No. 9
Five Nights in Shangri-La
Five Nights in Shangri-La
Monday
Mandelbaum and I were soaring high between the passes of the Himalayan Mountains. As I took in this glorious view, it gave me an opportunity to reflect on how lucky I was to have survived my ordeal of being lost at sea not too long ago. It was nice to have solid ground beneath my blimp again. I was thankful for Mandelbaum's courage in single-handedly rescuing me, because obviously he was the only person in my life capable of being that heroic. If only there were more men like him, but alas, there is not.
We hit a chilly updraft, and the Eurydice III (my new blimp, modeled to the exact specifications and design as her two predecessors) lunged forward between two rocky peaks. Even though death had nearly caught me more than once in my previous adventure, that would never stop me from pursuing my highest calling: more adventure.
This time, Mandelbaum and I were headed toward Shangri-La. The place had quite a reputation, having been exaggerated through fictional tales, and it now possessed an almost mythical stature. But having been there a few times before, I can tell you that it does not live up to its flare for mystery and mysticism. Totally overhyped. There's not much to it, honestly. Caught somewhere in the Mahalangur Himal sub-range of mountains, it sits in a small valley surrounded on three sides by Nepal, Tibet, and the jagged slopes of the famed Mount Everest. There's one tiny village (populated mostly by simpleton yak herders and salamander breeders), and there's not a single road or railway going into the hidden valley. The place is only accessible by a flying junk-style airship, or in our case, a blimp.
As we passed over a rocky, snowy peak that I had seen many times before, I knew we were close. I could spot Mount Everest looming massively across the valley on the opposite side. We came over the ridge, and down below I could see the terraces cut into the mountain slopes. Villagers in their yak-fur parkas stared up at our blimp in awe and wonder. I waved to them, but not a single one returned the gesture. I should have expected as much; they are never too keen on humoring tourists.
What they didn't realize was that Mandelbaum and I were here strictly on business. And that business was a most lucrative adventure. You see, there was a very important matter that had caught my attention many months before, but I had only now been provided the opportunity to pursue it. It all goes back to a bottle of absinthe - but not just any bottle, and not just any absinthe. Let me explain.
It all started back in 1953 with a man named Narwhal Stangleton, who has become something of a legend amongst blimpmen like myself, and his fateful voyage. Sir Edmund Hillary, the famous mountaineer, had just been the first person to reach the world's highest peak on Mount Everest by climbing, and everyone wanted a piece of the action. Narwhal Stangleton said he could top Hillary's success by being the first person to pilot a blimp to the summit of Mount Everest. Given the extreme conditions at the peak, such as unpredictable wind speeds, subzero temperatures, and a nearly unbreathable level of atmosphere; this was naturally a very dangerous undertaking. Suicidal, in fact.
Whether suicidal or not, Stangleton was willing to risk it all for the sake of glory. Some say he was just too inexperienced as a blimp pilot, and others claim he had an encounter with a rock-throwing abominable snowman who attacked his vessel, but whatever the truth of the matter was, Stangleton never made it to his destination. He and his guide crashed their blimp somewhere on the slope of the mountain, most likely just a few hundred meters from the top. Neither the unfortunate man's body nor the remains of his blimp, the Ganymede, were ever recovered.
Now, this brings us back to the present. Replicating Stangleton's suicidal blimping venture to the top of the mountain is not what brings me here. (I may be a bold man who rarely shies from a challenge, but I'm no dummy. I prefer to have a bit of calculation in my risk-taking, and in this case, I knew the chance of failure outweighed the chance of success.) Rather, I've come here for another matter.
There's always been a rumor that when Stangleton was traveling, he was carrying a crate of a very fine vintage of absinthe, known as the Klaxon d'Oie. Stangleton planned on leaving the crate at the peak of the mountain as a celebratory gift for future explorers, mountaineers, and blimpers. Who wouldn't want a sip of that delicious green magic fairy-water after an arduous trek to the top? This fine vintage - ornately bottled, with a bit of age, and preserved at the perfect temperature by the pure white snows of the Himalayas - would be priceless find for absinthe connoisseurs such as myself. These bottles, now known as the "Stangleton bottles", were a lost treasure waiting to be found; collectors would undoubtedly pay millions to get their hands on just one of those legendary artifacts! I became obsessed in my fascination and research of the bottles. I was absolutely convinced that they did exist, and I vowed to be the first to find them.
I decided to make Shangri-La my base camp in this treasure-hunting expedition. I'm not much of a climber, but I had been training my body diligently for months for the grueling hike ahead of us. Mandelbaum faithfully agreed to act as my sherpa.
As we arrived in Shangri-La, Mandelbaum and I parked our blimp and checked into the only hotel in the village, a rather dingy place known as the Xuĕ Hotel and Café. It was run by an American fellow named Curtis, who was an acquaintance (but not quite a friend) of Mandelbaum and me. As we checked into the hotel, Curtis greeted us in the lounge with a heavy eye roll, a puff of his cigar, and a grumpy grumble.
"Just don't draw any attention to yourself or to me, got it?" Then he walked off.
I knew he ran this hotel - not for tourism - but for all sorts of underhanded operations such as gunrunning, bootlegging, black market salamander trafficking, and maybe the occasional harboring of political asylum-seekers and wanted fugitives.
As I stretched my legs at the bar of the smoky restaurant and warmed myself near a fireplace, listening to the tunes of the rather lousy piano player nearby, my eyes scanned the room. I wondered what stories and mysteries surrounded each guest in the room. All the hushed conversations taking place must have been full of sinister secrets. There was a wide range of potential outlaws - no doubt ranging from liars to thieves to downright murderers, and I got the general sense that this place was a Mos Eisleyan hive of scum and villainy.
My eyes quickly caught onto a group of mobsters sitting in a dark corner of the restaurant. They all seemed to be Chinese and were rambling on to each other in some heated debate entirely in Mandarin. It was clear who the leader was, for he was an intimidating presence: he had a dark purple smoking jacket, black goatee, and slicked-back hair. Two massive bodyguards stood on either side of him. I realized that he had noticed my staring, and we were now accidentally making eye contact, so I quickly averted my gaze and returned to the bar as nonchalantly as possible. He whispered something in Mandarin to one of the bodyguards, and I picked up my pace back to my seat.
"You stay away from that table back there, you hear me?" warned Curtis from behind the bar.
"Who was that frightful man?" I asked.
Curtis said, "Never you mind that! You don't want any part of their business, unless you want to end up in a dark Shangri-La alley left for dead. They don't play nice. But they pay their tabs, keep their rooms clean, and tip with the occasional cigar, so I don't ask any questions. And you shouldn't either, got it?"
"What's the leader's name?"
"What part about 'no questions' is difficult for you, huh?!"
"I just want to know who exactly it is that I should be staying away from."
"Well, if you must know," relented Curtis, "he's the most fearsome Chinese mobster to ever make his way into this valley. Got himself into some good trouble with the Chinese government. His name strikes fear into the heart of any man. That is Poo Chow. Stop giggling, I said that's Poo Chow. Why are you laughing? I said Poo Chow! Poo Chow! What's so--? Oh right, hilarious. How did I not get that before?"
By now, all our commotion at the bar had attracted some more unwanted attention from Poo Chow's gang. Mandelbaum said that it was time to get out of here, and I heartily agreed. As I threw on my coat and finished the burning swill in my glass, I caught sight of something that nearly made me spit it out.
It wasn't a Chinese mobster or any vile denizen of Shangri-La; instead, it was the one person I never expected to see in a place like this. She came down the stairs in an orange evening gown, and it seemed as if time had stopped. The piano wound down its song, and all eyes in the room were on her. But her dark eyes lingered only on mine.
Of all the gin joints in all the world...
I said in amazement, "Sylvia Wolfenkranz, what are you doing here?"
Before she could respond, a voice from behind me said in a thick accent, "I believe the lady has come to see me."
When I turned around, it was Poo Chow. He and his bodyguards had gotten up from the table and made their way to my location. Mandelbaum stepped between them and Sylvia, who was now next to me, cutting off the gangsters with a defensive posture.
"It's okay, Mandelbaum," she said softly, yet with command in her voice, brushing past my friend elegantly. "Poo Chow and I go back a long way. I owe him a debt of gratitude."
"That's enough small talk for now," said Poo, cutting her off, but I could tell she had started to say something that he didn't want to be shared with me. He continued, "Come with me to my table and we'll discuss your debt more privately."
Poo and his gang turned back toward their table, but I made sure to sneak a moment alone with Sylvia. I grabbed her by the arm. She was startled by my firm grip, and I was equally startled by the smooth contour of her long arm. I whispered, "Surely you don't have to get involved with scum like them. Allow me to aid you in your troubles. It's the least I can do, considering my involvement in the hunt for the Pindgu pelican and the Jumanji game I stole from you. Not to mention the fact that I exposed your con with the Secret Society of the Blimpmen."
She rolled her eyes bitterly and wriggled her arm free of mine. "Bygones," she said. "I've moved on. And you should too." But her assuredness gave way to a different light as she looked down toward the ground. "There's no helping me now."
There was an evident hopelessness in her voice - despair. With that, she walked away sadly toward Poo Chow's table. The piano player resumed with a sonorous tune, and life moved on as usual in Shangri-La. But I couldn't help feeling a little sympathetic to her troubled state. Despite our antagonistic relationship in the past, she was, after all, a fellow blimpman. I felt obligated to help where I could.
Mandelbaum said some wise words about how if anyone is capable of looking after herself, it is Sylvia. I agreed, and the two of us decided to retreat back to our room to discuss a plan for finding that glorious Stangleton absinthe.
#adventure #shangrila #xuehotel
#stangletonabsinthe #sylvia #hisnameispoo
Tuesday
I didn't sleep well during my first night in Shangri-La. After staying up late into the night discussing mountain-climbing strategies with Mandelbaum, I only barely dozed off. I was awakened soon after by the sound of throat-singing yak herders outside the hotel calling to each other on the mountain slope. In lieu of breakfast, I went out on my balcony and decided to engage in some transcendental meditation. Here on these mystic mountains with an obstacle before me, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to pursue a bit of enlightenment. But every time that I made headway toward nirvana, delving further into a mind-opening trance, I was interrupted by a sudden fortepiano throat-blast from those pesky Tuvan-style singers. It was really annoying.
"Try repeating a mantra," said a lovely yet startling voice coming from the balcony next to mine. It was Sylvia Wolfenkranz. I was surprised to see her there, as I didn't realize she had been staying in the adjacent room. She was out enjoying the morning mountain air, sipping tea, and still wearing her silky evening negligée. "Try a word or a phrase to describe the thing you really want," she said.
I asked, "And what would your mantra be?"
She told me that that was nothing I should concern myself with. I didn't press the issue further.
"Actually," I said, "I thought a lot about you last night."
Her eyes widened.
"Uh, I mean, no," I stammered awkwardly. "I mean I've been thinking of a way to help you in your situation with Poo Chow. Hear me out." I looked around, just to make sure there were no eavesdroppers on other neighboring balconies. Even then I hesitated. "You are familiar with the Stangleton bottles, yes?"
"I knew that's why you were here!" she shouted. I told her to lower her voice. She whispered, "I had a feeling. I've heard no blimpman can resist their calling. But I don't see what your search has to do with me..."
I explained that even though the search for the bottles might cost me my life, finding them would undoubtedly endow me with more treasure and wealth than one man could possibly ever spend alone. I said that, if she were to help me find them, being the professional archaeologist that she was, I would be willing to offer her a bottle or two in exchange for her assistance. She could use that money to pay off whatever debt she owed to Poo Chow and his gang.
"You would really do that for me?" she asked, then added with some suspicion in her voice, "Why?"
I thought for a moment and said, "Because you are a blimpman, and it is the most honorable thing to do."
She smiled at me. The throat singers continued their singing in the nearby hills, and Sylvia seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. Suddenly she said, "I have an idea where we can start." Clearly she accepted my deal.
An hour or so later, Sylvia had gotten dressed in her room, and I in mine. The three of us (Mandelbaum included) met outside the hotel.
"You picked a good place to start your hunt," she said. "You may not be aware, but Shangri-La has a very strong connection to the fateful journey of Narwhal Stangleton. Before I explain further, we'll need to take a short blimp ride to the Buddhist monastery at the top of that mountain."
She pointed, and I said Mandelbaum and I would prepare the Eurydice right away.
"No need," she said, "my blimp is already prepared."
I was surprised that Sylvia now had her own blimp. She had always defied the trends of other blimpmen by preferring to fly in hot air balloons (and by being a woman). I was glad to see she finally opened up her mind to blimps. As we found hers docked nearby, I must admit it was quite the craft. She called it the Nefertiti, in honor of the Egyptian goddess, and it had an orange ballonet, her favorite color.
I had never flown with Sylvia before, but she was a fine pilot. She needed no assistance from Mandelbaum and me, and I admired every move she made from behind the piloting wheel and every skilled adjustment she made to the ropes and rudders in this unpredictable Himalayan wind. She was quite a woman indeed.
As time passed on our flight, I couldn't help but intrude on her personal matters: "What debt do you owe to Poo Chow?"
But she didn't respond and kept her eyes fixed on the distant horizon. "Not much further," she called to us.
We landed on a mountain terrace high above the Shangri-La valley. Even still, there was a long hike ahead of us on foot. A seemingly never-ending staircase led to the temple at the summit of the steep peak. With each step, I fought the temptation to look down over the sheer edge; vertigo could easily overtake me at any moment. It seems strange that a high-flying blimpman would be afraid of heights, but take me out of the gondola of my blimp and place my feet on firm ground, and suddenly the deadly drop next to me seems like a much different beast.
When we finally reached the top, a small, but ornately decorated temple stood before us. Monks in orange robes invited us inside, and I was glad to escape from the cold. (I made a note that I would have to build some tolerance to the cold before we tried to climb the much higher Everest.)
The monks of this monastery were all silent, but welcoming nonetheless. They led us to their leader, an ancient-looking man sat on a gold-trimmed dais in the center of the room. He sat with his legs crossed, and his long white beard spilled over his lap and trailed all the way down to the floor. He didn't react to our presence there in the temple; in fact, he never even opened his eyes.
Sylvia whispered so as not to wake the man from his trance. "I told you that Shangri-La had a connection to Stangleton's quest, well this is it." She pointed to the old man. "He was Stangleton's companion on his blimp ride up the mountain - his assistant and co-pilot. His name is Nischit Wangdi. He had warned Stangleton not to go, that it was too dangerous, but he could not convince his friend to turn back. When the blimp crashed, only Nischit Wangdi survived. He barely managed to make it off the mountain alive, and he was not able to save his friend. If anyone can point us to the site of the crash, it is this man."
I was amazed by this tremendous tale, and I could feel my excitement growing. It was the best lead we'd had so far on our hunt.
Still, the old man did not stir. Sylvia let out a little cough to get his attention, and Nischit Wangdi said in perfect English, "Try a little green tea. It's good for a cough."
He finally opened his eyes, but he did not seem surprised to see three strangers standing before him. Casually, he reached over to a small table next to him, and he picked up a crystalline glass with his bony fingers. Inside was some green tea, and he took a sip. Then, he said so matter-of-factly, "You've come for the bottles."
I was amazed at how he could have possibly known such a thing. I said that Sylvia must have told him of our coming.
"Not at all," he said. "I don't even know this woman. Rather, I could perceive your intentions immediately upon seeing you, for you have the unmistakable air of an adventurous man." I grinned. "And also a foolish man you are." I stopped grinning. "You are not ready for the undertaking that awaits you. I don't mean your body is not ready; I mean your heart. You have greed in you."
I admitted that he was perhaps correct; I wanted the bottles for my own financial gain. But was that so wrong of me?
"Not at all," he said. "But you must also be willing to accept the fact that everything you hope to find is already here in this room. You need look no further."
I was confused by Nischit Wangdi's cryptic statement for a long moment. I glanced at Mandelbaum, but he just shrugged his shoulders none the wiser. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me. "Ah, it is a riddle!"
The old man took another sip of his green tea. "Perhaps. You are welcome to stay here until you find out the answer. Stay as long as you like."
We did stay for several more hours. None of us were sure what it all meant. Everything you hope to find is already here in this room. We deduced that it had to be some sort of spiritual guidance. Clearly, Nischit wanted us to look inside ourselves to find peace and enlightenment, rather than seek the external reward of the bottles.
Between the three of us, we agreed to try our hand at a bit of meditation. I asked Mandelbaum to massage my shoulders, as his fleshy palms have a way of hypnotizing me with their pulsating undulations. I closed my eyes and fell into a deep sleep. It was only a matter of seconds before I found myself back in my "mind basement," that inner place in the recesses of my memory where I store my deepest thoughts.
Though by appearances the mind basement was a seemingly chaotic horde of endless cardboard boxes, toy chests, and disorganized shelves, there was a method to all the madness. As a child, I remember my mother having been able to instantly locate any item within the mess as if it had been perfectly catalogued, and I suppose that memory resonated with me when I went in search of my own way to start categorizing my memories. It seemed like a place where countless thoughts and ideas could be stored and retrieved for some later use. I glanced around that cluttered basement from my childhood home in search of some sort of clue to Nischit's riddle.
The Young Me was there too. He was a teenager now, having aged from the last time I saw him. I had grown tired of encounters with this avatar of my inner-consciousness in the past.
"Oh great, you again," I said.
He responded in a whiney teenage voice, "Am I really going to get that ugly? And fat? That sucks."
I scowled at my younger self bitterly and said coldly, "Janie dumps you for Rod Kempner at your birthday party."
He started crying, saying, "No! No, that's not true! It's our destiny to be together!" and then he ran away sobbing hysterically. Serves him (me) right.
That left me alone in the basement to continue my search. I'm not sure how much time had passed in the real world, but it was hours upon hours in that basement as I scoured every possible corner for some sort of clue to the riddle. I had just reached for an old box marked "Mom's Tea Set: Do Not Touch" when something startling revealed itself under the lid. Instead of a ceramic tea set inside the box, there were about five half-drunk bottles of scotch. My eyes went wide as I had never suspected my mother of having a secret stash. (But somehow it all made sense.)
I was just about to return the box when something dawned on me. I muttered to myself, "Everything you hope to find is in this room..."
I suddenly awoke back in the Buddhist temple. I roused Sylvia from her own trance next to me. "What is it?" she asked groggily, and I exclaimed excitedly that I had found the answer.
I rushed over to the dais where Nischit Wangdi was sitting and drinking his tea. I snatched the cup out of his hand, sniffed the contents, and gave them a taste. "Just as I suspected!" I said. "This isn't green tea at all. It's absinthe. And damn that is good stuff too! What vintage is this?"
Nischit said without emotion, "You already know."
And he was right, I did know, for this was indeed the fabled Klaxon d'Oie - the Stangleton absinthe!
"You were able to save a bottle after your crash!"
"Yes, it is true," confessed Nischit. "Quite a few bottles, in fact. It is good luck that you were able to find me on today of all days, for this is the very final bottle remaining in my collection. Every day I have sipped the contents of this beverage in hopes that it will bring some closure to the death of my dear friend, Narwhal, but alas that peace and clarity has not been achieved. In the hopes that it may serve you better than it has served me, please take this with you."
With that, he reached into his robe and pulled out a most beautifully decorated, corked bottle. Etched into the dark glass were two letters, initials written in some sort of golden alloy below the Klaxon d'Oie label. It read, "N.S." It was the most beautiful bottle I had ever seen, and just that one sip from Nischit's glass was so mesmerizing, so powerful, that every inch of my tongue and throat were tingling now, like I had just made out with a wet-mouthed unicorn. It was every bit as haunting and captivating as I hoped a Stangleton would be. Nay, it was more.
"Should you decide that you need more than this one bottle, follow the secret pass through the jagged rocks on the north-eastern side of the Shangri-La valley," said Nischit. "Continue on that route and you will find the site of Stangleton's blimp crash. Namaste."
Sylvia, Mandelbaum, and I thanked Nischit Wangdi immensely for his generosity and his willingness to part with the bottle, and he simply bowed silently. The three of us rushed out of the temple, upbeat and enthusiastic about our tremendously fortunate victory today.
We were on our way back to Sylvia's blimp, the two of us still celebrating and singing to each other, waving the bottle over our heads, when Mandelbaum became paranoid of some men who were walking down the steps behind us. He said they weren't monks, and they had been following us ever since we left the temple.
"They must be Poo Chow's men," said Sylvia, worriedly. She was right - I recognized them as his bodyguards from the night before. We quickened our pace.
We came to a fork in the path, and Mandelbaum said the best option was to split up. I would take the bottle back to the blimp while Mandelbaum and Sylvia would draw off the attackers.
"No way," said Sylvia. "I'm not letting that bottle out of my sight."
I knew there was no arguing with her stubbornness, so she and I remained together while Mandelbaum took the diverging route. Sure enough, our attackers had no interest in pursuing Mandelbaum, and they stayed on our tail instead. Sylvia and I took off running down the steps of the mountain trail; it was incredibly dangerous. More than once I nearly stumbled, and rocks slid out beneath my feet. Sylvia caught me just millimeters away from the perilous plummet. "One wrong step and you're dead - be careful!"
We kept running. The attackers had quickened their pace, but we were lucky enough to see the Nefertiti docked just ahead. "Can we get your blimp up and running before they catch us?" I asked in a panic.
She said that the chances were slim, but we had to hurry and try. By now we were in a full-on sprint, and I'm embarrassed to say that my feet could not keep up with the speed at which we were traveling. My heel snagged the back end of a stair step, and I went tumbling forward. It all happened in slow motion as the Stangleton bottle that was in my hand went airborne. Sylvia lunged forward, attempting to catch it, but it all happened too fast. There was a devastating shattering sound, and glass shards went flying in every direction. As I crawled up off the ground, a puddle of green absinthe lay soaking into the snowy path. I couldn't believe that I had been so careless.
Sylvia was screaming, "No! No! This can't be happening! I should have never let you carry it!"
I was in the midst of apologizing for my clumsiness, but by then, the attackers were only a few meters behind us. One of the goons was reaching into his jacket pocket, and my only thought was that he would withdraw a gun. But luckily, he never made it that far. A rickshaw came barreling down the mountain slope and T-boned the two unsuspecting gangsters. They were caught completely off guard, and their two bodies went tumbling down the rocky slope.
As the rickshaw slowed to a stop, I noticed that Mandelbaum was the one behind the reins. He yelled for us to get on board, quickly, and I immediately complied. Sylvia was still staring helplessly at the shattered, empty bottle on the ground, but I pulled her with me onto the back of the rickshaw. Mandelbaum gave a good pull, and the three of us were moving back down the hill once again.
He got us to the blimp quickly enough, and we were able to board without any further harassment. Sylvia didn't talk to me the entire ride back to the hotel. We had been so close to our goal of possessing a Stangleton bottle, and I knew she was more upset by its sudden loss than I. The only consolation is that we now know the direction of the other remaining bottles. I can only hope that the reward of this treasure is worth the trouble that it is causing me.
#clumsy #nischit #enlightenment
#mindbasement #momssecretstash
Wednesday
All day I was too worried to even leave my room, for I feared that Poo Chow and his men were not finished dealing with the likes of us. While meeting with Mandelbaum and me in our room, Sylvia explained, "He saw my blimp taking off, and he was worried that I was fleeing. He had his men pursue us to the top of the mountain."
I had had enough of the mystery surrounding her debt to the gangster, which now had taken a turn for the worse and had brought me into the situation. "What is Poo Chow holding over you?"
She looked away, ashamed. "I... I can't say..."
I grabbed her by both arms and pulled her close. "Tell me, Sylvia! Enough of these silly and dangerous games." Then I said something that I knew would challenge her. "Either you trust me, or our business together is finished."
She finally looked me in the eyes. I had her full attention now. "You won't abandon me. You wouldn't dare..."
"If you cannot be honest with me, then yes, I will go. And I'll never look back."
She pushed herself free from my clutch and backed away toward the door. "Then I guess I can't count on you anymore," she said. She turned and left.
I glanced at Mandelbaum who had a hopeless look on his face. We both knew there was nothing more we could do for her.
"Actually," I said, as an idea was beginning to develop, "perhaps there is one more thing we can try..."
That evening, Mandelbaum and I made our way into the restaurant of the Xuĕ Hotel and Café. We had decided the best course of action was to go in disguise, as Poo Chow and his men would have easily recognized us otherwise. I dawned my fake ponytail, glasses, goatee, and prosthetic nose; and Mandelbaum squeezed his bulky body into a pink evening dress, a woman's wig, and lathered his face with some lipstick and make-up. I dare say I was so thrilled by the effectiveness of our disguises when even the proprietor, Curtis, didn't recognize us!
We played it cool, sitting at a table near Poo Chow's table, and he didn't seem to notice us at first. That was a good sign. Then Mandelbaum and I started the act that we had rehearsed, speaking loudly enough for Poo to hear.
"I told you, honey," I said, "we'll never find a good blimp pilot in these parts. But if you really can't stay another night, I'll do my best and ask around."
Poo took the bait immediately. I watched him excuse himself from his table and walk over toward ours, squinting at us curiously the entire way. "I couldn't help but overhear your situation, Mr. ..."
"Weintraub," I replied. "Ned Weintraub. And this is my wife, Bernice."
"Why are you in need of a blimp pilot, Mr. Weintraub? If you don't mind my asking."
I was glad he asked. "Well," I said coyly, "Bernice and I were doing a little bit of business - of the international sorts - and we found ourselves in the poor graces of the Chinese government. Apparently, they frown upon the smuggling of rare antiquities from the Tang Dynasty. Who'da thought?"
Mandelbaum chimed in about how a nice ceramic urn can bring so much ambiance to a home, especially when it contains the ashes of an imperial leader.
I continued, "So due to our predicament, we've been relegated to sneaking across the border. Now, you seem like a trustworthy sir. Are you sure you don't know any reliable blimp pilots? What about that one female pilot I keep hearing about... what's her name? Wolfen? Wolfenkranz? Sylvia Wolfenkranz, that's right!"
Poo replied flatly, "I'm afraid Ms. Wolfenkranz is unavailable to lend you any services."
"But--"
"I said she is unavailable," he replied fiercely, cutting me off. "Now if you don't mind, Mr. Weintraub, I believe you and your intimidatingly large wife should be leaving. I too may be in some trouble with the Chinese government, but I am a patriot at heart. I do not appreciate having smugglers and thieves in my company."
By now, his two bodyguards (the ones who waylaid us on the mountain) had seen the confrontation between us and joined him. One opened his jacket pocket, and I could see a pistol holstered beneath his arm. Mandelbaum and I wisely stood up and made our exit.
"I can tell you what, honey," I said to Mandelbaum on the way out, "we will not be staying at this hotel again!"
Back in our room, we removed our disguises. Mandelbaum was washing off his make-up when I complained to him, "Well, that didn't get us anywhere. We still have no idea why Sylvia is bound by debt to Poo Chow." A few seconds later, there was a knock on the door. Mandelbaum and I glanced at each other in surprise. Should we open it?
I snuck quietly to the door and looked through the peephole. It was Sylvia. I breathed a sigh of relief, but I hadn't expected her to return to our room again. When I opened the door, she slapped me in the face.
"I can't believe you spoke to Poo Chow! Do you realize what kind of situation that puts me in?!"
"Sylvia, I--"
"No! I don't want to hear it. Now, because of you and your stupid friend - nice eye shadow, by the way - he thinks I'm trying to flee. He says if I don't pay him in two days, then he will find another way to 'settle my debt.' Don't you see? He's going to kill me!"
She sobbed into my arms. I didn't know what to say. She broke through her tears saying, "We have to find those Stangleton bottles, right away! There's no time to lose! We'll go first thing in the morning, yes?"
"Sylvia... that's not enough time," I said pragmatically. "The journey ahead of us is too dangerous. We can't rush it."
"We must!"
"No, we mustn't. Don't you see that there is an alternative to all of this? It's so simple. We flee. Now. You and us. Mandelbaum will prepare the Eurydice, and you can fly away with us. Put this place and all this trouble far behind you, and never look back."
She shook her head. "That's your decision then? You're going to quit? And run away?"
"Yes," I replied firmly.
Then she looked at me, not with anger in her eyes, but with a truly deep-seeded disappointment. I think that is what pained me most. "Then you're truly worthless to me. What kind of blimpman runs away?" She said it without an ounce of emotion in her voice. Then she slapped me again and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her. I rubbed my aching cheek.
That night, I slept horribly. In between my tossing and turning, I was consumed by thoughts of Sylvia's impending doom (and visions of my own death as an abominable snowman attacked me). In my semi-lucid dream state, I realized I was resolute in my decision: we would leave Shangri-La at first light and abandon our hope of finding the treasure. As the abominable snowman returned in another dream, I could feel his hairy paws gripping onto my throat. They squeezed tighter, suffocating me. As I gasped futilely for air, I suddenly realized that I wasn't dreaming - I was actually being choked!
When I opened my eyes, my attacker was on top of me. I recognized him as one of Poo Chow's bodyguards. I tried to let out a scream, but my voice was completely stifled. Within seconds, my vision was going blurry and my empty, burning lungs were starting to go numb--
But then there was a sickening crunching sound, and my attacker's head twisted around nearly 180 degrees toward the back of his body. His limp, dead corpse tumbled over my bed and onto the floor.
Mandelbaum was standing there, wiping a bit of blood from his chin. I realized that he had been late in saving me because he had been busy with his own attacker - the second bodyguard, who now lay in the middle of the hotel room floor with a set of chopsticks sticking out of his neck. He too was dead. Mandelbaum helped me up, gave me a glass of water, and wrapped a warm blanket around me.
"I think...," I said weakly, "that I've had enough of Shangri-La."
#timetogo #assassins #undercover
#nedweintraub #theweintraubs
Thursday
After the assassination attempt on my life last night and the maid's prompt clean-up of the two bodies, I knew it was time to leave Shangri-La - the sooner, the better. I sent Mandelbaum to immediately prepare our blimp for departure. Meanwhile, I checked out of our room down at the front desk (and duly complained to Curtis about the hotel's general lack of security and the overall murdery experience of my stay [one star]). He grumbled and comped me a free night's stay at a future date of my choosing, but I have no intention of ever taking up his offer.
I looked around the lobby, hoping for some sign of Sylvia Wolfenkranz, silently hoping for the opportunity to at least wish her luck before I bid farewell, but she was nowhere to be found.
Curtis realized what I was doing and said, "You're not gonna find her anywhere 'round here. She took off early in the morning. Had her mountain-climbing gear and everything. Said she was making her way toward the rocky pass at the north-eastern side of the valley."
My heart skipped a beat, for I immediately knew what this meant. She was going off in search of the Stangleton bottles - alone!
I ran out of the hotel and made my way to the terrace where Mandelbaum and the blimp were located. Out of breath, I explained to him that Sylvia had run off by herself. Worse, I feared that she was ill-equipped to survive such a climb up Mount Everest without adequate preparations. "She'll never make it to the sight of Narwhal's crash, not alone. She is desperate, scared, and isn't thinking of the danger she faces."
Mandelbaum asked me what I planned to do; surely, Sylvia's fate did not concern us anymore.
"I'm afraid you're wrong," I said to my companion. "The fate of all blimpmen is of concern to me. We cannot leave her to die in the snowy wilderness."
With that, Mandelbaum and I reached a consensus that we would go off in pursuit of her, but he explained quite wisely that she had a good headstart on us - we'd never catch her. I agreed. But I had a plan.
Soon enough, we were on board the Eurydice and soaring high through the air. Never was I expecting to pilot my blimp toward Mount Everest, but who am I to dictate the course of destiny? The winds were untamable, for sure. As we climbed higher and higher toward the great, daunting mountain, our blimp was rocked by the chilling, snow-filled gusts of wind. My body was shivering in the intense cold, and frost was caking my eyelashes. "We have to find Sylvia before it's too late! She'll never survive in this blizzard!"
Mandelbaum increased our speed, but that only made the ride even more bumpy. We cruised for hours, scanning the ground below us, but it was nearly impossible to see anything at all. There was no sign of Sylvia or of any clues which might lead us to Stangleton's crash site.
Finally, there was a momentary gap in the fog that lasted only a few seconds, but by a stroke of luck, the sun poured through just long enough to illuminate the ground below. Down below I could see an orange dot tucked away in the snow. "There, Mandelbaum, look! It's Sylvia!" We changed our direction abruptly and headed down toward the orange dot.
The blimp reached a low enough altitude that I was able to drop the rope ladder and climb down onto the mountain. I raced toward Sylvia in her orange jacket, and by the time I got there, I could see she was three-fourths covered in a pile of snow. She was unconscious, her body stricken with hypothermia. I cradled her in my arms and tried my best to wake her.
She looked at me groggily and spoke scratchily through blue lips, "I knew... you'd come... for me." She smiled, but then she passed out.
I couldn't rouse her any more after that. I carried her limp body back toward the rope ladder, bound her tightly to a rung, and Mandelbaum lifted her up. Next, it was my turn, but my eye suddenly caught sight of something, and I decided not to go up the ladder.
Not far off from where I found Sylvia - only a hundred feet or so - I spotted some blackened pieces of wood scattered about the mountainside. Despite the pounding wind and snow, I rushed over to get a better look. Surely, you will not believe what I saw, for it was indeed the wreckage of the Ganymede! Sylvia had no idea how close she had come. There it was, and despite the damage, weathering, and layers of ice and snow; I would recognize the unmistakable features of a blimp anywhere - a rudder over here, a propeller over there.
I rummaged around in the frozen debris for just a few minutes. Something caught my attention that made me jump in fright. It was an open-mouth, mummified corpse staring straight at me. Most of the body was buried in the snow, but I regained my composure and concluded that these half-skeletal remains were indeed all that was left of Narwhal Stangleton. His body was mostly preserved by the ice of Mount Everest. And in his hands: a bottle of absinthe.
I broke off a few of his fingers (gagging at the vile crunching sound) and pried the bottle from his grasp. When I stood up, I noticed that this one bottle was not alone; all around me were shattered crates. I just had to rummage through a little bit until I found another bottle intact, then another, then another. It turns out that Stangleton wasn't transporting a single crate - he was transporting a hundred crates. Each one had been filled to the brim with elegant bottles of the most superior Klaxon d'Oie known to man! So many of the bottles had survived the crash intact. It was a miracle! A priceless treasure trove! An absinthe connoisseur's dream!
I had no time to waste as the cold was surely overcoming me, but with Mandelbaum's help, I was able to round up every single bottle we could find. At long last, the treasure was ours! We only had to survive this snowstorm long enough to enjoy it.
We boarded the blimp, and Mandelbaum took command of piloting. By now, Sylvia had warmed a little, and she was able to regain momentary consciousness. She pointed ahead of us toward the storm and said faintly, "Can't go down... storm is worsening... must... go... up." Then she passed out again.
It didn't take me long to realize what she meant because she was indeed correct. The storm we had just passed through had only gotten worse; the winds were torrential gusts of ice and snow now. Lightning struck the side of the mountain, and I knew our blimp would never make it out alive. I ordered Mandelbaum to change our course. "If we can't go down the mountain, we'll go up and over it!"
It was a crazy decision that only a man facing imminent death could possibly make, but Mandelbaum was in no position to disagree with me. No one had ever piloted a blimp to the top of Mount Everest, and who were we to be such daredevils? But we had no other choice. We rose higher and higher, the winds increased, and the atmosphere became thinner. I was growing light-headed and faint, my vision was beginning to blur, and my lungs were starting to burn. I was sure that none of us would survive this deadly and daring feat, and we too would meet the same fate as Narwhal Stangleton...
But now we're back at the hotel, warming ourselves by the fire and sipping on the damn finest bottle of absinthe my tongue has ever tasted! Mandelbaum and I clinked our glasses together and laughed heartily. We saluted to good health, a record-setting blimp flight, and yet another profitable adventure.
#success #mounteverest #stangletonbottles
#worldrecord #treasure #abruptending
Friday
Our celebration over the discovery of the Stangleton bottles (not to mention our world-record blimp flight to the peak of Mount Everest) lasted well into the night. Curtis was good to his word and let us check back into the hotel for free. Not that we needed the discount - we were now the richest men in the whole Shangri-La valley!
Sylvia Wolfenkranz was still dozing in my bed, having not fully recovered from the traumatizing events on the mountain. She awoke slowly and glanced around my room, wiping the sleep from her eyes.
"You shouldn't have saved me, you fool," she said sadly.
I said, "Is that any way to say 'thank you'?"
"What should I be thanking you for? You may have saved my life for a few more hours, but it's as good as over once Poo Chow realizes I'm back. He'll know I tried to run."
I began to fear that she was right. Poo Chow tried once to assassinate me for my interference in his affairs; what would stop him from trying again? More so, he would be even more tempted to kill me after he learned about the priceless treasure I now possessed.
"We'll sneak out of the hotel as soon as night falls," I said. "Mandelbaum will prepare my blimp, and we can make our escape."
"It may be too late by then," she said pessimistically.
I didn't know what more she wanted from me. I saved her life, nearly lost my own, and even promised her a cut of the treasure. Her gloomy negativity was annoying me.
Evening came, and Sylvia and I were packed and ready to go. She had just finished freshening up in the powder room, and we were alone in the room and waiting. I said, "As soon as we get Mandelbaum's signal, we'll move out. We have to leave your blimp behind as not to draw attention, but with your new wealth, buying a new one won't be a problem."
She replied glumly, "That's fine."
I turned to her and said rather demandingly, "What causes you to be this way? You're coming out of this alive and rich. You can forget all about your debt to Poo Chow."
"He'll never let me get away," she said. "He will always come after me. If not now, then soon."
"Then use your cut of the treasure to finally pay him off and be done with this! Put the matter to rest!"
"It's not that easy," she said.
I really didn't understand what the fuss was about. "What is it, Sylvia? What debt do you owe him? What causes it to be so taxing on you that you can't simply pay your debt and walk away?"
For a second, I almost thought she was going to answer, but then Mandelbaum came into the room. He gave us a thumbs-up, a signal that the blimp was ready.
"Time to go," I said, knowing I'd never get an answer from her.
"Wait," she said. For a second I thought she was going to spill her secrets to me, but instead she raised a bottle of Stangleton absinthe and poured two glasses. She handed one to me.
"To friendship," she said.
"To friendship," I repeated unconvincingly, and I downed the contents of my glass.
Then we headed toward the door, but she caught me by the arm and whispered something to me: "I'll tell you everything on the way." With this, I was amazed that I had finally - after five nights in Shangri-La - won the trust of Sylvia Wolfenkranz.
We snuck down the stairs into the lobby of the hotel, rounding every corner in silence and double-checking behind us for any sign of a tail. The Chinese gangsters were nowhere to be found. But I knew it was too good to be true. Just a few feet from the door, Poo Chow stepped out of the shadows, blocking our escape.
"Good evening... 'Mr. Weintraub,'" he said. Then his gang joined him.
Curtis was there too. "Sorry pal, I've got a business to run. I had no choice. You understand, right?"
The traitorous innkeeper had tipped off our enemy to our escape, but I didn't blame him. I could only blame Poo Chow for this delay. I said, "Please allow us to pass, Mr. Poo. I promise to pay off whatever debt this woman owes to you. You have my word as a blimpman. Surely three bottles of Stangleton will settle any score that is owed to you?"
He gave me a puzzled look. "Bottles? What bottles? And what is Stangleton?"
I could tell by his voice that he was being honest; he truly had no idea what I was talking about.
"No more delays," he said. Then he snapped his fingers and the entire dozen men at his side jumped on top of Mandelbaum. Even my companion - being accustomed to brawling against hordes of squirrels and other hooligans in vastly superior numbers - was not able to shake off so many attackers at one time.
Poo grabbed Sylvia by the arm and pulled her close. "Come with me, my dear."
"Wait!" I shouted, but it was no use. Poo turned back to me and held up a small vial filled with blue liquid.
"Inside this vial is the antidote to the poison you have just drunk."
"Poison? What poison?" I asked. It took me a moment, but then the answer was clear. I turned to Sylvia and she looked at me guiltily. "The absinthe!" I shouted, recalling the glass she had just poured for me minutes ago. The shock was overwhelming, but it wasn't anger that consumed me. It was a deep despair. I muttered, "You betrayed me? Why?"
She whispered, "I'm sorry. It was the only way."
With that, Poo Chow laughed and tossed the vial across the room. I completely missed his and Sylvia's exit out the door because my eyes were too fixated on that vial. I watched the glass container rotate end-over-end in a slow-motion freefall. I was so afraid it would shatter once it hit the ground, but instead it clinked across the tile floor staying intact.
The next few minutes were a blur of high-speed chaos. I dove onto the ground, crawling for the vial, dodging the incoming bodies of gangsters who Mandelbaum was tossing aside like ragdolls. A few tried to punch me, but I dodged their attacks, my sole focus being on obtaining that lost blue vial. Every time I got close to it, someone who was mixed up in the fray would accidentally kick it away.
"This can't be happening!" I shouted frustratingly to myself. I crawled more, this time sweating profusely and feeling the effects of the poison taking over me. My heart was beating faster and faster with each passing second-- I grabbed the bottle-- a swinging fist knocked my elbow and sent the bottle sailing into the air again-- my vision was starting to blur-- Mandelbaum knocked out a gangster who shot a bullet into the ceiling as he fell-- I crawled toward the vial-- it was so close!
As I reached out and finally grabbed it, I made sure there were no incoming attackers to disarm me once again. I quickly uncorked the vial, tossed back the contents, and swallowed them down my contracting throat. But I'm afraid... it was all too late...
The world went dark...
...
I woke up some time later in my bed back upstairs. Mandelbaum was there by my side, having suffered two nasty black eyes and several lacerations to his face. He put a comforting hand on my knee.
"Am I alive?" I asked, looking around the room. "What happened? Sylvia?"
Mandelbaum silently handed me a roll of toilet paper, then walked out onto the balcony for some fresh air. Confused, I unrolled it and was surprised to find that the entire length of the paper had been written upon. I let the whole roll unravel onto the floor like a scroll, revealing the hidden message within. It read:
"Dear friend, I hope you can forgive me for all the ill fortune I have caused to fall upon you. You have been a kind, generous, and loyal man every step of the way. If it makes you feel any better, please know that conning you and stealing your treasure has caused me to feel some amount of regret."
I paused for a moment, wondering what she could possibly mean by that. What was Sylvia trying to say? I continued reading:
"Yes, it is just a matter of time before Mandelbaum explains to you that the Stangleton bottles are, in fact, missing. That is because I have them. It was always my intention to steal them from you. Surely you have not forgotten all the humiliation you have caused me in the past. You ruined my standing with the Secret Society of the Blimpmen by exposing my lies, you stole the Pingdu pelican from me, and likewise you stole my priceless Jumanji game. I said I had moved on with my life since those events transpired, but that was the single biggest lie I have told you in all of this. Ever since you arrived in Shangri-La, I have plotted my revenge.
"I knew you were here for the Stangleton bottles. Many blimpmen ahead of you have tried and failed, but I assumed you would be foolish enough to try for yourself. Yes, I could have easily paid my debt to Poo Chow using the Stangleton bottle that Nischit Wangdi gave to us, but I wanted more than simply evening my score with him. Nischit warned us against greed, and I'm afraid it got the better of me. I wanted not one bottle, but all of the bottles. It was fortunate that you clumsily dropped the bottle off the side of the mountain because I would have disposed of it in a much less pleasant fashion. While you were content to have the one bottle, I needed all of them.
"That brings us to Poo Chow. It just so happened that your arrival coincided with my unrelated predicament at the hands of Poo Chow. I decided to play you both against each other. You've asked what debt I owed him; well, allow me to finally explain. He told you he was a patriot, right? He has a great passion for his homeland. That much is true. What he omitted from that information is another passion in his life - that he and I were once lovers.
"We met while on an archaeological hunt for Chinese antiquities belonging to dead emperors. He didn't want the artifacts to fall into the hands of the Chinese government, so he appreciated me for my professional assistance. I, in turn, fell in love with his rebellious, bad-boy persona. (Yes, I'm ashamed to admit I'm no better than a foolish schoolgirl when it comes to love.) We had a run-in with the Chinese military outside of Ping Yao, and we were forced to abandon our ancient treasure and flee the country.
"We found safe haven in Shangri-La, but the momentary peace we found was fleeting. He grew tired of being a refugee in hiding, and I grew tired of his manipulations. He grew paranoid that I would abandon him. He said that if I tried to flee without him, he would expose me to the government, who would no doubt have me arrested - or worse. His biggest fear was that I would board the Nefertiti and leave him far behind. He kept his watchdogs on me at all hours, controlling me with threats and inspiring terror. Meanwhile, I bided my time, planning my escape. Your arrival was the very spark that set the fire into motion.
"I knew I had to win your trust. Playing the part of the 'damsel in distress' has never suited me, but I knew it would be enough to garner your attention. With my blimp under constant surveillance, you would be the only one capable of flying me out of Shangri-La. But there was no way in hell I was leaving here a poor woman. The Stangleton bottles were simply an extra perk to make life easier on the other side. With that money, I could buy a new blimp, change my name, purchase my own tropical island, and live free of the fear of Poo Chow and his gang. More importantly, I would rob you - the person who had always gotten the better of me - of a treasure you so greatly desired in your heart.
"I just wasn't counting on you to be so honorable. That truly was the biggest twist in all of my machinations. You helped me at every turn, saved my life, and were even willing to share a portion of the treasure with me. And for what? All I did was lie to you and keep secrets. You truly make no sense to me. You were so honest and pure, so I grew to regret my treatment of you.
"Poo Chow was clever. He cornered me and demanded to know who you were. I lied and told Poo Chow that you were a rich old flame trying to whisk me away, I knew it would enrage him to no end, and when this fueled his rage against you, the guilt of my manipulations began to weigh on me. I couldn't tell him about the Stangleton bottles or the fact that I was planning a life without him. I just wasn't expecting for his men to try to kill you! (Again, sorry about that.) After the attempt on your life, when you said that you were leaving Shangri-La forever, I had to resort to desperate measures to keep you here. You were willing to give up your pursuit of the treasure, but I could not allow that to happen. My pride still got the better of me, and I couldn't let the idea of the treasure go. So I did the only thing I knew how. I went off alone and allowed myself to be exposed to danger on the mountain, knowing full well that you had too much honor to simply abandon me. The damsel in distress indeed. I knew you would come for me. Oh, how I knew. And sure enough, you did.
"Now I write to you from the powder room, and you are in the bedroom packing your bags joyfully. You think we are fleeing together - it's cute. I hope you survive long enough to read this message. By the time you read this, you will have drunk the poison that I plan to slip you, Curtis will have transferred all of the treasure onto my blimp, and Poo Chow will have kidnapped me. But don't take too long to read this because your life may still be in danger.
"You see, I will poison you just as Poo Chow ordered me to do, but I will also poison Poo Chow in the same way. I know he will fall for it. (All it takes is a flirty smile, and any man will happily share a celebratory drink with you.) I don't have enough callousness in my heart to let him die, so I will give him the antidote at some point, once I am in the clear. I plan on dumping him over the side of my blimp, but in a matter of hours, he will awake in the snow and return furiously to the hotel.
"So, please friend, quickly gather your things and head toward your blimp. Fly away free. And when you do so, I ask only one thing of you... do not think ill of me. You may not forgive me today or even tomorrow, but soon, and you'll realize that our adventure together was worth more than any amount of lost treasure. Until we meet again. Love, S."
I crumpled up the note and threw it into the fireplace. I walked out onto the balcony with Mandelbaum and explained that we needed to make our exit. He fully agreed. As the last rays of sunlight set over the peak of Mount Everest and a shadow fell over the Shangri-La valley, I thanked him for being such a loyal friend. Now more than ever, I appreciate that never once has he strayed from my side.
"Mandelbaum," I said proudly, "I think this is the continuation of a beautiful friendship."
#theend #sylvia #clevergirl #poisoned #tilnexttime
Mandelbaum and I were soaring high between the passes of the Himalayan Mountains. As I took in this glorious view, it gave me an opportunity to reflect on how lucky I was to have survived my ordeal of being lost at sea not too long ago. It was nice to have solid ground beneath my blimp again. I was thankful for Mandelbaum's courage in single-handedly rescuing me, because obviously he was the only person in my life capable of being that heroic. If only there were more men like him, but alas, there is not.
We hit a chilly updraft, and the Eurydice III (my new blimp, modeled to the exact specifications and design as her two predecessors) lunged forward between two rocky peaks. Even though death had nearly caught me more than once in my previous adventure, that would never stop me from pursuing my highest calling: more adventure.
This time, Mandelbaum and I were headed toward Shangri-La. The place had quite a reputation, having been exaggerated through fictional tales, and it now possessed an almost mythical stature. But having been there a few times before, I can tell you that it does not live up to its flare for mystery and mysticism. Totally overhyped. There's not much to it, honestly. Caught somewhere in the Mahalangur Himal sub-range of mountains, it sits in a small valley surrounded on three sides by Nepal, Tibet, and the jagged slopes of the famed Mount Everest. There's one tiny village (populated mostly by simpleton yak herders and salamander breeders), and there's not a single road or railway going into the hidden valley. The place is only accessible by a flying junk-style airship, or in our case, a blimp.
As we passed over a rocky, snowy peak that I had seen many times before, I knew we were close. I could spot Mount Everest looming massively across the valley on the opposite side. We came over the ridge, and down below I could see the terraces cut into the mountain slopes. Villagers in their yak-fur parkas stared up at our blimp in awe and wonder. I waved to them, but not a single one returned the gesture. I should have expected as much; they are never too keen on humoring tourists.
What they didn't realize was that Mandelbaum and I were here strictly on business. And that business was a most lucrative adventure. You see, there was a very important matter that had caught my attention many months before, but I had only now been provided the opportunity to pursue it. It all goes back to a bottle of absinthe - but not just any bottle, and not just any absinthe. Let me explain.
It all started back in 1953 with a man named Narwhal Stangleton, who has become something of a legend amongst blimpmen like myself, and his fateful voyage. Sir Edmund Hillary, the famous mountaineer, had just been the first person to reach the world's highest peak on Mount Everest by climbing, and everyone wanted a piece of the action. Narwhal Stangleton said he could top Hillary's success by being the first person to pilot a blimp to the summit of Mount Everest. Given the extreme conditions at the peak, such as unpredictable wind speeds, subzero temperatures, and a nearly unbreathable level of atmosphere; this was naturally a very dangerous undertaking. Suicidal, in fact.
Whether suicidal or not, Stangleton was willing to risk it all for the sake of glory. Some say he was just too inexperienced as a blimp pilot, and others claim he had an encounter with a rock-throwing abominable snowman who attacked his vessel, but whatever the truth of the matter was, Stangleton never made it to his destination. He and his guide crashed their blimp somewhere on the slope of the mountain, most likely just a few hundred meters from the top. Neither the unfortunate man's body nor the remains of his blimp, the Ganymede, were ever recovered.
Now, this brings us back to the present. Replicating Stangleton's suicidal blimping venture to the top of the mountain is not what brings me here. (I may be a bold man who rarely shies from a challenge, but I'm no dummy. I prefer to have a bit of calculation in my risk-taking, and in this case, I knew the chance of failure outweighed the chance of success.) Rather, I've come here for another matter.
There's always been a rumor that when Stangleton was traveling, he was carrying a crate of a very fine vintage of absinthe, known as the Klaxon d'Oie. Stangleton planned on leaving the crate at the peak of the mountain as a celebratory gift for future explorers, mountaineers, and blimpers. Who wouldn't want a sip of that delicious green magic fairy-water after an arduous trek to the top? This fine vintage - ornately bottled, with a bit of age, and preserved at the perfect temperature by the pure white snows of the Himalayas - would be priceless find for absinthe connoisseurs such as myself. These bottles, now known as the "Stangleton bottles", were a lost treasure waiting to be found; collectors would undoubtedly pay millions to get their hands on just one of those legendary artifacts! I became obsessed in my fascination and research of the bottles. I was absolutely convinced that they did exist, and I vowed to be the first to find them.
I decided to make Shangri-La my base camp in this treasure-hunting expedition. I'm not much of a climber, but I had been training my body diligently for months for the grueling hike ahead of us. Mandelbaum faithfully agreed to act as my sherpa.
As we arrived in Shangri-La, Mandelbaum and I parked our blimp and checked into the only hotel in the village, a rather dingy place known as the Xuĕ Hotel and Café. It was run by an American fellow named Curtis, who was an acquaintance (but not quite a friend) of Mandelbaum and me. As we checked into the hotel, Curtis greeted us in the lounge with a heavy eye roll, a puff of his cigar, and a grumpy grumble.
"Just don't draw any attention to yourself or to me, got it?" Then he walked off.
I knew he ran this hotel - not for tourism - but for all sorts of underhanded operations such as gunrunning, bootlegging, black market salamander trafficking, and maybe the occasional harboring of political asylum-seekers and wanted fugitives.
As I stretched my legs at the bar of the smoky restaurant and warmed myself near a fireplace, listening to the tunes of the rather lousy piano player nearby, my eyes scanned the room. I wondered what stories and mysteries surrounded each guest in the room. All the hushed conversations taking place must have been full of sinister secrets. There was a wide range of potential outlaws - no doubt ranging from liars to thieves to downright murderers, and I got the general sense that this place was a Mos Eisleyan hive of scum and villainy.
My eyes quickly caught onto a group of mobsters sitting in a dark corner of the restaurant. They all seemed to be Chinese and were rambling on to each other in some heated debate entirely in Mandarin. It was clear who the leader was, for he was an intimidating presence: he had a dark purple smoking jacket, black goatee, and slicked-back hair. Two massive bodyguards stood on either side of him. I realized that he had noticed my staring, and we were now accidentally making eye contact, so I quickly averted my gaze and returned to the bar as nonchalantly as possible. He whispered something in Mandarin to one of the bodyguards, and I picked up my pace back to my seat.
"You stay away from that table back there, you hear me?" warned Curtis from behind the bar.
"Who was that frightful man?" I asked.
Curtis said, "Never you mind that! You don't want any part of their business, unless you want to end up in a dark Shangri-La alley left for dead. They don't play nice. But they pay their tabs, keep their rooms clean, and tip with the occasional cigar, so I don't ask any questions. And you shouldn't either, got it?"
"What's the leader's name?"
"What part about 'no questions' is difficult for you, huh?!"
"I just want to know who exactly it is that I should be staying away from."
"Well, if you must know," relented Curtis, "he's the most fearsome Chinese mobster to ever make his way into this valley. Got himself into some good trouble with the Chinese government. His name strikes fear into the heart of any man. That is Poo Chow. Stop giggling, I said that's Poo Chow. Why are you laughing? I said Poo Chow! Poo Chow! What's so--? Oh right, hilarious. How did I not get that before?"
By now, all our commotion at the bar had attracted some more unwanted attention from Poo Chow's gang. Mandelbaum said that it was time to get out of here, and I heartily agreed. As I threw on my coat and finished the burning swill in my glass, I caught sight of something that nearly made me spit it out.
It wasn't a Chinese mobster or any vile denizen of Shangri-La; instead, it was the one person I never expected to see in a place like this. She came down the stairs in an orange evening gown, and it seemed as if time had stopped. The piano wound down its song, and all eyes in the room were on her. But her dark eyes lingered only on mine.
Of all the gin joints in all the world...
I said in amazement, "Sylvia Wolfenkranz, what are you doing here?"
Before she could respond, a voice from behind me said in a thick accent, "I believe the lady has come to see me."
When I turned around, it was Poo Chow. He and his bodyguards had gotten up from the table and made their way to my location. Mandelbaum stepped between them and Sylvia, who was now next to me, cutting off the gangsters with a defensive posture.
"It's okay, Mandelbaum," she said softly, yet with command in her voice, brushing past my friend elegantly. "Poo Chow and I go back a long way. I owe him a debt of gratitude."
"That's enough small talk for now," said Poo, cutting her off, but I could tell she had started to say something that he didn't want to be shared with me. He continued, "Come with me to my table and we'll discuss your debt more privately."
Poo and his gang turned back toward their table, but I made sure to sneak a moment alone with Sylvia. I grabbed her by the arm. She was startled by my firm grip, and I was equally startled by the smooth contour of her long arm. I whispered, "Surely you don't have to get involved with scum like them. Allow me to aid you in your troubles. It's the least I can do, considering my involvement in the hunt for the Pindgu pelican and the Jumanji game I stole from you. Not to mention the fact that I exposed your con with the Secret Society of the Blimpmen."
She rolled her eyes bitterly and wriggled her arm free of mine. "Bygones," she said. "I've moved on. And you should too." But her assuredness gave way to a different light as she looked down toward the ground. "There's no helping me now."
There was an evident hopelessness in her voice - despair. With that, she walked away sadly toward Poo Chow's table. The piano player resumed with a sonorous tune, and life moved on as usual in Shangri-La. But I couldn't help feeling a little sympathetic to her troubled state. Despite our antagonistic relationship in the past, she was, after all, a fellow blimpman. I felt obligated to help where I could.
Mandelbaum said some wise words about how if anyone is capable of looking after herself, it is Sylvia. I agreed, and the two of us decided to retreat back to our room to discuss a plan for finding that glorious Stangleton absinthe.
#adventure #shangrila #xuehotel
#stangletonabsinthe #sylvia #hisnameispoo
Tuesday
I didn't sleep well during my first night in Shangri-La. After staying up late into the night discussing mountain-climbing strategies with Mandelbaum, I only barely dozed off. I was awakened soon after by the sound of throat-singing yak herders outside the hotel calling to each other on the mountain slope. In lieu of breakfast, I went out on my balcony and decided to engage in some transcendental meditation. Here on these mystic mountains with an obstacle before me, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to pursue a bit of enlightenment. But every time that I made headway toward nirvana, delving further into a mind-opening trance, I was interrupted by a sudden fortepiano throat-blast from those pesky Tuvan-style singers. It was really annoying.
"Try repeating a mantra," said a lovely yet startling voice coming from the balcony next to mine. It was Sylvia Wolfenkranz. I was surprised to see her there, as I didn't realize she had been staying in the adjacent room. She was out enjoying the morning mountain air, sipping tea, and still wearing her silky evening negligée. "Try a word or a phrase to describe the thing you really want," she said.
I asked, "And what would your mantra be?"
She told me that that was nothing I should concern myself with. I didn't press the issue further.
"Actually," I said, "I thought a lot about you last night."
Her eyes widened.
"Uh, I mean, no," I stammered awkwardly. "I mean I've been thinking of a way to help you in your situation with Poo Chow. Hear me out." I looked around, just to make sure there were no eavesdroppers on other neighboring balconies. Even then I hesitated. "You are familiar with the Stangleton bottles, yes?"
"I knew that's why you were here!" she shouted. I told her to lower her voice. She whispered, "I had a feeling. I've heard no blimpman can resist their calling. But I don't see what your search has to do with me..."
I explained that even though the search for the bottles might cost me my life, finding them would undoubtedly endow me with more treasure and wealth than one man could possibly ever spend alone. I said that, if she were to help me find them, being the professional archaeologist that she was, I would be willing to offer her a bottle or two in exchange for her assistance. She could use that money to pay off whatever debt she owed to Poo Chow and his gang.
"You would really do that for me?" she asked, then added with some suspicion in her voice, "Why?"
I thought for a moment and said, "Because you are a blimpman, and it is the most honorable thing to do."
She smiled at me. The throat singers continued their singing in the nearby hills, and Sylvia seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. Suddenly she said, "I have an idea where we can start." Clearly she accepted my deal.
An hour or so later, Sylvia had gotten dressed in her room, and I in mine. The three of us (Mandelbaum included) met outside the hotel.
"You picked a good place to start your hunt," she said. "You may not be aware, but Shangri-La has a very strong connection to the fateful journey of Narwhal Stangleton. Before I explain further, we'll need to take a short blimp ride to the Buddhist monastery at the top of that mountain."
She pointed, and I said Mandelbaum and I would prepare the Eurydice right away.
"No need," she said, "my blimp is already prepared."
I was surprised that Sylvia now had her own blimp. She had always defied the trends of other blimpmen by preferring to fly in hot air balloons (and by being a woman). I was glad to see she finally opened up her mind to blimps. As we found hers docked nearby, I must admit it was quite the craft. She called it the Nefertiti, in honor of the Egyptian goddess, and it had an orange ballonet, her favorite color.
I had never flown with Sylvia before, but she was a fine pilot. She needed no assistance from Mandelbaum and me, and I admired every move she made from behind the piloting wheel and every skilled adjustment she made to the ropes and rudders in this unpredictable Himalayan wind. She was quite a woman indeed.
As time passed on our flight, I couldn't help but intrude on her personal matters: "What debt do you owe to Poo Chow?"
But she didn't respond and kept her eyes fixed on the distant horizon. "Not much further," she called to us.
We landed on a mountain terrace high above the Shangri-La valley. Even still, there was a long hike ahead of us on foot. A seemingly never-ending staircase led to the temple at the summit of the steep peak. With each step, I fought the temptation to look down over the sheer edge; vertigo could easily overtake me at any moment. It seems strange that a high-flying blimpman would be afraid of heights, but take me out of the gondola of my blimp and place my feet on firm ground, and suddenly the deadly drop next to me seems like a much different beast.
When we finally reached the top, a small, but ornately decorated temple stood before us. Monks in orange robes invited us inside, and I was glad to escape from the cold. (I made a note that I would have to build some tolerance to the cold before we tried to climb the much higher Everest.)
The monks of this monastery were all silent, but welcoming nonetheless. They led us to their leader, an ancient-looking man sat on a gold-trimmed dais in the center of the room. He sat with his legs crossed, and his long white beard spilled over his lap and trailed all the way down to the floor. He didn't react to our presence there in the temple; in fact, he never even opened his eyes.
Sylvia whispered so as not to wake the man from his trance. "I told you that Shangri-La had a connection to Stangleton's quest, well this is it." She pointed to the old man. "He was Stangleton's companion on his blimp ride up the mountain - his assistant and co-pilot. His name is Nischit Wangdi. He had warned Stangleton not to go, that it was too dangerous, but he could not convince his friend to turn back. When the blimp crashed, only Nischit Wangdi survived. He barely managed to make it off the mountain alive, and he was not able to save his friend. If anyone can point us to the site of the crash, it is this man."
I was amazed by this tremendous tale, and I could feel my excitement growing. It was the best lead we'd had so far on our hunt.
Still, the old man did not stir. Sylvia let out a little cough to get his attention, and Nischit Wangdi said in perfect English, "Try a little green tea. It's good for a cough."
He finally opened his eyes, but he did not seem surprised to see three strangers standing before him. Casually, he reached over to a small table next to him, and he picked up a crystalline glass with his bony fingers. Inside was some green tea, and he took a sip. Then, he said so matter-of-factly, "You've come for the bottles."
I was amazed at how he could have possibly known such a thing. I said that Sylvia must have told him of our coming.
"Not at all," he said. "I don't even know this woman. Rather, I could perceive your intentions immediately upon seeing you, for you have the unmistakable air of an adventurous man." I grinned. "And also a foolish man you are." I stopped grinning. "You are not ready for the undertaking that awaits you. I don't mean your body is not ready; I mean your heart. You have greed in you."
I admitted that he was perhaps correct; I wanted the bottles for my own financial gain. But was that so wrong of me?
"Not at all," he said. "But you must also be willing to accept the fact that everything you hope to find is already here in this room. You need look no further."
I was confused by Nischit Wangdi's cryptic statement for a long moment. I glanced at Mandelbaum, but he just shrugged his shoulders none the wiser. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me. "Ah, it is a riddle!"
The old man took another sip of his green tea. "Perhaps. You are welcome to stay here until you find out the answer. Stay as long as you like."
We did stay for several more hours. None of us were sure what it all meant. Everything you hope to find is already here in this room. We deduced that it had to be some sort of spiritual guidance. Clearly, Nischit wanted us to look inside ourselves to find peace and enlightenment, rather than seek the external reward of the bottles.
Between the three of us, we agreed to try our hand at a bit of meditation. I asked Mandelbaum to massage my shoulders, as his fleshy palms have a way of hypnotizing me with their pulsating undulations. I closed my eyes and fell into a deep sleep. It was only a matter of seconds before I found myself back in my "mind basement," that inner place in the recesses of my memory where I store my deepest thoughts.
Though by appearances the mind basement was a seemingly chaotic horde of endless cardboard boxes, toy chests, and disorganized shelves, there was a method to all the madness. As a child, I remember my mother having been able to instantly locate any item within the mess as if it had been perfectly catalogued, and I suppose that memory resonated with me when I went in search of my own way to start categorizing my memories. It seemed like a place where countless thoughts and ideas could be stored and retrieved for some later use. I glanced around that cluttered basement from my childhood home in search of some sort of clue to Nischit's riddle.
The Young Me was there too. He was a teenager now, having aged from the last time I saw him. I had grown tired of encounters with this avatar of my inner-consciousness in the past.
"Oh great, you again," I said.
He responded in a whiney teenage voice, "Am I really going to get that ugly? And fat? That sucks."
I scowled at my younger self bitterly and said coldly, "Janie dumps you for Rod Kempner at your birthday party."
He started crying, saying, "No! No, that's not true! It's our destiny to be together!" and then he ran away sobbing hysterically. Serves him (me) right.
That left me alone in the basement to continue my search. I'm not sure how much time had passed in the real world, but it was hours upon hours in that basement as I scoured every possible corner for some sort of clue to the riddle. I had just reached for an old box marked "Mom's Tea Set: Do Not Touch" when something startling revealed itself under the lid. Instead of a ceramic tea set inside the box, there were about five half-drunk bottles of scotch. My eyes went wide as I had never suspected my mother of having a secret stash. (But somehow it all made sense.)
I was just about to return the box when something dawned on me. I muttered to myself, "Everything you hope to find is in this room..."
I suddenly awoke back in the Buddhist temple. I roused Sylvia from her own trance next to me. "What is it?" she asked groggily, and I exclaimed excitedly that I had found the answer.
I rushed over to the dais where Nischit Wangdi was sitting and drinking his tea. I snatched the cup out of his hand, sniffed the contents, and gave them a taste. "Just as I suspected!" I said. "This isn't green tea at all. It's absinthe. And damn that is good stuff too! What vintage is this?"
Nischit said without emotion, "You already know."
And he was right, I did know, for this was indeed the fabled Klaxon d'Oie - the Stangleton absinthe!
"You were able to save a bottle after your crash!"
"Yes, it is true," confessed Nischit. "Quite a few bottles, in fact. It is good luck that you were able to find me on today of all days, for this is the very final bottle remaining in my collection. Every day I have sipped the contents of this beverage in hopes that it will bring some closure to the death of my dear friend, Narwhal, but alas that peace and clarity has not been achieved. In the hopes that it may serve you better than it has served me, please take this with you."
With that, he reached into his robe and pulled out a most beautifully decorated, corked bottle. Etched into the dark glass were two letters, initials written in some sort of golden alloy below the Klaxon d'Oie label. It read, "N.S." It was the most beautiful bottle I had ever seen, and just that one sip from Nischit's glass was so mesmerizing, so powerful, that every inch of my tongue and throat were tingling now, like I had just made out with a wet-mouthed unicorn. It was every bit as haunting and captivating as I hoped a Stangleton would be. Nay, it was more.
"Should you decide that you need more than this one bottle, follow the secret pass through the jagged rocks on the north-eastern side of the Shangri-La valley," said Nischit. "Continue on that route and you will find the site of Stangleton's blimp crash. Namaste."
Sylvia, Mandelbaum, and I thanked Nischit Wangdi immensely for his generosity and his willingness to part with the bottle, and he simply bowed silently. The three of us rushed out of the temple, upbeat and enthusiastic about our tremendously fortunate victory today.
We were on our way back to Sylvia's blimp, the two of us still celebrating and singing to each other, waving the bottle over our heads, when Mandelbaum became paranoid of some men who were walking down the steps behind us. He said they weren't monks, and they had been following us ever since we left the temple.
"They must be Poo Chow's men," said Sylvia, worriedly. She was right - I recognized them as his bodyguards from the night before. We quickened our pace.
We came to a fork in the path, and Mandelbaum said the best option was to split up. I would take the bottle back to the blimp while Mandelbaum and Sylvia would draw off the attackers.
"No way," said Sylvia. "I'm not letting that bottle out of my sight."
I knew there was no arguing with her stubbornness, so she and I remained together while Mandelbaum took the diverging route. Sure enough, our attackers had no interest in pursuing Mandelbaum, and they stayed on our tail instead. Sylvia and I took off running down the steps of the mountain trail; it was incredibly dangerous. More than once I nearly stumbled, and rocks slid out beneath my feet. Sylvia caught me just millimeters away from the perilous plummet. "One wrong step and you're dead - be careful!"
We kept running. The attackers had quickened their pace, but we were lucky enough to see the Nefertiti docked just ahead. "Can we get your blimp up and running before they catch us?" I asked in a panic.
She said that the chances were slim, but we had to hurry and try. By now we were in a full-on sprint, and I'm embarrassed to say that my feet could not keep up with the speed at which we were traveling. My heel snagged the back end of a stair step, and I went tumbling forward. It all happened in slow motion as the Stangleton bottle that was in my hand went airborne. Sylvia lunged forward, attempting to catch it, but it all happened too fast. There was a devastating shattering sound, and glass shards went flying in every direction. As I crawled up off the ground, a puddle of green absinthe lay soaking into the snowy path. I couldn't believe that I had been so careless.
Sylvia was screaming, "No! No! This can't be happening! I should have never let you carry it!"
I was in the midst of apologizing for my clumsiness, but by then, the attackers were only a few meters behind us. One of the goons was reaching into his jacket pocket, and my only thought was that he would withdraw a gun. But luckily, he never made it that far. A rickshaw came barreling down the mountain slope and T-boned the two unsuspecting gangsters. They were caught completely off guard, and their two bodies went tumbling down the rocky slope.
As the rickshaw slowed to a stop, I noticed that Mandelbaum was the one behind the reins. He yelled for us to get on board, quickly, and I immediately complied. Sylvia was still staring helplessly at the shattered, empty bottle on the ground, but I pulled her with me onto the back of the rickshaw. Mandelbaum gave a good pull, and the three of us were moving back down the hill once again.
He got us to the blimp quickly enough, and we were able to board without any further harassment. Sylvia didn't talk to me the entire ride back to the hotel. We had been so close to our goal of possessing a Stangleton bottle, and I knew she was more upset by its sudden loss than I. The only consolation is that we now know the direction of the other remaining bottles. I can only hope that the reward of this treasure is worth the trouble that it is causing me.
#clumsy #nischit #enlightenment
#mindbasement #momssecretstash
Wednesday
All day I was too worried to even leave my room, for I feared that Poo Chow and his men were not finished dealing with the likes of us. While meeting with Mandelbaum and me in our room, Sylvia explained, "He saw my blimp taking off, and he was worried that I was fleeing. He had his men pursue us to the top of the mountain."
I had had enough of the mystery surrounding her debt to the gangster, which now had taken a turn for the worse and had brought me into the situation. "What is Poo Chow holding over you?"
She looked away, ashamed. "I... I can't say..."
I grabbed her by both arms and pulled her close. "Tell me, Sylvia! Enough of these silly and dangerous games." Then I said something that I knew would challenge her. "Either you trust me, or our business together is finished."
She finally looked me in the eyes. I had her full attention now. "You won't abandon me. You wouldn't dare..."
"If you cannot be honest with me, then yes, I will go. And I'll never look back."
She pushed herself free from my clutch and backed away toward the door. "Then I guess I can't count on you anymore," she said. She turned and left.
I glanced at Mandelbaum who had a hopeless look on his face. We both knew there was nothing more we could do for her.
"Actually," I said, as an idea was beginning to develop, "perhaps there is one more thing we can try..."
That evening, Mandelbaum and I made our way into the restaurant of the Xuĕ Hotel and Café. We had decided the best course of action was to go in disguise, as Poo Chow and his men would have easily recognized us otherwise. I dawned my fake ponytail, glasses, goatee, and prosthetic nose; and Mandelbaum squeezed his bulky body into a pink evening dress, a woman's wig, and lathered his face with some lipstick and make-up. I dare say I was so thrilled by the effectiveness of our disguises when even the proprietor, Curtis, didn't recognize us!
We played it cool, sitting at a table near Poo Chow's table, and he didn't seem to notice us at first. That was a good sign. Then Mandelbaum and I started the act that we had rehearsed, speaking loudly enough for Poo to hear.
"I told you, honey," I said, "we'll never find a good blimp pilot in these parts. But if you really can't stay another night, I'll do my best and ask around."
Poo took the bait immediately. I watched him excuse himself from his table and walk over toward ours, squinting at us curiously the entire way. "I couldn't help but overhear your situation, Mr. ..."
"Weintraub," I replied. "Ned Weintraub. And this is my wife, Bernice."
"Why are you in need of a blimp pilot, Mr. Weintraub? If you don't mind my asking."
I was glad he asked. "Well," I said coyly, "Bernice and I were doing a little bit of business - of the international sorts - and we found ourselves in the poor graces of the Chinese government. Apparently, they frown upon the smuggling of rare antiquities from the Tang Dynasty. Who'da thought?"
Mandelbaum chimed in about how a nice ceramic urn can bring so much ambiance to a home, especially when it contains the ashes of an imperial leader.
I continued, "So due to our predicament, we've been relegated to sneaking across the border. Now, you seem like a trustworthy sir. Are you sure you don't know any reliable blimp pilots? What about that one female pilot I keep hearing about... what's her name? Wolfen? Wolfenkranz? Sylvia Wolfenkranz, that's right!"
Poo replied flatly, "I'm afraid Ms. Wolfenkranz is unavailable to lend you any services."
"But--"
"I said she is unavailable," he replied fiercely, cutting me off. "Now if you don't mind, Mr. Weintraub, I believe you and your intimidatingly large wife should be leaving. I too may be in some trouble with the Chinese government, but I am a patriot at heart. I do not appreciate having smugglers and thieves in my company."
By now, his two bodyguards (the ones who waylaid us on the mountain) had seen the confrontation between us and joined him. One opened his jacket pocket, and I could see a pistol holstered beneath his arm. Mandelbaum and I wisely stood up and made our exit.
"I can tell you what, honey," I said to Mandelbaum on the way out, "we will not be staying at this hotel again!"
Back in our room, we removed our disguises. Mandelbaum was washing off his make-up when I complained to him, "Well, that didn't get us anywhere. We still have no idea why Sylvia is bound by debt to Poo Chow." A few seconds later, there was a knock on the door. Mandelbaum and I glanced at each other in surprise. Should we open it?
I snuck quietly to the door and looked through the peephole. It was Sylvia. I breathed a sigh of relief, but I hadn't expected her to return to our room again. When I opened the door, she slapped me in the face.
"I can't believe you spoke to Poo Chow! Do you realize what kind of situation that puts me in?!"
"Sylvia, I--"
"No! I don't want to hear it. Now, because of you and your stupid friend - nice eye shadow, by the way - he thinks I'm trying to flee. He says if I don't pay him in two days, then he will find another way to 'settle my debt.' Don't you see? He's going to kill me!"
She sobbed into my arms. I didn't know what to say. She broke through her tears saying, "We have to find those Stangleton bottles, right away! There's no time to lose! We'll go first thing in the morning, yes?"
"Sylvia... that's not enough time," I said pragmatically. "The journey ahead of us is too dangerous. We can't rush it."
"We must!"
"No, we mustn't. Don't you see that there is an alternative to all of this? It's so simple. We flee. Now. You and us. Mandelbaum will prepare the Eurydice, and you can fly away with us. Put this place and all this trouble far behind you, and never look back."
She shook her head. "That's your decision then? You're going to quit? And run away?"
"Yes," I replied firmly.
Then she looked at me, not with anger in her eyes, but with a truly deep-seeded disappointment. I think that is what pained me most. "Then you're truly worthless to me. What kind of blimpman runs away?" She said it without an ounce of emotion in her voice. Then she slapped me again and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her. I rubbed my aching cheek.
That night, I slept horribly. In between my tossing and turning, I was consumed by thoughts of Sylvia's impending doom (and visions of my own death as an abominable snowman attacked me). In my semi-lucid dream state, I realized I was resolute in my decision: we would leave Shangri-La at first light and abandon our hope of finding the treasure. As the abominable snowman returned in another dream, I could feel his hairy paws gripping onto my throat. They squeezed tighter, suffocating me. As I gasped futilely for air, I suddenly realized that I wasn't dreaming - I was actually being choked!
When I opened my eyes, my attacker was on top of me. I recognized him as one of Poo Chow's bodyguards. I tried to let out a scream, but my voice was completely stifled. Within seconds, my vision was going blurry and my empty, burning lungs were starting to go numb--
But then there was a sickening crunching sound, and my attacker's head twisted around nearly 180 degrees toward the back of his body. His limp, dead corpse tumbled over my bed and onto the floor.
Mandelbaum was standing there, wiping a bit of blood from his chin. I realized that he had been late in saving me because he had been busy with his own attacker - the second bodyguard, who now lay in the middle of the hotel room floor with a set of chopsticks sticking out of his neck. He too was dead. Mandelbaum helped me up, gave me a glass of water, and wrapped a warm blanket around me.
"I think...," I said weakly, "that I've had enough of Shangri-La."
#timetogo #assassins #undercover
#nedweintraub #theweintraubs
Thursday
After the assassination attempt on my life last night and the maid's prompt clean-up of the two bodies, I knew it was time to leave Shangri-La - the sooner, the better. I sent Mandelbaum to immediately prepare our blimp for departure. Meanwhile, I checked out of our room down at the front desk (and duly complained to Curtis about the hotel's general lack of security and the overall murdery experience of my stay [one star]). He grumbled and comped me a free night's stay at a future date of my choosing, but I have no intention of ever taking up his offer.
I looked around the lobby, hoping for some sign of Sylvia Wolfenkranz, silently hoping for the opportunity to at least wish her luck before I bid farewell, but she was nowhere to be found.
Curtis realized what I was doing and said, "You're not gonna find her anywhere 'round here. She took off early in the morning. Had her mountain-climbing gear and everything. Said she was making her way toward the rocky pass at the north-eastern side of the valley."
My heart skipped a beat, for I immediately knew what this meant. She was going off in search of the Stangleton bottles - alone!
I ran out of the hotel and made my way to the terrace where Mandelbaum and the blimp were located. Out of breath, I explained to him that Sylvia had run off by herself. Worse, I feared that she was ill-equipped to survive such a climb up Mount Everest without adequate preparations. "She'll never make it to the sight of Narwhal's crash, not alone. She is desperate, scared, and isn't thinking of the danger she faces."
Mandelbaum asked me what I planned to do; surely, Sylvia's fate did not concern us anymore.
"I'm afraid you're wrong," I said to my companion. "The fate of all blimpmen is of concern to me. We cannot leave her to die in the snowy wilderness."
With that, Mandelbaum and I reached a consensus that we would go off in pursuit of her, but he explained quite wisely that she had a good headstart on us - we'd never catch her. I agreed. But I had a plan.
Soon enough, we were on board the Eurydice and soaring high through the air. Never was I expecting to pilot my blimp toward Mount Everest, but who am I to dictate the course of destiny? The winds were untamable, for sure. As we climbed higher and higher toward the great, daunting mountain, our blimp was rocked by the chilling, snow-filled gusts of wind. My body was shivering in the intense cold, and frost was caking my eyelashes. "We have to find Sylvia before it's too late! She'll never survive in this blizzard!"
Mandelbaum increased our speed, but that only made the ride even more bumpy. We cruised for hours, scanning the ground below us, but it was nearly impossible to see anything at all. There was no sign of Sylvia or of any clues which might lead us to Stangleton's crash site.
Finally, there was a momentary gap in the fog that lasted only a few seconds, but by a stroke of luck, the sun poured through just long enough to illuminate the ground below. Down below I could see an orange dot tucked away in the snow. "There, Mandelbaum, look! It's Sylvia!" We changed our direction abruptly and headed down toward the orange dot.
The blimp reached a low enough altitude that I was able to drop the rope ladder and climb down onto the mountain. I raced toward Sylvia in her orange jacket, and by the time I got there, I could see she was three-fourths covered in a pile of snow. She was unconscious, her body stricken with hypothermia. I cradled her in my arms and tried my best to wake her.
She looked at me groggily and spoke scratchily through blue lips, "I knew... you'd come... for me." She smiled, but then she passed out.
I couldn't rouse her any more after that. I carried her limp body back toward the rope ladder, bound her tightly to a rung, and Mandelbaum lifted her up. Next, it was my turn, but my eye suddenly caught sight of something, and I decided not to go up the ladder.
Not far off from where I found Sylvia - only a hundred feet or so - I spotted some blackened pieces of wood scattered about the mountainside. Despite the pounding wind and snow, I rushed over to get a better look. Surely, you will not believe what I saw, for it was indeed the wreckage of the Ganymede! Sylvia had no idea how close she had come. There it was, and despite the damage, weathering, and layers of ice and snow; I would recognize the unmistakable features of a blimp anywhere - a rudder over here, a propeller over there.
I rummaged around in the frozen debris for just a few minutes. Something caught my attention that made me jump in fright. It was an open-mouth, mummified corpse staring straight at me. Most of the body was buried in the snow, but I regained my composure and concluded that these half-skeletal remains were indeed all that was left of Narwhal Stangleton. His body was mostly preserved by the ice of Mount Everest. And in his hands: a bottle of absinthe.
I broke off a few of his fingers (gagging at the vile crunching sound) and pried the bottle from his grasp. When I stood up, I noticed that this one bottle was not alone; all around me were shattered crates. I just had to rummage through a little bit until I found another bottle intact, then another, then another. It turns out that Stangleton wasn't transporting a single crate - he was transporting a hundred crates. Each one had been filled to the brim with elegant bottles of the most superior Klaxon d'Oie known to man! So many of the bottles had survived the crash intact. It was a miracle! A priceless treasure trove! An absinthe connoisseur's dream!
I had no time to waste as the cold was surely overcoming me, but with Mandelbaum's help, I was able to round up every single bottle we could find. At long last, the treasure was ours! We only had to survive this snowstorm long enough to enjoy it.
We boarded the blimp, and Mandelbaum took command of piloting. By now, Sylvia had warmed a little, and she was able to regain momentary consciousness. She pointed ahead of us toward the storm and said faintly, "Can't go down... storm is worsening... must... go... up." Then she passed out again.
It didn't take me long to realize what she meant because she was indeed correct. The storm we had just passed through had only gotten worse; the winds were torrential gusts of ice and snow now. Lightning struck the side of the mountain, and I knew our blimp would never make it out alive. I ordered Mandelbaum to change our course. "If we can't go down the mountain, we'll go up and over it!"
It was a crazy decision that only a man facing imminent death could possibly make, but Mandelbaum was in no position to disagree with me. No one had ever piloted a blimp to the top of Mount Everest, and who were we to be such daredevils? But we had no other choice. We rose higher and higher, the winds increased, and the atmosphere became thinner. I was growing light-headed and faint, my vision was beginning to blur, and my lungs were starting to burn. I was sure that none of us would survive this deadly and daring feat, and we too would meet the same fate as Narwhal Stangleton...
But now we're back at the hotel, warming ourselves by the fire and sipping on the damn finest bottle of absinthe my tongue has ever tasted! Mandelbaum and I clinked our glasses together and laughed heartily. We saluted to good health, a record-setting blimp flight, and yet another profitable adventure.
#success #mounteverest #stangletonbottles
#worldrecord #treasure #abruptending
Friday
Our celebration over the discovery of the Stangleton bottles (not to mention our world-record blimp flight to the peak of Mount Everest) lasted well into the night. Curtis was good to his word and let us check back into the hotel for free. Not that we needed the discount - we were now the richest men in the whole Shangri-La valley!
Sylvia Wolfenkranz was still dozing in my bed, having not fully recovered from the traumatizing events on the mountain. She awoke slowly and glanced around my room, wiping the sleep from her eyes.
"You shouldn't have saved me, you fool," she said sadly.
I said, "Is that any way to say 'thank you'?"
"What should I be thanking you for? You may have saved my life for a few more hours, but it's as good as over once Poo Chow realizes I'm back. He'll know I tried to run."
I began to fear that she was right. Poo Chow tried once to assassinate me for my interference in his affairs; what would stop him from trying again? More so, he would be even more tempted to kill me after he learned about the priceless treasure I now possessed.
"We'll sneak out of the hotel as soon as night falls," I said. "Mandelbaum will prepare my blimp, and we can make our escape."
"It may be too late by then," she said pessimistically.
I didn't know what more she wanted from me. I saved her life, nearly lost my own, and even promised her a cut of the treasure. Her gloomy negativity was annoying me.
Evening came, and Sylvia and I were packed and ready to go. She had just finished freshening up in the powder room, and we were alone in the room and waiting. I said, "As soon as we get Mandelbaum's signal, we'll move out. We have to leave your blimp behind as not to draw attention, but with your new wealth, buying a new one won't be a problem."
She replied glumly, "That's fine."
I turned to her and said rather demandingly, "What causes you to be this way? You're coming out of this alive and rich. You can forget all about your debt to Poo Chow."
"He'll never let me get away," she said. "He will always come after me. If not now, then soon."
"Then use your cut of the treasure to finally pay him off and be done with this! Put the matter to rest!"
"It's not that easy," she said.
I really didn't understand what the fuss was about. "What is it, Sylvia? What debt do you owe him? What causes it to be so taxing on you that you can't simply pay your debt and walk away?"
For a second, I almost thought she was going to answer, but then Mandelbaum came into the room. He gave us a thumbs-up, a signal that the blimp was ready.
"Time to go," I said, knowing I'd never get an answer from her.
"Wait," she said. For a second I thought she was going to spill her secrets to me, but instead she raised a bottle of Stangleton absinthe and poured two glasses. She handed one to me.
"To friendship," she said.
"To friendship," I repeated unconvincingly, and I downed the contents of my glass.
Then we headed toward the door, but she caught me by the arm and whispered something to me: "I'll tell you everything on the way." With this, I was amazed that I had finally - after five nights in Shangri-La - won the trust of Sylvia Wolfenkranz.
We snuck down the stairs into the lobby of the hotel, rounding every corner in silence and double-checking behind us for any sign of a tail. The Chinese gangsters were nowhere to be found. But I knew it was too good to be true. Just a few feet from the door, Poo Chow stepped out of the shadows, blocking our escape.
"Good evening... 'Mr. Weintraub,'" he said. Then his gang joined him.
Curtis was there too. "Sorry pal, I've got a business to run. I had no choice. You understand, right?"
The traitorous innkeeper had tipped off our enemy to our escape, but I didn't blame him. I could only blame Poo Chow for this delay. I said, "Please allow us to pass, Mr. Poo. I promise to pay off whatever debt this woman owes to you. You have my word as a blimpman. Surely three bottles of Stangleton will settle any score that is owed to you?"
He gave me a puzzled look. "Bottles? What bottles? And what is Stangleton?"
I could tell by his voice that he was being honest; he truly had no idea what I was talking about.
"No more delays," he said. Then he snapped his fingers and the entire dozen men at his side jumped on top of Mandelbaum. Even my companion - being accustomed to brawling against hordes of squirrels and other hooligans in vastly superior numbers - was not able to shake off so many attackers at one time.
Poo grabbed Sylvia by the arm and pulled her close. "Come with me, my dear."
"Wait!" I shouted, but it was no use. Poo turned back to me and held up a small vial filled with blue liquid.
"Inside this vial is the antidote to the poison you have just drunk."
"Poison? What poison?" I asked. It took me a moment, but then the answer was clear. I turned to Sylvia and she looked at me guiltily. "The absinthe!" I shouted, recalling the glass she had just poured for me minutes ago. The shock was overwhelming, but it wasn't anger that consumed me. It was a deep despair. I muttered, "You betrayed me? Why?"
She whispered, "I'm sorry. It was the only way."
With that, Poo Chow laughed and tossed the vial across the room. I completely missed his and Sylvia's exit out the door because my eyes were too fixated on that vial. I watched the glass container rotate end-over-end in a slow-motion freefall. I was so afraid it would shatter once it hit the ground, but instead it clinked across the tile floor staying intact.
The next few minutes were a blur of high-speed chaos. I dove onto the ground, crawling for the vial, dodging the incoming bodies of gangsters who Mandelbaum was tossing aside like ragdolls. A few tried to punch me, but I dodged their attacks, my sole focus being on obtaining that lost blue vial. Every time I got close to it, someone who was mixed up in the fray would accidentally kick it away.
"This can't be happening!" I shouted frustratingly to myself. I crawled more, this time sweating profusely and feeling the effects of the poison taking over me. My heart was beating faster and faster with each passing second-- I grabbed the bottle-- a swinging fist knocked my elbow and sent the bottle sailing into the air again-- my vision was starting to blur-- Mandelbaum knocked out a gangster who shot a bullet into the ceiling as he fell-- I crawled toward the vial-- it was so close!
As I reached out and finally grabbed it, I made sure there were no incoming attackers to disarm me once again. I quickly uncorked the vial, tossed back the contents, and swallowed them down my contracting throat. But I'm afraid... it was all too late...
The world went dark...
...
I woke up some time later in my bed back upstairs. Mandelbaum was there by my side, having suffered two nasty black eyes and several lacerations to his face. He put a comforting hand on my knee.
"Am I alive?" I asked, looking around the room. "What happened? Sylvia?"
Mandelbaum silently handed me a roll of toilet paper, then walked out onto the balcony for some fresh air. Confused, I unrolled it and was surprised to find that the entire length of the paper had been written upon. I let the whole roll unravel onto the floor like a scroll, revealing the hidden message within. It read:
"Dear friend, I hope you can forgive me for all the ill fortune I have caused to fall upon you. You have been a kind, generous, and loyal man every step of the way. If it makes you feel any better, please know that conning you and stealing your treasure has caused me to feel some amount of regret."
I paused for a moment, wondering what she could possibly mean by that. What was Sylvia trying to say? I continued reading:
"Yes, it is just a matter of time before Mandelbaum explains to you that the Stangleton bottles are, in fact, missing. That is because I have them. It was always my intention to steal them from you. Surely you have not forgotten all the humiliation you have caused me in the past. You ruined my standing with the Secret Society of the Blimpmen by exposing my lies, you stole the Pingdu pelican from me, and likewise you stole my priceless Jumanji game. I said I had moved on with my life since those events transpired, but that was the single biggest lie I have told you in all of this. Ever since you arrived in Shangri-La, I have plotted my revenge.
"I knew you were here for the Stangleton bottles. Many blimpmen ahead of you have tried and failed, but I assumed you would be foolish enough to try for yourself. Yes, I could have easily paid my debt to Poo Chow using the Stangleton bottle that Nischit Wangdi gave to us, but I wanted more than simply evening my score with him. Nischit warned us against greed, and I'm afraid it got the better of me. I wanted not one bottle, but all of the bottles. It was fortunate that you clumsily dropped the bottle off the side of the mountain because I would have disposed of it in a much less pleasant fashion. While you were content to have the one bottle, I needed all of them.
"That brings us to Poo Chow. It just so happened that your arrival coincided with my unrelated predicament at the hands of Poo Chow. I decided to play you both against each other. You've asked what debt I owed him; well, allow me to finally explain. He told you he was a patriot, right? He has a great passion for his homeland. That much is true. What he omitted from that information is another passion in his life - that he and I were once lovers.
"We met while on an archaeological hunt for Chinese antiquities belonging to dead emperors. He didn't want the artifacts to fall into the hands of the Chinese government, so he appreciated me for my professional assistance. I, in turn, fell in love with his rebellious, bad-boy persona. (Yes, I'm ashamed to admit I'm no better than a foolish schoolgirl when it comes to love.) We had a run-in with the Chinese military outside of Ping Yao, and we were forced to abandon our ancient treasure and flee the country.
"We found safe haven in Shangri-La, but the momentary peace we found was fleeting. He grew tired of being a refugee in hiding, and I grew tired of his manipulations. He grew paranoid that I would abandon him. He said that if I tried to flee without him, he would expose me to the government, who would no doubt have me arrested - or worse. His biggest fear was that I would board the Nefertiti and leave him far behind. He kept his watchdogs on me at all hours, controlling me with threats and inspiring terror. Meanwhile, I bided my time, planning my escape. Your arrival was the very spark that set the fire into motion.
"I knew I had to win your trust. Playing the part of the 'damsel in distress' has never suited me, but I knew it would be enough to garner your attention. With my blimp under constant surveillance, you would be the only one capable of flying me out of Shangri-La. But there was no way in hell I was leaving here a poor woman. The Stangleton bottles were simply an extra perk to make life easier on the other side. With that money, I could buy a new blimp, change my name, purchase my own tropical island, and live free of the fear of Poo Chow and his gang. More importantly, I would rob you - the person who had always gotten the better of me - of a treasure you so greatly desired in your heart.
"I just wasn't counting on you to be so honorable. That truly was the biggest twist in all of my machinations. You helped me at every turn, saved my life, and were even willing to share a portion of the treasure with me. And for what? All I did was lie to you and keep secrets. You truly make no sense to me. You were so honest and pure, so I grew to regret my treatment of you.
"Poo Chow was clever. He cornered me and demanded to know who you were. I lied and told Poo Chow that you were a rich old flame trying to whisk me away, I knew it would enrage him to no end, and when this fueled his rage against you, the guilt of my manipulations began to weigh on me. I couldn't tell him about the Stangleton bottles or the fact that I was planning a life without him. I just wasn't expecting for his men to try to kill you! (Again, sorry about that.) After the attempt on your life, when you said that you were leaving Shangri-La forever, I had to resort to desperate measures to keep you here. You were willing to give up your pursuit of the treasure, but I could not allow that to happen. My pride still got the better of me, and I couldn't let the idea of the treasure go. So I did the only thing I knew how. I went off alone and allowed myself to be exposed to danger on the mountain, knowing full well that you had too much honor to simply abandon me. The damsel in distress indeed. I knew you would come for me. Oh, how I knew. And sure enough, you did.
"Now I write to you from the powder room, and you are in the bedroom packing your bags joyfully. You think we are fleeing together - it's cute. I hope you survive long enough to read this message. By the time you read this, you will have drunk the poison that I plan to slip you, Curtis will have transferred all of the treasure onto my blimp, and Poo Chow will have kidnapped me. But don't take too long to read this because your life may still be in danger.
"You see, I will poison you just as Poo Chow ordered me to do, but I will also poison Poo Chow in the same way. I know he will fall for it. (All it takes is a flirty smile, and any man will happily share a celebratory drink with you.) I don't have enough callousness in my heart to let him die, so I will give him the antidote at some point, once I am in the clear. I plan on dumping him over the side of my blimp, but in a matter of hours, he will awake in the snow and return furiously to the hotel.
"So, please friend, quickly gather your things and head toward your blimp. Fly away free. And when you do so, I ask only one thing of you... do not think ill of me. You may not forgive me today or even tomorrow, but soon, and you'll realize that our adventure together was worth more than any amount of lost treasure. Until we meet again. Love, S."
I crumpled up the note and threw it into the fireplace. I walked out onto the balcony with Mandelbaum and explained that we needed to make our exit. He fully agreed. As the last rays of sunlight set over the peak of Mount Everest and a shadow fell over the Shangri-La valley, I thanked him for being such a loyal friend. Now more than ever, I appreciate that never once has he strayed from my side.
"Mandelbaum," I said proudly, "I think this is the continuation of a beautiful friendship."
#theend #sylvia #clevergirl #poisoned #tilnexttime
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