Chapter 316 — The Smiths of Qingtong

CHAPTER 316

The Smiths of Qingtong

“Get off that ladder, you thieving rat, or I’ll hammer you into the gatepost!” Master Smith Kang roared.

The shout carried the length of the street. The man with the Qiao tabard froze with the last nail between his teeth. Below him stood a huge, broad-shouldered smith in a scorched leather apron, one fist raised and the other holding a hammer. His arms were covered with old burn scars. His beard had been singed on one side.

Behind him, forty or fifty apprentices stood in the road with their sleeves rolled up. None of them looked well fed.

The man on the ladder weakly protested that it was only a price list.

“It’s a death warrant!” Master Smith Kang snapped, raising the hammer.

Gray Ear stopped in the middle of the road and refused to go on. Lin Langtian stood up on the driving board, holding the red banner pole like a general holding a spear. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

“Peace!” Lin Langtian cried. “Peace, good people of Qingtong! The Inspector has arrived!”

Every head turned. The smiths looked at the banner, the cart and the ox. Then they looked at Lin Langtian's new boots.

“Another one,” an apprentice muttered.

“The Qiao house sends a new man every week!”

“Look at the gold thread. That's Qiao money.”

“No, it's worse. That's a fat man's money.”

“…”

“I'm not from the Qiao house,” Lin Langtian said, hurt. “I'm Chief Disciple Lin Langtian of Artificer Hall. Your sect. The one you pay tribute to.”

Master Smith Kang lowered his hammer. His face went through several colours, ending on dark red.

“The Hall,” Master Smith Kang said. “Three letters! I sent three letters! You took two months to send a boy with an ox?”

“The first letter was lost,” Lin Langtian said cheerfully.

“It was in the sect master’s hand!” Master Smith Kang shouted.

“Then it was lost in his hand,” Lin Langtian said, jumping down. “You can scold him when we get back. First, tell me where the ore went.”

“I'm not shouting!” Master Smith Kang shouted.

Shi Feng stood by the tailboard and watched. Sima Lan opened her ledger. Zhu Liu uncapped his ink and wrote on his knee.

It took the smith eleven minutes and about forty roars to tell the story, and Shi Feng sorted it as it came.

Qingtong had thirty-eight forges and two hundred and twelve smiths and apprentices. For ninety years they had bought ore from the Wujin road and the river barges, and sold bar iron and bronze to the Hall. Three months ago the Qiao merchant house had bought every catty of ore within sixty li. Nobody knew who had put up the money. Everybody knew whose protection had come with it.

“Then the Qiao house paid you for your work,” Shi Feng said.

“In notes!” Master Smith Kang pulled a crumpled slip from his apron and slapped it into Shi Feng's hand. “Promises, boy! Good for goods at the Qiao store!”

The slip was neat and official. It promised “ten stones, redeemable at the house's discretion.”

“And the iron?” Shi Feng asked.

“They sell it back to us!” Master Smith Kang roared. “Our own iron, out of our own forges! Three times what it cost! When the river is crossed, the bridge is torn down! Do you know what porridge costs when you eat it twice a day?”

“I don't,” Shi Feng said.

“It costs everything!” Master Smith Kang shouted. “There’s nothing left for the apprentices!”

“The sign agrees with him,” Zhu Liu said, writing quickly. “They’re not even trying to hide the increase.”

“Triple,” Sima Lan said, annoyed. “The smiths can’t earn enough to buy back their own iron. Qiao Shou has them trapped.”

Lin Langtian put one hand on the smith's shoulder. His cheerful manner disappeared. He was taking the hungry apprentices seriously.

“You'll have your furnaces lit,” Lin Langtian said.

Master Smith Kang opened his mouth to shout, looked at Lin Langtian's face and shut it again.

“Hmph,” Master Smith Kang muttered. “We’ll see.”

Footsteps and a wooden clack came from the other end of the street. Four porters carried a small lacquered table. Behind them a lean man in a green silk robe walked with his hands tucked in his sleeves. He smiled warmly while examining the banner, the ox and Lin Langtian’s new boots. Shi Feng noticed the calculation. Qiao Shou was trying to judge how much trouble the inspection might cause.

“Inspector!” Qiao Shou called. “What an honour! I am Qiao Shou, manager of the Qiao house's Qingtong branch. I heard the banner was in town and hurried over. Tea! Please!”

The porters set down the table. A boy poured five cups before anyone had agreed to anything.

“You’ve welcomed us faster than the Hall answered its letters,” Lin Langtian said, accepting a cup. “Good tea, too. You certainly weren’t saving it for the smiths.”

“For the Chief Disciple, nothing is too expensive,” Qiao Shou said, smiling.

Behind them, the man on the ladder came down quietly and disappeared.

Lin Langtian finished the cup and turned to Shi Feng. His helpful smile made Shi Feng suspicious at once.

“Junior Brother,” Lin Langtian said. “Tomorrow morning you'll talk to Manager Qiao alone.”

“Why?” Shi Feng asked.

“Practice,” Lin Langtian said.