The figure moved, not abruptly like someone startled, but gently, like a man woken from sleep and still half in the world of his dream. He stood up and turned. A shadow fell across his face as he did so, veiling him.
“You have come,” he said. The voice was soft, like a girl’s.
Christopher guessed the monk was a ge-tsul, a novice. But what would a novice want with him?
“Was it you who wrote the letter?” Christopher asked, stepping towards the figure.
“Please! Don’t come any closer,” the monk said, stepping back further into shadow.
Christopher froze. He sensed that the ge-tsul was nervous, in some way frightened by Christopher’s presence.
“Why did you ask me to come? What do you want?”
“You are the father of the pee-ling child?”
“Yes.”
“And you have travelled from far away to find him?”
“Yes. Do you know where he is? Can you take me to him?”
The monk made a hushing sound.
“Do not speak so loudly. The walls of Dorje-la have ears.” He paused.
“Yes,” he continued, “I know where your son is being kept.
And I can take you there.”
“When?”
“Not now. Perhaps not for several days.”
“Is he in any danger?”
The novice hesitated.
“No,” he said.
“I don’t think so. But something is happening in Dorje-la, something I do not understand. I think we may all be in danger very soon.”
“I want to take William away from here. I want to take him back through the passes to India. Can you help me?”
There was silence. Shadows gathered about the small figure by the altar.
“I can help you take him from Dorje-la,” he said at last.
“But the way to India is too hazardous. If you want your son to leave here alive, you must trust me. Will you do that?”
Christopher had no choice. However mysterious, this was his only ally in a world he did not understand.
“Yes,” he replied.
“I will trust you.”
“With your life?”
“Yes.”
“With your son’s life?”
He hesitated. But William’s life was already in jeopardy.
“Yes.”
“Go back to your room. I will send another message to you there.
Be sure that you destroy any letters I write to you. And speak of this to no-one. No-one, do you understand? Even if they appear to be a friend. Do you promise?”
“Yes,” Christopher whispered.
“I promise.”
“Very well. Now you must leave.”
“Who are you?” Christopher asked.
“Please, you must not ask. Later, when we are safe, I will tell you.
But not now. There is too much danger.”
“But what if something happens? If I need to find you?”
“You are not to look for me. I will find you when it is time.
Please leave now.”
“At least let me see your face.”
“No, you must not!”
But Christopher raised his lamp and stepped forward, letting !
the light fall directly on the shadows before him. The mysterious stranger was not a novice, not a monk. Long strands of jet-black hair framed small, delicate features. An embroidered tunic shaped itself about a slender body. The stranger was a woman. In the shadowed light, her green eyes sparkled and the tiny yellow flame cast drops of liquid gold over her cheeks. Her hair was filled with golden ashes.
She stared at Christopher, her eyes startled. One hand sprang to her face, covering her from his gaze. He took another step, but she recoiled, stumbling back into the shadows once more. He heard her feet run softly across the stone floor. Holding the lamp high, he followed, but the light fell on nothing but figures of stone and gold. On the walls, paint crumbled and fell slowly to dust.
Time stood still. The bright patterns of a dozen heavens and a dozen hells shuddered like tinsel in the darkness. The girl had vanished utterly into the shadows out of which she had come.
He returned to his room, passing through the sleeping monastery like a phantom. As far as he was aware, no-one had seen him leave or re-enter the room. About half an hour after his return, he heard the sound of fumbling at his door again, and when he tried the handle he found it had been locked once more.
He lay in bed, trying to get warm, his thoughts in turmoil. There were so many unanswered questions. Who was the woman who had brought him to the gon-kang? What did she really want with him? And could she really help him get William out of this place?
He tossed and turned in the darkness, tiring himself without coming any closer to satisfactory answers. In the end, his restless thoughts became restless dreams. But even in sleep there were no answers.
He was woken abruptly by a sound. His light had gone out and the room was in pitch darkness. He could hear his own breathing but nothing else. What had wakened him? Breathing evenly, he lay in the darkness listening. It came again, a soft, fumbling sound.
Someone or something was outside his door, trying to get in. This was not like the sound he had heard before, when his door had been unlocked and locked again. This was furtive, secretive, not intended to be heard.
A key turned in the lock. Whoever was outside was taking great care not to waken him. He cast back his blankets and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Working by instinct, he found his boots and slipped them on. The key turned gently, with an almost inaudible grating sound. He stood up, careful not to make the bed creak. The door began to open, an inch at a time. He got up and crept to the other side of the room, next to the shrine.
The intruder did not carry a light. Christopher could see nothing,
hear nothing. He pressed himself against the wall. As his eyes grew
accustomed to the darkness, he realized that a small amount of
illumination came through the shutter, which he had
closed imperfectly. A slight creak drew his attention back to the door. A shadow was easing itself through the opening. Christopher held his breath.
The shadow moved to the bed on silent feet. There was an abrupt movement as it bent down, then Christopher saw it fumble with the blankets in confusion. There was a glint of something metallic in the darkness: a knife-blade. Christopher waited for the figure to straighten up, then dashed forward, his right arm extended, and grabbed for the neck.
The intruder grunted as Christopher pulled back with his forearm against his throat. He heard the knife clatter to the floor.
Then there was a quick movement and Christopher felt himself being twisted. A sudden blow took him in the small of his back, near his kidneys. As he jerked away from the blow, the man turned again and freed himself from the arm lock A second blow took Christopher in the pit of his stomach and sent him reeling back against the shrine. Bowls crashed to the ground, spilling water everywhere and clanging like bells in the stillness. The stranger did not speak.
