Chapter Twenty-Five
SONG LIM stood with his throat parched, blood drying on his wounded shoulder and bruises growing purple from his rough handling, listening to the drone of Master Chen’s voice as he showed off his handiwork.
The man strutted around the overfull workshop like a peacock in mating season.
Not only did he regale Lim with his handiwork, but he also took pains to point out the five statues of deities he had lined up on the eastern wall; where the offerings of pots of tea and pieces of cooked chicken and pork were liable to attract too many bugs.
So much incense burned that the waft of tannins from the shoe leather was all but stifled.
‘They are much pleased with my offerings and worship, for I rose from a simple village shoemaker to the appointed craftsman of his lordship, Mandarin Feng, in remarkably short time.’ He bowed before the three Sanxing deities, Fu, Lu and Shou, Star Gods of Prosperity, and Caishen, the almighty God of Wealth; these with the greatest share of the offerings, revealing just where Chen’s priorities lay.
‘I have been told, on more than one occasion, that my work is fit for the Imperial Palace.’ He paused, eyeing Lim.
‘For true princes, that is. Not those so befallen of bad luck as the Prince Xian.’
Lim held his tongue, but only because he wished for a drink of water desperately. Once he’d had a sip, he’d probably try to strangle the man. At least it would end his torturous prattle.
Chen carried on, nursing the slipper like a newborn. ‘This pair here are to be worn by his lordship’s most favoured consort.’ He lifted one of a pair of lotus shoes. ‘I had the fabric sourced from India, and thought it quite exquisite until your shoe appeared.’
‘It is well made, I suppose. The embroidery remarkable enough,’ Lim replied with little enthusiasm. ‘But I’ve no fondness for foot binding. Shoes are intended for feet capable of walking, so far as I’m concerned. Those made so small as this, for a grown woman, are an insult to our trade.’
Master Chen set the lotus shoe down beside its match, touching the pair until they were perfectly aligned.
‘Strong words for a man shackled and one wrong word away from being thrown into confinement. I wonder how long your belligerence shall last.’ Lim remained quiet, despite the angry words boiling at the back of his throat.
‘Tell me, did you find your material in the exotic wilds of India, too?’
Master Chen brushed a finger over the slipper, and Lim nearly choked on his belligerence.
‘I don’t recall where it was found. As I’ve said.’ Lim knew himself a fool for antagonising the man, but it was worth it; seeing the heat in his cheeks, the shiver of his jowls as he ground his teeth.
‘One shout from me,’ Chen said, ‘and Captain Duan will return an eager man. I don’t know what you did to slight him, but I know he does not take insult well. Where did you find the fabric? Does the Governor of Kunming have special privilege with a supplier?’
Lim met his gaze, unblinking. ‘No. He does not.’
‘You insist on testing me.’ Chen clucked his tongue. ‘That is not wise. Where is the other shoe, Song?’
‘I told you, I do not know.’
‘Now that I know an outright lie. No shoemaker in his right mind allows a slipper like this out of his sight before it reaches its intended owner.’ He tapped his nail against the slipper’s toe; right above the line of scales.
‘Why would you come all this way, wishing to see the prince, and present him with just one shoe?’
Lim stared at the shoemaker’s finger, willing Mercy’s scales to slice his skin. Chen had no right to hold the shoe, let alone poke at it as if it were a slab of meat. But that did not mean he didn’t ask a reasonable question once in a while.
The answer was quite simple. One that Chen would never hear. Lim had an enchanted shoe and a reckless heart.
‘Are you going to let me change my shirt before you set me to work?’ Lim glowered. ‘Some salve would be decent too. I won’t be much use to you if infection sets in.’
‘It is barely a scratch, you seem the type to have weathered far worse.’ Master Chen considered Lim for a moment, something dark working behind his eyes.
‘I propose something else to occupy our time. As one slipper is of no use to a prince with two feet, you shall not mind me picking this shoe apart so we might reuse the fabric for a new pair? I’d enjoy studying your craft as I undo all you’ve done, and might learn more of the origins of your fabric. ’
Now it was Lim who clenched his teeth, watching as Chen strode over to the workbench, holding the slipper carelessly, two fingers pinching the heel, swinging it back and forth.
He drew near to the open windows, and the sunlight turned the slipper into a dazzling spectacle.
The day beyond the window frames was a delight, the sky clear, the sun leaning into late afternoon but still holding back the chill. For Lim though, the splendour only brought dismay.
Find him before the clock strikes midnight, or you may miss your chance.
Lim scowled at the Englishman’s cryptic talk, then scowled harder at Chen, who set the slipper down on a cluttered workbench, among the nails and awls and knives, strips of leather and cuts of discarded fabric. The shoemaker picked up a small pair of pincers.
‘Now, where to begin,’ he said, making a show of tilting the slipper back and forth, setting off its marvellous shine.
Lim sighed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. No shoemaker worth his weight in dan would ever consider ruining perfection.’
‘But this is not my perfection, Master Song.’ Chen brought the pincers nearer the slipper’s heel, where the largest of the seams ran.
That he’d actually make good on his threat was highly dubious, but Lim saw a stubbornness in the man that he recognised in himself.
‘Fine,’ he growled. ‘A cup of water, and I’ll tell you.’
Chen could move quickly when it pleased him. He handed Lim a cup, less than half full, but the water was cool and fresh. After draining the cup, Lim continued. ‘I met a pedlar on my travels, in Shaanxi. I’d hoped to gain trade from the Silk Road.’
Chen did not move the pincers from where they hovered near the slipper.‘What town did you meet him in?’
‘There was no town, I was somewhere between Yulin and Yan’An, if I recall. His cart had overturned. I was given the fabric as thanks for my help.’ Lim didn’t bother with a lie; because the truth would infuriate the man well enough.
Sure enough, Master Chen scowled. ‘How convenient for you, to have been in the middle of nowhere like that. Do you have a name? Tell me more of this supposed man.’
‘He claimed to be from Bhutan, and gave me no name.’
‘Bhutan? I’m not sure I’ve heard of it. You’d best not be inventing places at your leisure.’
‘I assure you it exists, a neighbour to the west. A mystic place, I’m told. And I would believe it for how odd the man was.’
Surprisingly, that caught Chen’s attention. He set down the pincers, picking up a piece of red velvet and wrapping it around the slipper with a care he’d not displayed a moment ago with the pincers. He turned to look at Lim.
‘And how odd was that?’
‘His ears were peculiar,’ Lim waved his hand at his own ears, forgetting the cut on his arm, and remembering rather painfully. ‘Long and pointed at their tips, and his teeth were much too sharp.’
The truth. But one so wild he half expected Chen to call for Captain Duan then and there; tired of a shoemaker’s belligerence.
Master Chen gasped, touching his fingers to the base of his throat. ‘Could you have met Shunfeng Er?’
Lim blinked, stunned by the question. ‘Met the god of Fair-Wind Ears?’
Chen nodded eagerly. ‘Yes, yes. Do you not believe in the gods, Master Song?’
‘That a god had a broken cart he could not fix himself? No.’
‘Short-sighted man, but it is just like the gods to work through disbelievers.’ He turned back to the slipper.
‘How can you look on this fabric and not see the touch of the divine? I have a sensitivity to the spirits, you understand, I feel their presence. Luck guides my hands because I believe in the deities with all my heart. They have sent you to me, Master Song Lim. I am sure of it.’
Lim stared at him. Master Chen was raving mad.
A god?
The man from Bhutan was odd, no doubt, but many people were born with disfigurements; not so many were born godly. But Lim decided too much protest would not benefit him. Riling and ridiculing would not get the shackles off him faster.
‘I suppose it may have been Shunfeng Er,’ he said slowly. ‘If he is a generous god.’
‘He is a guardian. And those magnificent ears you saw enable him to hear over immense distances.’ Chen pulled his braid over his shoulder and twiddled with the grey hair at its tip.
‘He can hear the prayers of the faithful.’ He looked up, with a wild hunger in his grin.
‘I am faithful, and here you are. An answer to my prayers. Falling at my feet with your talent and god-given fabric. Enough to take me to the Forbidden City, and be immortalised for my work.’
Lim clenched the ceramic cup. Chen was not just mad…he was a mad zealot. This was a bad dream, surely? Or a frightening delusion…maybe those lotus seeds had turned Lim’s mind to porridge?
‘Master Chen,’ Lim said carefully. ‘I am in the service of the Governor of Kunming, and only here to see to the needs of Prince Xian…at the marquess’s request.’ He added the lie for good measure.
‘Forget that wretched prince, Master Song.’ Chen’s face illuminated with displeasure. ‘There lies only ill-fortune with him. His Imperial Majesty is beloved of the gods, and saw fit to cast his cursed son out. What do you think that means?’
That the Daoguang Emperor was a hùndàn, and easily manipulated to believe such nonsense.
Lim dragged a deep breath in through his nostrils. He’d need more patience than the world had in reserve to endure this man.
‘You have a connection with the gods, you tell me what that means, Master Chen?’ Too curt, Lim admonished himself. A deaf man could have heard the sarcasm.
Master Chen nodded his head solemnly, with no hint of irritation.
‘I am glad you see it, Master Song. It means that His Majesty understood what needed to be done to keep evil from his door. He cast out the prince. I can only pray that the mandarin will do so too, before long. His court is prosperous, he must protect it. My coffers are full thanks to nobles from the Middle Kingdom and beyond, willing to part with their coin for sake of a beautiful pair of shoes. They seek to please wives and concubines, and those whose favour will gain prestige and fortune, and more and more of them come every month upon their ships, eager for specialities of Manhao.’ He drew a breath.
‘I am a skilled craftsman, make no mistake of it, but I only have one pair of hands, and so many hours in the day. With you working beneath me, so much more shall be done. So many more commissions shall be filled, and the renown of Manhao’s shoemaker shall spread. ’
‘I will help you while I am here,’ Lim tread gently. ‘But you must understand I will return to Kunming with the prince. You’ll be glad of that, surely? Considering you think him so unsightly.’
‘The prince is not returning to Kunming.’
A chill touched the back of Lim’s neck. ‘You are mistaken. His highness is here at the goodwill of the Marquis, to dance at the New Year celebrations, and return to Kunming thereafter.’
‘No, that is why I am so displeased with his lordship. Kunming wished to rid themselves of the prince. Feng’s hunger for collection of oddities and curiosities will be his downfall if he is not careful.
’ Chen glanced quickly towards the open doors and winced.
‘May Che Kung protect me, but I must be honest. The Veiled Prince’s presence here courts misfortune. ’
He moved to where a horseshoe-back armchair sat near the statues, and seated himself heavily, pulling a fan from his belt, flicking it open with a flourish.
‘Are you certain Xian is not to return?’ Lim demanded. ‘You have seen the agreement?’
‘Fool. They’d not put such details into a written agreement. But Scholar-Official Park is a good friend of mind and was head of the envoy. He thinks my concerns overdone, but he’ll see soon enough.’
Lim nodded, his body numb; his tongue stunned into silence. Chen might be zealous, and very near a lunatic, but what need did he have to lie about Xian’s fate?
And Lim had seen Captain Duan and Marchioness Shen together, whispering over Xian as he laboured on his knees at their feet.
Lim needed no convincing to believe she’d commit so callous an act, or that her sister, Noble Consort Jing, would have a hand in the plot to rid herself of the last remnant of her rival.
Sick to the stomach, Lim looked to the slipper.
‘It is true,’ he whispered. ‘He will vanish.’
A glint of gold sparked from beneath the material; as though the guardian ghost confirmed the horrible truth.
Lim clenched his fist, and the ceramic cup cracked against his palm.
‘What did you say, Master Song?’
‘Nothing…my cup…it’s broken.’ He moved towards the bench, towards the slipper, clanking at the ankles like he were an ox dragging a plough through the field.
Did Xian know he was not to return home?
Was he taunted with it? Or was it dangled like a gift before him?
Ren had said that many tales flowed in on the river.
If the farmer knew of the prince’s treatment in Kunming, likely many others here did too.
Had the mandarin told Xian he was safe now? Lied to him.
‘You’ll get another cup later. I’ve no time to be running after you. I have Captain Duan’s order to attend to as a matter of urgency. You will finish the lotus shoes while I work.’
Lim gave up all pretence of belligerence. ‘Where would you like me to work, Master Chen?’
His own petty amusements were unimportant.
He’d bide his time until this conceited fool would surely go to join the celebrations, or at the very least, deliver the shoes to Captain Duan.
Time in the workshop gave Lim time to plan a way to reach Xian.
The guard Jang Ming had been sympathetic, Mai, too.
There would be a way.
There must be a way.
A golden scale pricked his finger. Lim frowned down at his finger, where a bead of blood rose from the tiny cut.
A chair groaned with shifted weight, and Master Chen grunted. ‘Oh, Your Highness. Gracious. An honour indeed.’
Lim spun about, nearly tripping himself up with the shackles.
Xian walked towards him, his veil in place, his ruqun of such a deep blue the right light would turn it black. His eyes were fixed upon Lim, creases at their edges suggesting a smile beneath his fluttering black veil.
For thirty-two years, Lim had never once forgotten how to breathe. That changed now, staring at the prince who had not left his mind since their first meeting.