“Please, sir,” he says in a barely audible whisper. “Have ye any food to spare?”
Feng gave me only enough coin to purchase food for the two of us, so I have little to offer besides my intentions. Still, I cannot in good conscience ignore the boy. I can almost hear A-Ma’s words.
Always do the right thing, Sai,she would say.Besides, it’s good karma. You don’t want to come back as a dung beetle, now, do you?
I’m just about to reach for my money pouch when someone grasps me by the shoulder.
“Stop.”
I turn to find a man in saffron-dyed robes, the simple cloth wrapped around his slender frame. His head is shaven down to the scalp, and his sandals are crafted with dull leather straps. An Albeion monk. A curious sight, indeed, given how reclusive their kind are said to be. I once heard that in order to become a monk, initiates must meditate for three moons without a bite of food or even a sip of water. Survive, and they’re ordained. If not… well.
In one hand, the monk fiddles with a necklace of smooth wooden beads. In the other, he holds a large bowl for collecting alms. “Yer charity is better spent with the temple,” he tells me. “Please, good sir, might we rely on yer kind donation?”
“But the child—”
The boy I’ve been talking to rushes over to the monks, hiding behind them like a shield. The mischievous, self-satisfied grin he wears makes me uneasy.
“My brothers and I use the givings we collect to buy and distribute food to those in need. I’ve seen too many squander away the generosity of strangers on poppy sap. Yer coin is in safer hands this way.”
He speaks in a convincing manner, and I know I should take a holy man at his word. Yet there’s somethingoffabout him. His expression is too perfect, too practiced. And what’s a monk doing collecting alms in the backstreets of the city, anyway? He showed up seemingly out of nowhere the moment I revealed my coin pouch.
I slowly take a step back and away. Something’s amiss.
“I must be off,” I mumble, attempting to keep my tone breezy. “There’s only so much daylight.”
The monk’s friendliness instantly melts away, replaced with a menacing scowl. “Where d’ye think yer goin’?”
Out of the corner of my eye, four lumbering figures emerge from around the corner. They, too, are dressed in monks’ robes, but their smug expressions and bruised knuckles suggest they don’t adhere to the teachings of pacifism.
The five of them block the path forward and back. I have no escape.
“Hand over yer coin!” one of the imposters growls, his Southern accent so thick that his words come out a near-indecipherable jumble.
For a moment, I consider it. Perhaps it’s wisest to follow the path of least resistance. If I explain why I lost her money, Feng might understand. Or, more likely, she’ll stab me through. It’s the choice of being beaten to a pulp now or later. I slowly reach for my coin pouch—
And scramble up the rickety wall of the low shanty house beside me, throwing all my momentum into the jump. The men curse and race after me. One of them manages to grip my ankle just as I clamber onto the roof, but I end up kicking him right in the mouth and using his face to boost myself up. He falls back with a hard thud.
“Sorry!” I rasp, purely on instinct.
“Don’t let ’im get away!” the first imposter monk shouts.
I roll clumsily off the opposite slope of the roof and land awkwardly on the narrow street on the other side. It’s less crowded here, but nowhere near safe. With no other options, I run. My pursuers give chase, following so close I swear I can feel their labored breaths raking down my spine. They spit slanders at me, taunt me mercilessly, but still I flee.
I take a left and then a right, squeezing through narrow side alleys in the hopes of shaking off my would-be robbers. And here I thought I might enjoy a break from all my running. I end up takinga turn so sharply that I almost fall into the canal—a near-fatal move on my part, since I can’t swim.
I don’t know where I’m going, the layout of Longhao’s labyrinthine footpaths unreasonably difficult to navigate. One wrong turn, and I could fall into the water. Even worse: I come to a full stop, trapped in a dead end. Out of breath, I turn slowly to see that the awful charlatans once again have me pinned.
“Gentlemen,” I say as evenly as possible. “Let’s just forget this whole thing ever happened, hmm? I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”
One of the monks draws a knife, flashing his teeth with an ugly sneer. “Hand yer coin over, and I promise to gut ye nice and clean.”
Sweat beads across my brow as I attempt to ignore the ache of my lungs. This is all so hopeless. “Come on, then,” I hiss, bracing for the worst. “You’ll have to pry it off me!”
“With pleasure, you little—”
Someone kicks the monk forward, cutting him off. The impact is so violent that I swear I hear him swallow his own tongue. He lands on his face, nose crunching in and teeth shattering against the hard ground. His partners in crime whip around in confusion, rage painting their expressions a vibrant red.
“Who—” The pretender who tries to speak is gifted with a swift crack of knuckles against his jaw. He stumbles back with a sharp grunt.
