Necropolis

American boy are who you say you are."
    "Is that your question?"
    "It is exactly that. How can I be sure that you are one of the Five?"
    Matt thought for a moment. Then he pointed at the crystal jug. He didn't even need to think about it any more. The jug was swept, instantly, off the table. It fell to the floor and smashed. Shan-tung blinked. It was his only reaction. But then he slowly smiled. "An amusing conjuring trick. But it is still not enough.
    I do not question your abilities. It is your identity I wish to know."
    "I'll read your mind," Jamie said. "You say you know everything about us. In ten seconds I can tell you even more about you."
    "I would recommend that you stay out of my mind," Han Shan-tung said. He turned to Matt. "There is a test, a trial you might say, that will prove to me beyond any doubt that you are who you say you are.
    Only one of you needs to take part in it. But I should warn you, though, that to fail will cause you great pain and perhaps even death. What do you say?"

    Matt shrugged. "We need your help," he said. "We've flown a long way to get it. If there is no other way
    —"
    "There isn't."
    "Matt…" Richard muttered.
    "Then let's go ahead," Matt said. "What test do you have in mind?"
    Han Shan-tung got to his feet. "It is called the sword ladder," he said. He gestured toward a door at the back of the room. "Please…will you come this way?"
    TWENTY-FIVE
    The Sword Ladder
    Matt stood up and followed Han Shan-tung. Richard and Jamie came behind. They went through the door into a long corridor, all polished wood but otherwise undecorated. There was a second door at the far end.
    It opened into a large, square room that didn't seem to belong to the rest of the house. It reminded Matt of a chapel, or perhaps a concert hall that might comfortably seat fifty or sixty people. The walls were plain and wood-paneled, matching the corridor outside, and there were pews arranged around three of the sides. The fourth was concealed by a dark red curtain that had been pulled across, perhaps concealing a stage. There was a gallery above the curtain, but it was high up, arranged in such a way that it was impossible to tell from floor level what it might contain.
    'You are inside a Triad lodge," Mr. Shan-tung explained. "And you should consider yourselves very privileged. Only Triad members and initiates are allowed in here — normally any outsiders would be instantly killed. We meet in this place on the twenty-fifth day of each Chinese month. There is a separate entrance from the street. You might be interested to know that an initiation ceremony lasts six hours. A new recruit is expected to answer three hundred and thirty-three questions about the society. He learns secret handshakes and recognition signals. A lock of his hair is taken, and he signs his name in blood."
    "Actually, I wasn't thinking of joining," Richard muttered.
    Fortunately, Shan-tung didn't appear to have heard. "I speak of our rituals to remind you that the White Lotus Society is very old," he went on. "Things have, of course, changed with modern times. Nine hundred years ago, initiates would have drunk each other's blood, mixed with wine. And there is another part of the ceremony that has fallen out of use. When China was enslaved by Kublai Khan, it is said, the society searched for a leader, the one man who might liberate them. That man would be known as the Buddhist Messiah, and he would show himself by a sign…"
    He crossed the room and pulled on a cord that drew back the curtain. Jamie gasped. Matt stepped forward. At first he thought he was looking at a strange ladder leading up to the balcony above, but then he realized that it was actually made up of antique swords, each one polished until it shone, lashed together in a wire frame with the edges of the blades facing upward. Theoretically, it might be possible to climb. But he doubted it. As soon as you rested your body weight on one sword, you would cut your foot in half. Even if you were light enough, the climb to the top would be agony. It was a long way to the balcony. Matt counted nineteen steps. Nineteen chances to slice yourself apart.
    "In my time as Master of the Mountain, three initiates have claimed to be the Buddhist Messiah," Shantung explained. "They asked my permission to be allowed to climb the ladder, and I was glad to give it.
    Watching their attempts was a fascinating experience. One of them almost made it to the top before he fainted. Sadly, he broke