave the Goddess for that.

Kuan-Yin had been foresighted, it seemed—she had sent ahead two spirits who had sinned against the Jade Emperor of Heaven, commanding them to wait for the Pilgrim Monk, then to accompany him, protect him, and learn the Way of the Buddha from him. The first had been locked into the form of a humanoid pig for his sins; his favorite weapon was an iron muckrake, and he and Monkey had an epic running battle before Monkey finally thought to mention whom he was protecting, whereupon Pigsy surrendered and joined up for the duration.

The other monster was an even harder case. They met him at the River of Flowing Sands, where he was accustomed to collect travellers trying to cross the river and having them for lunch. He was an Expressionistic monster who wore the skulls of his nine victims around his neck. Even with Chalmers' and Shea's magic assisting Monkey and Pigsy, they could barely fight the monster to a draw. Shea volunteered to keep the monster preoccupied while Monkey went for help.

Shea managed to get the monster involved in a philosophical discussion about whether or not he was a cannibal. Shea's case was that eating human beings made him a cannibal, but the monster replied that since he was not strictly human, the people he had been eating were not his own kind, so he was only a carnivore.

Meanwhile, Monkey went to ask help of Kuan-Yin. She came and converted the monster, who was a fallen spirit like Pigsy. He repented, swore off eating people, and joined the expedition, transforming himself into the likeness of a human being. Since he was the Monster of the River of Flowing Sands, they nicknamed him Sandy. He became a pious monk and a vicious infighter.

Meanwhile, they had been travelling farther and farther south, and though they were not near the foothills of the Himalayas yet, they had travelled much farther west. Shea could tell how far south they had gone by the heat and the size of the mosquitoes.

"You can tell the physics of this universe are magical," he grumbled as he lay down on a straw pallet in the guest room of the monastery at which they had just arrived. "Something that big could never fly, where we come from."

"Come, now, Harold," Chalmers sighed. "They're not nearly as bad as some of the nurses who take blood samples at the Institute."

"Bad! Doc, have you looked at these critters? Ever since we crossed the border into this Kingdom of Crow-Cock, they've been like Dracula in insect form! The last one that buzzed my ear was the size of a B-29!"

"Then if we need to fly," Chalmers sighed, "we can just borrow their wings. Do go to sleep, Harold."

"Why? So they don't have to deal with a moving target?"

"Oh, be still, Xei," said Monkey. "Be glad you have the roof and walls of the Treasure Wood Temple about you tonight, rather than the grasses of a riverbank."

"It's all right for you to say," Shea growled. "They can't get their needles into your granite hide."

"If the Master can bear it, so can you."

"Tripitaka? I don't see him in here. He's a full-fledged monk, after all—he gets better quarters."

"You think the Zen Room is more comfortable? You forget that he is sitting in meditation all night."

"Oh, is that what he's doing?"

"Yes—just sitting," Monkey sighed. "Good night, Xei."

"Oh, good night," Shea griped. He cast a last accusing glare at the snoring bulk of Pigsy and Sandy, mere outlines in the gloom, then closed his eyes and tried for sleep.

"Wizard Xei!"

Shea sat bolt upright, his heart hammering. "Who the hell ...?"

"Closer than you think," the visitor snapped.

He was tall, severe, and drenched from head to toe. In fact, the water was running off him and pooling on the teak floor.

Shea reached for his sword and dagger and came slowly to his feet with both on guard. "Monkey! Pigsy! Sandy! Doc! We've got company!"

But the forms of his companions lay still in the moonlight, except for the slow rise and fall of breathing. Shea realized that he could not even hear Pigsy's snores.

"They will not hear you," the wet man said impatiently. "Now tell me—where is your master?"

"I have no master—I'm a free man."

"Do not bandy words with me, slave!" the man shouted. "Tell me the whereabouts of your master, and that quickly!" The apparition stepped closer.

Shea brandished his sword. "Hold it! Cold steel, remember?" He hoped that what worked on European elves might work for Chinese haunts.

Apparently not. Contemptuously, the man stepped right up to let the tip of Shea's sword disappear inside him. "Now tell me—where is the monk!"

Shea felt a chill pass over him—he knew which monk the man meant, but was not about to give any clues. "We're in a monastery. There are a lot of monks—just take your pick."

"Fool!' the man shouted, and swung a back-handed blow at Shea's head. Shea ducked and lunged—and stumbled straight into the apparition. There was a gust of icy wind; then he straightened up, to find himself lacing the man's glowing back.

Slowly, the apparition turned, glaring. "What manner of monk are you, who bears a sword?"

"Not a monk at all," Shea said bravely, "just a traveller who has decided to join a holy man and his disciples for mutual protection."

"Yes! That is he—the Pilgrim Monk!" The apparition's eyes lit, glowing in the dark. "That is whom I spoke of! Where is he?"

Shea's eyes narrowed. "Why do you want to know?"

"Insolent cur!" the man shouted. "Vile peasant!

"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."

"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.

Finally, when Tripitaka was done, the prince bowed his head, chin resting on his breast, scowling at the floor, his face somber.

The companions waited, watching him closely, holding their breath.

Finally, the young man lifted his face, "It may be as you say," he said, "but I cannot believe something of such magnitude on your word alone, even though you are a holy man. What proof can you give?"

Silently, Tripitaka reached into the folds of his robe and drew out the white jade tablet.

The prince seized it with a heart-rending cry. "This never left my father's side! How have you stolen it? When?" Without waiting for an answer, he ran for the door, crying, "Guards! Courtiers! Arrest these thieves!"

Pigsy leaped between him and the door, but the look on his face was grave. "Please do not. Your Highness. We are no thieves."

"You must be, for that tablet is a family heirloom!" The prince whirled, pointing at Tripitaka with a trembling hand. "It has been the property of the Kings of Crow-Cock ever since our dynasty began! My father had it from his father, and will give it to me in his turn!"

Silently, Tripitaka held his gaze.

Trembling, the prince caressed the tablet, but his eyes were on Tripitaka's. "You did not steal it?'

"I did not," Tripitaka returned. "The ghost of whom I spoke, he gave it to me."

The prince faltered, but regained his composure bravely. "I cannot be certain! You may have stolen it from his pocket as he passed through a crowd—he may have given it to the temple on some foolish impulse! "

Tripitaka sighed with exasperation, but Shea said, "Why not ask your mother?"

The last vestiges of color drained from the prince's face. He stared at Shea in outrage. "What is your meaning?"

"Why, only this." Shea spread his hands. "No one knows him as well as his wife. If there has been any change in him, wouldn't she be the one most apt to notice it?"

The prince still eyed him dangerously. "In what way?"

Shea sighed; the kid was determined to be obtuse. "Ask her if the King still loves her as much as ever."

The prince still stared at Shea, but his color came back; indeed, his face began to darken. But he gave a curt nod and said: "It is well advised. I shall attempt it. If she says he has turned cold to her, I shall return and seek your assistance in my revenge." He spun on his heel and stalked toward the door.

Tripitaka caught Pigsy's eye and nodded. The pigheaded creature reluctantly stepped aside.

On the threshold, the prince spun about, his finger stabbing at them. "But if she says he is as much in love with her as ever, I shall return with an army to slay you all!" He whirled about, and was gone.

They stared at one another, listening to his footsteps receding down the hall. Then Monkey said: "I note that he waited till he was at the door before he threatened us."

"He's not totally rash," Shea agreed.

"It was well thought, Xei," Tripitaka said. "How did you come by such an idea?"

Shea shrugged. "Just an incurable romantic, I guess. I have this notion that everybody only has one true love, so that if the current King of Crow-Cock is a lake, he couldn't possibly be really in love with the Queen. Of course, I'm assuming they were really in love with one another in the first place, which I understand isn't always the case here."

"Marriages are arranged," Monkey agreed. "What has love to do with it?"

"Apparently it did, in this case," Shea said. "At least, our prince seems to think so, or he wouldn't be going to question his mother. Wouldn't it be great to be a fly on the wall during that interview!"

"Why, what a charming idea!" Monkey cried. "Would you truly like it, Xei? Then come, let us fly!" He made a magic pass, and Shea felt some very sudden and very odd sensations. The room swam before his eyes, and he felt panic; then it steadied, and he could see more of it—he had a 270-degree field of view, though it was broken up into dozens of fragments, a sort of living mosaic. He turned to Chalmers, but Doc towered above him like a mountain, looking appalled. With a shock of horror. Shea realized he was now a fly!

Then another fly buzzed over to him- a huge fly, as big as he was, and with Monkey's face! "Are you ready, then?" asked the simian sorcerer. "Then come, away!" His face changed back into a fly's head, and he turned away, darting up off the floor, wings a blur.

Shea followed him, then realized he had not even thought about doing so. With a sinking heart, he wondered if he could have resisted, if Monkey had not cast a compulsion of some sort over him.

They flew out the window, over the forest, and found the river. Upstream they went, till they saw the walls and towers of a city before them. It was not terribly big, by Shea's standards—he doubted if it held more than twenty thousand people—but it was very pretty from this height, with little white houses and a tall stone palace.

The Monkey-fly arrowed down toward that palace. Shea followed.

Monkey buzzed from window to window, then ducked in through an ornate carved screen. Shea came right behind him, just barely beginning to worry about fly swatters.

He really had no need; Monkey spiralled up and up to alight on the top of a tapestry, fifteen feet above the floor—though from Shea's new perspective, it looked as though he were gazing down from the side of Mount Rushmore. He perched beside Monkey, feeling like Teddy Roosevelt's image, and scouted the surroundings.

They were in a high-roofed, light, airy chamber, hung with silks and tapestries and floored with a rich carpet. The furnishings were luxurious, but uncluttered—a rich, wide bed, a table with two chairs, a chest or two. By the window sat a woman painting a scroll, which was an amazing feat of dexterity, considering how long her fingernails were. She was richly dressed in an embroidered silken gown, black hair elaborately coiffed. She was in her forties, but still strikingly beautiful. But in spite of her luxurious surroundings, she seemed listless, unhappy. Her brush strokes were few and labored, and her gaze kept drifting off through the window.

There was a scrabbling from that window, and she sat up in alarm.

"Mother!" came the prince's voice. "Admit me, please!"

"My son!" She rose in a single, fluid motion that contrasted oddly with her tottering walk as she hurried to open the screen. Shea saw why—her feet were so small that they might have been those of a child. He suppressed a surge of nausea and focused on the events below him.

The Queen was clasping her son to her breast, weeping openly, then stood away, as though remembering the proprieties. "My son, it is so good to see you! It has been three years since your father forebade us to meet! I have heard tales of your deeds, but have longed to see you with my own eyes!"

"And I you, Mother." The prince knelt, bowing "But I must speak briefly, for I come in secret."

"In secret?" The Queen glanced at the screen and quickly pulled it closed. "Yes, of course. It will go hard with you if your father learns of this, will it not? Oh, how foolish of you, to take such a risk!"

"It is necessary—because of that same king." The prince looked up at her, his face intent. "And because of my father."

"Why ... why do you speak of them as though they were two separate people?" she asked, her voice faltering.

"It is for you to answer that," the prince returned. "I was led today by a magician, led to a holy man who told me of a dream, and because of that I must ask you a question ..." He blushed and turned away. "Oh, but it is too personal!"

The Queen began to see where the conversation was going. She drew herself up, composing her face. "If it touches on your father's welfare, my son, you must ask it.

"I have no right ..."

"But you have a duty. He is your king. Ask what you will."

Neatly done, Shea decided—the prince had warned her of what was coming, but had managed to phrase it in such a way that she could not object. He bowed his head now, and asked, "Forgive me, Mother, but I must ask—has my father become less fervent in his love for you these three years past?"

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."

Chalmers blanched—he knew very well how much could go wrong.

Monkey nodded, satisfied. "Truly said. Indeed, there are some puzzles that are best solved by the use of brute force."

Pigsy strolled in, grinning. "It is done. Master. The prince had passed by on his homeward course before the spies who followed him began to regain their senses."

"But there was no killing?" Tripitaka asked anxiously.

"Not even by accident," Pigsy said regretfully. "In fact, I'm sure none of them even saw me."

"Pigsy," said Monkey, "would you like to find a buried treasure?"

Pigsy's little eyes expanded amazingly. "A treasure! Gold and gems, all for myself? Where is it, Monkey? Tell me, tell me!"

"I'll do better than that," Monkey said. "I'll show you." He turned to Shea. "Would you care to accompany us, Wizard?"

Shea knew better than to decline.

The moon was high when the three bats landed near the grassy mound with the mulberry sapling on top, in the center of the palace gardens. They crouched on the ground, then expanded amazingly into Monkey, Pigsy, and Shea. Shea was almost regretful about it—he had enjoyed the bat's soaring even more than the housefly's buzzing. On the other hand, that was definitely the kind of spell that could get him into trouble in other universes, including his own.

"It is under here," Monkey told Pigsy.

"Stand back, then." The pig-face grinned, showing tusks. "We shall uncover it quickly." He yanked the sapling out by the roots and tossed it over his shoulder. Shea jumped back in alarm, and so did Monkey. Good thing, too—Pigsy got busy with the muck-rake, and the dirt flew out in a continuous stream. Quickly, the whole of the mound disappeared. Then the muckrake thudded on wood, and Pigsy frowned. "Wooden boards? What is this?"

"A well cover. Monkey stepped up and, with one titanic heave, flipped the cover off the well.

Shea glanced up at the walls nervously. How could the sentries help but notice?

Foolish question. With a magician like Monkey beside him? Why did he bother asking?

"Down there?" Pigsy looked down, frowning. "You did not tell me anything about a swim, little brother!"

"Why should it bother you?" Monkey asked. "You've done your share of diving in your time. Down with you, Pigsy! The treasure is at the bottom of the well!"

"If you say so," Pigsy grunted, and dove in with a splash that Shea could have sworn must have waked the sorcerer-king—but there was no reaction, no cry of alarm, no gongs sounding. In fact, he heard nothing. Nothing but night-birds—and no sound from the well. When he was sure five minutes had passed, he said, "Has he drowned?"

"He can hold his breath far longer than this," Monkey assured him. "Do not fear for our brutish companion, Xei—and do not worry; it is a deep well."

Very deep; another five minutes must have passed before a bloated body suddenly shot from the surface of the well with a huge splash. Shea flinched back in sheer reflex, then realized that the body was hanging from the prongs of a muck-rake. Pigsy's head was right behind it. "This was all I found! Where is the treasure. Monkey?"

"Why, this is it." Monkey pulled the dead body onto the well-curb.

"What! Nothing but this? Monkey, you lied to me!"

"It is for the best," Monkey assured him. "What would you have done with gold and jewels, anyhow? We could not take time to spend them."

"You tricked me! You bamboozled me!"

"We had to have this body," Monkey explained, laying out the dead king on the ground, "and you are a far better swimmer than I."

"I'll get even," Pigsy growled. "You see if I don't!"

Shea looked at the drowned body, then looked away again, shuddering. It was swollen, bloated, and the color of a fish's belly. Still ... "It's in strangely good shape for a three-year-old corpse, Monkey."

"It is." The stone simian frowned. "Almost as though a magician had cast a spell of preservation over it—or as though Yama, King of the Dead, had not yet taken his due." He looked up at Shea, brooding. "Perhaps he knows something that we do not."

"Maybe," Shea agreed, feeling a prickling of dread envelop his back and neck. "Let's get the stiff out of here, Monkey, okay?"

For some reason, the sentries were all looking the other way as Shea and Monkey hoisted the dead king over the garden wall and off into the night. They must have been selectively deaf, too, for Pigsy was not worrying about how loud he was grumbling.

"It is he, even as he appeared in my dream!" Tripitaka shuddered, staring at the dead body before him. "In truth, his body does not appear anywhere nearly as ravaged as I dreaded. What could have caused this. Monkey? Why would Yama not have taken his due of it?"

Monkey shrugged, for once without an answer.

But Chalmers was not. "Could it be," he said slowly, "that the King is only in some sort of coma?"

Shea looked up, frowning. "No, impossible, Doc! Even a body in coma has to breathe! Besides, he's bloated."

Tripitaka looked from one to the other, frowning. "What is a coma"?

"A state of unconciousness," Chalmers explained, "much deeper than sleep, but still just barely living. It usually ends in death, though the body may linger for years. Sometimes, though, occasionally, very rarely, a person will come out of a coma, and regain full use of his faculties."

"A deathlike sleep?" Tripitaka frowned. "How could the dead return to life?"

Pigsy saw his chance. "Why, just ask Monkey, master! He can bring the dead to life! Just ask him!"

"Be still, lump of lard!" Monkey frowned. "I can do no such thing!"

"Oh, aye, he will deny it!" Pigsy jibed. "But he has been in Heaven, and even in the laboratory of Lao Tzu! If anyone can bring the dead back to life, he can!"

"What nonsense are you speaking, fool!" Monkey barked. "Only Yama can bring the dead back to life!"

"Oh, of course he will deny it!" Pigsy cried. "But only say the magic words, Master! Invoke the spell of the golden headband! Make it tighten about his temples, and he will admit the truth!"

Tripitaka, looking very stern, began to recite the rhyme.

"Master, no!" Monkey cried in a panic. "He speaks only in spite, he seeks revenge because I tricked him into ... Aieeee!" He fell on the ground, clutching his temples and shrieking. Pigsy laughed, enjoying the sight immensely.

"Speak truth, Monkey," Tripitaka said sternly. "If you can raise the dead, it is needful that you do so!"

"I can, I can!" Monkey cried. "I will find a way! I will bring the dead king back to life, if I have to go to Yama himself to demand it! Only make the pain stop, Master!"

With a curt nod, Tripitaka recited the counterspell. Monkey went limp with relief.

"Remember your promise now, Monkey," Pigsy jeered. "Raise the dead king to life!"

Monkey leaped to his feet, eyes glowing fiery red, and ran at Pigsy with a bellow.

"Disciple!" Tripitaka snapped, and Monkey came to an instant halt, shouting, "I will be revenged on you, Pigsy!"

"Did you speak of revenge?" Tripitaka demanded in dire tones, and Monkey froze. Then, slowly, he turned and bowed to Tripitaka. "I shall do your bidding, Master."

Behind him, Pigsy snickered.

Tripitaka eyed him coldly. "I shall deal with you later."

Pigsy blanched.

Tripitaka turned back to his smallest disciple. "How shall you do this thing, Monkey?"

"There are only two ways," Monkey sighed. "The one is to go into the Abode of the Dead, and beg Yama to restore the soul to the body—but Yama has no reason to grant our request, and is very stingy with the souls he has gathered."

"Agreed," Tripitaka said slowly.

"The only other way," Monkey said, "is to force my way into Heaven and beg a grain of Life-Restoring Elixir from Lao-Tzu—and that is what I must do. I know the way, for I have been in Heaven before."

Tripitaka said severely, "Yes, I know you were, and I have heard the tale of the havoc you caused there, five hundred years ago. Do as you did when you were a groom to the Jade Emperor's horses, and every deity in Heaven will seek to punish us." He turned to Shea. "Do you go along with him, Magician Xei, for I have found that you have an understanding of people that may enable you to restrain Monkey from his wildest excesses. And, too, your diplomacy may gain more help than all Monkey's bullying could ever do. Will you go?"

Shea swallowed, hard, and glanced at Chalmers, who shrugged almost imperceptibly, then gave him the slightest of nods.

Shea turned back to Tripitaka. "Of course, Reverend Sir, if that is what you ask." Inside, he asked himself frantically if Heaven could really be real.

The Chinese Heaven? Why not? As real as the Norsemen's Asgard, anyway—and Shea had been there already. Why not, indeed?

Seconds later, they were on a cloud and rising fast. Shea had to gulp air to quiet a queasy stomach, and tried to remember a spell for Dramamine. He decided that he definitely preferred a broomstick, under his own control—or better yet, a reclining seat with a seatbelt and a stewardess.

Then they rose above the floor of a cloudbank, and Shea found himself facing a huge Chinese gate in a wall that towered up and up. Both were of gold, and the gate was inlaid with mother-of-pearl and jade.

Monkey hopped off his cloud and swung up his cudgel; it lengthened into a six-foot iron staff.

"No, hold it a minute!" Shea grabbed the tip of the staff—and almost got another free ride, but Monkey halted in the nick of time and grunted, "Wherefore?"

"Because breaking down somebody's front door isn't the best way to get them to like you."

"Why should we want them to like us?"

"Because if they do, they're more likely to grant us a favor."

Monkey bared his teeth in a grin. "I assure you, Xei, none here has cause to like me—and they all have long, long memories.''

"Still, we might try another way."

"Why?"

"Humor me."

Monkey sighed. "You western barbarians are so unreasonable! Well enough, Xei—how would you gain entrance to Heaven? We are neither of us ghosts, you know—and, if truth be told, neither one pure enough for Heaven!"

"There's some truth in that, I suppose," Shea sighed, "but Heaven is common to both our cultures, so maybe I can impose a little of my own on this image of it." He frowned at the gate, concentrating very hard on his own private image of the Pearly Gates—and a small metal rectangle with two buttons appeared on the right-hand jamb. "There, see?" he said triumphantly, and stepped forward to press the button. The two gates slid apart with a slight hiss, to show a richly appointed little room, painted with red laquer and gold leaf, and hung with silken tapestries.

Monkey stared, the white showing all around his irises.

Shea stepped in quickly, pressing one hand against the edge of the door. "Come on in, quick, before it closes!'

Monkey snapped out of his trance and jumped aboard.

"Where are we going?" Shea was inspecting the panel, trying to decipher the buttons—they were in Arabic numerals, and he was currently geared to Chinese characters.

"The Thirty-third Heaven." Monkey eyed his surroundings like a caged animal.

"Thirty-third it is." Shea managed to figure out what those two backward-facing fat characters were, and pressed the button.

The car began to thrum about them.

"It is alive!" Monkey cried, and leaped so high he crashed into the ceiling, brandishing his staff. He fell with a thud, and Shea helped him up, trying to sound reassuring. "It's no more alive than one of your clouds. They move too, don't they?"

"True enough," Monkey said, but he crouched in the corner and brandished his staff, eyes flicking from side to side and top to bottom, trembling the whole time the elevator was moving.

"Yes, but my stomach does not sink when it flies," Monkey moaned.

"Mine does." Shea felt the pressure inside ease up. "Besides, the car's slowing—it must have been an express. What should we be expecting to see, Monkey?"

The doors slid back.

"That," Monkey whispered.

Shea stepped out and found himself facing a vista of cotton-candy hills bedecked with pagodas and palaces.

Monkey stepped out behind him, looking about him in awe. "That is far faster than I came here last time, and with much less adventure."

"Sorry to miss that last part," Shea sighed, "but we don't really have time for it right now. Which way is Lao-Tzu's laboratory?"

"Yonder." Monkey pointed.

Following his gesture, Shea saw a plain and simple hut—that glittered. "I thought he advocated austerity."

"He does, but the Jade Emperor insisted." Monkey gestured, and a cloud detached itself from the nearest cotton-candy mountain. "Your turn to suffer my mode of transport again, Xei."

The cloud barrelled into them, knocking Shea off his feet. Monkey, of course, sprang lithely up onto it, and caroled with delight. Shea was just managing to get his feet under him again when the cloud stopped, and he pitched headlong into its softness again. He extricated himself, grumbling: "For such a short distance, we could have walked?"

"Believe me, Xei, it would have taken half a day, in this clinging stuff." Monkey stepped up to the door and knocked with his staff.

Shea looked up, amazed. Yes, a plain, simple hut— the size of a palace! And made of mother-of-pearl and white jade, too!

The door opened, to show a young man shaved bald, with a saffron robe. He saw Monkey and stared, horrified.

"Let us in," the little ape blustered, "or I will bring your door down around your ears!"

"Monkey ...!" Shea moaned, but the young man's expression finned into stony impassivity. He cried, "Master! It is that horrible little monster again!"

"Horrible little monster yourself!" Monkey shouted, raising his cudgel. "I'll teach you to insult your betters!"

But the young man stepped aside, and a little old man in a plain tunic stepped into the doorway. He was bald except for a fringe of white hair, and wore a long white moustache and goatee. When he saw Monkey, he scowled. "Why do you trouble my disciple? And why have you come back, you thief and brigand?"

"Thief and brigand!" Monkey exclaimed indignantly, but Shea decided it was time he took a hand. He stepped up beside his companion, just incidentally getting between the simian and the sage, and bowed. "Have I the honor of addressing the reverend sage, Lao-Tzu?"

"You have, though I am only a man," the sage answered. "And you are Harold Xei. I have watched your skipping through universes with some interest. Do you truly think there is anything to be gained thereby?"

"Knowledge," said Shea, totally dumbfounded that the sage had noticed him.

"Knowledge?" Lao-Tzu shrugged. "What use is that?"

"Discovering new knowledge is a source of great joy," Shea answered slowly.

"Beware of such joy, young man. It will seduce you away from contemplation of the Way."

"So does all of human life," Shea sighed, "but I'm not quite ready to give up on it yet. Which is why we've come to speak with you, Reverend Sir—to ask your help in bringing a king back to life."

"We ask one grain! Only one grain! Of the Life-Restoring Elixir!" Monkey cried.

"One grain? Was not one whole flask enough for you?" Lao-Tzu scowled.

"That was five hundred years ago," Monkey protested, "and Buddha took it away from me!"

"As well he should have," Lao-Tzu said. "They who have eternal life but have not won it through virtue— it is they who fear death most; and they who fear death can be most easily intimidated. What would have happened to the world if the Elixir of Life had been spread far and wide?"

Shea forbore the temptation to mention overpopulation, and tried to remember a few of Lao Tzu's own verses instead. "But the King of Crow-Cock has been replaced by a usurper—and if the rightful king does not rule, will not the people suffer?"

"They must learn to want less, so that they will suffer less," Lao-Tzu returned.

"But," said Shea:

Lao-Tzu frowned, recognizing his own words. He answered:

"Yet who would be less likely to act for the purpose of living," said Shea, "than one who has already been dead?

Lao-Tzu smiled. "You forget the end of the verse:

"True," Shea admitted, "but who would know that better than a king who has already been dead, yet is now restored to life?"

Lao-Tzu frowned. "This is true. But would he therefore live as a sage, that his people might follow him into virtue?"

Shea spread his hands. "What man can, who has taken up the responsibilities of living among other people? Surely you don't think he should try to deny those commitments!"

Monkey stared up at him, frowning, puzzled.

By way of explanation, Shea added:

"Should not a king emulate the Way?"

Lao-Tzu smiled. "Will a king who has been saved from death, from the penalty of his own mistakes, emulate the Way?"

"I should think so," Shea replied, "for if he has been brought back to life, wouldn't he be like a newborn babe? And:

"So wouldn't someone who is like a newborn babe, embrace the fullness of Virtue?"

It was lousy logic, and he knew it, but it might work.

But Lao-Tzu knew it, too. His eyes twinkled with amusement, and he said, "His chances, at least, are greater than those rulers who have never experienced the Afterlife—and there is a reason why I should wish to see this king live again, which you may not know."

Shea frowned; he did not like secrets, unless they were his own.

Lao-Tzu clapped his hands, and a disciple appeared beside him, holding a little box. The sage took it and handed it to Shea, saying, "Herein is a tiny flask, containing one drop of the Life-Restoring Elixir. See that it is used only for the King of Crow-Cock—and do not let this truant touch it." He nodded at Monkey.

All the way back to Earth, Monkey was muttering: "Truant! What does he think he is, the old fool! Thirty-third Heaven! Jade palace! Who preached the virtues of simplicity, anyway?"

It was a very bumpy ride.

Monkey pried open the jaws of the corpse, and Shea upended the tiny bottle over the gaping mouth. A single shimmering drop fell in. Monkey shoved the jaws closed and wiped off his hands in disgust.

The bloating began to diminish, and the blueness faded.

"It's working!" Shea stared.

"Unbelievable," Chalmers was muttering beside him. "Absolutely unbelievable."

"Is it really?"

"Oh, I believe it! Here, at least!"

The pallid flesh began to turn tan again. The bloating was completely gone now; the body before them lay gaunt. The cheeks gained a flush, the nostrils quivered ...

With one convulsive shudder, the King of Crow-Cock sat bolt upright.

"Father!" his son cried, and threw his arms around the older man. Chalmers reached down to pry him loose, saying: "Give him air," and the prince let go and leaped back with alacrity.

The King put out a hand to prop himself up and sat panting and looking about him, wild-eyed. "Never was air so sweet!"

"Have you learned Virtue, then?" Tripitaka asked.

"Virtue, and humility!" The King turned to bow to the monk. "Let me carry your baggage, Holy One! That I may learn the ordering of the state for the good of my people, through submission to the Way!"

The prince stared, amazed, but Monkey stepped up and said, "Just as well. How else are we to smuggle you back into Crow-Cock, eh?"

So they came into the palace, with the prince marching smartly at their head to open doors. Sentries sprang out of his way and bowed, and the whole entourage followed—especially the middle-aged man in the center of the procession, who was bowed under a load of bundles.

Pigsy was grinning from ear to ear—carrying the baggage was usually his job.

But at the doors to the throne room, the guards crashed their halberds together. "The King sits in judgment!"

"I must speak with him instantly!" The prince did not slacken his pace for a moment. "Step aside!"

They hesitated only a fraction of a second; after all, who was going to be their boss when the old man died? They yanked their halberds back and pushed the door open.

The prince strode into the throne room.

The King looked up, then waved away the petitioners and jumped to his feet, scowling. Shea shuddered—it was eerie, seeing the same face that he had just restored to life. "What is the meaning of this?" the King thundered.

The porter straightened up, dropping his bags. "It means that I have come to reclaim my throne, and you are unmasked!"

Time stood still while the two kings stared at one another.

The hesitation was all Monkey needed. He sprang at the false king with a howl of rage, swinging his cudgel.

The imposter whirled to him, gesturing, and Monkey's cudgel cracked against something unseen with a shower of sparks. The sorcerer sprang into the air and soared out the window, his form blurring as he went.

The prince cheered, with Pigsy and Sandy backing him up.

But Tripitaka was shouting, "He must not escape! Or he will brew unparalled mischief!"

"I go, Master!" Monkey cried, and a cloud appeared right next to him. He sprang upon it and shot out the window.

Shea ran to the opening to watch. Chalmers, Pigsy, and Sandy were right behind him.

They saw the cloud whirl up to head off the fleeing sorcerer. Lightning flashed from him toward Monkey, but the simian deflected it somehow, making it rebound toward its source. Before it could reach him, however, the sorcerer had changed into an eagle, and was soaring higher on an updraft. Monkey changed into a dragon, beat up higher than the eagle, and pounced.

The eagle dropped like a stone, changing as it went. By the time Monkey's claws closed around it, it was a sparrow that darted between the dragon's talons and went arrowing right back toward the window it had come from.

"Back!" Shea shouted. Everybody jumped aside, and the sparrow shot through the window with a monster right behind it, half dragon and half Monkey.

The bird arrowed straight for Tripitaka.

Sandy shouted and jumped after it—but before he could get there, the sparrow was growing and grasping Tripitaka, whirling him around in a circle, around and around as it turned into something tall and yellow ...

Then two Tripitakas stood there, side by side, both in saffron robes, identical to the last detail.

They all stared.

Then Monkey howled: "Master! Speak and tell us which one you are!"

"I am here!" answered both Tripitakas. "I am the true Tripitaka!" Then they both turned to each other and snapped in unison, "Be still, imposter! You know that I am the true Tripitaka!"

"How are we to tell?" Pigsy moaned.

But Chalmers pursed his lips in thought. "Monkey ... insult your Master."

Monkey's eyes lit with glee; then his face filled with apprehension, but he mastered it and sprang at the two monks, crying: "Fraud! You have told me that Virtue would make me immune to sorcery! You dared to tell me to spare the life of a villain, when it would be easier to kill him! You have lied to me, false sage!" And he swung the cudgel.

Both of the Tripitakas looked up in anger, but one of them chanted a quick rhyming couplet, and Monkey fell to the floor, howling in agony and clutching at the gold headband.

Pigsy roared in rage and fell on the other Tripitaka. Sandy was only one beat behind him.

Tripitaka looked up, astounded, then realized what had happened, and recited the counterspell. Monkey leaped to his feet with a cry of relief, then whirled toward the sorcerer.

Pigsy and Sandy had him pinned down. Monkey jumped up on his chest, swinging his cudgel up; it stretched out to its full six-foot length and began to descend ... "Stop!"

Everyone froze. Then Monkey looked up, staring in disbelief, staff still held high.

There was a glow in midair above him, almost too bright to look at, and within it was a human form— but Shea could not make out anything else, the light was so bright.

"Manjusri," Monkey whispered. "It is the god Manjusri!"

Everyone else in the room fell to their knees, bowing low.

Chalmers and Shea exchanged a quick glance, then began backing away toward the walls.

"There is more to this semblance than you know, Monkey," the god intoned with a voice like a gong. "This King of Crow-Cock was originally so good a monarch that, some years ago, Buddha sent me in the form of a man, to bring the King to the Western Paradise. The King, however, loved his wife, son, and people too much, and was not yet ready to leave his earthly life. For this reason, he had me bound and cast into the river, where I stayed for three days and nights before spirits from Heaven fetched me out. As punishment, Buddha sent my mount to assume the form of the enchanter and win his way to office as the King's Prime Minister! Now the pose is unmasked! Let my mount return to his true form!"

The body under Pigsy's and Sandy's hands shimmered and flowed like hot wax. They cried out and leaped back, staring.

The hot wax pulled itself together in a new form— and a blue lion stood before them, roaring.

"Of course!" Monkey breathed. "Manjusri's blue lion is gelded! No wonder he showed no interest in the Queen!"

The King stood, pale and trembling. "Then it was at Buddha's mandate that the enchanter threw me into the well?"

"Even so," Manjusri confirmed. "This was your punishment for seeking to drown me, Buddha's messenger. No one else has really suffered much; the Queen and the concubines have been ignored, and have had cause to complain only of his disinterest. As to the people, they have had a lean year, but none has died of starvation, and adversity has strengthened them."

The former enchanter turned and sprang into the dazzle of light, and they could all see the form of the god seated on the silhouette of the blue lion.

The King knelt, his head low. "Forgive me, Manjusri! I knew not whom I mistreated—and I was too proud to submit to the judgment of Buddha! I shall atone in asceticism and good works for the rest of my life!"

"See that you do," rang the voice of the god, "for you must now spend many years regaining the Virtue that you had when first I met you. And as for you!" A finger speared out toward Shea and Chalmers. "Barbarian wizards! You have completed the task for which Buddha kept you here! Go now where you will—go to the world to which the errant wife has fled!"

Fire shot from that finger and enveloped Shea and Chalmers, roaring all about them. They cried out in surprise and fear, but there was no pain, only a dazzle that blinded them ...