The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 6 - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Homeward Bound

Maomao didn’t know how Jinshi would deal with the bride and her family. After everything was over, he spent some time in conversation with Gyokuen, but it was hardly a discussion Maomao could intrude upon. The only thing she could do was hope that worst wouldn’t come to worst. Consort Lishu was no longer in confinement, but what to do about her half-sister was a separate matter entirely.

And so, on her sixth day in the western capital, with their departure looming the next day, all Maomao could think was: I never did get to do any sightseeing.

That was it. It might sound cold, but it wasn’t in Maomao’s temperament to ruminate on negative thoughts. Instead she’d been hoping to get out and do something to refresh herself—only to be told it was time to get ready to go home. Thus she found herself in the cactus garden, the fatigue written on her face. She had no idea if the plants would survive in the capital’s climate, but she wanted to at least ask for some seeds or a small clipping to take with her. Gyokuen went one step further, being kind enough to call the merchant for them, so she was grateful for that much.

On that note, her stay in the western capital came to an end.

“What in the world is this?” Lahan asked. They were in the carriage on the way home, and he was indicating a bird feather, sharpened and blackened at one end. Supposedly, they didn’t use brushes in the west; instead they used metal “pens” or feathers like this one.

Maomao cocked her head. “I think they found it in that fortune-teller’s house.” There hadn’t been much in the way of possessions, but this had been among the limited evidence they’d uncovered. “The Emperor’s honored younger brother seemed quite interested in what kind of feather it was. Would you happen to know?”

“Hmm... It’s very small. I don’t think it belongs to a water bird,” Lahan said.

The feather was gray in color, and didn’t actually look very suited to being a writing instrument. It was probably a random feather someone had grabbed for a backup in case it was needed.

At length Lahan said, “You don’t think it might belong to a dove?”

“How prosaic.”

Many people ate dove meat, and there was a custom of releasing the birds on celebratory occasions. Lahan looked a bit deflated; maybe he’d been hoping for something a little more exotic.

Maomao stared out the window. “They said we’d be taking a boat home, right?”

“That’s right,” Lahan replied. Beside him, Rikuson was smiling broadly. Not obliged to attend either the wedding or the funeral, he at least had been able to tour around a little, and he gave Maomao a piece of silk cloth he’d gotten. She was happy enough to take whatever she was given, but something about it all felt a bit unfair to her, and she couldn’t help giving him a modestly dirty look.

“Why couldn’t you have attended instead?” she muttered.

“Oh, I would never have fit in at that household,” he said. It sounded humble, at least, and he was smiling, but she had no idea whether he was telling the whole truth.

Ah-Duo and Consort Lishu were riding in a separate carriage and would make the journey home together. Certainly, there was no sense in them staying in the western capital any longer. Lishu’s father Uryuu had apparently said he would bring Lishu home, but Ah-Duo had turned him down. To suddenly develop a soft spot for the daughter he’d ignored for the last fifteen years was, well, convenient to say the least.

“We’ll have to change vessels a few times, but we should make it back in half the time it took to get here. And the wind should be with us at this time of year,” Lahan said.

Ships had an advantage over carriages in that they didn’t have to stop frequently to rest. Going west, however, they would have been traveling upriver and with the wind against them, a time-consuming proposition. But now they would be traveling down one of the tributaries of the Great River, and a boat would easily get them to the capital.

Jinshi and Basen, meanwhile, were still in the western capital; they had been unavoidably detained to conclude the business they had put off. By all rights, Maomao should have stayed with them, but Lahan had apparently asked Jinshi: “Might I borrow my little sister for a while?”

If she’d been present, she might have objected: “I’m not your sister” or “Don’t drag me into your twisted plans,” but she hadn’t been there, and the matter had been decided without her input. From what she heard, Jinshi had been about to refuse, but then had changed his mind and agreed.

She hadn’t had a proper opportunity to talk to him since the night of the banquet. Maomao admittedly felt awkward around him and, in her own way, was glad to be rescued from the situation.

As happy as I am to be going home early... She was also anxious. She mulled over whether she should go sleep with Ah-Duo rather than anywhere near Lahan as she packed her clothing into a wrapping to make a pillow. After all that work she’d done to make a cozy sleeping place in the carriage, now she had to start all over again.

“How about some modesty, little sister?” Lahan said.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Lahan and Rikuson exchanged a look, but Maomao didn’t care. She closed her eyes and went to sleep.

After two days in the carriage they arrived at the landing, where Maomao’s slightly bad feeling became a very bad feeling. The river was narrow going upstream, and the vessel awaiting them was less of a ship and more of a dinghy. They couldn’t even fit everything on one boat; there was a second one floating there to hold their luggage.

“Are we sure about this?” she asked.

“I trust the business,” Lahan replied. “I don’t expect any trouble with theft.”

“Not what I was asking.”

“I know. Don’t say it.” He wouldn’t quite look at her. Evidently he’d been picturing a bigger boat too.

“Ah ha ha ha ha! This is fun!” The exclamation came from Ah-Duo, the only cheerful member of their party; the rest of them were too busy clinging to the dinghy to squeal or shout. The captain assured them that the rapids only covered the first li or so, but there seemed to be every chance they would capsize before they got that far.

Lishu was resting her head on Ah-Duo’s knees. The relentless rolling and rocking of the boat during the first moments of the trip had been enough to make the timid young woman faint clean away. She was secured with a rope to keep her from falling overboard. But really, maybe she was the lucky one.

“I d-didn’t think...it would sh-shake so much...” the tousled-haired man with the glasses said, his face pale as he deposited bile into the frothing water. And here he’d been gloating about how this would be the fastest way home. Apparently he’d quite forgotten about the differences between traveling by land and traveling by ship.

“Don’t turn this way. You’ll spit that stuff on me.”

“Maomao, give me something to settle my stomach...” He reached toward her with a shivering hand, but she wasn’t sure what to do. She’d already given him an antiemetic—and he’d promptly thrown it up. She could give him another, but he would only vomit that out too.

Rikuson wasn’t as boisterous as Ah-Duo, but he seemed just as relaxed. He was watching the local fauna with a big smile on his face. “Look over there, Sir Lahan; you can see a little bird. Ah, I never get tired of the scenery here. It’s always so lovely.”

That’s just another way of saying the scenery never changes, Maomao thought.

Suirei looked a little bit ill, but she wasn’t setting up the racket that Lahan was. Not all of the bodyguards looked entirely comfortable either, but they weren’t going to allow themselves to act pathetic while they were on the job.

Maomao was Maomao: a bottle of wine wouldn’t leave her tipsy, and neither could a moving vehicle. Still, she wasn’t a confident swimmer, so she sat quietly in the interests of not falling overboard.

“Look at all of you...” Lahan grumbled. Seeing him so out of sorts was, in its own way, a rare treat, and Maomao found herself quite amused.

Once the tributary joined the main river, the stream grew wider, and they changed to their next boat.

“Are you sure you don’t have anything to stop me feeling so sick?” Lahan asked. He was clinging to a bucket, his face bloodless. It seemed he wasn’t feeling much better despite the larger vessel, although he was actively throwing up less often. So there was that.

They were in a small cabin, of which the ship had just two; this room was for the women of the party. They couldn’t, after all, have Ah-Duo or Consort Lishu sleeping side by side with everybody else. If Lahan had shown his face there, especially looking so bedraggled, it had to be a sign that he couldn’t take the seasickness anymore.

Lishu had eventually come to, but she was still resting on Ah-Duo’s lap. It was plain to see that she was pretending to be seasick in the name of a bit of coddling.

“The stuff you threw up earlier was all I had left,” Maomao said. She’d finally given him the medicine, but it had come right back up. It hadn’t even had time to take effect. She’d brought the antiemetics because she knew how shaky a carriage could be; she’d never expected to need them for this.

Ships indeed had the advantage of not having to stop, meaning you got to your destination sooner—but it also meant the shaking never ceased. Maomao was a little surprised to realize that Lahan was so sensitive to the boat when he hadn’t had a problem with the carriage.

I mean, it’s not like I don’t understand. Maomao leaned along with a roll of the ship, but Lahan exclaimed “Yikes!” and grabbed on to a post, his other hand still clutching his bucket.

Next, Maomao leaned in the other direction.

“Why don’t you get seasick?” Lahan asked resentfully.

“Maybe it’s the same reason I don’t get drunk very easily.”

Incidentally, Lahan was not a man who could hold his liquor. He continued to glare at Maomao, who hadn’t so much as turned green.

“I’m not riding on any more boats!” he announced, looking haggard—but the middle of a river journey was hardly the ideal place to find a good carriage, and he ended up getting on the next ship as well. Besides, he had to accompany Ah-Duo and the consort back home. Ah-Duo seemed quite enamored of traveling by ship, while Lishu was quite enamored of being doted on by Ah-Duo. Neither of them could think of any compelling reason to switch to a carriage now.

By and by they arrived at the third boat landing. As Maomao was disembarking to switch to the next ship, she heard a loud thump. What could it be?

As it happened, it was someone collapsing right there on the dock. A sailor was trying to bring him around, although he looked cautious as he did so. The limp figure was a man in a thoroughly weathered cloak.

Is he sick? Maomao wondered, observing from a safe distance. She didn’t want to get sucked into anything, but she wasn’t so cold-blooded that she would leave a sick or injured person without help.

“Hey, mister, you all right?” the sailor said, giving the man a shake.

“I’m... I’m juuust fine,” the man said, although he sounded pretty out of it.

The sailor got him face up, but then groaned. “Urgh...”

The man must have been quite handsome once; the high, firm bridge of his nose and his willow-branch eyebrows proved it. But half his face was covered in pockmarks; if his face had been a circle, the pockmarked skin and the clear skin would have roughly formed a yin-yang shape.

The sailor shoved the man away. The newcomer got unsteadily to his feet. “Excuse me, sir. Could I hitch a ride on your boat?” There was a smile on his hideous face, and Maomao could see a pouch of small coins in his outstretched hand. He was still young—maybe in his midtwenties.

“H-Hold on, you! You don’t have some weird sickness, do you?” cried the sailor who’d helped him up, brushing furiously at anything that had come into contact with the man.

Still smiling, the man touched his ravaged face. “Oops!” He nodded to himself as if it all made sense. A scarf lay on the ground at his feet; it must have fallen off when he collapsed. He picked it up and folded it in half, forming it into a triangle; he then used it to cover half his face. At a glance, it almost looked like a bandage.

“I know! It’s smallpox! That’s what that is, isn’t it?!”

Smallpox was a terrible disease that covered the entire body in pustules. It was an extremely infectious illness that, it was said, could devastate an entire nation. Even the cough or sneeze of a sick person could be enough to pass it to someone else.

The man gave a dumb smile and scratched his cheek. “Hah, it’s okay! These are just scars. I did have smallpox once, but now I’m fit as a fiddle! Just look!”

“Like hell! You collapsed not five minutes ago! Stay back—back, I say!”

“I only collapsed because I got a little hungry! You’ve got to believe me!”

The conversation inspired everyone else near the man to give him a little extra room. Maomao narrowed her eyes. If he wasn’t sick, then she wasn’t needed here.

“What seems to be the matter?” asked Rikuson, who had been transferring their luggage to the next boat. He seemed very fastidious. Maomao privately decided to dub him “Gaoshun 2.”

“That man with the bandage on his face wants to board the ship, but the sailor won’t let him,” she explained briefly.

“Hmm,” said Rikuson, studying the young man. With his pockmarks covered, he really was downright handsome. And he sounded rather lighthearted. “What’s the problem? Is he trying to freeload?”

“No, he has the money, but he’s got pockmarks on his face, and the sailor’s worried he might be sick. But it’s a moot point, since the ship is full anyway.”

Consort Lishu was on board, which meant there would be bodyguards. They couldn’t have some random stranger getting on board too.

Rikuson squinted at the man. “Is he really sick?”

“Good question.” From this distance, it was hard to be sure, but from what Maomao could see, the man had pockmarks but no pustules. He was probably telling the truth—he’d been sick once, but it had been a long time ago. So why didn’t Maomao simply say that to the sailor?

Because it’s only going to be a headache for me getting involved.

It was just that simple.

The young man showed no sign of giving up on the boat, though; he practically clung to the sailor. “I’m begging you, let me on board! How can you be so cruel?”

“Leggo of me! Stop! I’ll catch your pox!”

Usually, handsome men with scars on their faces had a dark mood to match, but evidently not this guy. He clung to the sailor’s bulky feet and wouldn’t let go. The other sailors wished they could help their shipmate, but, frightened of possibly catching some awful disease, they stood helplessly at a distance.

Something had to be done about this man or the ship was never going to leave.

Rikuson must have guessed what Maomao was thinking from her expression, because he grinned. “I wish the ship would hurry up and go, don’t you?”

She didn’t say anything. What, was he trying to tell her to do something about it?

Looking thoroughly put-upon, Maomao got off the boat and went over to the sailor (who by now looked deeply troubled) and the young man (who by now had snot coming out of his nose).

“Pardon me,” she said.

“Yes?” the young man replied. It wasn’t exactly consent, but she grabbed the scarf off Snot Man’s face anyway. One look at the ugly marks was enough for her to confirm that he’d gotten them years ago. She looked at the eye on the pockmarked side of his face; it appeared hazy and unfocused. His pupils were different sizes as well; chances were he was blind in the one.

“This person is not sick,” she announced. “He has scars, but there’s no chance of him spreading the disease to anybody else.” Not smallpox, anyway. As to any other diseases he might have, she didn’t know and disclaimed all responsibility.

With a look of total revulsion, the sailor gingerly picked up the coin purse the man had dropped. He turned it upside down, small change tumbling musically out of it. “And where are you going, sir?”

“To the capital! I want to go to the capital! The capital!” He clenched his hands into fists and shook them with excitement; he couldn’t have seemed more like a country bumpkin headed for the big city if he’d tried. “And once I’m there, I’m gonna make so many medicines!”

“Medicines?” Maomao’s ears perked up.

“Yeah! I may not look like much, but I’m kind of a big deal!” The man pulled a large bag from somewhere under his cape, and when he opened it, a distinctive odor wafted out. Maomao took the clay pot from the bag and opened the lid to find it was full of ointment. She had no idea if it was effective, but it had been made very scrupulously, with thoroughly powdered medicinal herbs blended to the perfect consistency. Such care in preparation was even more vital to the quality of the final product than exactly which herbs were used.

Maomao looked at the man afresh. He was grinning widely and said to the sailor, “Want some? Works on seasickness!” But of course, no sailor was going to buy a medicine like that.

“Pff, tightwad. Why not just buy some? Oh! Actually, forget about buying anything. Can I get on the boat? Yes? The boat?”

“No. This ship is rented out. You’ll have to wait for the next one.”

“What? Seriously? I have to wait?!” The man looked less than thrilled, but seemed to accept it. Then he looked at Maomao and grinned again. “Thanks, you were a big help. To show my gratitude, let me give you some of this seasickness medicine!”

The way he talked made him sound very, well, young, but he seemed to be more grown-up than he acted. He at least appeared to be older than Maomao.

“No, thanks. I don’t get seasick,” Maomao said.

“No? Shame, that.”

The man was just about to put the medicine away when from behind Maomao someone bellowed, “Hold it!” Lahan came veritably flying off the ship. “The m-medicine... G-Give it to me...” he said, breathing hard.

I’m impressed he was able to hear us, Maomao thought. He’d been quite a ways away, and not looking his best. Maomao entertained herself with such thoughts as she got on the boat.

“Phew, you really saved my neck! Not only did you explain about my illness, you even got me onto this boat!”

The man with the bandage turned out to be named Kokuyou. He was a traveler, as Maomao might have guessed from his grimy apparel. He was also a doctor, or at least so he claimed.

When Lahan heard that Kokuyou had all kinds of medicine with him, he became quite insistent that the traveler should join them on their ship. And since it was Lahan who had made the travel arrangements to begin with, that was his prerogative, so long as the newcomer didn’t seem likely to do any harm to Consort Lishu or anyone else. However, Kokuyou wasn’t guaranteed to get to the capital, but rather only to the next landing, where Lahan would be getting off.

Kokuyou was a bit of an odd character, and quite a talker too; he jabbered on about himself as he mixed up some medicine.

“Hrm. Long story short, they drove me out. ‘You’re cursed! Get out of here! Grah!’ How cruel, am I right?” Kokuyou said, although he certainly didn’t sound like he thought it was. There was no grim edge to his tone; he chatted away like an old lady gossiping at the village well.

Maomao watched him closely, understandably doubtful about whether a medicine concocted by a smallpox-stricken man of uncertain origin would really work. His antiemetic didn’t seem to have anything special in it either. Lahan, in much better spirits, had called Kokuyou to his personal cabin, and Maomao had come along, thinking that, since he claimed to be a doctor, it might be worth hearing what Kokuyou had to say.

“I’ve actually been in the same place for the past several years. Last year, the village suffered from a plague of insects. Then, out of the blue, the village shaman started saying it was a curse!”

And that, Kokuyou claimed, was when he found himself chased out. Doctors and shamans tended not to get along very well. In Maomao’s opinion, it was stupid and ridiculous to believe in baseless ideas like curses, but she was in the minority on that. Frankly, it made her angry.

Notwithstanding Kokuyou’s frivolous tone, his medicine proved quite effective. Lahan, who until that point hadn’t been separated from his bucket for a moment, was able to join the conversation. It might have helped that the ship no longer rolled quite as violently as it had before, but in any case Lahan appeared very satisfied.

“Hmm. So you say you’re going to the capital in search of work?” he asked.

“Yes, well... Yes. I suppose that’s about the size of it.”

Lahan hmmed again and stroked his chin. He appeared to be calculating something—but Maomao jabbed him with her elbow.

Don’t drag us into anything...weird.

The man might seem a little odd, but if his medical chops were for real, then he would be able to make a living in the capital. If, that was, he hid his smallpox scars.

Insofar as they were still traveling with Ah-Duo and Consort Lishu, it wasn’t ideal to have a strange man with them. Lahan knew that: he looked at Maomao and took a piece of paper from the folds of his robes. He dashed off a quick note and said, “If you ever need anything, come to this address. I might be able to lend you some help.” Lahan had written down the address of his house in the capital.

Kokuyou took the paper and gave them a guileless smile. “Ha ha! Wow, I sure bumped into some nice people!”

He’s not doing it out of the goodness of his heart, Maomao warned privately. Lahan was the scheming type. He’d only given Kokuyou his address because he’d thought there was some way he might be able to use the man.

“Incidentally, if I may ask, what happened with the plague of insects last year?” Maomao said. She would have loved to interrogate Kokuyou and find out how far his medical knowledge went, but this question took priority.

“Mm! It wasn’t bad enough for them to eat through tree roots or make money so tight that people couldn’t feed their children. The little kids did get weak from malnutrition, but it didn’t get any worse than that.” Kokuyou looked suitably sad as he made his report. Malnutrition made one more susceptible to illness—and who treated illness? Doctors. Maomao wondered about the current state of the village that had chased him out.

“If they had a fairly abundant harvest this year, I think they should be fine,” Kokuyou said. Maomao didn’t think that was very likely, and the man evidently agreed with her, for he said, “I hope the villagers can keep helpin’ each other out until they get one...”

It was such a nice thought, “helping each other.” But there were always ifs involved. You could help your neighbor if you had the resources to spare. If you had enough to eat, then you could give someone else some of the extra. That was what “helping” usually meant; supporting someone else while you yourself starved was pointless. Yes, there were some idiots out there who would share everything they had at their own expense—but most of them were holy men and women in stories.

If people were going to treat doctors and apothecaries as if they were sages like those, they should make their physicians’ lives nice enough to put them in the mood. One’s basic needs had to be met before one could practice medicine. What would be the point if, leading a deprived life, the doctor got sick themselves?

The village that had chased this man out might be finding themselves wanting a physician right about now, but it would be a little late. Spilled water didn’t go back to the cup.

“All right, be seeing you, then!” Kokuyou delicately folded the piece of paper with the address on it and put it into his own robes. They’d paid his way only as far as he would be sailing with them. He would have a place in the bodyguards’ cabin—it doubled as a way of keeping an eye on him.

Now that I think about it...

Kokuyou’s mention of insect plague reminded her: one of the accumulated problems was the one Lahan had taken on.

“What are you planning to do about the plague of insects? I mean, the stuff the golden-haired lady was talking to you about?” Maomao asked, referring to something the emissary had said during the banquet at the western capital. She wanted grain exports to Shaoh, and if that wasn’t possible, then she had requested political asylum. “What benefit does it hold for us?”

The export idea was very risky, and the asylum idea was downright dangerous.

Maomao and Lahan were the only ones in the room; that was why they could have this conversation. Even Rikuson hadn’t heard about this.

“What do you think? That she had me wrapped around her little finger? That I would do whatever she asked, without thinking about it, just because she was pretty?”

“Wouldn’t you?” She was joking, sort of; this was, after all, the guy who wouldn’t shut up about Jinshi’s looks. (Lahan was obviously unaware that Jinshi had something of a complex about his own appearance.)

“I have a few ideas of my own.”

“Like what?”

“Our little sailing adventure is going to be over when we reach the next landing. I assume you don’t mind me splitting off from Lady Ah-Duo and the others?”

Maybe Lahan was finally tired of being seasick—or maybe this was why he’d brought Maomao all along.

“I’ll continue to accompany them, then.”

“Now, slow down,” Lahan said, waving a hand to keep her from going any further. “I guarantee you’ll be very interested in where I’m going.”

“How so?”

Lahan produced an abacus and started flicking the beads along it. “Well, we might turn out to be counting our chickens before they hatch.” But, he seemed to be saying, it was worth a shot.

Then, however, he said: “We’re going to go see my dad.”

So that was what Lahan called him. Not something respectful like “Father.” Just “Dad.”