Page 4

One good thing about Gaari, he was never late.

Precisely an hour past noon, I spied him sauntering down the street, his white icicle of a beard and the bandage over his eye making him an easy mark.

Next to me with my blue hair, we stuck out like spiders in a sugar jar.

“You look well rested,” he greeted me.

“Where’d you stash your costume?”

I patted the knapsack over my shoulder.

“Fal will have my head if I spill soup all over her dress,” I said dryly.

“Shrimps secured?”

Shrimps.

Our code word for money.

“Fattest ones yet.”

My chest swelled.

“Good. That’s very good. No trouble with the thieves?”

Gaari blinked, as if he’d forgotten about my entire ordeal.

Then he caught himself.

“Ah, them. No, not a rascal in sight.” He chuckled.

“Maybe they beat us here for noodles. Look at this line!”

There were at least twenty-odd people still ahead of us.

I let out a woeful sigh.

“I’ve been waiting since I left the auction house. Should we try somewhere else?”

“Not a chance,” Gaari said, towing me away from the line.

“Leave it to me.”

“We’ll lose our place—”

“Have faith, Saigas. Come with me.” From his pocket, Gaari swept out a wooden fan and used it to poke and prod other patrons aside.

I lost count of the glares we got as we shuffled inside Luk’s and made for the stairs in the corner.

By some miracle, no one stopped us.

Not one of the staff batted an eye.

Gaari parted the beaded curtains and motioned at the corner table.

A waiter was already setting down a pot of fresh tea and two cups for us.

When he saw Gaari, he bowed deeply.

Interesting.

“How much did you bribe him?” I whispered when the waiter slipped away.

Gaari landed on his stool.

He looked tired and snapped his fan shut.

“I wouldn’t waste your hard-earned coin likethat.”

“Then?”

A pause.

“You could say he’s a former associate. He owesme.”

“A former associate?” I raised a curious eyebrow.

Gaari was famously private, and I’d never met anyone else who worked with him.

“Shall we invite him to eat with us?”

“Don’t get ideas,” warned my friend.

“He lives by the third rule too.”

The third rule: No questions outside the job.

I scowled.

“You run quite the operation, all these people keeping secrets for you. You always know where and how to find me, whereas I…I don’t even know if your beard isreal.”

“Of course it’s real!” Gaari looked offended that I thought otherwise.

He made a show of stroking his chin.

“My life is not interesting. I’m just an old man who enjoys his noodles and happens to run a successful scam every now and then.”

“Scam indeed,” I muttered.

“Watch your tells, old man. Every time you lie, you find a way to bring up noodles.”

“You see, Saigas? You know me better than anyone.” He raised his tea to me before sipping more.

“I’ll dry my cup to your powers of observation. They’re paying for lunch today.”

I rolled my eyes, but I drank too.

The waiter was returning to take our orders, and from behind the sheath of my curtain-long bangs, I stole a better look at his face.

A bell-shaped nose, cheeks as round as eggs, long ears, and black hair swept neatly under a hat.

I’d seen him before, but where?

I never forgot a face.

Ah.

The answer pecked at the back of my mind, and I set my teacup on the table.

“You know, it’s funny,” I said slowly, regarding Gaari, “those thieves today came out of nowhere. There were plenty of other rich women they could’ve followed. And yet, they homed in on me.”

Gaari was washing our spoons in an extra cup of tea.

“What are you getting at?”

“Were they yours?” I pressed.

“Did you hire those thieves to follow me?”

He swept the end of his beard over his shoulder.

“We’re here to celebrate. Must we talk about such unpleasantries?”

“That waiter was there. Your associate. ”

Gaari’s cheek twitched.

It was the barest flinch, almost imperceptible, but I knew to look out for it.

“His name’s Tangyor,” he mumbled.

He pointed a spoon at me.

“It’s to my detriment that I forget how observant you are.”

“The truth, Gaari. Now.”

“I do hire ruffians on occasion.” Gaari crossed his legs.

“The more traffic a piece gins up, the higher price it fetches. Sometimes, that traffic needs a bit of a push.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Ignorance makes your playacting more sincere.” He shrugged.

“Just something I’ve noticed.”

If I hadn’t finished my tea already, I would have thrown it at him.

“I could wring your neck if it weren’t so thick. Don’t go behind my back again.”

“Now, now, Saigas.” Gaari wiped the corner of his mouth.

“I got you an extra thousand jens, didn’t I?”

I resented the gasp that escaped me.

“An extra thousand?”

He gave a smug nod.

“Told you the shrimps were fat today.”

I didn’t want to be so easily won over, but what a boon!

An extra thousand would put me weeks closer to my goal.

It was a struggle keeping my voice even.

“At least tell me who won the auction.”

“The less you know, the better. You’re the talent, I’m everything else.”

“Third rule,” I muttered, still hating it.

I sank back into my chair, inwardly grousing at my employer.

Three years working with Gaari, and I knew close to nothing about him.

Didn’t know how he’d lost his eye or how old he was.

I didn’t even know if Gaari was his real name.

I doubted it was.

A man like him, who valued the act as much as the art, would obviously shroud himself in a few layers of mystery.

I respected that.

What bothered me were the little chips in his facade I caught from time to time, the fault of my own perceptiveness.

Maybe the beard and the white hair were questionable—but once, early in our acquaintance, I’d observed that the skin on his neck was smooth, unlike his face.

At times his eye, too, seemed bright, almost youthful.

Cunning.

“I don’t know why I trust you,” I said aloud, both for myself and him to hear.

“Because you’ll never get a table at Luk’s without me,” replied Gaari cheerily.

“Now that I’ve introduced you to this place, you know that every other noodle shop is second-rate.”

I wiped my freshly rinsed spoon with a cloth.

Only Gaari would fish out a compliment when none had been given.

It was true, though.

The man did have good taste in noodles.

“I swear, this place must be run by kitchen demons.” He inclined his chin at how busy it was downstairs.

“Speaking of which, our lunch is here.”

As soon as he said it, a potpourri of spices seduced my nostrils.

Cinnamon and white cardamom, clove and star anise and mountain ginger.

My nose was in heaven.

A steaming bowl of freshly hand-rolled noodles landed in front of me, chunks of sinewy beef and spinach floating inside the brown-red broth.

I salivated.

Of all the foods in the world, noodles made my belly happiest.

Gaari and I had our differences—he favored landscapes over portraits, medicinal over black tea, and garlic over chilis—but there was one thing he and I agreed on, had practically staked our friendship on in fact.

Noodles were king.

And the ones at Luk’s—divine.

So divine that I momentarily forgot my anger at Gaari.

I dipped a wooden spoon into the noodles, scooping up a splendorous dollop of oil and inhaling the steam it let off.

But first, before I could feast, I twisted open the small jar on the side of the table and shuttled a heap of chopped chili peppers into my soup.

My bowl turned a dazzling red.

Then I dug in.

With each bite, my tongue burned with glorious heat.

I didn’t stop to drink, to speak to Gaari, or even to breathe.

Good food was consumed in silence; any extra air would interfere with my taste buds.

And so I stooped over my bowl, beads of sweat sliding down the precipice of my cheeks as I devoured my noodles.

Gaari observed my little ritual, looking amused.

“What?” I said.

“I’ve always wondered who taught you to eat with so much spice. It’s not a southernly thing to do.”

I sat up and patted the perspiration from my face.

In my head, I answered silently.

Baba.

It was cold in Balar, he’d said, and the spice helped clear the nose and warm the belly.

I used to hate it, used to cry at the slightest smear of pepper in my rice.

But I developed a resistance over time.

After five long winters of going hungry in the cold, I’d graduated to the hottest chili peppers I could find.

And now I could eat themraw.

Of course, that story I kept to myself.

“My father” was all I said.

“Your father,” repeated Gaari.

“Who gave you your blue hair? You never talk about him.”

“He’s dead. That’s all there is to know.” I shoveled another spoonful of noodles into my mouth, punctuating the end of the topic.

“Third rule.”

Gaari chuckled.

“Well played. You know, Saigas, sometimes I think you have as many secrets as I do.” He wiped his mouth, a tell that he was about to change the topic.

“I’ve told you the one behind Luk’s broth, haven’t I? They boil the base with kelp. Just a knot of it, but it adds an oystery flavor. Precious flavor that you’re ruining with those peppers.”

“Then be glad that it’s my bowl, not yours.”

“Indeed.” Gaari chewed on his noodles, looking thoughtful.

“I think I’ll tell Tangyor not to let you in at Luk’s anymore.”

I nearly choked on my soup.

“What? Because of the peppers?”

“Because you were careless today,” Gaari said, leveling his gaze with mine.

“Did you think I’d let that pass simply because the piece fetched a good price?”

“I thought we were celebrating,” I said with a wince.

“Must we talk about such unpleasantries?”

Not a smile cracked his grave composure.

“You cannot afford to make mistakes in this business,” he said.

“You’re a good forger, Saigas. It isn’t like you to deviate from your assignment. The extra bends along the river, the two catfish in the pond. The dragon. ”

My eyes flew up.

“Yes, I saw it,” said Gaari.

“You’d best pray that Jisan doesn’t before the piece goes to its buyer. Lei Wing would never have painted such a thing.” He frowned.

“Explain yourself.”

I parted my lips, but what could I say?

No story I made up would be satisfactory for Gaari.

I knew him.

He’d relentlessly ask question after question, until I was forced to tell the truth.

And the truth was my secret.

“It won’t happen again” was all I said.

“It won’t,” Gaari agreed.

“Because you’re not going to forge any more paintings.”

“What?”

“Your talents are wasted imitating the dead. Give it up. Do your own work.”

I stared at him.

“Have you gone senile, old man? I’m no visionary. My skill’s in copying what others have done. That’s why you hired me.”

“So I did.” Gaari looked tired again, the white in his beard suddenly losing luster.

“But that dragon had a spark, Saigas. A spark of something special. Where did it come from?”

A muscle in my hand spasmed, and I dropped my spoon as my mind reeled with excuses.

“Nowhere,” I said quickly.

“Nomi used to make me paint them. I must have done it without thinking.”

“Perhaps you should try thinking.” Gaari leaned forward.

“ Try painting your own art. You know what they say about the luck of the dragons. You could make a name for yourself.”

I folded my hands together over my lap, holding them still.

“You’re a swindler, Mr.Gaari, and you made good coin today swindling. Should you be questioning me?”

“No one chooses to be a thief,” he said.

“If you made your own art—”

“I can’t afford to take a chance with my own art. My mother—” I caught myself before I shared something personal.

“I need to take care of my family.”

“Then do it for your family.” Gaari touched his bandaged eye.

“Otherwise, sooner or later, you’ll get caught.”

A shiver raced down my spine.

Not for the first time, I wondered whether someone had double-crossed him in the past.

Whether that explained his third rule.

Gaari’s cheek twitched again.

He rose.

“Enjoy your noodles.”

“You aren’t finishing yours?”

“I have another appointment.”

I crossed my arms.

“Gardening?”

It was what he always said he had to do when he left.

A corner of his mouth quirked.

“You see, you really do know me better than anyone.”

He dropped a heavy pouch of coins onto the table.

My payment.

As I lunged for it, Gaari held on to the other end of the drawstring.

“Think on what I said,” he spoke, before letting go.

No, I replied in my head.

My answer is no.

It will always be no.

Ever since Baba had disappeared, strange things happened when I painted my own work.

Things I’d never told anyone—not Mama, not Falina.

Not even Nomi.

I didn’t wish Gaari farewell, but it was as if he’d cursed me.

After he left, I kept imagining dragon tails in the curve of my noodles.

Even my vegetables seemed to form the shape of a face, silently haunting me.

I scowled at my bowl and devoured every last noodle with a vengeance.

Every drop of soup too.

My belly full and my mouth smarting with spice, I peeled open the money pouch to count the coins.

But that scoundrel Gaari!

“Demon turds,” I exclaimed, “this is only half of what I was supposed to get.”

A shadow fell upon me, and when I looked up, the waiter with the long ears was at my side.

Tangyor, I remembered.

He was carrying a tray, which he placed before me.

“Courtesy of Mr.Gaari,” he said, head bowed.

On the tray was a scholar’s hat, like the ones the thieves had worn this morning.

I glared, but Tangyor’s expression was inscrutable.

Slowly, I lifted the hat.

Underneath, in an identical pouch to the one I had, was the extra thousand jens.

“Mr.Gaari never breaks a promise,” said Tangyor.

He finally acknowledged my glare, and the barest smile appeared on his face.

“There’s no need for concern. My colleagues and I won’t be following you.” He paused.

“Unless orders change.”

“Just what do you do for him?” I demanded.

“I serve noodles.” Tangyor bowed, then he reached for my bowl and my chilis, taking them both away.

“Customers are waiting, ma’am. I am glad you enjoyed your meal, but kindly be considerate of others.”

With that, he turned and disappeared behind the beaded curtain.

“The audacity of that old man,” I muttered.

First, hiring his henchmen to chase after me.

Then getting them to kick me out of Luk’s!

I slung my knapsack over my shoulder, ready to storm out into the streets.

In my haste, the scholar’s hat toppled onto Gaari’s stool.

There it sat, looking forlorn and forgotten.

The sight appeared like a dream, and one I’d seen before.

My mood instantly brightening, I picked the hat up and dusted its black folds clean.

Nomi had always wanted a hat like this.

I tucked it under my arm, then out onto the road I returned, whistling to the glares of the Luk’s customers still waiting in line.

Everything had gone better than I’d foreseen, and nothing—absolutely nothing—could ruin my mood.