Just as I knew there were larger settlements outside of our village, I’ve always known the township is one such place. The road was my first clue, but now, face-to-face with this place, I am truly stunned by just how much it dwarfs my home—and I’m only seeing it from the outside.
The township is walled and gated. Men with weapons watch from atop wooden towers embedded in the walls, and they interrogate those who come to the gate. There is a backup on the road right now, some sort of delay with a group near the front, leaving about fifty people waiting impatiently to get inside. Fifty people! That’s more than all of the Peacock Court’s residents. Something tells me this is only a small part of what we’ll find inside. If we can get inside.
The holdup seems to be over a wagon at the front of the line, and the sight of it—or rather, what’s pulling it—leaves both Li Wei and me transfixed: horses. We’ve read about them in books, of course, but neither of us has ever dreamed of seeing them in real life. Back when the mountain passes were open, our ancestors brought a few domesticated animals with them. Those eventually died off, and when avalanches shut off the overland routes, bringing animals up the zip line was simply impossible. I’ve never seen a creature so big, and I’m struck by the horses’ beauty. That itch to paint overcomes me, a burning need to capture the blue-black sheen of the animals’ coats and the way they toss their heads as they wait for their masters to finish.
I drag my gaze from the horses and try to assess what else is happening. I hear more of those sounds—speech sounds—like I heard the line keeper using, and I’m both perplexed and intrigued. The noises are nonsensical, but some intrinsic part of me understands that they are a means of communication, the sort of vocalization referred to in our ancient records. I wonder how long it takes to learn speech like that. I’m already swimming in more sounds and stimuli than I can keep track of. In fact, the mixture of so many different noises coming from so many different people is starting to make my head hurt again.
But even if I can’t understand the words, I recognize the signs of quarrel. The man sitting in the lead wagon is even fatter than the line keeper, and it’s clear he’s upset about something. The guards appear equally annoyed, and the sounds coming out of all their mouths grow increasingly louder as the discussion continues. The animosity radiating from all of them unnerves me.
At one point, the man in the wagon opens a crate and lifts out a bolt of yellow silk. Li Wei and I both gasp. Never have I seen such a thing. Any silk that made its way to our village was already in scraps, at best, used only as adornment for those of high rank. To see a swathe of it like this is mesmerizing. Equally astonishing is its color, a rich, vibrant gold that is far superior to any dye we’ve ever managed to manufacture.
Perhaps he is the king, suggests Li Wei. How else would he have such luxury? It would also explain how he’s able to eat so much.
I don’t think so, I reply, observing the argument. I don’t think the guards would be having this kind of dispute with a king.
The guards eventually insist on checking every crate in the wagon, much to the annoyance of their owner and those in line on the road. Several people, apparently the man’s servants, look weary and wander from the wagon as the guards conduct their search. I continue watching with wide eyes as more and more exquisite bolts of silk are revealed in an unending rainbow of colors. Only in my dreams have I envisioned such radiance.
How will we get in? asks Li Wei. If they’re this cautious about cloth, they’re probably extra suspicious of outsiders—especially based on the line keeper’s reaction.