On the entertainment quarter beside Pear Blossom Lane, the sounds of silk-and-bamboo instruments drifted, and a plaintive little tune wrapped itself around the night air.
"That one's sung nicely—what's the song? 'Beneath the Grape Arbor'?" Lena Sanders remarked idly, her voice relaxed as she listened.
"Sounds like a song of longing for a husband," Harris Ma said, tilting his head to catch the melody.
"Nice singing. We should go hear it properly when we have time." Lena lounged, then suddenly raised her voice. "Jack Golden!"
Jack, who led the way, froze at once, bent, and drew a short knife from his boot.
Before the word had faded from Lena's lips she pivoted like a shadow—snagging Harris Ma and drawing the crossbow in a single, silent motion.
A black-clad assassin appeared behind Harris Ma almost without a sound, his blade swinging down. His foot stumbled; he let out a muffled grunt and pressed the blow forward. Lena's other hand slammed onto Harris Ma's shoulder as a flying kick struck the assassin's arm, sending the knife clattering from his grip. He toppled forward.
Lena caught the fallen blade and lunged, driving it toward a second attacker who leapt in. Harris, propelled by Lena's tug and shove, rolled to the ground, drew his own blade, and surged forward.
Jack Golden faced outward, watching the lane ahead.
Pear Blossom Lane was hemmed in by high walls on either side—too narrow for two to walk abreast. Lena's long blade stabbed upward; the slender sword in her right hand swept past the second man and slit the artery of a third assailant who had rushed in with him. Blood erupted like a fountain, dousing the second man from head to foot.
The second man blocked Lena's long blade, which flew out of his hand. Harris's knife, riding the momentum of his roll, slid along Lena's arm and buried itself in the man's chest with a wet sound.
Lena stepped back, drawing the slender sword in and glazing the second attacker's throat as she moved.
"Look." Lena took a few more steps back to clear the sticky ground and gave the order.
Harris moved swiftly, searching the bodies. From one of the dead men's collars he ripped a tag and held it up. "This is it—same on all three."
"Put them back. We go." Lena took two more backward paces.
Harris muttered an exclamation, stepped out of the gore, and tore off his dirty boots and clothes. Jack Golden shrugged off his heavy coat to wrap around them. The three of them ran down the lane at a sprint.
They burst into the courtyard house on Fried Rice Alley in one breath. Darren Chang rushed up to meet them, nose wrinkling at the metallic scent. "You're all unhurt?"
"No." Jack Golden, still panting, shoved the filthy boots and clothes into Darren's arms.
"I'll boil water." Darren exhaled when he heard the single word and carried the soiled garments into the kitchen.
By the time Lena had washed and come back, Harris had already cleaned himself and was taking the rinsed clothing from Jack, hanging each piece on the long line they'd stretched across the yard.
Darren returned from a sweep with his baton.
"Boss, it was three this time—just not very skilled." Harris, cheeks flushed, hurried to hang the last item and then clustered near Lena.
"Just two were killed last night, now three more—what will the price be tomorrow?" Jack Golden crowded in as well.
Darren set his baton down, carried away the basin water, and returned with a steaming cup of tea for Lena.
She cupped the warm porcelain in both hands and regarded them. "Those three pressed forward together with no coordination; they must have been thrown together at the last minute. The two from yesterday were the same—fighting on their own. Anyone who can recruit two or three killers for the same job must have deep pockets. Whoever wants us dead has money. From tonight on, we all sleep in the same room and take turns keeping watch. The pest- and vermin-proof supplies—are those all in place?"
Darren nodded. "Everything's stored. I'll take the first watch."
Lena acknowledged him, wrapped her fur closer about her shoulders, and went into the west wing.
Harris and Jack snuffed the lanterns along the corridor and joined her in the west wing, shedding their clothes and turning in. Darren clutched the cache of knives and guns, set them down, selected a blade, and sat on the bed to keep watch.
―――――――――――――――
Gavin Shea was at breakfast the next morning when William Chen burst in.
"What is it? Sit and tell me." Gavin motioned him to a seat.
William sat. "Three more killer corpses were found in Pear Blossom Lane, north of Longjin Bridge. Last night Miss Li was at the Immortal's Inn with Harris Ma and Jack Golden."
"How were they killed?" Gavin frowned.
"I had Baicheng send men to see. One was shot in the eye by a short bolt—an arrow. Another had his throat cut. The third was stabbed in the chest and his neck slashed." William carefully laid a two-inch bolt, wrapped in a handkerchief, on the table.
"This bolt looks exactly like Miss Li's."
"Who has she offended?" Gavin studied the bolt, puzzled.
"I can't think of anyone," William said, brow furrowed. "Whoever wanted her dead looked desperate—and had money. Shall we send someone to Fried Rice Alley to ask around?"
"Not yet." Gavin mulled it over and shook his head. "Most likely this springs from her old grudges. Those are affairs of the jianghu—rivers-and-lakes vendettas—and we shouldn't intervene rashly unless she comes to us. Otherwise we might do more harm than good. Besides, Miss Li is no weakling and not overly concerned with appearances; if she can't handle it she'll seek our help. For now, have Zhihe ride to the capital yamen and order strict patrols. Also put up a notice warning lawless elements that if they act wildly, the court will step in and root them out."
"All right. I'll tell Zhihe." William rose.
Gavin watched him leave, drained half a bowl of soup, and signaled to the attendant at his side, Ruby.
"Pick out a few pastries," he told her, "and bring the cucumbers the palace rewarded us with yesterday. Go to Fried Rice Alley and say…nothing much—just invite Miss Li to sample some treats."
―――――――――――――――
Lena rose late. She had barely finished washing when Harris Ma scurried in with Ruby, faces flushed. Ruby carried a small huanghuali box; the gifts were simple and the words even simpler.
Once Ruby had gone out the second gate, Lena took the box, turned it over in her hands, and opened it. A few cucumbers lay on top. She snorted softly.
Cucumbers in the dead of winter were a rare luxury. "Sample" indeed.
But why deliver a few cucumbers so early in the morning? Did he know about last night? Was it to soothe her—an apology? Or did the cucumbers say: what happened last night is nothing to fret over?
A pound of cucumbers might cost more than a tael of silver at market—this little dish was downright precious. She pushed the thought away and ate.
"Exactly four," she observed, holding up a cucumber. "One apiece."
Darren Chang took one; Harris and Jack crowded around Lena as the four of them bit and chewed, the crisp sound bright in the room.
Jack Golden, mouth full, mumbled: "First time eating cucumbers in midwinter—tastes just like summer. Boss, what do we do? We've got to strike back somehow."
"A cucumber doesn't have two tastes," Harris scoffed at Jack. "It's the rarity in winter that makes it sweet. If those cucumbers reach Prince Heir's table after passing through your mouth, then the ox has eaten peonies!" He grinned. "Boss, what's our move?"
"We must find a way. There's no thief that stays a thousand days without being caught—every defense has its blind spot." Darren spoke low.
"Right now there's no plan but to meet force with force and let circumstances cover us. Next time, try to take a live one. And we'll keep dining out at night to see who's following." Lena popped the cucumber end into the box.
"I'll come tonight." Darren tossed his cucumber stub into his mouth.
"You stay home. You're no good at handling assassins—you'd only be a hindrance." Lena shook her head.
Darren muttered assent and did not press the point.