There were several fishmongers among the peddlers, and they barged forward to interrogate the young man. He looked overwhelmed by all the voices, some shouting prices at him, others declaring that his fish stank. An inexperienced barterer, then. Bingmei stepped forward and shrugged out of the fur blanket to help him.
“Be quiet, all of you!” she shouted as she stepped out onto the wharf. Although she was young, she used a commanding voice and adopted a posture of power. “Only those who can pay and take possession now, come forward. The rest, go back. Do not waste our time!”
Quion gave her a look of thanks. He went to his nets to fetch a sample.
“Quickly, quickly!” Bingmei said, gesturing to shoo away those who were merely gawkers. She walked down the line of men, inhaling their natural smells as well as the smells of their intentions. Some of their intentions were so awful it made her wince. They shouted at her, pressing in around her, trying to outbid each other right there on the dock. Some were lying outright, hoping their high price would scare off others from bidding, even though they were incapable of paying that amount. She knew many of their tricks, having been tutored by Marenqo, who was quite a barterer himself.
Only two of them had the smell of honest men. She went back to the boat and gestured for Quion to produce the samples from his nets. He joined her on the wharf, and the mongers crowded even closer. Some criticized the fish as paltry, too small. Quion opened his mouth to argue, but Bingmei elbowed him in the ribs to silence him and shook her head curtly.
She watched the crowd, listening to the offers, keeping her attention on the two honest men. When one of them backed away and left, she chose the other, which not only stunned him with surprise—his wasn’t the highest bid—but incensed the other fishmongers, who railed at her and called her foolish.
This infuriated Quion again.
“Don’t speak so rudely!” he blustered, his cheeks turning red.
She butted him again, giving him a scolding look, and concluded the deal with the fishmonger she’d chosen. Soon the others faded away, although some lingered in case the deal failed. She knew it wouldn’t. The honest one smelled not only of fish but of mint as well.
The buyer was permitted to board the boat and inspect the catch, which Bingmei saw more than pleased him. There was a reckoning with a local money changer, who accepted the oath of the monger and provided Quion with the agreed-upon cowry shells. Those shells couldn’t be spent in Wangfujing, but they could be traded there for bronze coins of higher value.
They had to wait in the boat for the monger’s servants to arrive to haul off their catch, which made Bingmei more and more impatient. She wanted to be at King Budai’s palace with the others, not stranded at the wharf. Once the deal was concluded, Quion dunked the nets in the river to clean them and then stuffed them in crates, which he secured with a rope lock. She watched in curiosity as his hands deftly tied the knots. He secured the sail the same way, tying off a strange knot with an intricate pattern. She’d not seen that kind of work before.
It was after dark by the time they finally left the boat and paid a guard at the dock a few shells to protect it. Quion had girded himself with a heavy travel pack, complete with small pots dangling from the straps. He would stand out as a foreigner walking through town with all his possessions clinging to his back. But she understood his reluctance to leave his things behind. Trust was a luxury very few could afford. As they approached the inner streets of Wangfujing, the warm light cast by the globe lanterns dangling from rooftops seemed to welcome them.
“Follow me,” Bingmei said.
He gazed at the town, staring up in wonder as they climbed the steep steps to cross the first bridge. The murky water below glimmered with the lantern light. They passed vendors with huge steaming skillets full of frogs or seaweed-wrapped delights. As Bingmei walked, she inhaled the savory scents, listening to the bustle and commotion of the street.
“Thank you,” Quion said to her, bumping her elbow with his. One of his pots clanked on his back.
She looked at him in confusion.
“For helping me sell my catch,” he said.
“I only did what my master commanded me,” she answered.
“I know, but I’m grateful. She said you had a way . . . that you knew if someone was dishonest?” He shook his head in confusion.
She wasn’t about to confide in him. “It’s one of my instincts. I just know. Most people are dishonest. That makes it easier to find those who aren’t. That cook, for example.” She nodded to a vendor across the way. “Never buy from him. He talks and boasts and seems friendly.” She shook her head. “But he robs those who buy his food.” There was a rotting odor to the man.
They had to pick their way through the crowded streets, which meant they were moving more slowly than Bingmei would have liked, but the city was beautiful at dusk—the drab gray walls of the buildings glowed with lantern light. As they walked, they passed an intricate wooden stage. People sat on the benches built around it, chatting and eating the food they’d chosen for dinner, but the stage was empty. There was no festival that night, no decrees to be announced. Along the way were shops with carved stone idols, shaped after animals both magical and mundane. Quion stared at everything, which made her grin in spite of herself.
She’d felt the same wonder on her first visit.
Suddenly, the fisherman’s son came to an abrupt stop, gazing in horror at a vendor selling scorpions wriggling on sticks.
“They . . . eat . . . those?” he whispered to her, his face showing his disgust.
“They’re a specialty here,” Bingmei said. “You must try them.”
“Never,” Quion said vehemently.
“We don’t eat them raw,” she said. She withdrew a small bronze coin from the purse hidden beneath her tunic, then tucked the pouch back out of sight. When she offered the coin to the vendor, he took one of the many sticks of wriggling scorpions and dipped it into a vat of bubbling oil. Bingmei grinned at the queasy look on Quion’s face as he watched the vat.
A short while later, the cook withdrew the dripping stick from the vat and doused it with spices from a shaker. The scorpions had all perished, of course, and were brittle and still. Bingmei took the skewer and bit off the first one. It was crunchy and full of flavor.
“You try one,” she said, offering him the skewer. Another man shoved past them to buy some for himself. “They come by ship from the desert.”
Quion stared at her, then at the skewer, his nose twitching with discomfort.
“Why would you eat that?” he asked with a pained look.
“They’re good,” she said.
A few bystanders had caught on to his discomfort. Their pointing and laughter seemed to embarrass him, and he took the skewer from her, likely just to end the spectacle.
“Don’t think about it, just eat it,” she said coaxingly.
Quion took a few deep breaths. He was building up his courage. When she’d come to Wangfujing before, she’d seen Marenqo eat four or five of these skewers by himself. He loved the various local fares.
Timidly, Quion brought the skewer to his lips and, wincing, bit off one of the scorpions. He grimaced as he began to crunch into it, and then his eyes widened in surprise as the flavors from the spices delighted his mouth.