Chapter Three #2
Xian did as she instructed, handing her the overcoat, before Daiyu assisted him in gathering up the copious layers of his skirt, and settling him on the stool.
‘Now, you’ll not make all my teeth fall out, or my hair go white will you, highness?’ Song Lim spoke through another spoonful of his meal.
Heng peered at him. ‘What are you talking about now, foolish man?’
Song Lim chuckled, crunching into a sliver of cucumber. ‘Those stupid whispers. That if the Cursed Prince looks your way your wheat will grow mould, and your rice flood with weevils.’
Daiyu looked fit to choke with outrage. And Heng promptly snatched the bowl from his hands. ‘Master Song, you go too far.’
‘Hey, I wasn’t finished with that.’ But his protest was light, while his smile was broad.
He looked down at Xian. ‘Forgive me, highness. I assumed all would laugh with me, including you. I couldn’t imagine anyone actually believed any of that pig swill, but I see from the look in your eyes I was wrong. ’
‘Just because it is untrue, doesn’t make it sting less,’ Daiyu said. ‘He does not need your thoughtless jests, Master Song.’
The shoemaker gave her a grim smile. ‘You are right. And I was truly thoughtless…a bad habit of mine.’He turned to Xian, brown eyes warm as the fire beneath Heng’s pot.
‘I am sorry to hear that the worthless talk pains you so. My rivals in Shanghai used to say unending things about me, to stave off my customers. And mostly I ignored them, but every so often….well, words can cut sure as knives, I suppose. I should have been more thoughtful. Forgive me?’
Xian nodded, stared at him through the swaying lengths of the beads, the sickening roil of his stomach that arose whenever he heard what was said of him, ebbing away. ‘You are from Shanghai?’
‘I am Shanghai born, but have not lived in that place for over five years. I left after the First Opium War, when it became a treaty port.’
‘I’d have thought a vain man like yourself would welcome the custom of the Western world,’ Heng sniffed. ‘Showing off your wares to those yang guizi.’
‘Then you’d have thought wrongly,’ he said smoothly. ‘I can barely bring myself to serve the noble devils of this land, let alone those that are foreign, and don’t speak a word of Mandarin nor Manchu. What point of a customer I can’t understand when they tell me how wonderful my shoes are?’
He clapped his hands together; broad hands, with a thin scar on the back of his left, and nails stained by working with leather and dyes. ‘Now, best we get on, before this mouth of mine sees me stabbed and then poisoned by your faithful companions here, your highness.’
He winked at Xian, who gasped quietly behind his veil, more astonished now than ever by the shoemaker’s reckless informality.
The deep resonance of drums reached them from a distance. Daiyu spun on her heels to face him.
‘Xian,’ she whispered. ‘Did you not say proceedings began at half past the third hour this afternoon?’
‘That is what I was told.’ Xian’s head spun; the room tilted. ‘The Lady Tian said…’ He faltered, and Daiyu gave him a regretful smile. Both knew he’d been foolish to trust his sister’s word. ‘I have little time, please hurry, Master Song.’
The drums were first among a long list of formalities; Xian’s dance came last. But he would be expected to be in place, at the feet of the marquess, marchioness and Lady Tian by the time the drums ceased their beat in half an hour.
‘Do you have any soap made from pig intestines, Heng?’ Song Lim said. ‘That should do it. Or plant ash but it’s not half as good as—’
‘Soap, I know. And of course I have it. Do you see any lasting stains on this apron, Master Song?’
‘No time for looking at your clothes, Heng.’ Song Lim returned, gathering some cushions from a corner of the room. ‘Herbalist’s daughter, bring me that box over there, it has my tools, and needle and thread.’
‘I’ve some in my storage chest too, if your thread doesn’t suffice,’ Heng said.
‘Of course mine will suffice. We’ll not be using just any old thread on his royal highness’s belongings.’
‘Any old thread?’ Heng said indignantly. ‘You are a cheeky fellow, Master Song.’
‘I know.’ He gave her one of those smiles that set deep dimples into his cheeks. ‘Now get on with that soap water, will you?’
He dropped some cushions at Xian’s feet and then went to his knees. Without a word of warning, Song Lim took hold of the hem of Xian’s qun, and lifted the fabric.
Xian was too shocked to do more than make a small sound of protest.
‘Master Song,’ Daiyu cried. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Taking stock of the damage, as I was asked.’ His squint enhanced the wonderful long taper at the edge of his eyes. ‘How does one make such a mess, might I ask, your highness?’
‘You may not,’ Daiyu answered. ‘By the Jade Emperor, are you mad? Would you dare such impertinence with her ladyship?’
Lim jerked with rough laughter. ‘I’m not fond of a whipping.
Of course I wouldn’t.’ He glanced up from his study of the stained material.
The drums seemed so much louder to Xian’s ear as he stared down into mischievously twinkling brown eyes.
‘But his highness bears no relation to her ladyship, and I feel I am quite safe. Besides, you are all trembling like rice puddings, pushing me to get things done. I shall have to abandon formalities.’
‘As though you followed them to begin with.’ Heng reentered the room, peering down at the two bars of soap she held. ‘I found one made from honey locust pods. It might be gentler on the silk?’
‘The silk’s beyond gentle treatment now. It looks like you walked through a pig pen, highness.’
Daiyu dropped the wooden box right up close to the shoemaker, making him flinch. ‘There was no pig pen, just the mud at the edge of a fishpond. Get on with your work, before I use one of your hammers to nail down your tongue.’
The shoemaker paid her violent threat no mind. He looked up at Xian, who shifted the tilt of his head to ensure the veil offered no glimpse of his face.
‘A fishpond?’ Lim said. ‘You were dressed like this, and ventured so near a pond.’
Xian owed him no explanation, none. And yet, his lips parted, his tongue shaped the words.
‘I find them gentle places…soothing, watching the fish move about. They are very beautiful…there is a particular carp…’ He faltered, wondering where on earth this urge to speak up was coming from. ‘Never mind that…you should get on.’
The shoemaker kept watching him. ‘And you needed somewhere peaceful to be.’ He nodded at his assessment.
‘I understand your fascination for the water, and the fish. I miss living in Shanghai for that reason alone, the ocean kept me mindful, and my impatience calmed. But if that carp holds any responsibility for the mud, tell her next time to be more careful when you are near.’
Xian blinked down at him, guarded. If Song Lim had been in Lady Tian’s company, perhaps she’d have told him of Xian’s fondness for a cold-blooded fish, and would mock him, as she did, for such a strange relationship.
But Song Lim turned to his toolbox, slipping its latches, already moving on. No mockery. Not even a smirk.
‘Herbalist’s daughter—’
‘My name is Daiyu.’
‘Why don’t you go?’ the shoemaker said, toying with items in the box. ‘Your pacing is giving me a headache. If people are looking for his highness, perhaps you can use your energy to turn them off our scent. You seem like you can tell a decent tale.’
Lim bunched up the folds of Xian’s gown, and again uttering no warning of what he intended to do, lifted the skirts up and settled them over Xian’s knees.
‘Master Song!’ Heng cried, and Daiyu looked ready to follow through on her threat with the hammer.
Lim lifted his head, frowning. ‘What’s wrong? Did I scratch you?’ He studied his fingers, as though the culprit were simply a long nail. ‘Can’t see how. I bite these down to the quick.’
The rhythm of the drumbeats continued in the distance, but a much closer sound brought a frigid chill sweeping through Xian’s blood. Guards could be heard shouting to one another, orders given for different paths to be taken. More urgent searches to be had.
‘Daiyu, they are close,’ Xian said, his voice thin with panic.
‘I’ll deal with that. Don’t worry. They’ll not find you.’ She bowed. ‘The blessings of all Seven Maidens be upon you, Xian.’ Her gaze moved to Song Lim, who was frowning over a reel of thread in his box. ‘If you fail his highness, I’ll tell everyone that your shoes gave me sugar toes.’
Lim snorted. ‘I’ve lost count of the ways you are going to ruin me. Go on with you. I know what I’m doing.’ He looked to Heng, who entered the room carrying a bucket of water, steam rising from its surface. ‘When you’re done there, Heng, a bottle of huangjiu, if you please. Two cups.’
Despite his ill-feeling, the echo of the time-keeping drums paining him, Xian bit down on a smile. This man was confounding.
‘His Highness doesn’t drink,’ Daiyu protested. ‘If that’s intended for him.’
‘Why are you still here?’ Song Lim waved her off. ‘Go. And he’s got a tongue, he can speak for himself I’m sure.’
Indeed, he could, but Xian had grown reticent to do so over the years. A truth that did not sit so well with him in the company of a man who might still talk if his head was cut from his body.
‘It’s alright, Daiyu. Please, go on.’
He gave her an earnest smile and was relieved to see her concern smooth from her brow.
‘Very well, take care, your highness.’
‘You too, do not endanger yourself.’
Daiyu raced out the door, closing it behind her gently, so as not to make a sound.
Xian was alone with the shoemaker, who had turned his attention to Xian’s feet.
He asked no permission to remove one of the muddied slippers, but Xian stayed silent, letting him slip them expertly away.
Leaving Xian barefoot and with his skirts pushed high; he struggled not to think too hard on how exposed he was, keeping the fluttering of panic held tight.
Time was against them here. He had no time for painful modesty.
Heng returned with the huangjiu — two cups stacked on the bottle’s neck — and set them down beside the toolbox. She removed the cloth that was draped over her shoulder and rested it on the upturned lid of the box.
Lim muttered beneath his breath as he studied the dirty shoes, then, as he seemed prone to do, he tossed them towards the startled cook without a word of warning. She rightfully reprimanded him, catching one and stooping with an angry tut to collect the other from the floor.
‘Use the pig soap, and cool water, not hot.’ Lim instructed. ‘Then get them in front of the largest fire you have, soon as you can. The fabric won’t take long to dry.’
With a nod for the blunt shoemaker, and a bow for Xian, Heng rushed away.
Song Lim poured himself a drink, downing it in one gulp, before he looked to Xian.
‘One for you? I highly recommend it, under the circumstances, to ease your nerves.’
Xian eyed the small cup the shoemaker held. ‘Master Song, I must appear as though perfect for the ceremony.’
Song Lim poured out two cups of rice wine and handed one to Xian. ‘Lucky for you then, highness, I am a master of perfection.’