The Apothecary Diaries Book 11

The Weeping Wind (Part Two)

His mother had often said to him, "When you grow up, you'll become the wind."

When he came of age at fifteen, he would go out into the world—but until then, she told him, he must study all that the world had to offer. Two more years of this learning lay ahead of him...

Become the wind, she told him, and blow so that the air of the western reaches might stay clear.

It was a memory from the time before Rikuson was called Rikuson.

The women protected the town while the men roamed across the plains: this was what he had been taught. He was sad to know he would have to leave home someday, but if he could become the wind, if he could be of help to his mother and his older sister, then he was glad of that.

He enjoyed his afternoon walks, trying to decide how he could best use the pocket change they gave him, how to get something good for it and not waste it. What should he spend it on that would be satisfying? That was its own kind of study. Many of his male relatives who went out on their own became merchants, and Rikuson expected that was the path he, too, would choose.

He went from shop to shop, comparing flavors and prices and quantities, until he found the best dried fruit or goat's milk and bought it. Then, he would go to the Shogi hall.

It was full of adults with time to kill jawing with each other—and there was much information to be had there. Rikuson might be able to hear even more talk at the tavern, but he wasn't yet of age and they wouldn't let him in.

There were plenty of drunks at the Shogi hall too—but once in a while you could run into a true master.

"Oh, hey there, kiddo. Back again?" asked an old man sitting at a Shogi board. He was a former secretary at the administrative building. He was mostly retired now, but he was collecting materials for some sort of new history he was compiling. He was the best Shogi player in the western capital. Everyone called him Big Lin.

"Uh-huh." Rikuson seated himself beside Big Lin and studied the board. Sticking close to him would keep the nastier drunks away.

Then Rikuson tilted his head. "Huh?" Big Lin was losing this game. You didn't see that often. Rikuson looked at his opponent and saw a man still more or less in the bloom of youth, but ragged, filthy. His face bore a fine stubble, his clothes were grimy, and his hair was barely tied in place. His outfit was nice enough, but it seemed his circumstances weren't. He looked feeble, and had no tan; he didn't seem to be a resident of the western capital. But his eyes—his eyes glinted like those of a fox.

"I see you have a little Pawn with you," the man said—a Shogi piece. He wore a monocle over one of his fox-like eyes, an imported piece, but on this guy everything looked crude instead of fancy.

What did he mean by that? He seemed to be talking about Rikuson. He bristled at the expression, his hands balling into fists. "Who are you calling a Pawn?" he demanded.

"Don't get upset, kid. Lakan's just that kind of creature," Big Lin said calmly.

"But he called me a Pawn!"

"What's wrong with that? Most people, he just calls 'em Go stones."

"Go stones..."

Rikuson wasn't sure what the difference was between a Go stone and a Pawn. He looked at the board as he pondered the question. This "Lakan" might look suspicious and might mock everyone he met—but he backed it up by being a tremendous Shogi player. This was the first time Rikuson had ever seen Big Lin losing a game. Even if Big Lin wasn't quite the player he had been in his youth, at the peak of his powers, people still called him the Shogi sage; it almost didn't seem possible that he could lose. But this visitor seemed to be holding him to fifty-fifty in their games.