Chapter 325 — What the Plaque Says

CHAPTER 325

What the Plaque Says

The Third Cousin came back at dusk, tilted to one side with a hole in her bow.

Only nine of the fourteen carts were still on deck. The other five were somewhere at the bottom of the Jinsha River, along with a good part of the cargo on the nine. The boatmen stood at the rail covered in mud and reed leaves. Not one of them was dead. That was the only good news, and nobody on the dock felt like cheering.

The old boatman who had poled the barge jumped onto the planks, found Shi Feng and grabbed his sleeve.

The furious boatman insisted that they’d shown the raiders the plaque.

“Which plaque?” Shi Feng asked.

Shaking with fury, the boatman described holding up the best plaque, the big grey duck that had cost fifty stones. The raiders’ boss, a big man with a gold earring, had stood in his reed boat and asked what it said.

“What did you tell him?” Shi Feng asked.

The boatman had told him it said Artificer Hall. The boss had answered that he couldn’t read.

The dock went quiet.

The boatman went on bitterly. The boss had thrown the duck into the river. Full of holes, the plaque had floated while the raiders laughed so hard they nearly tipped their own boat.

“They can't read,” someone whispered.

“The whole gang?”

“Eighty men, and nobody can read?”

“Fifty stones for a duck! Throwing a meat bun at a dog!”

“Refund!” Silk Dealer Dou bellowed, and the dock erupted.

“Refund! Refund! Refund!”

Four hundred merchants pushed toward the counting house. Zhu Liu, standing on his table with the money box, looked down at them and went the colour of paper. Sima Lan stood behind him with the ledger held tight against her chest.

“Where's the Inspector?” Salt Merchant Hao shouted. “Where's the one who made the speech? The monk can run, but the temple can't!”

“He's gone,” Zhu Liu said in a small voice. “He left a note.”

“What does it say?” Salt Merchant Hao demanded.

Zhu Liu unfolded the note and read it aloud. “Gone to inspect the river. Back soon. Do not spend the plaque money,” Zhu Liu recited miserably.

“…”

All eyes turned to Shi Feng.

Shi Feng stepped up beside the table. He did not raise his voice. The crowd, which was louder than he was, still went quiet to hear what he'd say.

“First,” Shi Feng said, “nobody on that barge died. Second, the barge is still afloat. Third, the plaques did exactly what they were sold to do: they marked your carts as paid for.”

“They marked them as paid for by who?” Silk Dealer Dou shouted. “The pirates can't read!”

“Fourth,” Shi Feng said, “that's the problem I'm going to fix.”

“How?” Silk Dealer Dou demanded.

“Give me one night,” Shi Feng replied. “I’ll go to the gang myself.”

“And the refunds?” Silk Dealer Dou asked, refusing to move.

“No refunds,” Shi Feng said.

Silk Dealer Dou was furious. He drew breath to shout again. Sima Lan, behind the table, closed her eyes for a moment.

“That's my line,” Sima Lan whispered.

“I know,” Shi Feng said. “I'm borrowing it.”

The merchants grumbled, and some cursed. But the money box stayed shut, and the man in front of them was the same one who had drawn thirty bolts of lightning, or nine, depending on who was telling the story. Slowly, they went back to their carts.

Shi Feng walked to the inn with two hundred pairs of eyes on his back. It was called the Three Rivers Inn, and its owner was a broad woman with a ladle in her belt. She was standing in the doorway when he arrived. She held a long sheet in one hand and an abacus in the other.

“Inspector,” Innkeeper Fei said.

“I'm not the Inspector,” Shi Feng said.

“You're the one who's paying,” Innkeeper Fei said. She handed him the sheet. “Three nights. Five rooms. The Chief Disciple's room with the stove. Hot water, forty buckets. Roast sweet potatoes, nineteen. One chair.”

“What happened to the chair?” Shi Feng asked, stopping at the last entry.

“He sat on it,” Innkeeper Fei replied. “I haven’t charged you for anything he didn’t use.”

Shi Feng read the total and recalled the lessons from the road. A man who owned the bridge owned the road. An inspector is announced. He took a breath and tried Lin's brass instead.

“Please charge it to Chief Disciple Lin Langtian,” Shi Feng said. “Inspection expenses.”

Innkeeper Fei did not blink. She took the sheet back, turned it over and showed him the back. In large, happy handwriting it said: Junior Brother will try to say this. Do not let him. He is a good boy and he will pay. — L.L.

“Qingtong's innkeeper sent me a pigeon,” Innkeeper Fei said.

“A pigeon,” Shi Feng said.

“About the Chief Disciple,” Innkeeper Fei said. “It had a very long message.”

Shi Feng read the warning again, annoyed despite himself. Lin Langtian hadn’t just left him the bill; he’d planned for this objection three days earlier and made sure the innkeeper was ready.

He paid.

Sima Lan appeared at his elbow with her ledger open. “Inn, two hundred and thirteen stones,” Sima Lan said. “Fool's tax, one.”

“Is there a fee for being tricked a third time?” Shi Feng asked.

“It isn't a third time,” Sima Lan said. “It's the same trick. He only changes the town.”

He didn't argue. He climbed the stairs, looked out of the window at the black dark of the river and at the faint line of reeds beyond it, and decided that he did not like being the only person who paid for things.

“Tomorrow morning,” Shi Feng said, “I'm going to see Tang Hai.”

“Alone?” Sima Lan asked.

“You’re coming with me,” Shi Feng told Sima Lan. “Bring the toad, too.”

Behind him, in its basket, Old Soot croaked in agreement.