They came to one of the large streets and lowered their scarves. “You should probably keep your head down this time,” Rangi said to Kyoshi. “Instead of barging in like you own the place.” The debacle in Chameleon Bay still weighed on her mind.
“No!” Kirima hissed. “You act meek in this town, and everyone will think you’re weak! Follow our lead.”
As they joined the flow of traffic, the Waterbender seemed to grow in stature, expanding her presence. Kirima normally retained a certain amount of elegance to her movements, but now she stepped through the crowd with exaggerated purpose and delicacy. She gazed through lidded eyes down the length of her chin as she walked, a picture of sophistication, a swords-woman moving through a form with a live blade. Interrupting her flow would mean getting cut to shreds.
“Gotta look like you’re ready to take someone’s head off at any moment, for any reason,” Wong said. “Or else you’ll get challenged.” He followed Kirima with angry stomps, abandoning the agility Kyoshi knew he possessed. His feet sent seismic thuds through the ground.
“Topknot’s got it,” Lek said, pointing at Rangi. “Look at her, boiling away with Firebender rage. See if you can pull that off.”
“I’m not doing anything,” Rangi protested. “This is my normal face.”
“You could also try to be like me!” Lao Ge said. He hunched inside his threadbare clothes, hiding his muscles, and flashed his manic, gap-toothed smile. He looked like the group’s shameful grandfather who’d escaped from the attic.
“Picking a fight with you would be a disgrace,” Lek said.
“Exactly!”
They made their way toward the bazaar in the center of town. It was slow going, trying to look tough. And not just for them. The other outlaws swaggered along the avenues, chests thrust out, elbows wide. A few favored Kirima’s approach of razor-edged refinement, carrying narrow jians instead of broadswords to complete the image.
Practically everyone was armed to the teeth. Most with swords and spears, but more exotic weapons like three-section staves, deer-horn blades, and meteor hammers were surprisingly common as well. Kyoshi spotted a few people wielding arms that should have been flat-out impossible to fight with. One man had a basket with knives lining the edge and a tether trailing off it.
“Is that guy carrying a muck rake?” Rangi whispered, tilting her head at a pug-nosed man waddling by.
“That’s Moon-Seizing Zhu, and don’t stare at the rake,” Lek said. “I’ve seen him puncture the skulls of two men at once with it.”
The Flying Opera Company had by far the least amount of metal on their persons. “Most of these people don’t seem like benders,” Kyoshi said.
“What, are you looking to trade us in for better teachers?” Kirima said. “Because you’re right—they’re not benders. Most outlaws live and die by the weapons in their hands. Our crew is a rarity.”
“Honestly, I think you should appreciate us more,” Wong said.
Kyoshi was distracted by a clatter of metal to the side. Two men, both carrying swords, had bumped into each other as they rounded a corner in opposite directions. The street slowed around them. Kyoshi’s stomach churned as she anticipated a surge of violence, gore running through the gutters.
It never came. Blades stayed in their scabbards while the men apologized profusely to each other, acting as friendly as two merchants who were planning a marriage between their children. There were promises to buy cups of tea and wine for each other before they parted ways. The happy smiles stayed on their faces long after the encounter.
“They’ll meet on the challenge platform tonight,” Lek said. “Probably during the weapons portion of the evening.” He made a bloody, strangled noise that made it obvious what the outcome would be.
“What?” Kyoshi said. “That wasn’t a big deal!”
“You don’t understand,” he said. “In this world, the only currency you have is your name and your willingness to defend it. If either of those men showed fear or poor self-control, they’d never get taken on by an outfit again. They had no other options.”
“They could stop being daofei,” Rangi muttered.
“Like it’s so easy to do whatever you want!” Lek’s face was full of bitterness. “You think honest work rains down from the sky? This is why the two of you are the worst! No one takes up this life on purpose!”
“Lek,” Kirima warned.
His shouting had drawn attention. Eyes watched them from the windows and porches of houses, anticipating a second act to tonight’s performance.
Lek calmed down. “Keep walking,” he said to Rangi and Kyoshi. “Show them we’re together, and it’ll be fine.”
Kyoshi had no objection to following his lead this time. She controlled her posture with renewed seriousness. They resumed picking their way through the town.
“There’s an expression in these parts,” Wong said, his low grumble giving the argument a close. “When the Law gives you nothing to eat, you turn to the Code. Then at least you can feast on your pride.”
The Hujiang bazaar was . . . a bazaar. Not much different from the one in Qinchao Village, which neighbored Yokoya. Vendors sat cross-legged next to piles of their wares on tarps laid over the ground, scowling at passersby who kicked up too much dust or lingered without buying. The sounds of haggling rang out in the air. Here, it was safe to let loose with aggression. There seemed to be a distinction between the warriors and the black marketeers who supplied them.
Kyoshi noticed that most of the peddlers specialized in traveling food: dried and smoked meats, beans and lentils. Rice was expensive: produce more so. The “fresh” vegetables were brown and wilted, and the rare pieces of shriveled fruit looked more like decorative antiques.