The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 5 - Chapter 15

Chapter 15: The Banquet (Part One)

Diplomacy was a lot of trouble: for example, you went somewhere that took more than twenty days each way to reach, only to stay there for just five days. During those five days, there was no end of meeting, greeting, and eating, such that the important people were constantly busy; whereas Maomao had no such job to do. She couldn’t exactly go sightseeing, though, so she was just thinking that maybe she would go study the plants in the garden when a knock came at her door.

Who the hell is that?

She opened the door to discover a woman standing there smiling. Maomao didn’t know her name, but she knew who she was: Consort Lishu’s half-sister. The requisite entourage flanked her on both sides.

“May I help you, ma’am?” Maomao asked politely, but she thought, Consort Lishu’s room is next door—get it straight! She was at least adult enough to keep that thought to herself.

The half-sister looked at Maomao, and then very deliberately laughed, “Pfft!” One might ask what had inspired such an infuriatingly condescending laugh, but it seemed to represent the woman’s overall assessment of Maomao.

“I simply thought I might introduce myself,” the other woman said. “As fellow members of named clans, I imagine we might be seeing each other again in the future.”

Maomao felt a scowl cross her face at the mention of named clans. She hated being treated like a member of the family, even if it was just this once.

The half-sister, meanwhile, was glancing at Maomao’s head. “That was a truly gorgeous hair stick you were wearing last night,” she said.

“Do you think so? Unfortunately, I’m not particularly attuned to the value of objects.”

That’s where her attention was? These princess types were awfully quick-eyed. Maomao realized that if she were to sell the hair stick, it would soon be traced back to her.

“I’m so terribly excited to discover what you’ll wear to tonight’s banquet,” the half-sister said, and then with a flourish she hid her mouth behind a peacock-feather folding fan and walked away.

This hadn’t been about introduction so much as about observation, Maomao thought. She was one of only a few young women to have accompanied the westward expedition—although judging by dinner the night before, most of those who were present were hoping to insinuate themselves with Jinshi.

Watching the way the woman’s hips swayed as she walked, Maomao concluded that this half-sister did not much resemble Consort Lishu. If she had, perhaps Lishu would have wondered less about her parentage. Still, if the Emperor really was Lishu’s father, Maomao couldn’t help wondering if he wouldn’t have found a better way to use her. It might be malicious of her, but she thought there were probably better uses to which Lishu could be put.

Now then, having been mocked first thing in the morning, Maomao headed for the garden in hopes of making herself feel better. A garden, fed by the all-important oasis, was a show of power in this parched land. But Maomao suspected it wasn’t entirely frivolous—Empress Gyokuyou’s father didn’t seem like the kind of man to indulge in luxury purely for its own sake. A lesson he had passed on to his daughter, Maomao realized, when she considered the number and quality of serving women there had been at the Jade Pavilion.

And what was there in the garden? In one corner grew a strange plant, like nothing Maomao had ever seen. It couldn’t be said to have leaves or stems. When she inspected it, eyes wide, she found it had a sort of wax on the surface, like a candle, and that it was covered in narrow thorns. It looked similar to aloe, but fan-shaped. Most intrigued, Maomao reached out to touch it.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Those thorns aren’t easy to get out if they stick you,” someone said. The voice wasn’t obviously masculine or feminine, and when Maomao looked toward it, she saw a lovely person in men’s clothing crouching down and inspecting the unusual plant. It was Suirei. She was attended by a young man. He looked like a servant at first glance, but Maomao knew he was a minder. It was strange she had even been allowed to come here; evidently the minding wasn’t very strict.

Suirei was an apothecary like Maomao. They thought in similar ways, and neither of them could help wanting to learn more about any unusual plants or flowers they might come across.

“All right, so what is it, and how do you use it?” Maomao asked.

“I gather it’s called a cactus. It was discovered far to the west, and brought here as an experiment, because it’s supposed to be quite hardy in dry climates. The fruit and stems are edible.”

Maomao nodded, impressed. Suirei had obviously devoted herself to this plant, perhaps ever since she’d arrived here. She had a notebook in hand and was sketching the cactus diligently.

“Can any part of it be used medicinally?” Maomao asked.

“That, I’m not sure about. Considering the resemblance to aloe, I’d expect it has some uses. They have some of that growing nearby.”

Her attendant took in their conversation silently; he was probably committing every word to memory, and would report on it to his superiors later.

Not that we’re saying anything incriminating. They were just talking about medicine.

“If they have aloe here, maybe I could get them to give me some.”

“Out of burn medication?” Suirei asked.

“No, the constant diet of portable rations has left my digestion somewhat irregular.”

“Ah. I see.”

Suirei might look like a pretty young man, but in fact she was a woman, roughly Maomao’s age. She would understand the situation with a woman’s “belly.” Because it was the health aspects that were interesting to her, she didn’t go getting needlessly embarrassed over things, and that made her easy to talk to. In that way, she and Maomao were much alike.

“In that case, perhaps I should make sure Consort Lishu takes some as well,” Suirei said.

Maomao made a sound of agreement. It was true: if even Maomao was feeling the effects of their diet, the sheltered princess was probably suffering. She was so thoughtful about others that she often even refrained from using the toilet when she needed to. At least her health was being more or less looked after, thanks to Ah-Duo’s always being with her.

“In terms of ingredients you can find around here, it might be good mixed with yogurt,” Suirei said. The fermented milk product certainly did help keep things regular.

“Er, I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

Because there were so many foods Lishu couldn’t eat. White fish could give her a rash, and she didn’t cope well with honey. If they gave her something she wasn’t used to, so far from making her movements better, it might well make things worse. Maomao had spotted Lishu mostly avoiding unfamiliar foods at dinner the night they’d come to the mansion.

A furrow formed in Suirei’s brow as she listened to Maomao. Maomao knew perfectly well how much trouble this all was. If Lishu had been born a commoner, she probably wouldn’t have made it past seven years old. Still, she’d done well to endure the long journey; maybe she deserved a kind word and a pat on the head. But no—that wasn’t in Maomao’s character.

Maomao had a notebook and writing utensil ready to go, much like Suirei’s. Suirei was making meticulous drawings of everything that hadn’t shown up in the encyclopedias. Maomao joined her, and for a while the two of them worked in silence. Suirei’s attendant never yawned, but only watched them with an inscrutable smile.

I actually wish the little shit were here right now, Maomao thought, by which she meant Chou-u. He was a talented artist, that much was for sure, but Maomao was convinced that drawing pictures was never going to make anyone a living. Everyone was willing to buy his portraits now because a kid who was such a good artist so young was such a novel thing. They would grow tired of him soon enough.

Maybe we could get him to do erotic pictures? They had plenty of models.

Maomao’s rather filthy thought was interrupted by what sounded like a distant roar. “What do you suppose that was?” she asked. It had sounded like some kind of wild animal, and it raised goosebumps on her skin. The birds, startled, fluttered out of the trees.

“The delegation from the west has apparently promised a most interesting gift. They once brought a creature called an elephant.” The explanation came from none other than the minder.

“An elephant?” Maomao asked. She’d seen them in picture scrolls. They were huge animals with long noses. She’d seen carved elephant tusks before, but never the living thing. Allegedly one had been offered to the empress regnant, but that had been before Maomao had been born.

“Was that an elephant that we heard just now?”

“No—perhaps a tiger.” It seemed the man didn’t know.

To bring a living tiger, though—Maomao had encountered tigers only in the form of pelts and medicines. They made rugs with beautiful patterns, and there was an aphrodisiac (a very effective one, as Maomao recalled) to be made from the animal’s sex organs. How effective was it? Let’s just say that the next morning, even Pairin had been satisfied. The medicine had enabled her partner to last just that long.

“I suspect we might see the animal at tonight’s banquet.”

“That sounds very interesting,” Maomao said, and it wasn’t just politeness; she meant it. Music and dances weren’t of much interest to her, but a living animal—now, that was intriguing. She felt her heart beat a little faster, and she doodled a tiger in her notebook. The minder watched her, smiling.

“The servants have prepared cactus juice,” he said. “Would you like to try some?”

Well! No reason why not.

Time passed as Maomao drank juice and chatted with Suirei, and then it was afternoon. During their talk, Maomao sometimes found herself thinking about Shisui. The two half-sisters seemed to have gotten along well, notwithstanding the antagonism between their mothers. Or at the very least, Shisui had seemed to have a soft spot for Suirei. Even as her clan was destroyed around her, she’d worked to save the children—and her older sister.

No, no, that was far enough down memory lane. Get too lost in the past and you might not find your way out.

When Maomao got back to her room, she found some people waiting whom she presumed had been sent by Lahan. They had new accessories and re-tailored clothing. A woman in ostentatious makeup took one look at the plain, unadorned Maomao and grinned openly. Maomao took a step backward.

It was, as always, exhausting getting prettied up.

The banquet was absolutely packed full of important-looking people. Per western custom, they ate standing up; a variety of dishes was laid out on a table, and you went along with a plate and took whatever you wanted.

It’s practically an invitation to poison everything in sight.

It was, quite honestly, all rather new to Maomao—but that also made things a little easier in its own way.

One thing that struck her was how it seemed to be the custom here for men and women to appear as pairs. Often, a man would bring his wife or girlfriend, but if he didn’t have one, he might well be accompanied by a sister or other female relative. Lahan had been planning to introduce Maomao to everyone as his “little sister,” but after a good crushing of his toes he’d decided to stick to simply calling her a “relative.”

As easy as it would have been to poison any given dish at this banquet, it would also have been difficult. There was no way to know who was going to eat from what dish, so it would be hard to target any given person for assassination. Of course, if you were more into indiscriminate murder, it would be another matter.

And one final observation: this didn’t actually make Maomao’s job as food taster that much harder. She simply had to follow her charge around, taking samples of his meal. The only complication was that this was a little, well, obvious—but Lahan had a plan for that too. He said that Maomao was fifteen (politely shaving a few years off her age) and going through a growth spurt. Maomao, never letting her expression change, crushed his remaining toes.

In short, one could choose to eat or not—and Maomao wished they would simply choose not to. But that wouldn’t be very fun for the guests.

“Wonder if something will really happen,” Maomao said.

“It’s just a precaution.”

“Hmm.” Maomao looked faintly amused, but also not at all interested.

“Well,” Lahan said, eyeing her. “They say clothes make the man, but apparently the same doesn’t go for women. At least some of them.”

“Shut up.”

Maomao was dragging a heavy skirt behind her. The outfit, like the meal, was western-style, more or less. Not exactly the same—it hadn’t been possible to get something like that ready—but the silhouette, the overall look, was similar, including the bone hoop that went around her waist to puff out the skirt. It was also the style with western dresses to squeeze the waist and show the top half of the cleavage for emphasis—but sadly, Maomao didn’t have much to show off, and lest she embarrass herself, she instead wore a long-sleeved top, submitting only to having her waist cinched about with a belt.

They did her hair too, somewhat; it was put up in a rather showy manner, but ultimately the stylists were limited by the material. It was better than it had been, perhaps, but it suffered by the truly resplendent comparisons present at the banquet. She looked like a stalk of shepherd’s purse among a field of roses and peonies. Just one thing helped calm her in this otherwise unfamiliar and unsuitable ensemble: a fine silver hair stick.

“I wouldn’t worry too much. You qualify as a dandelion at least.”

Maomao couldn’t understand how her cousin could read her mind like that, at least at moments like this. She didn’t say anything, but gave him a glare before they headed into the banquet hall.

Her first thought was, That is some ceiling. The room was already very large, but the ceiling was far above their heads. Even in the capital one rarely saw a building with such a sense of space.

Part of the ceiling was open, and woven banners, a craft unique to this region, hung down from it. The room had a dirt floor, but it was covered with a low-pile carpet, probably also something unique to these parts. It was a shame to get dirt on it.

They were in a palace not far from Gyokuen’s mansion; the place had been constructed by the clan once known as the Yi, and they had built it to the hilt of luxury. Perhaps that hinted at the reason why, decades before, they had been stripped of their clan name and destroyed. They had done something to arouse the anger of the empress regnant. The stories about her were truly fearsome, Maomao reflected. The present Emperor must have had it rough with her for a grandmother.

There was already a substantial number of guests in the banquet hall. There were plenty of important men, along with gaudily dressed young ladies that Maomao took to be their daughters. Their eyes were all shining—or perhaps glinting would be a better word. The big favorite—that is to say, Jinshi—hadn’t arrived yet.

Consort Lishu had, however. She was quite conspicuous, since she was still wearing the veil to conceal her face. To be so obvious and yet so removed from the moment implied that she hadn’t yet done what she’d come here for. Maomao looked over to see who her companion was, and saw Ah-Duo still standing next to her, dressed in her usual men’s garb.

Hmm...

Ah-Duo looked so convincing in the man’s outfit that Maomao suspected very few people in the room would guess that she was a woman, let alone a former consort of the reigning Emperor. What’s more, people seemed to be taking them not for father and daughter, but for brother and sister. Women were coming over to talk to them. Not without reason, Maomao thought, had Ah-Duo been the “idol” of the ladies of the rear palace for so many years.

Lahan, of course, knew well enough to greet the two of them, and Maomao also offered a polite hello.

“My, my. I thought you must be someone’s fine young daughter,” said Ah-Duo.

“You jest, milady,” Maomao replied, but she wasn’t surprised to discover that Ah-Duo was far better at polite flattery than Lahan. Consort Lishu, meanwhile, owing to Lahan’s presence, remained hidden behind Ah-Duo. Her dress was appropriate for a young woman of her age, neither too showy nor too restrained, and the colors matched Ah-Duo’s outfit. Perhaps they’d picked their outfits together.

Lishu’s perfume, though—it wasn’t her usual stuff. Maybe it was a way of keeping herself from becoming intoxicated by the atmosphere of the place. Maomao would have liked to talk to them a little longer, but they no doubt had things to do. Besides, Lahan was here to build his relations with the people from the west, not chat with consorts from his own court.

There was much black hair to be seen, but also gold, brown, and even red locks here and there. Eyes tended to be bright colors, and the body types were different from what Maomao was used to.. Sei-i-shuu was said to have much mingling of blood with the west, but many of these people were more likely emissaries who had come from the west proper. Lahan was soon approached by a man and woman with reddish-brown hair.

I can’t understand a word they’re saying, thought Maomao. She knew a smattering of one of the western languages, but not enough to actually speak it. Besides, the western reaches were home to a variety of tongues, and the one she knew was from farther west than where they were now.

Lahan soldiered gamely on, conversing one halting word at a time. Eccentric he might be, but he wasn’t without his talents. The man and woman greeted Maomao and said something else politely, then departed.

“Can I go ahead and get something to eat?” Maomao asked. It seemed to be about the only thing she could do at the moment. That, and keep up the polite smile she’d mastered in the pleasure quarter.

“Go ahead. I didn’t bring you here to meet and greet, anyway. Don’t drink too much.”

She’d been distinctly intrigued by the tray of alcohol one of the servers was carrying around, but Lahan had warned her again before they’d come in not to get drunk. Although Maomao wasn’t sure how much trouble she could really get into with the mild, juice-based alcohol.

“I wouldn’t get drunk.”

“I heard you emptied a barrel on the way here.”

Who’d snitched on her? It had to be Jinshi or Basen. Maomao clicked her tongue.

True, you couldn’t be too careful—but was it really possible that the infamous White Lady was somehow involved here? Maomao had brought some medicines along that she thought might prove useful if anything should happen, but she had no idea if they would really help.

Lahan, meanwhile, was in his element. Behind his spectacles, his fox-like eyes were glittering. The mixed blood of the people of Shaoh produced a great many striking beauties. According to Lahan (the cad), it was the numbers that made up a woman that were beautiful. So a woman wasn’t beautiful as such, but the numbers that “made her up” were? It didn’t make much sense to Maomao, but apparently the eccentric strategist’s nephew was more than a little eccentric himself. She suspected he saw a world that was invisible to her.

But then there was the moment when, stroking his chin, he said, “Look at her. The Imperial younger brother is prettier than that.” The words seemed to leave his mouth so easily. That was when Maomao was sure he didn’t know the first thing about how women thought.

Lahan glanced at Maomao, and from his appraising look she gathered that whatever numbers made her up were not appealing to him. “With enough work, you might be able to bear a next generation that’s beautiful, at least...”

What was he trying to say? And could anyone blame Maomao for crushing his toes underfoot?

Wincing, Lahan passed Maomao some juice—nonalcoholic. She followed him around, looking annoyed.

They’re all so big, she thought. The mixed bloodlines must foster improved height. Partly, the westerners were all on the tall side, but the joining of different bloodlines seemed almost by definition to produce people who were larger than their parents. Maomao couldn’t speak for people, but when you bred plants with closely related species, you supposedly got larger individuals from the seeds.

She was lost in thinking about how she’d like to try that in her field back home if she ever got the chance—when she suddenly realized that a wall had formed around her. A wall made of one woman and two men. One of the men appeared to be an interpreter, but the other looked like a servant rather than a master. The woman, her dress emphasizing her chest as was the custom, seemed to be the most important of the three of them. She was beautiful, with bright-colored hair and sky-blue eyes. She was tall to begin with, and she’d augmented her height with high-heeled shoes.

Maomao didn’t say anything, but caught Lahan’s gaze.

Didn’t he say something about forging bonds with western merchants? The woman certainly didn’t look like a merchant. More notably, Maomao remembered her. Her golden hair and almost translucently pale skin. And the blue hair ornament she was wearing. She was one of the special emissaries who’d visited the capital the year before—they’d distinguished themselves by having one of them wear a red and the other a blue hair ornament. If they were still abiding by the same color scheme, this was the calmer and more mature of the two women.

“I’d love to talk more with you,” she was saying. She wore a scintillating smile, but it frightened Maomao. She could sense something lurking behind it. And yet at that moment, it seemed less sinister than it reminded her of...

Consort Gyokuyou. It’s the same sort of smile as Consort Gyokuyou’s. It smelled not of business, but of politics. Was this what they were really here for? Western merchants, my ass, Maomao thought as she picked up her skirt and followed Lahan.

Ayla—was that her name? Maomao tried to remember; she’d heard it once. It was, in its own way, laudable that she remembered it at all, considering how she tended to forget anything she wasn’t specifically interested in. Ayla was the other emissary, the one who, it appeared, had been selling feifa to the Shi clan just before the rebellion the previous year. This woman before them had some nerve, walking right up to them after her partner had pulled something like that.

The Yi clan palace had been built in imitation of the western architectural style, up to and including this banquet hall. It was a large, open space flanked by a number of rooms where guests could relax by themselves—or hold private conversations unobserved. And private conversations usually meant something was going on.

A girl with skin the color of barley danced to the music of an instrument Maomao had never heard before. Nobody would notice if a few people slipped away from the crowd—and if anyone did, it would have been rude to ask after them, anyway.

Why would she come to Lahan, though? The small, tousle-haired man looked almost comically mismatched with the tall, golden-locked beauty. The presence of third parties—Maomao and the others—would nix any idea that the two of them might be off to a secret tryst.

Maybe that’s why she chose him. The woman had come to the capital as an emissary, but it seemed marriage had been on her mind as well—and Maomao had been involved herself in undermining those prospects. The thought made her a little uneasy: she worried that the woman might still recognize the “moon spirit,” even if he was now dressed in men’s clothing and bore a wound on his cheek. Still, even if she noticed Jinshi, she probably wouldn’t be able to say anything about it publicly.

Black tea was poured into a delicate porcelain cup. The table had cabriole legs, as did the chairs, and an elaborate chandelier hung from the ceiling.

“Tastes around here seem to lean quite...western, don’t they?” Lahan said. The remark might have sounded disparaging, except that it was completely true. Lahan was in good spirits, in light of his lovely companion; but in his head he was no doubt judging how she stacked up against Jinshi.

“That’s true,” the woman replied. “Although some of the furnishings could be considered behind the times.” The place was neatly maintained and the furniture was in good condition, but most of it seemed to have been inherited from the previous owners, and more than enough time had passed for it to have gone out of style.

The walls of the room were thick—thick enough to discourage any eavesdroppers. The interpreter withdrew so that it was just the four of them, two seated on each side.

“I’m honored that you should have chosen me to speak to. I could certainly wish to talk to you alone, just the two of us...” Lahan hardly looked like more than the male version of Maomao; she had no idea where he found the gall to talk like that.

“That depends on what you wanted to talk about...Master Ra-han.” The woman spoke fluently, but couldn’t quite seem to get her tongue around Lahan’s name. Well, it wasn’t an easy one. Maybe that also explained why Lahan avoided ornate or circuitous expressions—it had to make him more understandable. Maomao followed their conversation easily; the woman’s servant wore a look of grim concentration, manfully trying to understand what was being said.

“I believe you expressed an interest in products from regions farther west,” the woman said.

“Yes. I would be surprised if anyone wasn’t interested in such things.”

He’s got to repay the debt. They were coming up on a year since Lahan’s adoptive father had made a very expensive purchase at the brothel. Maomao’s understanding was that half the amount had been paid off, but the other half remained to be redeemed, with the house as collateral. Knowing the old madam, the moment the time was up, she would be at their door with her enforcers. She would probably start auctioning off the furnishings right there.

“Heh heh! Then I think we’ll get along very well together.” The woman took out a piece of carefully tanned parchment covered with characters that Maomao took to be numbers. Lahan’s smile broadened.

“A most interesting proposition, but will we both profit from this?” he said. “The price certainly gets no objections from me, but this is the first time anyone’s ever come to me with such a prospect. I confess, I can’t help thinking that if we have to bring the grain to you, it’ll be difficult to remain in the black.”

“Yes, perhaps. But I assure you, I didn’t embark on this venture without forethought. If we use the sea routes, we’ll be able to transport large quantities—and more importantly, the value of grain and rice will go up in my country.”

Now the woman took out a map.

Geez, the moment I think they’re going to talk about politics...

It really was about money. Well, okay, so Maomao got the sense that it might have something to do with politics, too, but she couldn’t really be sure. Quite frankly, she didn’t care. She just sat there, thinking about different ways to use cactus and looking like she might break into a yawn at any moment.

Until, that was, she suddenly heard something she couldn’t ignore. It was the woman saying, “Very soon, insects will bring catastrophe upon my country. The ‘northern catastrophe.’”

Maomao, startled, nearly slapped the table, only just managing to stop her hand before she struck the surface. But the movement was plenty to give away her interest in the subject.

The north: north of Shaoh was Hokuaren. Maomao was stunned to realize that the same thing so preoccupying Jinshi and his cohort should come up here at this moment. The woman, the former emissary, seemed to grin at her. And then she said: “If this proposition doesn’t work out, I have a favor to ask of you.” Her brow tensed. “Will you help us flee our country?”

Problems tend to accumulate, Maomao realized again. Oh, how they do pile up.