Chapter 282 — Cosigned by Old Soot

CHAPTER 282

Cosigned by Old Soot

Smoke was rising from the north ridge when Shi Feng woke.

It rose from six black patches in a neat line, which a day earlier had been six tents. Beside them stood a few tall figures in red and black sashes. They were staring at the ground and not at one another.

Old Soot sat on Sima Lan's boot. There was a smear of ash on its chin, and it looked extremely well fed.

“It left at midnight,” Zhu Liu said, writing. “It returned at dawn. Nobody saw it go.”

“Look how quiet they are,” Lin Langtian said, stretching on his flat stone throne.

Sima Lan crouched and held out her palm. Old Soot stared at her, shuddered, then hiccupped. Her green bracelet came out wrapped in slime. Sima Lan recoiled before reluctantly taking it between two fingers.

Her bracelet.

She picked it up between two fingers and held it at arm's length.

“Boil it,” Sima Lan said to Zhu Liu. “Three times.”

“Yes, Senior Attendant,” Zhu Liu said, correcting himself before she could.

Old Soot gazed up at her with devotion. She stood and walked away. It followed one hop behind.

They left the marsh at noon, fifteen people, one cauldron and a toad, trailing grey mud down the hill. At the barrier pole, Clerk Hui Mo sat behind his counter and pretended to be asleep. Two guards stood to attention. Beside the pole, arms folded and smiling hard, waited Hou Ping.

His eyebrows were gone. So were the front few inches of his hair.

“Leaving so soon?” Hou Ping said. His voice shook. “I hope nobody was hurt by an accident.”

“Wen Bo was,” Shi Feng said. “His wrist.”

“A pity,” Hou Ping said.

“Zhu Liu,” Shi Feng said.

Zhu Liu produced the yard-long invoice. Shi Feng had written it left-handed by the fire. Sima Lan had called the slanting script an embarrassment to ink, then checked the figures three times. Zhu Liu held it carefully above the mud.

“Read it,” Shi Feng said.

“Invoice,” Zhu Liu read, in a voice that broke on the first word. “From Artificer Hall, to Hou Ping, outer disciple of Martial Palace, for one beast tide. Item one, rescue of two juniors by collar, two stones. Item two, one splint, one wrist, nine stones. Item three, one lost boot, four stones. Item four, one rain sheet destroyed, six stones. Item five, one cauldron, dented, five stones. Item six, the emotional distress of the cauldron's bearer, ten stones.”

“The what?” Hou Ping said.

“Qiu Bao was under it for a while,” Sima Lan said.

“I'm still shaking,” Qiu Bao said from the back, with dignity.

“Item seven, ninety-one boars' use of the latrine trench, to be cleaned by the party responsible,” Zhu Liu read, faster. “Item eight, a lesson in beast-driving, taught without permission, four thousand one hundred and seventy stones. Total, four thousand two hundred and six spirit stones. Payable in thirty days.”

Hui Mo made a sound like a swallowed hiccup.

“You're out of your mind,” Hou Ping said. His face had gone slowly red. “You don't know the height of heaven or the depth of the earth! Four thousand? For a few wet juniors?”

“And a tide,” Shi Feng said. “You asked me to bill it.”

“I was joking!” Hou Ping said.

“I wasn't,” Shi Feng said.

Hou Ping's mouth worked. He glared at the sheet, then at Lin Langtian, who was eating a potato and looking at the sky with an innocent expression. Then his eyes fell to the bottom of the page.

Below Shi Feng's signature, a second mark stood in ink. It was a round, four-toed print, slightly smeared at the edges.

“What's that?” Hou Ping asked.

“A cosigner,” Zhu Liu said. “Old Soot.”

“Who in the world is Old Soot?” Hou Ping said.

Old Soot hopped onto the counter and looked at him.

Hou Ping retreated. Old Soot followed one hop closer and opened its mouth enough to show an orange glow. Hou Ping screamed, caught his heel, and fell backward. He kept one terrified eye on the toad.

“Interest is seven percent a night,” Sima Lan said, writing. “From today.”

“Come, children!” Lin Langtian said happily. “We're done here!”

They went through the barrier. Hou Ping stayed on his back in the mud, clutching the invoice. He did not tear it.

Artificer Hall's gate was swept clean when they climbed the stair, and Li Changyuan was sweeping it again.

He looked up from his broom at a line of mud-coloured disciples, the chief disciple among them. Then at the toad.

“What is that?” Li Changyuan asked.

“A stray,” Lin Langtian said.

“Strays eat,” Li Changyuan said. “Who pays?”

Old Soot did not wait for an answer. It hopped straight past the sect master and across the court, its little feet slapping on the stones. It turned toward the main furnace hall, whose doors were open for the afternoon fire. A moment later, a satisfied croak echoed out of the coals.

“It went in my furnace,” Li Changyuan said slowly.

“It likes fire,” Zhu Liu said.

“It ate a bracelet,” Sima Lan said.

Li Changyuan stood still. His broom hung from one hand.

“A jade one?” Li Changyuan asked.

“Four hundred stones,” Sima Lan said. “Returned.”

“It returned the jade?” Li Changyuan said, lifting his broom. “Then it’s paid in already. Sect property. It stays. It eats coal instead of rice, so put it under fuel.”

“Yes, Sect Master,” Zhu Liu said, writing.

Li Changyuan looked at Shi Feng. His gaze went to the bandaged hand, and then, very briefly, to the ring on the other.

“The heart?” Li Changyuan asked.

“Yes,” Shi Feng said.

“One off the list,” Li Changyuan said, resuming his sweeping. His voice dropped. “After supper, come to my hut. Bring Zhu Liu. And a witness. I don’t want this discussed twice.”

“A witness to what?” Shi Feng asked.

“Whatever I end up regretting,” Li Changyuan said.