CHAPTER 8
ShaoShu opened his eyes to find that he had a splitting headache, a dislocated shoulder, and no idea what time it was. Even so, he grinned as his eyes adjusted to the near pitch-black darkness. His mouse was snuggled up against his neck, nibbling on his hair. It didn't appear to have been injured while ShaoShu squeezed through the hole in the wall or when he fell.
His happiness didn't last long, however.
“ShaoShu,” Tonglong called from outside the small building. “Can you hear me?”
“Umm … yes, sir,” ShaoShu groaned, his cloudy head beginning to clear.
“Is anything broken?”
ShaoShu thought for a moment as he struggled to pull his robe back on. “My shoulder is still out of joint and it really hurts, but I think that's all that's wrong.”
“That's not what I meant,” Tonglong hissed. “Did you break anything that belonged to my father?”
“I don't think so.”
“Good. Look up. I have something for you.”
ShaoShu looked up at the small round window and saw something float down. It was a silk bag.
“Pick it up,” Tonglong said.
“Ouch,” ShaoShu said with a grunt, struggling to stand with his one good arm. “I need to do something first, sir.” He made it to his feet and walked to one of the walls. ShaoShu tapped it with his foot to gauge his distance in the dark.
“ShaoShu, I need you to—”
“Wait, sir, please!” ShaoShu snapped. Building up his courage, he lunged forward, slamming his right shoulder into the stone wall. “Arrrrgh!” he groaned between gritted teeth. He hadn't hit it quite hard enough.
“Are you—” Tonglong began.
“Please, wait!” ShaoShu squeaked. He took a step backward, then lunged forward again, ramming his shoulder into the wall a second time. “Owwww!” he howled, and dropped to the floor, sweating despite the chilly night air. His second attempt had been successful.
After a few deep breaths, ShaoShu stood on wobbly legs. He rotated his right shoulder and shrugged it several times. It hurt tremendously but seemed to work more or less normally. He picked up the silk bag.
“Sorry I was rude, sir,” ShaoShu said in a shaky voice. “What should I do now?”
Tonglong scoffed. “The building has only one room, and you are in it. There is a heavy stone pedestal in the very center. On it rests a porcelain urn. Carefully pour the contents of the urn into the bag and throw the bag out to me.”
“But, sir—” ShaoShu began to say, thinking about the contents.
“Do it.”
ShaoShu bit his lip. He had no choice. Without Tonglong's assistance, he would never get out of there.
He stumbled through the darkness on his still-wobbly legs until he kicked what could only be the pedestal. He reached up for the urn and heard a sickening scrape as he accidentally bumped the fragile container with his elbow. There was a tremendous crash, and the urn shattered on the stone floor.
“ShaoShu!” Tonglong roared in his metallic voice.
“Just a moment, sir,” ShaoShu said nervously. He dropped to his knees and began to hurriedly sweep the urn's contents into the bag. Soft powdery ash stuck between his sweaty fingers.
ShaoShu frowned. “I'm sorry,” he whispered to Tonglong's father's spirit.
As he was finishing, ShaoShu's hand knocked against something that felt like metal. He heard a soft clank! as the object slid across the stone floor, striking the base of the pedestal. He slid his hand over the area until his fingers wrapped around what felt like a small key with lumps on it.
“I heard that noise,” Tonglong said. “Did you find something among the ashes?”
“Yes,” ShaoShu replied. “A key, I think.”
“Good. Throw it to me.”
ShaoShu tossed the key out the window. He heard Tonglong's hands clap together as he caught it.
The next thing ShaoShu heard was Tonglong walking away.
“Hey!” ShaoShu shouted. “Where are you going?!”
“I have what I need,” Tonglong replied. “I am returning to the ship. I have much work to do.”
“What about me?”
“You have served your purpose,” Tonglong said, and he laughed. “I'll be sure to mention you when I rewrite history.”
ShaoShu's eyes darted around the room, searching for something that might make Tonglong turn around. He remembered the silk bag.
“What about your father?” ShaoShu said in a desperate tone. “What about your past?”
“I have even less use for him now than I do for you,” Tonglong replied, his voice already far away. “Goodbye, Little Mouse.”