Chapter 236 — Across the Street

CHAPTER 236

Across the Street

The Sky Pavilion clerk stamped the permit twice, because the first stamp had come out crooked.

“Trading permit for one pill stall, Salt Well Street, ten days on trial,” Clerk Du said. “One hundred and fifty spirit stones. Renewal every ten days. Stamp fee separate.”

“Separate?” Lin Langtian asked cheerfully. “You just stamped it twice!”

“The first stamp was my fault. The second is the fee.” Clerk Du slid the paper across the counter. “Thirty stones.”

Lin Langtian paid without bargaining. Shi Feng was surprised. He’d watched this man argue a potato down from eight coppers to six. Now he calmly counted out one hundred and eighty stones and tried to stop Sima Lan recording them.

“Don't write it down,” Lin Langtian said.

“It's already written,” Sima Lan said, and capped the ink. “Under your name, not his.”

“Generous,” Lin Langtian said, delighted with himself.

“Careless,” Sima Lan said. “Your name, line one.”

Lin Langtian laughed so loudly that the whole counter turned to look.

Salt Well Street ran from the Sky Pavilion tower to the east market, and it was the busiest road in Duanyang City. At its widest point, between a noodle shop and a cloth dealer, stood a three-storey building with a red lacquer door. Its banner read MARTIAL PALACE PHARMACY, DUANYANG BRANCH.

Yesterday's notice was still nailed beside the door. Someone had left a gap where Mei Dong had torn off the second copy.

“That one,” Lin Langtian said happily, and pointed at the empty stretch of pavement directly opposite. “We set up there.”

“Opposite their front door,” Zhu Liu said. He was carrying the stool, the sign, a furnace and a bag of charcoal, and he sounded as if he was reading a will. “Senior Brother Lin, that's the pharmacy's own doorstep.”

“It's the public road,” Lin Langtian said. “The permit says so. Sima Lan, read it.”

Sima Lan held up the paper. “Clause two. The holder may trade on any unclaimed public pavement within the city limits, provided he keeps a passage of three feet.”

“Three feet,” Lin Langtian repeated. “How wide is this pavement?”

Zhu Liu measured with his arm. “Seven feet.”

“Plenty!” Lin Langtian said. “Keep the passage clear and put the stool down. Let them come over and measure if they’re worried.”

Shi Feng set down the pill case and looked at the pharmacy door. Two shop boys were sweeping the steps. When they saw the stool, they stopped sweeping.

“You don't mind?” Lin Langtian asked him, laying out a mat. “It's a little rude.”

“It's your idea,” Shi Feng said.

“Yes. And I'm very proud of it,” Lin Langtian said.

Lin Langtian dug in his sleeve and pulled out the torn notice. He smoothed it flat, took a hammer from Zhu Liu's bag, and nailed it to the front of the table. Under it he hung a long strip of red cloth, and on the cloth, in huge crooked brush strokes, was a single line.

LICENSED BY THE SKY PAVILION. ASK ACROSS THE STREET WHO LICENSED THEM.

“Senior Brother Lin,” Zhu Liu said in a small voice. “Is that true?”

“Is the permit real?” Lin Langtian said.

“Yes,” Zhu Liu said.

“Then show him when he asks,” Lin Langtian said. “Their licence is their problem. Our banner only invites people to ask about it.”

Shi Feng looked at the red cloth for a while. Then he sat down on the stool, opened the case, and lined up twelve bottles of Clear Marrow Pills.

“Hm,” Shi Feng said.

“That's high praise,” Lin Langtian told Zhu Liu. “Write that down.”

“Received, one hm,” Zhu Liu murmured, and then stopped, because he'd actually started writing it.

By the time the incense on the table had burned down one joint, the street had noticed them.

“Is that the stall from the Artificer Hall?”

“The one from the notice? They've come right to the door!”

“They're across from the Palace. Do they want to die?”

“Throwing an egg at a rock!”

“Look at the board. Twenty-four a pill.”

“The Palace sells the same grade for forty.”

“Cheap goods are never good, and good goods are never cheap!”

“Does it work?” a hunter asked, stopping at the edge of the mat. He was big, with a sword scar through one eyebrow, and he had clearly been walking toward the pharmacy. “That notice says it's harmful.”

“It says it's unlicensed,” Sima Lan said. She stood behind the table with the ledger open and her back straight. “Harm would be a different notice. This is a Sky Pavilion permit. Look at the stamp. Both stamps.”

The hunter looked at the permit, then at the red cloth, then at the pharmacy door. Then he looked at Shi Feng, who hadn't said a word.

“Is it good?” the hunter asked.

“Take one,” Shi Feng said. “Swallow it here. If you feel no change within a quarter hour, leave without paying.”

The hunter blinked. “Free?”

“Conditional,” Sima Lan said. “Ledger line one. Name?”

“Bo Ge.”

“Bo Ge, ledger line one,” Sima Lan said, and wrote it in clean strokes. “Stand to the left. Queue behind him starts there. Your tokens will be numbered. Anyone who pushes will be last.”

The queue formed at once. Sima Lan pointed out where each person should stand and warned them against pushing. Nobody wanted to lose a place behind Bo Ge. Within moments the noisy pavement had become an orderly line.

Bo Ge opened his eyes after a quarter hour. He pressed his lower back, then cautiously bent and straightened. Surprise spread across his scarred face. He tried the movement again, this time without bracing for the old pain.

“Twelve years,” Bo Ge said. “Twelve years that bone's been stuck.”

He paid. He bought three more. Then he picked up the red cloth's loose end, looked at the pharmacy door, and said in a very loud voice:

“Brother! Over here! There's a real pill!”

Across the street, the door of the Martial Palace Pharmacy swung open. A thin clerk in a green apron stepped out, saw the line that now reached past the noodle shop, and turned the colour of old rice.

“Customers,” the clerk whispered. Then he ran back inside.