The Stone Road (27 page)

Chapter 32

Haung barged through the crowd. He tried hard to be considerate, offering apologies where he could but the imperative was to catch the man from the restaurant, Shing.

“Excuse me,” he said to the fruit seller whose stall he knocked into.

There were just too many people in the way to keep a good eye on the fleeing timber merchant. He jinked left and right, walking as quickly as he could through the mass of people.  The influx of refugees had made already crowded streets even more difficult to navigate. Glancing up he could see another
Jiin-Wei
pointing him in the right direction. He had to catch him soon, before too long Shing would be past the last of the watchers he had set up on every major thoroughfare and then he would be on his own. Should have put a tracking mark on him, he thought.

Without warning the crowd parted in front of him, giving him a good look at Shing. Unfortunately, at that moment, Shing turned around and caught sight of him. Their eyes locked across the transient open space. Haung saw the thoughts play across his quarry’s face; surprise, shock, anger and fear.

“Stop,” Haung shouted.

Shing turned, ploughed into the crowd as it moved again and the line of sight disappeared.

“Shit.” Haung doubled his speed, no longer caring that he was knocking people out of his way.

Ahead of him he could hear shouts and curses, a sure sign that Shing was taking even less care than he. Soon he was passing by people picking themselves up, waving fists or talking angrily with a friend or neighbour about the rudeness of some people. Haung followed this un-happy trail, round corners, down streets and through alleyways, always heading further and further away from the help of his fellow
Jiin-Wei
.

They passed out of the restaurant and merchant district and through the wealthy residential areas. The streets were less crowded here. Tall walls surrounded the private residences. Set into the walls, double gates with guards either side, their watchful eyes following Shing and Haung as they wended their way through the people on the streets. Haung could see that their hands did not stray far from the swords at their waist but they did not step from their posts to interfere or help. They were not paid to get involved in other’s business.

Then, ahead, Shing turned a corner and Haung lost sight of him for a second. When he raced around the self-same corner, the road ahead was empty. There were small clusters of people further down the road but no more than seven or eight and too far away, Haung judged, to have any part in Shing’s disappearance. Either side of the road, just a few metres ahead, were the gates of the residences and their accompanying guards. Both sets stared straight ahead, giving no sign that anyone had passed them by.

Haung paused and caught his breath. Two things crossed his mind. Firstly, if Shing had entered one of the houses there was no way the guards were going to let him in. It was their job to prevent any trouble for the home owner and whilst he was quite sure he could fight and beat two of the guards, with a little surprise and magic, he was doubly sure the other two would join in on the guards’ side. The unspoken, unwritten, guardsman code or something like that. Secondly, even if he picked the right house he did not know who lived there and would risk causing a problem for the duke. It was generally accepted that rich people’s houses were their own little kingdoms and even the duke only entered them with an invitation, or a very large armed party and a lot of evidence. Neither of which Haung had at his disposal.

Nodding to the two sets of guards, Haung took a moment to scan the road surface and as expected there was nothing to see. He dipped his hand inside his robe and carefully selected a small jar of ointment from one of the pockets sewn into the lining, smearing the contents onto his index finger. Closing his right eye and using a clean finger to pull down the lower lid of his left eye, he swept the ointment across the skin there. Then he closed his left eye. Blossoms of reds and yellows erupted behind his closed eyelids and he winced as his eyes began to water. He clenched his hands into fists and stamped his foot on the cobbles.

A few moments later, he could open his right eye and the world looked just the same as it always had. He took a deep breath and opened his left, just a little. The immediate urge was to close it again but he fought it. The regular world was overlain with a rainbow of colours from deep blue, almost black, to bright reds, oranges and yellows that caused his eyes to sting. Haung took another deep breath and let his eyes adjust to the new sights. The ointment would not last long and it was not a good idea to apply a new dose before a week had passed. As it was, he would have a sore eye through the next day. However, it was a small price to pay for the evidence it gave him now.

He focused his changed vision on the surface of the road and discovered that it had not been used much. The right hand side was still in shadow and it was a dark, dark blue. The guards had remained at their posts. In his vision, their legs and hands were a dull red, their chests were brighter and their heads glowed the brightest, a vibrant orange. The left hand wall was radiating a deep red though the gate was an almost invisible black. The right hand wall was darker and it would have been impossible to pick out the gates from the walls were it not for the dull red hand print on one of the doors and the smudge of colour on the dark iron pull ring.

I wonder who owns that house, Haung thought, not that it matters. The colours began to bleed from his vision as he turned back the way he had come. He ambled round the corner, following the wall of the suspected hide-away house. Once the guards were out of sight he stopped, spat into his hands and used the moisture to clean the last of the ointment from his eye.

The walls were close to four men high and constructed of tight mortared brick work with a layer of smooth white plaster over the top. On top of this imposing wall the ridged ceramic tiled roof of one the inside buildings jutted out over the street.  The main residence, Haung knew, would be the building with the south facing door. All the rich courtyard houses in the city had south facing doors, it was considered lucky by the people and that luck was serving Haung as well. The late afternoon sun was fading, a warm day storm was on its way, and dark clouds were encroaching on the sky. Haung waited and watched the door.

# # #

By the time the rain had begun to fall, it was clear that Shing was not going to come out of the home. Haung moved out of shadow he had found under the eaves of a neighbouring building and headed round to the south side of the target house. The plaster was slick with a coating of rain and without damaging the wall, and being heard by all inside, there was no way he could make enough hand and toe holds to climb. There were no windows in the outside wall, another common feature of the city’s rich houses.

Their own little kingdoms, Haung recalled.

Haung stepped back from the wall and took a small scroll of paper from one of the secret pockets. Muttering a few words, he opened the scroll and watched the ink characters flame and vanish. A few seconds later the scroll itself caught light and flared out of existence. Haung squatted down and bounced on his haunches a few times, feeling the magic strengthen his legs. He exhaled sharply and exploded into action.

Three steps carried him across the road and he leapt up at the white plaster wall. His right leg made a solid contact and he allowed it to fold underneath him, a spring under tension. Twisting his body, he used all the stored energy in that leg to push back up and away from the wall, gripping the slick ceramic tiles first with one outstretched hand and then the other, letting the power of his jump carry him up and over the eaves. His legs hit the rake of the roof at the same time, folding once more beneath him. Another leap, backwards this time, up to the highest point of the roof in a tight somersault to land, balanced, on the crest looking down into the courtyard.

The candle glow from the open windows of the building opposite created a garden of rippling flowers on the cobbled courtyard. The shadows of people moving back and forth inside created the garden’s gentle breeze. Haung searched the shadows for guards, or inhabitants, but spied none. He kept his feet flat to the slope of the roof and with great care slid down towards the courtyard. The owner’s penchant for displaying his wealth was a boon as the hips of the roof, the small ridges that led down from the central crest, were decorated with good luck beasts. Bulls to dispel evil, heavenly horses to carry spirits to the jade heaven, seahorses that brought good luck and fortune and, at the head of the procession the symbol of imperial power, a dragon. It was to this last one that Haung clung onto as he leant forward to gaze over the eaves and at the door of the main residence.

He strained his ears to catch any sounds that would give him a clue to the number of people inside but the patter of rain on the roof frustrated his efforts. The window closest to him was open, however, the angle of observation only allowed him to see a limited area of the floor. He sat back and considered his options. Rainwater was dripping off his nose and his silk robe was beginning to lose its natural water proofing. Before long he would be soaked through but he knew that was no excuse to rush into things.

He flicked one panel of his silk robe over the dragon statue creating a small dry area beneath the cloth. From yet another pocket he drew out a sliver of paper and nubbin of charcoal. Scribing a character, similar to the one he had used at the inn hours earlier, onto the paper and then scrunching it up into a small tight ball he forced it into the end of a finger length hollow tube. The tube he placed between his lips and gripped with his teeth. Then he leant over the eaves once more, head upside down, and spat the small wad of inscribed paper through the open window before pulling himself back up. He used the charcoal to draw a character on the flank of the dragon and covered this with his hand then spoke the command words.

Sounds of clinking cutlery and china were the first things he heard. There were muffled voices, too indistinct to make out. He listened to footsteps coming closer and fought the urge to spin round and attack. The footsteps were in the house, passing the spell paper, and he tried to breathe in a regular rhythm. He heard a door open and suddenly the words were clearer.

“When will he be back?” one voice was saying.

“I don’t know. He doesn’t spend every night here. Sometimes he can be absent for weeks,” said another.

“Did you get a message to him?”

“One has been sent by the usual means but there is no guarantee it will reach him tonight. They don’t fly well in the rain.”

“I’m worried. I don’t know who it was who followed me but I’ll bet it was one of the duke’s secret police. Are you sure he went away?” said the first voice.

“The guards reported a man, matching your description, go past the gates and head off. They have not seen him since. Shing, calm down, eat something. You are safe in here. The master will get the message and send word or come himself.”

Haung listened for a while longer but had satisfied himself that there was no one else in the building. He removed his hand from the dragon and the spell ended. It was then he noticed that the dragon sculpture was wrong. It should have had a rider, traditionally depicting the emperor. But the rider was absent. 

# # #

Haung lowered himself with infinite care from the roof and dangled, for a second, in front of the open window, before he let go and dropped to the ground. He paused and listened for any change in the courtyard, his eyes picking out any feature or movement that would indicate he had been spotted.

Delicate steps led him up the three stone steps to the door of the house. He placed a soft hand against the door and gave it a gentle push open. Sliding through the small gap, Haung got his first proper look at the inside. Expensive rugs were hung from the walls depicting great battles from ages ago, small lacquered wooden tables supported large decorated vases and statues. He turned left and approached the large door on the main corridor. Through the thick wood of this door he could hear the voices of Shing and the other man.

Haung wiped a hand through his hair, skimming the water off his forehead and moving strands of hair out of his eyes. He rolled up the sleeves of his robe, freeing his arms and tightened the belt at his waist. Then, suitably fortified, he pushed open the door and strode in. Shing bolted up-right and stumbled away from the table at which he had been sat. The other man sat still and gazed at Haung.

“Who are you to come into my master’s house like this?” The seated man stroked his thin, oiled, beard between forefinger and thumb.

“I am
Jiin-Wei
and,” Haung pointed, “he is coming with me.”

“
Jiin-Wei
Haung?” said the seated man and Haung nodded in response. “Interesting that it should be you. You know that you have sealed your wife’s fate tonight.”

“What do you mean?” Haung stepped forward.

“You don’t know whose house you have broken into do you?” The man slid his chair back and stood. “Not surprising I suppose. He is used to hiding his true purpose.”

Haung took another step towards the table, “Tell me.”

“Oh, I rather think you have worked it out but that is not going to matter is it. You’ll be dead before your wife, but you’ll die knowing you can’t save her.” The man backed up another step and Haung saw, behind the table, an announcement gong with the hammer on a stand before it. “The only downside is that he won’t be here to see it but he’ll take some comfort from that thought.”