Chapter 770 — Forty Coppers

CHAPTER 770

Forty Coppers

Ke Lianshu was already bowing when Shi Feng reached the pavilion gate at dawn.

“Master Shi, this humble steward begs your forgiveness,” Ke Lianshu said, and bowed again. “The watch says a candidate stole from Her Highness’s pavilion. This humble steward checked the strongroom twice. Nothing is missing, nothing at all, but the watch won’t take a steward’s word.”

“Bring the Stall round’s pay book,” Shi Feng said. “The one with the seals. We can show where each ingot went instead of asking them to trust either of us.”

Ke Lianshu stopped in the middle of his third bow.

At the close of the Stall round, the pavilion had paid each candidate a wage of one part in ten of his stall’s takings, in pavilion silver. Every ingot was stamped with the number of the stall that earned it.

Ke Lianshu brought the book out within a quarter of an hour, holding it in both hands and apologising all the way across the courtyard for the delay.

Shi Feng took the book straight to the West Market watch house. It smelled of lamp oil and wet boots. Sergeant Chai sat behind his desk with his collar open. He looked like a man who’d been woken by the wrong kind of order.

In the cell behind him, Cheng Mobai sat on a bench with his wrists locked in a wooden cangue. He grinned when he saw Shi Feng. It wasn’t a very good grin. He hadn’t slept at all.

Shen Yaoqing was there too.

She stood by the window in pale Serene Jade robes, with a jade lotus pin in her hair. The two watchmen at the door were trying very hard not to look at her, and failing.

“Chief Disciple Shen,” Shi Feng said, bowing.

“I was passing,” Shen Yaoqing said.

“You pass through watch houses often?” Shi Feng asked, unable to hide his amusement.

“Today it is,” Shen Yaoqing said, and went back to looking out of the window.

Sergeant Chai rubbed his face with both hands. “Master Shi, I know why you’re here. Forty taels in pavilion ingots, under his bed. That’s the princess’s silver. A tip came in last night with his room number. I don’t like it either, but I can’t argue with a sack.”

“May I see the sack?” Shi Feng asked, holding out his good hand.

Sergeant Chai pushed it across the desk. Shi Feng took out one ingot and turned it to the lamp. On its base, small and clear, was the pavilion’s pay-seal and the number seventeen.

He opened Ke Lianshu’s ledger at the last page and laid the ingot beside it.

“The Stall round paid its wages in stamped silver,” Shi Feng said. “Every ingot carries the number of the stall that earned it. Stall forty-one was mine. Stall twenty-nine was Cheng Mobai’s.” He put his finger on a line. “Stall seventeen paid out forty taels in wages on the seventh evening. Signed for in the candidate’s own hand.”

Sergeant Chai leaned over the book and read the signature. All the colour left his face.

“Situ Jinghong,” Sergeant Chai said, very quietly.

“So the pavilion’s strongroom is missing nothing,” Shi Feng said. “Its books balance to the copper, and Steward Ke will swear to it. This silver was paid out honestly, as wages, to a young master of the Situ. If anyone lost it, he did.” He closed the ledger. “Young Master Situ is welcome to come in and report his loss. I’m sure you’ll write it down for him.”

The two watchmen at the door looked at each other. Nobody in the capital was going to write the name Situ Jinghong and the word theft on the same report.

Sergeant Chai compared the ledger and ingot once more. He was convinced, but the Situ name still frightened him. He glanced toward Shen Yaoqing, hoping she would approve the release. She simply watched him.

“The cleverest hands drop the needle,” Sergeant Chai muttered.

“A misunderstanding. No loss to the pavilion. Prisoner released,” Sergeant Chai said, writing quickly before anyone asked him to put the Situ name on the report.

He unlocked the cangue himself.

Cheng Mobai stood and rubbed his wrists. He didn’t thank the sergeant. He walked straight out of the cell and stopped in front of Shi Feng.

“I never touched it,” Cheng Mobai said.

“I know,” Shi Feng said. “You had forty coppers.”

“An upright man doesn’t fear a crooked shadow,” Cheng Mobai said roughly. He wiped his face with his patched sleeve and looked away at the wall.

Shen Yaoqing turned from the window.

“You came at dawn for a swordsman you’ve known a month,” Shen Yaoqing said. “Why?”

“He warned me about the lot box when he didn’t have to,” Shi Feng said. “That’s a debt. And he’s fighting Qu Ming at noon. I’d like him to arrive with his hands free.”

Shen Yaoqing looked at him for a moment. Then she looked at Cheng Mobai’s crooked red patch.

“Noon is in an hour,” Shen Yaoqing said, and walked out.

The watchmen at the door stood up straighter once she’d gone, as if somebody had taken a sword away from their throats.

Cheng Mobai stared after her. “Brother Shi. Was the Serene Jade chief disciple here for me?”

“She says she was passing,” Shi Feng said, watching Shen Yaoqing disappear through the door. He was grateful she had stayed until the cangue came off.

Out in the street, the first drum rolled across the West Market from the direction of the lake. Cheng Mobai hadn’t slept or eaten, and his sword was still in a watch-house locker.

“Sergeant,” Shi Feng said. “His sword, please. He’s late for a fight.”