The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 10 - Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Boss and Former Boss

Rikuson heaved a sigh as he returned to his room, which at the moment was a chamber of the administrative building that he had appropriated as his living quarters.

“Is this purely about making my life hard?” he muttered, shucking off his sand- and mud-covered outfit.

It was quite a while ago that Rikuson had suggested a tour of the farming villages, but Gyoku-ou had only approved the idea a few days earlier. Rikuson had gone, but an unsettling premonition had brought him hurrying back—and now here he was.

“When I left for the villages, everyone told me they were going to arrive substantially later than expected."

They being the visitors from the capital he had encountered moments ago. He had to admit, he’d never expected his former superior’s esteemed daughter to be among the entourage.

“Of course Master Lakan came,” Rikuson mused. Even the seasickening prospect of ship travel wouldn’t have deterred him from joining this trip. With all due respect to the esteemed daughter, Maomao, Rikuson found the idea faintly amusing. When he had been told that his former boss would arrive in about ten days, he’d set aside the five days before that for his trip to the farming villages. But then...

Rikuson brushed off his overrobe, getting sand everywhere. He would have loved to wash properly, but there was no time. There was hardly even a moment to wipe himself down. His only choice was to take an incense cake and daub some around his neck. In these parts, “incense” usually meant either perfume or a cake like this one, and Rikuson had only one of each on hand. One was a perfume that Gyoku-ou had given him as a joke, while the cake was one that he’d been hard-sold on while walking around town.

That was his choice of incense today. A cheap product like this was perfect—incense in the western capital tended to have strong fragrances, so something cheap that didn’t smell quite as much was ideal. He rubbed in just enough to mask the smell of sweat, and as a final touch he pasted a smile on his face.

A smile was essential for doing business, his mother had told him. Never let it slip in front of a customer.

Rikuson wondered what Gyoku-ou would think to see him back so much earlier than expected. Things could get a little awkward if his former boss was there, but so it went. He cinched his belt and left the room.

“It’s been some time, sir,” Rikuson said, forcing himself to act completely natural as he entered the hall. Gyoku-ou and his subordinates were there, along with the guests, enjoying a light meal. Servants bustled in and out with the food. It was too early for dinner, but the offerings looked sumptuous all the same.

Rikuson recognized all the guests—naturally. He wouldn’t forget them. The stubbly man with the monocle was Lakan. His former superior; he would know him anywhere. Beside Lakan sat his aide, Onsou. He had been around since before Rikuson had served Lakan; when Rikuson had taken over, he distinctly remembered Onsou coming to him with tears of gratitude in his eyes.

Onsou was a capable man, but he had an unfortunate tendency to draw life’s short straws—a tendency to which he might as well have resigned himself the moment he found his way into Lakan’s orbit.

Onsou saw Rikuson come in; he gave a slight bow and whispered to Lakan. Lakan looked at Rikuson with the same vacant expression he always wore. If Onsou hadn’t said something, he would probably never have realized Rikuson was there. Rikuson was sometimes curious exactly what he looked like to the strategist.

Lakan beckoned Rikuson over, but he wasn’t sure if he should approach the strategist out of the blue. He looked to Gyoku-ou. The interim ruler of the western capital waved at him from his place of honor at the table to go pay his respects.

Rikuson felt very awkward indeed. Onsou was looking at him with an expression that was hard to describe—he seemed to be wondering whose side Rikuson was on. Between his current boss and his former boss, Onsou ought to have understood to whom Rikuson’s present position made him beholden.

Lakan, meanwhile, munched on some fried food, seemingly indifferent to the situation. The food first passed through the hands of a lady-in-waiting Rikuson didn’t recognize, who left only the merest scraps for Lakan’s consumption. Rikuson might have assumed she was his food taster, but if so, she was keeping most of the meal for herself. Lakan simply got her leftovers.

He’d heard the Imperial younger brother would be coming to the city, but at the moment he didn’t see him. This didn’t seem to be a public banquet; Lakan had probably accepted the invitation without thinking anything of it, but Onsou’s brimming eyes made it clear that he was supposed to have politely refused.

“Ahem, ah...Rikuson, I want to eat that one bun,” Lakan said. At first Rikuson had been sure Lakan had forgotten his name, but it turned out that wasn’t true. As for “that one bun,” he added, “Onsou says he doesn’t know which bun I mean, but I told him! That bun!”

Rikuson agreed with Onsou: that wasn’t enough to go on. Was that why Lakan had called him over? Because he wanted a snack bun?

Rikuson searched his memory. “You’re talking about something sweet, yes, sir?”

“Of course I am.”

“Does it have any filling?”

“I don’t think so.”

So it wasn’t a red-bean filling that made this bun sweet.

“Is it covered in sauce, or do you dip it in anything?”

“Ah, the sauce! Yes, there was a sauce! That white stuff—I love it!”

Rikuson finally connected the dots. “Master Lakan. Are you talking about the fried buns from the Liuliu Fandian?” The name meant “The Double Six Restaurant”; it was a place Lakan had gone once, and several times after that, he’d sent Rikuson to buy the buns.

“Sir Onsou. Fry up a mandarin roll, then top it with sweetened condensed milk,” he said.

“I’m on it.”

There was a mandarin roll already in front of Lakan; that must have been what put him in mind of the Liuliu’s creation.

“Fried bread with condensed milk? Sounds tasty!” said the woman who appeared to be Lakan’s food taster, her eyes sparkling. She didn’t seem much like your ordinary lady-in-waiting—another of Lakan’s “finds,” perhaps.

“Miss Chue, perhaps you’d be so kind as to taste slightly less of the food for poison,” Onsou said. So her name was Chue. Onsou’s touch of deference suggested she wasn’t Lakan’s lady-in-waiting so much as someone who had been borrowed from elsewhere to fill this role.

“Oops! My bad,” Chue said.

If nothing else, this conversation proved to Rikuson that Lakan was still Lakan.

“I can have the rolls prepared for your snack tomorrow, sir,” Onsou said.

“I want them for dinner tonight!”

“Please, sir, be reasonable. We’re already at a banquet!” Onsou’s voice came out in a squeak; he didn’t seem able to muster much more. Rikuson looked on, sympathetic, well aware of how demanding Lakan could be when he was in one of his moods. Onsou gave the former aide a dirty look.

“I see some things never change,” Rikuson said to Onsou in an effort to repair his mood.

“Indeed they don’t. And you seem to have made yourself quite at home here in die west.” Onsou had noticed Rikuson’s suntan and smelled the incense wafting from him. He’d never been the kind to wear incense back in the capital. He only did it here to cover the smell of sweat , but he refrained from saying so; he thought it would sound like an excuse.

“You’ll have to pardon Rikuson. He’s only just gotten back from quite a long trip,” said Gyoku-ou as he took a bite of meat. Evidendy he had been listening to their conversation.

“O-Oh, I see,” Onsou said, paling to be so suddenly addressed by Gyoku-ou himself. No doubt he hadn’t expected the great man’s conversation to turn to him.

“Is the food to your liking? If there’s anything you want, I can have my chef prepare it immediately.”

“You know the fried dough at the Liuliu Fandian?” Lakan, never one to need asking twice, broke in. The people of the western capital would not, of course, know the fried bread of the royal city.

“Hoh. Please, tell me about it,” Gyoku-ou said. Now that he had expressed a willingness to listen, it would be Rikuson’s job to explain. He felt butterflies flutter in his stomach. This seemed likely to be his lot for the foreseeable future—not a happy prospect for the ever-anxious Rikuson.