Lina.Even after two months, I still wasn’t used to the name Mrs. Dainan had given me, but I didn’t mind it. It was better thanthieforbowlheadordemon—then again, I supposed none of those would have been good for business.
“Lina! I’m waiting.”
What Mrs. Dainan lacked in height she made up for in vociferous anger. Even earthquakes couldn’t outdo the thunderous power of her ire. She’d been in a bad mood lately; the autumn drafts made her bones ache, and she took the pain out on me.
I only wondered what I’d done this time.
Setting my broom to the side, I approached her, preparing myself for a public rebuke. I bit the inside of my cheek—apainful reminder not to speak.
“Mr. Nasawa ordered a cup of rice wine, not plum wine,” Mrs. Dainan rumbled. “This is the third time in an hour you’ve mixed up orders.”
Not true. Mr. Nasawa, a fisherman who regularly came to Sparrow Inn, had most definitely asked for plum wine. I glared at him, but he averted his eyes. As much as he liked causing trouble for me, I suspected he secretly feared me.
“Well?”
A month ago, I would have gritted my teeth and gestured that she was wrong. Would have ended up with a mark on my cheek and no dinner.
I knew better now. Now I showed my defiance in other ways.
Sorry,I gestured, lowering my head another inch. I was starting to take Mr. Nasawa’s cup of plum wine when Mrs. Dainan smacked the side of my head with the heel of her hand.
The bowl sitting on my skull thrummed, sending me staggering back. The cup thumped onto the ground, wine splashing the hem of my skirts.
I gathered my balance as Mrs. Dainan rounded on me, tossing a broom at my face. “Useless girl,” she spat. “Clean up the mess.”
“Why even bother keeping her?” drawled Mr. Nasawa. “Look at her, with that bowl on her head. I’ve never seen anything so ill omened.”
“Let her be, Mrs. Dainan,” one of the other fishermen muttered. “She’s a good cook. The best you’ve had yet.”
“Yes, let her get back to work. Old Nasawa did ask for plum wine. Even I heard it!”
Not wishing to quarrel with the customers, I reached for my broom and swept up the shards of the shattered wine cup.
How I went from boat robber to tavern cook was a blur. Even more confounding, it was already midautumn; the browning maple trees outside the inn were a constant reminder of my broken promise.
I swallowed, guilt festering inside me. I hadn’t meant to stay for long, but Mrs. Dainan worked me so hard that I collapsed on my cot every night, drained of energy and too tired to figure out a plan to leave. Come morning, the cycle only repeated itself. Besides, where could I go with no money?
You could ask one of the fishermen to lend you a boat, Shiori,said Kiki, reading my thoughts.Many of them likeyou.
She fluttered inside my pocket. I wished I could let her out, but I couldn’t leave her alone in my room, not when Mrs. Dainan made a point of searching it every few days unannounced.
Kiki looked for my brothers each day, but she’d had no success, not even in getting word of Father. Tianyi Village was so far from the mainland that little news made it here.
I pushed my way into the kitchen to check on the large pot simmering on the stove.
Preparing the morning soup was my main task at Sparrow Inn, the reason Mrs. Dainan wouldn’t cast me out. My soup was good for business.
It was my mother’s recipe. She died when I was three, but I had carried the warmth and flavor of the soup deep within me—the memory of poking into the pot for chunks of meat and picking out combs of fish bones, of decking my spoon with a bracelet of onions and savoring the soft crunch of the radishes and the orange splashes of carrot. Most of all, I remembered the way she would sing little songs she made up as we worked in the kitchen.
Channari was a girl who lived by the sea,
who kept the fire with a spoon and pot.
Stir, stir, a soup for lovely skin.
Simmer, simmer, a stew for thick black hair.
But what did she make for a happy smile?
