Chapter 702 — Bandits, Officially

CHAPTER 702

Bandits, Officially

“Bandits,” Sergeant Chai said, and wrote it down.

The two bodies lay on the canal bank under a length of reed matting. A crowd of bargemen and early fish sellers stood around them at a respectful distance, stamping their feet against the cold. Sergeant Chai had a writing board propped on his belly, and his brush was already moving.

“I haven’t said anything yet, Sergeant,” Shi Feng said.

“That’s why I’m writing quickly,” Sergeant Chai said. “Bandits is one word. Anything else is three pages and a visit from the ward magistrate.” He blotted the board. “Two bandits. Drowned while fleeing. Is that about right?”

Shi Feng looked at the matting. Under it, one man had died by his own poison and the other had been cut across the chest by a sunset.

“They were dressed as porters,” Shi Feng said.

“Bandits dress as all sorts of things,” Sergeant Chai said. “That’s how you know they’re bandits.”

Sergeant Chai signed and tucked his brush behind his ear. He noticed the bandage beneath Shi Feng’s robe and paused. For a moment, his face showed concern instead of impatience with another morning’s work.

“Alchemist Shi,” Sergeant Chai said, lowering his voice. “I’ve worked this ward for nineteen years. Some men come over walls and some men are sent over walls. When it’s the second kind, I write ‘bandits’, and I go home, and I don’t ask who sent them. I’d advise you to get a better wall.”

He nodded to his watchmen. They lifted the matting by its corners and carried it off toward the ward office.

A man in Pavilion white was standing at the end of the bank, waiting politely for the watch to finish. It was Sitting Officer Ou Jin, with his hands folded in his sleeves.

“Officer Ou,” Shi Feng said. “Did the Pavilion hear already?”

“The Pavilion takes an interest in its 4 Marks, honoured guest,” Ou Jin said, bowing. “We regret the disturbance. I’ve come to say one thing, so that there is no misunderstanding.”

“Please,” Shi Feng said.

“The Pavilion’s array covers the Guest Terrace,” Ou Jin said. “It does not cover Willow Ford.”

That was all. He didn’t explain it, and he didn’t apologise for it.

Shi Feng understood the limit. The Pavilion would guard its own property, but it wouldn’t fight an unnamed sect throughout the city. Outside its array, Ji Yuanhe was his responsibility. Calling the intruders bandits allowed both organisations to avoid naming the people who sent them.

“And if Master Ji were inside the Terrace?” Shi Feng asked.

“A sealed guest room in the Tower can be let by the month,” Ou Jin said. “The array would cover him there. He would have food, and quiet, and a lock on the door.”

Shi Feng turned to Ji Yuanhe.

The old man had followed him down to the bank wrapped in two blankets, and he had stood through all of this without a word. His eyes were red-rimmed from a night of counting. He looked at the place where the matting had been. Then he looked at Ou Jin.

“No,” Ji Yuanhe said.

“Master Ji,” Shi Feng said gently. “It would be safer.”

“They shut me in a room for a long time,” Ji Yuanhe said. “A quiet room, with a lock on the door. I counted in it, and nobody heard.” His voice was thin, but it didn’t shake. “Last night I counted to two hundred and eight, and Auntie Niu heard me through the wall, and the boy, and you, across the water. I will count where somebody can hear me.”

Ou Jin was silent. Then he bowed to Ji Yuanhe, a little lower than courtesy required.

“As you wish, Master Ji,” Ou Jin said. “The Pavilion’s array office takes applications in the main lobby, honoured guest, by ticket. In case you were thinking about your wall.”

He bowed once more and left.

Shi Feng stood on the bank and watched the canal, angry and disappointed. The watch offered a report, and the Pavilion offered a locked room Ji Yuanhe couldn’t bear to enter. Fu Can had escaped knowing where to return. Finding a new address wouldn’t solve that.

“Moving alone won’t be enough,” Shi Feng said. “They know who they’re looking for now. Master Ji, let’s get our priorities straight.”

He held up one finger.

“First, the lotus,” Shi Feng said. “Your soul is what they hunt you by. You count, and they know you. Once it’s mended, you’ll be an old alchemist like any other, and you’ll sleep through anything.”

Ji Yuanhe said nothing, but he was listening.

“Second, a courtyard array,” Shi Feng said, lifting another finger. “A proper Jiang-made one. I’ll pay what it costs. We finish the lotus purchase and the roof before taking more commissions. Master Ji, I won’t have you watching every shutter instead of sleeping.”

“Everything,” Ji Yuanhe said.

“Everything,” Shi Feng said. “Thunder Abyss, the Tang, the Gu, every sect in this city that wants to put me in a carriage. They can all queue.”

Ji Yuanhe pulled his blankets tighter. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth moved. It wasn’t quite a smile.

“The queue is already very long,” Ji Yuanhe said.

Before Shi Feng could answer, the bargemen along the bank all turned their heads at once.

Drums were sounding from the north side of the city. Not the ward drums or the Drum Tower’s hours. These were marching drums, a great many of them, beating together.

A fish seller ran past along the bank, shouting.

“The North Gate! Go and look at the North Gate!”

“What is it?”

“The Azure Sun! The Azure Sun Sect’s young lord has come!”

Shi Feng looked north.

Over the roofs of Willow Ford, above the city wall, a forest of banners was coming through the North Gate. They were red and gold, the colours of a rising sun, and there were so many of them that the gate tower disappeared behind them.