What is there between Yuan Song and this kid?

The question’s hanging in my mind as, unobtrusively, I follow a group of four young men through the busy local market.  One’s a fragile-looking boy, hardly more than a child, clinging to the arm of a sturdier young man and occasionally, when he thinks nobody’s looking, holding hands with him.  The third’s a plain sensible-looking lad of sixteen or seventeen.  My target’s the fourth.  I recognize him immediately.  It’s not a face you’d forget easily.  He’s the zither-player.

They all seem to be great friends.  There’s a lot of laughing and teasing going on, though Young Master Zhao seems more preoccupied than the others.  Since yesterday, I’ve been loitering outside the house where they all live, checking out the place.  The outside’s a bit shabby.  There’s a one-armed porter who has the unmistakable air of an army veteran.  There’s only one gate and plenty of buildings opposite to allow me to keep watch.  According to the local shopkeepers, they’re all students and are free-spending and well-liked.   

What the kid’s planning to do is madly dangerous.  The city guard's poorly-trained and has a reputation for corruption and incompetence, but there are a lot of them about.  And if he’s caught, the consequences will be dire. 

But he won’t be caught, not if I have anything to do with it. 

There’s supposed to be a moon tonight, but the sky’s overcast as I take up my position on my chosen rooftop.  It occurs to me to wonder if the lad’s had any training for this kind of operation, but it turns out he has.  He slips unobtrusively out of the gate a couple of hours before midnight, dressed in black and masked, as I am.  He moves quickly and silently and he knows how to use the shadows.  He’s deft and speedy putting up the posters.  I follow on the rooftops, observing.  The night’s very dark, broken by the odd sliver of moonlight as the clouds shift.  Occasionally both he and I freeze and hug the shadows as a group of guards goes by, making enough racket to rouse up all the ghosts in the underworld.

Just as I’m starting to think he’s going to get away with it, it all goes wrong.  The clouds part, moonlight pours down and a voice below me says, “There!”  An arrow whistles and strikes, the lad drops everything and lurches away.  He’s been hit!  No time to lose.  I swing down to the ground and in the sudden clear light, I see three men dashing off across the square.  I race after them.  Someone says, “There he is!” and another arrow whistles off. 

The three guards are so intent on their target that they never hear me coming.  I don’t kill people unless I have to.  I take them down before they know what's hit them, and follow the trail of blood, which is glistening slightly in the moonlight.  I find the kid trying to struggle to his feet.  He looks up at me dazedly.  “My apologies, Young Master,” I say.

You’ve got to be careful knocking people out, but from lengthy experience, I know how much force to apply and where to apply it.  He crumples at my feet and I squat down to check his wounds.  It’s the right arm and he’s managed to bind it up enough to stop the bleeding.  That’ll hold till I get him to safety.  I heave him to my shoulder, pause and listen.  No noise comes to my ears.  I can’t use the rooftops carrying this load, so it’ll have to be the back-ways.  I set off towards the red-lantern district.

There's consternation in the Pavilion when I appear at the back door.  I'm rushed through to Yuan Song's courtyard, where he comes quickly to meet me.   He hurries me to an apartment next to his own.  I lay the lad down on the bed and say briefly, “Arrow-wound.  Not fatal.”

He nods, strips off the tunic and unbinds the makeshift bandage.  He turns to ask me to fetch water, but I’m ahead of him and have it ready.  The wound’s ugly, pouring blood.  Yuan Song’s calm and efficient.  His previous panic has gone, now that his fears have been realized.  He cleans the wound and binds it up with clean cloths.  Just as he finishes, the lad groans and opens his eyes.  He clutches at Yuan Song, relief on his face, and Yuan Song’s quiet voice reassures him.  There’s a note of fondness there which disturbs me a little.

As Yuan Song gets up to prepare medicine, the kid’s eyes fall on me.

“You have more courage than sense, Young Master,” I say.

He can barely croak.  “You knocked me out.”

“I saved your life.”

Yuan Song brings the medicine.  “Drink.  I can’t send anyone out right now, but I’ll get a doctor first thing in the morning.”

The stuff’s fast-acting and the kid’s eyelids start to droop.  Still high from the night’s action, and disturbed by the obvious affection Yuan Song shows towards the boy, I open my mouth and put my foot right in it.  “What about my fee?”  I ask.

He turns to face me, one eyebrow raised.  His voice is quiet.  “You’ll be paid in full.”

Daringly, or stupidly, I push my luck.  “How about a down-payment, just to be going on with?”

He doesn't move or speak for a moment, and I wince inwardly, expecting a rejection.  But it doesn't come.  The clear eyes are looking at me steadily.  Is he on for this?  I’m suddenly overcome with doubt, but I can hardly back down now.  I take a step forward.  Hesitantly, as if I’m sixteen years old and this is my very first kiss, I bend my head and touch his lips with my own.  His lips are cool and soft and taste very slightly of wine.  And then I’m lost.  One hand goes to the back of his head and the other to his waist to pull him in against me.  And at the same moment, his body yields and his lips part to receive me.  I’m overwhelmed and confused by my reaction.  Apart from lust, other feelings are surging:  an urge to protect him, a desire to know him better and behind it all, an odd feeling of coming home, a feeling that this is where we belong.

We break apart and stand looking at one another.  “He’s not my lover,” Yuan Song says quietly, glancing at the boy on the bed.  “He has a lover of his own.  But he’s someone I hold very dear.”

I feel myself flushing.  He’s seen right through me.  How is he able to read me like this?  He goes on, “I’ll be looking after him for the next few days.  I’ll let you know when I’m free.  If you want to stay here tonight, I’ll ask my people to prepare a room.”

It’s tempting, but I suddenly feel the need to get out of there and take a long look at my complicated emotions.  “Thanks, but I think I’ll be on my way.  The curfew doesn’t bother me.  Unless you need help with him tonight?”

He shakes his head.  “He should sleep till tomorrow morning.  He just needs to be watched.  But thank you.”

As I leave, I hear him say, “Take care.”

As I take to the rooftops again, I’m kicking myself.  Idiot, you could have blown it.  But he didn’t reject me.  In fact, he responded.  I couldn’t be mistaken about that, his body was clasped too closely to mine for there to be any doubt.  My thoughts are all over the place, like a teenager with his first crush.   Not paying attention to where I’m going, I dislodge a broken roof-tile and a piece falls to the ground with a clatter.  I crouch and listen, but no-one’s about.   It’s a timely reminder to keep my mind on the job.