Young-hee and the Pullocho by Mark James Russell Page B

it?”
    â€œGreetings, young brother. I’m glad you like Mokjung, but save masks for the grown-ups. Keep your true face for as long as you can.”
    â€œOkay,” said Bum, dutifully.
    â€œGranny, we’d really like some basic supplies—rice cakes and such. Are there shops you’d recommend? I don’t know the rules and don’t want to get into trouble.”
    â€œSmart girl,” said Grandma Dol. “Most of the dokkaebi are more trouble than they are worth. But straight down this aisle at the second right, is Lee Chul, who makes excellent foods—cheap and long lasting—and never adds magicks unless you ask. Tell him I sent you, and he’ll give you a fair deal.”
    â€œOh, thank you. Is Mr. Lee a stone like you?”
    â€œHeavens no,” laughed Grandma Dol. “But he was once a very impressive tree stump. Don’t tell him I told you, though.”
    â€œI won’t,” laughed Young-hee. “Thanks so much.”
    â€œI’m pleased to help. By the way … could I interest you in a nice wooden lamp? Excellent workmanship with the delicate plum-fiber paper walls. Any candle placed in here will burn twice as bright and never go out, even in a hurricane. For you, just ten jungbo.”
    â€œIt is lovely, but I need to save my money for the food. If some is left, I’ll come back,” she said. She was trying to be nice, but since goods from the Strange Land couldn’t survive in the real world, she didn’t want to waste her money. Or hair bands.
    â€œHey, where are you going, boy?” Grandma Dol yelled. Bum had wandered into the stall and was making a grab for a small metal globe. “ Don’t touch things that don’t belong to you,” she said, reaching to gently stop him.
    â€œThanks. He’s fast like that,’ Young-hee said. They said their goodbyes and Young-hee, Bum firmly in hand again, headed for Lee Chul’s stall. With so many food stalls run by untrustworthy dokkaebi, she was glad of the old stone’s advice. She’d just buy some food and start exploring Strange Land. Hopefully, somewhere calmer. The market seemed busier and busier the deeper she went, with hordes of people and creatures surging chaotically like water down rapids. But with a bit of bumping and jostling, she found Lee’s shop.
    Lee was a sinewy man, lean from a lifetime of work—totally unlike a tree stump, thought Young-hee—and pleasant, if totally fixated on business. He sold them kaypal rice cakes he promised would stay fresh even on a long journey. Despite Bum’s grabbing, Lee was not the sort to dole out free samples. He was startled but not shocked or angry when Young-hee admitted she didn’t have jungbo—or tongbo or jeongpye or other local currency. The hair bands she offered were more often the currency of witches and magicians, he said, but since he dealt with magic folk in his travels, he’d make a deal for half her hair bands. He even threw in a few copper tongbo coins and a cloth pouch for the rice cakes in exchange for her brightest scrunchies. The food would last the day, so Young-hee was pleased with the trade.
    As soon as they started walking, Bum started whining about food. Fumbling with the drawstrings on the rice cake-filled pouch, Young-hee got bumped hard by people and creatures surging the other way, all carrying boxes and bags.
    Stepping back to avoid the throng, Young-hee almost lost her balance and stumbled into a stall. She automatically said “sorry” and gave a little bow. The merchant, smoking a large hookah pipe that filled the air with fruit-scented smoke, leaned across the counter. He was tall and thin, elegant and olive-skinned, with a neat goatee and mustache, and dark, soft hair that fell lazily into his eyes. A man, but definitely not Korean. “Might I interest you in something, young lady?” he asked. “I have a wide selection of beautiful