with its many appendages and hangers-on. Who could guess how the half-dozen men seated on the barrels were related to the owner of the place? But the Reverend was certain that they were.
The people did not offer the usual gasps of recognition that the Reverend had grown accustomed to upon arriving in any setting. Usually, his reputation as the Ghost Man preceded him, but here in his own town, where he had assumed he was revered, the natives eyed him with an even stare. That was all right with the Reverend. He didn't need to appear a god to all concerned, so long as he was able to obtain what he had come for.
"Good people," he began.
Ahcho shot out a hand and patted his arm. Then his manservant spoke in a quick and unrecognizable dialect that surprised the Reverend. He had thought he knew all the possible permutations of the complex language of the region, but apparently he did not.
The proprietor, who appeared to be the most robust of the men behind the counter, leaned forward to get a better look at the Reverend. He spoke quickly to his friends or cousins, who also leaned their elbows on the counter and stared.
"What are they saying?" the Reverend asked Ahcho.
"They have heard of you."
"Good, good."
"No, not so good," Ahcho mumbled.
"Why ever not?" the Reverend asked.
At that moment the proprietor came out from behind the empty counter. He planted himself before the Reverend and raised an eyebrow. The fellow was shorter than the Reverend by at least a foot, but he was sturdy and muscular. He did not look one bit affected by the famine. His eyes in the shadowed room appeared black and angry— shiny beads that sucked in the dim light. The man put his hands on his hips and lifted his chin.
"Show us, Ghost Man," he said. "Show us your miracles."
The Reverend thought he had caught the meaning of the taunt, but the others did not wait for his reply.
A bent grandfather stepped forward from where he had sat hunched on a barrel. "You are the one who turned a small white freak into a deity that no man can harm?"
Before the Reverend could answer, a different young man came from behind the counter and said, "And I hear you taught an elephant to fly."
Even a mother with a child on her hip spoke up. "I heard that you made the snakes fall asleep forever."
The Reverend pushed the wolf's head back and off his brow so they might see he was only human, like them. He bobbed his head and smiled slightly. "No," he began, "not exactly."
"You," the proprietor said as he stepped closer and poked a finger hard at the Reverend's shoulder, "you who can do so much magic, I say you will now fix the drought for us."
Another strong young fellow stepped forward and insisted, "That's right, you'll do what he says."
"The fields are cracked," one of the grandfathers added from a shadowed corner of the room. "The last time it was this bad was before the Boxer Rebellion. Foreign devils were amongst us then, too."
The Reverend understood the phrase "foreign devils" and grasped the angry sounds of agreement now coming from the other elders.
"Oh, heavens," the Reverend said, "I am not responsible for the weather, gentlemen and dear ladies. We know better than that, now, don't we?"
One of the grandmothers spat on the dusty wooden floorboards, as if to prove that she was no lady, but also that she did not believe him.
"But you made these other miracles happen, did you not?" the proprietor asked.
"Well, I— " the Reverend started.
"Because if you did not," the proprietor said as he crossed his substantial arms over his wide chest, "then you have been fooling us all along. And we are not a stupid people who deserve to be fooled."
His friends nodded in agreement.
"Of course you're not," the Reverend said. "My God, I was just thinking this morning that my servants are far cleverer than I." He looked over at Ahcho and hoped that the dear man understood that he meant this sincerely and was not just saying it to make an impression.
Ahcho blanched and stepped forward. "Ghost Man respects all Chinese, not just his servants."
Before the Reverend knew what was happening, one of proprietor's friends, clearly a thug, had Ahcho's long queue in his hand. "Old one," he said to Ahcho as he tightened his grip around the braid, "I see you follow the ancient ways. But we're