“Don’t get your hopes up.”
“He isn’t afraid the way you were. I saw her efforts to claim you in your dreams. You were always frightened. This man isn’t.”
Embarrassed, face burning despite the chill of the sea around him, Droust drew himself up straight. “This man will bend to the Blue Lady or he will die.”
“Can you be so sure?”
“Yes. Already Nine Golden Swords warriors are tracking him in Westgate. They will catch him there and bring him to the Blue Lady to use as she will.”
Red Orchid shook her head. “Go root among the dead like the ghoul that you are, Droust. I pity you.”
“I have no need of your pity.”
“But you do. It must be hard to live so hopelessly.”
Droust turned from her and walked toward the ship while the monsters feasted on the bounty that their mistress had delivered to them. He tried not to think about Red Orchid’s words, but it was hard because he knew they were true.
SSS SSSSSS o- SSS
“Are you sure you need the sword?”
Shang-Li sighed as he walked down the gangplank from Swallow to the docks. Truthfully, he felt a little overdressed with the long sword resting in a sheath over his right shoulder. He also felt tired and irritable from the lack of sleep.
“Yes, I need the sword.”
His father walked beside him and drank in the sights. He was dressed as a proper monk but without the temple insignia. Shang-Li knew most people in Tidetown and old Westgate would assume his father was a beggar. That fact, especially since they weren’t there in disguise, was a little embarrassing. He hadn’t expected that.
He wished more fervently that his father had stayed aboard the ship. But that would have been too easy.
Several sailors and dockworkers watched as he passed. Most of the glances were unfriendly. A few were speculative and he knew the owners of those wondered how much gold he carried with him. And the Nine Golden Swords walked almost with impunity through Westgate’s streets and almost owned the alleys and shadows. The city wasn’t a safe place.
“A sword often represents a challenge,’” his father told him.
“Quoting Barsillus?” Shang-Li lifted an eyebrow when he regarded his father.
“Were I a betting man, I would have wagered you wouldn’t have known that quote.”
“Barsillus was an interesting man, and he wrote interesting books. Actually, I’m surprised you know of him.”
His father harrumphed in displeasure. “Barsillus was an important tactician.”
“True, and he practiced his tactics on every kingdom around him. Some historians, rightfully in my opinion, have labeled him a bully.”
“Barsillus single-handedly united most of northern Chessenta.”
“His book puts it that way. Others felt that he enslaved the surrounding lands.”
His father made a rude noise. “History puts it that way.”
“Only because Barsillus would have lined his walls with the heads of every scribe that refused to write history the way he wanted it written.”
“I’ve never read that anywhere.”
“Father,” Shang-Li said, “the man lined his walls with the heads of everyone that displeased him. Though Barsillus didn’t make that particular comment, the math is certainly simple enough to follow.”
“An historian records what is factual and leaves guessing to bards.”
“I know several bards who know more about specific histories than I do.” Too late, Shang-Li saw that he had left himself open for a swift rebuttal. He blamed his lax attention to the conversation on the fact that he was also keeping watch over them, searching doorways and alleys for possible thieves and assassins. Goddess knew, there would be those in Westgate even without their current trouble.
“Personally, I find that no great feat,” his father said. “There are probably fish in these waters that know more about history than you do.”
Shang-Li focused on his stride and tried not to sigh. They wouldn’t get out of Westgate soon enough.
“Admit it,” his father said. “You wore the sword simply to vex me, and to get some petty revenge because I made you work as a server.”
“No, that’s not it. I’m not trying to vex you. This is a dangerous place.”
“All places are dangerous. Were I not looking, I could slip and fall and break my neck.”
Not his neck, Shang-Li thought. But goddess willing, perhaps he could fracture his jaw. Or bite his tongue. Even thinking that made the young monk feel guilty, though.
“Wearing the sword is an open invitation to anyone harboring aggressive tendencies,” his father said. “It’s just as likely there could be some that confront you just to find out if you are worthy of carrying that sword.”
“I am worthy of carrying the sword. Anyone seeking that knowledge will get a quick lesson.” Actually, the sword was the least of it. Shang-Li was a walking arsenal at the moment. At least his father didn’t know about
“You’re carrying so many weapons that you jingle when you walk.”
Shang-Li barely held back a flurry of curses. “No, I’m not.”
“Petty, vengeful, insecure, obstinateand deaf. These are not qualities I’d hoped to find iii you after your absence, but I can’t be responsible for what you fail to learn or what you forget while you’re away from the monastery.”
“This is my world, Father. I know what I’m doing here.”
Kwan Yung gestured at the people around them. “So do the fishermen and the merchant. They also know what they’re doing. You don’t see them walking around with weapons.”
“That’s because the fishermen has a filleting knife in his boot and the merchant has three guards who carry weapons.” Shang-Li scanned the docks. “Everyone here carries weapons.”
“And what would you do if everyone were to throw themselves from a cliff? Would you too throw yourself from a cliff? To be like the rest of these insecure people?”
Mentally, Shang-Li surrendered. “You know, Father, now that I think about it, this is about making me work as a server.”
“I already knew that,” his father said smugly. “But it is good to hear you admit your pettiness. Perhaps there is hope for you after all.”
“You should have been the server.”
“True, and if I were, I wouldn’t have spilled the sauce.”
Helplessly, Shang-Li ground his teeth and increased his pace. The day could not be over with soon enough.
“Who are these people we’re going to meet?” his father asked.
“Friends.”
“Do your friends have names?””
“You don’t know them.”
“I could have heard you talk about them.”
“I doubt it.”
“Why?” his father asked. “Do you not talk about these friends? Do you have some reason to be ashamed of them?”
“The only reason I don’t talk about them is because you wouldn’t listen. These are friends and a part of my life that you expressly disapprove of.”
“That is a large part of your life, you know. And it seems to be growing.”
Shang-Li didn’t comment.
The alley twisted back and forth between buildings like a broken-backed snake. Halfway down, a man stood in front of a recessed doorway painted a brilliant red.
The man was young and stout. Ginger colored hair fell to his shoulders. His smile was big but disingenuous. He stepped into the alley before them.
“If I could have your attention for but a moment, good sirs, I would very much appreciate it. I will promise not to take up much of your time and to use well what you can generously spare.”
Shang-Li feinted in one direction, then reversed and went the other way, neatly stepping past the man. His foot sloshed noisily through the mud, which sucked at his boot as he broke contact.
“A minute of your time.” The man pointed at the red door and kept pace with Shang-Li. “Through that door lies Yahlil, the best performer you’ll ever have the good fortune to see. She does the dance of the Thirty-Six Veils.” The man grinned, showing crooked yellow teeth. “And most of those are very small veils.”