The Apothecary Diaries Book 11

Big Lin

The next day, Chue all but dragged Maomao to a big room somewhere in the annex. It had been strung with mosquito netting, and there was a thick carpet on the ground.

Very Anan-esque, Maomao thought. There were no tables, just a couple of low-set chairs. Tea and snacks had been set out on the carpet—not the finest stuff; the swarm had curtailed such luxuries. But beggars could not be choosers.

In the center of the room was a Shogi board. Staring intently at it was one filthy old fart Maomao recognized, and another she didn't. The first fart was, of course, the freak strategist, but the second?

Must be his Shogi partner.

She'd heard the man was more than eighty years old. He must have been imposing in his day, but now he was hunched and his body shook visibly. A sturdy cane lay to his right, while behind him a middle-aged man, seemingly his caretaker, looked on with worry.

"I brought her!" Chue said with an enthusiastic raise of her hand. Maomao had, naturally, resisted the idea of coming here, but Chue had dragged her. Lihaku even accompanied them as her bodyguard.

The freak strategist looked up from the board. "Ma... Maom—" he began, but he was interrupted by what sounded like something striking a pillow. It was the cane, which had been pounded firmly into the carpet, so hard that Maomao feared it might have broken had it not been for the thick rug.

"We are in the middle of a game!" the other man bellowed, the force of his pronouncement shocking in light of his doddering appearance. Then he picked up one of his pieces and moved it forward, snapping it down with a perfect click.

The monocled freak narrowed his eyes and refocused on the board, sparing Maomao only a wave of his hand.

"Oooh, that was a nice move," said Chue, who was at least pretending to pay attention.

"If you say so! It's lost on me. You know what's going on there, Miss Chue?" Lihaku asked with a friendly laugh.

"Oh, it just seemed like the thing to say. You know, what with the way he smacked that piece down."

She didn't have any idea what the move meant; she'd just said what felt right to her. As usual.

"Now, come on, Miss Maomao. Let's get some of that tea! Miss Chue needs it if she's going to have her snack."

Maomao and the others sat on the carpet. Summer in the western capital was warmer than in the central region, but at least it wasn't as humid. The mosquito netting was, in fact, grasshopper netting, as some of the bugs were still around.

You can feel the money, Maomao thought, running her fingers through the carpet. It was cool like silk but soft like wool, and had a delicately woven pattern as well as embroidery. Even the netting was made of silk gauze, which shifted and shimmered with each passing breeze.

Maomao sat in one of the low chairs and took a bun, a fried mandarin roll topped with condensed milk added.

I guess it doesn't matter how fancy the carpet is. You can still get crumbs on it.

The strategist was stuffing his face as he played, consuming the snacks with such gusto that his long-suffering aide struggled to keep them supplied.

"Onsooou! You can do it!" Chue called to him.

Onsou? Is that his name? Maomao hadn't heard it before—she'd never really had a reason to—and even if she had, she probably would have forgotten it. It seemed likely she'd see more of Onsou in the future, though, so she would have to try to remember.