Page 91 of The Cinders
Realising how long he’d wasted swooning over his prince, Lim rushed back into the workshop, praying he had time to place the shackles back on before Chen returned.He did not wish to give the man any cause to send word to the captain that hisguestwas being troublesome.Lim just had to keep his mouth shut for a few hours and submit to being a fool’s assistant.
The workshop was empty, with no sign of Chen’s approach.Xian had said himself he was uncertain of his new talents, so perhaps Chen was further away than he’d thought.
He locked the shackles — pressing his lips as the metal rubbed at raw skin — and sat for a while in the workshop’s emptiness before the rattling of dishes reached him.
The door at the back of the workshop, the one Lim had just used, swung open.Unease churned in his empty stomach.
‘Who’s there?’
‘I have returned,’ Chen coughed.‘Do not spite me, your highness.I’ve done all you asked.’
The shoemaker peered around the edge of the door; the tray held before him, the bowl there rattling so hard Lim feared his long-awaited meal would be ruined.The rich waft of the fried sauce noodles had Lim’s mouth watering.Delightful as the lotus seeds were, he’d not eaten well for days.Having found Xian, despite the anxious hours that lay ahead, Lim was ravenous.
‘His Highness has left.He has duties more important than you or I, this evening, but will send someone later to ensure you have done as he asked.’He nodded at the bowl.‘I can see you’ve done well enough with food.’
‘The prince is not here, you are certain?’
‘I am certain.He trusts he made himself clear enough that there was no need to stay.Will you bring that in before it grows cold?’
Chen stepped into the room, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.‘Zhajianmian, as was requested.’He nodded over his shoulder.‘Come, come.The prince is gone…it is only the shoemaker.’
Another man stepped in behind him; every inch as reticent as Chen.He wore thin spectacles on his wrinkled face, his queue a stubby grey braid at his back, and carried a cloth bag over one hunched shoulder.‘The herbalist…to tend to your shoulder,’ Chen offered.‘I’ve done all that his highness asked.’
He shuffled to the bench, nudging the tray into the clutter.
‘Here, I’ll take that.’Lim’s stomach rumbled loud enough Xian might have heard it.He picked up the chopsticks, digging them into the darkened noodles, shovelling them into his mouth before the herbalist was entirely in the room.
The man reminded Lim of a beaten dog, unsure if he should trail after his master or not.
‘Go on then, Master Huang.See to Master Lim’s shoulder, so I can set him to work.’
But the man still hesitated, clutching at the strap of his bag, wrinkling his nose beneath the wire of his glasses.‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure,’ Chen snapped, but Lim had glimpsed the look that passed between them; these idiots were frightened of him.
‘I’ll not bite, Master Huang,’ Lim said through a mouthful of noodles, grinning.‘But I cannot vouch for my prince if he hears I am to lose an arm because you’d not put a balm on my cut.’
Chen used the tray to urge the other man forward; waving at him like a farmer shepherding their chickens with a stick.
‘Do it.’
‘It might be too much,’ Master Huang whispered.
Lim frowned, sitting himself down on a stool, bowl in hand, gulping down the noodles so fast he was sure he’d have indigestion.They were decent; not so good as Heng’s, though, with a tang to the fermented beans that sat heavily on his tongue.But hunger overruled fussiness.
‘Better to be sure,’ Chen said, scowled at his companion.‘We cannot take a risk with the shoemaker.’
The herbalist’s hands shook as he withdrew a small jar from his bag and removed the straw stopper; the strong waft of vinegar mixed with pungent perilla leaf.
Lim screwed up his face, wiping at his sauce-laden lips.‘That smells as though it could kill a tiger.Go easy with it.I’m ripe enough as it is.’Poor Xian suffered already with a stinking shoemaker.
‘Be ready for the sting, Master Song,’ Huang said, as meek in voice as he was in manner.‘Keep yourself still, if you could please.’
Holding still meant pausing in the devouring of his meal; the bottom of the bowl sadly evident through the skerrick of noodles that remained.
Lim sighed.And winced.The lotion, the green of horse manure, burned a little as the man dabbed at the cut.
He went to tell him so when dizziness struck.Lim clutched at his bowl, the room swaying from side to side.He’d not lied to Xian about his aversion to boats, but this was far worse than any waterbound journey he’d undertaken.