The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 11 - Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Violence

Maomao added more straw to the crackling fire in the oven.

Animal dung might actually be easier.

They were probably trying to be considerate by giving them straw and not dung to use for fuel, but the straw didn’t clump together, which left it prone to drifting on the hot air. Charcoal and firewood were both expensive in the western capital, though, and were rarely sold.

Medicine boiled in the pot. She had to finish steeping it and then form it into pills, but she was so sleepy.

It’s because I’m exhausted.

She didn’t think she’d done much aside from her usual work, but one could see where that would make her tired. When you were really exhausted, you didn’t notice that you were. You went past the height of fatigue, and then the moment you got a chance to relax, your body simply collapsed.

Not enough food, not enough medicine, not enough nutrition. Not enough of anything. They tried to substitute other things for what they didn’t have, and when the substitutes ran out, they had to look for something to substitute for the substitutes.

Lahan’s Brother’s joy in the fields had turned to sorrow after the sweet potatoes were lost when it turned out they couldn’t survive the night chill. He declared that they would plant regular potatoes after all. The sweet potato leaves had withered, but the stems could be eaten as vines, he said. As for the wheat, it was coming along as expected.

The bean sprouts were being added to the food handouts bit by bit. Wheat bran was supposed to be good for beriberi, so it was mixed into the bread—but people didn’t like the resulting loaves.

The freak strategist would come by the annex periodically. Maomao was resolved to at least nod hello to him. According to Chue’s information, it would be dangerous for all of them if he decided to take Gyoku-ou’s side.

Upon investigation, it was discovered that coal was being used in a variety of locations even here in the western capital. (It was immediately obvious, Maomao was told, because of the unique smell.) It was used in ironworks and to fire the kilns used to make pottery—both locations associated with Gyokuen.

There were too many things to think about.

Her head was so full, and she was so tired, that she was slow to notice the spark that drifted out and caught on the spare straw. Is it just me, or is it a bit warm in here? she thought, and it was only when she looked over that she saw the straw burning merrily. She put it out in a panic, and it didn’t get any worse than that, but the quack doctor was deeply concerned about her, and Tianyu, who had shown up to get some medicine, had a great laugh at her expense.

I can’t go on like this.

She forced herself to focus. It was when one was least attentive that the worst fires started.

And the fire in her stove wasn’t the only thing burning at that moment.

The incident occurred on the seventy-fifth day.

Late that night, Maomao was awoken by shouting outside. She pulled on an overrobe and went to the window. She could see guards in the courtyard, and an unsettling collection of glinting flames.

Maomao opened her sleepy eyes and dressed quickly. At the bottom of the stairs she found Lihaku, already awake and standing at the ready. The quack doctor was there clutching his pillow and still in his pajamas, evidence that Lihaku must have dragged him out of bed.

“What’s going on?” Maomao asked the soldier.

“I don’t know exactly, but I’ve got a few ideas.”

“Such as?”

“Fweee,” the quack wheezed sleepily, but Maomao pretended not to hear him.

“A few days ago, there was a messenger from an outpost to the west. An incursion by the barbarian tribes. They attacked the food stores in the area.”

“A food storehouse? But that would mean...” Even Maomao, oblivious to politics as she was, could see where this was going.

“Right. That storehouse contained the modest provisions the people there had been able to glean.”

If this outpost was to the west, that would put it close to the border with Shaoh.

“The big shots have spent the last few days trying to decide what to do,” said Lihaku.

“That would explain why work has seemed so quiet recently.” Jinshi hadn’t even summoned Maomao for anything. So it had been the calm before the storm.

“Even if we wanted to help, our hands are full right now. Our good man Jinshi’s been working his connections to get support from everywhere he can, but there’s no point if it just gets stolen. The question is, what do we do about it? And the answers are getting ugly.”

“Ugly.”

“There’s talk of starting a war.”

Yeah, it figures.

It had been the way of humans—for that matter, of the whole animal kingdom—from the oldest times: when you ran out of food to eat, you attacked someone else.

“But Master Jinshi doesn’t support that, does he?”

“No, he doesn’t. And right now...”

Maomao could hear voices from outside. She couldn’t make out much, but she thought she heard someone cry, “Give us the royal brother!”

“...people are starting to push back against the timid, sheltered princeling.”

They’d known this could and probably would happen. Even Maomao had been aware. If anything, it had taken longer than they’d expected.

The question is, what do we do about it?

Then again, Maomao personally couldn’t do much. She got a farm wagon ready and pulled a cloth over it. Then she took the drowsy quack by the hand.

“Oh, it’s you, young lady,” he said. “I just want to...sleep a little longer...”

She guided the quack, still half in dreamland, onto the cart. It was just as well that he was too sleepy to comprehend quite what was happening. If he’d been awake enough to tell what was going on, he would have been frantic.

“You can sleep, Master Physician,” Maomao said. “Just do it here.”

“Mm. Mm...” The quack, his limbs sticking off the cart, went back to sleep. Lihaku looked at him, openly mystified.

“It’s so we can get away if we need to,” Maomao explained. “If he had to run, I don’t think the master physician could keep up with a foot-bound concubine from the rear palace.”

“Huh. Fair enough. I could carry you under one arm and make tracks if I needed to, but I don’t think I could do that for the old guy. Good compromise.”

“I can’t believe they’re turning on the royal family,” Maomao said, packing a bag with bandages and wound-care medicine. Even Lihaku made himself useful, carrying a bottle of oil.

“Yeah. If this happened in the capital, the ringleaders would be executed and everyone who joined them would be beaten,” he said.

“I guess it just shows how high emotions are running.” The people had their collective hackles up.

“It’s a tough spot,” Lihaku said. “If it came down to kill or be killed...I have to admit, I’d start killing.” He had an unhappy smile on his face as he tore a piece of cloth and wrapped it around the end of a stick. They didn’t have any firewood to serve as torches, so he’d broken the leg off a chair. He was a soldier, trained in the ways of battle. He didn’t want to fight—but if he had to, he could.

Then he said, “With an outbreak of open violence like this, it’s the local rulers who are really going to be in trouble.”

“Yeah...”

Maomao, again, didn’t know much about politics. But she could tell that this was serious trouble.

Her heart was pounding in her ears, but having Lihaku there gave her a measure of reassurance, and meanwhile she had the responsibility of looking after the quack doctor.

“Master Gyoku-ou can say that the people rose up on their own, but he was the one who let things fester long enough for that to happen. A few commoners’ heads won’t be enough to pay for this affront to the royal family’s dignity.”

Maomao understood that. The lives of the Imperial family simply weighed that much heavier than those of the common people.

“Master Gyoku-ou was clearly cultivating his own popularity. I know our man Jinshi is a good guy, but I can’t believe he put up with it. And even if he’s willing to let it go, the people around him won’t be. Word must have reached the central region by now.”

If even the ordinarily relaxed Lihaku felt that way, the anger of those in the royal capital must be immense indeed.

“That’s a good point. I wonder how Empress Gyokuyou and Master Gyokuen feel about this.”

“Normally, you’d expect them to have a word to say about it.”

“Yes, you would...”

Considering their positions, neither of them could simply drop everything and come to the western capital. But might they send a letter or a messenger?

At the same time, there was another important figure here in addition to Jinshi and the freak strategist. Someone who would certainly not neglect communications with the capital.

“What was his name again? The other important guy who’s here?” Maomao asked. She’d heard it several times now, but as usual, she’d forgotten it.

“You aren’t much for remembering people’s names or faces, are you, miss? It was... Uh... Let’s see... I don’t remember. I remember he wasn’t, you know, a towering presence.”

“Sounds like you’re not much better than me, Master Lihaku.”

“Hold on! This guy, he was supposed to be in charge of rituals or something, right?”

“Rituals... So that would make him part of the Board of Rites... Oh! Lu! Vice Minister Lu, that was his name!” Maomao said, finally remembering.

“Right, right, Vice Minister Lu. Let’s just have faith that he’s doing something. Probably.”

“We can have all the faith we want. The trouble is happening now.”

“Point taken.”

They both sighed, and then there was a loud noise. Were the commoners trying to force their way into the annex?

“What just happened?” Maomao asked. If anyone had been hurt, she wanted to help them, but first she had to see to her own safety. Which, given her limited options, mostly meant lighting the torch and throwing it if anything happened.

I’m not eager to do that. But if it’s the only way to keep myself safe, I will.

They heard footsteps shuffling closer. Maomao and Lihaku both got ready to fight.

“Miss Maomaooo? Are you there?” It was Chue. “Do you need me to explain what’s going on?”

“Yes, please.”

Chue was holding a flag and sounded about as anxious as she usually did. “There’s a mob of commoners outside. Just like we predicted, their anger finally exploded. They’re shouting for the Moon Prince to come out to them, or be sent out to them. You know, that sort of thing.”

“Yes, I can imagine. And hear them too.”

“But you’re thinking, wasn’t there a big bang just now?”

“Yes, I am.”

“That was Master Gyoku-ou’s arrival.”

Maomao grabbed her bag of medical equipment.

“Please, don’t worry. Even Master Gyoku-ou wouldn’t lay a hand on a member of the Imperial family. But I do think this is getting very interesting.”

“Somehow, the things you think are interesting always just seem bad to me.”

“Well, anyway, come and have a look.”

At Chue’s urging, Maomao started outside. Lihaku followed them.

“What about the master physician?” Maomao asked.

“Good question. I guess we should bring him,” Chue said and started pushing the cart, although she didn’t look very happy about it. She kept shooting pointed glances at Lihaku until he took over for her.

Once they were outside, Maomao could hear a resounding man’s voice.

“Do you all understand?” he was saying. “Do you know how much the Moon Prince, who honorably resides in this household, has done for the people of the western capital?”

She heard the people murmuring.

“The grains in your food distributions were brought from afar by the Moon Prince. The fact that we are not now starving is by his munificence! The free clinic was likewise his doing. Those who have been there know all about it.”

What’s going on here?

If the voice had belonged to someone from Jinshi’s inner circle, the words would have made sense, but as far as Maomao could surmise, that was Gyoku-ou speaking.

She picked up her pace. She would have to be closer if she wanted to see anything, but getting too close would be dangerous. She looked around for somewhere that might serve as a good vantage point.

“Miss Maomao, Miss Maomao,” Chue said, beckoning to her. She was already halfway up a nearby tree. Maomao climbed up after her.

“Please try not to fall!” Lihaku said. He was still pushing the quack doctor in his cart.

Up in the branches, Maomao and Chue had an excellent view of what was going on. They could see Jinshi, behind whom stood Basen. In front of him was Gyoku-ou, interposing himself between Jinshi and the masses. The people were keeping a respectful distance, almost like spectators at a play.

“The Moon Prince responded with alacrity to the insect swarm. Much as I tried to provide for you as best I could, it is unquestionably thanks to him that you have suffered as little as you have. The immediate support from the central region is thanks to the Moon Prince’s presence here. Do you mean to tell me you cannot understand that?”

Maomao was thoroughly flummoxed. Gyoku-ou appeared to be completely reversing himself. He’d been more than happy to take credit for Jinshi’s work to this point, but now he was praising Jinshi’s efforts and loudly informing the populace about them.

What was more, Jinshi was showing his face before the people of the western capital for the first time. Yes, he had met with a handful of VIPs now and then, but a crowd of commoners? His courtly bearing and almost celestial beauty were not lost on the people. Maomao spotted several women who were clearly lovestruck.

Normally, he would probably try to be modest about all this, Maomao thought. But it was true that Jinshi had done all those things. There was no point denying it. The only person who might have a real cause to complain about Jinshi was the one who had been sent on a grueling grasshopper-slaying quest, Lahan’s Brother.

Speaking of whom, Lahan’s Brother was one of those watching things develop from inside the annex. He was so ordinary that Maomao would never have noticed him if it hadn’t been for the hoe he was carrying. He seemed to have it just in case he needed to defend himself against any outbreaks of violence—but had there really been no better weapons he could have grabbed? The hoe would make him look more like one of the marauding peasants.

Gyoku-ou’s voice carried clearly, less like he was lecturing and more like he was declaiming, delivering a speech in a play. And the people were riveted by it.

One of the commoners, however, raised a hand. “H-How is it the royal younger brother knew that this swarm was coming? H-How could he know, if he didn’t bring it himself?”

There were a few shouts of agreement from the crowd.

That’s a tough one.

If Lahan had been here, he could have broken down the statistics from the last several years, explaining how the climate and the smaller, local swarms had pointed in the direction of this larger one. But even if you had it all written down, many people here didn’t know their numbers. They wouldn’t know what the numbers meant, and they wouldn’t be convinced by them.

Jinshi took a step forward. “Allow me to explain that. When we performed our divination rituals in the capital, it produced a sign of grave misfortune in the west. Given how greatly this city has flourished under the Gyoku clan in recent years, what manner of disaster could harm it? A swarm of insects seemed the only likely prospect.”

A murmur ran through the crowd at the simple fact that the Imperial younger brother would directly address a commoner. His voice was lovely and bracing, but didn’t carry as well as Gyoku-ou’s.

Divination, huh?

Was it possible that was why Jinshi had brought Vice Minister Lu with him? He must have realized that talk about agricultural products and statistics on recent swarms would go over the heads of many of the commoners. Divination would be a much more intuitive explanation to them.

If you know the people are superstitious, comfort them with superstition. It wasn’t a bad plan, Maomao thought—but almost immediately she discovered that it was a mistake.

Gyoku-ou looked like he had been waiting for Jinshi to say something like this. “Precisely! At this moment, we need the Moon Prince’s power more than anyone else’s!” He thrust his hands into the air as if calling the commoners to witness for him. “If the oracles of those who live above the clouds are for us, what can stop the western capital—indeed, I-sei Province itself—from thriving ever more mightily?”

The people began to thrum with Gyoku-ou’s words. Those who had looked on Jinshi with hostility mere moments ago now turned to the Emperor’s younger brother with eyes of hope. Many still looked displeased, but they no longer shouted and jeered.

“What say you? Shall we ask the Moon Prince to perform a ritual on our behalf?”

Gyoku-ou certainly knew how to work the crowd. The commoners raised their hands in approbation.

“Oof. So it’s come to that,” said Chue, not looking very happy. “He did bring Vice Minister Lu in order to perform a ritual. The answer would have to be...”

Before Chue could say what the answer would be, Jinshi acted.

“Understood,” he said: his answer was affirmative. He had no other choice, and anyway, the performance of a ritual had always been part of the plan during his visit here. It had simply been postponed by the swarm.

Gyoku-ou smiled a brilliant smile—but one that also spoke of triumph assured, and more than a little pride. “Then ask for I-sei Province’s further growth! Ask that the disaster from the west be itself brought low!”

Jinshi’s expression never changed, but those closest to him knew. They could see the subtle shift in his face that indicated a touch of dismay: I’ve done it now. Maomao couldn’t see Jinshi’s exact expression because of the distance and the dark, but she knew how it must look.

“He’s right!” shouted one of the commoners. “What good does it do us to blame the insects on the Moon Prince? Why would he bring such calamity upon us? Where did those bugs come from? It was from the west! Far to the west of us!”

“Yes, that’s right!” agreed someone else. Apparently this was the part where they were supposed to laugh—several of the commoners chuckled, although Maomao didn’t know why.

“Exactly,” Gyoku-ou said. “If there is fault to be found, it lies not with the Moon Prince, but with the one who was entrusted with the care of the western capital—me myself. I can only beg forgiveness. If the slightest offense has been given to you, our august visitor, please hold me responsible.” He turned to Jinshi and bowed dramatically.

“Goodness gracious,” Chue said, looking like she wasn’t sure what to make of this.

“What is more, if there was a failure to protect this city from the grasshoppers, that too is my responsibility, entrusted as I have been with leading this place on behalf of my father, Gyokuen. The people have starved, and the blame is mine. To all of you I can say only, I’m sorry.” Now he bowed toward the commoners.

“Master Gyoku-ou! Don’t bow to us!”

“That’s right! We did this by ourselves. You’ve done nothing wrong!”

The people were eager that Gyoku-ou should raise his head. Maomao realized that the scene had changed. Jinshi, who had been the star until a moment ago, had been overshadowed by Gyoku-ou.

“He’s right. The honored Imperial younger brother isn’t at fault here,” someone said.

“It’s those troublemakers from the west that brought the bugs!”

“Yeah, and now they’re trying to steal our food too!”

There were more shouts of agreement from the crowd.

Gyoku-ou had spoken of “the disaster that came from the west.” Maomao had assumed he meant the grasshoppers. But then...

Wait, what just happened?

He’d shifted the focus of the anger from the insects to the western lands themselves. Immediately to the west of I-sei Province was Shaoh.

“Looks like a new fire is starting,” Chue said, her eyes cold.

“A new fire?”

“I’m almost impressed. I wondered what was going on, but it turns out all the playacting has been leading up to this moment.”

“Playacting? What are you talking about?”

Chue twirled her finger and a pigeon appeared in her hand. “All of it. Calling the Moon Prince here, and the master strategist, deliberately affecting a bad attitude toward the Moon Prince, deliberately giving the common people a bad impression of him. All of it was calculated for this purpose. That might even include sending his adopted daughter to the rear palace. Now, that would be something.”

The pigeon went fluttering out of Chue’s hand.

“The west has to pay!”

“Let’s get our food back!”

“Crush the barbarian tribes!”

The people started thrusting their fists in the air. The murderous energy that had been directed toward the Imperial family just moments before had taken on a new focus.

“Master Lakan said this guy was looking to be a hero, but it looks to me like he’s just as good at playing supporting roles. Maybe better, in fact. Don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?” Maomao asked.

“Well, you see? This is a stage, put here by Master Gyoku-ou. He caused the Moon Prince to mount the stage without ever meaning to—heck, he even set him up in the lead role! He apologized exquisitely for the rudeness to the Imperial family and cleared up the people’s misunderstanding in one fell swoop. And now the Moon Prince is standing there looking like a gorgeous actor. Although I guess you could say that at the moment, he and Master Gyoku-ou are sharing the spotlight.”

Maomao understood what Chue was saying. Gyoku-ou had set up the Imperial younger brother and himself—the acting governor of the western capital—as the stars, and cast a foreign people in the role of the enemy. He had said nothing definitive himself, only guided the people to the conclusions he wanted them to reach.

“What if Master Jinshi just stole it back?”

“Do you think he could? This crowd was a powder keg with his name on it until a minute ago. Besides, we’re dealing with people who are easily swayed. The Moon Prince hasn’t said anything untrue—but neither has Master Gyoku-ou. It’s just that the people’s attention has been—shwip!—swapped from the locusts to the foreign people who took their food.”

Maomao followed her point here too. “He doesn’t get his hands dirty. He doesn’t kidnap anyone. But he’s effectively taken a hostage. Clever stuff.”

Chue nodded her agreement. Jinshi began to speak, but he couldn’t offer a direct rebuttal. He only said that he would perform a ritual to expunge the destruction. It was unobjectionable, as Jinshi was wont to be, but it wasn’t enough to completely dispel the people’s misgivings.

Maomao swallowed hard and looked at Chue. “So what is Gyoku-ou after?” she asked, dropping any term of respect for the acting governor in spite of herself.

“Every hero needs a stage. But maybe the western capital isn’t the stage he wants.” Chue peered off to the west. “There must be some reason he’s so eager to start a fight with Shaoh. Something besides simple profit.”

Maomao, too, looked to the western sky. Somewhere over the horizon lay Shaoh, and beyond it, Hokuaren.