Cogo was older than Kuni by about ten years. A diligent and studious man, he had passed the Imperial civil service examinations with high marks. But as he was from an undistinguished family not tapped into the network of patronage in the bureaucracy, being a clerk of the third rank in the city government was probably as high as he would ever rise in the civil service.
However, he liked his job. The mayor, a Xana man who had bought this sinecure but had no real interest in administration, relied on Cogo’s advice for most decisions. Cogo was fascinated by matters of local governance and had a knack for solving the mayor’s problems.
Others might see Kuni as a lazy, idle young man destined for the poorhouse or a life of crime, but Cogo liked Kuni’s easy manners and his flashes of brilliance. Kuni was original, and that was more than could be said for most people in Zudi. Having Kuni there to joke with would relieve the monotony of the party for him.
“Sure.” Kuni perked up. A party was something he was always interested in — free drinks and free food!
“The mayor’s friend, a man by the name of Matiza, has just moved to Zudi. He’s a wealthy rancher from up in old Faça who somehow got in trouble with the local magistrate. He’s moving here to start over, but most of his assets are tied up in flocks and herds up there that can’t be quickly converted to cash. The mayor is holding a welcoming party for him—”
“The real point of the party, of course, is to get the guests to bring lots of gifts for this Matiza in order to impress the mayor, and thus solve his cash flow problem,” said Than Carunoco.
“Maybe you can come to the party as a servant hired for the occasion,” Cogo suggested. “I’m in charge of the planning. I can get you a job as a waiter for the day. You’ll get a chance to say a few words to the important guests as you deliver them their food.”
“Nah.” Kuni Garu waved the suggestion away. “Cogzy, I’m not going to bow and scrape for food and pay. I’ll go as a guest.”
“But the mayor wrote on the invitation that the suggested gift amount for guests is at least a hundred silver pieces!”
Kuni lifted his eyebrows. “I’ve got my wit and good looks. Those are priceless.”
Everyone broke down in laughter as Cogo shook his head.
Bright-yellow lanterns hung in front of the mayor’s house. Standing on both sides of the front door, young women dressed in traditional Cocru short gowns inhaled perfumed smoke sticks and blew soap bubbles at the arriving guests. The soap bubbles burst against them, releasing their fragrance: jasmine, osmanthus, rose, sandalwood.
Cogo Yelu acted as doorman and greeted the guests while recording their gifts in a ledger (“So that Master Matiza can properly write thank-you notes,” he explained). But everyone knew that the ledger would be read by the mayor later. How easy it would be for someone to get things done in Zudi in the future might well depend on the size of the figure next to his name.
Kuni arrived by himself. He had put on a clean undershirt and his least-patched robe, and washed his hair. He wasn’t drunk. This counted as “dressing up” for him.
Cogo stopped him at the door.
“I’m serious, Kuni. I can’t let you in unless you’ve brought a gift. Otherwise you have to join the beggars’ table over there.” He pointed to a table set up against the outside wall of the estate, about fifty feet down from the gate. Even at this early hour, beggars and malnourished orphans were already fighting for seats around it. “They’ll bring you the leftovers when the guests are done.”
Kuni Garu winked at Cogo, reached into the folds of his sleeves, and took out a crisp sheet of paper, folded into thirds. “You’ve surely mistaken me for someone else. I’m Fin Crukédori, and I’ve brought with me a thousand silver pieces. Here’s a note, to be drawn on my account at the house office.”
Before Cogo could answer, a woman’s voice interrupted. “Such an honor to see the famous Master Crukédori again!”
Cogo and Kuni turned their heads and saw, through the gate, a young woman barely in her twenties standing in the courtyard. She looked at Kuni with a mischievous smile. Her light complexion and curly, bright-red hair, common in Faça, stood out a little in Zudi, but Kuni was struck most by her eyes. Dyran-shaped, they seemed to be pools of dark-green wine. Any man who looked into them was doomed to lose his way.
“Miss,” Kuni said, and cleared his throat. “Is something amusing you?”
“You are,” the woman said. “Master Fin Crukédori came in not ten minutes ago with his father, and we chatted amiably while he paid me several compliments. Yet here you are again, outside, and looking so different.”
Kuni put on a serious face. “You must have me confused with my… cousin. He’s Fin, but I’m Phin.” He pursed his lips, demonstrating the supposed difference in pronunciation. “You are probably not familiar with the Cocru dialect, which is subtle with such distinctions.”
“Oh, is that so? You must be confused with your cousin often, what with Xana officials in markets also not being familiar with such subtle distinctions.”
Kuni’s face turned red momentarily, but he laughed. “Someone has been spying on me, it seems.”
“I’m Jia Matiza, daughter of the man you intend to cheat.”
“Cheat is such a strong word,” Kuni said without missing a beat. “I had heard that Master Matiza’s daughter is a great beauty, as rare as the dyran among fish.” Jia rolled her eyes at this. “My hope was to have my friend Cogzy here”—he gestured in Cogo’s direction, and Cogo shook his head in denial—“let me in under false pretenses so that I could have a chance to admire her. But now that I have accomplished my goal without having to go in, Cogo’s honor and mine are intact. I shall take my leave.”
“You really have no shame,” Jia Matiza said. But her eyes were laughing and so the words did not sting. “You can come in as my guest. You are outrageous, but you are interesting.”
When she was twelve years old, Jia stole some of her teacher’s dream herbs.
She dreamed of a man who wore a plain gray cotton tunic.
“What can you offer me?” she asked.
“Hardship, loneliness, long-flowing heartache,” he said.
She could not see his face, but she liked the sound of his voice: gentle and serious, but with a hint of laughter in it.
“That doesn’t sound like a good match,” she said.
“Good matches are not the stuff of stories and songs,” he said. “For every pain we endure together, there will be a joy twice as great. They will still sing of us in a thousand years.”
She saw that he had changed into a yellow silk robe. And he kissed her, and he tasted of salt and wine.
And she knew he was the man she was destined to marry.
The party from a few days ago lingered in Jia’s mind.
“I have never heard anyone claim that Lurusén’s poem is about waking up in the middle of the night in an indigo house,” Jia said, laughing.
“It’s true that the traditional interpretation is all about high-minded politics and such,” Kuni said. “But listen to the lines: ‘The world is drunk; I alone am sober. The world is asleep, but I am awake.’ This is clearly about the house watering down the liquor. I have research to back it up.”
“I’m sure you do. Did you present this interpretation to your teacher?”
“I did, but he was too set in his ways to recognize my brilliance.” Kuni grabbed two small plates off the tray of a passing waiter. “Did you know that you can dip pork dumplings in plum paste?”