Free Six and a Half Deadly Sins by Colin Cotterill

degrees?”
    “About that,” said the constable.
    “Bit cool to be removing your shirt, don’t you think?”
    “Yes, Inspector.”
    “And what would bandits stand to gain by attacking two unarmed men?”
    “Probably a business dispute,” said the sergeant.
    “Judging from the state of the village we just passed through, I’d say business wasn’t a forte of our headmen. No signs of opulence there. And if you want someone dead for business reasons, you kill them. Get it over with. You shoot them or stab them through the heart. You don’t make several cursory incisions with a hunk of bamboo and watch them slowly bleed to death. No. This was an example of two men being taught a lesson. They’d pissed somebody off, and this was the result.”
    “That’s an interesting theory,” said the sergeant, “but as there are no witnesses, I suppose we’ll never know.”
    “Perhaps. But I’d like to speak to both sets of villagers tomorrow.”
    “They’ve all been interviewed.”
    “There was no record of that in the report,” Phosy reminded him. “And no report is complete without transcripts of witness interviews. It looks like you’re going to have to train another finger to type, Sergeant.”
    “They won’t—”
    Phosy put his finger to his lips. “Shh,” he said. “What was that?”
    They all listened, but no one could hear sounds other then the insects and the whisper of dry leaves in the breeze.
    “I can’t—” began the sergeant.
    “Listen!” said Phosy.
    They stood still and did as they were told.
    “Bee Gee,” came a voice.
    They looked around to see Comrade Xiu Long heading off into the jungle. Nobody had a clue what he’d said. But he wassmiling and seemed to have picked up a rhythm. He began to sing. He had no obvious aptitude for melody, but once the music had been identified, the others began to hear it too. Phosy ran after him.
    “Inspector Phosy, you really shouldn’t …” said Sergeant Teyp, but it was too late. Instead, the policemen followed the two visitors through the bush. Mrs. Loo sat on the log and pouted.
    Phosy soon caught up with the loping Chinese man who appeared to be having the time of his life. He was singing at the top of his voice. The undergrowth wasn’t dense, and they could follow a trajectory almost straight to the source of the music.
    They hadn’t gone two hundred meters, but the song was already quite clear.
“Ah Ha Ha Ha, Staying Alive, Staying Alive.”
    Whatever they meant, Xiu Long had apparently memorized the words. He slowed to a walk. The trees came to an abrupt end up ahead. The music was loud now. Spread out in front of them were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of temporary dwellings. There were tents and grass huts and shelters with corrugated roofs. Beyond them were rows of dirt volleyball and badminton courts all occupied with games in progress and hundreds of men sitting on the sidelines, cheering. And directly in front of Phosy a small group of men sat watching a game of checkers. Beside them was a boom box blaring out its song.
    “Ah Ha Ha Ha, Staying Alive, Staying Alive.”
    Phosy sat on a stump and watched. The pink sun was setting quickly on the shanty camp of Chinese Road Gang Six. Not three hundred meters from the scene of a dual homicide lived an army of itinerant workers from mainland China. It was no wonder both sides were anxious to clear up the murder of the headmen. The list of suspects had stretched into the thousands.
    “Bee Gee,” said Xiu Long.

4
The Notion of the Potion

    The flight to Luang Prabang was overbooked even for cargo. Boxes and sacks and pigs oozing out through the bars of tiny cages were piled to the ceiling. The chances of finding a seat were remote. Siri and Daeng had their note from the Ministry that stated they were priority passengers, but so did all the others waiting at Wattay Airport. They were all hoping to board that one flight. They’d started queuing up at the door forty minutes earlier. From