Page 8 of The Cinders

The shoemaker stared down at Xian’s feet, lost in thought.

‘Hmm?’

‘Can you help?’Xian said, letting the gown fall back over his feet, and setting a soft hand on Daiyu’s shoulder when his friend looked fit to burst with unhappiness.

‘Of course.’

‘Then do so quickly,’ Daiyu said.‘His Highness must attend the ceremony in a short while…they are looking for him already, and we do not wish for Marchioness Shen to be kept waiting.’

She caught the shoemaker’s attention with that.‘No, indeed we don’t wish that at all.’

‘Here, here, sit down over here, your highness.’Heng gathered a wooden stool and set it nearer to where the fire burned in the kitchen hearth.‘But please take off the overcoat before you do.It needs seeing to.’

Xian did as she instructed, handing her the overcoat, before Daiyu assisted him in gathering up the copious layers of his skirt, and settling him on the stool.

‘Now, you’ll not make all my teeth fall out, or my hair go white will you, highness?’Song Lim spoke through another spoonful of his meal.

Heng peered at him.‘What are you talking about now, foolish man?’

Song Lim chuckled, crunching into a sliver of cucumber.‘Those stupid whispers.That if the Cursed Prince looks your way your wheat will grow mould, and your rice flood with weevils.’

Daiyu looked fit to choke with outrage.And Heng promptly snatched the bowl from his hands.‘Master Song, you go too far.’

‘Hey, I wasn’t finished with that.’But his protest was light, while his smile was broad.He looked down at Xian.‘Forgive me, highness.I assumed all would laugh with me, including you.I couldn’t imagine anyone actually believed any of that pig swill, but I see from the look in your eyes I was wrong.’

‘Just because it is untrue, doesn’t make it sting less,’ Daiyu said.‘He does not need your thoughtless jests, Master Song.’

The shoemaker gave her a grim smile.‘You are right.And I was truly thoughtless…a bad habit of mine.’He turned to Xian, brown eyes warm as the fire beneath Heng’s pot.‘I am sorry to hear that the worthless talk pains you so.My rivals in Shanghai used to say unending things about me, to stave off my customers.And mostly I ignored them, but every so often….well, words can cut sure as knives, I suppose.I should have been more thoughtful.Forgive me?’

Xian nodded, stared at him through the swaying lengths of the beads, the sickening roil of his stomach that arose whenever he heard what was said of him, ebbing away.‘You are from Shanghai?’

‘I am Shanghai born, but have not lived in that place for over five years.I left after the First Opium War, when it became a treaty port.’

‘I’d have thought a vain man like yourself would welcome the custom of the Western world,’ Heng sniffed.‘Showing off your wares to thoseyang guizi.’

‘Then you’d have thought wrongly,’ he said smoothly.‘I can barely bring myself to serve the noble devils ofthisland, let alone those that are foreign, and don’t speak a word of Mandarin nor Manchu.What point of a customer I can’t understand when they tell me how wonderful my shoes are?’

He clapped his hands together; broad hands, with a thin scar on the back of his left, and nails stained by working with leather and dyes.‘Now, best we get on, before this mouth of mine sees me stabbed and then poisoned by your faithful companions here, your highness.’

He winked at Xian, who gasped quietly behind his veil, more astonished now than ever by the shoemaker’s reckless informality.

The deep resonance of drums reached them from a distance.Daiyu spun on her heels to face him.

‘Xian,’ she whispered.‘Did you not say proceedings began at half past the third hour this afternoon?’

‘That is what I was told.’Xian’s head spun; the room tilted.‘The Lady Tian said…’ He faltered, and Daiyu gave him a regretful smile.Both knew he’d been foolish to trust hissister’sword.‘I have little time, please hurry, Master Song.’

The drums were first among a long list of formalities; Xian’s dance came last.But he would be expected to be in place, at the feet of the marquess, marchioness and Lady Tian by the time the drums ceased their beat in half an hour.

‘Do you have any soap made from pig intestines, Heng?’Song Lim said.‘That should do it.Or plant ash but it’s not half as good as—’

‘Soap, I know.And of course I have it.Do you see any lasting stains on this apron, Master Song?’

‘No time for looking at your clothes, Heng.’Song Lim returned, gathering some cushions from a corner of the room.‘Herbalist’s daughter, bring me that box over there, it has my tools, and needle and thread.’

‘I’ve some in my storage chest too, if your thread doesn’t suffice,’ Heng said.

‘Of course mine will suffice.We’ll not be using just any old thread on his royal highness’s belongings.’