When the Sea Turned to Silver
Page 4
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The soldier took off his helmet, and Pinmei could see he was much older than the commander. His pointed beard was veined with white, as were his eyebrows, arched like poisonous centipedes. She also saw that his uniform was slightly ill fitting, his girth stretching the scales of his armor. He must be a king or some other royalty in disguise.
“The old woman gave up too easily,” he said, his voice low and harsh. “She’s trying to hide something.”
He scanned the walls and shelves and floors, stepping deliberately. As he kicked aside a small bamboo container, needles spilled out. Their sharp points glittered in the lamplight, and the king (or whoever he was) pulled at the scarf around his neck and clutched at his collar. He crossed into the storage room, the other man following.
Their steps came closer and closer to Pinmei, each thud of their boots echoing the pounding of her heart. The smell of cold and horse and oiled leather filled her nose, and she could see the lacings of each small plate of their armor.
“What is that?” The king breathed sharply and stopped directly in front of the gang. Pinmei’s breath left her, yet she couldn’t look away or even close her eyes. The king bent over, and if he had been looking at the gang, he could have seen Pinmei through the crack, her eyes fixed upon him like those of a trapped mouse.
But the king was not looking at the gang; he was looking over it. And he was staring with such intensity the air around him seemed to crackle. With a sudden forceful movement, he reached out his arm, his collar falling open so Pinmei could see a silver pin sticking out from the imperial gold silk of his hidden robe. Imperial gold silk? That meant this pretend soldier was not just a king—he was the king of all the kings! He was the emperor!
“This is mine!” the emperor said with an anger that would have surprised Pinmei had she been capable of feeling any more shock. He was holding the blue rice bowl with the white rabbit painted on it.
CHAPTER
6
“Yes, Your Exalted Majesty,” the commander said as the emperor handed the bowl to him. He held it as if it were made of eggshells, and Pinmei could see it took great effort for the commander not to prostrate himself on the floor. “Was there anything else?”
The emperor looked around the hut as if it smelled of rotten fish. “No,” he said in disgust. “Take the old woman, and join the other troops at the bottom of this accursed mountain.”
At that moment, a loud clamor sounded outside the hut. The emperor replaced his helmet as the commander strode to the doorway.
“What’s the problem?” the commander snapped.
There was a brief sound of a struggle, and a soldier entered. “Just this boy,” he said, shoving a small figure forward so he fell into the room. Yishan!
It looked as if the entire cavalry had trampled on him, for his filthy shirt was the color of soot. His hat was gone—but his head, also grime spattered, was raised high. The commander waved the soldier away with his hand.
“Do not take her!” Yishan said angrily, as if continuing a conversation.
The emperor and the commander laughed. “Here is a small pup pretending to be a dog,” the emperor mocked.
Yishan’s face flushed, but he still did not bow his head. “At least it’s more honorable than a tiger pretending to be a man,” he said, his eyes flashing.
The laughter stopped. Even under the soldier’s helmet, Pinmei could see the emperor’s eyes narrow. In two ferocious strides, the emperor seized and lifted the boy as if he were an animal the emperor planned to slaughter. The emperor’s eyes scanned Yishan intently, from his muck-covered robes to his grubby face and matted hair. A faint, foul smell of horse dung drifted from the boy. The emperor snorted in disgust.
“You’re just another dirty turtle egg, like all the others,” he growled. “You want the old woman? Bring the emperor a Luminous Stone That Lights the Night, and you can have her.”
And, as if Yishan were no more than a sack of rice, he tossed the boy to the floor. He retucked his scarf around his neck, and he spat out his next words like venom.
“Burn the place,” he said.
CHAPTER
7
Pinmei felt like the walls of the gang were pressing into her, forcing the air from her lungs. Burn the place? Burn the hut? Her home? As the men left the hut and the night filled with noises of bellowed orders, horses, and stomping boots, Pinmei squeezed her head into her knees, the blackness creeping over her as she trembled.
“Pinmei! Pinmei!” Yishan was whispering desperately. “Where are you?”
Her throat refused to make a noise, but Pinmei’s quaking hand reached upward. The tray Amah had placed over the gang’s opening clattered to the floor, and in seconds Yishan was dragging Pinmei out of the gang.
“Pinmei!” Yishan said, shaking her. “We have to get out of here! Do you hear me?”
Pinmei nodded. The icy thatched roof made a sizzling sound, and she realized it was already beginning to flame. “They’re burning the hut,” Pinmei whispered.
“This hut is made of mountain stone,” Yishan told her. “It won’t burn fast, but we still have to leave.”
Pinmei looked at the door and windows and could see only the lit torches, balls of fire rolling and spinning madly around the house like toy yo-yos.
“How?” she asked helplessly.
Yishan, standing on a storage box, was already sweeping the bowls and cups off the shelves above the gang, letting them smash to pieces on the floor. Fiercely, he ripped the shelves off the wall, revealing a window closed in with ancient shutters and dirt. He grabbed a plank to cover the opening of the gang, pulled himself up to sit on it, and began to kick at the window with such force the dirt flew over Pinmei like rain.
Torches flew into the front room, crashing against the walls. As one rolled into the pile of fallen silk, Pinmei stared as the fabric smoldered and curled, the flames sputtering as if gasping.
Just as the burning smell began to choke her, a cold, clean wind blew. Yishan had succeeded. A square of night sky, the same deep blue of the stolen rabbit rice bowl, was framed on the storage room wall.
“Come!” Yishan said, thrusting his hand at her almost violently.
Pinmei took another look at her home, but only a sea of flames, crackling orange and red, met her eyes.
“The old woman gave up too easily,” he said, his voice low and harsh. “She’s trying to hide something.”
He scanned the walls and shelves and floors, stepping deliberately. As he kicked aside a small bamboo container, needles spilled out. Their sharp points glittered in the lamplight, and the king (or whoever he was) pulled at the scarf around his neck and clutched at his collar. He crossed into the storage room, the other man following.
Their steps came closer and closer to Pinmei, each thud of their boots echoing the pounding of her heart. The smell of cold and horse and oiled leather filled her nose, and she could see the lacings of each small plate of their armor.
“What is that?” The king breathed sharply and stopped directly in front of the gang. Pinmei’s breath left her, yet she couldn’t look away or even close her eyes. The king bent over, and if he had been looking at the gang, he could have seen Pinmei through the crack, her eyes fixed upon him like those of a trapped mouse.
But the king was not looking at the gang; he was looking over it. And he was staring with such intensity the air around him seemed to crackle. With a sudden forceful movement, he reached out his arm, his collar falling open so Pinmei could see a silver pin sticking out from the imperial gold silk of his hidden robe. Imperial gold silk? That meant this pretend soldier was not just a king—he was the king of all the kings! He was the emperor!
“This is mine!” the emperor said with an anger that would have surprised Pinmei had she been capable of feeling any more shock. He was holding the blue rice bowl with the white rabbit painted on it.
CHAPTER
6
“Yes, Your Exalted Majesty,” the commander said as the emperor handed the bowl to him. He held it as if it were made of eggshells, and Pinmei could see it took great effort for the commander not to prostrate himself on the floor. “Was there anything else?”
The emperor looked around the hut as if it smelled of rotten fish. “No,” he said in disgust. “Take the old woman, and join the other troops at the bottom of this accursed mountain.”
At that moment, a loud clamor sounded outside the hut. The emperor replaced his helmet as the commander strode to the doorway.
“What’s the problem?” the commander snapped.
There was a brief sound of a struggle, and a soldier entered. “Just this boy,” he said, shoving a small figure forward so he fell into the room. Yishan!
It looked as if the entire cavalry had trampled on him, for his filthy shirt was the color of soot. His hat was gone—but his head, also grime spattered, was raised high. The commander waved the soldier away with his hand.
“Do not take her!” Yishan said angrily, as if continuing a conversation.
The emperor and the commander laughed. “Here is a small pup pretending to be a dog,” the emperor mocked.
Yishan’s face flushed, but he still did not bow his head. “At least it’s more honorable than a tiger pretending to be a man,” he said, his eyes flashing.
The laughter stopped. Even under the soldier’s helmet, Pinmei could see the emperor’s eyes narrow. In two ferocious strides, the emperor seized and lifted the boy as if he were an animal the emperor planned to slaughter. The emperor’s eyes scanned Yishan intently, from his muck-covered robes to his grubby face and matted hair. A faint, foul smell of horse dung drifted from the boy. The emperor snorted in disgust.
“You’re just another dirty turtle egg, like all the others,” he growled. “You want the old woman? Bring the emperor a Luminous Stone That Lights the Night, and you can have her.”
And, as if Yishan were no more than a sack of rice, he tossed the boy to the floor. He retucked his scarf around his neck, and he spat out his next words like venom.
“Burn the place,” he said.
CHAPTER
7
Pinmei felt like the walls of the gang were pressing into her, forcing the air from her lungs. Burn the place? Burn the hut? Her home? As the men left the hut and the night filled with noises of bellowed orders, horses, and stomping boots, Pinmei squeezed her head into her knees, the blackness creeping over her as she trembled.
“Pinmei! Pinmei!” Yishan was whispering desperately. “Where are you?”
Her throat refused to make a noise, but Pinmei’s quaking hand reached upward. The tray Amah had placed over the gang’s opening clattered to the floor, and in seconds Yishan was dragging Pinmei out of the gang.
“Pinmei!” Yishan said, shaking her. “We have to get out of here! Do you hear me?”
Pinmei nodded. The icy thatched roof made a sizzling sound, and she realized it was already beginning to flame. “They’re burning the hut,” Pinmei whispered.
“This hut is made of mountain stone,” Yishan told her. “It won’t burn fast, but we still have to leave.”
Pinmei looked at the door and windows and could see only the lit torches, balls of fire rolling and spinning madly around the house like toy yo-yos.
“How?” she asked helplessly.
Yishan, standing on a storage box, was already sweeping the bowls and cups off the shelves above the gang, letting them smash to pieces on the floor. Fiercely, he ripped the shelves off the wall, revealing a window closed in with ancient shutters and dirt. He grabbed a plank to cover the opening of the gang, pulled himself up to sit on it, and began to kick at the window with such force the dirt flew over Pinmei like rain.
Torches flew into the front room, crashing against the walls. As one rolled into the pile of fallen silk, Pinmei stared as the fabric smoldered and curled, the flames sputtering as if gasping.
Just as the burning smell began to choke her, a cold, clean wind blew. Yishan had succeeded. A square of night sky, the same deep blue of the stolen rabbit rice bowl, was framed on the storage room wall.
“Come!” Yishan said, thrusting his hand at her almost violently.
Pinmei took another look at her home, but only a sea of flames, crackling orange and red, met her eyes.
