God of Luck by Ruthann Lum McCunn Read Free Book Online Page A

into fists.

    NO SOONER WERE we pigs assembled then six more devils crowded onto the stern deck. In the lead was a bloated sausage whose skin was almost as red as the hair bristling above his sea-green eyes, springing out of his oversized ears and nostrils, covering his head and jowls, the backs of his meaty hands. From the way this red devil swaggered, I thought he was the captain. But the interpreter, a muddy-faced mess of tics and twitches, told us the red devil was second-in-command of the ship. The colorless, clean-shaven reed with no neck and a head that listed to one side was the ship’s doctor, the three barefoot devils common sailors, the Chinese in black-gummed silk our headman.
    “Swineherd, you mean.”
    Were it not for the puff of breath on the back of my neck from the man behind me and the muffled snorts of those nearby, I would have mistaken this comment, quiet as it was bitter, for my own imagining. There was no mistaking Red’s snarl though, and the interpreter, despite his tics and twitches, spoke distinctly, his translation in three dialects rising above birdcalls, the persistent eerie rumbling, the myriad noises from boat traffic and the devils clearing the main deck.
    “Take off your clothes, including your hats and shoes, and put them on the deck. Those of you with belongings, place them on the deck as well. If you have your queue coiled around your head, release it so it hangs down your back.”
    Stuffing my silver dollars into my mouth for safekeeping, I started unbuttoning my jacket. Around me, men shed their hats and jackets and uncoiled their queues. Those who’d made purchases in the pigpen set down their bundles.
    None that I could see reached for his pants’ wide waistband. Nor would I. Since Moongirl and I had become too old for Ma to bathe us together in our courtyard, no one had seen me naked out in the open. Why would I degrade myself by stripping for this devil?
    “Cooperate fully,” the interpreter urged. “Any man the doctor finds diseased, addicted to opium, crippled, or too young or too old for labor will be set free.”
    A doctor—even one with a crooked head—could surely make those determinations while we were clothed! One glance at the morose graybeard’s withered skin revealed his age, and from my neighbor’s sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, it was obvious he was an addict.
    Red, roaring so loud he shut out all else, clamped his meaty hands over the ears of the closest captive and lifted him into the air. Stunned by the devil’s strength, I almost choked on my silver dollars. The interpreter twitched over to the swineherd, who looked on expressionless as Red, still roaring like an angry bull, dashed the poor sod onto the deck, ripped off his pants.
    Burning inside now as fiercely as out, I stared at the deck to spare myself and my fellow captives the worst of our shame—dropped my pants. As I stepped out of them, then my sandals, onto scorching planks, I saw the men in front of me doing likewise. I also saw the doctor’s form-fitting trousers and leather shoes hurry past the first row of bare legs and feet while Red circled each captive.
    Every one of these men jumped, some with shocked gasps, many with furious belches and hisses. Fearful of what the devil was doing, I clenched my teeth against the moment he’d reach me.
    The silver dollars mashed against the roof of my mouth, my tongue, and my gorge rose in protest at their weight, their unpleasant metallic taste. But there was nowhere else to hide them. The sailors were ransacking our clothes and bundles, sending silver dollars and strings of coppers flying, along with chopsticks, tobacco, pipes, tongue scrapers, preserved fruit. One of these devils, an oaf with eagles and stars painted on his forearms, was even sneaking coins into his own pockets.
    Each time any of them came upon an opium pipe, tin of opium, earscoop, knife, or razor, they’d throw it aside. Occasionally Red, growling like a cur who’d snatched