Free A Single Shard by Linda Sue Park Page B

placid and kind as always, Tree-ear saw in her eyes some great worry that even her gentle smile of greeting could not hide.
    "More clay, Tree-ear," she said quietly. "Both plain and colored."
    Tree-ear bowed in reply, and she turned back to the house. He trotted down the road a few paces, until he was sure she had gone inside. Then he left the cart by the side of the road and crept around to the back of the house.
    Tree-ear felt the blood drain from his face at the terrible sight that greeted his eyes. The yard was covered with pieces of shattered pottery—hundreds of them, it seemed.
    Tree-ear knew at once what had happened—the face of Min's wife had told him. She was neither angry nor fearful; instead, she had seemed deeply, quietly, sad. It could mean only one thing. Min had smashed the vases himself.
    Tree-ear counted on his fingers—five piles of shards, all five of the melon-shaped vases. One of them had been hurled so far that pieces of it lay just a few paces short of where he stood peeping from behind the corner of the house. Tree-ear glanced about quickly, then tiptoed a few steps into the yard and gathered up some of the larger pieces. He tucked them hastily into his waist pouch and darted back to the cart.
    At the riverbank Tree-ear lowered the cart handles and reached inside his waist pouch for the shards of pottery. The inlay work was flawless, the floral design intricate and graceful even on the incomplete pieces he held. But the glaze ... Tree-ear frowned and squinted.
    The dreaded brown tint suffused the glaze of every piece; some of them were marred with brown spots as well. They were fragments of the same vase, but the destruction of all five meant that every vase was flawed. Min had done the mixing of the glaze himself, so the mistake could only have been in the firing—the part of the work over which not even Min had complete control.
    Tree-ear gripped the shards tightly. He cried out as he flung them into the river, not even noticing that one of them had cut his palm.
    There was no time left. Even now the emissary's boat might be in the harbor.

Chapter 8
    Min began work on another set of inlaid vases. But before the throwing was complete, the emissary's ship docked. Emissary Kim sent a messenger to ask if any of the potters had anything new to show. Min waved the messenger away without a word.
    The next morning the news blew through the village like a sudden sea breeze: The emissary had visited Kang's house. Kang had been chosen for a commission.
    Later that morning Tree-ear swept up the remains of the destroyed vases in Min's yard. It was as he had guessed—all of the pieces bore traces of brown clouded glaze. Tree-ear felt numb with disappointment; he wondered how much worse it must be for Min.
    The potter had still not come out of the house with instructions for the day, so Tree-ear turned to the vegetable patch. He squatted down and began to pull the first of a thousand noxious shoots that threatened the cucumber plants so precious to Min's wife.
    Someone called out from the front of the house; Tree-ear recognized the voice of the government official Yee.
    "Potter Min! The emissary is here. He wishes to speak with you."
    Tree-ear dropped the ragged weed he was holding and stole around to the window at the side of the house. He could see little but heard everything. Min welcomed Yee, Emissary Kim, and the men of the royal cortege into his home. They sat around a low table in silence. Tree-ear heard the clink of pottery as Min's wife served tea.
    Then Emissary Kim began to speak. "This inlay work of your colleague's. It is something new, and will be of great interest to the court."
    There was a pause; Tree-ear imagined Min nodding in polite agreement.
    "I will speak with no veil over my thoughts, Potter Min. Other aspects of Potter Kang's work are—how can I say it?—not as much to my taste. Kang has been given what I will call a limited commission. He will produce work for