On the side of Riverford City that faced the river, half was a bustling dock, and the other half, a towering cliff of stone. Atop that cliff stood the Marshal's Mansion.
The Guanyin Temple lay between the dock and the cliff—close enough that one could see the lamps of the Marshal's Mansion glimmering not far away.
Lena Sanders tilted her head upward, gauged her position, then flung her grappling hook. Gripping the steel cable, she climbed swiftly—light and nimble as an ape.
On her third throw, the hook latched onto the outer wall of the Marshal's Mansion. Lena scaled it in silence, crouched low to retrieve her hook, then crept along the wall's edge before leaping into a tree and sliding soundlessly to the ground.
Inside the Mansion, guards patrolled in tight formations—three or five to a group—crossing paths in endless rotation.
Keeping to the shadows, Lena slipped between the patrols' blind spots, edging closer to the pavilion where a counterfeit defense map was said to be kept.
The pavilion stood about two zhang square and thrice as tall—slender and severe, its polished stone walls smooth as glass. Three sides were without windows or doors; only one side bore a narrow entrance, locked and watched by two armed sentries.
Lena studied the dark silhouette of the tower, then withdrew into the shadows before the next patrol approached.
In the alley known as Cat's Ear Lane, Jack Golden crouched in the gloom. Seeing Lena hurrying toward him, pressed tight against the wall, he sprang up to meet her.
She tossed her grappling hook into the rawhide sack he held open, then unfastened her hand crossbow and stripped off the black outer garments.
Jack tightened the sack and slung it over his shoulder. "Where to next?" he asked, keeping pace beside her.
"Where was Fan Ping'an buried?"
"East of Fan Village—forty, maybe fifty li outside the city."
"We're going to Blind Mi's house."
"Got it."
Jack grinned, quickened his steps, and slipped ahead, moving lightly along the dark alley like a fish gliding through water.
Blind Mi lived by the Sanqing Temple in the city's southern quarter.
Long ago, his home had been nothing but a shack built against the temple's wall, beside the cesspit no one else could bear to live near. The stench alone kept others away.
When Lena later unified Riverford City's nightsoil business and offered to buy him a proper house, he refused to move, even forbidding her to fill in the cesspit, claiming it was the root of his feng shui.
Lena had paid two or three thousand taels to the temple, buying enough land for two rooms and a small yard. She built him a modest home, roofed over the cesspit, and dug a new place for waste.
Thus, Blind Mi's house began to look like a real dwelling.
He was not home when they arrived, and as always when he was out, the gate and door were left wide open.
Jack slipped inside to scout, then waved for Lena to enter.
She went straight in, drew up a bamboo chair to the doorway, and sat quietly in the dark, collecting her thoughts.
Outside, Blind Mi approached, humming a little tune. He swaggered through the gate, kicked it shut behind him, stretched long and lazily, and kept humming as he crossed the yard. When he lifted his foot to step into the room, he saw Lena.
"I knew you'd be back. That yellow-haired monkey thought he could hide it from me?"
He stumbled, then sank down onto the threshold with a sigh.
"Where have you been wasting your time?" Lena asked, the scent of powder and wine thick on him.
"Over the bridge, at Peach Blossom's place. She's going straight now—so I went to toast her. Damn fool woman! What's she thinking, going straight? Ten years bound in a brothel, her keeper dead, freedom at last—and she throws it away to find another master? From here on, it's all hardship for her. The first time I met her, I knew—one look, and I could tell she was born to suffer!"
Blind Mi slapped his thigh in exasperation.
"Boss always says, what's honey to one man is poison to another," Jack muttered, squatting beside him. "You meddle too much."
"Bullshit!" Blind Mi barked, spraying Jack with spittle. "Hauling dung by day, ridden by men by night, never a moment's rest, never a bite of meat all year—tell me that's not poison to anyone!"
He heaved a long sigh. "I'm not meddling—just talking. Doesn't cost a thing. Forget it. So, Yellow-hair said you had business?"
"I didn't say she was back!" Jack blurted. "I said I had business. When did I say the boss returned?"
"Same thing," Blind Mi retorted, swatting him aside and turning to Lena. "Tell me—did you really spy for Northrealm?"
"I've never worked under anyone's banner," Lena replied coolly.
"I knew you were sharp!" Blind Mi grinned, flashing a thumbs-up.
"I took a job," Lena said, ignoring his praise. "Went to the Marshal's Mansion earlier. Saw the tower where the fake map's kept. You ever been there?"
"Sure have. I saw it that night they screamed about the stolen map. I said right then—something stank. How could a man leap across rooftops in plain sight if he really took something from that tower?"
Blind Mi smirked.
His eyes, a strange gray-green, gleamed faintly in the dark. In daylight, they looked colorless—soulless—and everyone took him for a blind man. He played the part flawlessly, though his sight was keener than most.
Because of that, the "blind fortune-teller" of Riverford City had earned himself a modest fame.
"The map was stolen," Lena said quietly. "Taken before the uproar began. Either a master planned it—or it was the Marshal's trap. Which do you think?"
"What kind of trap?"
"A killing. They were after the Prince Heir of Northrealm."
"The one tied to the Wen family?" Blind Mi's gray-green eyes glimmered with sudden light.
"Yes."
"Then it's surely Marshal Wu's doing! If the Prince Heir dies, the Wen family of Northrealm will be wiped from history. Marshal Wu would rejoice! But it'll be no easy thing to uncover."
"Marshal Wu couldn't have devised it alone. He likely lent his hand to someone else's scheme. I need to know whose."
"That'll be harder still," Blind Mi said, shaking his head. "If there's another path, take it. Don't waste your breath on this one."
Lena was silent for a moment. "Keep your ears open around the Marshal's Mansion," she said at last.
"Will do," Blind Mi replied cheerfully. Then, with a sly grin, "That job you took—it's for the Prince Heir, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"They say he's fairer than Pan An himself, eh?" He nudged Jack, who nodded eagerly—this he understood; the operas often sang of such beauty. The Prince Heir was said to outshine them all.
"Don't let good looks turn your head," Blind Mi warned, waving two fingers before Lena's eyes. "Beauty's a blade—sharpest when it smiles."
Lena ignored him, standing as she spoke to Jack. "Stay here tonight. At dawn, we leave the city for Fan Village."
"Got it. Blind Master's mouth just gets wilder," Jack said, walking her to the gate.
"Hey!" Blind Mi called after her. "Don't go stirring up another war between the two realms! We've had a few years' peace—let's not waste it!"
Lena didn't look back. Jack shut the gate behind her, turned to the old man, and smirked. "What war? Southland and Northrealm? You're talking nonsense. We're just ants under their boots. Remember, you said it, not me."
"Ants and flies, maybe you are—but she isn't."
Gripping the doorframe, Blind Mi hauled himself upright, and suddenly, in a loud, quavering voice, he sang—
"The golden dust of six dynasties fades with the scent of spring…"
Jack nearly jumped out of his skin.