The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 8 - Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Freak vs. Perv

This looks oddly familiar, Maomao thought as people crowded in to watch the pair on the stage: Jinshi and the man with the monocle. Between them, only a Go board.

Maomao had once faced the freak in a best-of-five contest of Shogi, which she had managed to win through sheer duplicity. But this? He’s got no chance.

What did that mean? Had Jinshi really wanted nothing more than to play a game of Go against the freak? The application of a sufficient amount of silver would have solved that problem. That implied that at the very least, he wanted a proper match against Mr. Monocle, not a teaching game.

Until shortly prior, the freak had had several opponents lined up across from him, but when Jinshi appeared, they took the hint and vacated their seats.

Who knew how word had spread, but even outside the theater people were pressing forward, trying to get a look at what was going on. They probably would have liked to come inside, but several off-duty soldiers idling about had blocked the entrance, and the would-be onlookers went away glumly.

Look who’s the star of the show, thought Maomao. This seemed likely to be the day’s final match. Keeping one eye on the game from the safe distance of the reception desk, Maomao started counting up their supply of buns. Even if someone showed up now, they wouldn’t have a game to play, so she figured it was safe to clean up. Maybe she could take the remaining treats with her for a snack at the medical office. No point letting them go to waste.

That was when she heard someone say, “Excuse me?” She looked up and found herself meeting the gaze of a woman with piercing eyes.

“I’m afraid we’re done for the day,” Maomao said. Maybe she hadn’t technically been told that the tournament was over, but the woman didn’t appear to be a participant anyway. She had someone familiar with her.

“Are you a friend of Master Basen’s?” Maomao asked.

“She’s my older sister,” Basen said brusquely. The woman gave his head a shove.

Wow. No mercy.

Basen’s forehead smacked the edge of the desk so loudly that Maomao expected to see a dent when he got up.

“I thank you for all you’ve done for the Emperor’s younger brother, foolish though he may be,” the woman said. “My name is Maamei.” She smiled genially, but there was still a whiff of something predatory in the expression. She could smile all she liked, but her actions (such as smashing her brother’s head into a desk) spoke louder than her words. If she was Basen’s older sister, that would make her Gaoshun’s daughter, and it seemed she was just as Maomao had been told—a personality as severe as her beauty.

So this is the woman who infamously dismissed her own father out of hand. She didn’t remind Maomao much of either Basen or Gaoshun; perhaps she took after her mother.

“I’ve come to deliver something the Moon Prince left in my keeping.” Maamei handed Maomao a package from which wafted a sweet aroma.

Hoh! What have we here? The nose-tickling fragrance was almost too much to resist. Even Maomao, with her distinct preference for savory treats, wished she could try a bite of whatever was in there. Jinshi had said something about snacks coming by later—so this was what he’d meant.

Maomao looked at Maamei. She was Basen’s sister, and Basen himself was right there, so there was every likelihood the snacks were safe. Professionally, though, she wasn’t sure she could simply let Jinshi eat them in good conscience. “May I check the contents? Just to be safe?” she asked.

It’s certainly not that I just want to try some. She had no choice; she began to reach for one of the snacks.

“If you wish to check them for poison, be my guest. Lady Suiren made them specially herself, so I can vouch for the flavor.”

If they were really from Suiren, then all the more reason to trust them. The old lady, with all her wiles, was a chef to be reckoned with.

“If I may, then.” Maomao opened the package. She found palm-sized baked treats each individually wrapped in oil paper. She took one of them out. The smell only intensified as she removed the packaging. The aromas of fruit and butter were prominent.

The dough was fluffy; it seemed like it could crumble in your hand. It wasn’t packed full like a mooncake—this was a snack that would sit lightly in the stomach.

“Huh!” The first bite made her blink in surprise. Maomao might have preferred savory things, but she knew her way around sweets as well. The flavor of raisins permeated the entire pillowy creation, accompanied by the pleasant crack of walnuts. But there was also another flavor, something unexpected, tucked among the rest; that was what really put this treat above and beyond.

Before she knew what she was doing, Maomao found herself reaching for another one. “No! Not for me,” she told herself, shaking her head. Then to Maamei, “That’s Lady Suiren’s work all right. I doubt there are many chefs in the palace itself who could come up with the likes of that.” Maomao had tasted food at the Verdigris House and royal consorts’ tea parties, and it was fair to say her palate was somewhat jaded, but this was enough to wring praise even from her. This dessert would not have been out of place on any table in the world.

“I very much agree. I managed to wheedle a few out of her—my children were very happy indeed.” Maamei smiled, and there was a hint of pride in the expression.

“They’re all right, sure, but are they really that good?” Basen interjected.

“Those with uncultured taste buds should stay quiet,” Maamei said.

“You do seem like you’d be the unimaginative type when it comes to flavor, Master Basen,” Maomao added. Basen looked a bit put out. Maomao turned to Maamei: “You may go right ahead and take these to Master Jinshi,” she said, hoping to get Maamei to do it for her so she wouldn’t have to get anywhere near the freak.

Maamei, however, replied, “I couldn’t. Surely they wouldn’t want any unauthorized personnel going up on the stage. I think you should take them.”

“Perhaps Master Basen, then,” Maomao countered. He was Jinshi’s personal assistant; surely that would be okay.

“It would be my pl—” Basen began, but he was interrupted by the dull thump of his own head hitting the desk again, courtesy of Maamei. That would be two dents, then.

“You take them, if you would be so kind,” Maamei reiterated. “By special request of Master Jinshi himself.”

“Very well,” Maomao said finally. She took a plate and put one of the treats on it, albeit without much enthusiasm. The plate went on a tray and the tray went in her hands up to the stage. As she pressed her way through people whom she’d seen only at a distance until that moment, she found that there were two others onstage besides Jinshi and the old fart. One of them was Lahan, who unlike Maomao understood the niceties of Go. He was staring intently at the board, sliding his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he watched.

The other man she didn’t recognize. He was in late middle age and dressed sharply; his outfit suggested a member of high society, but he didn’t seem like a bureaucrat. Cultured dilettante, maybe, she thought—he exuded the aura of someone who walked not in the ways of vulgar and worldly men.

Several off-duty soldiers surrounded the stage, acting as impromptu guards, no doubt to keep the crowd from interfering with the game. Maomao went up to one of them and told him to call Lahan over.

“What do you want?” Lahan snapped.

“I’ve brought snacks for Master Jinshi. Incidentally, how’s the game going?” She couldn’t see it very well from the reception desk—and she wouldn’t have understood it if she could.

“Can’t say yet. Master Jinshi’s comported himself well enough; he’s stuck to joseki. Since he’s holding the black stones and there’s no komi, I suppose he technically has the advantage. So far...”

“So far?” Maomao repeated. Lahan sounded partial to Jinshi to her ears.

“It’s in the middle game that my honored father turns truly frightening. He comes at you like a storm, with plays you won’t find in any joseki pattern. Komi or no, he could very well turn this game on its head.”

Maomao thought she understood, if only in vague terms. The freak strategist was not the kind who got by on his profound knowledge of tactics; rather, he acted on instinct, flashes of inspiration that often, for reasons that eluded her, seemed to be exactly the right thing to do.

“Having said that,” Lahan said, looking puzzled, “my father’s play seems slower than usual.”

“Hm,” Maomao said. She didn’t care. Whichever of them came out on top had nothing to do with her. It might even be more interesting if Jinshi won. Spectators were always more raucous when the underdog prevailed. It continued to bother her, however, that she still had no idea why Jinshi was even playing in this tournament.

“Who’s the other guy?” Maomao asked.

“That personage is the Go Sage. His Majesty’s own tutor in the game,” Lahan said. Maomao recalled that he was the one person in the nation generally held to be a better Go player than the freak.

“Whatever,” she said. “Just take this to Master Jinshi, all right?” She tried to shove the tray of snacks into Lahan’s hands, but he refused to take them.

“You were asked to do it. Take them yourself. Put them down anywhere there’s room. Just not too close to the bowls—I’d hate to see someone reach for a stone and pick up a snack. Or vice versa.”

“Fine,” Maomao grumbled, and ascended the stage with a studiously neutral expression. The crowd stirred at her arrival, but when they saw the tray full of treats, they decided she was just a server and of no interest. The freak alone grinned widely when he glanced in her direction; she paid as much attention to him as the spectators did to her.

Anywhere there’s room, huh? she thought. Easier said than done. The stage was occupied by a Go board and two players, bowls placed by their dominant hands—the right for Jinshi, the left for the freak. The result was that both bowls were on the same side. Maybe she should put the snacks by the freak’s right hand and Jinshi’s left.

She found, though, that there was already a large plate heaped with buns and mooncakes. He’d even taken over what should have been the space for Jinshi’s refreshments. Maomao didn’t say anything. Even if she shoved the pile of snacks aside, there would be nowhere to set down these new baked goods. Left with scant choice, she put them on the other side, between the bowls. Equidistant from each of the players, in hopes that they wouldn’t mistake the treats for playing pieces.

The instant she set the tray down, a hand reached out, took the snack, and in the same motion returned it to a stubbled mouth, into which the treat disappeared in an act that was as much absorption as eating.

Maomao continued to say nothing, and to feel nothing but disbelief and maybe some disgust. The freak strategist had helped himself to Jinshi’s food without so much as a second thought.

He chewed, swallowed, and then licked the grease off his fingers. He followed this up with a look at Maomao like he wished he could have more, but there was nothing she could do for him.

“Maomao,” Jinshi called. The strategist’s face squinched into a scowl at that. Jinshi had lately, at long last, begun to call her by her name, but something felt odd about it this time. “If you would bring more snacks,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” she said, eventually. She planned to put everything that was left on a plate, although she had a strong suspicion they would all end up in the strategist’s mouth. She’d been hoping there might be at least one left over that she could appropriate, but it seemed it was not to be. Maybe Suiren would let her in on the recipe someday. She shuffled back off the stage, wishing the game would hurry up and be over.

After the hubbub of the theater, it seemed awfully quiet outside. There was a chill in the air; the sun was on its way toward the horizon and soon it would be dark. The competitors had packed up their Go boards, and the vendors had closed up shop. Only in the theater did the fervor for the game remain, and then only in the form of Jinshi and the freak’s one-on-one showdown.

Wonder if they’ve all been laying bets on it, Maomao thought, wishing that she could have put some small change on Jinshi—the decided dark horse—if they were.

Both siblings, Basen and Maamei, had been in the audience when she left, but when she got back she found only the younger brother. Maamei had slipped out on the grounds that her children were waiting for her.

Maomao also found Yao and En’en, who’d finished much of the cleanup and were watching the game. En’en’s eyes were sparkling. Maomao had to admit that seeing so many people so involved in something that interested her so little did make her feel left out.

The audience watched with bated breath—and then a cheer went up from the crowd.

Is the game over? If it was, then she wanted to hurry up and go home. She turned toward the stage—but found the two combatants glued to the board just like before. She glanced around, then went over to Yao and En’en. “Is the game done?” she asked.

“Not yet,” Yao said.

“It’s not—but there might be a forfeit coming soon,” En’en said. She pointed at the wall of the theater, where there was a big piece of paper with a Go board drawn on it. Beside it, Lahan wielded a brush, drawing in the stones as they were played. A nice way of making the game easy to see from a distance. Funny he never seemed so considerate in other matters.

“Let me guess. The challenger?” Maomao said.

“No... The Moon Prince looks like he might win!” En’en said with a shake of her head. She sounded spiteful about it, maybe because Jinshi had dared to pry her away from Yao. It proved that there were people in this country who despised Jinshi for entirely nonpolitical reasons. “I think Master Lakan’s last move was a critical mistake.” She looked like she couldn’t believe it. Maomao, for her part, would endure the utterance of the loathed name.

“How so?” she asked.

“Master Lakan always chooses high-risk strategies. It’s like running across a tightrope—it might be the shortest distance between two points, but if he loses, it’s never by a hair. It’s because his foot slipped. It’s when he makes a move there’s no coming back from.”

“Does any of this make any sense to you, Maomao?” Yao asked.

“Not a bit,” Maomao replied. Yao didn’t seem much more interested in Go than she was—but she was interested in looking at Jinshi. There was a faint flush in her cheeks, but she muttered, “No, no, stay focused.” For the moment, it seemed, she intended to live for her work. En’en looked at Jinshi with even more venom than before.

“Let me put it this way,” she said. “Master Lakan self-destructed.”

“Ah! That makes sense,” Maomao said. She could easily imagine the freak strategist doing that.

“To turn this around, he’s going to have to make even riskier, more aggressive plays... But he seems to be feeling really poorly today.”

Maomao paused. En’en was right: the strategist’s face was pale, and he looked lethargic, maybe sleepy.

“He’s been working hard for once in his life,” Maomao remarked. Jinshi had, it seemed, given him a great deal to do in order to procure his tournament. “And I gather he’s been sleeping a lot less than usual.” Granted he normally slept more than the average person, but she remembered all the times she’d told Jinshi, pulling another all-nighter, that lack of sleep was bad for decision-making. “And he’s been playing Go for two straight days.” Including, at times, against three or four opponents at once. That much thinking would certainly tax a person’s brain.

And there was one final factor.

“Maybe those snacks have something to do with it,” Maomao said, thinking about the treats Maamei had given her. The soft, rich dough; the fragrant dried-fruit filling. They’d been delicious. But it wasn’t simple culinary virtue that had enabled them to overcome even Maomao’s usual aversion to sweets.

I know what the “secret ingredient” was. A little distilled alcohol.

There’d been just a hint of it amidst the smell of butter. Most of it would have burned off in the cooking process, but some would have been absorbed by the fruit, where it would remain. It wouldn’t knock the strategist out, perhaps, but he was a cheap enough date that it would make him a little tipsy.

Don’t tell me, Maomao thought. Had Jinshi planned this? If he had, then Lahan’s instructions not to put the snacks too close to the bowls were cast in a new light. Had he been angling to get her to put them within arm’s reach of the freak? He would have known that if Maomao brought treats, the strategist would horn in on them.

Maomao put a hand to her forehead. They’d well and truly used her. True, it hadn’t done her any harm, but it still pissed her off.

How’d he get Lahan on his side? Behind his luscious looks, Jinshi was starting to seem rotten to the core. To say nothing of the question of how ready Lahan was to sell out his own family members. I’d better get at least one good medicine out of this.

She couldn’t help wondering why Jinshi was so desperate to win. What would have caused him to lay such elaborate plans? With the freak strategist involved, though... She suddenly got a very depressing idea.

No... But if not, why else would he drag so many people into his little scheme?

Maomao was still thinking when she heard the click of the strategist’s stone on the board. I guess this game is as good as over.

She was stewing, in a bleak mood, when someone flung open the door to the theater. Footsteps pounded as a self-important-looking man in late middle age raced into the building, dodging past the guards who tried to stop him at the entrance. “Dr. Kan!” he shouted. “Is Dr. Kan here?!”

The yelling was indecorous, but behind the newcomer Maomao saw two faces she recognized. Or rather, one face, because it was the same face.

“I know them...” It was two of the three brothers she’d helped investigate.

Her father, who was sitting on a chair beside the stage, stood up. “What’s the matter?” Leaning on his cane, he began to make his way forward. The newcomers evidently felt he wasn’t moving fast enough, though, because they pushed through the crowd to meet him in the middle. Maomao wanted to go over to him, but when she saw the soldiers standing nearby, she stopped.

“This is your fault! My son... My son!”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Luomen said. “What’s happened?” True, the man was lacking one of his sons. What had happened to the third boy?

“This!” The man put something wrapped in cloth on the table—then opened it to reveal two human fingers.

The crowd started screaming. The man, meanwhile, was still yelling: “I order you to find my son! If he dies, I’ll hold you responsible!”