If Guet Imm had been in seclusion for a decade, shut off from news of the world, it perhaps explained why she had not known all this. Still …
“Didn’t you find it weird when your tokong was burnt down?” said Tet Sang. “That’s not the kind of thing that happens in a country at peace.”
“It’s not like I saw who did it,” said Guet Imm, with uncharacteristic shrewishness. “There was nobody left to explain after I got out of my cell. Of course I knew there were problems. But even when I went to town and got a job, nobody talked about a war.”
“Nobody talks about it. It’s not that kind of war.”
“What kind of war is it, then?” said Guet Imm. She looked like she wanted to hit Tet Sang. “A secret war? I’ve never heard of such a thing!”
“Yes,” said Tet Sang. “Open death, open atrocity, open persecution. But a silent war. It’s safer to be silent in these times.”
Guet Imm bit her lip. For a while, neither spoke.
“How long has the country been at war?” she said finally.
“You mean this current war, or including the one before it also?”
“I don’t know!” said Guet Imm. “I had no idea. I had no idea.”
Tet Sang saw with an unpleasant shock that her eyes were full of tears. He raised his hand to pat her on the shoulder but thought better of it.
“The world changed while you were praying, sister,” he said after a pause. It was the closest he could get to saying he was sorry.
* * *
Tet Sang was to meet his contact in the back room of a tailor’s shop. He’d supposed the choice of location was because it was a front for illegal activities, but the real reason became clear when they approached the row of shophouses. The tailor occupied the lot at the very end, next to the river. Outside the entrance, trailing its branches in the water, was a willow tree.
“Religious people,” muttered Tet Sang under his breath. It did not matter so long as the buyer paid up. But the sight of the tree had given him a nasty jolt.
Of course he was with the only member of the group who would recognise the symbol, even if she didn’t know what it signified on this particular occasion.
Guet Imm said instantly, with delight, “The emblem of the deity!” The Pure Moon was often depicted holding a willow branch, as a ward against evil. “Is that the shop we’re going to, brother? That’s a very good omen!”
“Why don’t you go and find your herbalist?” said Tet Sang. It had been a couple of years since he had last been to Sungai Tombak, but it was a place to which change came slowly. “There should be one two streets over, if you turn left down there.” He pointed.
Guet Imm looked hurt.
“I thought I was coming with you,” she protested. “I could help with negotiations.”
This might have worked on Ah Hin. Tet Sang was unmoved.
“I’m going straight back to camp when I’m finished,” he said. “You want your rags, you better go get them now.”
Guet Imm gave a dramatic sigh, but Tet Sang raised an eyebrow, waiting. After a moment, she spread her hands, smiling ruefully. “You can’t blame me for trying, brother!”
“Watch the hem of your own sarong,” Tet Sang told her, but he was perturbed to realise that he didn’t in fact blame her. He found himself wanting to answer with a smile of his own.
The word jampi flitted through his mind—but that was the sort of witchcraft people who didn’t know anything about the Order of the Pure Moon thought her followers indulged in. Tet Sang knew better.
He stood watching Guet Imm till she had turned off the road and was lost to sight. Only once he was certain she was not coming back did he go into the tailor’s shop. He was dissatisfied with himself, full of a vague unease.
Signs and portents; a sense of the world of seen things as shifting sands concealing a hidden core of marvels and terrors … he’d thought he’d left all of that behind long ago. But some forms of folly, like love and religion, were like lalang. Once established, they were almost impossible to eradicate.
The contact waiting in the dim back room of the tailor’s shop brought Tet Sang down to earth. A bespectacled man with slick hair and the alert lidless eyes of a gecko, he seemed cleanly and decent, like a clerk. At the same time, there was something off-putting about him—one would not be surprised to hear that he embezzled funds or slapped his mother-in-law.
Tet Sang disliked him on sight, but there was something reassuring about him. Here was a person who belonged to Tet Sang’s life as it was now.
“Mr Ng?” said Tet Sang. “I’m Lau’s agent.”
The contact gave him a disapproving once-over, not bothering to return Tet Sang’s bow. “You have the objects?”
Tet Sang inclined his head. “You have the money?”
Ng’s frown deepened. “I must examine the items first. Make sure they are authentic. Nowadays, there are a lot of fakes on the market, con men trying to pass off all kinds of rubbish.”
“Not Lau Fung Cheung,” said Tet Sang. He didn’t so much as raise his voice, but Ng shut up. “Of course you will get to examine the goods before paying,” he continued. “But I want to see the money first. You haven’t shown any proof of who you’re acting for.”
Ng flushed, but he glanced back at the shop, where the tailor and his sons were at work. Mr Tan and his sons were each six feet tall and half again as wide, and their custom came entirely from the town’s rich families, who were connected with the Tang wealthy all over the peninsula—a golden network, exerting significant influence even in these troubled times.
The thought of the tailor’s dependency on his boss no doubt comforted Ng. He reached into his robes, producing a handful of cash.
“The rest is in a chest in front there,” he said, jerking his head at the shop. “Mr Tan is looking after it for me.”
“The balance, as agreed?” said Tet Sang. They had already been paid half the purchase price as a deposit.
“You can count the money when I’ve examined the goods,” said Ng.
Tet Sang nodded. He put his pack on the table between them and lifted out the goods one by one. They were wrapped in cloth, so he did not need to touch them directly. But though it was through him that Fung Cheung had got the goods, Tet Sang had had nothing more to do with them since, except to carry the pack. He was not prepared for the faint scent of incense that rose from the bundles.
It was like being punched in the gut. He froze, bent over and gasping. While he breathed through the shock, Ng reached out, a covetous light in his eye.
Ng pulled back the cloth on a bundle, revealing a gold chalice carved in the form of a lotus. It was exquisite—the product of years of painstaking work by craftswomen of the highest order—but the real treasure was tucked in the heart of the lotus, cradled by its petals.
“Ah!” breathed Ng. Recollecting himself, he assumed an unimpressed air. “You have proof that’s real gold?”
Tet Sang gave him an incredulous look. Before he could answer, a screech like the battle cry of a cat made them jump. A grey-robed wind swept through the room, seizing the chalice.
“Oi!” shouted Ng.