Page 68 of The Cinders

‘A pity you are only a key,’ Lim panted at the slipper; the flower woman's words in mind.‘I could do with a fast horse instead.’

There was a pull at his waist, one firm enough to cause him to stumble.But once he finished cursing, he found the pull to be useful; an extra propulsion his bursting lungs could not have managed.

An army of guards seemed to follow him, footsteps like a stampede, their shouts coming thick and fast.

‘Halt!Stop where you are, or we’ll send our spears.’

The idea of being impaled gave Lim a second wind, and he moved haphazardly; making himself an unreliable target.Down one alley he ran, then across another small courtyard.He leapt a low wooden fence and ploughed his way through someone’s carefully tended garden, trampling over verdant Bok choy and spinach; ruining a cook’s meal plans.An image of Heng flashed through his mind; her noodles and her kitchen in Kunming a lifetime ago.

Lim dashed across a small yard, chickens squawking in fright as they scattered.He’d almost reached the next bordering fence when his foot landed on a sharp stone; one pointed enough to pierce the sole of his shoe and stab at the pad of his foot.

Lim grimaced and stumbled.The pouch shifted, the drag of the slipper’s weight pulling him leftwards.‘Damn you, let me be!’

A whistling sound came from behind, and a lick of pain seared across his arm, high near his shoulder.Lim cried out as the spear shot past, burying itself in a fence post.He grabbed his arm, touching the slippery warmth of blood.

‘Take him!’

Bewildered by the attack, Lim moved too slowly, only managing a few steps before he was tackled, a clutch of arms around his thighs sending him crashing to the ground, his breath knocked from him.They skidded along in a tangle of limbs, and the pouch tore from its rope at Lim’s waist, striking the dusty ground.A flash of diamond light erupted from the leather, and the slipper shot from its hiding place; skimming over the dirt like a piece of the moon fallen from the sky.

‘No!’Lim strained against his captor.

‘Stay down,’ the guard atop him barked, his voice muffled by the roar of blood in Lim’s ears.‘Or I’ll use my knife to make you do so.’

‘Let me go.I’ve done no wrong.’

He received a heavy slap to the head, and a knee in the centre of his back, pinning him down.‘Seems to me you’ve done plenty, thief.’

‘What troubles have you brought to my doorstep, Captain Duan?’

The unfamiliar voice rang out as Lim struggled to take a decent breath.

‘Get back to your work, craftsman, and don’t interfere with mine,’ Captain Duan replied, sounding far closer than Lim would have liked.

A strange thing to be grateful for—having his face pushed into the dirt.But if it kept him hidden from the captain, then he’d happily endure dust clogging his nostrils.Duan seemed unlikely to forget those who’d slighted him.

‘Get him on his feet.Now.’

‘Stand aside, Yuze.’Another familiar voice, but this one was welcome.‘It was I who was tasked with his removal,’ Jang Ming muttered to the man who pinned Lim down.

‘And we all see how well that went,’ came the hissed reply.The guard dug his fingers into Lim’s back as he rose to his feet.‘Be it on your head then.’

Jang Ming hauled Lim to his feet, thankfully choosing to do so with the arm that did not run with blood.Lim’s head swum with the sudden shift from prone to upright.

‘Take him to the cells,’ the Captain called, sharp and impatient.‘If he is so eager to remain in the Mandarin’s residence, then he shall do so in there.Can you handle such a task guardsman, or must I oversee everything this day myself?’

Jang Ming’s hand tightened around Lim’s arm.‘I’ll see to it, Captain.He’ll not leave my sight until he’s behind the bars.’

‘Gracious, where did that come from?’

Lim lifted his head, following the voice; the same one who’d spoken to the captain earlier, asking what troubles he’d brought.The man stood on the open veranda of a sizeable residence; with all the panels open, Lim was afforded a clear view of the workshop within.

A very familiar workshop.The workbench was covered in strips of leather and cloth.Tools lay about; hammers and rasps and awls, and two shoe lasts, both bare, awaiting the next shoe to be made around them.

‘Has this thief stolen one of your shoes, Master Chan?’asked the guard who’d brought Lim down.

‘Best we see.’

Lim stared up at the stout, older man on the veranda.An unusual man, with his jutting chin and ears that seemed too large for his head, and thick streaks of grey hair within the black of his queue.