The next step’s likely to prove the most dangerous.  Qian Hu has already produced drawings of the Dowager Empress and Du Xun in various compromising situations, the lewdness of which makes both Yao Lin and me blush.

“Good, eh?” Qian Hu says proudly.

The style of his drawings is as crude as the subject, totally unlike his polished work for the pillow books in the Pavilion.  There’s no way they’ll be traced back to him.

“Just let us know when you need our help to put them up,” Qian Hu adds.

I nod, but this time, I have no intention of asking anyone to help.  My promise to Liang Zhou is very much on my mind.  I’m determined that none of my friends will be involved.  I’ll do this myself.  I won’t be able to put up as many posters as we did before, but I now know where the key areas are.  All I need to do is avoid the patrols.  And, as I tell Yuan Song when I inform him of my plan, one person will have more chance than six of evading capture

To my surprise, Yuan Song expresses doubt.  “I think you should wait till the situation settles down.   I know the city guards aren’t exactly elite troops, but their numbers have more than doubled.”

“But we don’t know if the situation will ever settle down.  And time’s getting on.  You said yourself that the army’s reluctant to budge.  We have to keep pushing, so that Xu Yating gets more reckless and does something that gets the army off its butt before another war breaks out with the south.”  I stop and then say, “I’ve made my mind up.”

Yuan Song looks at me, his arms folded, his lips compressed.  “When are you going to do it?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Very well.  Let me know if I can be of help.”

I was expecting more protests, so his capitulation comes as a relief.  Truth to tell, I’m not all that confident about this either, but someone’s got to do it and it’s my idea, so it’s got to be me.  But, remembering Qiu City, I can’t help wishing fleetingly that I had Liang Zhou’s black pill, just in case.  But then I remember what Liang Zhou said about Shan’s state when he thought I was dead, and I quail.

I wish this was over and done with, once and for all.

There’s no point putting it off.  I’ll just get more nervous.  So the following night, I dress in my assassin’s clothes, take my posters and paste-pot and slip out of the house after everyone’s asleep.  The grey dog wakes and comes out to sniff my hand.

There’s a moon tonight, but the sky’s cloudy and the streets are dark.  I now know my way round the city very well, even at night.  The patrols are frequent, but the soldiers make no secret of their presence.  I can hear them coming for miles and can easily hide in the shadows.  I‘ve absolutely nailed the routine for putting up the posters. As the night goes on, I move silently from one noticeboard to the next, my confidence increasing as I go.  Just a couple more and I can go home and never have to do this again.

Alas, as Shao Ru has said over and over, you can never rule out the unexpected.  As I prepare to put up the last poster, the clouds part and moonlight spills down over the city.  A voice some distance away says softly but clearly, “There!”   My head whips round, but it’s too late.  Before I can react, there’s a burning pain in my right arm and an arrow clunks solidly into the noticeboard in front of me.

Reacting without thought, I drop everything and dash away from the direction of the voice, clutching my arm.  Blood’s pulsing through my fingers.  My legs aren’t really obeying me.  I start to stumble.  I force myself to carry on till suddenly I can’t go any further and have to lean against a wall.  I’m panting with pain and effort.  Tearing the black scarf off my head, I fumblingly wind it round the wound in my upper arm and pull it as tight as I can with one hand and my teeth, gasping.  At the same time, I hear a voice shout, “There he is!”  Another arrow whistles past.  I try to run but my legs won’t work, my knees buckle and I fall to the ground. 

A bitter thought flashes through my mind:  I’m done for!  I’m expecting rough hands to seize me at any moment, but oddly, nothing happens, except that I hear sounds like animals grunting.  With an immense effort of will, I struggle to my feet, just as a black shape looms up beside me in the fitful moonlight.  A voice says, “My apologies, Young Master.”

I’m dazedly wondering what he’s apologizing for, when he knocks me unconscious. 

I come to my senses in considerable pain to find Yuan Song bending over me with a very concerned expression.  I gasp “Oh!” in sheer relief and clutch at him with my good hand.

“It’s all right,” he says gently, taking my hand, “You’re safe.”

I’m in my own apartment in the Pavilion, propped up on pillows, my black tunic discarded and my arm tightly bandaged.  My head aches like hell.  Yuan Song gets up and moves to the table to pick up a cup and I realize that we’re not alone.  Another man’s there, leaning nonchalantly against the wall, tall, dressed in black, arms folded.  I’ve never seen him before.  He has a rakish look.

“You have more courage than sense, Young Master,” he remarks and I recognize the voice.

“You knocked me out,” I say, my voice thready with pain.

“I saved your life.”

Yuan Song returns to my bedside and holds the cup to my lips.  “Drink.  I can’t send anyone out right now, but I’ll get a doctor first thing in the morning.”

The man in black strolls forward and looks intently at Yuan Song.  “What about my fee?” he asks, his voice soft.

Whatever was in the cup is fast-acting.  My eyelids start to close.

“You’ll be paid in full.”  There’s a note in Yuan Song’s voice that I haven’t heard before.

“How about a down-payment, just to be going on with?”

Yuan Song turns to face the stranger, who reaches out a leisurely hand, steps closer and bends his head.  Their lips meet.  Even with my increasingly hazy vision, I can see that this is no mere peck on the lips, but a full-on deep kiss.  The man in black has one hand at the back of Yuan Song’s head and the other arm around his waist.  The kiss lasts a good while.  Then they break apart and stand looking at one another.

I can’t keep my eyes open any longer.

When I open them again, there’s daylight and I see the familiar face of Liang Zhou.  For a moment time elides and I think I’m back in the wagon after leaving the Palace nearly two years ago.  Then my sluggish brain thinks, Liang Zhou, here?  And indeed, his face is wearing a complicated expression of mingled concern, relief and distaste.  He’s unwinding the bandage on my arm.  It’s the pain which has woken me up.  A movement behind him draws my eye.  Yuan Song’s there, his arms folded just like that man in black last night.

Did I really see that or did I just imagine it?

“Back with us?” says Liang Zhou, his eyebrows raised as far as they’ll go.

I’m not at my best.  I’m sweaty, bleeding, in pain, I need a leak and a drink of water.  But I’m so relieved to see him I’d throw myself into his arms if I could.  I croak out a few words and my bodily needs are dealt with efficiently and swiftly.  Now there’s just the wound to see to.

Liang Zhou says, “It’ll need stitching.”

Arrowheads don’t make a clean cut like a sword.  The wound’s ragged and ugly.  He cleans it up and puts a compress on it to check the bleeding.  Then he turns to a candle-flame to cauterize the needle, and threads the silk through.  Looking at Yuan Song, he says, “May I trouble you….?”

Yuan Song lifts my shoulders off the pillows and settles himself behind me.  One arm encircles my chest.  The other hand holds my right arm steady.  For a man of slender build, he’s surprisingly strong.  I’m immobilized.  I’ve never been so physically close to Yuan Song before, but the thought in my mind has nothing to do with him.

This is going to hurt like hell!

Liang Zhou’s quick and deft but all the same, the next few minutes are agony.  Despite my best efforts, I hear myself whimpering between clenched teeth.  Then it’s over, and Liang Zhou’s bandaging me up while Yuan Song strokes my damp forehead and murmurs soothing words.  They lay me back on the pillow and Liang Zhou puts all his gear away and prepares a cup of medicine.  As he feeds it to me, he says, “I’ll come back tomorrow.  You’ll probably have some fever, but it shouldn’t last long.  The arrow wasn’t poisoned, thank goodness.”

I grasp his wrist with my left hand and mutter, “Th - thank you.  Sorry…..”

He pushes the hair back off my face with a gentle gesture.  “Don’t worry.  It could have been worse.  Just concentrate on getting better.  I’ll tell everyone where you are.”

The medicine takes effect quickly.  The pain lessens, I become drowsy and everything fades mercifully away.

I do indeed have a fever and the next couple of days are a jumble of sleeping and waking, being fed medicine, water or broth, being moved around, washed and generally taken care of.  When I wake up weak but clear-headed at last, it’s daytime and all’s peaceful.  I hear the scratching of a brush on paper and turn my head gingerly to see Yuan Song sitting at the table, writing.  He sees my movement, puts the brush down and comes over to feel my forehead.

“Fever’s gone,” he says, smiling.  “Any pain?”

“A little.”  My mouth’s dry and my voice thick.  He brings water, holds it to my lips, his arm under my shoulders.  The warmth of his body and his faint fragrance have become part of my world over the past two days.  Illness has made us intimate as nothing else could. 

“Could you eat something?” he asks.

“I think so.  I feel completely empty.”

“I’ll see to it.  Don’t make any sudden movements.  Oh, and Doctor Liang’s coming this afternoon.”

He goes out to call a servant and I try weakly to sit up.  The headache’s gone.  The pain in my arm has reduced to bearable proportions.  My body feels flat and light.  My overwhelming feeling’s one of relief. 

I won’t ever have to do that again!

As Yuan Song comes back, I say, “Tell me what happened.  Who was that man in black?  Was he following me the whole time?”

Yuan Song seats himself beside my bed.  “His name’s Duan Bai.  He’s a man with special skills.  When you said you were going to do this alone, I thought you might run into trouble, so I hired him to keep an eye on you.”

A connection falls into place.  “Special skills?  Poisoned darts?”

He smiles.  “Indeed so.  He disposed of the men who shot you, then knocked you out, slung you over his shoulder and brought you here.”

“But – “  I remember the brief exchange between them when I was half conscious.  “He….. you…”  I don’t know quite how to put it.  “What was his price?”  I say finally, lamely.

Yuan Song’s still smiling.  “We came to a mutual understanding.  Don’t worry about it.”

“I’d like to thank him, if that would be possible.”  Then I remember something else.  “The posters!  What happened?”

“It worked.  You’ve succeeded in shocking the entire city.  Rumours about the Empress and Du Xun have been circulating secretly for some time, but this has brought it right out into the open.  The Council’s calling on Xu Yating to distance herself from Du Xun and dismiss him from his post as her adviser.  I’m just writing now to tell our friends in the south.”

The scent of food announces the welcome arrival of a servant with a tray of dishes, which I wolf down, while Yuan Song finishes his letter.  As I lie back, replete, he reads the letter to me. 

“Tell them I’m all right,” I say, beginning to feel sleepy again, “Or Shan will worry.”

Liang Zhou’s in a conciliatory mood when he arrives.  He even manages a smile and a nod for Yuan Song.  My injury’s better, there’s no sign of redness or swelling and my fever’s down.

“I’ve brought you some things,” he says, dumping a bundle on the bed.  

There’s a box of savoury snacks from Xinyi and another of cakes from the Liang ladies.

“They think you’re being starved,” Liang Zhou says.  “I didn’t like to disillusion them.  You seem very comfortable here.”

“I’m being very well looked-after.  Is everyone all right?”

“The soldiers are stopping and searching people, but all our friends are all right so far.  I’ve checked on the Lei household and Shao Ru’s sister and let them know what happened to you.  Everyone sends their love.  You might get visitors in a day or two.”

“Tell them not to take risks.”

“You can talk,” he says, raising his eyebrows.  “No more escapades, if you please.  My heart won’t stand it.”

The visitors, when they arrive a couple of days later, are Xinyi and Qian Hu, neither of whom thinks twice about being seen at the Cherry Blossom Pavilion, both of them overflowing with news.

“The Dowager Empress has refused to get rid of Du Xun.  She’s locked down the palace and suspended Council meetings.  The city’s full of rumours that the Emperor’s actually dead.”

I shake my head.  “No, she won’t allow that.  The minute the Emperor dies, the army will be entitled to call on the Third Prince, since he’s the legitimate heir to the throne.  She’s got to keep Yan Rong alive so she can continue as regent.”

Xinyi’s sitting on my bed eating the snacks he’s brought me.  “Anyway, his supporters demanded to see him and were allowed into his bedchamber, so that rumour’s been squashed.  The Council members are running around like headless chickens but there’s nothing they can do.  The Imperial Guards are in complete control, on the excuse that there’s a treasonous plot against the country.”

“And the army?”

“Don’t know,” says Qian Hu, “Nobody’s allowed in or out of the city at the moment.  Yiyi, stop stuffing yourself, you’ll get fat.   Those are for Ah-Jing, anyway.  When are you going to be allowed out?”

“Soon, I hope.  I was up for a couple of hours earlier.  The wound’s healing.  I’m just feeling very tired.”

Qian Hu looks around appreciatively.  “Well, I wouldn’t be in any hurry.  This is real luxury.”

To be honest, I feel at home here, partly because as Qian Hu says, these quarters are luxurious, with hot water and excellent food available at the crook of a finger, but also because this is the only place in the city where Shan and I have spent time together.  There’s also the reassuring presence of Yuan Song.  He inspires the same sort of confidence as Shan does:  a feeling that whatever happens he’ll be able to come up with a solution.  He makes me feel safe.  The relationship between us has changed.  I was aware that Yuan Song found me attractive, though he made no advances other than the odd flirtatious remark.  But now, and especially after the care he’s given me because of my injury, we’ve become very close.  But there’s been a subtle shift.  I have a suspicion as to why this has happened and I’m awaiting confirmation.  It comes that evening.

I’m sitting at the table writing, wrapped in my grey fur cloak because the evenings are sharp now, when the sudden bending of the candle flame informs me that someone has made a silent entrance.

“How did you get in?” I enquire.

There’s a low laugh and Duan Bai moves out of the shadows into the range of my candle.  He’s dressed in black as before, carrying his mask in his hand.  The expression on his daring face is light-hearted.  “You’re looking a lot perkier than when I last saw you, Young Master,” he says. “I understand you wanted to see me?”

I get up and bow as best I can.  “I’m sorry I can’t offer you a drink.  They won’t let me have alcohol yet.  But I wanted to thank you for saving my life.”

“It’s what I was hired to do,” he says casually, moving closer, studying me.  “And I’ll be well rewarded.  Tonight, I hope.”

“I wondered….  I’ve never seen anyone move as stealthily as you.  Could you teach me how?  And how to use the darts and blowpipe?”

He laughs again, as if taken by surprise.  “No problem.  I was watching you that night – you did very well for a non-professional.”

“I had some training in the army.”

“We’ll find time for that, then.  But tonight, I have an appointment.”

“To collect your reward?”

He smiles, but doesn’t answer.  My candle flame bends and rights itself as the door slides open and shut.  I follow and open the door a fraction, just in time to see a black shadow slip quietly into Yuan Song’s apartment, where a light’s burning.  I close my door thoughtfully.

In the morning, when Yuan Song brings me breakfast, I see a slight smile coming and going on his lips.  As he bends to put down the tray, I see confirmation of my suspicion:  a series of red marks which start at his throat and descend into the collars of his robe.  I repress an urge to ask if it was a wild night and apply myself to my breakfast.

Duan Bai comes back that very afternoon, this time knocking correctly on my door before entering.  He puts a box down on the table, opens it and takes out a blowpipe and a handful of darts.  I examine them with great interest.

“Try it,” he says, looking amused.

It’s obviously something that takes a great deal of practice.  After a lot of puffing, I manage to get a dart into the wall, not quite where I was aiming for, but it’s progress.

“Keep them, they’re for you,” he says, laughing. “It’ll give you something to do if you get bored.”

“Ah, thank you.  But tell me, how did you get in the other day?”

“Too easily.  There was a window open a fraction.”

“But how did you get into the Pavilion without being seen?”

“The high road,” he says, and laughs again at my expression.  “You don’t need streets to get round the city.  There are roofs, walls, trees.  There are paths in the sky.  Nobody ever looks up.”

“Sometime,” I say, pouring tea, “You’ll have to show me.”

He sips the tea and coughs slightly.  “Um… Yuan Song….”

“Yes?”

“How long have you known him?  What do you know about him?”

“We met a few months ago.  He’s a friend.  He’s intelligent, devious, efficient, sometimes a little haughty but underneath it, very kind.”

“And beautiful,” says Duan Bai.

“That too.”

“How did he get into this kind of business?”

“You’ll have to ask him that yourself.  It’s not my story to tell.”

He’s about to ask another question when the door crashes open without ceremony and Qian Hu bursts in, hair and face wild.

“Xinyi’s been arrested,” he blurts out, panting.  “They’ve taken him away.”