Jin Ying’s brush danced across the page, and he permitted himself a small, secret smile. This was the magic of creation, watching the image – a sunbird – come to life on the page before him. His secret pleasure, a reprieve from the tedious task of transposing scholarly texts and articles. The sunbird had fluttered into his life that morning, shortly after he had taken the master his morning cup of tea. It had darted between the newly-flowering peach trees, dipping its long, curved bill into the ripe, pink blossoms. Sunlight had caressed its feathers, cloaking it in a glorious shimmer of blue, green, and gold. The tiny bird had captivated his thoughts ever since, begging him to set its image to paper. A satisfied smile, the ink was complete. Time, now, to add the colors. He narrowed his eyes in concentration, studying the array of worn and chipped ink-sticks, nestled in their beautifully carved, albeit rather battered, wooden case. Ultramarine, definitely, but perhaps also a hint of jade. The required quantities were ground into his ink-stone, enough water added to create the ink, and it was time to bring his bird into glorious, colorful, life. Delicate brushstrokes, following the contours of the feathers. So deep was Jin Ying’s concentration, so deep his focus, that he failed to hear the footsteps behind him, until there came a low soft cough. Little more than a gentle clearing of the throat, but it broke him from his artistic trance, and he jumped. The brush skittered, leaving a deep blue-green slash across the cloth.
“Jin Ying,” the master’s husky voice held an edge that gripped the young monkey’s heart, and squeezed.
“My apologies, master,” Jin Ying turned, stood, and bowed his head in shame. “Please forgive my little hobby.”
“Hobby?” The elderly langur leaned over the parchment, so close that his thick white mane almost brushed the desk. His forehead creased. “Your workmanship shows an appreciable level of skill, scribe.”
Jin Ying felt his ears flush warm at the unexpected praise. He kept his head bowed, lest his master might see his pleasure at the compliment. “You are truly generous,” he replied.
“However,” his master continued, “this was not your prescribed task, was it just?”
Jin Ying inhaled sharply and rose his gaze to meet his master’s bright eyes. “No master, it was not.” He tried to keep his voice steady, appropriately contrite, and not betray the fear that grasped his heart. It was late, the other scribes had long since retired to their shared dormitory – and he thought their master would have done the same. “I am sorry to disappoint you.”
“Disappoint me?” The laughing edge to the master’s tone made the young monkey flinch in surprise. “No, young scribe, I am pleased to find you awake; it was you that I wished to speak with.” He reached into his sleeve and drew out a scroll of parchment, unrolling and flattening it on the bench beside them. The image of a mouse peered up at them, its eyes bright and whiskers bristling. “This is your illustration, is it not?”
“It is.” Jin Ying’s stomach churned with a combination of excitement and fear. The mouse had been one of his first, a hasty painting on a tattered fragment of cloth salvaged from the rag pile. He had given it away, the child – the daughter of one of the scholars, most likely – had seemed so sad, playing in the gardens, by herself. He had wanted to cheer her up.
“Excellent. Now, you must come with me. Our honorable guest wishes to meet with you.”
Their honorable guest? Visitors to the scriptorium were not uncommon – scholars frequently sought scribes to replicate their articles and treatises, and merchants would require the services of a scribe – but none had ever asked to speak with him – or , to the best of his knowledge, any specific scribe – before. Somehow his work must have fallen into the hands of someone distinguished – and they wished to meet him! He bowed, extinguished the candle-lantern, and followed his master from the room. It was a struggle to contain his growing excitement and keep his steps small, paced to not overtake the slower, slightly shuffling gait of the aging langur.
The master guided him towards the reception room, pausing before it so that Jin Ying could open the door for him. He stepped through first, bowed low to the figure seated in the ornately carved guest chair, and waited until his master had entered before he rose upright and saw their honorable guest properly.
A refined monkey with lustrous black fur, tinted lightly with silver, his face was flattened, nostrils wide, the skin such a pale white that it was almost translucent. His robes were delicately embroidered, golden-brown with hints of red. He rose at their entrance and greeted them with a nod.
“This is the artist?” His voice was softer than Jin Ying had expected, with a musical edge to it.
“Most honorable guest, Zhang Xi,” the master replied, “I present to you the scribe, Jin Ying.”
Jin Ying stepped forward and knelt before Zhang Xi. “At your service,” he said, lowering his head in submission. One heartbeat, two, and the monkey’s fingers gently closed on his shoulder.
“The mouse is the work of your hands,” Zhang Xi said, more a statement than a question.
“It is.” Jin Ying peeked up at him.
He waved his hand. “Excellent. Pleased to hear it. Well, now that appropriate formalities have been adhered to, get up off the ground, child.” He patted the armchair beside him. “Be seated. The floor cannot be comfortable.”
Jin Ying perched himself awkwardly in the carved chair. Beautiful it may be, but it was not, exactly, designed for comfort.
“Now, my child, I am not one to thrash wildly about the bush, and as the night grows no shorter, thus shall get straight to the point. I have a proposition for you. One that I have already presented to your scribe-master” – a nod in the master’s direction – “and had accepted. Thus it waits only on your agreement.” He drew a scroll of parchment out from his robes, unrolled it, and looked at Jin Ying expectantly.
“Excuse me,” Jin Ying ventured, “what is it that I am agreeing too?”
“Oh yes.” Zhang Xi gave a faint, embarrassed cough. “I am, as you may have heard, a scholar of the sciences, with a particularly interest in flora and fauna of distant countries.”
Jin Ying had not heard, but felt it unwise to interrupt. He nodded instead.
“A decade ago, our wise and generous Emperor proposed a treaty with our distant, barbarous cousins to the south,” Zhang Xi continued. “An island known as Madigaska. It is, so the early traders have claimed, a land of mysterious creatures, the likes of which have never been seen in the continent. And not the least of which are our cousins. As part of the treaty, we are trading our treasures – silk and spices – for their exotic wares. Now, previous voyages have brought back specimens of their exotic wildlife: skins and feathers and dried flowers, but they are useless – utterly useless! – for my purposes.”
To highlight his point, he reached into his robes, drew out a dead bird, and thrust it into Jin Ying’s hands. Jin Ying, surprised – and, in truth, a little repelled – fumbled, and almost dropped it. It was very light, and pitiful; a skin, hollowed of the organs, but still holding the form. The feathers held no lustre.
“What can I learn from a dead bird?” the scholar of the sciences bemoaned. “The size, the shape, yes, perhaps, but there’s no vibrancy, no life. And do you know what?” He pierced Jin Ying with his gaze. The young scribe was startled at the passion burning in those small, dark eyes.
“What?” he whispered.
“I see it in your art,” he said. “Your mouse. My niece showed it to me, she had nothing but warm things to say of your generosity in gifting it to her. When I saw it, I knew. I knew that you were an artist who could capture the spirit of the animal in the stroke of a brush. Far better than this lifeless corpse.” He snatched the bird back from Jin Ying’s hands and thrust it back into the pocket in his robes.
“You wish for me to paint this bird, as though it were alive?” he ventured.
“Yes.” Zhang Xi grinned toothily at him. “I do. So you will sign the contract?”
He thrust it into Jin Ying’s hands and motioned to the scribe-master, who hurried over with an ink-stone and a brush.
It would be a challenge, to bring that dead husk back to life, but Jin Ying could do it. Probably. It was better than copying documents, anyway. He peered at the contract. The script was so small, so precise, and the science scholar’s gaze too eager for him to concentrate long enough to read it. What could be in it anyway? He just had to paint a few birds, after all. He took the brush from the scribe-master and signed his name with a flourish.
“Excellent.” Zhang Xi plucked the contract from his fingers, waving it to dry the ink. “Now, you should sleep, for we must depart on the morrow. The ship leaves on the next full moon, and it is a three-day journey to the harbor.”
Ship? Harbor? The confusion must have shown on Jin Ying’s face because Zhang Xi unleashed a hoot of laughter.
“Oh dear child! Did you think I would task you to bring these useless skins to life? No, my young scribe, you are going to see these birds in the flesh. You are going to Madigaska!”
Fingers clutching the railing tight, Jin Ying struggled to maintain his composure, and contain the contents of his stomach. The Ocean Wind had been riding the waves for several weeks, and his body had failed to forgive him for having the audacity to step from solid ground. She was a beautiful craft, bearing four masts and full sails, her cargo holds filled with silk, seeds, and spices, destined for trade with the lemurs of Madigaska, an island, it was told, was rich with resources. Precious stones scattered the ground like pebbles, and, in the forest grew red-hued trees, their wood impeccable in both texture and density. Between bouts of sickness, Jin Ying had found very little time to talk with his fellow passengers, nor to appreciate the elegant carpentry and sleek grace of the vessel. Instead, he had spent much of his days clutching the railing or curled up on his narrow bunk, wishing for their swift arrival – or, failing that, death. He could well understand why Zhang Xi had declined to undertake the voyage, excusing himself as too old and too frail to weather the distance.
“It cannot be far now,” Lin Junren, a golden-brown macaque and Jin Ying’s cabin-mate, reassured him, slapping him on the shoulder with a little too much jovial force. His eyes gleamed with eager anticipation – he was probably thinking of those precious stones – and he traced one finger around the finely-carved gemstones that adorned his collar. The rough waves appeared not to have upset him at all, and if anything, his belly had grown rather more rotund, even though, to Jin Ying, the food was barely palatable: hard, chewy biscuits and strips of dried meat, supplemented with the occasional freshly-caught fish. The herb-fragrant rice and assorted vegetables of the scriptorium felt like a distant memory. No fresh fruit or vegetables here.
Not that it mattered – nothing stayed down for long anyway.
A white bird soared overhead, long red feathers trailing from its tail like streamers. Jin Ying started, nausea temporarily forgotten. What must it be like to ride the wind so gracefully, to be so free, untethered by the earth?
“Pity I did not bring my bow,” Lin Junren remarked. “Fresh meat would make a welcome change right now.”
Bile rose in Jin Ying’s throat at the thought, and he gagged, leaning over the railing, disgorging the little left in his belly.

~ * ~

“Land ahead!”
The cry came down from the rigging, where the scout, a diminutive langur, perched precariously, clutched his spyglass to one white-ringed eye.
Jin Ying felt the first flutter of excitement he’d experienced since he’d stepped aboard the Ocean Wind. The first, really, since he’d been tricked into undertaking this voyage. Soon he would be able to set his feet upon a ground that did not rock. Unexplored territory, fresh and new, rich with wildlife and possibility. Along with most of those on the deck, he raced to the fore of the ship – somewhat slower, as weeks of little food had sapped him of energy – and joined the cluster of monkeys as they pushed and shoved, all eager for the first sight of their destination.
It shimmered in the distance like a mirage. Lustrous green, rising up, up, up, into mountain peaks, whose crests lightly brushed the clouds. Jin Ying felt his fingers twitch with the eagerness to capture this first glimpse with his inks. It was the first time he had thought of his art in weeks.

The Ocean Wind did not dock straight away, instead she made her way smoothly along the coast, the sanctuary of solid land tantalizingly close. She was not alone. Small single-sailed outrigger canoes bobbed on the waves, their inhabitants staring wide-eyed as the mighty sea-going junk sailed past. Sometimes, across on the shore, smaller lemurs – children, probably – came running out, some bounding into the water, to wave at the ship. Jin Ying couldn’t really see them properly from this distance, but they looked not unlike the monkey-kin, in both size and shape, although some bounded on all fours, and many, the children especially, were not clothed.
“Primitives,” Lin Junren sniffed at his shoulder, and Jin Ying frowned at the disdain in his tone.

~ * ~

After what felt like an eternity, but was really only a few days, The Ocean Wave began to slow her pace and turned her nose towards the land. Here, she drew to a halt. Jin Ying joined Lin Junren by the railing.
“Not long now,” the macaque said, his lips curling into a smile. “What is the first thing you shall do when we reach the shore?”
Jin Ying stared across the water towards the shore. An outrigger canoe cruised towards them. Less than half the length of the sea-faring junk, it appeared to have been hewed from a single hollowed tree-trunk, albeit one of massive proportions, and bore only two sails. Almost a dozen lemurs sat aboard it, with one perched on a platform at the end, steering it.
Beyond them, the land stretched out into the ocean, barely raised above the sea level. It bristled with palm trees, scattered among which were brightly colored stalls. Platforms floated on the water, and to these were moored a number of canoes.
“I shall eat,” Jin Ying replied. “Fruit, probably, or failing that, vegetables of some description.” His stomach, aching and empty, rumbled low and loud in response.
Lin Junren barked a laugh.
“And then I shall sleep,” Jin Ying continued. “What have you planned?”
“Much the same,” the macaque replied. “And I shall sample some of this fruit-flavored rhum that I have heard so much about. Perhaps you would care to join me?”
Jin Ying felt himself flush a little. Alcoholic beverages had been forbidden in the scriptorium. He shook his head quickly in response. A little too quickly.
“Oh, come on,” his cabin-mate laughed, “you are no longer restricted by those old rules. You are in a new country now. New horizons!”
Jin Ying was spared the struggle to find an answer, as the lemurs’s canoe drew up alongside The Ocean Wave and he got his first true glimpse of their distant cousins.
This close, they looked less like monkeys than he had expected. Their fur-less faces were odd, with nose and mouth protruding forward into a muzzle, and instead of flat nostrils they bore fleshy protrusions – like those of the piebald bears that roamed the bamboo forests of Jin Ying’s home. They studied the monkeys with eyes that seemed a little too large, a little too round, not shadowed by their brows. Jin Ying wondered how he must look to them.
A rope snaked down the side of The Ocean Wave, and one of the strangers leaped onto it and scrambled agily aboard. He wore a colorful cape wrapped about his shoulders, another cloth tied about his waist, falling just below his knees. A wooden club hung from his belt. The Imperial Ambassador stepped forward to meet him, sweeping into a bow. A rather low bow, which surprised Jin Ying. This stranger must be of high status.
The lemur bowed somewhat awkwardly in response, clearly unused to the greeting. His muzzle twitched and he gestured to himself. “Hunter Andrian, I am,” he said. “Salama. Is pleasure to meet you.” He spoke the monkey’s language slowly, enunciating the words carefully. Not his native tongue then. Jin Ying hadn’t even considered that – but why should distant relatives share the same language?
“Ambassador Lei Cai,” the ambassador introduced himself. “We are pleased to be among the first to trade with your people.”
Hunter Andrian nodded. “Misaotra. Thank you,” he said, then gestured towards the floating platforms. “To dock, we lead, yes? Reef, he dangerous for big…” – he faltered on the, clearly unfamiliar, word – “big lakana.”
‘Lakana’ – that must be their name for the boats. Jin Ying filed it away for further reference, along with ‘Misaotra’. If the lemurs had learned some of his language, than it was only polite that he learn some of their’s.
“Yes, please,” the ambassador replied. “We would appreciate the escort.”
Hunter Andrian nodded again, before reaching and grabbing Ambassador Lei Cai’s hand. He clasped it, nodded again, then released it and leaped over the side of the ship, back into his canoe. His companions took up their oars and turned it in a wide circle, sweeping wide strokes to guide it back into the harbor. It took The Ocean Wave somewhat longer to follow, as her sails needed to be raised again, and repositioned, so that the wind could carry her in to dock. It was more than enough time for Jin Ying to retrieve his small knapsack – which contained little more than his art supplies, and a few changes of robes – and return to deck in time to watch the agile crew swing and leap from the ship’s deck onto the (rather flimsy) bamboo structure that must be the dock, and secure heavy ropes around the (much sturdier) posts that supported it. Once they seemed satisfied that the ship was secured, the gang plank was lowered. It settled into place with a shuddering thump, that echoed through the ship.
“Ready to go?” Lin Junren appeared at his shoulder, puffing a little beneath the weight of his bulging knapsack.
Jin Ying nodded, and the two joined the shuffling exodus. Hunter Andrian led their small group across the dock – which was as wobbly and unstable as it had looked – and down the broad pathway flanked by palm trees. Lemurs lined the path, staring at the procession with wide eyes. They came in an array of colors: many shades of gray and brown, with others being black, or white, and there were even a few with fur of vivid chestnut red. Their clothing was equally as colorful. They seemed to mostly wear single pieces of cloth, dyed in multiple shades. These were worn wrapped about their bodies, sometimes tied with plaited rope or fabric sashes. Music rose up, the discordant, twangy sound of a string instrument in desperate need of tuning. A small lemur, with thick golden-brown fur and naked as a newborn, scampered four-footed towards Jin Ying. She paused for a moment, regarding him with deep-red eyes. “Salama vazaha!” she squeaked, tapped him gently on the ankle, and ran back to her friends, giggling. They surrounded her, smothering her with fast-paced, foreign chatter and more laughter. Jin Ying did not know whether to feel embarrassed, offended, or amused, but he felt his skin flush. Their incorrigible playfulness was so different from that of the junior novices employed in the scriptorium. The procession had slowed, and now assembled before a low stage, upon which stood a young male lemur. The first of the traders dropped onto their knees, and Jin Ying followed their lead, feeling the grains of sand shift beneath him. He bowed his head in respect.
After a count of three heartbeats, Jin Ying allowed his gaze to rise high enough to study the young male. He looked to be the same species as Hunter Andrian, his black facial mask surrounded by a lustrous white mane, crown and collar furred in black. It was his eyes, however, that made Jin Ying choke back a gasp of surprise, for they were the deep blue of the sky at twilight. Those sapphire eyes surveyed the monkeys, gaze dispassionate; it reminded Jin Ying a little too much of the scribe-master.
“Salama vazaha,” he began, and followed the greeting with a speech in his own tongue. Judging by the shuffling and confusion on the other monkeys’ faces, Jin Ying was not the only one who had not even considered learning the language. Their lack of understanding did not go unnoticed, for the speaker frowned, faltered and growled something to someone standing behind him.
A softer, gently voice responded, and another lemur hopped up onto the platform, to stand beside him. “Misaotra,” she said, “please forgive my brother. He has not time to learn your tongue.” She went on further, introducing her brother (Prince Andrian – it seemed they weren’t particularly original with naming here), and welcoming the monkey traders to the ‘prosperous city of Toamasina’. Jin Ying had difficulty focusing on her words, however, for at the sight of her, his heart begun fluttering like a trapped bird. She was, simply put, the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. In truth, Jin Ying had met few females in his short years of life – the staff at the scriptorium were almost exclusively either male, or ancient, or both. The princess – for she must be a princess if her brother were a prince! – had thick, silky-white fur, her crown touched lightly with silver, and pale gold dusted her arms. Her clothes were finely tailored too. Dyed a deep red, almost the exact shade of her eyes, they laced across the breast and were belted about her slender waist. With discerning gaze she studied the crowd, and for a heartbeat her piercing eyes locked on his. Jin Ying felt his heart clench, and he suddenly found he’d forgotten how to breathe.
“Are you all right?” Lin Junren whispered in his ear, and he turned his head, breaking from the trance.
He nodded quickly, taking a deep shuddering breath.
“Only you squeaked like a newborn mouse,” the macaque continued.
Jin Ying blushed again – this was beginning to become a habit – and glanced back shyly. The princess’s gaze had moved on to alight on one of the other traders – a spice merchant, if Jin Ying recalled correctly. He felt an uncomfortable surge of jealousy, seasoned with relief.
“She is rather appealing,” Lin Junren said, keeping his voice low. “And well-spoken too – for a savage.”
“They’re not savages!” Jin Ying hissed through his teeth, a little too loudly, for his other neighbor glared at him. He let his gaze fall downwards, and began counting grains of sand, in an effort to calm his racing pulse, the stab of anger, and the heat of embarrassment.

“I believe it is an inn – or the local equivalent, at least,” Lin Junren explained, as the two of them followed an eager youngster along another sandy boulevard. “I expect it shall be rudimentary at best, but anything must be better than those wretched bunks, right?”
Jin Ying nodded, only half listening. He still felt unsteady, confused, his mind aflutter and his hands twitching with inspiration. His thoughts were all on her, the beautiful princess, and he paid little heed as palm trees gave way to verdant rainforest.
“Eto!” the youngster declared, stopping suddenly and turning to face them, drawing Jin Ying from his thoughts. The little lemur gestured with one hand at something behind him, before thrusting both before him, palms upraised, in a gesture that required no translation.
“Oh,” Lin Junren remarked. He distractedly dropped a couple of coins into the youngster’s hands – their guide looked down at them, forehead creasing, before sniffing one, and lightly touching it with his tongue. Lin Junren did not appear to notice. “Oh my,” he continued. “That is extraordinary – extraordinarily hideous.”
Jin Ying followed the macaque’s gaze over the youngster’s shoulder, and felt his eyes widen. The macaque was right: the inn was extraordinary. It was a tree-house, and totally unlike the many-tiered pagoda towers, and brick-and-mortar structures of his mountainous home. A haphazard array of platforms balanced on the branches or encircled the trunks of no less than three trees. Some were open-sided, others walled with bamboo, each topped with a conical roof, which made them appear to be wearing hats. Rope bridges – or in several cases, merely ropes – spanned the gaps between the platforms. A breeze danced across from it, bringing with it the fragrance of spices that made Jin Ying’s mouth water. A roof, food, and a floor that didn’t move, what more could he wish for? He bowed his thanks to the guide – who continued to look confused – and marched towards the ground level platform. Lin Junren hastened to join him.
“Salama, vazaha.” A large lemur with striking red fur, trimmed with black along her limbs, greeted them. She gestured to herself “Ny anarako dia Fifaliana,” she said. Then repeated, because clearly they were stupid monkeys who hadn’t bothered to learn her language, “Fifaliana.”
This, Jin Ying, concluded, must be her name.
Fifaliana guided them into a large open-sided pavilion, and gestured at a large bubbling pot, beside which rested a rather poorly stacked pile of bowls. Despite the lack of walls, the smoke from the fire danced across the ceiling and perfumed the room with intoxicating clouds. For Jin Ying, a monkey from the mountains, it was almost unbearably hot.
“Are we expected to serve ourselves?” Lin Junren mumbled.
Jin Ying shrugged. This felt more familiar, and the food did smell good. He used the ladle to fill one of the wooden bowls, receiving a nod of approval from their hostess. No, they were not wooden, in fact, they looked more like the husk of a very large nut. The stew seemed to contain chunks of vegetable – and possibly fruit – simmered in a thick white sauce and seasoned with a dash of crushed herbs. The sauce had an interesting sweet, slightly oily taste, with a hint of crushed nut. It was delicious, and Jin Ying was hungry; he fairly quickly polished off a second bowl of it. Too quickly, for his all-too-recently starved stomach lurched painfully in protest.
After a hasty visit to the latrine (a ditch inside a structure with walls but no roof), Fifaliana escorted the two monkeys to a chamber about halfway up one of the trees. Jin Ying wished he knew how to ask for a single room, but for all her pleasant nods and willingness to please, she seemed unable – or perhaps unwilling – to understand his desire to sleep alone. It was no matter really – one companion was a vast improvement over a dormitory filled with scribes, or a ship’s hold filled with snoring traders and sailors, for that matter. Lin Junren wandered in first, before turning around and staring at Jin Ying, his features furrowed in perplexity.
“There’s no bed!” he said.
Jin Ying stepped past him, and understood his confusion. There were four supporting beams, spaced evenly about the circular room, each bisected with three horizontal cross pieces. Between them, bamboo poles, tied together, formed the walls, through which the dying sunlight filtered, laying a pattern of stripes across the woven mats that covered the wooden floor. A small, low, table stood in the center. Scattered on the floor were a couple of flat cushions, and a large wicker basket sat against one of the walls. There was no sleeping platform, or even a wooden bunk.
“Do we sleep on the floor?” Lin Junren knelt down and mimed, rather exaggeratedly, sleeping.
Fifaliana barked a laugh and shook her head. She strolled over the basket and reached inside, pulling out what appeared to be a tangle of ropes. With more pantomime and a small level of frustration, she showed Jin Ying how to clamber up the cross-pieces and hook both ends of the net onto opposite supporting beams. The two monkeys regarded the outcome – it looked like a fisherman’s net – with no small level of trepidation.
“I can’t sleep on that!” Lin Junren objected, as Jin Ying and Fifaliana strung up a second, crossing diagonally above it. “I am not a spider.” The macaque made a valiant effort, however, heaving himself into the lower hammock. Unfortunately, he leaned too far, and it tipped him out onto the ground. He laughed about it, stood up, dusted himself off, and tried again – this time with more success. “Pass me a cushion,” he instructed Jin Ying, who, somewhat bemused, passed it to him.
Fifaliana gestured at Jin Ying, suggesting that he too, might like to climb into the higher one, but Jin Ying declined, patting his knapsack. He had something he needed to do first. It took a little longer to convince Fifaliana that there would be no further amusement for her tonight, but finally she nodded and bid them, “Tsara mandry,” before departing. As soon as the curtain swung over the doorway behind her, Jin Ying began unpacking his bag.
The candle-lantern had survived the journey unscathed, well wrapped within his robes, and he set it atop the table, lighting it with a quick flick of the wrist. It took only a little longer to remove his sketch-book, open up his art box, fetch out his charcoal pencils, and immerse himself in his art. His fingers darted lightening quick across the page, itching to transform his memory into an illustration. Jin Ying began, lightly, with the general outline, then added in the finer details. He was adding a gleam to the eye, when a light cough drew him from his artistic trance, and he glanced up, to find Lin Junren gazing down at him.
“You’re very good,” the macaque said, whilst Jin Ying tried, in vain, to obscure what he was drawing, feeling the now-too familiar heat of embarrassment flare across his face. “You’ve captured her likeness disturbingly well. How do you remember all the details?”
Embarrassment turned to the faint hum of pleasure, which Jin Ying quickly tried to quench. Pride led to arrogance, after all. “When I see a thing of beauty,” Jin Ying attempted to explain, “it leaves an imprint in my mind. And I cannot rest until I have cast it out onto paper.”
“A thing?” Lin Junren laughed.
“Or an animal, or a person,” Jin Ying amended, studying his hands.
The macaque shook his head. “Oh dear,” he sighed. “We have been here less than a day, and already Jin Ying is in love.”
“I am not,” he muttered, picking at the bits of charcoal that had buried themselves beneath his nails. “Finding something – someone! – beautiful does not mean that you love them.”
Lin Junren rose his brows questioningly. “Doesn’t it?”
“No,” he retorted. “Besides, how can I love her? I do not even know her name!” It felt like a weak argument, even as he said it, and he felt the admittance like a hollow ache in his chest.
She was a princess, he just a humble scribe.
And he didn’t even know her name.
Why were there so many musical instruments playing?
Jin Ying mumbled and opened his eyes, blinking furiously as the world came into focus. He could feel the soft lump of a cushion beneath his head, and his fingers stroked the woven mat.
“He rises!” A voice boomed out, and Lin Junren loomed into view, freshly groomed and looking rather brighter and more cheerful than Jin Ying could deal with right now.
“Why am I on the floor?” he asked, struggling to sit up.
“You fell out of your net.” Lin Junren grasped his forearm and helped him upright. “I was quite concerned that you may have cracked your skull open, but I guess it’s thicker than I thought, as you merely rolled over, grabbed the cushion and went to sleep. Slept clean through breakfast too! Indeed, I was starting to grow rather concerned. How do you feel?”
Jin Ying stood and stretched. “A bit stiff,” he said. That was nothing new, the floor had been no harder than the wooden plank bed aboard the ship, and the cushion was quite an improvement over the paper-thin pillows in the scriptorium. “Why is it so noisy? Is there some sort of festival on?”
The plump macaque barked a laugh. “A festival? That’s the birds. Noisy, aren’t they?”
“Birds?” He rubbed his eyes. A familiar pain stabbed him behind the eyes but, as the scribemaster frequently repeated: ‘If it does not hurt, that means it is not working.’
“Birds. Here, drink some of this, it’ll wake you right up.” A bowl was pressed into his hands, heat leeched through and almost scalded his palms. The scent was aromatic and strong, cutting like a knife through the clouded haze that fuzzed his senses. “What is it?”
“Coffee,” Lin Junren informed him.
Jin Ying sipped it gingerly. The taste was almost like a kick in the head, with the faintest undertone of fruit and honey. “From the lemurs?”
“No, I bought it from one of the lutung we picked up in the archipelago. Kopi luwak, it’s called. Cost me a polished nephrite. Worth it though – it’s good stuff, is it not?”
He braved another sip. The second mouthful tasted better than the first. “It’s certainly different,” was about the closest he could come to agreeing with his companion’s claim. “What have you planned for today?”
“Today? Well, I thought I would scour the local markets, see what gemstones they have up for sale, possibly talk to a couple of the prospectors.” He scratched his head. “The language is going to be a problem though. Nobody thought to mention that they speak a different tongue.” His frown turned to a slightly mocking grin, targeted directly at Jin Ying. “Might have to see if I can track down your lemur-love. And there must have been someone here that taught her – and that Hunter Andrian. What do you intend for today?”
“Breakfast, first,” Jin Ying declared. “Then, I shall take a walk in the woods, see what birds – and other beasts – I can find.”
“Will you need specimens?” Lin Junren asked. “I could join you after luncheon. I am quite a fine shot with the sling.”
“No.” Jin Ying shuddered at the thought. “That shall not be necessary.”

Breakfast was mostly fruit, mixed in with some chewy, white chunks that tasted not unlike the sauce from the previous night, scattered with a light sprinkle of seeds. Far sweeter than the rice porridge he usually dined on. Did they grow rice here? Before venturing into the forest, he made his way to the boulevard market, intending to seek out a guide.
He heard it first, those discordant string instruments, playing a dozen different tunes at once, voices shouting out – probably proclaiming their wares – hundreds of conversations blurring into one murmuring hum. Closer, and it came into sight through the trees. Most of the wares were laid out on woven mats, laid across the sand. Garishly colored sheets, tied horizontally between the trees, offered rudimentary shade. Small lemurs clustered around him. They took turns darting forward to touch his golden fur. Others pointed at his face, and shrieked, “Tarehy manga” and “Tsy manana orona izy!” interspersed with laughter. Jin Ying did his best to ignore them, focusing his attention, instead, on the nearest stalls.
“Salama vazaha!” The traders greeted him as he made his way, eyes wide, trying to take in all the sights and sounds and smells. They gestured to their wares: exotic fruits, carved bowls, sacks of seeds. He paused outside one stall where, beneath a shade cloth, hung dozens of bamboo birdcages. Each contained a tiny bird. Many were a bright, vermilion red, fluttering wings edged in black. Their voices rose, notes clear and sharp above the general hubbub of the market. Others were duller in coloration, but sweeter in voice, warbling a melody that seemed filled with sorrow. One in particular caught his eye, it wore feathers of shimmering cerulean blue, which contrasted strikingly with its bright white belly. It was neither singing nor fluttering, instead it crouched on the floor of the cage, beak parted.
“You like?” the bird-keeper approached him. “You trade? He vanga. Very fine bird, very fine. Pretty sing.”
He blinked at her, startled, then caught himself.. Of course some of the traders were likely to speak his tongue. “Yes please,” he said. “Err, how much?” He fumbled in his coin pouch and drew out several of the coins Zhang Xi had given him.
The bird-keeper plucked one from his palm and studied it intently. She shook her head and handed it back to him. “No,” she said. “No worth. No trade.”
Jin Ying held back a groan, and took his humiliation away, to crouch in the shade of a nearby tree. First, the language, now his coin was worthless – how had Zhang Xi not known this? The more he thought about it, the more sense it made, however. The other traders were here to exchange their goods for local wares, but what did he have to trade? Nothing. Well, nothing except his art supplies, and he could never part with those. To calm his frustration, he drew his sketch-book from his knapsack and rested it on his knee. First he sketched the bird-keeper, with her delicate pink ears, wide round eyes, and the eager-to-please expression with which she had greeted him (a vast improvement over the one with which she’d dismissed him). Then, after a moment’s thought, he added in a couple of the birds, fluttering above her head, free as they were meant to be, not trapped in those tiny cages. He felt eyes upon him, and looked up to see the bird-keeper, staring at him, or to be precise, at his illustration.
“You –” she said, then paused, as though scanning her brain for a word she didn’t know, failed to find it, and motioned drawing with one hand. “Me?” she concluded.
Jin Ying nodded. “I hope you don’t mind.” He held it up to her. Butterflies tickled his stomach. Hopefully it wouldn’t offend her.
Her eyes widened, and her lips twisted into what he hoped was a smile. “Very pretty,” she said. “Fine, fine work. You very good.”
“It’s just a quick sketch,” Jin Ying mumbled. Praise did not settle well upon his shoulders. “You can have it, if you like.” The words came out unexpectedly, and he wished that he could bite them back. Of course she wouldn’t want his crude handiwork.
The expression on her face said otherwise; her ears flushed pink and she nodded vigorously. “Misaotra!” She turned away, and Jin Ying thought he had misinterpreted her response, until he realized that she was untying the birdcage. “Yes, trade!” she said, set the blue bird – a vanga? – on the ground beside him, and accepted the illustration with both hands. “Misaotra,” she repeated, studying it closely.
Jin Ying cradled the birdcage to his chest. His pulse raced and the ache behind his eyes grew sharper. Too much excitement; he needed somewhere quieter, peaceful – cooler too, for this heavy, moisture-laden heat made his fur itch – and so did the bird. He took one final look at the bird-keeper’s stall, imprinting the tiny red birds and the grey-green warblers in his memory. These he would commit to paper, before he sought out others.

Jin Ying seated himself on the lowest branch of a sweeping fruit tree and cast his gaze out across the lagoon. Outrigger canoes – lakana – ferried passengers across to the distant shore, or carried cargo parallel to the coast. A cool breeze swept tiny wave-like furrows across the water, bringing with it some relief from the heat. Jin Ying tipped a little water into the lid of his water flask and held it up against the cage bars. The vanga eyeballed him suspiciously with one pale blue eye, before dipping its beak through the bamboo and into the liquid, tipping its head back to swallow.
“Do not worry,” the monkey reassured it. “I shall let you out soon.” He took a deep breath and felt the calmness descend upon him. This was more to his liking. With a flicker of startling color, a bee-eater alighted on a nearby branch, something clamped in its beak. An insect. It thumped it several times against the branch, bits of wing and one leg crumbled off, then gulped it down.
The vanga unleashed a series of rattling screeches. Jin Ying barked a laugh. “Pretty song indeed.” It took him a few fumbles to untie the strips of twine binding the cage’s door, but eventually it fell open. The bird hopped down and rattle-screeched again, cocking its head at him.
“Go on,” he encouraged it. “You are free.”
It hopped up onto the edge, as though it could not quite believe its luck, and Jin Ying felt a flutter of panic. What if it could not fly? Had he doomed it to be captured again – or eaten by some sort of predator? Before he had even completed his thoughts, it sprang into the air, whipped out its wings and flapped up into the branches of the tree. Sunlight danced across its cerulean feathers, as it threw back its head, screeched again – as though voicing its gratitude – and winged its way off into the forest.
“You have kind spirit,” the softly-spoken words came from behind, and Jin Ying jerked, knocking over the birdcage. He recognized the voice, and his throat seemed to shrink in response.
“Princess,” he managed to choke out, dropping into a bow that would have seemed comically exaggerated to any monkey observer.
Her laugh was music to his ears. “You vazaha, so formal. No need for formal here.” Her hand – her hand! – brushed his shoulder and Jin Ying felt it tingle through his body.
“What does that mean?” the words blurted out, perhaps in a vain attempt to distract himself from her touch. “Vazaha?”
She withdrew her hand, and was silent for several heartbeats. Had his question offended her? He sneaked a peek. No, she did not look offended, just thoughtful. “It mean… outsider,” she explained. “From far else away. Not lemur.” Her fingers were back, this time on his chin, rising his head so that their eyes met.
Jin Ying swallowed, and forced himself to maintain the gaze without flinching away. Her eyes were so large, the irises deep red, yes, but highlighted with hints of orange and gold, and even a faint halo of palest blue, that circled the pupil. Capturing their likeness in ink would be no mean feat.
“You have name?” she asked.
“Yes,” he whispered. His tongue felt too tangled to manage anything else.
She laughed at that. “Name is?”
“Jin Ying,” he managed.
“Jinying,” she replied, somehow making his name sound like music. “I am called Tristesse, it is pleasure to meet you.”
Tristesse. Her name was as beautiful as she.
“It mean ‘sorrow’,” she continued.
Jin Ying jerked in surprise. “Sorrow? But why would anyone be sad about you?”
She offered him a small smile. “My eyes.” She gestured at her face.
“Your eyes are beautiful.” Jin Ying’s tongue seemed to have recovered – and stopped consulting his brain before speaking.
“Misaotra,” she replied, hopping up on the tree branch and patting it, indicating that Jin Ying should join her. He did, and she quickly shuffled over, filling the distance he had purposely left between them and leaning against his shoulder. Were all lemur this affectionate? Aside from the occasional slap on the back or slap on the wrist, the monkeys that Jin Ying knew made very little physical contact. “My mother, her eyes blue,” she explained. “Blue like saphira – blue like your face.” She reached up to his face. Her fingers were as light as a whisper of wind, tracing the contour of his cheek.
From the heat in his face, Jin Ying imagined his face must currently appear purple.
“There is true-telling,” she said. “Queen, she rule Madigaska, she must have blue eyes. For peacefulness. No blue eyes, no peace.”
That doesn’t make sense, Jin Ying wanted to say, but luckily he had regained control of his tongue. It was clearly a custom among her people, and it would be extremely impolite to disparage their beliefs, even if they were quite ridiculous. “Well, I think you would make an excellent queen,” he declared.
She dismissed the compliment with a laugh a shake of her head. “Princess, yes,” she said, “but queen cannot ever be. So I am called ‘sorrow’. Anyway, enough of sad things. Why you let bird go?”
Perhaps it was her friendly familiarity, and frank openness, Jin Ying’s heartbeat had slowed to a more ordinary level, and his tongue seemed to be – more-or-less – behaving itself. He answered her honestly. “I hated to see it imprisoned. Birds need to fly free.” Like me, he added to himself. Except that the scriptorium was my cage.
“He would die in cage,” she said. “The vanga, he eat – ” She paused, waving her hand at a cloud of midges clustering near the lagoon’s shore. “– bugs. Hard to feed in cage.” She nestled herself down, resting her head against his chest and Jin Ying felt a thrill of panicked excitement. “Your spirit good,” she declared. “Heart strong. Fast too.” She punctuated the statement with a mischievous grin.
Jin Ying was a little worried his heart might take flight and soar out of his chest, in much the same manner as the bird had disappeared into the trees. “Why are you here?” he asked, then cursed himself. Did he really want to know? Was it not enough that she had found him?
“Mother thought would be good for me,” she replied. “I am best at talking vazaha, and she want me away from little sister. Little sister have blue eyes,” she added. Her eyes alighted on the carved wooden box that contained his sketching papers. “Is that holding pretty pictures?” she asked, swinging to the ground. “Look? May I?”
Jin Ying, stunned that this beautiful female would be at all interested in his humble work, found himself mutely nodding. It was only when she opened the lid and began gently sorting through the pages that he remembered. “No, please!” he shrieked, fear making his voice shrill. But it was too late.
Tristesse froze, her gaze locked on the portrait, now held gently between her fingers. “This me,” she whispered, one hand gently traced the edge of the page. When she looked at him, her eyes were wide, bewildered, glistening slightly with moisture. “You draw me? Why?”
Because, from the moment I saw you, I loved you. Jin Ying’s heart whispered the words, but he choked on them. It felt like fire crawled across his skin. He sprang to the ground, scooped up the box, and bolted along the canal. Several pages fluttered behind in his wake.
“Wait!” she called after him her voice high, tremulous.
He paid her no heed, and raced back to the inn, and the sanctuary of his room. Here, where sunlight striped the mat, he brought out his charcoal pencils, and buried his tangled thoughts deep in the flowing curves of the art.

Hours later, Lin Junren found him, leaning over his art. The macaque pranced in with a skip to his step and a bulging pouch hanging from his waist. “Salama Jin Ying!” he declared. “The rumors were right! Gemstones really do litter the ground.” He reached into the pouch and thrust a hand at Jin Ying. His palm was filled with stones of all colors: vermilion and emerald, azure and citrine. Each dull and lumpy on the surface, but the true color at their heart still somehow shone through.
“I am pleased for you, my friend,” Jin Ying replied, standing. “Oh,” he whimpered, as his legs buckled beneath him; Yin Junren grabbed his arm, steadying him. He had been kneeling too long; his feet had grown numb, his pencil hand ached, and pain throbbed through his back with every heartbeat. The fluttering pain behind his eyes stabbed him hard. “Oh,” he whispered again.
“I see that you have been working hard.” The gem trader returned the uncut stones to their pouch and helped Jin Ying stay upright. His gaze flicked across the series of sketches, littered across the table. There were several of the birds, mostly incomplete outlines, lacking in detail. And many more of another subject. “Oh dear,” Lin Junren remarked. “You really do have it bad, don’t you.”
“Why can I not get her out of my head?” Yin Jing whimpered. “I try to capture her on paper, but I cannot do it. She’s just … extraordinary.”
Lin Junren stooped to pick up one of the pages. “I think it is she that has captured you,” he said. “Still, at least you have skill.” His mouth quirked at the corner. “My first love, well, for her I felt an irresistible desire to write poetry. Alas, I’m a pitiful wordsmith. My second, well, I found that shiny stones speak louder than poorly composed words.” He barked a laugh. “Much louder. She accepted my proposal.”
Jin Ying looked up at him in surprise. “You’re married?” Cursed by seasickness, escaping it only in sleep, Jin Ying had learned very little about his traveling companions.
“Married, two children,” Lin Junren replied. “Twins. Little rogues. Why do you think I sprang at the chance to escape to Madigaska.” He barked a laugh, but there was a falseness to it, an edge of melancholy. “Anyway, I have just the cure for your lovesickness, come with me.”
Jin Ying, with some reluctance, nodded. Before they could go, however, he insisted on packing up his art papers, hiding the illustrations of Tristesse beneath his neatly folded robes. He took the sketch box with him, and his charcoals too. He did not know where they were going, or what they would be doing, but if things got too terrible… well, he could always escape into his art.

“Almost there,” Lin Junren announced. Ahead, beyond the screen of the trees, it seemed a great amount of people were shouting in what sounded like excitement. Jin Ying braced himself; he might have led a fairly sheltered existence, but he was aware of how some of his fellow scribes chose to spend their meager wages, and his belly churned at the thought. That sort of raucous celebration held very little appeal. Lin Junren turned to say something to him, but his words were buried beneath a rousing cheer.
Jin Ying groaned. Last time he had been invited to a party – at the insistence of a fellow scribe that Jin Ying should have some fun – the evening had been spent standing in the corner, sipping alcohol to avoid conversation, and the next morning nursing a head that throbbed with each heartbeat. If that was ‘fun’, he would rather not endure it again. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to dart off into the trees and return to the inn?
“Salama vazaha!” A large piebald lemur, resplendent in gaily-colored ribbons, bounded towards them. A crown of flowers rested atop her head, and there were feathers braided through her fur. She skipped around them. “Come, come!” She beckoned them on, leading them along the path. The bamboo curved over it, their stalks creaking in the gentle wind, and muting the sunlight. The path widened, opening onto a large patch of open land, muddy sand left following the retreat of the ocean tide. Lemurs shrieked and hollered across the mudflat, engaged in some sort of sport. Jin Ying counted at least three balls. These the lemurs appeared to be trying to kick, carry or throw, through six goals, each crudely formed from pieces of driftwood. Each participant wore a garland: some made of feathers, other flowers. Whilst Jin Ying took in the scene – and tried to make sense of the game – a young lemur skipped up towards him and thrust a ring of flowers at him, motioning for him to lower his head. Jin Ying obeyed, and, with a hop, the youngster flung it over his head, so that it rested about his neck like a collar. A quick glance at Lin Junren revealed that the macaque had received a similar treatment, and now – since he sported a thick mane – wore a crown of feathers.
“Milalao!” the youngster shrieked jubilantly, patting Jin Ying on the arm. Lin Junren nodded in their direction and removed his sandals. Then, flashing his teeth in a grin, he leaped down the bank, charging onto the field. With some hesitation, Jin Ying slipped off his sandals and set them neatly on the grass. He lowered himself carefully down the bank, feeling his feet squelch into the mud. A ball hurtled towards him, and he flung up his arms, trying to stop it from hitting him in the face. It bounced off his elbow and into the clutches of a brown lemur. She bolted towards the nearest goal, only to have a larger white lemur hurtle, seemingly out of nowhere, and send them both sprawling into the mud. Before they had the chance to stand up, another darted in, scooped up the ball, and flung it across the field.
“You have to throw the ball between the posts.” Lin Junren materialized at his shoulder. “Your goals are marked with feathers, mine with flowers. The team with the most goals wins.”
“Why?” Jin Ying asked, but his companion had darted back into the fray. A ball struck the ground a tail’s length away, and showered him with mud. Jin Ying darted after it, scooped it up, and sighted the nearest goal. A long curved feather fluttered from the post. He ran for it. Mud squished between his toes and he slipped. Something struck him lightly in across the backside, darted up his back in a series of small taps, and revealed itself as a tiny lemur – no larger than a mouse – when it leaped off his head and landed on the ball. Jin Ying scrambled to his feet, scooped up the ball, mouse-like lemur and all, and bowled them towards the goal. He overshot, and would have missed entirely, but another feather-garlanded lemur dove for it, and punted it through.
The onlookers, and some of the other players, cheered.
Jin Ying felt an odd glow of pleasure – which was ridiculous, because he hadn’t actually done anything, had he? The tiny lemur sprang up onto the driftwood goal and nodded towards him, raising her head so that her throat was bared.
The ball was flung back into the fray, and the disorganized game continued. Unsure of the rules – or indeed, if there were any rules – Jin Ying alternated between running in the vague direction of the ball and running away from the more rambunctious players. He tumbled into the mud on numerous occasions, and even managed to set up another goal, only to be thwarted at the last minute by Lin Junren pouncing on him, pushing him to the ground and, literally, sitting on him.
“Having fun?” he asked. His robes and pelt dripped with mud, and his crown had lost a number of its flowers.
Fun, Jin Ying mulled over the word. It was one he had heard spoken often, but never really considered what it meant. Muddy but happy? Because yes, he was happy: his heart and soul felt an odd sort of freedom. Certainly, his lungs ached a little from the unexpected exertion, and his robes were likely ruined, but … He nodded. “I believe so?” he replied hesitantly.
“Good fellow.” Lin Junren patted him on the shoulder, then ducked as another ball whizzed over them. “Mine!” he called, scrabbling off Jin Ying and charging after it.
Jin Ying stood, and made a rather futile attempt to brush the mud from his robe. The balls, and corresponding action, were no longer near him, and he took the opportunity to catch his breath. His eyes cast the audience clustered on the bank, and settled on a familiar silver-white form.
“Tristesse,” he whispered. She stared back at him, gaze unflinching, almost like a challenge – or a promise? Jin Ying broke eye contact first, letting his gaze return to his feet. How frightful a mess he must look. A few feathers, freed from his garland, now adhered to his mud-splattered robe. He risked another glance. Tristesse still stared at him, and as his focus returned to her, her muzzle parted in a small smile. She rose one hand. And beckoned.
A quick glance towards Lin Junren revealed the macaque caught up in some sort of skirmish. Larger than many of the lemurs, he held one of the balls as high as he could reach, his feet spaced for balance, whilst several of the brown lemurs danced around him, attempting to seize it from his grasp. One sprang onto his back, and Jin Ying almost barked a laugh as the macaque dropped to his knees in a spray of mud. It didn’t take long to reach the bank, but did take a little longer to scramble up it, kneeling for a moment as he reached the crest. A dainty hand reached for him, and he accepted it. Tristesse’s slender black fingers interlocked with his, larger leathery palms. She stroked his fingers gently with her thumb, sending shivering tingles through his fur.
“I love picture,” she breathed in his ear. “Now have thing for you, yes. Come, follow.”
He was unable to resist her, and willingly allowed her to tug him to his feet and guide him away from the crowd.
“Are you worried at what they might think?” he whispered, feeling more than a few pairs of eyes upon them.
She barked a musical laugh. “What they think? I no care what they think. Vazaha pretty gold fur, face blue like saphira. If they think, then they wish they have courage to be me!”
Once inside the relative privacy of the bamboo alley, she stopped, and spun to face him, taking a step towards him. His body stiffened with her proximity, and he swallowed around the now-too-familiar lump in his throat. Arching on her toes, Tristesse, eyes gleaming with mischief, hooked the feather garland up over his head. She pressed her nose against his face, just above his nostrils, then, whilst Jin Ying was still recovering from whatever-that-was, hung the feather garland about her own throat. Her neck was more delicate than his, and it fell to rest just above her breast.
“Pretty?” she asked.
Jin Ying could only nod his approval. What had this female done to his tongue?
She laughed again. “I have surprise for you, yes?”
“You do?” Everything she had done had been a surprise for him. Excitement – and more than a little fear – fluttered in his chest. She slipped her hand into his, and guided him onward, through a series of pathways, and into a clearing in the forest.
“Surprise!” she cried, her voice musical with glee.
Bamboo bird cages filled the clearing. Inside them, little red birds fluttered restlessly. Whatever he had expected – and Jin Ying had found he had quite an imagination – it was not this.
Tristesse laughed at his open-mouthed surprise. “You like?”
“What? Why?” He’d found his tongue, but no coherency. “How?”
“I am Princess” she declared. “Queen may never be, but still have little power. We set free, yes?”
“You bought all of them, for me?”
“For we! No more cage – can all be free.”

It took some time to open all the cages, partly because Jin Ying’s hands were shaking with the disbelief that someone would do this for him! Some of the birds flew out as soon as the doors were removed. Others took longer, crouching in their cages, as though suspecting it were some kind of cruel trick, until their companions encouraged them out.
“Fly fody fly!” Tristesse laughed in delight. The birds fluttered and danced around her, vermilion jewels given life. She danced to Jin Ying, and clutched his robe in her hands. “Set me free too?”
He frowned and wrapped her protectively in his arms. “But you are free?” he said, confused. She was the freest spirit he’d ever seen!
“In cage, no,” she replied, and swung free of his grasp to jump on one of the cages, crushing it. “But am no free to fly.” She spun, arms spread, as though they were wings. She took Jin Ying’s hands in her own and danced around him. His bare feet knocked over several of the fragile cages, and crushing a couple of others. Feeling large and clumsy, he broke free of her grasp and climbed up a tree, perching on a low branch. A few heartbeats later, Tristesse joined him. They sat for a moment in companionable silence, whilst the birds whistled in celebration of their freedom.
“I talk about me,” Tristesse said, turning to him. “Now you talk about you?” She prodded his belly with one slender finger.
“There’s not much to say,” he mumbled. “I am afraid my life would seem very dull to you.”
“Dull?” she frowned at him. “Dull like gray and brown?”
“Yes,” he replied. “My life is filled with grays and browns. But that is not what I meant. I mean, my life was not very interesting.”
Tristesse cocked her head to one side. “Tell me,” she said. “Azafady – please?”
He was powerless to resist her fiery garnet gaze. “I shall.”
She clasped her hands together in glee, and rested her head against his chest. Without meaning to, he found his arm had wrapped itself around her, steadying her on the sturdy branch.
“I live – lived – beneath the Imperial Academy. It is an institute nearly as big as your village, where scholars gather to study, teach, and discuss, their ideas and theories.”
“You are scholar?” she asked, her eyes wide.
Jin Ying gave a rueful bark. “Alas,” he said, “I am not. I am merely a scribe. Which is to say, I spent my days replicating – to the best of my limited ability – the manuscripts written by the great scholars: philosophers, scientists and historians.”
“Written? What is that?”
These people had never heard of writing? “It is the act of turning thoughts and ideas – and stories too – into something anyone with the ability to read can see or understand.”
It took her a moment to process his definition. “Like picture that tells story?”
He felt a spark of delight; the princess was bright as well as beautiful. “Precisely. Here.” He disentangled herself from her grasp, and jumped to the ground. “I shall show you.”
Jin Ying had left his art box behind with his sandals, but the ground was littered with splintered pieces of bamboo. With one hand he pushed the leaf litter into a pile, clearing a small patch of dirt, and picked up a stalk of bamboo. A rudimentary writing tool, but it would serve the purpose.
“Words are stylized – simplified – pictures that represent their meaning.” He wrote the characters of his name, in quick fluid strokes. “These words form my name,” he said, pointing. “Jin, Ying.”
She leaned over him, placing one hand on his shoulder to balance herself and studied the first symbol. “Look like hut,” she said, “with roof and all.”
“It means ‘gold’,” he explained. “Because of the color of my fur. The scribe-master assigned it to me.” It has also been a mockery, for rich in color though his fur might be, Jin Ying’s family had been deeply impoverished.
“Not look like gold,” she remarked, before turning her interest to the other symbol. “Look like person hold big load,” she said. “You carry big load in head, yes?”
Bright, beautiful, and disturbingly perceptive. “Yes, yes I do.” He gave a rueful bark of laughter. “It means ‘hero’,” he explained. “It was the name my mother gave me.” Unable to care for more than one child, his mother had sold him to the scriptorium. The small endowment had likely saved her – and his younger brother – from poverty. For a time, at least.
“Is good name,” she said, her hand crept beneath his robe, fingers gently stroking through the thick fur that covered his shoulders. “Write my name.” She paused for a moment, before adding, “Please.”
Jin Ying rubbed his name away, to create a clean slate. He considered. First, he wrote the word, ‘Sorrow’, then stared at the two characters, frowning. No, ‘sorrow’ would not do. With a few deft strokes, he added another pair of characters.
“Is long,” she said. “Not know if can remember. What mean?”
“Sorrow,” he said, pointing at each symbol in term. “Beautiful sorrow.”
“Beautiful? You think me beautiful? Not just eyes, but me?”
He stared at her, amazed. “How could I not?”
Her shoulders rose and fell in a shrug, and her eyes lowered. Was that a faint hint of pink he could see, blushing in her seashell ears? With a quick shake of her head, she looked back up at him. “Teach more, yes?”
How could he resist?
The shadows grew long, and the patch of dirt weathered and worn from multiple erasing. The birds – the fody – flitted off into the forest. It was just the two of them, the broad-shouldered, golden-furred monkey, and the lithe, white-furred lemur, composing words in the earth. He wrote, she traced, his large hand steadied hers, guiding her through the more delicate flourishes.
A thought occurred to him. “How is it you have learned my language, but no-one has taught you how to write – or read?”
“You know of monkey invasion?”
He nodded. He had copied a treatise about it, created four replicas, to be dispatched to different imperial libraries. “My kin invaded your home, in an attempt to pillage it for resources.” They had thought the lemurs to be true savages, little more than the wild beasts that roamed his mountainous home. What they had found instead was a band of frightened but fierce warriors, armed with sharp weapons and sharper minds; the monkeys had superior weaponry. The cost – to both sides – had been severe. “My kin committed atrocities against your kin,” he admitted, ashamed. The account – and the author seemed to revel in gruesome detail – had haunted Jin Ying’s dreams and left him feeling deeply, horribly, ill.
“Bad days, very bad days,” Tristesse agreed. “Monkey sent sky-fire. Burned villages, forests, crops. But bad days, they old days, new days now.” She danced her fingers up Jin Ying’s arm, to his shoulder, and traced them across his cheek. “New day of peace, prosperity and,” she rose on her toes, to nuzzle Jin Ying’s cheek and whisper one word in his ear, “love.”
The word shivered down Jin Ying’s spine, and made his hackles bristle. He tried to rein in his more tumultuous thoughts, and drew away from her, hugging his robes against himself. “You learned my language,” the words came out, half-choked. “Someone taught you?”
She nodded. “Lemur win, monkey go, but not all monkey. One monkey stay. Name Huang Wei. He bad hurt.” She slashed her finger across her face, a whisker’s length from her eyes.
Jin Ying winced, an unnecessary reflex, it wasn’t like she would hurt herself! He could not immediately recall the name from the treatise – but the list of casualties had been long, with more than a few warriors lost in action, presumed dead.
“Sky-fire burned his face. Lose eyes, not lose spirit. Not lose thinking.” She tapped the side of her head. “Not lose voice. Grandmother, Queen Rangitama, she make treaty with monkey-kin. Ask Huang Wei to teach monkey-tongue. But Huang Wei not teach us write.”
“You speak it well,” Jin Ying informed her.
“Misaotra,” she replied, her ears blushing again. “Still have much to learn, yes?” She stepped forward, nudged him with her head and rubbed her body against his. “You teach me read, teach me write. Yes?”
Even with the robe between them, he felt his body stir in ways he dared not consider. Her sweet scent, the scent of the rainforest, drowned his senses, and her warm proximity doused his sense. “Yes,” he managed to gulp. Then, more firmly. “Yes.”
Jin Ying almost felt as though he were floating. His body hummed with happiness, it vibrated through his fur, and radiated about him like a halo. He all but danced into the dining pavilion. The rich scent of Fifaliana’s fruit stew reached his nostrils and his stomach growled; he realized, with a start, that he had eaten very little all day.
Lin Junren’s large form hunched over a bowl. The macaque looked up at his entrance. His usually jovial expression creased into a frown, and his lips drew back, expressing his displeasure. “I see that you have finally decided to join us.”
Jin Ying’s joy dissipated. “Is something wrong?” he asked, seating himself on the cushion beside the larger monkey. “Did something happen?”
“I found your art-box and sandals, but no sign of you,” the macaque growled. “You spent the day dallying with her, did you not?,”
“It is not forbidden,” Jin Ying said, confused – and more than a little concerned – at his companion’s reaction. “Is it?”
“It is not forbidden, no,” Lin Junren confirmed. “But it is extremely ill-advised to interact with the primitives on an intimate level. They are–” He paused, placed his fingers under Jin Ying’s chin, and raised his head, so that their eyes met. “–not like us,” he concluded. “And your Princess…” His hand dropped to his side and he turned away, with a sad shake of his head. “You are young yet, Jin Ying, and naive to wicked feminine wiles.”
“No,” Jin Ying replied. “Tristesse is not like that. She is bright, and eager to learn. We were not dallying. I do not even know what that means.” He allowed a little pride to creep into his voice. “I was teaching her to write.”
“You were?” Lin Junren’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well, I suppose that is all right. Although, I do wonder why the one whom taught her our tongue did not teach her our script.”
“He has lost his vision,” Jin Ying informed him. “His name is Huang Wei. I have been informed that he currently resides in the capital – Narivo, it is called – with Tristesse’s mother, Queen Rafohy.”
“I suppose that is all right then,” Lin Junren repeated. “Although you should have discussed it with Ambassador Cai Lei first. But, be wary of letting her into your heart, child.” He placed his large hand on Jin Ying’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. “For she is lemur, you are monkey. There is no future in such a union. No marriage. No children. Maybe not even compatible in… other ways.” He coughed, and suddenly become extremely focused on his dinner.
Jin Ying felt heat of the blush through his entire body, and buried his own embarrassment by gathering a bowl of the fruit stew.
“We depart in three moons time, after their so-called Oestrus festival.” He tapped the spoon against the side of the bowl. “You must be prepared to let her go, Jin Ying. I know your heart is young, and yearns for friendship. But, you must focus on your artistic commission – for your sponsor holds the power to free you from the bondage of the scriptorium. You must not permit yourself to fall in love.”
Too late, he thought, hugging his affection for Tristesse close to his heart. Far, far too late. But, instead of arguing, he nodded his acceptance.

~ * ~

‘Your sponsor holds the power to free you from the scriptorium.’ The words echoed in Jin Ying’s head. They had haunted him all night, cast shadows in his dreams, and now tormented him as dawn cast carmine-tinged fingers across the sky. He had drawn a bucket of water from the well behind the inn, and soaked his robe in it, in a futile attempt at washing the mud from it. Instead, it had turned a shade of orange. Lin Junren was right to caution him, but that didn’t help fill the hungry yearning in his heart. He strung his newly patch-dyed robe over a tree branch and drew the contract out of the pocket of his current robe. By the light of the day, the tiny script was easier to read, and he found confirmation easily enough: If his work was performed to Zhang Xi’s satisfaction, the scholar would consider taking him on as an apprentice.
Freedom from the scriptorium! Few of the scribes had dared to dream of such an actuality; their families were too dependent on their meager income for them to consider escaping. But, to be an apprentice! With this thought in mind, Jin Ying raced up to their room.
Lin Junren opened one eye and peered down at him. “You are up early, son,” he said, following it with a huge yawn.
“Your wise words, last night, opened my eyes,” he said, and felt gratified when the macaque’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “And I would rather be an apprentice than a scribe.”
“It is good, then, that I retrieved your art-box.” Lin Junren gestured, rather vaguely, in the direction of Jin Ying’s knapsack.
Jin Ying flung the bag over his shoulder. “Thank you,” he said, bowing low to the slumbering macaque. “For your wisdom. I must not disappoint Zhang Xi.”
“Away with you then,” Lin Junren seemed flustered. “This old monkey needs his beauty sleep.”
With a final bow, Jin Ying crept from the room, down from the tree house. The air filled with birdsong. Was it his imagination, or were there more of those little red fody today? Instead of heading back towards the village, he followed the path in the opposite direction, where the trees clustered thickly, and the foliage sparkled with early morning dew.
The gardens of the Imperial Academy had been beautiful and well tended, with color palette carefully composed and the plants kept neat and tamed. There was nothing domestic about this jungle, which wore more shades of green than he had names for.
He past a tree hung with lumpy green fruits. Smaller grey-brown lemurs scrambled through the branches, napping off the fruit and tossing it into baskets.
“Salama vazaha!” they chorused as he passed beneath their tree.
He waved back. “Salama!”
Now this, this was freedom from the scriptorium.

The path led him deeper and deeper into the forest. Foliage clustered densely and, whilst he could hear birds calling to one another, all that he saw of them were quick flashes of color as they startled away. One, large and painted in iridescence, exploded from underfoot and flew away, scolding him with a chuckling hiss. The sound of water reached his ears, and he found it, then began following it upstream. Ahead, voices rose above the babbling water. Two voices, and what sounded like an argument. One, sweet and feminine, his heart recognized, squeezing tight and beginning to beat a rapid tempo in response. How was it that they kept finding one another? She shouted something, her voice almost shrill with emotion. The other replied, lower, deeper. Male.
“Tsy raiko ianoa,” Tristesse replied, in a quieter, more subdued tone. Leaves rustled and branches twitched. Jin Ying jumped from the path, dropped down a bank and crouched low in the water, willing them not to notice him, not wishing to cause them the embarrassment of having an eavesdropper. He waited for the rustling to stop, counted to one hundred, then peered over the bank. No sign of anyone. Good. He scrambled up the bank and regarded his clothing. Water dripped from his robe to his feet. With a low groan, he set down his knapsack – that, thankfully, was dry – and began to wring out the hem.
“You follow me?”
Jin Ying looked up, to find Tristesse had crept silent-footed up on him. He felt that all too familiar heat wash over him, and his eyes flicked down to study his feet. “No,” he replied, perhaps a little too quickly, a little too loudly. “I was not. I was looking for birds.” He patted his knapsack. “To paint.”
Tristesse laughed, although he could still hear a hint of sadness in her tone. “I know,” she said. “You no follow me.” She shook her head sadly. “I come here, to think, to be alone.”
“Oh, I am sorry to disturb you,” Jin Ying replied, and turned to leave, but stopped when her hand took hold of his elbow.
“No,” she said. “No be alone from you. Be alone from… them. From family. Hunter Andrian, he want remind me that I no me, no free, am princess.” She sighed. “Is hard.”
“Is that who you were… conversing with? Hunter Andrian?”
“Yes,” she replied. “He think because is Queen’s mate that he speak for her. He think he tell me what I can and can no do.”
Jin Ying realized his fists had clenched, and forced his fingers straight. He opened his arms, and Tristesse curled herself against his chest. “I hope he did not hurt you,” Jin Ying said.
She shook her head against his chest. “Is bad thing to hurt female. Even badder to hurt princess. He no do that. He just remember me my first Oestrus festival, it three moons away. Remember me duty.”
“We leave after the festival,” Jin Ying said, a heavy ache in his heart. “I will miss you very much.”
She turned to him, a bright gleam in her eyes. “I come with you? Back to home, Imperial Academy? I learn with scholar?”
There was so much hope in her eyes, Jin Ying felt his heart clench at the thought of disappointing her. “I do not think you would like it,” he said. “Living in a village of stone. The scriptorium is no place for you. It is a cage of a different kind.”
“Oh.” The hopeful gleam flowed away. Jin Ying could not bear it.
“There it a chance,” he said, quickly, “that I may be accepted into the Imperial Academy. Maybe, if I am enrolled, I can speak to the Master Scholar, and see if you can join too?”
She arched upright on her toes, nudging her head against his chin. “What you need do for enroll?”
“I need to paint birds,” he said. “Many birds. And even then–”
“I help!” she interrupted, whirling away from him. “You want bird? Paint bird? I help find bird for you – then you teach more write to me?”
She took his hand and led him off into the forest.
The two spent a glorious day together. By the time the sun had concluded her journey across the sky, Jin Ying’s pencils had captured six new species, and Tristesse had memorized a dozen new words. There had been other discoveries too – discoveries that made Jin Ying’s face flush violet and fur bristle with the memory.
“Today wonderful,” Tristesse informed him, brushing her nose against his cheek, before they parted company at the edge of the forest. “We do again, tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Jin Ying replied, his heart glowing with pleasure and his stomach rumbling – for once again, they had forgotten to eat – “I would like to do that every day.”
Tristesse nipped his ear, playfully, making him gasp at her audacity. “Am sure we can arrange,” she said, her grin mischievous.

“You seem content,” Lin Junren commented, as Jin Ying floated in for his dinner. “I trust you had a productive day.”
“Oh yes,” Jin Ying replied, unable to keep the smile from his face. “It was most productive indeed.”

~ * ~

Three Moons later…

Jin Ying awoke, blinking in the darkness. What had roused him? A noise? Yes, the sound of footsteps. Had Lin Junren gotten up to visit the latrine? No, he could hear the heavy breathing of the slumbering macaque below him. But there came another sound too, the breath of another. His eyes slowly adapted to the darkness and he leaned – rather cautiously – to peer over the side of the hammock. A figure huddled on the floor, pale fur illuminated in the starlight fractured through the walls.
He slipped from the hammock as quietly and gracefully as he could – which, in truth, was neither particularly quiet nor graceful – and landed on the floor with a dull thud. Lin Junren snorted, then emitted a long hooting whistle of a snore, but he did not appear to rouse.
“Tristesse?” Jin Ying whispered, recognizing her scent – honeysuckle, sweet and tantalizing, but now fragrant with the bitter spice of … fear? “What are you doing here?” He daringly touched her shoulder. She winced away, and the action made his heart ache. “Has someone hurt you?”
She uncurled herself enough to look him in the eye. “I need … help me.” she whispered, and flung her arms around his neck.
Jin Ying enfolded her in his arms, wondering if he were still dreaming. “How?” he whispered in her delicate ear, pressed up close against his cheek. “Who has hurt you?” Anger and protectiveness flooded his senses – how dare someone hurt his princess? He would tear them limb from limb!
The violence of his thoughts scared him.
“Hunter Andrian,” she breathed out the words, barely audible.
Hunter Andrian? Jin Ying swallowed hard. He had seen the warrior in action – attempting to tear him limb from limb was not a pleasing prospect. But… “Is he not your mother’s mate?”
“Father to brother, yes,” she whispered. “He want to,” a long low whimper, resplendent with pain, “give me child. Blue eyes. Is way, is custom.”
Jin Ying could not hide his gasp of disgust. “He can’t!”
A stirring from above, Lin Junren smacked his lips in his sleep. They waited, two hearts racing together as one, for the macaque’s snoring to resume.
“How can I help?” Jin Ying asked, whispering against her ear.
She arched herself against him, brushing her cheek against his. “Take me away. Hide me. Three night – then festival over, is fine.”
Hide her, but where? Why could she not hide herself? Jin Ying knew the answer to that – her scent was such a strong lure, that it mattered little where in the forest she might hide, the Hunter would almost certainly find her. There was only one place she would be safe – a place no lemur would dare to venture without permission, a place that lay outside their jurisdiction.
The Ocean Wind.

The Oestrus festival was a hive of activity. It seemed every lemur from near and far had gathered in the boulevards to try to prove their worth. Jin Ying understood little of their behavior; it was far more showy and elaborate than the quiet courtship rituals of his kin. Not that he knew much about them either. There were wrestling competitions; races up and down palm trees, gathering armloads of coconuts; musicians playing hundreds of different tunes. And there was rhum – several barrels of it, placed strategically along the boulevard. Jin Ying crouched down to fill his water flask.
“I see that you have finally seen sense!” Lin Junren loomed up beside him. Jin Ying jumped; alcohol splashed his feet and soaked into the sand. “Quite something else, is it not?” the macaque continued, oblivious – thankfully – of Jin Ying’s discomfit. “What these lemurs lack in dignity and grace, they certainly make up for in spirits.” He saluted his companion with his flask of rhum. “In spirits, yes!” He barked a laugh. “Get it?”
Jin Ying nodded. His nerves were too a-flutter to trust himself to speak.
“Anyway,” he continued, his expression turning serious, “I do hope you have not come to stir trouble with your lemur lady-friend. Interfering with their cultural rituals, could well cause a diplomatic incident.” He barked a laugh and slapped Jin Ying on the back, causing more rhum to slosh onto the ground. “But you would never do that, would you, little scribe?”
“I would never,” Jin Ying responded, mentally adding, “let anything happen to hurt her,” to soften the lie – in his mind at least. Deception did not sit well on his shoulders. Fear bristled the fur along his spine. There seemed something a little too perceptive in his companion’s directive. But surely that was just the guilt in his conscience speaking up?
“Glad to hear it,” Lin Junren replied. “Now, would you care to join me? Some of us merchants are gathering to watch the wrestling.” He patted the small bag of gemstones that hung from his belt. “It may turn into a profitable evening.”
“No thank you,” the scribe replied, perhaps a little vehemently. “The noise… the crowds… I think I shall just find a quiet place to work on my art.”
“As you wish.” Lin Junren regarded him. With suspicion? No, it felt more like pity. “Be careful,” he added. “Do not let your heart rule your head.”
With a quick nod, Jin Ying sealed the flask shut and darted off, his knapsack – with the art book – bouncing against his back. “Do not let my heart rule my head,” he muttered ruefully. Too late. Far too late.

The Ocean Wave rocked gently against her mooring. Jin Ying stepped gingerly up onto the bamboo dock. He did not like the way it shivered beneath his feet. He tried not to cast a glance at the hooded figure he knew had followed him, and now lurked beneath one of the palm trees; he had no desire to draw any attention to her.
There was only one sailor left guarding the junk: a young lutung, who had obviously drawn the short twig. He leaned on the railing, staring across at the lights and merriment on the shore, standing sharply to attention as Jin Ying approached.
“Halt,” he shouted down. “Who goes there?”
“It is I, Jin Ying.”
“Jin Ying?” he scratched his head. “Ah, yes, the bilious one. Didn’t expect to see you back here – not before we sail, at any rate. How’s the stomach?”
“Fine now,” he replied. “Thank you for your concern.” He gestured in the vague direction of the festival. “I need somewhere quiet, where the lemurs – and their festivities – shall not disturb me.”
“Well, it’s certainly quiet here,” the lutung replied. “Come on up.” He flung the rope ladder over the side, and Jin Ying scrambled up with as much dignity as he could muster. “In truth, I am glad of the company.”
“You wish to join the festivities?” Jin Ying joined him against the railing, looking across at the festival. Candle lanterns hung from the trees, like bulbous fruit, casting small puddles of radiance around them. There seemed to be some sort of game in progress, one that involved leaping from tree to tree, and throwing a coconut at one another. “It is very noisy, and very chaotic. Not especially pleasant.”
The lutung sighed deeply, clearly disagreeing wholeheartedly with Jin Ying’s claim.
“Here.” Jin Ying passed him the rhum-filled flask.
“Oh, I should not!” The sailor shot him a look filled with mortification. “I am on duty!”
“My apologies,” Jin Ying replied, his face flushed with embarrassment. “I have offended you. Here, I have fruit – that at least should be safe?”
The young guard eyed the proffered mango, hungry eagerness gleaming in his eyes. “Yes, thank you.” He demolished it in a few swift bites, before licking the juice from his fingers. “They feed us mostly on dry rations here. Claim fresh food is not good for our digestion!” He barked a laugh.
Jin Ying handed him another. “I would argue the opposite,” he replied, taking a mango himself.
“Well, I suppose you would know about that!” the guard teased. “I am called Namo. And I thank you for bringing me food.” His gaze flicked wistfully across the festival. “Tell me, what brought you here, to Madigaska? There is surely no love lost between you and the ocean.”
“You might say, I was tricked into it…” Jin Ying began his tale. He was no skilled orator, and stumbled over his words on more than one occasion, but Namo seemed interested enough. Several times, Jin Ying was forced to take a – very small – sip of the rhum to moisten his throat, and after the third time, Namo took it from him.
“A mouthful should not hurt,” he replied. His sip was more of a gulp, and he almost choked. “Even the fumes are powerful!” His face contorted into a wince.
“Are you all right?” Jin Ying asked with as much concern as he could muster.
“My stomach,” he replied. “It’s like a serpent stirs in it.”
“It’s the mango,” he replied. “I did not think – all the ripe fruit – my stomach has grown used to it. I am truly sorry.” It was no lie. Jin Ying took no pleasure in causing the young guard such discomfit – he knew all too well how it felt.
Another grimace. “I must – ” Namo gestured in the vague direction of the latrine.
“Yes, make haste. And do not fear, for I shall keep watch here.”
Namo nodded fast, in a manner suggesting that other matters consumed his mind. Jin Ying waited until he had bolted across the deck, towards the relative privacy of the latrines on the foredeck. Then, he leaned over the side and whistled sharply, twice in succession.
Tristesse emerged from the shadows and danced across the dock as fast as she could. She scrambled up the rope ladder, tossing her knapsack onto the deck and landing beside him two heart-beats later.
“Took long time,” she whispered. “Thought might have to wait until dawn!”
“Be thankful it did work,” Jin Ying replied. “You must make haste – although I suspect the poor fellow may be inconvenienced for some time. Do you remember how to find the hold?”
She nodded.
“And once there, you must hide. Hide behind the spices – they shall mask your scent. It will be very dark,” he added.
“Dark is not problem,” she replied. “Be fine. Have food, have water.” She threw her arms around him, and for a heartbeat, he allowed himself to drown in her alluring scent, to enjoy her warmth. If only he could join her in the dark security of the hull. But no… With great reluctance, he drew away.
“You must go. Hide.”
“Misaotra,” she whispered. She brushed her muzzle against his cheek, her nose cold and wet. She pressed three fingers against his arm. “Three day,” she whispered. “Then come to me, yes?”
“Yes.” The word had barely whispered from his lips and she was gone, a cloaked shadow vanished into the darkness below. He pressed his hand against his cheek, still burning from her touch.
Namo found him like that, a short while later. The lutung looked a little pale around the eyes, but otherwise seemed rather more comfortable. “I need that,” he demanded, snatching the rhum flask from Jin Ying’s hand – in truth, the scribe had barely realized he was holding it – and took a large swig. “Good for the digestion indeed,” he muttered, as soon as his coughing subsided. “Now this, this will burn the fur from your face.” He cast a second glance at Jin Ying. “Are you well?” he asked.
Jin Ying, still somewhat overwhelmed, attempted a nod, but it was not very convincing..
“It’s the waves, isn’t it? They’re upsetting you. You should go. Thank you for keeping watch in my absence.” Namo groaned, and waved away Jin Ying’s concern. “I shall be fine now – although I fear my system is quite thoroughly purged.”
“Once again, I apologize.” Jin Ying stood, and made his way shakily down the rope ladder. Once back on solid ground, he took a long sip from the flask. The strong liquor burned a furrow down his throat, casting a warm fire in his belly. He mouthed a silent plea to Tristesse. ‘Please be well, stay hidden.’

“Not going to join us for the last day of the festival today?” Lin Junren stirred his bowl of coconut juice and fruit chunks. “It is the last day.”
“No,” Jin Ying replied. “It is too noisy. Too busy. I think I shall sit outside and paint.” He eyed his own breakfast. There was an empty ache in his belly, but it was not a hollow that could be filled with food. It was the hollow ache of loneliness, and of guilt.
“You are not going to see your princess then?” There was something penetrating in the macaque’s eyes, like he was trying to bore his way into Jin Ying’s mind.
Jin Ying shook his head. “I need to focus on my art. We are to leave on the next full moon, thus I must get as much done prior as I can.” It was a good reason, but Lin Junren did not seem convinced.
“Dare I ask when you last saw her?”
“A few days ago,” Jin Ying replied, feeling his ears burn – although it wasn’t really a lie, was it? It had been two nights ago, after all – and tried to hide it by shoveling a spoonful of fruit into his mouth.
“Are you sure?”
Furiously chewing in an effort to avoid choking, Jin Ying could only nod. He swallowed and forced himself to formulate words. “Why? Has something happened?”
“It appears she has made herself conspicuously absent from the festivities.” Lin Junren stabbed his spoon into the fruit, as though he were trying to pummel it into paste. “Hunter Andrian, her father, sought her last night. He was frantic with worry.”
“He’s not her father,” Jin Ying whispered.
“He’s not?” Lin Junren frowned. “But he is her mother’s mate.” He barked a laugh. “Well, one cannot expect primitives to follow the same social customs as we. Regardless, her absence has been noted – and her morality questioned. The hunter is a fearsome fellow. I would have no desire to cross weapons with him.”
“Your concern is noted,” Jin Ying replied through clenched teeth. He did not appreciate the integrity of his princess – or her family – being disparaged. “I do not doubt she had her reasons to avoid the festivities. She could well have taken herself into the forest.”
“Except she did not,” Lin Junren replied. “They have been searching – the Hunter, and her brother-prince. I must say, knowing your feelings for her – well, I am surprised that this is news to you.”
Jin Ying had had enough. He set aside his barely-touched bowl of food and stood up. “I need to work on my art,” he growled, picking up his knapsack and stomping from the dining room. He could feel Lin Junren’s gaze boring a hole in his spine.
“If you know anything,” Lin Junren shouted after him. “Then I suggest you speak up. A simple flirtation may be harmless enough, but to break the Treaty and actively interfere with their societal politics? – well, that is tantamount to treason.”
Treason.
And the punishment for treason was …
Death.

~ * ~

 

It was difficult for Jin Ying to lose himself in his art, when all of his thoughts were of her. Did she have enough food? What if she were scared? Or bored? What if the Hunter found her? Hurt her? His charcoal pencil snapped with a twang; he’d been clutching it too hard.
He needed to stop. Needed to clear his head.
Stowing his art box and pencils safely away, he heard a rustle of leaves, the crack of a foot on leaves. He froze, the fur on his neck prickling, and slowly turned his head.
Hunter Andrian stood behind him. Eyes wide, one hand on the razor-edged club that hung from his belt. Jin Ying gulped; it felt like he was trying to swallow an over-sized berry. He hugged his knapsack to his chest, as though that could somehow protect him, and met the Hunter’s gaze. Andrian’s eyes were deep-red, a shade darker than Tristesse’s, the pupil ringed in pale blue.
“You have seen princess?”
An accusation or a question? Jin Ying could not tell. The fur on his nape bristled, and he took a step back. He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. The Hunter was not much taller than he, but lean and muscular.
“You, she, friend, yes?”
Jin Ying managed a nod.
“Not tell you, why she run?” He stepped closer, and Jin Ying took another step back. His foot skidded beneath him on the leaves, and he fell, painfully, onto his rump. Hunter Andrian’s shadow fell across him, lips drawn back to reveal his long canine teeth. “Where she hide?”
“I cannot tell you,” Jin Ying whimpered, afraid to lie, but too terrified to tell the truth.
The wooden club was in Hunter Andrian’s hand now, and he slapped the flat of it gently against his palm. “Cannot?” He loomed closer. His breath smelt sweet, of fruit – and rhum. “Or will not?”
Jin Ying’s feet scrabbled in the leaves, but the ground was too damp for him to gain purchase. He whimpered, about to confess to everything – when a small grey lemur materialized from the undergrowth.
“Tongava haingana!” she said, sounding insistent, following the command with a rapid-fire, babbled explanation, far beyond Jin Ying’s limited capacity of understanding.
But one word made his heartbeat accelerate, then clenched, as though it were clutched between the Hunter’s hands: ‘… Tristesse….’
Hunter Andrian hooked his weapon back onto his belt, firing a final, fierce glare down at the prone monkey. With the slightest shake of his head – pity, perhaps, gleamed in his eyes – he turned away, and followed the youngster back through the undergrowth.
Jin Ying scrabbled to his feet, his heart attempting to race its way out of his chest, and ran after them. Within minutes his lungs ached from the exertion, and his legs began throbbing. He dropped to all fours, a faster, if far less dignified, manner of locomotion.
The life of a scribe was not an active one and, when he finally arrived at the docks, he found it surrounded by a throng of lemurs. He pushed his way through the crowd, muttering apologies and refraining from meeting their hostile gazes.
Ambassador Cai Lei stood on the dock, towering over a kneeling pale figure.
“Tristesse!” Jin Ying cried out her name, with no thought for his own preservation. He would have run to her side too, if another had not clamped their hand about his arm.
Lin Junren loomed beside him, his face flushed red with anger and exertion. “Stay,” he barked the command. Jin Ying felt his legs melt, and he collapsed to the ground, aware dimly that someone – the macaque, probably – had caught him. But his eyes were locked on Tristesse.
She had looked up when she heard his call her name. Her eyes glistened with fear. Her muzzle moved, her lips drew back in a smile of submission, and the tip of her tail twitched with her agitation. He wanted to comfort, to hold her in her arms, but Lin Junren’s grasp was strong. “Do not interfere,” he growled in Jin Ying’s ear.
“Your princess,” Ambassador Cai Lei bellowed, “was found in my cabin – pawing through my record books.”
“You lie,” Hunter Andrian bounded forward, glaring up at the broad-shouldered ambassador. His teeth were bared, fur erect. His son, the prince, followed, to stand silent at his side. “You steal princess!” the hunter bellowed. “She no able read records!”
“Oh isn’t she?” Lin Junren breathed to Jin Ying. “Or did someone teach her?”
Jin Ying felt a weird fog growing in his head, expanding, as though he were losing control of his senses, instead watching himself from afar. His lips drew back, to reveal his own sharp canines.
“Admit it,” the ambassador growled. “You sent her to spy on us. She has broken the Treaty!”
“You broke treaty!” Hunter Andrian replied.
Lin Junren shrieked in sudden pain and recoiled away, releasing Jin Ying from his grasp. The scribe was aware only of the taste of blood in his mouth, then he was leaping across the crowd. Three heartbeats later, he stood beside his beloved.
“She is no spy,” he snarled, glaring at the lemur Hunter. “It is I who helped her aboard the ship – to protect her from you.”
Hunter Andrian looked startled. “Protect her from me?” he repeated.
The crowd were growing restless – their hostility almost palatable. This strange blue-faced vazaha was deriding their beloved Hunter. There began a bark, one word, repeated: ‘ady-ady-ady.’ It started in one spot, off somewhere to the right, but quickly spread throughout the throng.
Hunter Andrian’s lips drew back in a feral grin. “You challenge me, vazaha?” he asked. “Fight for Tristesse?”
“I no prize,” Tristesse snapped, but her angry defiance was drowned out by the chorus.
“I will fight for her honor.” Jin Ying puffed out his chest, trying to look bigger – and stronger – than he was. In truth, his heart raced with fear. Still, better to die defending who he loved, rather than live knowing he had betrayed her.
The ambassador’s hand fell on his shoulder. “Do you really want to do this?” he said. “It is not yet too late for diplomacy.”
Jin Ying was not so sure about that. His admittance might be enough to clear the ambassador of the kidnapping charge – but that did not change the fact that he, Jin Ying, had broken the Treaty and interfered with their customs. Either way, the most likely outcome was his death.
He nodded.
“I accept challenge!” Hunter Andrian’s eyes gleamed. He slipped off his weapon, and stepped out of his robes, folding them neatly and handing them to one of his retainers. “Body, teeth, claw, only,” he directed. “No weapon, no cloth.”
Jin Ying stripped off his robe and bundled them into the ambassador’s open arms. He felt horribly self-conscious, standing sky-clad before such an audience. There was no time for embarrassment however, for no sooner had the audience moved back – Prince Andrian dragged Tristesse to the side – when Hunter Andrian charged.
The fight was quick, and brutal. Claws to the face, a knee to the belly, teeth slashed his cheek. Jin Ying may have gotten in a kick or two – possibly even caught the taste of Andrian’s blood on his tongue – but an artist-scribe was no match for a trained Hunter, and within little more than two dozen heart-beats, and certainly less than three, Jin Ying found himself lying on the ground. There was a dull throb in the back of his head, somewhere behind his left ear, and an uncomfortable stickiness around it. Every breath sent jabs of pain through his chest, and the fingers on his right hand felt like they were on fire. Andrian crowed his victory, surrounded by the shrieked cheers of his supporters. If they were disappointed that the fight had been so short, Jin Ying couldn’t tell. In fact, he was having trouble focusing on anything. His vision started to blur, and he blinked, but dowsing the wetness in his eyes did not help.
“Jin Ying!” Her voice cut through the haze like a beam of glorious white light. Her face loomed above him, and her nose pressed, cold and wet, against his cheek. “Oh Jin Ying, what he has done to you.”
Her presence dwindled then, and he felt himself float away for a moment, buoyant on the memory of her touch. He was vaguely aware of an argument, her voice and the Hunter’s, but their words were a mystery. Then, large arms enfolded him with the warm scent of smoke, and spice.
“Mother?” he mumbled, although he had not seen his mother since he was weaned.
“I am not your mother,” the voice was gruff, low, and Jin Ying remembered it was the ambassador. “He has most certainly made a mess of you.”
Movement, first smooth, than he was jerked and jolted upwards, then more jerking and finally, no movement, save for the gentle rocking of the ground beneath him. “Where am I?” he whispered. Something soft was slipped beneath his head. A cushion?
“You in bed,” that voice was certainly not the ambassador’s. Too soft, too sweet. Too feminine. Something was pressed against his lips and he tasted cool, refreshing water. “Steady, steady,” the voice continued.
“Tristesse,” his lips found her name.
“Is I.” Her hand caressed his head.
“But… I lost.”
“Is not who win or who lose,” Tristesse replied. “Is who she choose. Is way. Always way.”
“It’s not?” There seemed something odd in that statement, but Jin Ying’s battered, fog-ridden brain could not make the sense of why.
“No,” she replied. “And I choose you, Jin Ying.”