Huaizong and Tan Po decided to double-time their trek toward Siliguri, the last small town before they reached the cool, rising hills of Darjeeling. They had lost the trail of the assassins and, more frustratingly, had lost sight of Zalir’s osprey.

  "Where are you?" Tan Po muttered to himself. "Zalir, you sneaky, wretched rat, where are you?"

  They headed north, never leaving the riverbank as Tan Po scanned the sky for the bird. At times they found a convenient inn, but necessity, as ever, was the mother of comfort. They utilized the fishing nets they had brought from Bogura, stringing them high between branches to create suspended, secure hammocks. Being rolled up in a net provided a secure place to sleep in the wild jungle.

  Early in the morning before sunrise, Tan Po heard the murmur of three women beneath him. He nudged Huaizong, signaling him to be utterly quiet. These three women proceeded to the river, finding a set of concealing stones that afforded them some privacy to wash.

  "We should go," Tan Po whispered, a stern note in his voice. "Give the ladies privacy to bathe."

  "Must we?" Huaizong sighed, already mesmerized. "Oh, she's beautiful. I'm in love again!"

  "Huaizong, these women have assassins hunting them down. They are running. The last time you approached Zalir, he fled. They are clearly experts at running and hiding; you do not want to frighten them. Let us go." Tan Po yanked Huaizong away.

  They crept off, but now they had finally found the Madjapahits. Tan Po wondered when it would be an appropriate time to introduce themselves. Their target group now numbered six: the three royals, Zalir, and two guards, Soma and Bhayu. The Madjapahits settled camp on an elevated rock by the riverside, taking turns to sleep. A bit further off, high in the trees, Huaizong and Tan Po re-hung their fishing nets and rolled themselves in securely.

  The next morning, the pair realized their precarious position: Viper's band of hoodlums was beneath them and clearly planning an imminent attack on the flat rock where the Madjapahits had pitched camp. They quickly and silently moved to the south side of the encampment. Agile like monkeys, the two moved from branch to branch. Below, the Madjapahits began their trek north; Zalir knew they would be safer once they entered the Khanate's sphere of influence.

  As the Madjapahit party reached the base of the rock, Viper and his men attacked. Three men instantly rose to face Viper's thugs. Even the three royals drew their stone- and gold-encrusted daggers, showing they were anything but helpless. Viper yelled, "You killed Kalana!" and lunged at Zalir. A fierce clash of swords ensued, turning the area into a frantic free-for-all.

  Suddenly, a net dropped, capturing one assassin mid-swing. Before he could realize what was happening, he was pulled upward and his neck was swiftly slashed. He was dead before he knew it. Huaizong and Tan Po dropped his body onto another assassin, pinning the unfortunate thug down. Immediately, one of Zalir’s men dispatched the pinned man.

  Then, a second net fell, trapping two more of Viper's men. Huaizong landed on top of that net—now a lethal, acrobatic weapon—and with a single stroke, he swiftly killed the two men trapped beneath him. Tan Po also plummeted from above, trapping two more men in his own net and dispatching them with equal, devastating swiftness.

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  Momentarily stunned by the sudden, bizarre appearance of men dropping from trees with weaponized fishing nets, the remaining four gangsters looked around. Seeing that their leader Viper was dead, they decided retreat was the better part of survival. They scrambled for safety, making a break for it to inform their employer of these baffling developments.

  Huaizong turned to Queen Gayatri, dropping into a formal bow on one knee. "Your Majesty, I am Prince Huaizong, vassal heir of the Great Khublai Khan."

  Behind him, Master Po also bowed, lowering his head to acknowledge his status. "I am Tan Po, Temple Monk."

  Gayatri regarded Huaizong, a faint smile playing on her lips. "How do I know you are who you say you are? Aren't you that little cricket dreaming he is a dragon?"

  "You were at the teahouse? I hate that song." Huaizong stood, addressing Zalir. "You saw me in the alley. If I were not a friend, I could have reported that incident that very night." Tan Po remained kneeling with his head lowered, his shaven neck completely exposed—a vulnerable position calculated to prove they meant no harm and that he was willing to be beheaded if Huaizong were lying

  Zalir whispered something to Queen Gitarja. She signaled her guards to lower their weapons. "Master Tan Po, rise," Gitarja commanded. Tan Po stood up straight and tall. He was bald and ascetic but undeniably handsome—an intense contrast to the boisterous prince.

  Then Raji Dewi stepped forward, fixing her gaze upon Huaizong. "You watched us from the river while I was bathing."

  Tan Po closed his eyes and started praying. Under his breath, he hissed to Huaizong, "I told you to look away."

  Raji Dewi looked straight at Huaizong, and the prince, gazing into her dark, deep-set, accusatory eyes, fell hopelessly in love. "I... I..." Huaizong stuttered helplessly. Tan Po, stood up behind him, swiftly kicked the back of Huaizong's knee. The prince collapsed onto one knee, perfectly facing Raji Dewi.

  "Princess, I am sorry. I couldn't help myself. You're so beautiful. I... I..." Huaizong stammered, unable to break the stare. Looking into his eyes, anyone would know this was a man desperately pleading for acceptance.

  Raji Dewi was small and petite. Huaizong, even kneeling, was nearly as tall as she. But Raji Dewi was a royal trained to fight. She knew that by using her momentum, she could throw all her weight into a single, focused blow. She jumped to muster her strength, and like a tennis player executing backhand, she struck Huaizong with such force, closed fist, that the big man splattered like pancake batter on the roadside.

  Then, as civilly as could be, Raji Dewi said in a polite voice, "The debt is paid, Mr. Huaizong. Master Po, which way to Siliguri?"

  Tan Po, recovering his monk-like composure, pointed north. Raji Dewi started walking up the path. Queen Gitarja and her mother, Gayatri, looked genuinely worried. "Master Tan Po, is the Prince alright? You must forgive my daughter," Gayatri began.

  But Tan Po just waved her apology away. "He deserves it. He'll get over it. He is fine."

  A pained groan rose from the dust. "Ouch... ow... she's right," Huaizong admitted, still sprawled on the roadside.

  "Prince Huaizong, as you have been a godsend in rescuing us from those ruffians, perhaps I could request you to escort us to Darjeeling?" It was a Queen’s command from Gitarji, not a request to be turned down.

  "He would be most honored to do so, My Queen," Tan Po replied for his temporarily disabled companion. "Prince Huaizong and I will just dispose of the bodies. Please proceed north. We will follow and escort you to Darjeeling."

  The Queen glanced at Tan Po, a new respect in her eyes. Then she and Gayatri proceeded up the narrow path. The security detail followed their Queen, hardly able to contain their silent laughter. Despite the chaos, their hearts had warmed to the incorrigible but lovable Prince Huaizong and the monk Tan Po.