by Jeff Wheeler
“It’s not worth more than twenty,” Bingmei said. “Who cares where it came from?”
The mercenaries passed, and Bingmei quit the negotiating, tugging Quion with her as she left the stand.
“Oh!” he said, looking back at the merchant, who barked out another bid. “You didn’t really want it.”
Bingmei shook her head in wonderment at his innocence, but it was endearing. Crossing another bridge, they continued toward the edge of the town where the ships were docked. No ship with a tall mast would be able to make it under the arches. Merchants passed them, pushing carts stacked with goods, including ones full of fish. It was the most prosperous time of year, and the season was still new.
As they passed people, Bingmei felt a little envious of their ignorance of what was coming. Would Echion band the Qiangdao together at last? In her mind’s eye, she recalled the devastation of the Qiangdao’s attack on Wangfujing mere weeks before. There were still char marks on some of the walls from where the flames had ravaged the buildings. It was hard to imagine Wangfujing being razed.
But it could happen. The being she’d raised in Fusang would change everything.
“I see the Raven,” Quion said. He pointed at it, and she pushed his hand down, giving him a scolding look. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.
The junk did have two masts, and the furled sails were indeed black. The boat looked heavy in the water, laden with cargo. As she and Quion ventured closer, walking down the dock, Bingmei saw Kunmia standing on deck, speaking with a large man with folded arms.
They approached the ship, but a commotion rose behind them on the docks. Turning, Bingmei saw Guanjia with a long box clutched in his arms, running and wheezing down the dock, his robes flapping behind him.
And then she saw a group of mercenaries chasing him, shouting for others to stand aside.
“Stop that man!”
Two men loitering on the docks suddenly stepped into Guanjia’s way. Bingmei saw his eyes light with terror as they grabbed him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Passage to Sajinau
Bingmei was racked with uncertainty as she watched Guanjia’s capture. She was the closest member of the ensign, the one with the best chance of helping him, yet doing so would put her in conflict with the black-shirt guards. That, in turn, could prevent their escape from Wangfujing.
Kunmia was too far away to give her orders, and Quion was useless in a fight. What should she do?
Guanjia saw her and shouted her name. “Bingmei! Help me!” She frowned in frustration, her decision being forced on her.
She gripped Quion by the arm. “When I free him, get him to the junk.”
“Ten guards are following him!” Quion said.
“Do as I say,” she replied firmly and started walking toward the men who had taken hold of Guanjia. The guards were still battling their way through the crowd, so she made it there first.
“Unhand me!” Guanjia said in a fearful voice. “I’m King Budai’s steward! Let me go!”
One of the men wrenched the long box from his arms. “How do we know that? Maybe you’re a thief!”
“Give me that!” Guanjia snarled. He tried reaching for it, but the man held it up and away.
Bingmei slammed her fist into the man’s ribs, surprising him. He wilted in pain, dropping the box as he bent double to hold his wounded side. Bingmei caught the box and pitched it to Quion, who was still approaching. He caught it.
The other man restraining Guanjia shot Bingmei a fearful look.
“Let him go,” she said in a low voice.
Whatever he heard in her voice must have chastened him, for he released Guanjia and backed away.
“Thank you,” the steward gasped, his face streaked with sweat. Fear came off him in waves. “He stabbed my master!” Guanjia said in a choking voice. “Heise tried to murder him!”
She felt as if she’d been punched in the ribs. “Get to the boat.”
“Stop! By order of King Budai, stop!” shouted the nearest black-shirt. He shoved aside an onlooker who had stopped in confusion. Bingmei gave Guanjia a little push toward Quion and turned to face the approaching guards.
The area quickly cleared, leaving her to face them alone.
“You let him go!” the first guard shouted.
“He’s the king’s steward,” Bingmei said, watching as the others fanned out in front of her.
“He betrayed the king!” the man rejoined. “Captain Heise has ordered him to be brought back.”
“She’s the one,” said another of the other guards in a furtive voice.
She needn’t ask what that meant.
The leader’s eyes narrowed, and they all rushed her as one.
Bingmei had expected it. She slipped her hand into her pocket and stroked the cricket charm. As their hands reached to grab her, she felt the magic jolt her legs against the ground. She jumped above and over them, watching as the mass of black-shirts collided with one another where she’d been standing. A gasp went up from the crowd.
The first to recover launched himself at her. She deflected a punch sent at her face, trapped his arm between her forearms, and broke his elbow with a quick scissoring move. The man shrieked in pain. She kicked him down, but two more men were already punching and kicking at her. Although she sent one tottering backward with a low, sweeping kick, the other one avoided her tactic and did a hammer-fist strike against her head.
His speed startled her, as did the sudden concussion of pain. Her vision spotted with black, and she struggled to rise, but it felt as if a cart had landed on top of her.
“Get her! Hold her!”
Her muscles felt sluggish, and she couldn’t summon the energy to fight. To escape them. Someone yanked at her hair, and she felt the pins holding the wig scrape painfully against her scalp.
“She is the one! It’s her!”
Someone kicked her ribs, knocking the wind from her. Unable to breathe, she clawed her fingers into the face of the closest guard, then heard him cry out in pain. A single gulp of air made it into her lungs, but it left them just as quickly. Someone grabbed her middle and squeezed, lifting her. She managed to get in a kick before her legs were also encircled. Three or four men were holding her, and she wished she’d run as soon as she’d seen Guanjia captured.
“Bring her to the palace!” came a guttural voice, groaning with pain. “You four, arrest the steward!”
Bingmei struggled against her captors, her vision finally beginning to clear. Pain throbbed in her skull, but she was desperate to escape. Teeth. She tried to bite the one holding her, but no matter how she stretched her neck, she could not reach him. The crowd shrank from the violence. No one stepped forward to help—she saw only fearful looks.
Until Marenqo pushed through the crowd, having come up from behind the guards on the way to the junk. His eye was still bruised and scabbed from his wound at the Summer Palace, but he was quick and decisive as he strode forward and struck the neck of one of the men holding her legs. He grabbed the second man from behind, sending him flailing backward. With her legs free, Bingmei flipped them up and crossed them around the neck of the man who held her arms. She punched him where it hurt a man the most, and he sagged down on his knees, unable to bear her weight any longer.
Marenqo grabbed Bingmei’s arm and helped her stand, and she threw her arms around him, giving him a fierce hug before turning and kicking another man in the chest.
It was then the smells hit her. The crowd that had gathered around them could see her hair and its freakish color. Her wig was nowhere to be seen. The smell of revulsion, disdain, abhorrence was like the smell of garbage left to rot. It came at her from all sides. She put her hand to her mouth, trying to block the stench, but it seeped through her fingers, filling her lungs.
The looks they gave her brought out all her dread, all her fear. She was an object of disgust.
“Come,” Marenqo said, putting an arm around her, and led her toward the junk. Someone spat at them, which
seemed to break an unseen dam. Others began to spit on them. To fling insults. The words were thick with scorn and contempt. It roused in her a deep-seated anger. These were the people they struggled to help? She never wanted to return to Wangfujing. Ever.
“It’s all right,” Marenqo soothed. One of the gobs of spit struck his face. His nose wrinkled in disgust, but he did not pause to wipe it away.
Suddenly, Quion was walking on her other side, shielding her from the barrage as they passed. Her stomach felt empty, sick.
“Get back!” Quion shouted. Someone hurled a piece of spoiled fruit at them, and it struck Quion in the shoulder as he hunched closer to protect her.
Her anger increased to a blistering outrage. Not only were they humiliating her, but her friends as well.
“Back off!” Marenqo shouted at them.
She felt some things pelt them from behind and realized the crowd was following them, throwing taunts and insults along with the debris. Bingmei shriveled inside, wanting the nightmare to be over. She glanced ahead, her skull still throbbing, as more rotten food pelted them. The smell of the food made her nostrils twitch, but it was nothing compared to the stench from the crowd. If she’d been alone, she sensed some of them would have been frightened and disgusted enough to try to drown her in the river.
The smell changed abruptly to fear, and the crowd backed up. Lifting her head, she saw Damanhur and Prince Rowen, blades drawn, stalk down the dock with menacing looks. As the crowd parted, she saw the five black-shirts who had gone after Guanjia kneel on the dock in submission.
Damanhur snarled, whipping his sword around in an elaborate twirl. He charged at the crowd to terrify them, and the effect was immediate. They scattered like rats.
“We made it,” Marenqo said. They had reached the junk. Kunmia removed her cloak as she came down the ramp. She swung the thick cloth around Bingmei’s shoulders and lifted the cowl to cover her copper hair. Mieshi was already there, holding her staff, ready to fight, but she couldn’t hide her feelings. Part of her loathed Bingmei as the crowd did.
“Thank you, Marenqo,” Kunmia said with relief.
“No one snatches our little ice rose,” he said, squeezing Bingmei’s shoulder with affection. They climbed onto the deck, where they found the stern captain, Guoduan, speaking with Guanjia furtively. He was a massive man with long hair braided in a queue.
“We must set sail at once, Captain!” Guanjia insisted. “There is no time to delay. Budai is dead. I saw the dagger go in his belly. Please, we must go!”
“How did you escape?” the captain asked. He glanced at Bingmei and Quion with a frown, but the steward held his attention.
Bingmei lost the thread of their conversation as Quion led her to a bench. He wiped his face and then started picking scraps of spoiled fruit from her shirt. His eyes were dark, and she smelled the burnt odor of his anger as he struggled with it. He, too, was angry at the mob who treated her with such scorn. She saw tenderness in his eyes, smelled an almost sugary scent coming from him. He knelt by her and moved aside the cloak so he could brush off the bits of filth. As she sat, her teeth chattering, she saw that something spoiled, like an eggplant, had smashed against her upper leg. She hadn’t even felt it.
Quion scooped up the mess from her leg, his lips twisting with the unpleasant feeling, but he made no complaint about the vile task. The rage and hatred had burned out, leaving her with an empty feeling in her chest. Like she would never feel again. But she did, and it was a small pulse of gratitude for Quion. She should be cleaning herself, not letting him do it for her. She looked into his face, into his eyes, and he didn’t smell quite so much like fish in that moment.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He wouldn’t meet her gaze, just shook his head like nothing he was doing was out of the ordinary. And maybe it wasn’t, for him, but although he was a simple man, he was an extraordinary one. She appreciated him.
Marenqo came over to join them. He picked a spoiled hunk from his shirt and flung it into the water with a sigh. “That was rather disgusting.”
“Thank you, Marenqo,” she said.
His mouth quirked into a smile. “I think I’ve soured on Wangfujing for a while.” He gazed over her shoulder at the bustling town. “Maybe they deserve what’s coming. Ah, Kunmia and the others are back. It looks like we’ll be off before more of those mercenaries arrive.”
Bingmei’s resentment usually ran deep, but her heart still felt dull. Brittle. She watched as the loaded junk cast away from the dock and began trudging up the river. The black sails rippled as they groped for wind.
“I’m glad you made it,” Mieshi said to her. The words were well intended, but there was a sour smell coming from her. A tangled conflict roiled inside her. She’d lost her bond sister, Zhuyi. Bingmei wasn’t a suitable replacement.
Wangfujing began to lurch away from them. Bingmei wondered, deep inside, if she’d ever return. She reached in her shirt for the scorpion pendant. Gripping it hard, she yanked it fast. The chain broke. She let it drop to the floor and nudged it away with her boot.
Night had fallen, but the junk plodded through the choppy waters of the fjord. Night was welcome. Night concealed. Captain Guoduan had ordered the lanterns to be covered to disguise their passage. Some of his crew watched the waters ahead.
Bingmei’s mood had darkened with the fading light. Her anger was reviving again, but it was manageable. At least she was gone from Wangfujing. But her ears still rang with the insults flung by the crowd. And she remembered the smells. Every splash from the river that landed on her reminded her of the spit.
Marenqo had left to eat, and when he returned, he said that Kunmia wished to speak with her. Bingmei still wasn’t hungry, but she followed him to the back of the ship, where the captain stood gripping the massive rudder. The ship had about five other crew members to work the sails. Kunmia, Rowen, Damanhur, and Mieshi were also gathered at the back. Marenqo left her after bringing her up to them. Some of the crew huddled under the wooden roof beneath the main sail and slept. This junk was much bigger than Keyi’s fishing boat.
Bingmei gazed up at the constellations and felt an overwhelming sensation of insignificance. The others smelled normal to her, but the captain was concerned. He did not smell of disgust or trepidation, only the pungent aroma of worry. When he looked at her, he nodded in greeting.
“Did you get any rest?” Kunmia asked her in a kindly way.
Bingmei shook her head. “I’m not tired.”
“How is your head? Does it still hurt?”
Bingmei nodded, and the sensation made her a little dizzy. She winced.
Kunmia put her arm around her and pulled her closer. “We have time to get some rest. Captain Guoduan knows the safest route to Sajinau.”
The bitter smell of resentment came from Prince Rowen. His expression was neutral, but she felt emotion roiling off him in waves. His fortunes had been ruined. He was returning home with dishonor, and worse, he needed help. The smell of onions stung her eyes.
“How long will it take to reach it?” Bingmei asked. “It’s quite a distance.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Kunmia said. “But a junk can travel much faster in open water. We’ll reach the high seas tomorrow, and then we’ll sail in the ocean to reach Sajinau. We should be there by the end of the week. If we’re lucky.” She paused. “There’s something else we learned from Captain Guoduan.”
Damanhur sighed, his hands on his hips. The smell of onions grew worse.
“What?” Bingmei asked in concern. It clearly wasn’t good news.
“King Shulian isn’t at Sajinau. He left last season to visit a quonsuun deep in the mountains on the western rim past Sihui. He hasn’t returned. His son, Crown Prince Juexin, is ruling the kingdom in his absence.”
Bingmei looked at Rowen, who was staring overboard, his feelings becoming even more pungent.
Kunmia put her hand on Bingmei’s shoulder. “We don’t know how the crown prince will react when he
learns his brother has returned.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Brothers of the Blood
The news caught Bingmei by surprise and more than explained the shift in Rowen’s scent. She didn’t know much about the circumstances surrounding Rowen’s departure, but she did know he’d planned to rule in his brother’s stead. She didn’t relish the idea of facing a family rift.
“I see,” Bingmei said. “In other words, we may not be entirely welcome when we get there.”
“Quite the contrary,” said Captain Guoduan. He had a steady look about him, and his manner of dress had a certain flair—there were sea turtles stitched onto his cuffs, and he wore a gold medallion shaped as a raven. An actual bird perched on a rung near the tiller, and its beady eyes watched them. A nearby cage sat empty, but apparently the raven was trusted to be loose. The captain had clearly grown rich in his trade. “Prince Rowen will be welcomed home. He’s popular in many quarters.”
Rowen glared at the captain but said nothing in reply.
“Why would King Shulian travel so far from his kingdom?” Bingmei asked.
“We don’t know that,” Kunmia answered. “Captain Guoduan said he has become more introspective of late. More concerned about death and what will happen to Sajinau after he’s gone.”
The captain was more than willing to speak for himself. “Personally, I think he’s left to give his eldest son the chance to rule. Since naming Juexin crown prince two years ago, he has handed over more and more responsibility to him. Much like a captain grooming his second to take his place. King Shulian is very wise.”
“That is true,” Kunmia said. “But these are dangerous times, and his leadership is needed now more than ever. Word must be sent to him immediately. As I explained to you, we face no mere mortal threat. Echion has already proven that he can travel great distances and wear the guise of another person.”
“What happened after we left Budai’s palace?” Bingmei asked worriedly. “Where is Guanjia now?”
“He’s sleeping. His mind is very disturbed. Following our departure from the palace, he went to the treasury room. It’s a vault, and only he carries the key. He chose several magical artifacts to aid us and a great deal of money. Those were in the box that he carried. After securing the vault, he went to the throne room where Budai was waiting. They spoke, and Guanjia persuaded Budai to come to the Raven.”
