Pong couldn’t take his eyes off Ampai’s bracelet. “I can’t believe you knew him.”
Ampai’s eyes twinkled at the happy memory. “And, yes, he was old when I knew him, in case you’re wondering.” She nodded at Pong’s wrist. “You have all those white ones. He gave them to me, too, though never as many as you have. They snapped off a long time ago. He’d always tell me things like, ‘May you never get kicked by a donkey.’”
“And did it come true?” asked Pong.
Ampai tossed her hair back and laughed. “I’ve never even seen a donkey!”
Pong laughed, too. “That sounds like something he’d say.”
“He didn’t give out many of these, though,” said Ampai, tapping her own red bracelet. “In fact, you’re the first person I’ve met in a long time who has one. What did he tell you when he gave it to you?”
Pong started to answer, but the words wouldn’t come. The image of Father Cham lying in the temple came back to him. Pong thought about how he’d demanded his freedom, how he’d disrespected his teacher. He didn’t think he could talk without crying.
“It’s okay,” said Ampai gently. “You don’t have to tell me. Do you want to know what my blessing was?”
Pong looked up at her. He remembered how Father Cham had told him that he’d changed the types of blessings he gave out. He’d stopped trying to alter the world with his gift.
Ampai placed her hand on her chest. “He told me, ‘May your courage never falter.’”
Pong swallowed and steadied his breath. “Ampai, did you know that Father Cham died?”
Her eyes shimmered, but only for a moment before becoming steely again. “I did hear that,” she whispered. She took Pong’s hand. “Look, he gave you that bracelet because he believed you were special. He believed you were good.”
“He believed everyone was good,” whispered Pong.
Ampai squeezed his hand in hers. “He believed in you. He knew who you were, and he didn’t think you were broken.”
Pong shut his eyes. He tried to let what Ampai said settle in his mind. But he could only hear the same words he’d heard constantly over the years.
You were born in darkness . . .
. . . and that will never change.
The words still terrified him, but there was something comfortable about them, too. Father Cham had wished for Pong to find what he was looking for: freedom. And he would be free. He would turn his back on all this darkness, all this hurt, and finally get away from it.
He slowly pulled his hand out of Ampai’s. Without meeting her gaze, he said, “We should go get more orbs before we run out of time.”
Nok stood in the ordering line, a row of glistening brown chickens turning on a roasting rack near her head. The heat coming off the Crimson orbs made her woozy. She felt as if she could close her eyes and not wake up for a week. Between working out at the spire-fighting gym during the day and searching the streets for Pong at night, she was almost worn out.
She stretched her stiff neck side to side. She hated her squeaky cot at the gym. She missed the light from her parents’ room shining under the crack in the door. She missed her parents. She even missed her whiny little sisters. Nok was genuinely homesick, a useless thing to be in her situation. Even if she gave up and left the gym, she wouldn’t be going home. She’d be going somewhere even less familiar — the mountaintop school. No, if home was what she wanted, she’d have to stick it out and finish what she came here to do.
Nok had walked every alley and floated down every canal in the entire city, some of them twice. There had been times when she thought she spotted Pong, only to get closer and find it was someone else. Once, in a crowded street, she had felt his presence. She knew he was close, but she never saw him. She wondered if Pong knew she was hunting him. Maybe he was tracking her, too, and that’s how he stayed at least one step ahead.
She’d resorted to asking people if they’d seen him. She didn’t like this method — it felt sloppy. But she was getting desperate. She could risk staying in the city for another day or two, and then she would have to go back to Tanaburi.
Nok stepped up to the front of the line, where an older woman was taking orders for roast chicken. The woman’s hairnet tugged her painted eyebrows up, which gave her a look of permanent surprise. She greeted most of the customers by name and knew almost everyone’s orders. Nok had learned enough about street markets to know that every market had a “Matron,” a woman who kept tabs on everything that happened on her little stretch of canal. This woman with the painted eyebrows was definitely the Matron.
That made her the best person to answer Nok’s questions.
When it was Nok’s turn, the woman slid a bird off the roasting rack and started hacking it to pieces with a long butcher knife. “Whatcha want, sugar?” she asked. “Half a chicken or a whole?”
“Actually, could I just get a leg quarter, please?”
The woman froze mid-hack and gave Nok a stinky look before slicing off the bird’s leg. Nok couldn’t help being cheap — her money supply was dwindling, and she needed to make it last. The Matron handed Nok the meat in a paper box.
“Ma’am, can I ask you a question?” said Nok as she handed over her money.
“Hm.”
Nok raised up on her toes a little. “I’m looking for someone. A boy about my age with a shaved head. He was a monk-in-training. His name is Pong. Have you seen him?”
The Matron slid another bird onto her cutting board. “Sugar, I run the busiest chicken stand on this canal. You think I’m gonna remember every Pong who comes along?”
Another woman, a younger version of the Matron, stepped out from behind the stall carrying a tray of raw chicken to add to the roaster. “Are you talking about Ampai’s kid?” she asked.
“No, sorry,” said Nok. “This boy is an orphan. Thank you, though.”
As she turned to go, the younger woman added, “Because if you are, tell that boy to come around and listen to my orbs sometime.”
“What?” said the Matron. “Whatcha mean ‘listen’ to orbs? Are they gonna tell you the weather or something?” She threw her head back and laughed.
“Very funny, Mom,” said the young woman, skewering the limp chicken bodies onto the rack. “There’s a rumor that this kid is going around town with Ampai. He gets real close to orbs, and . . . well, he listens to them or something.”
Nok was suddenly wide awake.
“Oh, ppth,” mocked her mother, sticking out her tongue. “Why would he do that?”
“Someone told me that the orbs whisper to him about the future,” said her daughter. “Maybe he can listen to our orbs and tell me whether I’ll ever get to move out and stop plucking dead chickens.”
Nok’s head filled with the memory of the courtyard at Namwon. She remembered the boy with sticking-up hair staring up into the mango tree, his ear pointed to the fruit. At the time she’d thought it was so strange. What kind of child listens to mangoes? Maybe the same kind who would listen to orbs.
“The person you mentioned,” said Nok. “Ampai. Do you know how I can find her?”
The young woman scratched her cheek. “Hmm. I actually don’t have any idea where she lives. But she does have an adopted nephew — a great big guy named Yai. I see him at the Hidden Market sometimes. I go there to get Mom’s foot fungus medicine.”
“Ay!” snapped the Matron, waving the butcher knife in the air. “Enough chitchatting! You think those chickens are going to pluck themselves?”
The young woman rolled her eyes. “All right, all right — I’m going.” When her mother turned around, the young woman quickly grabbed another leg quarter off the cutting board and tucked it into a box. She slid it to Nok and winked. “On the house,” she whispered.
“Thank you,” Nok whispered back.
And she was thankful. She would need plenty of fuel for what she was going to do next.
The sun had just set, which meant it was time for Pong’s day to begin. The Mud House
atrium was so dimly lit that he nearly tripped over his chair. They had taken most of the Violet orbs out of the atrium to swap them with faded orbs in the city. The tenants, who still had no idea what Ampai was up to, complained about having to stumble around, so Somkit made up some excuse about tinkering with the tinfoil cones. With the march only a few days away, he would only have to put them off a little while longer.
“Oh, man, I could sleep for weeks,” said Pong groggily.
He sat across the dinner table from Somkit, whose day had just wrapped up. Both boys’ heads drooped, their faces in danger of being washed in their soup.
“You think you’re tired?” said Somkit. He flexed his fingers and arched his back from side to side. “Try sitting at a workbench for hours, pricking your fingers on a thousand copper wires over and over again.”
“How many sun orbs do you have now?” asked Pong.
“One hundred and thirty-nine,” said Somkit, yawning. “Our goal was just a hundred, but I figured that as long as you keep bringing me faded orbs, I’ll make as many as I can. Ampai is telling everyone to bring a pole or a stick with them to the march. That way we can hang the orbs on them and carry them more easily.”
“But Ampai is still keeping the actual sun orbs a secret?” asked Pong.
Somkit squeezed a lime over his noodles and nodded. “There’s a big meeting Saturday night before the march. She’ll tell everyone then. It should help convince anyone who’s still on the fence to join us.”
“Where’s she now?” asked Pong. Usually Ampai would be in the hall at dinnertime, talking to everyone, quizzing the children on their schooling, or debating philosophy with the old scholars.
“She said to tell you that she had to go upriver to the woodworking district, and she won’t be back tonight.” Somkit poured green syrup into his glass of fizzy water and sipped it. “She wants as many people from different pockets of the city as possible to be in the march.”
Pong frowned down at his food. “How long will she be gone?”
“She should be back tomorrow.” Somkit leaned over his bowl toward Pong. “Don’t worry: she hasn’t forgotten about getting you on a boat.”
“Are you sure? She hasn’t mentioned anything about it since we first agreed.”
“She’s just busy with the march — that’s all,” said Somkit. “But she’ll keep her promise. She’s working on getting you a border permit. You’ll need it when you get to the sea. If you have one of those, the shore patrol will wave you past, and they won’t check anything or ask any questions.”
Pong looked at Somkit skeptically. “That sounds illegal, doesn’t it? I thought Ampai didn’t break any laws.”
Somkit shrugged and slugged a big gulp of soda. “It’s almost legal. And Ampai will stretch the dumb laws. She knows the difference between what’s the law and what’s right. That’s why so many people follow her.”
“Is that why you follow her?” asked Pong.
Somkit grabbed a knot of noodles with his chopsticks. “Nah, I’m just here for the food.” After a few seconds of chewing, he wiped his mouth with his napkin. His eyes stayed down on his bowl as he talked. “When I got out of Namwon, I didn’t have anywhere to go. I didn’t know what to do. I found some other kids living on the street, and I hung around with them for a while, but it was . . .” He lifted his eyes to Pong’s. “Do you know what happens to kids on the street who can’t run and can’t fight?”
Now it was Pong’s turn to look down. He didn’t want to know. This is what had haunted him all those years in the temple. He should have been there with Somkit when he got released. Whatever Somkit faced, they should have faced it together. Instead, his friend had to go through all of it alone.
Somkit took a big breath and let it out the side of his mouth. He reached for a shaker of spicy salt and dumped half of it into his bowl. “I got lucky, you know? When Ampai found me, I was stealing food. If she hadn’t come along, I think I’d be back in jail by now. Worse, maybe.”
Pong had learned enough about life on the East Side to know that Somkit wasn’t exaggerating.
“She brought me here,” Somkit went on, “gave me a home, gave me food. I mean, that would’ve been enough. But she did more.” He glanced up at the remaining Violet orbs swinging overhead, cradled in his reflective inventions. “She made me feel like I can do anything. Like I have something to give.”
Pong watched his friend stir his noodles from one side of his bowl to the other and back again. If Ampai hadn’t found Somkit, and he were still living on the street, Pong would never have forgiven himself. And Ampai was right — Somkit could do anything. Right now he was doing something no one except the Governor had ever done before.
“What?” said Somkit, his mouth full of food. “You’re looking at me funny.”
“You know something?” said Pong with a smile. “There was a time when we were little and you made me promise that I’d keep my mouth shut and stay out of trouble. And now you’re the biggest loudmouth I know, and you’re planning to march against the Governor.”
Somkit grinned. “Yeah, well, when I run my mouth, I do it with charm. Makes all the difference.” He pushed his chair back and let out a thunderous burp that made the little children on the other end of the table jump. “Sorry,” he said to their mothers with a wave of his hand. “Soda. Does it to me every time. So, Pong, since Ampai’s not here, maybe you can take a break. What do you say, should we head out and try to find us some dessert? I’m thinking —”
Somkit went quiet and stared past Pong. Pong turned around to see what he was looking at. Yord and Yai slunk in the back door and hurried up the stairs, darting secretive glances over their shoulders.
“What do you think they’re up to?” asked Somkit, narrowing his eyes.
“Can’t be good,” said Pong. “I really don’t like those two. I just can’t understand how Ampai puts up with them.”
“Yai’s mother was Ampai’s friend. When she died, Ampai promised she’d look after him. I guess Yord just comes along for the ride. They are pretty useful at certain things. They can get anything you need on the Hidden Market, like medicine and stuff, so Ampai looks the other way when it comes to them skimming off the top.”
“What do you mean, skimming?”
“You know. Whenever they go out to collect money for our cause, I’m pretty sure that Yord keeps some for himself.”
Pong nodded. “A finder’s fee.”
“Wish he’d find himself a new gig,” grumbled Somkit. “I hope Ampai will finally dump them after the march. She always tells me that everyone deserves a chance to do good things, but sometimes I think she’s too trusting”. He turned to Pong, rubbing his stomach. “So what do you say? Fruit market before it closes? Durian’s in season.”
Pong made a face. “No, thanks. I’m still waking up.” And I don’t want to smell like a dead bat, he thought.
“Suit yourself. I’ll be back in a few.”
Somkit left through the door under the stairs. Pong cleared their dishes away and then started to head back to their room. He paused on the steps. Somkit had said he made 139 sun orbs.
Pong counted up the nights that he and Ampai had gone out into the city. Pong had collected a total of 151 orbs. Where were the other twelve? He hurried upstairs into Somkit’s room and pulled the curtain partway so that he was shielded from view but could still see Ampai’s office door. He could hear Yai and Yord inside, shuffling their feet and sliding boxes across the floor.
The door to the office swung open, and the two men stepped out. Yai had his satchel slung over one shoulder. One of Yai and Yord’s main jobs for Ampai was to deliver the donations she collected from her friends all over the city. Bandages and ointments, vitamins and creams — anything that was too expensive or hard to find.
But something was up. Yai didn’t let his satchel hang over his back like usual. He cradled the bottom of it with one hand, like a lady carrying an expensive purse. Whatever was inside, it wasn’t cotton bandages
. Pong held his breath and listened. As the men passed Somkit’s room and started down the stairs, he heard it: the soft tink-tink of glass on glass.
Pong scowled. Those crooks were taking the faded orbs.
Ampai hadn’t told them what the orbs were for, but they must have figured out where she was keeping them. What were they going to do with them?
He waited until the men were down the stairs and out the door before grabbing his cap and following them.
Yai and Yord didn’t head for the usual neighborhoods that would be on a supply delivery route. Instead, they snaked along the canals that led deeper inland, toward the metals district. Pong kept a good distance behind, thankful that Yai’s hulking body was easy to track in a crowd. They passed through industrial neighborhoods, where the orb buzz was drowned out by the sound of clanging hammers and the whir of saws.
The men hooked around a rusty warehouse and turned onto a walkway suspended above a sludgy canal. The stink of sewage, mixed with boat paint and machine grease, wafted up from the thick water. People crowded the walkway and clustered around the shops perched above the sludge. Unlike the other alleys, where the vendors had big orb-lit signs and played music to attract customers, the vendors here had no signs at all. Everything was designed to be packed away quickly or abandoned.
This must be the Hidden Market. Somkit had told Pong about it: a place where you could get anything, as long as you had the cash. Pong tracked Yai and Yord to a rickety table squeezed between two other vendors. The crowd of shoppers provided a screen so he could watch them.
Yai opened his satchel. Just as Pong suspected, it was packed full of orbs.
A young couple timidly approached the table. Yord smiled like a toad and waved them closer. “Trust me, kids, these are as fine as any orb you’d buy in the Light Market, and I’ll give ’em to you at half the price!”
Yord held up one of the orbs and flicked on the switch. As the couple leaned in closer, he quickly turned it off again. “I have to keep them switched off so I don’t attract too much attention,” he said with a slick smile. “Or else I’d be swarmed with customers. But don’t worry — I’m saving this deal just for you.”
A Wish in the Dark Page 14