Chapter 464 — An Empty Jar

CHAPTER 464

An Empty Jar

“This one's defective,” Bo Ge said loudly, and set an empty pill jar on the counter.

Sima Lan looked at the jar. Then she looked at the scar over his eyebrow, which was twitching.

“Defective how?” Sima Lan asked.

“It's empty,” Bo Ge said. “Completely empty. I want it exchanged.” He tapped the lid twice. “Look inside. Properly.”

The Salt Well Street stall was quiet. The auction had ended yesterday, and half of Duanyang City was still counting what it had lost. Across the road, the Martial Palace Pharmacy had closed its red door at noon.

Sima Lan unscrewed the lid and ran a fingernail around the bottom. A folded slip came away, stuck there with a smear of pill paste.

She read it without moving her face. Then she passed it under the ledger to Shi Feng, who sat at the back of the stall counting copper.

The paper was cheap and the handwriting was angry.

Disgraceful. Tonight, third watch. Sixty men. Captain Lei Bo leads. The old puppet storehouse. They think your auction goods are inside. D.Y.

“Exchange approved,” Sima Lan said. She handed Bo Ge a full jar. “Three days' warranty. Come again.”

“I will,” Bo Ge said, relieved, and left very fast.

“Sixty men tonight,” Shi Feng said, folding the note. “Duan Yichen counted them?”

“He's bad at lying, but he can count,” Sima Lan replied firmly. “He wouldn't round up just to frighten us.”

Shi Feng thought it through. Martial Palace had spent its war chest on its own treasures and a very ugly blade. A bigger army couldn't be paid for. A raid could. Burn the goods back, scare the sect and call it a victory in the teahouses.

The old puppet storehouse was where the bought-back treasures sat, because the Treasury door still hadn't been fixed.

“How many elders are at the sect tonight?” Shi Feng asked.

Sima Lan opened the schedule, although she already knew the answer.

“None,” Sima Lan said. “The Pavilion's settlement for the auction is at the third watch, in the Duanyang tower. Both consigning parties must attend and sign. Tian Luo, He Zhen, Elder Qian Mo, the Sect Master, Lin Langtian.” She paused. “The Palace chose its night well.”

Lin Langtian took the news in the stall's back room, sitting on an upturned crate with a sweet potato.

“Sixty?” Lin Langtian repeated, amused rather than worried. “They couldn't afford an army, so they're sending thieves. The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind. Have they forgotten whose storehouse this is?”

“You're all going to be at the settlement,” Shi Feng said.

“We have to be,” Lin Langtian said. “Pavilion law. If the Sect Master misses the signing, the Pavilion keeps our goods in trust for ten days. Do you know what ten days of trust costs?” He bit the potato. “And if they see us ride out of the gate to guard a storehouse, they'll just come the night after.”

“So somebody has to keep the house,” Shi Feng said.

“Junior Brother, you're the somebody,” Lin Langtian said happily. “Lesson twenty-two. When a man wants you absent, be conspicuously absent. Then let him find out what you left behind.”

“What did I leave behind?” Shi Feng asked.

“Work it out,” Lin Langtian replied cheerfully. “I've taught you enough tricks. Let's see what you can do without me standing over your shoulder.”

He left whistling.

By dusk, Shi Feng stood in the old puppet storehouse with his hands behind his back and looked at what the sect had.

Eight iron coffins lined the wall. Sixty clay-faced puppets stood in rows beside the auction crates. Shi Feng also had a toad, a stool and Zhu Liu, who was far less pleased about the arrangement.

“Senior Brother Shi,” Zhu Liu said. He was holding his abacus and looking at the fifth coffin. “Why do I get the one with the lid?”

“All of them have lids,” Shi Feng said.

“This one has a lid that closes,” Zhu Liu said.

“You'll have a knocker,” Shi Feng said, and handed him a short wooden rod. “Three raps when you hear boots. Then more. Then wait.”

“And if they open the lid?” Zhu Liu asked.

“They won't,” Shi Feng said. “They'll be too busy running.”

Zhu Liu climbed in. His voice came out hollow.

“Should I write a receipt for this?” Zhu Liu asked.

“Later,” Shi Feng said.

The puppets were Gongsun Ce's. He stood at the door in his grey robe with a hand-drawn rental sheet, looking deeply worried about damage to his puppets.

“Ten stones a night each,” Gongsun Ce said. “Friend's rate is three.”

“We aren't friends,” Shi Feng said.

“Then it is six,” Gongsun Ce retorted, refusing to lower the sheet.

“Put it in the usual currency,” Shi Feng said.

Gongsun Ce's pen stopped. He looked at the sheet for a long time.

“Three,” Gongsun Ce agreed reluctantly. “And they pay for any damage. Not me!”

“Any damage is theirs,” Shi Feng agreed.

Gongsun Ce loosened the necks himself and ran a single wire through the rafters. One pull, and sixty heads would turn together. Old Soot went into the stove behind the furnace, where the coals were low and the draught was bad. It looked pleased.

At the gate, Cui Hong and Zheng Yu hung a board from the post. Zhu Liu had painted it before climbing into the coffin, in very careful letters.

SPARS ARE FRIENDLY. LEAVE YOUR RINGS AT THE GATE.

Zheng Yu looked at it for a while.

“Senior Brother Shi,” Zheng Yu said, “won't they just take that as an insult?”

“Yes,” Shi Feng said. “Then they'll come in.”

He lit one lamp, set it on a crate, and sat down beside the door with the Sword across his knees.

The third watch came slowly. At the edge of the road below, a line of lanterns appeared, climbing from the Duanyang side.

Sima Lan, standing in the dark beside him, counted them under her breath.

“They're early,” Sima Lan said.