Chapter 320 — The Second Warehouse

CHAPTER 320

The Second Warehouse

The West Granary stood behind the dyers' row, and the whole lane smelled of indigo and old rain.

Dye streaked the granary’s walls below its leaking roof. Two guards argued about whether a crow overhead was a good omen.

Shi Feng walked up the lane at a steady pace with Zhu Liu behind him. He carried the receipt book. He did not carry a banner.

The first guard barred the doorway and told them the granary was closed.

“We’re here to inspect it,” Shi Feng said, showing no intention of leaving.

The guard demanded to know where the banner and Chief Disciple were.

“The banner’s at the inn, keeping warm,” Shi Feng replied.

“On a roof somewhere,” Shi Feng said. “Charter, article nine. Please step aside.”

The guards exchanged worried looks. Everyone had heard about yesterday’s inspection. One stepped back, but the braver man reached for his club.

Zhu Liu raised the receipt book in both hands like an imperial decree.

“Article nine,” Zhu Liu squeaked. “Obstructing an inspector costs a fine of ten stones per guard, payable on the spot.”

The braver guard objected that article nine said nothing of the kind.

“It's in the receipt,” Zhu Liu said.

Both guards stepped aside.

Inside, the granary was dim and wet. Iron and bronze stood on rotting planks beside a spreading puddle. Shi Feng tapped the rusty lowest tier. A coin-sized flake fell from one bar.

He thought, A fault he can't deny. Easy.

He tied a strip of red cloth to the nearest post and set a stool in the middle of the doorway.

“Posting the notice,” Shi Feng said.

“What does it say?” Zhu Liu whispered.

“Under sect inspection. No goods in or out,” Shi Feng replied, making sure both guards heard him.

“Doesn’t it need a seal?” Zhu Liu asked nervously.

“We'll borrow one,” Shi Feng said, and sat down.

An hour passed. Qiao Shou arrived in the middle of the second, walking fast with two clerks half-running behind him. He tried to smile, but his anger showed through it.

“Junior brother,” Qiao Shou said. “What a surprise. Does the Chief Disciple know you're here?”

“He's resting,” Shi Feng said.

“This is a private granary. We have no ore here,” Qiao Shou insisted.

“You have fourteen hundred bars,” Shi Feng said. “Rust on the lowest tier. A leaking roof. A puddle at the base of the main stack, wet planks, and no fire space on the east wall. Do you want me to continue?”

Qiao Shou looked at the puddle for a long moment.

“What do you want?” Qiao Shou asked.

“I’ll buy it at inspection price,” Shi Feng replied. “Then you won’t have to worry about anyone seeing how badly you’ve stored it.”

“And what price is that?” Qiao Shou asked cautiously.

“Rust is worth less than dust,” Shi Feng said. “Forty-four stones.”

“For fourteen hundred bars!” Qiao Shou shouted.

“For the whole stock,” Shi Feng confirmed.

“That’s ridiculous,” Qiao Shou said with a forced laugh. “You're a very young man who doesn't know the height of heaven or the depth of the earth. Listen. If you do this, the Palace will—”

A cart rumbled up the lane. A man in a Wujin carter's coat walked to the door, looked at the red cloth and read it. He glanced at Qiao Shou and turned his cart around.

“One,” Zhu Liu said, writing. “Customer turned away.”

Qiao Shou's eyes followed the cart. Another cart came behind it, a buyer's wagon with a driver leaning down to read the notice. It turned too. Then a boy with a parcel.

“Two,” Zhu Liu said. “Three.”

“I have all day,” Shi Feng said. He sat on his stool with his hands on his knees. “The inspection lasts until the goods are sold. Every day the notice stands, your buyers go elsewhere. Every day your Palace fee comes due, and I hear it's due tomorrow.”

Qiao Shou's smile slipped.

“Who told you that?” Qiao Shou demanded.

“Your ledger,” Shi Feng replied. “Your attendant kept the dates very carefully.”

“You don’t understand how this works. There is a price,” Qiao Shou snapped, abandoning the friendly tone. “The price isn't what the iron's worth. It's what a man will pay when he has no other door.”

“I remember,” Shi Feng said. “You told me two days ago.”

He looked up.

“I've closed the door,” Shi Feng said.

For a while, nobody spoke. The crow on the ridge made a rude sound. Then one of the clerks sat down on a crate, and the other put his hand over his eyes.

“Forty-four,” Qiao Shou said.

“Forty-four,” Shi Feng said. “Zhu Liu, the receipt.”

Zhu Liu counted out the stones, wrote the receipt and had the clerk sign. Qiao Shou signed too. He kept his hand steady while signing. Only after setting down the brush did he glare at the receipt; the loss was now recorded under his own name.

“You learn fast,” Qiao Shou said.

“I had a good teacher yesterday,” Shi Feng said.

“Which one?” Qiao Shou asked bitterly.

“Both,” Shi Feng replied. “You explained the problem. He showed me how to deal with it.”

Qiao Shou bowed, stiffly, and walked out with his clerks. The lane was quiet.

Shi Feng stood and stretched. Something moved in the corner of his eye, on the roof of the dyers' shed across the lane, among the blue-stained tiles.

Lin Langtian sat there with his knees up, holding a roasted sweet potato. Dyers’ apprentices gaped up at him. He’d clearly been watching for some time.

He raised the potato once, in salute.

He didn't say a word.

Shi Feng looked at him for a moment. Then he gave a short nod, and turned to Zhu Liu.

“Count the bars,” Shi Feng said. “And find a cart.”

“Senior Brother Shi,” Zhu Liu whispered. “He's crying.”

“He is not crying,” Shi Feng said. “He's eating a hot potato.”

From the roof, there came an enormous sniff.