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But Skatch seemed pleased. “Yes!” he cried. “That’s it! You don’t go looking for trouble, but you don’t back away from it, either. Especially from a snaggle-toothed, foul-odored innkeeper.”

His hand whipped forward, grabbing the sword out of Mulan’s grasp. Before she could even blink, he had the tip of the blade pointed right below her chin. “Pay before I eat?” he said, as though he were addressing the innkeeper himself. “My payment’s the tip of my blade. So, either I eat now�6�2.�6�2.�6�2. or you die.”

Mulan couldn’t help thinking that, for a monk, he seemed remarkably capable with a weapon. Flipping the sword in his hand, Skatch held out the handle to Mulan.

“Never let someone take your sword, by the way,” he said. “Very bad idea.”

“Oh. Sorry—” Mulan began.

“Apologizing isn’t recommended, either,” Skatch said, cutting her off. “And another thing—”

This time, he was the one who was interrupted. Letting out a loud burp, Ramtish hit his chest with his fist. “Brother Skatch,” he said, “this man’s trying to eat his dinner and you’re blabbering on like a woman.”

Skatch held his hand to his heart. “Apologies, Hua Jun,” he said. “Please—let us sit. Relax. Enjoy your meal.”

He turned and joined Ramtish, who had made himself quite comfortable on a fallen log. Running his hand through his dark hair, he smiled at his friend as Ramtish refilled both their cups. A few drops spilled over, staining the ground where they fell a light red.

Mulan’s eyes narrowed as she watched the two men tilt back their cups and drink deeply.

“There are many paths to truth,” Skatch said, in response to the judgment he saw in Mulan’s eyes.

Silence settled over the small clearing as the two monks stared into the flickering flames of the fire and Mulan stared at them. She was still unsure exactly what they were doing there. They had fed her, for which she was grateful, but she had assumed they would soon be on their way. Yet they lingered.

Since they didn’t appear to be going anywhere, Mulan figured she should at least make conversation. “You said there was another thing.”

“Pardon?” Skatch said, looking up from his cup. His eyes already seemed a little glazed and his voice less clear.

“You know,” Mulan prompted. “About being a man. Another thing I should know?”

Skatch frowned, and Ramtish nudged him. The pair shared a look that Mulan couldn’t quite read before Ramtish said, “Oh, go on. You might as well tell him now.”

For a moment, Skatch hesitated, and Mulan wondered if he was going to heed his friend’s advice or ignore him. Mulan felt a flash of impatience, but then he nodded. “Here’s the most fundamental thing of all.” Skatch paused, his eyes locking with Mulan’s and all traces of his fogginess disappearing. “A real man never refuses a drink.”

As Skatch finished his “lesson,” Ramtish casually placed a cup of wine in front of Mulan. She looked down at the red liquid, then up at the monks, and then back down at the wine. She had never tasted a drop of the liquid in her life. Even at the few celebrations she had attended in her village, her mother had strictly forbidden it, telling Mulan it would make her act unladylike. But now she didn’t have a choice. If she refused, the monks would figure out her secret.

So, taking a deep breath, she grabbed the cup, brought it to her lips�6�2.�6�2.�6�2. and drank the contents down in one long gulp.

Skatch looked down at the young soldier, who was now lying beside the fire. He was out cold. The liquid had done its trick. The moment he had spotted the young man, Skatch had known he would be an easy mark. The boy reeked of innocence and naiveté. All it had taken was the one glass of wine and Hua Jun had passed out. Now he lay there, half his face covered in dirt, oblivious to the movement around him.

Lifting a hand, Skatch rubbed his now hairless chin. The fake beard he had been wearing was hanging underneath his chin, giving his skin a chance to feel the fresh air. Turning, he saw Ramtish strapping the warrior’s sword to the back of the horse’s saddle. The huge animal shifted on his feet, clearly aware that something strange was going on.

“We have the horse and the sword,” Ramtish said, giving the rope around the sword one final tug to make sure it was secure. He nodded at the warrior on the ground. “Let’s strip him and take his armor.”

Not waiting for Skatch’s permission, Ramtish leaned down and reached to unlace the young warrior’s armor. But before he could finish, a loud, ugly bird appeared out of nowhere. Ramtish swung his arms around, trying to keep the bird at bay. But the creature kept coming, its eyes wild and sparse feathers flying. With a shout, he managed to swat the bird, sending it soaring.

But it doubled back immediately, attacking again. This time, Ramtish didn’t bother with his hand. Instead, he reached down and unsheathed his own sword. It whooshed through the air as he brought it up, the tip pointing directly at the oncoming bird.

This time, the bird stopped.

“Brother?” Skatch asked, watching the interaction with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. He wasn’t sure why the bird seemed so protective of the warrior, but it was clear the creature wanted Ramtish nowhere near him. “Leave his armor. And the sword.”

Ramtish looked over, surprise on his face. “What?” he said. He and Skatch had been working together for years. Never once, in all that time, had Skatch left something of value behind when there was something of value to be had.

“There’s something about this young man I like,” Skatch said, shrugging. His eyes lingered on the warrior. In sleep, the young man looked even more innocent. “He’s an underdog, like ourselves,” he added.

“Speak for yourself,” Ramtish retorted. “As dogs go, I prefer to think of myself as a champion.”

Skatch laughed as he hooked his fake beard around his ears and pushed it back into place. “Leave him the donkey, too,” Skatch added. “Since I am in a very generous mood.” Then, grabbing the horse’s reins, he led the big animal out of the clearing. Ramtish took one last longing look at the armor and weapon and then, with a sigh, followed.

Behind them, the warrior lay, his breath heavy, his eyes still closed.

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