Soundless by Richelle Mead

Author:Richelle Mead
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2015-10-06T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 10

OUR GUIDE LEADS US around and in between buildings, taking a path so convoluted that I soon lose all sense of where the market is. We leave it far behind us along with a lot of the more populated areas—which makes me uneasy. This stranger spoke of saving us from danger, but is it possible we’re simply walking into a trap?

At last, we reach what appears to be the opposite side of the township. I can see the towering wooden wall in the distance, but it isn’t our final destination. Instead, our guide takes us to a squat two-story building with minimal decoration. Painted characters on the front read: Red Myrtle Travelers’ Inn. With a quick gesture, we are beckoned around the back side of the building, to a nondescript door.

After glancing around to make sure we’re alone, our guide pushes back her hood, and I am surprised to see she is our age and exceptionally pretty. She opens the door and starts to step through, pausing when she notices we don’t follow. It’s okay, she says. No one will hurt you here.

Who are you? I ask.

And what is this place? Li Wei demands.

My name is Xiu Mei, the girl replies. I work at this inn. I am its . . . The word she signs isn’t one I know. Seeing our confusion, intrigue lights her features. Your language must be different. Come in, and we will get something to write with. Don’t sign until we’re secure.

Li Wei and I exchange uncertain glances. I honestly don’t know if we can trust anyone in this strange place, but at least Xiu Mei isn’t openly shunning us like the vendors in the market. There is something open and disarming about her face, and the fact that she can use our language—or something like it—goes a long way toward providing a glimpse of order in what’s otherwise a thoroughly chaotic situation. After a moment of hesitation, we follow her.

We step into a kitchen like no kitchen I’ve ever seen. Steam bellows from pots on a hot stove, making the small space hot and stuffy. I’m assaulted with smells I’ve never encountered before, probably from foods I’ve never encountered before. This isn’t like our kitchen at home, with only a scarce handful of ingredients to carefully parse out. Here, two women and one boy scurry busily around, working with a vast array of vegetables and meats, sprinkling them with powders I’ve never seen. I feel my mouth begin to water and see a similar hunger in Li Wei’s awestruck expression.

And, of course, there are sounds. So many sounds, most of which I don’t have names for. Pots and pans are tossed heedlessly around, dishes set down without ceremony. Food dropped into hot skillets of oil makes a noise that leaves me staring, one never described by Feng Jie. Mixed with all this is the sound of human conversation, each of the workers chattering away as they go about their tasks. One of them sees us and gives us a polite nod, then says something directly to Xiu Mei.

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