If Mu-in had not been so absorbed in watching his younger brother, he might have noticed that his companions were acting strangely.

  Only one of them, Hyeon-seok — a broad-shouldered, round-faced soldier of about thirty-five — was Mu-in’s old acquaintance from the councilor’s personal guard. The other two had joined his small search party only two days earlier, after the failure at the port, and he had not even managed to remember their names. Hyeon-seok, however, seemed quite friendly with them. They whispered among themselves and went to inspect the horses together.

  At another time this would have been enough to arouse Mu-in’s suspicion, but now his thoughts were elsewhere.

  None of his companions knew that this peasant with the humiliating nickname Cudgel was in fact his younger brother Hwan. Even Hwan himself did not remember it, and in his eyes Mu-in was just another dangerous and wealthy traveler best avoided. They had been separated in early childhood, and since then Hwan had grown up on the rural estate of Lord Pak, living as the constant hostage of his brother’s obedience.

  Of all the people in the world, only Mu-in himself and Chief State Councilor Choi knew what family the slave Cudgel actually came from.

  Mu-in had been watching his brother’s life from afar.

  Sometimes he could help him find a piglet lost in the forest, chase wolves away from the village, or scatter a handful of coins along the path leading to the fields. Once he had dragged him unconscious from a creek after the boy had swallowed water — thanks to their mother who had called for help in time.

  Of course, Mu-in could not be there constantly, but he did what he could. In all these years he had never seen his brother in this state. It was not normal, and Mu-in could not help worrying.

  The commotion upstairs briefly pulled him from his heavy thoughts. But when the fighter who had run up there came back and announced from the staircase that the screams had been caused by poisoning with some pills called Hwangu handed out by merchants, Mu-in understood everything.

  Two merchants still at their table began loudly protesting, gasping and insisting they had nothing to do with this medicine. As for the third — he was not with them at all, and where he had gone was unknown.

  Mu-in rose, grabbed his sword, and marched straight toward Cudgel. He seized him by the collar — the shabby garment nearly tore — and shook him.

  “How dare you insult the guests with such behavior, slave?” he declared haughtily for all to hear, dragging his younger brother toward the door leading to the inner courtyard. “Get out of decent people’s sight!”

  Outside, it was a downpour. Around the small enclosed courtyard stood several sheds, the kitchen with its large outdoor stove, a well, and an outhouse in the far corner. Assuming the kitchen was crowded now, Mu-in dragged the limp boy into the nearest shed and shut the wooden door.

  “You are the slave Cudgel from the Pak estate,” Mu-in said, throwing the still humming and babbling youth onto a straw mat. “What are you doing here, and in such a state?”

  The familiar name sobered him a little, and Hwan sat up. Seeing a well-dressed man, he fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to the floor.

  “Forgive me, nari, I’m not to blame!” he wailed. “Don’t feed me to the pigs!”

  “What are you doing here?” Mu-in repeated, clenching his right fist. In his left he held the sword he rarely parted with.

  “I didn’t mean to, truly. Please don’t kill me!” The boy suddenly started to sob.

  Mu-in involuntarily stepped back.

  “No one is killing you,” he snapped. “How dare you swallow that pill? You must never touch such filth!”

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  “Yes, nari. Forgive me, nari,” Hwan sobbed on, knocking his forehead on the floor. Mu-in grimaced. Had his brother truly been raised with no trace of dignity? Though if he had lived his whole life as a slave…

  “Calm down,” he ordered. “Explain why you ran away. You did run away?”

  “Spare meee!” Hwan howled. Mu-in glanced at the door. The last thing he needed was well-meaning rescuers bursting in, thinking some brutal execution was taking place.

  “Quiet!” Mu-in barked, and the boy instantly fell silent, trembling and sniffling. “Answer my question.”

  “T-t-they killed everyone,” he whispered at last, stammering and shaking. “I, I, I ran away!”

  “Where did they kill them? Whom? Who?” Mu-in frowned. Was this drugged nightmare talking, or had something actually happened at the Pak estate?

  “Soldiers came running, killed the master, said he was a traitor,” Hwan sniffled. “Then they gathered everyone in the yard, took the women away, and the men…”

  He burst into tears again.

  The story sounded strange to Mu-in. First, the old half-blind Lord Pak had long abandoned politics and cared more about milk yields than about the currents within the royal council. Second, even if he had been involved in something dangerous — or framed — traitors were not killed on the spot. They were bound, taken to court, and only then given a public execution. It was hard to believe the disjointed tale of a drugged slave.

  “And how did you survive if they killed everyone?” Mu-in asked coldly. The very idea that his brother could fall prey to such poison repulsed him.

  He had seen people who tried similar “magic pills” two or three times and then could no longer imagine life without them, reduced to drooling, pliant dolls. His brother must not become one of them.

  “My stomach hurt in the evening,” the boy mumbled in embarrassment. “I ran to the bushes, and then the soldiers came. They yelled some prince was killed and that it was treason. I was scared and hid. I ran all day, slept in the forest, I was very hungry, so I came here. I’m telling the truth, nari! I don’t know anything about treason, I just want to live.”

  Cudgel clearly understood that now his fate lay in the hands of this stern master with a sword, who somehow knew his name. Perhaps he was one of those slave-hunters who caught runaways and returned them to their owners. Or worse — he might work for the magistrate, meaning he would seize and execute Cudgel for his masters’ treason.

  “Your stomach hurt,” Mu-in snorted and suddenly laughed. What unbelievable foolishness and luck, if any of it was true. But there was no way the slave Cudgel could have learned of the prince’s supposed murder. Especially considering that the prince was — perhaps — still alive.

  “Forgive me, nari,” Cudgel babbled out of habit, cautiously lifting his head to give Mu-in an anxious look.

  “All right,” Mu-in crouched before the slave, trying to look less frightening. “Tell me again. Exactly, word for word, what those soldiers said, and when it happened. And sit up straight already, I’m tired of talking to your nape.”

  Mu-in stepped out of the shed a few minutes later, deep in thought. He stopped, leaning against the wall beneath the short eave that shielded him from the rain.

  Hwan’s story was strange, illogical, and therefore he was ready to believe it.

  It looked like the soldiers had attacked the Pak estate yesterday, just before dawn. They had orders to kill all the men and used the prince’s death as their pretext. Except only one person had thought the prince dead at dawn yesterday — Chief State Councilor Choi. The authorities would only just be discovering the bodies at the port, they would have had no time to dispatch troops. And what did the Paks have to do with treason?

  But if the councilor, right after arranging the murder of the official heir to the throne, decided to eliminate Mu-in and his brother as well… Hide a leaf in the forest, destroy a noble family to kill a worthless slave.

  No one would suspect the real target had been Cudgel, right?

  But that same worthlessness had helped him escape: no one counted him immediately, the attackers focused on the masters and never checked the servants’ list.

  If this was truly what had happened, then Mu-in’s life had just turned upside down. He could hate the councilor, but he had grown used to living under his roof and, poisonous as it was, under his protection.

  Should he now try to track down the prince and bring back his head as ransom? Or should he take his brother and flee somewhere no one could find them? Though in this world there were likely no places out of reach of Chief State Councilor Choi. Sooner or later they would be found, and then no mercy would be shown to anyone.

  Mu-in looked at the rain streaming from the roof and pooling in the courtyard, turning his old wooden tag between his fingers. The smooth wood warmed quickly in his palm. What was the councilor plotting? What could his pet assassin do?

  Mu-in returned to the hall alone and deeply unsettled, no closer to resolving his dilemma. He told Hwan to hide in the shed for now and not show himself, pretending to be sick. He even, for some reason, promised to give him money for the road once the rain ended.

  Amazingly, he had spoken to his own brother for the first time in years.

  It felt strange and unfamiliar, with a taste of wrongness — Mu-in’s place was in the shadows, he was not supposed to show himself to those who mattered to him. The air smelled sharply of wet green leaves and anxiety.