She Will Not Starve
"Man. Those ladies of the house look delicate enough, but they're iron women through and through. They've been running a household with no man in it, and for years now, every single day from early morning until late afternoon, without missing one, they cook porridge and give a free bowl to anyone who's hungry. I went in and ate some myself. The two of them looked after the people eating with real care. They spread straw mats across that whole wide courtyard and even set out tables so folks could eat, and as they walked among them they made sure no one felt too ashamed to take a mouthful. Anyone who was sick, they pressed medicinal herbs right into their hands. The herbs didn't seem all that costly, but given how hard things are in Cheongguk right now, it's enormous."
The moment Yuk-ho finished, O-ho added his own piece.
"From what I hear, from Seol Woo-chan on down, everyone in that house eats only one meal a day. That's why they're so thin. They say they keep it to a single meal so even one more person can have porridge. So whether someone's eaten their porridge or not, if they come by anything at all, they sneak it to the front gate for the household and leave it there. And I heard even that gets cooked into porridge and fed to people."
"The people are hiding them."
Mui murmured it almost to himself. Across from him on the diagonal, Sa-ho, working through a bowl of rice in hot broth, nodded.
"They are. Most likely they're people who've taken what that house gives. Hiding someone the king is hunting means putting your life on the line. Not just anyone can do it. They're probably treating the two of them right now. Even if both recover and walk out on their own feet, those people will try to stop them. Everyone's saying that if they're dragged before the king, they'll die. Which is why finding them has only gotten harder."
Mui nodded, rose, and walked out of the tavern. The six fell in around him as if it were the most natural thing in the world, pairing off two by two ahead and behind.
As they neared a fork, Mui traded a look with all six.
He turned down toward the broad avenue, and Yi-ho, O-ho, and Yuk-ho went with him. The rest kept straight on along the narrower road.
The great gate of the mansion the late king had personally bestowed upon his loyal subject Seol Woo-chan stood shut fast.
All day the starving had come and gone through it in a restless stream. Only now did it look almost at ease, as if it were finally being allowed to rest.
People passing the gate bowed as they went, though no one had told them to. It was a bow of thanks for generosity given without stint, and a prayer, too, that the two lords would come home safe.
A few sacks sat before the gate, left by hands no one could name, and not a soul touched them.
Four soldiers, posted at a distance on the royal guard captain's orders to watch who came and went through Seol Woo-chan's gate, felt the weight of it in their chests. They were watching because they had been commanded to, and they had no choice, but every one of them held the same wish: that nothing suspicious enough to report would happen at all.
They and their families had received the lord's kindness too. So they deliberately left the side door at the back of the house—the one the servants used—unwatched, and gathered where they could see the main gate.
Mui had been studying that arrangement from afar. With Yi-ho he slipped into the darkness behind the mansion.
O-ho and Yuk-ho were already waiting. On Mui's orders they had stolen inside Seol Woo-chan's residence and looked it over.
"Captain, that son really isn't there. They keep an empty room swept clean, but there's no trace of anyone living in it. The lords' rooms were all empty too. I went to the detached quarters where they say the daughter stays. The lamps were out, but there was a presence inside the room."
"The grandson of Seol Woo-chan—a house brilliant for generations—has been shut up in a temple studying for six years?"
Mui was still muttering to himself when his head snapped around.
Behind the mansion, the side door the servants used opened without a sound, and two figures came out. One was small. The other was tall.
They glanced about, then walked quickly off in the opposite direction from where Mui was hidden, as if nothing at all had happened. For servants, the movements were far too wary.
"Kill your presence. Follow at intervals."
Mui whispered it, smothered his own presence, and went after them.
Yi-ho, O-ho, and Yuk-ho followed at a little distance. They made no footfall at all, and the two who had come out the side door never noticed they were being followed.
"Jin, let's take the long way today."
Jin let out a short breath of a laugh and looked down at Seol A-hwa walking beside him through the back alley.
She was so small she did not even reach his shoulder. Once she put on the clothes commoner men usually wore, she tried, just like this, to force out a man's voice. Hers was far too clear and young for it to do any good—it only drew eyes—and he told her so every day. She only grew prouder, insisting everyone took her for a man and that her disguise was perfect.
"My lady, your voice is even funnier than yesterday."
Ah-hwa jerked her head up and glared at him. He teased her once a day like this, mimicking that voice of hers.
"It is not funny! I sound just like Dol-soe at the smithy!"
"Pfft. So today it was Uncle Dol-soe the blacksmith. And here I thought you were doing a toad."
At the word toad, Ah-hwa's eyes and mouth flew open in horror. Jin looked down at that face, then turned his gaze ahead.
Even with mud smeared over it, her face was lovely. When she was this cute on top of that, it was hard on him.
Ah-hwa walked on, muttering an impression of the blacksmith's voice under her breath, and then she stopped.
From inside a thatched house with its lamps out came the weak cry of a baby. The sound broke off now and then, as if the child had wept itself empty, or was too hungry to have any strength left.
Jin studied Ah-hwa's profile for a moment, then stepped carefully into the yard.
"Is anyone there?"
His deep, heavy voice rang low through the house. No answer came back.
When Ah-hwa moved closer, Jin stretched an arm in front of her and stopped her. He went up to the door of the single room and knocked lightly a few times.
He had hoped for an answer. All that rose again was the baby's broken crying.
Jin opened the door. In the dark a woman lay face-down, as if she had collapsed, and beside her a baby lay writhing. The infant was not yet old enough to roll over, and seemed to lack even the strength to thrash. It only opened its mouth and cried.
Jin went in, gathered the baby up, and handed it to Ah-hwa.
She took the child with practiced ease and patted it. Whether the warmth of her arms was a comfort, or the baby was simply too spent to cry any longer, it fell asleep.
In that time Jin went back into the room and checked the woman.
She was dead, just as he had expected. When he saw him lift the body to carry it out into the yard, Ah-hwa shut her eyes and drew a long breath, fighting her tears.
Not even ten days after the husband had died, the wife had died as well, leaving a young baby behind. Ah-hwa had seen so much death that she ought to have grown numb to it. She had not. Every time she faced the dead, her heart still tore. She could not even begin to imagine what a mother felt, dying and leaving a child this small.
Jin laid the woman down in the yard, went back for a thin quilt, and covered her.
Leave a body out in a yard like this, and men from the government office would come through the neighborhood from early morning, load the dead onto carts, and throw them into a pit on the mountain. At first the office had not done so. Then the dead were left to rot inside the capital. The stench grew foul, maggots seethed, and stray dogs dragged dismembered corpses out into the main streets. Fearing pestilence, the authorities had begun disposing of the bodies. Even that was only because the capital lay close to the palace. It did not reach beyond the city.
Ah-hwa crouched beside the dead woman with the baby in her arms and closed the eyes that had been staring wide.
Ah-hwa's calm voice was heavy with the weight of a promise.
"Jin, let's go straight there. I need to get something into this little one."
She carefully drew the quilt up over the woman's face and stood.
Jin moved faster, because he knew that if he did not do it, Ah-hwa would. He went back and forth between the single room and the kitchen, setting things in order with practiced hands. There was little to set in order. The household had almost nothing. Was it not said to be the courtesy the living owed the dead?
"What a pretty little one you are. Do you know that if you cry, your mother can't set her heart at ease on the road to the afterlife?"
She was just about to step past the fence with the sleeping baby in her arms when a sudden dizziness swept across her eyes and her body swayed.
"Ah—?"
Two hands came in all at once, caught her at the shoulder and the waist as if to hold her up, and drew her in.
In an instant she and the baby were against a solid chest. Ah-hwa's heart raced, terrified she might drop the child.
"Damn. You all right?"
At the low, heavy voice coming down over her head, Ah-hwa's face snapped up.
A tall, solidly built man stood with the moonlight at his back, looking down at her. His expression was indifferent. The moment she registered how close that handsome face was, both her cheeks flushed hard.
"Uh—ah—yes."
Ah-hwa, who never lost her composure no matter the moment, found her words stuck and stammered.
Hearing her answer, he took a step back and let go. There was no selfish intent in the touch at all.
"Thank you. Because of you, I didn't drop the baby."
Flustered, she forgot even to disguise her voice and offered the thanks in her own. The man who had caught her only nodded once, turned, and walked away. It seemed he had merely been passing, and had caught her when she looked about to fall.
"My lady, what happened?"
Jin, who had been checking the kitchen stove last of all, came running. He had not seen the man catch her as she nearly went down—only Ah-hwa bowing her thanks—and the sight had startled him.
"Nothing. I missed my step and nearly fell, and that gentleman caught me. Thanks to him I didn't drop the baby. That was nearly a disaster."