Tales of the Red Panda: The Mind Master Read Free Page B

threw the tube open and
raced down the five steps from the platform. She was in a large room, deep
underground and illuminated from high above. There were a half dozen identical
tubes around the walls and dozens more extraordinary devices unknown to the
scientific world at large. Each was remarkable and worthy of study, but Kit
Baxter had seen them in action, and of all the remarkable sights before her,
she only had eyes for one.
    He sat in an old wooden chair that he had pulled into the
centre of the room, with his left leg crossed over his right. His face was
hidden by a special edition of the Toronto
Chronicle with a headline that blazed in oversize letters,
    “EMPIRE BANK ROBBED!”
    She almost tripped over her feet as she came to a sudden
halt. A corner of the newspaper peeled back to reveal a red mask and a wry
smile.
    “What kept you?” the Red Panda asked.

Four
Nepal: 1928

 
    The wind that swept
across the jagged hills was bitterly cold, but to the ragged young man who
approached the kuti, it seemed like a blessing. He had just crossed the
Annapurna Ridge, one of the highest and most foreboding places on Earth, to
reach this spot, nestled as it was in the bosom of a tiny valley. He tried very
hard not to think about the fact that he would have to cross it again to get
out.
    He pulled the thin air
deep into his lungs as he gazed at the mountain tops around him. He had been
told that Annapurna meant “Goddess of the Harvests.” He could only imagine that
they had been named by those who dwelt far below to whom the spring thaw would
bring precious new life, not by those that eked out such an existence as was
possible in this desolation. And yet still it seemed to him to be the most
beautiful place that ever was, or ever could be. The young man who stumbled on
towards the mud hut was, like most who walked this path, on a great quest.
Unlike most, this valley was not the end of that quest, but merely a step upon
a long journey. He was tall and taut, muscular and lean. Few that had been born
into the life of leisure and privilege to which he had could have ever summoned
the will to cross that mountain pass.
    For a man is shaped by
the forces around him. Those born into great wealth are rarely gifted with the
drive to do more than spend that wealth on their own luxury or vanity. Those
whom fate has shielded from all fear or pain are seldom able to see it in
others. But, as is so often the case, when an exception rears its head, it
cannot help but run to the opposite extreme.
    August Fenwick’s quest
came from a burning need for justice. Justice for those who could never know
the comfort or security that he had always enjoyed. Protection for those who
could not protect themselves. And redemption for the Fenwick bloodline, whom he
had judged to be guilty of a long history of wrongs in the name of the great
God, Money.
    But where to begin? He
could, living the much-observed life of a wealthy family’s only son, study only
so much before those around him took note. Inventing and criminology were not
normal pursuits for a man of his status, he had been told in no uncertain
terms. And so he did what any brash young fool might do in his circumstances
– he ran away with the circus.
    His parents had
thought he was on the typical Dissolute Gad-About’s tour of Europe, when in
reality he had adopted a disguise and was himself adopted by a family of
traveling acrobats. He had proved to be a star pupil as he absorbed their
techniques, their fearlessness, their discipline. To the thrill of the crowds,
he soared high above where most men would dare to be, and in time learned to
love the taste of fear.
    From time to time he
would leave the circus as they traveled to a city where a great expert lived
– a detective, a martial arts master, anyone whose skills he would need
in the life’s work he was creating for himself. Then, by deceit, by imploring
or by outright bribery, he would study under them for as long as