How did he get to Chinatown? It was blocks and blocks away from the Lodging House, through a series of twisting streets and dark alleys. Race knew for a fact that none of his Manhattan buddies could find their way to Chinatown, especially at night. So it couldn't be Blink trying to get him back for that little poker incident a few nights before. No, there must be some other explanation.
Shrugging, Race decided that there was no good in just standing here. He dusted off his pants and made his way out to the streets. After wandering aimlessly for what seemed like hours, Race finally admitted to himself that he was hopelessly lost. Race aknowledged that his knowledge of Chinatown georgraphy was minimal, but he would have thought that he could at least find his way out.
Race manuvared around the crowd, all dressed in authentic ancient Chinese garb, or so Race guessed. 'Must be some sorta holiday,' he mused. 'Mebbe New Year's. I think they celebrate New Yeah diff'rent than we do." Gazing around, Race spotted someone clothed like a soldier. He looked like he would be able to help Race.
The newsie pushed to where the soldier was standing and tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me, Mister," the soldier turned wide eyes on Race. "Do ya think ya could point me in the direction--"
"FOREIGNER!" the man accused, pointing an indignant finger at Race.
"Pardon me?" Race asked, not liking the sound of the soldier's voice. It made him nervous.
"Foreigner!" the soldier cried again. "Foreigner in the Forbidden City!" The crowd stopped and stared at the soldier's words, horrified. Little old ladies placed withered hands over open, agast mouths. Children cowered in fear behind mothers' skirts. Race fought the urge to paniac as he loosened his collar. It was suddenly very hot.
"Uh, ya know what?" he told the soldier. "On second thought, I think I can get back to Manhattan on my own." He made an attempt to slink away, but the soldier grabbed his arm.
"Halt! Foreginer! No foreigners allowed to enter Forbidden City and live!"
"What?!" Race squeaked. "Wha--" he was yanked painfullly from his place and dragged after the soldier. The next moments were a blur as Race tried desperately to figure out who he had offended. Before he could process what was happening, Race was marched to an strangely-built yet intricate and beautiful palace, pulled down stairs to the basement, thrown into a dank, dirty cell, then escourted out of the cell only a few moments later.
Race was shoved roughly onto the floor. He looked up and was dazzled by the glimmering brilliance of everything around him. Red and gold were the dominant colors, but jade and ivory were prominent as well. Up, high up, seated on a massive and magnificent throne was a rather small man. Yet, there was a certain regal majesty emanating from his personage that made up for his size. Faced with all this splendor, Race could do naught but cower.
"Why is this stranger brought before me?" boomed the man on the throne, presumably some sort of king. The soldier whom had arrested Race bowed nervously and in a quivering voice answered,
"This is a foreigner, found in the Forbidden City. By the law of Qin, he must be executed." The man narrowed his eyes at Race. Finally, he replied,
"We are in need of more workers on the Great Wall. Take the infidel there." All the while, Race had been lying on the ground, face smushed against the floor. When he heard his fate, he began whimpering.
"Execute? What? For sleeping in a Chinatown alley? Work on WHAT? The Great Wall? But how? I-don't-" Race couldn't complete his sentence because he was grabbed again, this time by the collar, and roughly hauled outside the palace. He was pushed into a carriage, where he hit his head on the wall and was knocked unconscious.
Race's muscles screamed as he picked up another newly-made block and slapped it down on top of the previous. Moaning pitifully to himself, Race thrust his hands into the freezing mud and mixed them around to form another brick. For 30 hours (actually, it was more like 30 minutes, but Race didn't take hard labor well), he had been laboring away at this horrible and deathly task.
Abruptly, Race stopped what he was doing, on the verge of collapsing. "Help!" he cried weakly. "Someone, help! I can't take this anymore! Let me back! I won't steal any more cigars! I won't game again for as long as I live! (an: coughsputtercoughyeahrightcoughsputtercough) Just let me go home, pleeeeaseee!!!"
Disclaimer: no offense meant to anyone who is Chinese, particularly ancient Chinese.