Chapter Twenty-Two
LIM’S LEGS pumped, his arms swung and his heart threw itself against his ribs. He had never run so hard or fast in his entire thirty-two years of living, but it did not seem fast enough.
He ran blindly, unfamiliar with the layout of this siheyuan, but knowing two things for certain; he’d not survive if the captain caught him, and he’d not leave here until he’d found Xian. The pouch pounded against his leg, like a whip to a stubborn donkey, urging him on.
‘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.
Master Chen. Mandarin Feng’s shoemaker.
He lifted the edge of his grey robe, the same shade as that of his hair, and made his way down three steps, out into the sparse garden at the front of his residence.
Lim watched with dismay as he made his way to the slipper; where it lay glinting like a fallen star, half hidden beneath an azalea bush. He didn’t realise he’d leaned forward until Jang Ming dragged him back. ‘Stay still.’
‘Master Chen, do you recognise that shoe?’ Captain Duan called, and Lim ducked his head, his queue’s weight dragging up his spine. ‘Has this thief stolen it from you?’
Lim fumed at the insult, but didn’t dare open his mouth.
Master Chen picked up the slipper; doing so with some reverence. He lifted it with both hands, blowing softly at a dried leaf from the azalea, caught on the facets of the fabric.
Lim’s stomach twisted to see the slipper in hands that were not his own.
‘Stolen this shoe?’ Master Chen’s eyes never left the slipper, though he narrowed them against the darts of intense light coming from the slipper as it was raised.
‘Yes, that shoe,’ the captain growled. ‘But you are either too fond of your own work, or you’ve never seen that shoe before. It’s not yours, is it?’
‘I am loathe to say it, but no, this is not mine.’ Chen turned the slipper this way and that, sending sparks of light dancing over the face of the guard who stood nearest to him. ‘This fabric…it is unlike anything I’ve ever—’
‘Spare me your effusing, Chen,’ said Captain Duan. ‘I’ve no time for so trivial a thing as this.’
Chen lowered the slipper from where he’d held it raised towards the weakening sun. ‘Trivial? You can look on this shoe and say such things?’
‘Yes. I have more important things to do than stand gazing at a shoe.’
The shoemaker huffed a laugh; his lack of concern at the captain’s rising temper suggested the pair were well acquainted. ‘Really? Then you shall not care if I don’t hurry to complete those xiuhuaxie you ordered so recently for the lady you hope to—’
‘Chen, you’d do well not to test me. Not today.’ A rumbling threat came from the captain. ‘The thief will tell us soon enough which guest he has stolen this from. Give me the shoe. Now.’
‘But I—’
‘Now, Chen.’ A thunder-clapped sky could not have been more overbearing.
The shoemaker sighed. ‘Fine. Take it.’
Lim forgot everything of his situation. He’d not allow that shoe within an inch of Captain Duan’s hold.
‘No! It is not yours to take.’ He raised his head, and despite knowing how stupid a move it was, Lim turned to face the captain. ‘Don’t touch it.’
Jang Ming let out a soft moan, but made no move to force Lim to turn about.
Captain Duan stood a decent way back from where Lim was held, as though he’d been about to return to other duties; a pity an idiotic shoemaker had just given him reason to stay.
The man’s uniform was a deeper blue than his guards, with the white edging on his jacket thicker and his shoulders embellished with gold medallions.
Duan’s gaze narrowed. ‘Bring him to me.’
Lim let Jang Ming lead him forward.
The indomitable captain was as large as Lim recalled, but he’d not noticed in Kunming how much like flint stones the man’s eyes were.
Captain Duan stepped closer, casting an impressive shadow. Lim braced, half-ready for a punch or kick. The sense of coiled tension this man held was certainly something he recalled from their encounter.
A muscle in the captain’s jaw ticked. ‘You.’
‘You know him?’ Master Chen asked.
‘Oh yes, I know him.’ The words slipped from the man, ugly and tight. ‘He is the shoemaker who thought it was his place to interrupt my conversation with the prince.’ He loomed over Lim, as he had done with Xian that day. Lim used the memory to steel himself.
‘Forgive me. From where I stood it seemed I interrupted your attempt to impose yourself upon a man of royal blood.’ Lim met Duan’s eyes of stone unflinching; his blood afire, but his thoughts screaming at him to shut up.
Captain Duan’s left brow twitched, then stilled; the only sign of life in the large man as he stared, unblinking, at Lim.
The sudden thrust of his arm, the clench of his hand at Lim’s collar was not entirely unexpected, but still wrenched a cry from a shoemaker who really ought to learn to keep his mouth shut.
‘Perhaps I’ll snap your neck now, and save us the gruel you’ll be fed in the cells.’ The captain’s fingers crept around Lim’s neck; hard and tight and broad as a cangue. Airflow stopped, and Lim coughed and spat, panicked as he felt himself being lifted to the tips of his toes.
‘If this is the Marquess of Kunming’s shoemaker, then perhaps this shoe is his, and not stolen?’ Master Chen called out, offhand, just as Lim landed a successful kick against the captain’s knee; earning himself a violent shaking.
‘I know nothing of that shoe, but this is the shoemaker.’