The Hidden Blade (37 page)

Ying-ying’s one moment of inaction, of staring at Master Gordon’s body on the ground, cost her dearly. Now she had no more opportunity to run away, not with Chang’s hands coming at her.

Amah had pounded into her head that she was never to reveal her martial-arts skills unless she was in grave personal danger. Everything she had done so far in her own defense could have been explained away by determination and sheer luck. After all, even a rabbit would bite when attacked. But she had no more options left to her. Unless she wished to be raped by Shao-ye, she must fight.

She threw herself to the ground, rolled to Mr. Gordon’s inert body, and grabbed his walking stick. It was made of hard wood, a bit heavy, but as good a weapon as she could lay her hands on now.

She wielded it like a sword, pointing its tip at Chang’s elbow. His eyes widened in surprise at the training evident in her move. Then he changed the direction of his strike and made a brazen attempt to yank the walking stick from her.

The deflating truth was that he probably could. But she refused to think about it. She slashed the stick at his wrists, forcing him to withdraw his hands. Then she aimed it at his heart. A direct hit, even with a dull weapon, would do damage. He somersaulted backward. A moment later he had his own weapon in hand, a short stick with nine thin iron chains at the tip, each ending in a metal ball the size of a quail’s egg.

Nine-snake whip, a nasty weapon, yet one easy to conceal beneath bulky winter clothes. He leaped high and slashed the chains toward her. She dodged, not daring to take the whip head-on. One of the metal balls could easily catch her on a finger and break it.

She moved behind the corner of a turn in the alley. The whip tore away a section of the wall, barely missing her head: Chang was no longer merely procuring her for Shao-ye; he was out to teach her a lesson.

He advanced. She retreated, and tried to get in a jab or two while he swung the whip behind himself for another strike. He backed her into the lotus pond garden outside the Court of Contemplative Bamboo. She tried to hold her ground, to move sideways instead of always backward. But still he advanced. Closer and closer the edge of the pond came. She maneuvered left, leaped on the miniature bridge, and regretted it the moment she did.

The bridge led into the small pavilion. If Chang managed to push her into the pavilion she’d be completely cornered—the pond to either side, the artificial hill behind, and Chang holding the bridge. Time to forget such niceties as intact fingers and fight like the mangiest, hungriest dog on a snow-covered street.

She poked the walking stick directly into the descending head of the nine-snake whip and tangled it within the chains. Then she jerked the walking stick hard to her right.

He pulled the whip toward him. She pushed along, then extricated her stick to strike him across the upper chest. He whipped the chains at her. She ducked, and aimed for his knees. He jumped up, avoided her hit, and brought the chains down at her again. She parried it with the tip of the stick, aiming a kick against his stomach.

When her soft-soled boot connected with his abdomen, the wound in her leg hurt, but the pain was overshadowed by her surprise. He had been so overwhelming in his attack, and she so ineffectual in her defense, that she had not expected any success. He seemed just as surprised, and staggered a step back.

She was off the bridge, but still at the edge of the pond. If only she could topple him into the pond, she thought longingly. That would give her time to run.

The opportunity came sooner than she had anticipated. For some reason, Chang was noticeably weaker than he had been at the beginning of their fight. His footwork slacked. His whip, when it came down, had only half the force it had earlier commanded. Perhaps he really was old. Perhaps he tired easily.

Ying-ying did not question her good luck; she exploited it. Now it was she who advanced on Chang, the two of them moving along the rim of the pond. He whistled shrilly, startling her. Was he calling for help? If he thought Shao-ye would come to his aid, he must not know their young master at all.

She drove the walking stick against his left arm, forcing him to move to his right, ever closer to the edge. Now it was she who had the audacity to try to put her hand on his weapon. With her stick entangled in the whip, she reached in and grabbed the whip by the base and yanked at it. He pulled back. She abruptly let go of both the whip and her own stick. He stumbled back. Another kick to his stomach and he crashed through the frozen pond with a long, pained grunt.

“Master!” someone screamed.

It was Little Dragon, running toward them, a sheathed sword in his hand. Ying-ying leaped back. Little Dragon flung aside his sword and slid into the pond. He cursed and shivered but wasted no time in dragging Chang to the edge and lifting him out.

No wonder he handed Chang heated spirits in winter and did the latter’s work in summer. They were master and disciple.

As soon as Little Dragon climbed out of the pond he set to work, raising the prostrate Chang into a semblance of the lotus position. He sat down behind Chang, in the lotus position also, held the older man upright with his left arm, and pressed his right palm to Chang’s back, between the shoulder blades.

Why? She had bested Chang. But all she did was upset his balance and tip him into the pond. Why was Little Dragon treating him as if Chang had suffered some severe internal damage?

A gong clanged in her head. What had Amah said?
You don’t suppose I was the only one injured that night, do you? I dealt him a heavy blow too.

In all the fear and confusion of the night, she hadn’t thought of that. Chang was the one who had fought Amah when she stole the jade tablet. What was his purpose in Da-ren’s household?

What had been Amah’s purpose in Mother’s household? To hide from the law and remain safe. Who was to say Chang hadn’t an equally long—or longer—list of crimes to his name? And what had Little Dragon said to Little Orchid?
He doesn’t even dare visit his old mother—and he’s desperate to see her.

Was that why Chang had fought Amah years ago, because he hoped that by catching the flying thief trying to make off with Da-ren’s treasured artifact, he would have his own crimes pardoned? And was that why he curried favor with Shao-ye, in the hope that the latter would be able to help him someday?

She shoved all the chaotic thoughts out of her head. She had a more immediate concern: Master Gordon was still out there, lying on the frozen ground.

He could be ill for days if she didn’t get to him fast.

It had turned cloudy. Whipped by a celestial gale, streaks of fleece tore across the sky. Shadow and light chased each other as the moon was alternately veiled and revealed.

She unsealed Mr. Gordon’s chi paths and helped him to his feet. He wobbled. She moved more of his weight onto herself. Spiky pain shot through her leg. She winced but made no sound. First she’d take Master Gordon to his rooms, then treat her own wound.

“Is that Little Dragon?” he whispered as they entered the garden, which they must cross to get to the Court of Contemplative Bamboo. “What is he doing with Chang?”

She didn’t answer—she was staring. In the intermittent light, a column of steam rose above Little Dragon’s bare head. Was his chi that strong?

Chang’s face contorted. A torrent of blood spewed from his mouth. Little Dragon shut his eyes in concentration. But it was no use. Another stream of blood burst from Chang’s mouth. More blood dripped from his nostrils. Blood even seeped from his ears, blood made black by the dark of the night, a ghastly, bone-chilling sight.

“God in heaven!” Master Gordon gasped.

Despite Little Dragon’s restraining arm, Chang slumped to the side, his head thumping on the paving stone as he fell. Little Dragon sobbed, knelt down, and pulled Chang’s unresisting form into a hard, desperate embrace.

“Let’s go,” Ying-ying urged Master Gordon.

“Shouldn’t we help him? That man’s in great medical need.”

His naivety frustrated her. She dragged him forward. “We can’t help him. Let’s help
you
.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Little Dragon scooting back some distance from Chang’s body. He kowtowed three times. Chang was dead, then. Her heart quailed. She had not meant to do him any lasting damage—she only wanted to escape. Was it really so easy to kill a man?

She heard the flutter of Little Dragon’s robe and moved aside without thinking. He landed where she had been standing. Without a pause, he disabled Master Gordon exactly as Chang had.

Ying-ying was outraged. “How dare you treat your master with such disrespect?”

Little Dragon’s handsome face was a mask of scorn and fury. “He is a stinking foreign devil. My master is over there, dead. You killed him, you daughter of a whore.”

The epithet, more than his accusation of slaughter, stunned her. Big Treasure had called her that. Chang had called her that this very night. But Little Dragon had always been polite, despite his antipathy.

“Your master tried to catch me so Young Master could dishonor me,” she countered. “You know what kind of man Young Master is. You know how he treats women. Was I supposed to go along?”

“Who cares how Young Master treats
you
?” Little Dragon spat. “My master was a great man. If he wanted to beat you stupid, you should kowtow afterward and thank him for his instruction!”

“Well, too bad your master wasn’t capable of it. I beat him fair and square.”

Little Dragon looked as if steam were going to rise from him again. “Shut up! My master was injured five and a half years ago. If he hadn’t been, he would have crushed you with his little finger.”

He pulled his sword from its sheath and pointed it at her. “I am going to avenge him. I’m going to send you to the underworld as his slave.”

She took a step back. She wasn’t afraid of him. If she could beat the master, why should she fear the disciple? But she had a healthy respect for the sword. She was not going to fight it barehanded. Now, where was Mr. Gordon’s walking stick? Had it fallen into the pond? Or was it somewhere on the ground?

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, fighting a girl?” She needed to buy herself some time.

“Are you scared?” he taunted.

She took another step back and turned sideways, to get a better look at the edge of the pond. No sign of the stick.
Damn it
. “Not only will you be fighting a girl, but an unarmed girl. What will people say when you lose?”

That was an unwise thing to say. The tip of his sword was suddenly before her neck. She sidestepped it, but not before breaking out in a cold sweat all over. He was uncannily swift with the blade.

The sword came unerringly at her throat again. She rolled to her left. He gave her no breathing room. The blade followed her and was upon her almost before she could rise to her feet again.

Clang
. It was met by another blade.

“Master Keeper Lin,” said Amah, addressing Little Dragon by his surname with elaborate courtesy. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Master Keeper Lin, fighting an unarmed girl.”

Ying-ying scrambled to her feet and ran behind Amah. She had never been so happy to see anyone in her entire life. Amah was in good health. Her voice was steady and strong. And she had come upon them so softly that neither she nor Little Dragon had been aware of her approach.

Little Dragon’s face twisted with rage. “You! I remember your voice. You are the thief who injured my master!”

“Good memory, young man,” Amah answered calmly. “Were you hiding and watching us? It’s true I left a bit of Thousand-winter Chill in his blood. But he should be fine, as long as he didn’t tax himself—or take cold baths.”

“Your disciple.” Little Dragon’s voice shook. “Your disciple pushed him into the frozen pond tonight.”

“Really?” Amah looked at the pond, and at the sodden, blood-spattered body at its edge. Her expression was unmoved. “Is that him then?”

Little Dragon’s jaw worked.

Amah turned to Ying-ying. “Were you disrespectful toward Master Keeper Chang?”

“He was trying to force me to submit to Young Master’s ignominious will.”

“I see. I should have known that boy was involved somehow—when I saw the state of our rooms my mind did not immediately turn to him.” Amah sighed. “Ying-ying, go and kowtow to Master Keeper Chang.”

It was an incomprehensible command, something she’d have refused outright under normal circumstances. But at this moment Ying-ying was glad to do anything for Amah. She kowtowed not once, but three times.

“Master Keeper Chang was a magnanimous man. I’m sure his ghost has forgiven you, as you meant him no harm,” said Amah. “You did not know that cold water was fatal to him.”

Little Dragon laughed harshly. “You with your fancy words and false gestures. Fine. I’ll let the whore’s daughter go and kill you instead.”

Ying-ying shivered. Amah looked at him steadily. “I injured your master. But he wounded me no less severely. The account was even between the two of us. Do not get involved in an old feud. Or it will never end.”