Archive of Our Own ^beta

Kouryuu regarded the path with satisfaction. Not a single leaf remained. On to the next one, after he stretched his shoulders out for a few minutes. He lifted the broom up behind him and sighed in pleasure at the feeling of sore muscles stretching and getting relief. Right. No more slacking -

"Coo-ee! Kouryuu!"

He spun around, trying to keep a dignified, adult expression on his face and was glad he hadn't grinned like a fool when he saw that Master Koumyou had company. . . . another sanzo? What the hell?

"Come and meet my guest!" Master Koumyou called, beckoning.

Broom in hand, Kouryuu jogged over. The strange sanzo resolved in his sight from a dark-haired figure wearing crown and veil to -

"You're a woman," Kouryuu said in astonishment.

"This is my guest, Sharak Sanzo," Master Koumyou said happily. "She bears the Kouten Sutra, Kouryuu, and has come all the way from the land of the Lord Buddha's birth to see us! Isn't that splendid?"

Sharak Sanzo was kind of young, Kouryuu decided. It was true that Master Koumyou had become a sanzo when he was only twenty-two, but he was exceptional. And it had to be admitted that Ukoku Sanzo had been nineteen, but he must have needed help, seeing as he'd taken Master Koumyou away for a whole year afterwards.

"I met Koumyou Sanzo when I was a girl," Sharak Sanzo said, looking at him very straight, "before I was elevated. He told me about you then, Kouryuu."

"That was when I walked to India with Ukoku Sanzo," Master Koumyou said cheerfully.

"I was only a kid back then," Kouryuu said. "I'm not like that any longer."

Sharak Sanzo's lips twitched. "I can see you've become a young man," she said.

"Yeah. I'm twelve now."

"I'm glad that you and Koumyou Sanzo can extend the hospitality of Kinzan to me," Sharak Sanzo said gravely.

"Let me show you around," Master Koumyou said, almost bouncing with excitement. "Later Kouryuu can eat with us, that will be all right, won't it? And I must show you the town as well! How delightful that you've come all this way, Sharak. Kouryuu, please run to the kitchens and tell them that I'll dine with Sharak Sanzo this evening, and tell them to include food for you too."

"Yes, Master."

Kouryuu hurried away on his task. This Sharak Sanzo must have made a good impression on his master when they'd previously met. Or perhaps it was because several of Kinzan's masters had been tormenting his poor master with demands for dharma talks or requests to oversee classes. No one would bother him now that he had such an esteemed visitor.

Two days later, Kinzan was subjected to more visitors. Kouryuu only realised it when he looked up from his eternal sweeping to find a boy a couple of years younger than himself standing in the way staring at him. The boy was dressed in bright lay clothes, and holding a doll. A bandage obscured half his face.

"Play with me!" he chirped, holding the doll out. The bright nylon hair tickled Kouryuu's nose.

"What? No," Kouryuu said, batting the offending object away.

The doll lay on the path between them, and the other boy's face crumpled. Oh God. He was going to cry.

"That wasn't nice," he said in the saddest voice Kouryuu had ever heard.

"Hey," Kouryuu said awkwardly, "I didn't - let me get that -"

As he bent over a mocking voice called,

"Hey, play nice, kiddo! Girls don't like it when you're too pushy! You'll never get anywhere with them if you're like that - or you will, but there's hell to pay afterwards."

Kouryuu straightened, the doll dangling from his hand. The other boy snatched it back, giggling. Standing back from the path, where no one had been before was another strange sanzo. Where the hell had he come from? The man strolled closer and bent over to look Kouryuu in the eyes. He had a falsely pleasant smile on his face.

"Oh, hey, you're a boy," he said, his gaze slowly travelling down and back up again. "You're such a pretty little thing I thought Koumyou had smuggled in a sweet little nun. He seems to be into that these days."

"What?" Kouryuu said, unable to believe his ears.

"There you are!" Master Koumyou carolled from further down the path. "You can't just vanish, Ukoku!"

"I think you'll find I can," the other sanzo said. He snapped his fingers. "Kiddo."

The other boy ran to his side as Master Koumyou and Sharak Sanzo came up. Sharak Sanzo wasn't smiling at all, unlike Master Koumyou.

"This is my friend Ukoku Sanzo, Kouryuu," he said. "And this little one is his disciple!"

The other boy peeped out from behind Ukoku Sanzo and stuck his tongue out at Kouryuu before ducking back out of view.

"How wonderful that we're all here together!" Master Koumyou said, clasping his hands before his face, like he'd been given a lovely treat. "I'm sure the children will become fast friends!"

The doll looked out and shook her head. Whatever. Kouryuu didn't need some snot-nosed kid as a friend anyway.

"Three sanzos and four of the foundations of heaven and earth," Ukoku Sanzo said pleasantly. "I'm sure we can come up with something interesting to do." He winked at Sharak Sanzo, who glared at him.

That was interesting. He must have met her before as well - maybe he hadn't impressed her when he'd been a teenager.

"Let's go for a little stroll," Master Koumyou said, and linked arms with both of them. "Make friends, boys!" He led the other sanzos away, saying in a loud whisper, "Kouryuu doesn't like me to smoke where the other monks can see -"

Kouryuu looked after them, then reluctantly turned his gaze back to Ukoku Sanzo's disciple, who was watching him with a considering expression.

"What's your name, anyway?"

"My master says I can have one when I'm ordained!"

"Oh . . . kay. What's with the doll?"

"Do you like her? Isn't she pretty? She's so clean and darling and stupid and needs someone to take care of her and tell her what to do and punish her when she gets things wrong, the filthy little bitch!" He cuddled the doll and kissed it gently, pure love shining in his visible eye, as Kouryuu blinked in astonishment.

"I'm going to go back to sweeping the path now," Kouryuu announced.

"That's boring! I'm going to do something more interesting! Bye, Kouryuu!"

"Uh, bye."

Weirdo.

The next morning, Shuuei grabbed Kouryuu as he emerged from the kitchens carrying the tray bearing Master Koumyou's tea.

"Kouryuu! I won't delay you more than a moment." He looked around as a couple of straggling novices hurried in to get their mugs of tea before morning prayers. "Ah - do you know if Koumyou Sanzo borrowed some of my talisman papers?"

"No, I mean, I don't think he did."

"It's just that he did once or twice when he needed paper to roll his own cigarettes," Shuuei said, "and I'm missing some."

How embarrassing for Master Koumyou, to be quizzed even in proxy like this! Kouryuu drew himself up to his full height and looked up at Shuuei with dignity.

"One or two papers isn't a matter for concern, is it, Shuuei?"

"I have one or two left," Shuuei said quietly. "You can see why I'm treating this with discretion. I just wondered - as the other sanzos-sama are currently his guests - if he might have . . ."

Kouryuu had a sudden and horribly clear image of Master Koumyou, buoyed up on - he decided he would think of it as convivial spirit - grabbing handfuls of Shuuei's supplies. He nodded decisively.

"I'll find out," he said, and marched off.

"Your tea, Master," he said, kneeling and setting the tray by his master's bed. A sleepy answer came from beneath the quilt. It would be horribly impolite simply to accuse his master of taking what wasn't his - Kouryuu rose and started searching, placing the room in perfect order. After a while he felt he was being watched.

"It's a little early to tidy so ferociously," Master Koumyou said.

"I'm spring cleaning."

"Ah. It's autumn."

"It's always time to spring clean."

Master Koumyou didn't own much and soon everything was neat, tidy and accounted for. Kouryuu turned to face the mild smile.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

Kouryuu's shoulders sagged and he knelt for forgiveness.

"I'm sorry, Master Koumyou. Shuuei's talisman papers have all gone missing and he asked if maybe you borrowed them. I thought maybe you might not have remembered and I'd have quietly given them back."

"Because it'd be scandalous if I'd, ahem, nicked them while plastered?"

Kouryuu went red at the depths of his disloyal mind being ferreted out so easily, and the shock of hearing Master Koumyou use such rough language. He looked up as his hair was smoothed into order, meeting his master's gentle eyes.

"You are such a good boy," Master Koumyou said. "You care far too much about my reputation. I promise I didn't drink so much wine that I'd forget a theft, Kouryuu! I didn't take Shuuei's papers."

"Maybe it was one of the novices for a prank," Kouryuu said.

"That seems more likely."

A shriek of terror split the air. Master Koumyou jumped from the bedside and was gone, his tea cup clattering on the ground in his wake. Kouryuu leapt up and sprinted out the door after him, his heart in his mouth. His master hadn't even waited to put on his sandals - what if he caught a cold? He followed the footprints in the dewy grass down to the guest-houses where he stopped in amazement. The novice who had brought tea to Sharak Sanzo and Ukoku Sanzo had dropped his tray and was just standing there, mouthing prayers, his face dead white. The smaller house, set aside for the use of female pilgrims - and now for Sharak Sanzo - was a heaving mass of grey, nothing of the house visible, just a giant mound of spiderweb. Muffled under the grey blanket, the sound of chanting could be heard from inside.

"Sharak!" Master Koumyou yelled. "Sharak!"

"Yeah!" Kouryuu heard. " - goddammit! There's an infinity of the bastards!" He looked around at the sound of running feet to see most of the monastery standing at a safe distance, looking on in horror.

"Well, well, well," Ukoku Sanzo said, strolling out out the other, web-free house. "This is a doozy. How's she doing in there?" He lit a cigarette and blew a smoke ring.

"I think we should help," Master Koumyou said.

"Doesn't that count as interference? I wouldn't want you to go against your principles. Good morning, Kouryuu! Still pretty, I see!" He reached over and pinched Kouryuu's cheek. "I'm glad that didn't happen to our house, my kiddo doesn't like spiders. Hey, kiddo! Get out here!"

His disciple trailed out, his doll dangling from one hand. He took one look at the other house and retreated back up the steps.

"Ewwwwwwww."

"Come on, come over here! They're only spiders! Kouryuu isn't afraid of spiders, are you, you pretty little thing?"

"Uh," Kouryuu said. "Not usually, Ukoku Sanzo."

"I think Sharak Sanzo is," his disciple said. "Girls usually are."

"That's right," Ukoku Sanzo said. "Girls can't handle a lot of stuff. OK, Koumyou, let's you and me rescue the damsel in distress."

"She's hardly - I mean, she's our fellow sanzo -"

"I wouldn't call her a fellow," Ukoku Sanzo said. "She's filled out nicely, don't you think?"

"Master!" Kouryuu gasped as the other boy squeaked, "Master!"

The webs over the guest house were expanding, inflating like one of the festival balloons that Master Koumyou sometimes got him, spreading out nearer and nearer to them in a horrible cloudy grey sphere. The novice fainted dead away.

"Interesting," Ukoku Sanzo said.

"Children," Master Koumyou said, as the Seiten Sutra shifted a little, "stay behind me."

There was a flash of light and the webs all crumbled into fine dust, drifting away on the morning breeze. All around the women's guest house stood a shining barrier of pearlescent energy, gleaming in the rising sun.

"Oh," Master Koumyou said, the sutra calming down on his shoulders again. He reached out a curious hand.

"Master, don't!"

"It's all right, Kouryuu." His hand went straight through. "See? Tee-hee, it rather tickles!"

Ukoku Sanzo put a hand to the barrier, raising a few sparks. "Huh," he said. "Definitely cosmic energy."

Kouryuu poked at the barrier with one finger, disappointed that he couldn't feel anything at all. He beckoned to Ukoku Sanzo's disciple; he might be a bit odd, but why should he be left out? They all touched it again, Master Koumyou and Ukoku Sanzo's hands leaving trails of light, and then the door slammed open.

"Who the fuck thought that was funny?" Sharak Sanzo said, striding out. As she walked through the barrier it dissipated with a gentle ringing noise, allowing them to see the house clearly.

She brushed dust and grime from her hair and face that was, Kouryuu realised, undoubtedly more burnt up webs and spiders. She flung down a handful of white strips and gestured at the house behind her. Everyone looked silently at the dozens - dozens - of talismans plastered all over the house. The ones on the house were now blank, the spell turned to dust, but the ones she had thrown on the grass were all the same, all with the word Spiders written on them. Ukoku Sanzo bent and picked one up, peering at it from close range.

"Rather shaky calligraphy," he said. "Not someone terribly skilled."

"It wasn't Shuuei!" Kouryuu said. "Someone stole his papers! And he'd have written them better than that!"

Thanks," Sharak Sanzo said dryly. "I'm so glad to know I only merit being cursed by an amateur."

"Dear me," Master Koumyou said. "I'm sure no one really wanted to curse you!"

"Have you any idea how many thousands of spiders I've had to deal with?" Sharak said. She swallowed down whatever else she'd been about to say. "Koumyou Sanzo, I know you had nothing to do with this -"

"Really?" Ukoku Sanzo said. "He's a bit of a joker! But seriously, this is very childish writing - kiddo, is this your handwriting?"

"Oh, no, Master," his disciple said, his face angelically innocent. "I'm just a little boy! I don't know any magic at all!"

"I guess it's you," Ukoku Sanzo said, rounding on Kouryuu. "This is a shitty prank to play on poor Sharak Sanzo! What if she'd fainted as they flittered across her fair, feminine form?" He sniggered as she gave him a dirty look.

"Master Koumyou, you know that I -! Sharak Sanzo, I didn't do this," Kouryuu said in outraged horror and bowed politely to her.

"I think it was him," Ukoku Sanzo's disciple said, pointing to the novice who was sitting up, looking dizzy. "I think he doesn't think ladies should be sanzos."

The novice took one look at three sanzos giving him disapproving stares and made a run for it. Ukoku Sanzo shook his head sadly.

"It looks like you're right, kiddo," he said.

"I'll sort this out," Master Koumyou said, sounding like he might have a headache starting. "Perhaps you'd like to have the use of the bath house, Sharak? I'll make sure everyone knows to stay away."

"Thank you," she said grimly, and walked off.

"We could accidentally walk in on her," Ukoku Sanzo said, elbowing Master Koumyou, who sighed. Kouryuu looked at him in shock.

"Ukoku, the boys don't understand that you're joking."

"Hah! Come on, Koumyou, let's get some breakfast. Mine seems to be watering the grass."

They walked off, almost all the other monks trailing in their wake. Kouryuu picked up one of the fallen talismans as Shuuei came up by him. The ink was faded with the cessation of the spell and whatever Sharak Sanzo had done, but he could see that Ukoku Sanzo was right: the characters on all the papers he could see were carefully and slightly shakily written, all a little different from each other. This was not a skilled calligrapher.

"One mystery solved," Shuuei said, picking another couple up. "These aren't well-written, but there was clearly magical skill behind them. It could have been a novice, though I'd have expected any of them to have better writing." He continued sorting through the papers on the ground, looking disgusted.

"I'm going to get some brekkie," Ukoku Sanzo's disciple announced. "Are you coming, Kouryuu?"

"In a minute."

"OK! I'll see you there!" He skipped off. From a few feet away he called, "Kouryuu!"

Kouryuu looked up. Ukoku Sanzo's disciple smiled sweetly at him, and traced the character spider in mid-air. It glittered for a second and vanished; the boy laughed like he'd told the best joke in all of China, turned and ran after his master.

Kouryuu stood there, frozen, thinking of the dozens upon dozens of talismans and how long it would have taken to write and place them all, for no reason at all but childish malicious humour.

He didn't understand other children.

Master Shengong was just the meanest. If anyone got the answer to one of his questions wrong, or read a character in one of his stupid old scrolls incorrectly he'd tell his disciples to beat the errant student. No one got things wrong more than once per lesson. The beatings didn't apply to him of course, but they still had an effect on his day. No one would want to play if they had had their back or legs caned. Maybe he could ask his master to wipe the old meanie's memory so that he was the one who couldn't read and they could all take turns beating him, haha!

He slipped back into the house with every intention of asking for just that but the thought was driven from his mind when he saw his dearest master, dead at his desk. All thought fled at once, and he could only think how defenceless he was, how no one would look after him now, how he'd be at the mercy of everyone he came across - Then his heart started thumping again, he could breathe and his mind informed him that of course his master wasn't dead, he was just sitting very dramatically, his feet up on his desk, the chair tipped back dangerously as he stared vacantly up at the ceiling, the letter in his hand limp on the floor.

"Would you like some tea, Master?" he said.

"Yeah."

He lit the brazier and had the kettle quickly boiling, making a pot of the best, most refreshing tea they had. His poor master looked like he needed it.

"Tea, Master!"

Clunk, the chair landed down on all four legs. His master levered himself into an upright position and shuffled over to the table, sitting like an old man. Oh dear, it was worse than he thought. He had to give sympathy with appearing to give sympathy.

"The novices were much stupider than usual, Master," he said. "Master Shengong probably wore out several canes. You'll have to approve the expense of some new ones!"

"What, cutting switches from the forest is too good for these boys?" his master grumped. "You should have seen what Goudai threatened me with."

"But you never got beaten! You were always the best!"

"Damn right I was."

"If you looked in on our class no one would dare to get anything wrong. Master Shengong just can't keep control."

"Dear God," his master muttered. "My brain would fossilise on the spot."

He was on his second cup of tea and had even eaten a chocolate biscuit without seeming to realise it. It could be difficult to get comfort food into his master, so he was very proud of that. He sneaked closer and curled against his master's side, so that he could be stroked like a little dog. It always made his master calmer.

"You're cuddly today."

"I'm always cuddly, Master!"

"Hmm. I got a letter today."

"Was it from the university?" Sometimes letters from the university made his master sad.

"No. Here, you can read it."

A letter on thick paper was tossed onto the table. It had been folded into a tight packet, not put into an envelope at all, and had a big blob of wax on the back, broken open to allow his master to read it. The front read The Most Holy and Venerable Priest, Ukoku Sanzo, at Zenou Monastery, near Hecun Town. Under that, someone had written in a slapdash manner, China.

"Why is there Sanskrit on the stamps, Master?" he asked.

"It's from India."

Wow. Wow. He turned it over quickly and spread the paper out.

Ukoku -

By the time this reaches you I'll almost be at Zenou. I'm told that your monastery's library has texts I should consult, and the suggestion is one I cannot ignore. You are not one to pay heed to the words of heaven, I am aware, but for the sake of appearances, let us both obey the command of the Blessed and Holy Kanzeon Bosatsu, our Patron.

Sharak

Wow. Uh-oh, his master was watching him.

"Well?"

"It's not very respectful, Master."

"You have that right, kiddo. She could have sent it express. She could have used airmail. She could have sent a fucking bird. Instead she went the ultra-traditional route, to allow herself to get all the way here. I wouldn't be surprised if she brought it with her and had it couriered up from the town."

"The stamps are franked, Master. It went through the post somewhere."

"Aren't you just a little expert on post and communications," his master murmured.

He shut up, quick, and snuggled in. His poor master, having to put up with a girl sanzo imposing herself on Zenou! She'd probably want pony rides and, and - he racked his brains, trying to think what it was that girls liked. Pink things. Lace. Pink lacy ponies. God, girls were so stupid.

Sharak Sanzo arrived the next day. She probably had been hiding in the town, like the overly dramatic creature she was. All of Zenou was is such a fizz - two sanzos at once! He crept around and eavesdropped on the masters reminiscing about the visits that Koumyou Sanzo had used to make to Goudai Sanzo. Ugh, who cared? Silly old Koumyou Sanzo had never bothered to visit his master, they'd had to go to Kinzan.

Sharak Sanzo was young, but she wasn't demure or modest at all, and there wasn't a scrap of pink or lace about her person that he could see. She wore her robes in a bizarre and unladylike manner, only her right arm actually covered, the entire left side of her . . . person . . . clear for all to see in the black under robe. The Kouten Sutra was slung from her shoulder to hip, casually tucked into her belt - that had to be heretical. He stared openly and rudely at the deep, purplish scars on her cheeks and arms as she and his master bowed to each other.

"Sharak," his master said politely. "Welcome to Zenou."

"Ukoku," she said, and there was the slightest pause. "Thank you."

His master waved him up. "This is my disciple."

Sharak Sanzo looked at him as he straightened from the bow, as if she was waiting for something. Oh, right. Let her wait for a name, the silly girl! She raised an eyebrow at his smirk and gestured to the man behind her.

"My disciple, Hassan."

The man stepped forwards and bowed. He was a barbarian, just like Sharak Sanzo - maybe a different type of barbarian, although to be honest who could tell them all apart?

"My lord Ukoku Sanzo," he said politely, and gave a second shallower bow. "Disciple."

He graciously inclined his head. "Hassan."

"Now that we all know each other, let me show you around, introduce you to the team," his master said happily. "Kiddo, show Hassan around, feed and water him. I'm afraid we're short on mare's milk today!"

Hassan smiled and bowed. As they were left behind, the crowd of adoring monks following their masters towards the prayer hall, he straightened and said,

"Everyone has to make a crack about kumiss. You may as well get yours out of the way too."

"I don't know what that is. What do you want to see?"

"How about where we'll be staying, for a start?" Hassan said, picking up their packs.

He marched him over to the low-lying guest houses, and pointed. "Men. Women. We don't usually get women pilgrims, so Sharak Sanzo had better not be hoping for curling irons and vanity tables and a bidet. Make sure you sleep in separate houses: I don't know what the standards are like in India, but this is a respectable monastery." He was glad he'd asked his master what a girl might need. Hassan gave him an unfriendly look.

"She's a sanzo, not an ordinary woman. Another thing: if I catch you staring at her tits like that again, I'll flatten your stuck-up little nose."

He felt his entire body go red. Her . . . He hadn't! Well, he wouldn't have, if she hadn't been shamelessly displaying them for everyone to gawk at.

"I am celibate in body and mind," he said loftily, wishing the blush would subside.

"Sure you are," Hassan said sarcastically. "All teenagers are. Very celibate-minded I was, I remember it well. So, what's your name, Holy Ice-Loins?"

"When I am granted a houmyou I'll tell you," he said, aiming for an unworldly tone.

"Yeah, but your name now?"

"Renunciation comes in many forms," he said, in an even more unworldly manner.

Hassan rolled his eyes. "Sharak said they were oddballs over this way," he muttered. He went to store the packs and didn't come back out.

After a while he decided he'd leave Hassan to it, and went to find his master. That was where he belonged anyway.

It was awful having another sanzo in residence. His master was so happy and smiling outside the house and so silent and dark-mooded inside. He didn't want to cuddle or tell jokes or listen to stories about the silliness of everyone else at all. At night he just turned away and lay curled into a ball, like he wanted to cry in the dark, which was stupid because his master never ever cried. Just once he made the mistake of putting his hand on his master's shoulder then, thinking he could help.

"No. Cut it out, kiddo," his master said, his voice dull.

He felt he understood as he tidied his master's desk and saw the corner of a brightly coloured photo peeking out between two books. He carefully slid it out and looked at the dog-eared postcard showing a snow-capped tall mountain rising against the sky. Turning it over he saw a little doodle of what looked like a pennant, with a representation of wind blowing them - he could do better - against the rising sun, with a crow flying overhead. Underneath, in writing far more skilled than the drawing he read, Visiting Mount Kailish grants forgiveness of sins. Look at the picture when you need to remember that - Koumyou.

He replaced the postcard and straightened everything up. His master was feeling nostalgic, that was all. The wrong sanzo had come visiting, and he was thinking that Koumyou Sanzo would never visit anyone ever again. But he could fix this: he just had to make sure that Sharak Sanzo left quickly.

Sharak Sanzo seemed ungrateful when he disrupted his daily schedule to go to the library to help her. She probably couldn't help it, as women were far less spiritual than men and incapable of the finer feelings.

"What is it, disciple?" she said, as Master Xueze gleefully brought a pile of dusty scrolls to a desk and started waffling on about this and that scribal hand proving such and such a line of transmission.

"I'm here to help you, Sanzo-sama," he said meekly, and bowed. "I'm ever so good at reading the Chinese of various eras, just ask Master Shengong, our Doctrine Master."

"Yes," Master Xueze mumbled, "I'm sure Shengong will have an opinion on the matter."

He ignored the old fart. "I can also read and write Indian languages and I'll be able to make notes for you in those, if you like!"

"Thanks, kid, but I have Hassan, and Master Xueze's disciple if I need him," she said. "I'm not sure I need an actual kid - did Ukoku send you?"

"No," he said. "I just wanted to help."

"Huh," she said, looking at him, then shrugged. "Maybe Master Xueze can find something for you to do."

"Oh no," Master Xueze said, but faced with a sanzo's request the old fart was stuck. "Come along, boy," he said grimly. "You haven't started smoking, have you?"

"No, Master Xueze."

"Good. You can help me find materials for the Sanzo-sama."

It turned out that finding materials meant digging around in stacks of ancient, dusty scrolls and books that would have gone up in a flash if someone dropped a lit match or a cigarette butt amongst them. The clouds of dust and decaying paper made him cough and sneeze explosively. No wonder Master Xueze's voice always sounded a bit scratchy.

"Now, open the book gently and use this brush to very carefully dust the pages off," Master Xueze said, handing him a brush as soft as a feather. "We don't want to set off any allergies the Sanzo-sama might have."

"But it's OK for us to be like this?" he grumbled, indicating his streaming eyes.

"Yes. Gently, boy. That's better."

It was boring but oddly hypnotic work, and it was satisfying to deliver an armful of reading material to Sharak Sanzo's desk, even if she did just make an off-hand grunt of acknowledgement. His master could be like that when he got absorbed in reading.

That night his master just muttered, "It smells like old books in here," but ignored him otherwise.

The next day he went back to the library. He emerged from the back rooms with a fresh stack of texts to find Sharak Sanzo, Hassan and Master Xueze all clustered around a scroll.

"I'm afraid I can't make head or tail of the reading, Sharak Sanzo-sama," Master Xueze said. "Some of these magical terms are no longer known."

He drifted up and peered over Hassan's shoulder.

"What word is it?" he said.

"Get lost, kid," Hassan said. "Go back to fetching and carrying."

"This one," Sharak Sanzo said, her finger hovering over the text. "You said you're good at old forms of the language. Impress me."

Shit. He bent closer, and then grinned, quickly adopting a serious expression.

"Let me see, hmmm. Based on the age of the scroll, the fluency of the brushwork and the composition of the ink -"

"He's bull-shitting, Sharak."

"Oligonucleotide," he said casually. Crap, he hoped he'd said it right. Everyone was staring at him. "If this humble disciple's guess is in any way correct," he said, bowing to hide the smirk.

"How the hell did you read that?" Sharak Sanzo said. "The truth, boy."

Master Xueze was looking at him in a way that suggested he wasn't as short-sighted as everyone thought. "Tell the truth, boy! The Sanzo-sama asked you a question!"

"I read it in a journal my master had," he admitted. "It's a very advanced term, I can't explain the concept." He hoped they'd think he meant to them rather than that he didn't understand it.

"What journal?" Master Xueze asked, before Sharak Sanzo could.

"The ones with the blue covers."

"That's a journal of bio-chemistry," Master Xueze said, looking back at the scroll. "Why would this term be in this ancient scroll of magical spells?"

Sharak Sanzo was scanning the text rapidly, her gaze jumping from place to place. "Boy," she said, "what is this word?"

That one was easy, it was in all of his master's books.

"DNA, Sanzo-sama," he said. "It's a magical substance that enables vitality."

"A spell for the . . . reduplication and reanimation of ancient DNA?" she read. "Hmm, it certainly seems like this is a necromancer's spell book - this could be what we're looking for, Hassan." She bent to her reading with renewed vigour, occasionally asking him his opinion of words. He didn't know them all, but it felt good when she nodded and looked at him as if he'd said something worth listening to.

That evening his master actually paid real attention to him for the first time in ages.

"What did you say?"

"The scroll had all sorts of words from your books, Master! I could see more than the ones I read for Sharak Sanzo! How is that possible? It's really old, I thought it'd fall to pieces when I took it out to her yesterday -"

"It had instructions for cloning ancient DNA?"

"Oh! Is that how the word's read? What does it mean? How do you cast the spell? It said, Take thou thy components -"

"Did this scroll actually have spells on it, or did you all just assume it did?"

"No," he said, stung. He could recognise spells when he saw them. "It really had spells, Master."

His master grinned, suddenly looking far more like himself. "Kiddo, you little marvel! Someone wrote an entire scroll combining magic and science, and left it in our library! I know what my bedtime reading's going to be."

"But Sharak Sanzo's reading it, Master."

His master settled down, having half-risen. "Yes, yes, of course. We should let our guest have first go. You're quite right to remind me to have manners, kiddo." He smiled in a way that promised retribution.

The following day his master came to the library with him, despite his best efforts to persuade him it was horribly boring.

"Good morning, Sharak!" his master called out, almost dancing in. "I'm here to offer my services!"

"Thanks. I'm fine," she said. "Why don't you go and molest a goat or whatever it is you normally do at this time of day?"

"Why bother with goats when I have the jewel of the west sitting in my library?" his master purred, sitting on the desk and crumpling her notes. "Tell me, my spicy little samosa, what do you think of your discoveries?"

"You were vile a decade ago and you haven't improved," she said coldly. "Get your arse off my desk."

"Where would you like my ass?"

Maybe his master would just insult Sharak Sanzo out of Zenou! That would work, surely? But it had been sort of nice to gain her approval by reading words no one else could, and his master was being meaner than he usually was at this time of day.

"You need my help," his master said. "You won't understand a damn thing without me."

"I don't need anything from you," she snapped, gathering the scroll to herself. "You said I could take what I needed and that's what I'm doing."

Hassan was standing cautiously, looking like he was ready to jump into action. What? Oh no! They couldn't be going to fight, not over an old scroll.

"Master?" he said dubiously.

His master flicked a glance towards him and grinned nastily. "Kiddo," he said, shocked, "What are you doing?"

He wasn't - oh, oh shit - he was staring at Sharak Sanzo's revealed body and he was - he was . . . touching himself. He didn't want to, he hadn't even realised he was, he wanted to stop, and he couldn't. His master looked at him coolly and away. He could almost hear him say, Tell me to have manners, will you?

"You little piece of shit," Hassan said in fury. "I warned you!"

His slap was painful and humiliating and he still couldn't stop what he was doing. It took until the second, harder slap before the compulsion broke and then in shame and anger he hit back and Hassan punched him full force, so he spun around and tried to kick his stupid head off as Master Xueze shrieked and tried to save his books and then Hassan jumped up and kicked him back to collide with a cabinet and scrolls and pieces of broken wood rained down everywhere. He lay there, stunned, until Hassan hauled him up and hit him around the head.

"Hassan! Hassan! Stop! Stop, dammit, he can't be more than fifteen, if he's even that!"

Hassan dropped him back down, breathing heavily in his anger. "You saw him, Sharak."

She was there, looking down. "Yeah. I saw his face. He was under a compulsion - did you even hear me yelling until now?"

"No," Hassan said, looking confused, "I just wanted to beat the snot out of him." His eyes widened. "Fucking hell -"

He struggled up and looked across the room. His master was seated at the desk, reading. He closed his eyes. Sharak Sanzo's hand was on his face, turning his head carefully.

"Nothing's broken, I think. Kid, you have a bad master."

"Naughty children deserve to be punished," he whispered thickly. He'd bitten his tongue. "I'm sorry, Sanzo-sama, I didn't mean -" He was so ashamed.

She looked so angry. He closed his eyes so he didn't have to look at her any longer.

"Ukoku! You don't deserve this boy, who has been doing his best to help me."

"Due to youthful lust, as we all saw," his master said cheerily. "Stand up, kiddo."

He clambered up, surprised that Hassan helped him.

"Are you OK? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have hit you that hard."

He shrugged. "I'm a sanzo's disciple," he mumbled. "I'm a good fighter."

"Yeah," Hassan said. "You are, for a kid. I was nearly the Kouten Sanzo, dammit. I almost killed you."

Oh. Well that made him feel a bit better about losing. Sharak Sanzo was yelling at his master now, but he couldn't seem to care about that.

" - sgrace to the entire sangha! If it wasn't for Koumyou you'd never have been allowed to carry the Muten!"

"More fool him, hey?" his master said, sitting back. "I guess he actually knew me, unlike you." He waved to Master Xueze who seemed to be trying to become invisible or maybe to shelve himself along with scrolls no one ever read. "This is far too ancient and valuable to allow it to leave the library, Xueze. I want you to make a copy of it yourself for Sharak Sanzo to take with her. Of course, as you don't want my help, you won't actually understand it, Sharak."

"Yes," Master Xueze said, not meeting anyone's eyes. "Of course."

"Thank you, Master Xueze," Sharak Sanzo said. She pointed suddenly at him. "I'm taking that boy as well."

"Oh no," his master said. "I gave you access to the resources of the library, not to the resources of my house and my bed." He laughed as everyone pretended their gazes weren't sliding between the two of them. "I know! He's just darling!" He strolled over and slung an arm around his shoulder. "Come on, kiddo, don't look so bashful. Let's go for a little walk. Then seeing as Hassan's warmed you up we can spar. I've been neglecting your training the last few days."

"Thank you, Master," he said, trying to smile.

"Boy," Sharak Sanzo said as they turned to go. "You can stay. You can come back to India with me."

He turned and bowed. She'd be gone very soon now, and things would be back to normal.

"Thank you, Sanzo-sama, but I need to stay with my master."

He left, his master's arm tight around him. Behind him he heard Sharak Sanzo say the sooner she and Hassan left Zenou the better. She was right, of course.

He didn't know why he felt so sad.

"Sharak!"

Sharak looked around, surprised. There was real urgency in Hassan's voice. She'd better see what was up. She brought her hands together in a final prayerful move and bowed to the gods, then strolled away from the altar, cracking her knuckles.

"Yo. What's going on?"

"I'm sorry to disturb your prayers," Hassan said. "I took some of the guys out and we came across some lowlanders with altitude sickness. Sharak, one of them's a sanzo."

What the hell?

"Where are they?"

"I have them over in the refectory. They're having medicine and tea poured into them right now."

"And you're sure one's a sanzo?"

"Breastplate, robes, sutra, attitude. He's a sanzo, all right."

"I don't have an attitude," she snapped.

"Maybe you should wear the breastplate to meet this guy."

"Maybe you should wear it if you like it so much. The damn thing rattles with every step." She scowled. She wasn't running over to check on uninvited guests like some housewife making sure the snacks were to their liking. "Bring them here when they're steady on their feet. They can meet me in the temple."

"Yes, Sharak." He bowed and stopped at the door. "You definitely don't have an attitude, I see that now."

She rolled her eyes as Hassan's laughter trailed away.

An hour later, as she waited in one of the little rooms, she heard footsteps and Hassan's voice.

"Please, wait here a moment."

"Of course," a voice said. Pali, but a definite foreign accent.

She rose and went to see who this could be, knowing that Hassan would hear her footsteps, quiet though they were.

"My lord Sanzo," she heard him say. "This is Sharak Sanzo, holder of the Kouten Sutra -"

She stepped out of the darkness and had a flash of - darkness. The man before her was clad all in black, his sutra stark on his shoulders, its green border and the light-brown of the breastplate the only colour about him. Even his hair and eyes were black. A desire to test this man, only of one four equals she had in the whole world, surged over her and she was on him before he could blink, her heel hammering down on his temple.

She laughed in delight, holding the position. He had attempted to evade, but she had corrected for that of course. The blade of his hand had scythed in at her throat, his blow as fast as hers. Both were killing blows; both of them had stopped when they touched the other's skin.

Hassan let out a breath. The other person with him made a sound half-way between a whimper and an indignant complaint. Sharak straightened and held out her hand. The other sanzo grasped her forearm.

"Sharak," she said. "I'm the Kouten Sanzo, as my disciple said."

"Ukoku," he said. "I'm the Muten Sanzo." He looked around. "That wide-eyed boy is my disciple. Get over here and pay your respects, kiddo."

His disciple - a young man in his late teens, perhaps maybe twenty - came up, looking very dubious and bowed.

"Are you all right, Master?" he said. "Why did she try to hit you? That's so rude, Master!"

"Don't talk about Sharak like she's not here," Ukoku said. "She'll kick you too."

His disciple didn't seem to understand jokes, given the way he flinched and turned quickly to hurry backwards. The old scar on his face stood out lividly: he didn't look very well. Before Sharak could suggest he take it easy he went a greenish colour.

"I'm going to fwow up, Master," he said in a childish, high-pitched voice.

"Outside," Ukoku snapped. "You know the rules."

The young man staggered away and some moments later they all heard the sound of retching.

"I'll just -" Hassan said vaguely gesturing, and went after him.

"Is he all right?" Sharak said.

"He drank too much of your delicious butter tea too quickly, the greedy little thing," Ukoku said. "What goes down must come up!" He looked vaguely annoyed. "He's an embarrassment at times."

"Altitude sickness is no joke," she said. "How long were you in the mountains before the boys found you?"

"Ah," Ukoku said, looking shamefaced. "It's been some time since I was out this way - I misjudged my arrival point. We've been wandering around for five days - the headache over the last two was rather unpleasant."

"Lost for five days? You need to be careful to follow directions. You're lucky we found you; there's a lot of territory out here to be lost in."

"Yes," Ukoku murmured. "And it was higher than I remembered. I came up the slow way last time." He looked towards the door. "I think that little fool isn't coming back."

"What's his name, anyway?"

Ukoku laughed in pure delight. "He came to me without one! To be honest I'm seeing how long I can keep it going. He'll answer to anything reasonable. Yours look more sensible."

"Yeah," she said. "Hassan's OK." Even if he wasn't she'd never talk about him like that to anyone else. But maybe that was the kind of thing that sanzos said to each other, to let off steam. The sickly expression on Ukoku's disciple's face rose up in her mind's eye, his childish intonation and manner of speech. Yeah. Ukoku probably had to put up with a lot of nonsense.

She ate with Ukoku and his disciple in private that evening. Ukoku held his sleeve back and scooped up his curry with his naan a little awkwardly at first and then with more ease. Maybe he had been in India before. His disciple looked miserable and hung carefully over the platter, one hand deployed to catch drips, and scrubbed angrily at the sauce stains on his white robes when some got through. He didn't eat much, looking like it didn't agree with him.

"You've had hot food before, kiddo," Ukoku said. "Don't be rude."

"I'm sorry, Master," his disciple said quietly. "I'm sorry, Sharak Sanzo-sama, I'm not feeling so good."

Maybe she'd been a little cruel to tell the kitchen to send up a vindaloo.

"Just eat the bread," she said.

He bowed where he sat. A moment later she heard the whisper, in the oddly childish voice he'd used before.

"It tastes weird too, Master."

"Don't be a fucking embarrassment," Ukoku murmured, and very deliberately took another mouthful. "Or I'll never take you for garlic snails in Paris." His disciple turned a delicate shade of green and put his hand over his mouth.

"The lad doesn't share your sense of humour," Sharak said with a grin.

"Oh, he really does. He's just squeamish at times, aren't you, kiddo?"

"Yes, Master. Sorry, Master."

The next day, she came across Hassan looming over Ukoku's disciple, poking him in the chest with one finger as the young man alternated between trying to draw himself up and look arrogant and shrinking back and looking tired and miserable.

"What's this friendly discussion about?" she said.

"This little idiot was trying to start a fight -" Hassan said.

"I wasn't! Sanzo-sama, you must believe me -"

"Why would anyone believe you, Disciple Fwow-Up?"

"That's so mean!"

"All right!" Sharak yelled. "Enough! Hassan, you first."

"I heard him saying derogatory things about female monastics in general and the idea of female sanzos in particular, obviously looking to make trouble," Hassan said, glaring at Ukoku's disciple. "If it wasn't for the guys having sense and just laughing at him for being ridiculous, things could have got unpleasant. I don't suppose you'd want to explain to that foreign sanzo why his disciple had been killed."

"Like you could," came the sulky mutter.

"You next. Did Ukoku tell you to say that?"

"No! I didn't say anything! He's making it up, Sanzo-sama!"

"There are five witnesses to this stupidity apart from me," Hassan said in annoyance. He also said you couldn't be as good as Ukoku because his precious master doesn't have any scars. The guys told him that makes his master look kind of soft as far as they're concerned."

"Hmm. Do you make comments on the appearance of all the monastics you meet, or is that reserved for the women?"

Horrified green eyes met hers, and the pasty young face went scarlet.

"No!"

She scowled at him. "You're an idiot. Ukoku can deal with you."

He flung himself down and grabbed her feet. "Please," he said. "Please don't tell my master, please."

Sharak looked down at him and back up at Hassan, eyebrows raised. He bent down and extracted the young man from her sandals, gently enough.

"Explain yourself," she said.

"I wanted," he said, looking at her, and the walls, and finally down at the floor. "I wanted them to fight me. So I could show my master I'm not weak. The sickness isn't as bad, I know I'm over it!"

"You were going to goad five men into fighting you, to prove a point to Ukoku," Hassan said. "What do you think he'd say about that?"

"He doesn't like weakness," he whispered, still looking down.

"Hassan," Sharak said. "Tell the men he spoke to that he was drunk last night and in a bad temper because of a hangover. Just youthful stupidity, easily forgotten."

"If you're sure."

"Yes. Go on."

Hassan made a disgusted noise and went off, shaking his head. She poked Disciple Fwow-Up with her toe until he looked up.

"Stand up before I decide to make you scrub the entire courtyard on your knees."

He was up in a flash; there was some sense in the moronic young head, it seemed. She looked him up and down, crossing her arms.

"Tell me, does Ukoku often make you do stupid things to prove you aren't weak?"

"No! I mean, my master is as wise as you, Sanzo-sama, and never does anything stupid -"

"If he told you to jump off a mountain ledge would you do it?"

The boy looked at her like she was crazy. "Of course. I'm not disobedient."

"Ah. It'd be a test of obedience. And he'd catch you. Or grab you before you actually jumped."

The slightest, tiniest pause.

"Of course!"

She shrugged. It wasn't her problem or her business. She jerked her thumb in the direction Hassan had gone. "Hassan can argue with me if he thinks I'm wrong. It doesn't make him disobedient, though it might make him a pain in the arse sometimes."

"I'd never argue with my master," Disciple Fwow-Up said looking like he was sucking on a slice of lemon at the very thought.

She waved him off and as he turned said, "Tell me a time he ordered you to jump and didn't catch you." He froze, silent, every muscle tensed. Cautiously, he looked back at her. "That's an order," she said. He turned and fled.

Huh. Not her business.

At dinner that night Ukoku made a point of matching Hassan and her mouthful for spicy mouthful, grinning sidelong as his disciple suffered beside him.

"I thought I asked for korma?" Sharak muttered to Hassan.

"He challenged them to make something really hot," Hassan said, scooping up a large mouthful. "I heard he said they shouldn't treat him like a tourist."

Ukoku's disciple swallowed and just sat in silence, fists clenched, his eyes watering.

"I think I'm full," he whispered.

"Have some beer," Sharak said. "It'll help."

"He's just a kid," Ukoku said dismissively. "Too young for beer, right, kiddo?"

She looked at them both. That was clearly nonsense, but his disciple was nodding along as if he agreed.

"Milk," Ukoku said, like he'd had a wonderful idea. "A lovely big glass of full-fat yak milk! That's what you need, kiddo! Any chance, Sharak?"

She looked at his malicious grin and the frankly horrified look on his disciple's face. Before she could say anything the stupid boy was bowing to her.

"That would be so kind, Sanzo-sama."

"Hassan. Have someone get some milk."

Hassan got up and went off. It was only a few minutes later that she heard him outside with someone else sounding a little breathless, like they'd run over to her quarters. Hassan came back in, a large screw-top bottle in his hand, and he filled Ukoku's disciple's empty glass with milk. Ukoku tore a piece of naan and surveyed the plate of food then neatly picked a large mouthful up before leaning over to his disciple.

"Open up, kiddo, here comes the airplane!" His disciple obediently allowed himself to be fed, choking a little as Ukoku firmly held his mouth closed. "Don't embarrass me," Ukoku said jovially. "Not when we've had this lovely food made specially for us!" As his disciple swallowed he picked up the glass and held it to his lips. "Drink," Ukoku said. "All of it. Sharak Sanzo's disciple got it just for you. Drink."

"Ukoku," Sharak said as he tipped the glass up and his disciple swallowed desperately. "Ukoku, stop. He's not over his altitude sickness."

"Sharak," Hassan said beside her as Ukoku picked up the bottle without looking and poured the rest into the glass. "That's not - Ukoku Sanzo -"

"He's got terribly parochial tastes," Ukoku said, holding the glass out to his disciple. "He just needs to learn better, don't you, kiddo?"

"Yes, Master," his disciple whispered, looking ill.

"All of it. Now."

"Master," his disciple said, very quietly, then something seemed to turn off in his eyes and he threw the milk back in one. He sat there, immobile, for a few seconds, then sprang up with a hand across his mouth, and bolted out the door.

"Go after him," Sharak said, and Hassan hurried out. She glowered at Ukoku. "Was any of that called for?"

"He can be such a baby," Ukoku sighed. "Oh, I have some vile childhood sickness, oh, I'm scared of the dark, oh, I adore you, oh, please don't lock me in a cupboard - honestly, the whining never stops. He'd order from the kid's menu for life if he was allowed; I'm just broadening his horizons."

"Where do you go from here?" Sharak said. "These mountains are not a good place to intentionally make him ill."

"I'm on a pilgrimage to a place I thought I spied once many years ago," Ukoku said. "Your library has given me a better idea of its location: Houtou."

"Houtou?" Sharak said. "There's nothing there but ghost stories. I travelled there years ago - it's nothing but a crumbling fortress and weathered stones. Why go there?"

"A conversation with on old friend," Ukoku said and laughed a little, seemingly at himself. "It's set higher then here, your texts say."

"Yes," Sharak said. "The terrain's rough. You'll have a hard journey there."

He shrugged. "As long as your maps are accurate my journey'll be easy enough. But the altitude sickness will be worse for someone with less developed Buddhist skills unless we take time to acclimatise."

"I can give you medicine to bring with you. By the time you get there you'll have acclimatised a great deal, if you take things slow. I'm surprised you were so bad when you got here to be honest."

He nodded. "What can I say? I guess we came up faster than expected. Look, Sharak, I want to ask a favour, sanzo-to-sanzo. I think it's going to be the last time I ever ask such a thing: my poor little kiddo . . . well, you can see what an embarrassment he is. He'll be even more of a liability where I'm going, he'll make me look weak. Hang on to him for me, would you? If things work out - or if they don't - I'll swing back and pick him up."

"You want to rehome your own disciple like he's a stray puppy?" Sharak said, raising her eyebrow.

"More or less. You can't deny you've been looking at me over the last half-hour like you think I'm not a good doggy-daddy. Be a good colleague, Sharak. He's housebroken, doesn't need much exercising. Give him candy now and then and he's yours to do with as you wish."

The door opened and Hassan led Ukoku's disciple back in, looking wan and drained. The poor young fool knelt by his master, eyes, down, and Ukoku stroked his hair absently, still smiling at Sharak queryingly.

"We can discuss this further in the morning," she said.

The next morning Ukoku Sanzo was gone with no sign that he had ever walked through her halls. Sharak looked away from his weeping disciple and stared out to the horizon as if she could see the ruined halls of Houtou.

She doubted she'd ever hear of Ukoku again.

"Se's still not answering," Sharak said in frustration. "Usually I can't get a word in edgeways." She glared at the full hundred of butter lamps she'd lit as if her ire would be enough to put them out.

"Perhaps the goddess is having Hir nails done," Taruchie said, crosslegged on the cushion Sai Tai Tai had tossed down for her.

"Or Se's on a spa break," Sai Tai Sai added from where he founded against a pillar. "What does Se think of the statues by the way?"

"Don't you start. One supernatural art critic's enough." Sharak sat back on her heels. The feeling of dread she'd had for weeks was almost overwhelming. "I promised Genjo I could find out more for his quest."

"Foolish," Taruchie said. "That young man has endured too many broken promises in his life. He's not aware how close he is to breaking himself."

"You're wrong," Sharak said, still looking at Kanzeon's carved, impassive face. "He knows."

"He's working better now that I've taken him in hand," Sai Tai Sai said, lighting up from one of the lamps. It was fucking blasphemous was what it was, but Sharak wasn't sure what the procedure was for chastising an actual deity who wasn't Kanzeon.

"Taruchie," Sharak said. "Can you help? Can you see anything?"

Taruchie said nothing, looking down at her hands. It wasn't the sort of nothing the Kumari often said, but something quieter, sadder.

"I've seen something," she said at last. "You really can get no answer from the Higher Realms?"

"Nothing," Sharak said.

They both looked at Sai Tai Sai.

"Don't look at me," he said, blowing out a plume of smoke. "I'm on secondment."

"There are . . . other realms," Taruchie said. "I've seen - the dead."

"Taruchie -" Sai Tai Sai started.

"He knows . . . the dead know something."

"What?" Sharak said eagerly. "Who did you see, Taruchie?"

"He wouldn't talk to me . . . my own -" Taruchie's eyes were very distant, and to Sharak's wonder a tear slipped down her face. Her gaze snapped back into focus on Sharak's face. "If we worked together perhaps he would talk to you, his fellow sanzo."

"Oh, Taruchie dear," Sharak said with sympathy, forgetting for a moment the truth of whom she faced and seeing only the seeming appearance of the bereaved child.

"No," Sai Tai Sai said flatly, before Taruchie could open her mouth to chide her to have some manners before her elders. "Absolutely not."

Taruchie glared at him instead. "You swore to obey me."

"Not to watch you be an idiot. Calling a sanzo's ghost? Anything might show up clutching his sleeves!"

"Sharak and I can handle ourselves."

"And where do you imagine Tenkai Sanzo is? What realm are you calling him from? Was your brother such a sinner that you must call him from Hell to hear these rumours you think he knows?"

Taruchie looked stubborn, then resigned. "You're right."

"I - wait, I am?"

"Yes. Calling the dead, even a pure and blessed member of their ranks such as my saintly brother to the realms of the living is a risk. Sharak and I will simply have to travel to him instead."

"What the fuck?"

Taruchie stood and showed her respect for the sanctity of the temple by walking across the floor all the way to the threshold where she stood, impatiently gesturing to Sai Tai Sai.

"I must go and begin preparing for the ritual. Sharak, purify yourself. We will meet at the entrance to your fortress's cemetery at midnight. Sai Tai Sai, I am waiting."

Face set, he strode over and picked her up and walked out, Taruchie pointing imperiously in the direction she wished to go. Sharak looked after them, then stood and extinguished the lamps one by one. No one was listening here. Perhaps she would have better luck following Taruchie's plan.

They met at midnight, and Sharak obediently produced the items Taruchie demanded: the gravedust, the ancient bones, lamps from the temple.

"Put me down," Taruchie said. "I'm ready to begin."

"You must be joking," Sai Tai Sai said. "This is a graveyard, Kumari."

"You swore -"

"I'm not letting you defile yourself! If you're doing this you do it from where you are, and I'm coming with you."

"You see what I have to put up with," Taruchie grouched. "He's more of an old woman than I am. Lay out those lamps, Sharak, and give my babysitter one of those femurs."

Sai Tai Sai held the bone well away from her and glowered, perfectly visible even through the darkness. "The moment - the moment - I say we're stopping you stop, you hear me, Taruchie?"

"Old woman," she muttered and started chanting.

An uncanny mist rose up about all of them almost at once, the lamps being reduced to wavering thin point of light about Sarak and Sai Tai Sai's feet. Sharak chanted along with Taruchie, and a cold breeze whistled up, not disturbing the lamps' flames. The outer world died away and was replaced with a thick grey nothingness through which Sharak could see half-discerned shapes that flowed past outside the small circle of light. Somewhere close she was sure she could hear running water and there was a smell of damp. Taruchie and Sai Tai Sai seemed leached of colour, their clothing and faces faded like an old photograph.

"Let's go," Taruchie said. "Put me down."

"I told you, I'm coming with you." Sai Tai Sai said, tightening his grip until she smacked him lightly. "If you think I'm letting you put foot to earth here maybe you're going senile at last." He stepped out of the circle of lamps, still holding her, and Sharak followed.

They walked for what seemed like hours although Sharak knew that time was not what it seemed in such a place. At last Sai Tai Sai stopped, peering though the gloom.

"Here," he said. "Look, the river is shallow and slow moving. Ghosts who had an inducement could cross back."

Sharak turned her head to the side and had an impression of a wide, slow body of water running across stones. It looked like a child could easily paddle across. When she looked full on she could see only mist. All the time she heard whispers and felt a faint sense of movement as if people apologetically pushed past her in their hurry to reach the riverbank. The newly dead were on their way to their next incarnations in whatever realm awaited them. There were no lack of them, not during these days, that was for sure.

"We're going no further," Sai Tai Sai said, and at once got into a whispered argument with Taruchie.

"You are the most tiresome -" Taruchie snapped, then turned in his arms to Sharak. "Sharak, hold out your hands." She produced a bag and poured its contents into Sharak's cupped palms: brightly wrapped sweets in shiny paper that stood out in the dim light like pieces of bright gold and jewels. "My brother loved sweets as a child," she said with a sad little smile. "Sometimes our parents would give us sweets when they were pleased with us. All we wanted was to please them -" She shook her head. "No matter. Recall him to himself, Sharak. Remind him of his duty to you and to Genjo."

"I'll remind him of you," Sharak said.

Taruchie just looked at her, then nodded, her quiet expression not quite masking the pain.

"Don't linger here," Sai Tai Sai said, and they vanished.

It was colder without Taruchie and Sai Tai Sai. Sharak stared through the mist, listening to the half-heard sounds of those streaming past on their way to their next incarnations. That wasn't what she needed. She hoped Taruchie was right and a helper would be found. The offering wasn't what she'd have chosen herself, but the Kumari knew what she was about. Usually.

Sharak stood straight, her hands filled with the offerings and held them out, chanting. The sutra, or her memory of it, coiled about her comfortingly. She chanted on and on until her voice was no more than a thread and then a hand, spectral thin and translucent reached up and plucked one of the offerings from her open palm.

Sharak couldn't see the spirit clearly unless she looked from the side of her eyes. A child-sized spirit, focused on the sweet it had taken, unwrapping the shiny paper with delight. Tenkai must really have loved sweets, liked Taruchie said. The spirit flickered in her peripheral vision, like the TV signal when the weather turned bad. It wasn't a small figure any longer - now a mid-teenage all-too-human boy crouched down, his gaze focused on the sweet as if it were a gold coin. The spirit raised the exposed sweet to its dry, shrunken lips and bit the smallest amount, rocking back and forth, and then looked up at her, horribly aware suddenly, of her presence. It was a naked young man, crouched at her feet, his fair hair filthy and tangled, his pale face scarred and burnt, the eyes in it fever-bright. His eyes tracked down from the other sweets on her hand to the Kouten Sutra and he hissed like a snake, holding out a hand towards it.

"Sanzo -" he said in a voice like a breeze.

"Yes," she said, unsure what to do. She'd come looking for the previous Maten Sanzo, but at least found someone who knew what she was. It could be worth asking for his help. "I am Sharak Sanzo. I seek information. The dead are outside time. You can help me, and in return I will burn incense to your ghost and give you these offerings now as an indication of my good faith."

The spirit's attention was drawn inexorably back to the brightly-wrapped sweets. Taruchie had really been on the ball as far as what appealed to the dead went, at least. His spindly fingers hovered over them again before snatching another up leaving his standing there holding a wrapped and an unwrapped one in either hand. As fast as a snake striking he shoved both into his mouth, swallowed without chewing then stood there, head bowed, looking stunned. Sharak kept watching from the corner of her eye. She'd never met a ghost with such a sweet tooth before.

"Will you speak with me?" she prompted.

The spirit was flickering in her vision, as if he were a bulb on the edge of extinguishing. She held out her handfuls of sweets again and tried not to react as he seemed to change rapidly from young man to boy to teenager to boy to young man to boy -

"Can I really have more?" the spirit whispered, as hopeful as an innocent child.

"Yes," she said and held another sweet down to his height.

He stayed a child all the way through eating it and then stood up and held on to her sleeve.

"Will you buy me?" he said, peering up with a face freshly burnt, the skin around his right eye weeping and angry-looking.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know."

"I'll keep you safe while you're here," she said, hoping that it was the right answer, and the young face eased. "I'm looking for someone," she said. "Maybe you've seen him? He's small, like you - his name is Tenkai Sanzo?"

The child shook his head and was almost at once the young man, sneering at her. "You seek a real sanzo," he said, his voice sepulchral.

"A real sanzo," Sharak said. "What do you mean by that?"

"Women," he said. "What use are women?"

Oh, one of those assholes. She held out another sweet. "Want one of these? Tell me what I want to know."

His eyes focused on it, then he dragged his gaze up to her face. "Offer me more."

She held out two sweets and he laughed.

"More."

She paused. She needed to eke out the offerings. She wanted to give Tenkai something if she found him.

"Two is enough."

"Your sutra, sanzo-girl," the spirit hissed and he seemed more solid than before, reaching out a hand to the Kouten. "Give me that."

She stepped back. What the fuck? "No. I want to talk to Tenkai Sanzo."

"You speak with a sanzo!" the spirit howled, and swept its matted hair back from its face.

Sharak gasped at the sight of the chakra. The spirit was perfectly visible now, even looking at it full-on. The furious eyes shone green in the waxen skin, a large old burn scar marring half of the top of the face, a cluster of bullet holes in the torso puckered in his bloodless body, other scars from bullets, burns and slashes on his limbs. He had lived hard and died young.

"Sanzo-sama," she said respectfully, and some of the fury died from his face, replaced with a sort of wonder. "Might I know with whom I converse?"

"I am -" he looked a little confused. "I'm -" He snatched one of the sweets and jammed it in his mouth, wrapping and all. He chewed furiously and looked at her, a horrible intelligence in his eyes. "I'm the fucking Muten Sanzo," he hissed.

Sharak nodded. She'd heard they were often short-tempered. "Which one, Sanzo-sama?" she said, coaxingly. She wasn't familiar with his lineage, but maybe she could dredge a name up from her training if he gave her his number -

"The twenty-fifth," the spirit said, its eyes angry once again. "I am the Muten Sanzo."

Sharak stared at him. "That's not possible," she said. "You're confused by death. The twenty-fourth Muten Sanzo has caused the world great harm and is currently residing in India."

The spirit screamed so loudly that all the dead rushing past stopped, whimpering, and he rushed at her, his fingers hooked into claws.

"Give me your sutra, woman!"

The attack felt as if he tore a piece of her flesh away, but she had no flesh here. In shock she thought of Genjo's tale of his fight with Ukoku and what that traitor had done, shredding at his soul. Was this really a Muten sanzo? She yelled out the words of the Kouten Sutra and it struck out at the spirit, driving him back and swaying between them, a moving barrier. The blow seemed to have taken the spirit by surprise, making him crouch down and cover his head with his arms. When he looked up he wasn't the young man, nor yet the child or the teenage, but a boy somewhere between the child and the mid-teen, staring at her in unhappy shock.

"Please," he said, his voice high-pitched and worried, "please, Sanzo-sama, I didn't mean it! I'll do better! I promise! I'll do what you say! I promise! I'm not weak, you're not wasting your time, really you're not!"

Sharak frowned. "You must promise not to attack me again."

"I promise!"

"And tell me your name."

"You know I don't know it, Sanzo-sama."

She looked at his confused face and rubbed her chin. The twenty-fifth huh? She wondered if her next guess would be correct.

"Tell me my name."

"I don't like to be so disrespectful -"

"Obey me!"

"Forgive me, Ukoku Sanzo-sama!"

Shit. She was right. This was the ghost of someone who'd been with Ukoku. Trained by him, probably, if the spirit thought it should be a sanzo . . . and it had a chakra. She knelt down on the damp, barely-seen ground and stroked the boy's head. He was terrified; what had Ukoku done to him?

"Of course you're forgiven," she said. "No one is ever going to be angry with you again." The boy leant his head against her shoulder, weeping. "I promised you as a little boy I'd keep you safe. Do you remember that? You don't have to be afraid any longer. Tell me, have you heard anything of why the Blessed Kanzeon is so silent?"

"No, Sanzo-sama," he whispered, his voice tear-laden. "No one would tell me that. I'm just a kid. That's all I am. Just a kid."

"OK," she said. "But you're a kid who doesn't have to worry any more."

"Thank you," he whispered.

She was suddenly holding a larger, more muscular body. A hand grabbed the Kouten Sutra and the young man sprang backwards, a victorious grin on his face. He wound it around his naked shoulders and raised a hand in mocking blessing.

"All nuns are subordinate to all monks. Apologise for not respecting my status."

"You promised not to attack me," Sharak said evenly, holding her hand out.

"Haven't you heard that promises are made to be broken? What a little fool you are! And not even a pretty little fool. If you weren't so sliced up you could at least be worth something to someone." His smile was far too knowing for her liking.

"If you're the Muten Sanzo you don't want the Kouten," she said. "Don't make me take it away from you. You aren't even robed, for fuck's sake."

"Feast your eyes, woman," he said, spreading his arms. "Unless you're one of those nuns who gets it on with little girl novices? I bet you are - a nice little handful of barely-teenage titty in one hand and cunt in the other, with a squealing novice wondering if this is enlightenment you're showing her."

"Are those your words or Ukoku's?" Sharak said. "Genjo told me he likes to try to put people off with the shit that runs out of his mouth."

The spirit fell silent, staring at her, then wrapped its arms tight around itself. "Don't say that name," it said.

"Why?" Sharak pressed. "If you're the twenty-fifth Muten Sanzo, why does Ukoku have your sutra? Why is he still able to use it? Go ahead, call on the Kouten - it won't listen to you. You're not the Muten Sanzo. You're just the ghost of someone who thinks he was one."

The spirit was just looking at her, then it pulled the Kouten from its shoulder and stared at it, a thin trickle of sound coming from its lips as it chanted. Sharak's skin prickled: she was sure she was hearing the words of one of the Foundation Sutras. In the end though, it was only a ghost's voice and they were nowhere. The spirit looked at her dully, disappointed and confused again.

"It's the wrong one," he said, sounding much younger than he seemed. "Where's mine?"

"You're dead," Sharak said gently. "No one gets to keep them after they die."

He flickered and was the teenager. The bullet holes in his torso were gone, though the one in his arm was still there. He held the sutra out to her shyly.

"Thank you for letting me borrow it, Sanzo-sama," he said. "I'll have my own when I grow up!"

"Will you?" she said.

"Yes, I'll inherit my master's, and then we'll travel together and be together for always!"

"And that's what you want?"

"Oh, yes! He's such a great man - and I'll be like him, and we'll do such wonderful things -"

"Hmm. For the moment, have you heard anything about why Blessed Kanzeon Bosatsu is uncharacteristically quiet?"

"My master says there aren't any gods, that's probably why," he said, his face open and helpful.

"Boy," Sharak said. "When was the last time you saw your master?"

The expression on the spirit's face slipped towards despair and was fixed back to cheerful helpfulness. "I'm sure he'll be along soon!"

"Do you know where you are? Where were you before you came to my call?"

The despair came back into his eyes. "Don't make me go back, Sanzo-sama. It's so terrible, please don't make me go back."

"I'll burn incense for you," she said. "I'll petition Heaven to have you moved to your next incarnation. Don't be afraid. Just tell me, have you heard anything about Kanzeon?"

"Thank you," he breathed, "Thank you, Sanzo-sama. Kanzeon -" He shook himself and was the young man. "- is just a socio-cultural expression of the need to externalise infantile feelings of seeking a caretaker onto a cold and mechanistic universe."

Sharak sighed. "No more sweets for you unless you behave." She held out a tantalising offering, her last. "You can have this if you tell me if you know anything about Kanzeon Bosatsu's silence."

The spirit remained stubbornly silent. Sharak decide on another tack, thinking of what she'd been taught on how the Muten Sutra was passed on and how the spirit had spoken so freely about Ukoku when he had appeared at other ages.

"Did Ukoku kill you?"

"No!" the spirit cried, stumbling back, his face horrified. It sounded like the truth, but then he covered his face with his filthy, broken-nailed hands and sobbed as if his heart was shattered. "Master," he said in a wavering voice. "Master, I don't want to die."

He was starting to fade, and Sharak had only one small offering left. She couldn't call anyone else. She stepped forwards, the sweet held out.

"It's not fair that you died," she said loudly. "It's not fair you don't have your own sutra. Would you like a sweet?"

The spirit looked vaguely at her, his eyes mostly fixed on something beyond her, something she didn't want to think about given the way his face had gone slack and scared. Almost without thinking he reached out and took the sweet, his fingers fumbling at the wrapping as if he were delaying his departure.

"I promised to keep you safe while you're here," she reminded him. "Tell me, have you heard anything about Kanzeon Bosatsu?"

"Not supposed to say," he whispered, nibbling the smallest corner from the sweet.

"I've promised to burn incense to your ghost," Sharak said. "I've promised to petition Heaven for your rebirth. I've promised to keep you safe here with me. I've forgiven you for the wrong you think you did me. You can trust me to keep my word."

"He let me die."

She looked into the waxen face, no longer angry, just hollowed-out with betrayal and bone-deep sorrow.

"He's caused the death of many others too. Help me, and you will set things right."

The spirit wrapped his arms around himself again, hiding the cluster of bullet holes.

"He'd hate me setting things right," he whispered, and a fierce light came into his eyes. He swallowed the rest of the sweet and lent forwards. "The jailers whisper that factions in the Upper Realms attacked the Compassionate Goddess and left Hir for dead," he said viciously. "That's why you haven't heard anything. They're also running a pool on when Se reappears because left for dead isn't the same as dead. That's something I can tell you is true: I haven't heard any rumour about someone standing over Hir watching Hir die."

Sharak felt the ground grow marshier under her feet. Kanzeon attacked and left for dead? She had to go, she had to tell Genjo and Taruchie. She looked at the spirit, still standing there, looking frightened but pleased.

"I'll do everything I promised," she said. She rummaged in her sleeve and found only the ghost of a cigarette packet, holding it out.

He took it, looking non-plussed. "I don't smoke. Cigarettes are always good currency with the jailers, though."

"I promised you," she said. "You're not going back wherever you were. If it takes the entire fortress supply of incense, you've given me the information I needed, and I made a promise."

The spirit's gaze was focused fully on her, his expression surprised, as if he had endured only broken promises to that point. Then he smiled, and for a moment Sharak saw not the emaciated and filthy naked body but a clean and well-kept young man dressed in white sanzo's robes, draped with prayer beads, and with his hair freshly-washed and combed. The wind strengthened and he blew away like smoke.

Sharak blinked, her vision clearing. She stood in the fortress cemetery, alone. Grimly she hurried back along the path to bring her news to Genjo and Taruchie.

Behind her the night wind blew the empty sweet wrappers up and out over the walls, free and gone.

Sherri ran as fast as she could, painfully aware she had only a few minutes to make her seminar in Development Economics. Swerve around a knot of undergrads staring at their phones as they crossed the road, leap majestically over a wide planter like she was on some sort of athletics scholarship, take the shallow steps two at a time, and - run straight into some little piss-ant freshman standing on the red-brick paving by Stephens Hall, staring around himself like he'd never been on Earth before, let alone in a college.

"Fuck!" she yelled as they both went down in a tangle of legs and arms.

"Sorry! Sorry!"

She gathered herself up. Her bag hadn't opened, good. Her wallet, laptop and notes were still safely inside. She slung it back over her shoulder and glared at him as he wobbled upright.

"Look where you're going!"

"Do you have time to talk about -"

"No!"

She was gone, and made the start time with four seconds to spare. The only seat left was beside Hassan.

After the seminar she wandered outside again, having claimed an urgent bookstore trip. It was the only way to get rid of Hassan; she had nothing against him, but he tried way too hard, and she just wasn't interested. She was running through a list of classmates she could trick into dating him when she realised the stupid freshman from earlier was still hanging around where she'd left him. He was doing his best to hand out brochures and engage other students in conversation. She shook her head. Clearly some student societies were going old school.

"Wait!" he cried as she passed him, and he trotted down the steps beside her. "I'm really sorry I tripped you up!"

"Yeah, OK," she said. "I wasn't late, so it's cool."

"Are you in a hurry now?"

"I don't have time to -" She looked at him as she spoke and her words drained away. Oh shit. He'd come off worse in the fall. A bruise was developing right across his left forearm - she sort of remembered him falling on his left side - and there was a graze on his forehead. "Are you all right?" she said, looking closer, and her heart sank further as she revised her view of him down from a freshman to tourist. There was no way this guy was a student, he was in his early teens at most, the floppy blond hair falling across a face with more than a touch of boyishness still visible. She'd bulldozed into a kid. "Are you visiting the campus with your family? Or maybe your school?"

"I'm OK," he said, smiling brightly. "I'm by myself. Can I give you one of these?" He handed her one of his brochures, a brightly printed piece of cheap paper.

Sherri glanced at it by reflex and sighed. Of course. Do you feel LOST? was emblazoned over question marks and cartoon upturned faces.

"I'm not a Christian," she said, softening her statement with a smile. "And I'm not going to become one." She imagined her grandmother's expression if she announced she was going to skip accompanying her to the gurdwara in favour of going to some evangelical service a little white boy had talked her into. Oof. It didn't bear thinking about.

"Oh, no!" He said. "That's OK! I'm not either!" He reached over and opened the brochure, pointing to the inner folds. "See? We're Buddhists!"

"You're a Buddhist?" she said dubiously, looking at the paragraph telling her that LIFE was SUFFERING and that everyone struggled to avoid this suffering by distracting themselves with incessant work, the pursuit of material wealth, or fashion, or casual sex, but these were all hollow illusions.

Put aside the illusions and face the reality of existence. Join a series of guided meditations with Master Ukoku - learn who you really are!

She raised her eyebrows at the description under the blurry photo of the young-looking Asian man in monk's garb with with calmly down-turned eyes. A fully ordained Shaolin monk, master of Shaolin kung fu and had studied in a Tibetan monastery? Good work for someone who looked like he was in his late twenties and had probably never been further east than New York.

"I think I'll pass," she said. "I have a thesis to write." She couldn't quite place his accent. It sounded sort of Midwestern, but overlaid with something else, like he was translating quickly in his head from another language into English. "So, is your Buddhism part of a teenage rebellion on your school trip? What do your parents think?"

The boy smiled shyly. "He's very pleased." He held up the brochure, photo out. "Master Ukoku is the only father I know."

"Yeah," Sherri said. "He looks pretty Swedish. I can see the resemblance."

The boy rolled his eyes, pure irritated teenager for a moment. "I'm adopted! And Master Ukoku's Chinese, not Swedish - you really should come to one of our meetings, he's wonderful! He's the best teacher I could ever have; I've learnt more since I've been with him than I ever could have sitting in a classroom being indoctrinated." He balanced on one foot, the other tucked behind his ankle in an oddly childish manner, smiling innocently into her face.

Sherri looked around, hoping she'd see more teenagers and someone who might be responsible for the boy. It wasn't her business, of course, if some maybe ninth grade kid wanted to hand out brochures on campus, but no. It wasn't really the sort of place a school tour would come; they'd be off looking at the T-rex, surely? She was just faced with one skinny kid in clothes and sneakers that - now she looked more closely - didn't fit very well and certainly hadn't been bought with an eye to recent styles.

"What's your name?" she said.

"Kenny! What's yours?"

"Sherri. Kenny what?"

"You can call me Kenny, we're friends, right?"

"Yeah," she said. "I guess. Look - how did you get here?"

"I walked. I had a lot more of these that I handed out on the way! I think lots of people are going to come to talk to Master Ukoku and he's really going to help them. It's a sign that you stopped to talk to me, you know. The universe is telling you that you need to talk to him too!"

"Because he's a Shaolin monk who's trained with secret Tibetan lamas and knows the special wisdom of the ascended masters?" Sherri said dryly.

Kenny nodded enthusiastically in a way that made it clear that he was glad she had seen the light. "Yes! When you just hear what he has to say! You need to come, Sherri - he's a living bodhisattva. He's a bit shy about telling other people that, but I know he wouldn't mind if I told you!"

He shoved his hair back out of his eyes and the overly large shirt slipped for a moment down one shoulder. Sherri drew a quick breath at the partially revealed bruise, over his shoulder and spreading down his chest, the marks of fingers clear as if he'd been grabbed and held tight from behind. It was a deep, dark colour that was already beginning to go yellowish green at the edges; there was no way it had been caused by the earlier tumble. His collar bone was sharp against his skin, like food wasn't something regularly come by.

"You know," she said. "Maybe I will go to talk to him. Maybe I can get some of my classmates to come along! Can you wait here just a minute or two and I'll go ask them?"

"Yeah! That's great!" Kenny said. He pulled out a cheap pen and drew a flower on another brochure and gave it to her. "Look, that's a lotus, Sherri, to show the start of the flowering of divine knowledge for you!"

She smiled and ducked away, heading back, hoping to grab one of her friends. Maybe they could put her mind at ease. A scruffily-dressed kid with an old weird bruise, claiming a guy about ten years older than him had adopted him - it was probably nothing, and it wasn't her business, but . . .

"Hey, Sherri, back already?"

Oh, great. No, it actually was good.

"Hassan! You can do me a favour."

His eyes lit up and she could practically see the thought bubble. Yes, anything you want, Sherri. Just like me, Sherri.

"Sure, what is it?"

"I ran into a kid earlier, literally - look I'll explain later, but he's setting off alarm bells. He's a kid and he's sort of weird, like I think maybe he's a runaway? He gave me this, and he was going on about this guy, like he's his guru. Said he adopted him, kind of said the guy homeschools him - I think."

"The Wisdom of the Aaaaages," Hassan said in a portentous tone, flipping through the brochure contemptuously. "Look at this asshole!"

"Come and talk to this kid with me, his name's Kenny. Wait till you see him, he's all bruised up - some of that's from me -"

"Go you, you're a badass."

"Don't be a dick, we collided and fell over. But he's got this massive old bruise as well -"

"OK," Hassan said decisively. "Let's go."

He might be trying too hard, but he did what was asked of him, she had to give him that. They hurried back outside to - Nothing. No sign anyone had ever stood there handing out badly-printed brochures.

"He got suspicious," she said. "Shit."

She ran down to the road, looked up and down it, but there was no sign of Kenny. Hassan shrugged when she came back.

"Oh well. Hey, if you're not going to the bookstore have you got time for coffee?"

Oh, crap. She stuffed the brochure in her bag and tried to think of an excuse. Damn, he had been willing to help.

"Yeah," she sighed. "A quick coffee."

Hassan beamed. God, today had not been her day.

A pilgrimage to celebrate the start of one's sanzohood was traditional, Sharak's instructors said. It kept one humble. It kept one grounded. It gave one opportunities for service. It would get, Sharak decided, her away from everyone who wanted to congratulate her, or cry that they hadn't gained the Kouten Sutra, or who just wanted to outright murder her and get themselves crowned before everyone packed up all the banners and tinsel. She didn't fancy being the shortest-reigning Sanzo on record.

"You wouldn't be," Hassan said when she voiced this to him over a whiskey neither of them were admitting liberating from the abbot's personal stash. "I heard one of the Uten sanzos tripped on his robes coming up out of a prostration at his elevation ceremony and bashed his brains out on the feet of a statue of the Lord Buddha."

"Shit," Sharak winced. "That's embarrassing. Why do the Uten sanzos always go in such -" She waved a hand.

"Freakish ways?" Hassan grinned. "Part of the rich tapestry of life and existence, I guess."

She threw a peanut at him and laughed. She'd miss the monastery. She'd even miss him.

"I'm leaving tomorrow. Are you going back to your home monastery?"

"No," he said. "I'm going with you, duh." He snorted at her expression. "I don't want someone murdering you, or you thinking you're the Uten Sanzo and falling down an up escalator or something." He looked a little bashful then. "I mean, if you could stand some company . . ."

She grinned. "Pass the bottle. I'll decide in a thousand miles."

A thousand miles later they were both exhausted and had come to blows a few times, but were generally satisfied with their lives. Hassan had taken to calling himself her disciple, which had started as a joke, but lately - Well, lately Sharak thought they might both be taking it more seriously. One thing they were in perfect agreement on was that Chinese tea couldn't hold a candle to real tea.

"Oh my God," Hassan breathed, pointing. "An Indian restaurant. Come on!"

"Wait," Sharak said, grabbing his arm. "Look."

A man was peering in the restaurant window, reading the menu. He was dressed in long, undyed woollen robes tied at the hips with a black silk belt wrapped around him several times. She couldn't see his hair or much of his face, as he was wearing a veil and golden crown, but the sutra on his shoulders was very visible. Another sanzo. He half-turned and walked through the restaurant door, allowing them to catch a glimpse of dark hair and wire-rimmed glasses.

"Are you going to introduce yourself?" Hassan said, sounding a little awed.

Sharak bit her lip. Who could it be? He didn't look like a youkai, so he couldn't be the Maten Sanzo and anyway, her instructors had said no one had heard from the Maten Sanzo in years and no one even knew if Tenkai Sanzo was still alive. He could be any of the other three. The important thing was that sanzos weren't supposed to be in the same place, not without a very good reason. Lunch wasn't a good reason, no matter how much she wanted a cup of tea with milk and butter.

"Leave him to his food," she said. "We'll find somewhere else."

A waft of curry reached them and Hassan sagged. She knew just how he felt. Before they could weaken, she led him away.

Back to the other square, she decided. There'd been some interesting food stalls there. Soon enough she and Hassan had been given fried tofu balls filled with root vegetables, the slightly sweet flavour of the filling a nice contrast to the earthy taste of the tofu. Sharak tore her final one in half and tossed the pieces to two small street children, who swallowed them whole, and fled.

"Let's get going -" she started, and looked down at a tug on her sleeve. A small, dirty face looked up, the green eyes startling amidst the grime and the horrible weeping wound covering the top half of one side of his face. "I don't have any more food," she said, taken aback.

"Please," the child said, "please, will you buy me?"

"What?" she said.

"Please," he said, looking sick, and scared. "I'll - do anything you want." He tried a smile that seemed to aim at seductive, but only made him seem younger and more fragile.

"What the hell?" Hassan said. "Don't you know who you're talking to, you little snot?"

"Hassan," she said, as some onlookers started to laugh and point at a sanzo being propositioned by a two-yuan punk. She hunkered down. "What do you need from me?"

"Help me," he whispered. "Please."

Well. There it was. Sharak stood and took his hand. This boy's life would be immeasurably improved by education and ordination. With proper nurturing he could flourish and lay down the suffering his karma to date had brought him. An opportunity had been put in her path and who was she to refuse?

"We'll find a doctor and then we'll all go on," she said, and led him away, Hassan scowling at the fools laughing at them.

"Show them both a good time, kid!" someone yelled.

"Th-threesomes cost more," the child whispered, looking at his feet as they walked.

"That's all behind you now," Sharak said firmly. "I promise."

She'd started the journey with no disciples and now she had two. Kanzeon worked in mysterious ways.