A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (10)
“Rice cake?” Lian scoffs as she shows me her token. “How typical.”
“Do you have an issue with your assignment?” The steward descends on us menacingly, and Lian squeaks out a negative. The two of us scurry away before she can exact her punishment.
Outside the entrance to the kitchens, Lian starts listing an assortment of regional cuisines the kitchens could have picked from Kallah, and it’s enough to make my stomach growl. Fish cooked in a spicy and sour sauce, sweet milk batter grilled on a stick, duck with honey rubbed all over its skin and roasted to a golden brown.
She must have sounded passionate enough that even the guard standing by the door chimes in: “I prefer pòsū myself. Fried crispy, filled with ham and sugar.” He closes his eyes, like he’s savoring the taste of it in his mind. “Sounds like home.”
Lian looks delighted. “I thought I’d met all the people from Kallah in the palace.”
The young man beams back, flashing white teeth. “I only transferred here a few months ago.”
“It’s nice to meet you, brother.” Lian touches her hand to her chest and bows. The guard bows in turn, mirroring her stance.
The sound of the mid-hour gong ripples through the air, reminding us of the urgency of our task. With a quick goodbye to Lian’s new acquaintance, we hurry to catch up with the other competitors.
The city opens to us when we are let out of the palace. Lian navigates through the street confidently, braid swinging, and I follow. We end up in a market when she finally slows her brisk walk.
I take in the lively energy around me, to invigorate myself for the trial ahead. Ladies sashay by with long flowing dresses, their servants following closely behind, carrying their purchases. We pass by fabric shops, with beautiful bolts of silk and cotton lined up for sale. I furtively touch a few of the fabrics, just to experience the luxurious feel of them against my skin, so different from the homespun materials I am used to. Another narrow street seems to contain only small shops with an assortment of inks and brushes for calligraphy and painting. A part of me longs to stare at them for a while, to take in the sweeping curves and assertive strokes on the scrolls or the landscapes with the wisps of cloud on top of sharp peaks, the boats made of bamboo sailing serenely by.
Drinking all this in, I could see Shu everywhere. She would have loved that light green outfit worn by a young noblewoman perusing a brush stall, the color reminiscent of the first buds of spring. Instead of lingering by the calligraphy shop, her interest would have been in the embroidery stretched over frames, depicting cranes perched on top of thick boughs of white pine. She would have marveled over the shimmer of the feathers and the tiny details of the pine needles. I am determined to one day bring her here, so that she can see it for herself.
I turn my head away from a stall selling embroidered flowers and realize I’ve lost Lian in the crowd, and a sudden panic grips me.
I’m alone, in this massive city.
The silver pieces weigh heavily in the pouch hidden in my skirt. It is the most money I have ever had on me, and I remember Father’s lectures about the capital being full of thieves and degenerates, looking to take advantage of young women. But I take in a deep breath and force my racing heart to settle. I got to Jia on my own, and I can prove to those boys and myself I am not some t? bāo zi from Sù.
I walk past residences with imposing gates and try not to gawk at the ornate rafters that hold up their rooftops. Passing through a small stone gate, I enter a market consisting of different fruit vendors. Large baskets sit stacked high with mounds of fruit: pink-skinned dragon fruit, golden kumquats, green and purple plums. The scents of the fruits ripening in the warm afternoon sun is intoxicating, and one of them may be the ingredient I’m looking for to complement my dish.
I have a soft plum from a basket in hand when I notice a young boy dart forward and pick up a piece of fruit that has fallen to the ground. He shoves it into his mouth and chews so eagerly that the juices dribble down his chin. I can’t help but smile at his exuberance.
“Thief!” A guard grabs the boy by his shoulders and shakes him, attracting the attention of others around us.
“It fell on the ground!” the boy cries. He tries to run, but the guard knees him in the back and he falls in the dirt.
My amusement quickly dissipates. I’ve seen the sorts of punishments soldiers are capable of. I’ve seen grown men with their backs reduced to bloody pulp. This is just a child, and my father isn’t here to step in. I must help him on my own.
I grab the boy’s arm and haul him up to his feet, wanting to make a run for it. The guard’s reaction is quicker than I anticipated and he grabs the child’s other arm, so the boy is trapped between the two of us.
“Who are you?” the guard demands.
“This is my brother!” In my desperation, the lie rolls easily from my tongue. “What did he do now?”
“He stole fruit from my stand!” The merchant sweeps in, shaking his fist. “He’s lucky I don’t demand that his hand be chopped off!”
I almost choke at the absurdity of such a claim, imagining the Ministry of Justice jumping at the whim of a common fruit seller. But I compose myself, remembering I have to return to my task for the competition.
“We’ve been traveling, good sirs, from the Sù countryside. My brother is only tired and hungry, but we can pay!” With my free hand, I dig in my pocket for a coin.