The food market off of Embroidery Alley, the one behind the Great Truth Divine Path Temple, not the bigger market that had the statue of the Celestial Lion in the middle of it, was always crowded at the Hour of the Horse. It was the middle part of the day, so people crowded the vendors and got bowls of chewy noodles, soup, skewers of fresh fish, steaming rice topped with greens cooked lavishly in oil, vinegar and garlic. It had its rules. Everywhere had rules. You had to queue up in front of the food you wanted, not standing in a big clump. If someone managed to shove ahead of you anyway, then they clearly wanted it more. Otherwise you would have shoved back.
The tall man with the bushy black beard and the floppy cloth cap in the queue for the Chen Family Three Treasures Noodle Soup felt a tug on the hem of his robe. He didn’t bother looking, he simply sent a heavy hand whipping out, angled to catch anyone shoving past somewhere unfortunate.
“OI! What was that for!” A beefy stevedoor hauled the bearded man around and glared at him. “I’m not even in your line!”
“Ah? Then what vagrant tugged my robe?” The bushy black beard thrust forward, refusing to back down in the face of dockworker might.
“Him!” A finger that could carry a grown man all by itself pointed at a slim youth who looked like he would struggle to carry a jar of oil home to mother.
The indicated boy had bright eyes, a serious mouth, and long fingers that made you think of musicians or surgeons. A neatly dressed child, of ordinary means but extraordinary hygiene. He was also holding a small wooden sign on a pole with the words “DEBT COLLECTOR” written on it.
“Boy, you are either lost or crazy. In either case, scram!”
The boy held up a card. “You are Dong Zhuo?”
“Yes? What of it?”
Another card, carefully drawn from inside the boy’s well made grey robes. “You owe the Silken Dreams Tailoring Shop twenty tales of silver for the silk robe we made for you. Payment is past due.”
“Bah! You dare accost me? Do you know who I am?”
The boy quickly pulled out the previous card. “You are Dong Zhuo?”
“That’s right, I am! And that means you will be paid in due time, you little wretch, and not when it pleases you! Don’t like it? I dare you to take it up with the magistrate!”
The boy held up a bright red card. Unlike the paper cards, this one was thin metal, the character strokes chiseled in and painted white. “LIE.”
“YOU DARE CALL DONG ZHUO A LIAR?!” The big man threw his arms back, looking like a bear about to offer a terminal hug.
A more aware man, someone not outraged by a youth of fourteen holding up signs accusing them of lying and welshing on a debt, might have noticed the locals backing away from him. They would also have noticed all the wide grins.
The boy held up a new card. The card was new to the conversation, not newly made. The keen-eyed person, who was sadly not present, would surely have noticed this card was worn, tattered, smudged and scuffed. “A debt is a burden on the conscience and the soul. Unburden yourself, or suffer the scorpions of regret.”
“Boy, the only regret I’m feeling is not slapping sense into you a second ago. Let me just fix that.” The big man hauled up his hand, past his bushy beard all the way to his wide ears. The hand froze, however, when the sign saying “Debt Collector” spun in the boy’s hand, revealing a new message: “BROKE BUM!” Worse, strings of small firecrackers tumbled down from it. The boy whipped out a portable ember, and lit them.
“What are you-”
The fireworks exploded. The boy waved his long sign and pointed at the bearded man making sure everyone saw what was going on.
“COURTING DEATH!” Beardy reached for the boy, snatching at him and trying to tear away the sign. The boy was not so easily caught. His grey robe seemed to blend with the blue-grey smoke of the fireworks, as he dodged and slid around the big man.
“Hold still, blast you!” But the boy wouldn’t stand still. He ducked left and feinted right. His sign waved high above his head, making the fireworks dance on their strings as they burst noisily in the air, then swept along the ground, bouncing and rattling off the cobblestones. The big man never caught more than his shadow.
When the fireworks were done, the boy quickly turned and ran off.
“You think you can run from me, Dong Zhuo? Boy, I will tear you in half!”
The silent youth had heard it all before. He ran hard, not towards Embroidery Alley, but down Songbird Lane, towards the endless canals that snaked through Bluestone City. Dong Zhuo gave chase, and for a big man, he was fast. The boy was fast too, and carried a lot less weight. The sign wasn’t slowing him down at all. He made the mouth of the alley ten steps ahead of Dong Zhuo, who was running head down, arms pumping.
The beardy man was too focused on the chase. He didn’t notice the cart being wheeled in front of the alley until he smacked into it.
“Look where you are going, you blind pig!” A high pitched voice shouted.
“You dare call me a pig? Piss on the ground and look at your reflection first! Scram for me!” Beardy roared.
“AAAH! You ruffian, using such vulgar language towards Little Sparrow? How dare you be so ungallant." The feminine voice shouted. Little Sparrow stepped out from behind the cart, displaying the sturdy build that let her move something four times her weight. Which was considerable.
The big man desperately looked over the cart, squinting at the shadows in the alley, but the slim boy had vanished. He rounded on the girl. His big hand raised up, ready to come down with a slap that would send the girl spinning to the ground. It did not make it even an inch closer to her. An even larger, beefier, hand wrapped around Dong Zhuo’s wrist.
“Dare to strike our Chen Clan Princess? Is your face itchy, and you need a beating to feel better?” The stevedore glared at the furious Dong Zhuo. “A debtor comes out here, wants to eat our food and beat up little girls? Clearly your face is a million times thicker than your wallet.”
“What rotted Chen Clan? You think I, Dong Zhuo, care about your little gang of idiots and scumbags? Do you know how many Chen Clan’s there are? Yours isn’t even a fart, let alone a family. Get your filthy paws off of me!”
Up on the rooftop, listening to the scene below, the slim boy silently shook his head. He reached into his robe and shuffled through his cards, settling on “Oops.”
There was a loud hubbub from the square, some shouting, a few threats, then a major splash. Based on the circumstances, the noise, and the joyful energy of the splash, it must be a large, bearded man being flung into the canal. An end befitting one who had besmirched the good name of the Chen Clan.
There were, admittedly, many Chen Clans, but the one around this particular little food square happened to own all the stalls in the food square, as well as the Iron Ox, Wooden Swan Transport Company. A transport company that owned and operated one wharf, two warehouses, twenty three canal boats, forty wagons, and employed any number of teamsters and stevedores. Some of whom were very large indeed.
Proprietor- Chen Mo. Also known as Little Sparrow’s dad, or “The Honored Customer” in the Silken Dream’s tailoring shop, where he always paid in advance. So honored, he often received a hefty discount. Generally when his daughter had been in cahoots with the tailor’s son.
There was a long, low whistle, followed by two high pitched whistles. “Coast is clear.”
The boy sighed and shook his head, but crawled to the edge of the roof. He took a peek to make sure the coast really was clear, then grabbed his sign in one hand, the edge of the roof in the other, and rolled off. He hung from the eves by one hand for a second, then dropped the two stories. He landed with a bare bend of his knees, and immediately started dusting himself off.
“Tsk! This one had some tough bones. I thought I was in for it.” Little Sparrow grinned. “Striking a maiden’s face, a dip in the canal is too good for him. Still, the job got done in the end.” She bounced a purse in her hand. Dong Zhuo had clearly been relieved of any heavy items that might weigh him down in the water, as well as any easily damaged or lost valuables.
“It was twenty silver, right?”
The boy nodded, eyeing the purse. Unless Dong Zhuo was ferociously rich and actually carried silver tales on him, the purse would be full of copper cash. In his expert opinion, the purse wasn’t nearly big enough to hold twenty thousand copper coins. Usually, people carried them on strings threaded through the hole in the middle of the coin.
He flipped through his cards, and pulled out a sadly well worn one. “How much did this bum actually have on him?”
Little Sparrow opened the purse with great ceremony. It was always her favorite part. She quickly snorted, not bothering to cover her mouth as the snort evolved into a snigger.
“He had three hundred copper cash and… oh isn’t this nice? Two receipts for money he borrowed. One from the Verdant Land Mercantile House, and the other from Seventh Street Trading Company. Added up, and he is eight hundred and seventy tales of silver in debt. You really might want to take it to the magistrate.”
The magistrate would see the big trading houses made as whole as they could be, and maybe, if he was lucky, they would have the now second hand robes returned. But probably not. The robes were worth some money, after all, and the trading houses definitely deserved the money more than the tailoring shop.
Bribery was such an ugly word. It was merely… compensated relationship building. And the merchants could afford a lot of relationship building.
“Sorry, Little Han. Between my cut and Big Bu’s, your share works out to…” She handed him the empty purse. “Exactly this much.”
Han Zicheng, part time debt collector and full time son of the Silken Dreams tailor shop (Proprieter- Mom) held the soiled silk purse in both hands. It was thin. Looked fancy, but thin. He stared between the eaves of the two story buildings lining the alley, wishing he could run away into the hazy blue sky.
“It would be nice if I could swear. This seems like a good moment for swearing. I still have debts of my own to pay.”
Han crossed the three alleys and four side streets until he was on the West Main Road, landing right at the intersection of the city crossing boulevard and the street with the nice grocers, fishmongers and rice merchants.
“Now, most would say you can’t balance on a chopstick, but here I am! And most would say you can’t balance a fan on your toe as you balance on one hand on top of a chopstick. But here I am! And everyone would say there is no way you can fling a fan up into the air with your foot and hit it with a thrown dart while balancing on one hand on top of a chopstick. And they are right!”
There was a long pause. “Unless you bless me with some money, in which case I’ll expose all the liars!”
Copper coins came raining down on the performer, his beggars rags looking somehow flashy as he balanced precariously on an upright chopstick. His legs swayed back and forth, always seeming on the very edge of collapsing in a heap, but never quite falling. Neither did the bright red fan balanced on his unhygienic foot.
“One, two, three!” The fan went flying, rotated once, twice, thrice, and with each rotation, a thin needle appeared on a new wooden vane.
Han waited for the performance to be over. Filthy Ho usually set up here during the Hour of the Horse, trying to catch the lunchtime crowds. He had seen it all a hundred times before, but he still watched the show carefully. For those who knew what to look for, there was a lot to learn.
“Ah, Honest Han! Here to settle a debt?”
Han nodded, not hiding the mournful look on his face.
“Haha!” The beggar sat in the alley, measurably making it dirtier. “Fair’s fair. You use my Waterbug Steps light body art to collect a debt, I get five percent.”
Han nodded and pulled out the silk purse. With a small knife and steady hands, he split apart the seams and trimmed off exactly five percent of the material, as measured with a marked bit of string. With great ceremony, he presented it to the staring Ho and carefully wrote the receipt.