As she had expected, that produced a torrent of protests. Gan was very proud of her hair. But the change was necessary. Li Lei could ensorcel a few people into finding Gan unremarkable, but not everyone all the time. Gan must either dye her hair or remain dashtu. The little one heaved a great, sad sigh, and agreed.
Li Lei had bought the dye in the market. Unlike her visit to the map shop, that purchase had not made her conspicuous. Old women had been trying to hide their white hairs ever since there had been old women. But they needed water and a tub, and while such things should have been simple to obtain, the proprietor of the teahouse was not a pleasant man. Nor did he have a proper respect for elders. She could have ensorcelled him, but to do so, she would have had to touch his slimy mind. Sun had always told her she was too fastidious . . . but then, had he been forced to deal with such a one, he might well have cleaned up that rotting carcass of a mind so thoroughly that all that was left was a smiling idiot. Sun did not tolerate insult.
It would have been a pleasant smiling idiot, however, Li Lei thought wistfully. But changing the proprietor into a pleasant idiot would be conspicuous, and so she bowed and bowed and paid too much and planned the spell that would send every flea and bedbug for a mile around to the proprietor’s bed.
When she returned to the room carrying the empty tub, Rule was sitting on the cot. He had eaten the other two baozi while she was gone. She did not chide him. Most people living in the United States in these days had never known real hunger, the kind that builds over days, not hours. She had. She should not have left the food in the room with him. “Are you in pain?”
“No. I probably will be.” He sighed. “It was hard to stop.”
She studied him briefly with her other sense. It did not tell her enough. “While your head is still clear, you may wish to study this.” She pulled the map from her pocket and handed it to him.
Gan hopped onto the cot beside Rule. “We went to this map shop with—hey, that’s not the one you bought!”
“No,” Li Lei agreed. “I bought the other map to mislead the robber who owns the shop. I stole this one. The boy will bring water soon. You need to—”
“I didn’t see you do that!”
“You weren’t supposed to.” Li Lei had been pleased to learn that she still possessed some skill. She did not recommend thievery as a profession, but in a life as long as hers, one had both opportunity and need at times to pursue less desirable occupations. “You will stop interrupting for a time, Gan, and return to dashtu while we await the water I paid too much for.” She sat on Rule’s other side. The cot creaked. “Rule, this map is unlike those you are used to. It is not drawn to scale. This is where we are now.” She tapped the hanzi for Bolilu. “This is north.” Another tap. “Where are we going?”
Rule closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and pointed. “Here, I think. This direction, at least. I can’t tell about the distance.”
“That is Lang Xin. It is the capital.”
He flicked her a glance. “Where the spawn live?”
“Yes, although that farmer said they do not all live there at all times.”
“I don’t know what that farmer said. I don’t know what anyone here says, and that isn’t going to work.” He looked at Gan. “You have a translation charm. Perhaps you could lend it to—”
“No.” Gan flattened a hand on her chest as if protecting the necklaces she wore inside her shirt. There were three: one with the translation disk; one with the charms Cynna Weaver had made, one of which she had used to keep Rule in sleep; and one that seemed to be a heavy gold chain with no pendant. “I need it.”
“We might work out some trade,” Rule persisted. “At least we could take turns.”
If one watched the chain, however—as Li Lei had done when Gan bathed last night—it swung as if it carried an invisible weight. This was very interesting, as Li Lei could not sense any magic whatsoever attached to it. Whatever link the Chancellor of Edge had to the medallion, which was one of the greatest magical artifacts ever created, was invisible to every sense.
“It’s mine,” Gan said stubbornly. “I need it. And you don’t have any chocolate, so what could you trade?”
“You both need such a charm,” Li Lei announced. “With your permission, Gan, I will attempt to copy yours.”
Gan looked dubious. “You can do that? The gnomes make them hard to copy. It’s called a monopoly. That means they want to get paid for making the charms instead of someone else.”
“I am not greatly skilled with charms,” she admitted. “I know the basics, however, and I will be able to read the spell on your charm. If I can read it, I should be able to duplicate it.”
“Will you, now.” That was Rule, looking interested. “Cullen says only adepts can fully hide spells, but the gnomes seem to have hidden the one on their translating charms.”
“There are three ways of hiding spells placed on an object. Two of them do not inconvenience me.” Because they affected the Sight, not the type of sensing she used. Very few beings sensed magic directly. “The third can be used only by one capable of creating a Great Artifact. Gan’s charm was not made by such a one. I will read the base spell, which will be a form of mind magic. I am good with mind magic. I will need to . . . ah. Dashtu,” she reminded Gan briskly when a knock sounded on the door.
It was the boy with the water. Once he left, Rule offered to help dye Gan’s hair. Li Lei turned him down. She could remove the dye from her hands the same way she removed dirt; he could not. Not without Changing, at least, and that was an unnecessary expenditure of power he needed for healing. While she applied the inky dye, they discussed how to go about exchanging more of Gan’s gems for cash.
Gems were in demand, as one might expect in a magic-driven society. The corundum-based gems—rubies and sapphires—were more common here than back home, so their value was not as high as one might expect. Topaz was surprisingly rare, however; the one they’d sold had brought them this far. Emeralds were so rare they did not dare try to sell one. It would make them too conspicuous.
Diamonds would be best, they agreed. They were highly desirable, yet not so uncommon as to draw attention. Plus there were stories about a huge diamond deposit on the same coast where they’d arrived in Lóng Jia.
Li Lei had learned some of those stories in the village where they first bought passage on a sampan; she’d learned more from the boatmen. The diamond deposit was said to be several days’ walk from the nearest village, a trek that was extremely hazardous. To go by water might seem better, but no one ventured onto the ocean. Even dragons, she was told, avoided tangling with the great beasts of the sea. Still, there were always some desperate enough to make the attempt by land. Most were never seen again, but now and then one returned with a handful of diamonds—or with empty pockets and a hair-raising tale of survival. It was enough to keep the stories alive.