tell him you’re trying to cheat him, you can forget about the money. You want this deal, you better watch yourself.”
“The statue alone is worth more than that,” said Guet Imm, ignoring him. “With everything else, you should be asking for five taels of silver minimum.
“Not including the relic,” she added. “You shouldn’t even be thinking of selling the relic. Do you want to be cursed by the deity?”
Ng’s face darkened. He said to Tet Sang, “If you don’t get rid of this girl, I will.”
Tet Sang raised his hands. “Let’s not be hasty, Mr Ng—”
“Oh, yes,” said Guet Imm, giving Ng a scalding look of contempt. “If you’re going to outrage the relics of the deity’s own precious body, why not her followers as well? You know, it’s a misconception that you can only go to hell once.”
“Shut up!” said Tet Sang. “You are not helping!”
At this juncture, one of the tailor’s large sons burst in, wild-eyed.
“Mr Ng, the mata are outside,” he said. “You better go, sir!”
Ng’s head swivelled towards Tet Sang and Guet Imm. If looks could kill, they would have been descending rapidly through the ten hells at that very moment.
“You,” Ng sputtered. “You set us up!”
Tet Sang was baffled. “You think we’re friends of the mata?”
“My boss will hear of this,” said Ng. “You can rest assured I’ll tell him you’re not real bandits!”
“We never said we were bandits,” said Tet Sang, exasperated. “Who ever heard of bandits having valuables to sell? They live in the jungle!”
“Sir!” said the tailor’s son urgently. He pushed open what turned out to be a grille door, which had previously been obscured by rolls of cloth.
Ng cast a last glower at Tet Sang before vanishing out of the door.
“Come back!” shouted Guet Imm. She turned to Tet Sang, her face alight with indignation. “He took the prayer beads!”
“Never mind,” said Tet Sang. “Let’s get out of here.”
But they’d left it too late, and all the yelling hadn’t helped. They heard the tramp of heavy feet. The tailor’s son had just enough time to wrench the back door shut and put himself in front of it before the mata came in.
There were three of them, much smaller than the tailor and his sons, but they carried guns. Two were Malayu, like most of the mata; the third was Damilan. The tailor’s wife, Madam Ooi, accompanied them.
“You said this was a storeroom,” said one of the mata to her in the common tongue—evidently the chief. The other two mata hung back behind him.
“It’s a storeroom what,” said Madam Ooi belligerently. “See all that batik!” She gestured at the rolls of cloth on the floor.
The mata was looking at the table, with the tokong goods spread out in all their glory. “I didn’t know tailors stored such things.”
He put out his rifle, nudging the statue. It rolled over, the Pure Moon’s face serene despite the indignity of her position.
Guet Imm made an aborted movement, but Tet Sang grabbed her arm, pulling her back. The mata raised his head, looking directly at Tet Sang.
“And here is the bandit Lau Fung Cheung,” said the mata. He clicked his tongue. “Can you tell me why you have a wanted criminal in your storeroom, madam?”
“Must be he broke in,” said Madam Ooi, with admirable composure. “Aiyah, so many times I told my husband to fix the back-door lock, but he never listened! Boy, this stranger didn’t hurt you, did he?”
Her son clearly hadn’t inherited Madam Ooi’s wits. He looked confused. “What?”
“How do you know Lau Fung Cheung?” said the mata to the tailor’s wife.
It was natural that he should have mistaken Tet Sang for Fung Cheung, given that the pictures on the Protectorate’s wanted poster had been no sort of likeness. Still, it was a little surprising—Lau Fung Cheung had a reputation for beauty. Perhaps Tet Sang should feel flattered.
“She doesn’t,” he said. “I never told Mr Tan and Madam Ooi my name.” Strictly, this was true. “Who told you Lau Fung Cheung was here?”
“We followed your tracks based on a report from a worthy citizen,” said the mata. “You shouldn’t pick fights in people’s coffeehouses, Mr Lau.”
“Mr Aw!” gasped Guet Imm. “Who knew he was so ungrateful? After you gave him all that money!”
“I’ll be more careful next time,” said Tet Sang, ignoring her, but the mata grinned.
“Boss,” he said, “there won’t be a next time. You know what the punishment for banditry is.”
Tet Sang did. He’d seen the posters—triumphant men in uniform, brandishing severed