Page 5

Money sang in my pocket, coins clinking together like the sweetest music.

Turned out I was my mother’s daughter after all, because gods, I loved money.

The sound of it, the smell, the weight, even the grime around the coin edges.

I counted my earnings with my fingers, tapping a mental abacus as I worked out how long the money would last, how much I could save.

Whether I finally had enough to get my family out of Gangsun.

We were close, I concluded.

Just one more sale, and we’d have enough to leave the city and start afresh.

Maybe we could move to Port Kamalan, Niyan, or even Bisandi.

Or Port Onsun.

My heart gave a twinge.

That was the port where Baba had last been seen, before he’d taken off for the Taijin Sea.

Deep down, I knew I should cross it off my list.

That after five years, it was a certainty Baba was gone, and we shouldn’t waste precious coin and time trying to find him.

That it was an obsession that would ruin us all.

But still I yearned for answers.

I knew my sisters did too.

The central marketplace buzzed, so crowded I had to suck in my stomach to squeeze through.

Tomorrow was the Ghost Festival, which honored the dead.

It was the day the gates of Heaven and Hell opened, when all spirits were permitted to visit earth.

My least favorite festival.

“Peanuts, tangerines!” cried the merchants selling ritual food and wine.

“Roast pork, very fresh!”

“Thunderbolts of Saino,” others shouted, holding up firecrackers and grotesque masks for warding off evil.

“Strike down all evil spirits and protect Gangsun eternally!”

The firecrackers tempted me.

Nomi delighted in watching them explode, and Fal liked burning them too—but my budget was fifty jens, and as much of it as possible was going to food.

Everywhere I went, my blue hair drew mistrustful stares, and people clutched more tightly at their purses.

A silly instinct, if you thought about it.

If I were a thief, I’d know exactly where their valuables were.

But it was like sorcery, being able to make the crowds disperse with my presence.

It made shopping almost…

fun.

From the festival tents, I purchased a stack of spirit money—joss paper with silver strips—a prayer lantern to honor Baba, and a bag of sweet pancakes for Fal.

The rest of my coin I spent at the wet market: a slab of raw pork ribs, a half dozen duck eggs, three black chickens, a bag of slightly bruised pears, and one fresh crab.

I probably overdid it, for when I returned home, Mama immediately rose from her chair.

It was never a good sign when she was there, waiting for me with a cup of twice-brewed tea.

I dropped my bags on the ground, and out of respect, I took the tea and drank.

Its bitterness left my mouth dry.

As soon as I set the cup down, she began the interrogation.

“How much did you sell?”

“Enough to feed us for the next week,” I replied.

I passed her the lantern.

“This is for tonight.”

She ignored it.

“You spent everything on spirit food?”

“On food for us.”

“Tru! I told you—”

“It’s not your business how much I spent,” I said over her.

My tone was even, and I took pains not to raise it.

“Falina and I pay the rent. We are responsible for this household.”

Mama stepped back, stricken as though I’d slapped her.

I’d been raised the A’landan way, to obey my parents and never argue or question them.

But the past few years had taught me a hard lesson: that if I relied on Mama, my sisters and I would be short a roof over our heads.

“How much?” Mama said again.

I waited a beat too long.

“Three hundred.”

She knew I was lying.

Her face darkened, and she grabbed my sleeve, reaching for my knapsack.

“Mama!” As we twisted about each other, I blocked her arm with my own.

“Stop.”

“Give it here,” Mama cried.

“Let me see!”

When I wouldn’t give in, her hand came swinging.

The slap was harder than either of us expected, and it knocked the air out of me.

My hand jumped up to my cheek, and Mama jerked back.

She’d aimed for my shoulder, for me to let go of the bag.

I knew that much from the shock that filled her eyes.

Mama’s strength went out.

She crumpled to the floor,tears streaking down her cheeks.

Setting down my knapsack, I knelt beside her.

A mouse scurried toward the groceries, but neither of us moved.

I spoke first: “Why do you need the money?”

I touched her arm.

“Mama, tell me.”

“You should take Fal and Nomi,” she replied.

“Leave me. I’m not worthy of being your mother.”

Sometimes she said this to be dramatic.

But I could tell that wasn’t the case today.

Something had happened.

Something terrible.

I turned my mother by her shoulders.

She’d become small and frail, and her wrists were nearly half the size of mine.

But that wasn’t what saddened me most.

It was her eyes.

There used to be such fire in her gaze.

Such strength.

What happened to you, Mama?

I wanted to ask, but I didn’t dare.

In the months after Baba disappeared, Mama had been a barrel of strength.

Every morning when the first light tinged the sky, she’d wake us to search for Baba.

“We’ll scour the entire continent to find him,” she’d say.

“We won’t stop until we do.”

We hounded every sailor in every port for news, we rapped on gates and wrote messages on strips of bamboo, passed them out across the city to spread word about Baba.

But all we learned was that his ship had sunk and the cargo could not be salvaged.

It became clear that we’d have to leave Gangsun if we wanted answers.

“In the spring,” Mama decided.

“Until then, we’ll focus on raising the money.”

But oh, how that first winter tested us.

Our rooftop buckled under the snow and our windows were rimed with frost.

Then Nomi got sick, with a cough that seeped deep into her lungs and a fever that wouldn’t go away.

I’d never forget how Mama spent every last coin of our savings on medicine and doctors—and how the three of us cried when Nomi’s fever finally broke.

Things will look up from here, I’d thought.

They have to get better.

I was wrong.

Come spring, Mama couldn’t find work.

Losing a husband was not good for business, especially if your business was seeing the future.

Dejected, she found her way into Gangsun’s gambling dens, certain that her Sight would give her an advantage.

“One more try,” she’d say every time she lost.

“The sprites of fortune are with me still. They’ll carry me through anotherday.”

One unlucky round of tiles was all it took.

Just like that, Mama lost our house, and my sisters and I lost the world we’d known.

Our clothes, our toys, the paints in the cupboard, and Nomi’s prized collection of books, the coppers in a jar Fal had been saving to buy her silk slippers.

We didn’t even have enough warning to take Baba’s box of wooden trinkets.

I snuck inside a few days later, but everything had already been sold off.

All I could salvage were some old blankets, Nomi’s dictionary—torn and missing pages—and one of Fal’s dolls.

The box of trinkets was gone, along with anything else we’d had of Baba’s.

Fal wouldn’t speak to Mama for over a month.

“That was the last time,” Mama pled to us.

“No more. I’ve learned my lesson.”

But there was a reason A’landans called bad habits “the touch of demons.” They were like curses, hard to break.

Mama would keep her word for a little while, but before long she’d be back to her old ways again.

“It’s up to you and me now,” Fal had said to me after we lost the house.

“Promise me, Tru. No matter what happens between us, no matter how much we fight, we stay together. For Nomi. For Mama.”

She’d taken the words from my own heart.

“No matter what it takes,” I added slowly, “we get out of Gangsun.” I raised my chin.

“We start again.”

And after five years, we were close.

So close.

I helped Mama up, pulled out a stool for her from behind our table, really a wooden board that sat on the bucket we used for storing rice.

This was our home now, a ramshackle room behind the fish market, which Fal and I had rented because it was cheap and had no roaches.

The landlord hadn’t lied about the roaches, but instead there were mice, and a rotting stench that wouldn’t go away no matter how much incense Mama burned.

I couldn’t complain.

We had a window, which Nomi—who was getting tall—stuck her feet out of some nights so she had enough space on the bed, and we had a narrow closet that I’d converted into a tiny place to paint.

Most importantly, it was warm in winter.

Mama leaned against the table.

There was a bowl of rice beside my empty cup of tea, a small well in the center.

I imagined Mama picking at it for hours, eating one grain at a time.

I’m lost, Tru, her eyes spoke.

Like your baba.

I took Mama’s hands in mine.

“How much do you owe?”

Shame flushed her cheeks.

She looked away.

“How much?” I asked again, as gently as I could.

“Tell me. I won’t be upset.”

Then I saw the bruises on her wrist.

Four fingerprints, and the arched indents of fingernails.

Anger rose to my throat.

“Who did this?”

From the way Mama’s body folded, she didn’t have to say anything.

I already knew.

“Mama, why?” I cried softly.

“You know better than to gamble in one of Madam Yargui’s dens.”

Mama flinched.

“It’s not what you think. I was trying to find answers.”

I’d heard this story before.

Mama was convinced that Yargui had something to do with Baba’s disappearance.

It was an obsession that drove her, an excuse she made to justify her habit.

Did you get those answers?

I wanted to ask.

Was it worth risking everything?

Our house, our future?

“What does she want?” I said instead.

“She said if we can’t pay…” Hopelessness pooled in Mama’s eyes.

“She’ll take Falina.”

The air punched out of my lungs.

The world swayed, and my mouth tasted like ash.

My sister was a pretty girl; Yargui had had her sights on her for a while.

If I couldn’t pay off Mama’s debt, she’d sell Falina in the forbidden markets to become a servant, a courtesan, a concubine.

I didn’t want to imagine the possibilities.

The only certainty was that my sister would be taken far from Gangsun, and we’d never see her again.

A fate I would never allow.

“When are they coming back?” I said.

“Tomorrow night.” Mama’s voice cracked.

“They have guards watching the house to make sure we don’t run.”

Of course they did.

I glanced out the window, but there were dozens of people milling about.

I’d never be able to pinpoint the spy.

In my head, I let out a string of curses.

Aloud, I was already plotting.

“I made two thousand. I spent fifty already, but I can borrow more if I need to—”

“It won’t be enough.”

Mama was clenching the bowl of rice, her knuckles pale against the filter of sunset.

I frowned.

“How much do you need?”

When she told me the sum, my eyes rounded in disbelief.

Mama hung her head.

She didn’t bother to explain.

“I’m sorry, Tru.”

What hurt most about her apology was that I knew she meant it.

I knew she’d gladly go to prison if it would pay off her debts.

But that wasn’t an option.

Not with Madam Yargui.

“I’ll get the money,” I said grimly.

I left Mama with the groceries, my mind numb as I climbed out the back window.

I slipped out into the alley, where a narrow trail ran along the canals, and where the fishmongers tossed the innards and bones.

The smell here was unbearable, which meant it was always empty.

Well, mostly.

I said into the shadows, “You heard everything.”

Slipping out from behind a boat, Falina hopped over the canal to join my side.

“Eavesdropping is a family tradition.”

So it was, back when Mama read fortunes and we three girls listened in behind the kitchen and made secret commentary about her clients.

What I’d have given for those days again.

“I’ve got two hundred, Tru,” said Fal.

“Two hundred and nine, if you include my coppers. It’s not much, but…”

The courage in my sister’s voice nearly broke me.

“All these weeks we’ve been eating cabbage dumplings, and you’ve been hoarding two hundred jens?”

It was a weak attempt at a joke, but it got Fal to smile.

A little.

“I still want silk slippers.”

“With those ridiculous upturned toe caps?” I laughed quietly.

“You’re the vainest girl I’ve ever met.”

“Joy on the feet rises to the heart. Happiness is expensive.”

It was a rare moment that Fal and I didn’t fight.

Even rarer that I had the urge to hug her.

I wrapped my arm around her, drawing her close.

Here we were, our family on the verge of catastrophe, and we were joking about embroidered slippers.

That was how you knew our situation was truly hopeless.

“I forgot to tell you,” I said, breaking the silence, “your dress is inside the house. The hem got dirty, but it isn’t toobad.”

“Oh, damn the stupid dress.” Falina looked up at me.

“You won’t let them take me, will you?”

Her jaw trembled, the only betrayal of her fear.

“Pack, just in case,” I said.

“If you don’t hear from me by noon, take this alley into the fish market. Bribe whoever you have to. Get out of Gangsun.”

Falina pressed her lips tight.

“I don’t want to leave.”

“Would you rather Madam Yargui take you?”

“I could cut my hair. Scar my face.”

“Then Madam Yargui would take Nomi too. Not just you. Don’t say such things without thinking them through.”

Fal knew I was right.

Her arms fell to her sides, defeated.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

I took her hand.

In spite of the summer heat, her fingers were cold.

I warmed them with mine.

“I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

“Let what happen?” wobbled a small voice from behindus.

“Nomi!” I whirled to face my youngest sister, who had arrived with a festoon of bamboo firecrackers.

As usual, her pigtails were braided unevenly, and her collar was loose a button that I itched to fix.

“I thought you were at the shop.”

“I left work early. Thought I’d come back and read until the festival starts.” Nomi lowered the firecrackers.

“But Mama’s crying by the stove. She wouldn’t say why.”

Fal and I exchanged a look.

I cleared my throat.

“That’s because Mama’s—”

“Don’t you lie to me,” Nomi warned, raising her voice.

“Or you, Fal. We don’t lie to family.”

A rule I’d broken too many times.

My shoulders sank.

“She owes Madam Yargui twenty thousand jens,” I said truthfully.

“By tomorrow night, or else they’re taking Fal.”

The color drained from Nomi’s face.

She hooked Fal’s arm protectively.

“So we’re coming up with a plan.”

I loved how she’d included herself in the we without a moment’s hesitation.

“Tomorrow’s the Ghost Festival,” I replied.

“Maybe I’ll pick some pockets—or rob a temple. Everyone will be out praying.”

“All you’ll get is paper boats and spirit money,” retorted Falina.

“Plus a thousand years of reincarnation as a centipede. You can’t steal from someone observing the Ghost Festival. It’s bad luck.”

“You could rob the governor,” suggested Nomi.

“Or any of the manors on Oyang Street. They’ve got to have scrolls signed by the emperor or boxes of gold ingots lying about.”

“Then get our throats slit?” Fal said.

“We have a night to plan, not a week. Besides, you forget what an awful thief Tru is. She got caught half the time just picking pockets.”

“That’s how I met Gaari,” I protested, “and how I got ajob.”

Fal ignored me.

“We’d have better luck praying to the money frog. Or knocking on Governor Renhai’s door and asking him to help us catch Yargui.”

Nomi huffed a laugh.

Everyone knew the governor was in Yargui’s pocket.

“I could light these firecrackers,” said Nomi.

“I made them with charcoal and sulfur from the shop. They’ll explode bigger than usual ones to—”

“Frighten away Yargui’s men?” I finished for her, shaking my head.

“They’re not evil spirits, Nomi.”

“Firecrackers can be dangerous,” insisted my sister.

“They can be weapons so long as we’re clever about it.”

“I’ll paint something,” I said firmly.

“I’ll get Gaari to sell it in the morning.”

“What can you paint that’ll sell for twenty thousand?” asked Nomi.

Eighteen thousand, I corrected silently.

At this point, every jen mattered.

“You know how Mama used to say she was the best fortune teller in Gangsun?”

My sisters nodded, uncertain where I was going with this.

“She was wrong,” I said.

“ I’m the best. And I’m going to get that money.”

Fal gave me a flummoxed look.

“It’s not funny to pretend. This is serious.”

“Do I look like I’m pretending? Trust me.”

I reached into my knapsack for the scholar’s hat I’d retrieved and settled it on Nomi’s head.

“Gifts, from today.”

Nomi’s eyes grew misty.

More than anything, she wanted to test into the National Academy, become an imperial official, and ensure our family never had to worry about money again.

But the Academy rarely accepted women, not to mention a girl with Balardan blood.

Besides, she was still young.

It’d be years before she could earn her own scholar’s hat.

“Your fisherman painting sold?”

“For two whole thousand jens,” I replied.

“I was planning for a celebration tonight. I even bought chickens.”

Nomi touched her hat, saying nothing.

My gift felt empty, a moment’s distraction from the possibility that our family might soon be torn apart.

But my sisters and I had learned to cherish even the smallest joys.

We knew they brought us strength in hard times.

“And, Fal,” I said, “no fancy shoes for you, but I bought pancakes. Your favorite—with lotus-seed paste. They might be cold by now…”

Fal snatched the bag.

She tore it open and passed one to Nomi, then me.

I shook my head.

“I don’t like sweets.”

“Liar.” Fal bit into her pancake and let out a blissful sigh.

“I won’t feel bad eating your share, though. I can smell the garlic and chili on your breath. Only you’d pick noodles over cakes.”

I laughed.

The cakes were a family favorite.

Cheap and delicious, and probably what had kept us alive that first winter after Mama lost our house.

As my sisters ate, completely unbothered by the stench of rotting fish and sewer water, my chest tightened.

If not for them, I’d have left Gangsun years ago.

Would have snuck aboard the first merchant ship leaving for Port Onsun, maybe disguised myself as a boy and tried to pass as a sailor.

I would have traveled the world twice over by now, searching for Baba.

But in no world could I ever have abandoned my sisters.

No matter what it took, I’d make the best future I could for them.

I wouldn’t let them down.

“It’s the eve of the Ghost Festival,” I told Fal as I turned back for our room.

“Ask Mama to come out here with the prayer lantern. You three should light it for Baba and send it down the canal.”

“What about you?” Nomi asked.

I glanced up at the sky, at the whirlpool of stars whispering with possibility.

No one can see the future, Baba told me once.

Not even your mother.

Mama couldn’t see the future.

But I could.

I’d been ignoring the tickle in my fingers for too long.

“I’m going to paint a miracle.”