#TheMoonsHindMostWound

2. The Moon in a Sty 豚小屋に宿る月

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#wss366 #MastoPrompt

Basen and Mao passed the guards and entered the inn. The air inside was as noxious as the courtyard had been filthy. This was not a place for Jinshi. Who knew what foul toxins #distilled in this fetid environment?

Mao surveyed the room. Soldiers slept under tables while a worried innkeeper served thin millet stew to the soldiers who were still awake. Seeing the innkeeper’s filthy apron and grimy hands dashed Mao’s waning hopes of being fed. She would skip eating, hungry or not.

The smell of huangjiu and millet wine hung in the air: a sour, stale odor. The fresh smell of recently served beverages was absent. Willingly or not, the troops were sober. The captain of the guard was on top of things, keeping the troops ready for anything.

Basen led her across the floor to the cloth-covered doorway that probably led to the owner’s quarters. A shaman’s #ward against disease was crudely painted on the blanket. Mao had never noticed they did any good, but they did no harm.

Her guild stopped, waving away the two guards standing there. “The Moon Prince sustained a wound in a sensitive place,” he began in a low voice. His mouth tightened. “And for reasons you know, the royal doctors cannot treat this wound.”

Maomao didn’t need the reminder. There were things about Jinshi’s body that were best left unspoken.

“That is one reason we summoned you. You are also the best person to treat a poisoned arrow wound. I needn’t tell you that this is all secret. We are circulating the story that the prince has detoured to a small lake and is recreating there. You have called to keep him company.”

Mao wasn’t happy about being summoned to “keep Jinshi company.” The implications would make her life difficult, but she could deal with that later. She would ask them to change the story. They had wanted her either because of a rare medicinal plant or because a minor official had been poisoned. Either excuse would be better.

Entering the room, she noticed it had been hastily cleaned and a brazier lit to warm it. Jinshi lay pale and still on his travel bed.

She stopped, and the words, “This is bad,” escaped her.

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#TheMoonsHindMostWound.

3. The Hind Most Wound

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The Moon Prince lay under thick blankets, head #cushioned on a rolled-up cloak. Even from afar, Mao could make out his sickly green pallor, his labored breathing, and his slack skin. A lone woman was watching him silently from the corner.

“I’ll need hot water,” she said. The room was now her territory. Short of a high noble, no one would question her here. “Be sure it’s boiled, and have someone with clean hands do it. Not ‘Filthy Hands’ out there. Also, bring the finest clean cloth you can, and plenty of it. I can use coarse cloth or cotton batting for some of it. I have alcohol, but I may need more. Get the strongest you can find. No one’s private stash is exempt.”

“I’ll get right to it,” Basen said, but instead of leaving, he #snapped his fingers at the young woman in the corner. Mao frowned. The girl had been watching, sharp-eyed despite her silence. Snapping was wasteful noise, like shouting orders at a wall. Still, the woman neither flinched nor looked away. That steadiness was more interesting to Mao than Basen’s brusqueness.

“Meiling (美玲),” Basen continued. “You’ll help Maomao. Do whatever she asks! Anything!” He turned to Mao. “You can trust her. She’s reliable and knows about the Moon’s lotus mark. There’s just one thing: she can’t talk. It was deemed most suitable for someone who would serve the Moon Prince so closely.”

Meiling, “Beautiful Tinkling Jade,” Mao thought, an ironic name for a mute. Then, she turned to Jinshi.

The first thing she noticed when she removed the blankets was the bandage on the prince’s flank. Seepage stained the freshly applied cloth greenish-yellow.

As she removed the bandage, she asked, “Did you apply this?”

She glanced back and saw the girl nod.

Mao pointed to the stains. “Any change?”

The girl motioned, indicating less.

“Is he more or less active? Moaning? Rolling? Anything?”

Again, Meiling slowly brought her hands together.

“Less? That’s serious,” Mao said.

Mao returned her attention to the patient. The flesh around the wound was white. When she pressed on the tissue, she found it hard. Thin, yellowish-green fluid oozed from the wound. Mao sniffed it and wrinkled her nose. She pressed again harder noting the lack of reaction by the Prince. As she had suspected, the poisoning was quite advanced.

“Dispose of this bandage where no one will find it,” Mao ordered the woman. “Then get Basen. I have more questions. You can take his place in gathering my items. I’ll send for you as soon as I can.”

Continued next week in Detective MoaMoon 探偵猫月

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#TheMoonsHindMostWound

4. Detective MoaMoon 探偵猫月

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#wss366

When Basen reentered the chamber, he had the requested cloth under one arm and held a steaming kettle. “You wanted me?” he asked.

“I want to see the would-be assassin and the arrow that caused this wound, as well as anything else associated with the incident. Put the cloth over there and the kettle on the brazier.

“The assassin escaped. A watch is out for a wounded person, but if the person has allies…” He shrugged helplessly and lifted a blanket covering a table near the door, revealing a broken arrow, a plain hair stick with a few strands of hair, and some blood-soaked leaves.

Mao almost brushed aside the leaves wondering why they had been brought. Basen divined her thoughts explained. “We brought everything. I knew you’d be asking. I didn’t know what would be useful.”

Mao nodded. That was best if they’d only brought what appeared useful, some seemingly unimportant clue-bearing items would now be absent. She stirred the leaves looking but found nothing.

“Any footprints?”

“Small, clad in light traveling shoes.”

She turned from that to identifying the poison. If she could heal Jinshi, she would leave the rest to others.

First, she examined the arrow. Its tip was narrow, grooved along the sides, and slightly blunted.

While not an archer, she surmised it was designed to carry poison rather than strike lethally. Whoever made this knew what they were doing. Not a local, though the taper and polish weren’t typical of Li soldiers.

Blood had washed the tip clean of poison, so there was nothing more she could learn from it. With a heavy sigh, she returned to her inquiry into the culprit. Perhaps the poison’s origin would hold a clue.

She returned what she held to the table and picked up the fletched end. The feathers were tan with some yellow along the edge, nothing she recognized. She looked up at Basen. “Do you recognize this feather?”

“No, it’s not something we use around here. I can ask around.”

“In a moment, I may have other questions.”

She picked up the hair stick and hair, rolling the hair between her fingers.

"It's dyed with something permanent, but look—red roots." She showed it to Basen, who nodded.

Finally, she examined the hair stick itself, running a finger along the grain. Interesting. Jichimu. The wood was a specialty item not found in the #market. No average soldier or paid assassin could afford this.

New, the stripes haven’t mellowed. She sniffed the wood, noting the scent of sesame oil and freshly worked wood: sweet, light, and fleeting. “Very new. Only a few days old. While you're finding out about the feather, also check for a local craftsman. Someone who works with fine wood, maybe a foreigner. But do nothing yet and be sure not to arouse any suspicions.”

Continued next week in Bleeding Moon 出血月

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#TheMoonsHindMostWound.

5. Pigeon Moon 鳩の月

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#wss366 #MastoPrompt #ScribesAndMakers

Satisfied that she had learned all she could about the assassin, Mao waved Basen away. "Send Tinkle in," she said. "And don't come back until you are called. If you hear something, pretend you didn't. You don't want to be here."

Crag-like furrows reappeared on Basen’s forehead. Mao held her breath. It really was better for him not to be there. He might try to stop her, and the emperor would hold him accountable if something went wrong.

Basen pulled a face as if he had swallowed vinegar and said, “Guess that makes me the fourth monkey. Blind, deaf, dumb… and Basen, none the wiser.”

Mao just blinked. Was he trying to be funny at a time like this?

Basen glanced over at Jinshi, shook his head, and muttered, “Tiss #folly.”

As he left, candlelight #shone on Basen’s face, highlighting #pigeon-gray strands among his black hair. "Serving a master like Jinshi must be hard," she thought. "And today will earn him a few more."

Continued next week in Bleeding Moon 出血月

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#TheMoonsHindMostWound.

6. Bleeding Moon 出血月

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Shortly after Basen left, Tinkle arrived with additional cloth and a flask of spirits.

Mao took the flask and set up a table with her tools next to Jinshi's prone body. Among them was a slender, sharp lancet.

"Please get me a clean bowl or vessel for liquid. It must be clean."

She frowned, then continued, “Then I’ll need your help. If you’re going to be squeamish about blood, then leave. I won't hold you back. If things go wrong, it will cost us our lives. Decide by the time you get back.”

The girl soon returned with a bowl and handed it to Mao.

“Hold the bowl so it catches any blood,” Mao said. “Be careful not to cast a shadow on the patient. When I ask for a cloth, hand me one. There is an iron in the brazier. If I need it, fetch it instantly.”

#Loosing no time, the woman nodded, moved the candle to better illuminate Jinshi, and picked up the bowl again.

Mao nodded almost imperceptibly in approval. She wouldn't need to worry about her help.

"I'm going to bleed the wound to remove as much poison as possible. That just leaves the tainted blood that has already spread to his body."

The woman nodded again and stood ready.

After washing the area with alcohol, Mao carefully cut two diagonal lines across the wound, ensuring it bled freely.

Mao glanced at her aide once. Satisfied, she looked back at her work. Tinkle held the bowl steady and deftly handed her the cloth when needed.

Mao gently massaged the tissue around the wound.

"Hand me the packets next to the cotton," Mao said. Tinkle held them out to her, the bowl barely trembling.

Mao tore open the packet and began sprinkling its contents onto the wound. The faint smell of #gall scented the air as she did so. "That's to help stop the bleeding."

"Cloth," she ordered.

Again, it was handed to her flawlessly, and she bandaged the wound while applying gentle pressure to the area.

"If you have any gods, pray to them." Not having much faith in gods herself, Mao didn’t follow her own advice. Beyond downcast eyes, it didn't appear that Tinkle did either.

“He should live for a while,” Mao resumed. “Hopefully, that will give us enough time to identify the poison and find an antidote.”

Continued next week

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