The Blue Mountain (The Forbidden List Book 2) (10 page)

“Go,” Zhou said. “I’ll bring the staff when you are through.”

*Leave the staff. You’ll never get it out the ground and it would never leave this realm without a great struggle. Leave it.* The great bear reared up onto its back legs, let out a roar and fell forwards onto all four before loping off up the mountainside, toward the temple.

Zhou gave the staff an experimental tug, discovering that it was firmly anchored in the soil. He put both hands around it and pulled again with all his strength. It still did not budge. With a last look towards the horse creatures, he joined once more with the panther and built his own version of the image in his mind. He ran into it.

Haung followed the noble and his bodyguard through the streets. They visited a few shops, though Haung could not see what they bought, and spent some time in an expensive looking tailors. Each time, he found a patch of shadow within which to wait. As the evening wore on, finding the dark places was becoming easier and easier. Each time they stopped, Haung did his best to change his appearance a little, altering his hair style, belting up his robe a different way, even turning it inside out for a while. Anything he could to make him look a bit different and throw off the chance of instant recognition.

Their last stop was one of the up-market drinking establishments. Haung found a place where he could watch the door and waited. After ten minutes he thought about going in himself. Finding a table close by where he could eavesdrop on any conversation or maybe see who he met. Either might have given him a clue or another lead to follow. He took a step forward, then stopped and looked down. His robe was rich but not rich enough. He had money but not enough. More to the point, he felt dirty and to go into that establishment feeling out of place would just make him stand out. Haung retreated back into the shadows.

As the lamps were being lit and the shadows shrinking under their yellow glow, the noble and his bodyguard emerged. The noble stumbled over the door sill and his protector was forced to reach out a hand to stabilise him. The rich man shook off the helping hand, glared at the bodyguard, turned away, swaying a little, and began to meander down the street at a far slower pace than before. When Haung judged they were far enough away, he fell in behind. The bodyguard turned round only once on the next leg of their journey. Haung slipped into another shadow until the man had turned back to his charge. For the rest of the walk, the bodyguard was hard pressed to keep the noble upright. Each time, he had to reach out a steadying hand the noble would turn, glare and speak harshly to him.

  The character of the streets changed from retail and commercial into residential. And not just any homes, but those of the wealthy. The homes of people who could afford enough land in the city to build a wall around their homes. Haung watched them enter through double arched doors into a spacious courtyard beyond. He sighed. I feel like I have been here before, he thought, recalling the house in Yaart where had fought and killed Jing Ke. Only later to discover it was not the real assassin and terrorist.

* * *

Haung stared at the
sìhéyuàn
, the courtyard home with its plaster walls. If this house followed the pattern of most, then the gate he could see would be in the south-east corner with a
yǐ
ng bì
, a screen that would shelter the goings on in the house from the street, behind it. The sun had set and he had become a little lost following the noble through the streets, but he guessed that the gate was on the correct, fashionable side of the house. With that assumption made and a sense of orientation in his mind he could work out the probable layout of the rest. His point of entry would be accomplished, this time, without the aid of magically strengthened leg muscles.

Next to the gate and forming the southern wall would be the servants’ quarters, the kitchen and the family’s eating space. The buildings on the west and east would be for the grown-up children, any uncles, aunts or guests. The main building, along the northern wall, was likely to be where the head of the family slept and where he would spend most of the day engaged upon family business or relaxing. If the family were rich enough, there might be a personal shrine in that building too.

Haung waited until it was fully dark before making his preparations. Such as they can be, he thought. The decision to follow and infiltrate the house had been spur of the moment and he took stock of his belongings, seeking anything that would help. It was a quick search. He had nothing except a small bag of coins and the clothes he was dressed in. Still, he considered himself lucky. Since coming to the Holy City, the clothes he had chosen were no longer the loose robes and skirt,
yi
and
chang
, but the more imperial style of close fitting
pao
and loose trousers,
ku
. He smiled slightly as his hands moved to the fashion from his youth in Yaart that he had held onto. A wide silk belt wrapped around his waist and tied with a knot that rested on his right hip. It had always been a useful place to secrete prepared scrolls, paper spells, lock picks or to hook a weapon through. Of course, and his smile faded, he had none of those things on him now. Still, you made the best of what you had. Flex, adapt and overcome, his
Jiin-Wei
trainers had taught him.

Unwinding the belt, he placed it over his nose so that it covered the lower half of his face and tied it tight at the back of his head, pushing the loose ends down the back of his robe. The street was quiet and he slipped across and up to the wall by the gate. It was going to be hard to climb over the wall. The slate roof hung over the edge of the wall and any attempt to pull himself over would cause the slates to slip. The crash they made as they hit the street would negate any chance of a stealthy entrance. He turned to his right, followed the wall around the corner and down the narrow alley between the target house and its neighbour. It was wide enough for two men to walk side by side as long they were not adverse to bumping shoulders on every step. The eastern alley had a gully for water in the centre and weeds grew near the walls. However, there was nothing there to assist him. Turning left at the end, he followed the northern wall and, halfway along, he found something that might help, a broken crate.

In the dark, he examined the remains of the crate the best he could, by touch more than sight. It was too fragile and broken to stand on. He pulled at the wooden sides and it split easily along the grain. Trying to break it the other way, against the grain, proved impossible. Haung ran his hand across the wall of the noble’s house. Here, around the back, out of sight, the plaster covering had not been maintained. There were areas where it was missing entirely, and other sections where it could be flaked off without effort. Haung rubbed the shard of the crate in his hand and pondered. No better option would present itself and, if he really wanted to find out more about the noble that had been prying into his life, this was it. Or he could go home. Haung shook his head. No, he had come this far.

Collecting more pieces of the thin wood, he set to work. Using his fingertips, he found a section of wall that seemed suitable for the task. He flicked away the remnants of the plaster between the bricks and then pushed a slat of wood between them, wedging it in as far as he could. He took a deep breath, wrapped his hand around the small step he had just made and pulled down, testing its strength. The wooden step held, its strength against the grain and its depth in the wall enough to resist his efforts. Haung smiled beneath his improvised mask.

He broke the crate into more steps and wedges. Reaching above his first step, he repeated the process again and again. Once he could reach no further, he placed his trust in the first of his steps, putting his foot onto it and lifting himself up. His other foot went onto the next step, and then the next until he could reach the top of the wall. It was easy to pull himself up and over those tiles that would fall. Haung rolled onto the roof of the northern house. Laying on his back, he rubbed the red lines on his palms where the wooden steps had cut into them.

Step one done, he thought.

* * *

Haung edged the door open and listened for any creaking of wood or squealing of hinges. Thankfully, the door was well maintained. He took a deep breath and slipped into the main house, closing the door behind him. With a guiding hand on the wall, he moved away from the entrance and crouched down, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light. The impenetrable darkness slowly gave ground to a grainy, hazy mix of greys.

He was in a large room with an open walkway down the centre. Square wooden pillars reached from floor to ceiling.  Next to each, a small table with a vase resting upon it. Haung inched forward to take a closer look and, even without his colour vision, he could see that it was decorated in exquisite style. The others, he surmised, would be the same. Beyond the pillars to the left was a small seating area around a low table, a closed door and, next to that, a collection of shelves that looked to contain a selection of scrolls and more pottery.

To the right, another area of seating, this time surrounding a higher table and something that caught Haung’s interest, a desk. He took another breath and could feel sweat forming on his back. Haung picked the robe away from his skin, drawing in a cooling draught of air. During the journey to the desk, on quiet feet, the sweat was accompanied by a nagging itch between his shoulder blades. He stopped halfway and listened. His beating heart and suppressed breathing were all the sounds he could hear. A quick scratch to dislodge the itch and he moved on.

The desktop was neat. A pile of paper, weighed down with a smooth keep-stone, in the top right hand corner. An inkwell and linen covered wooden writing block in the centre and, on the left, another pile of paper. Haung flicked through it, a lot of figures and writing. It was too dark to read. He was tempted to stuff a few pages into his robe for later examination. In the end, he decided against it. The aim of the night was to discover the identity of the noble. He rubbed the paper between forefinger and thumb, still tempted, but its absence would be noticed. For once, Haung wanted to have the advantage.

A noise from behind the door across the room made him duck behind the chair. Haung waited, trying to keep his breathing quiet and his heart calm. The itch between his shoulder blades returned. His hand went to the necklace, feeling its outline below his robe. Once more, he wished he had not forsworn the magic of the
Fang-Shi
. A little spell to set some alarms upon the doors, another to mask any noise he made and the whole process could have been done by now.

When no more noise came from the door, he returned to rifling through the desk. In one of the drawers he found a seal. Raising and tilting it, trying to see the picture and writing upon it was fruitless. Haung looked at the door again, checking. He slipped a piece of blank paper off the right-hand pile, pressed the seal onto the ink cloth he had found in the drawer and then onto the blank paper. He made several impressions before wiping the seal clean and replacing it. The paper, he blew on until he was certain the ink was dry, folded it and hid it within his robe.

Work done, he thought and started back towards the entrance, but the itch stopped him. Standing still, next to one of the pillars, he paused and thought. Perhaps it was just an itch, but relying on your feelings and hunches was an integral part of his
Jiin-Wei
training. Haung turned a full circle, taking in the layout of the room again. The door through which he had entered, the pillars, the vases, the bookshelves, tables and the door opposite. What was missing? He looked again. Everything seemed to be in its rightful place, the sign of a tidy mind that liked rules, and enjoyed keeping to them. But something was out of place, or rather there was something missing. It took a moment before he realised what it was. Every main house, in every courtyard house he had ever seen, had two rooms leading off from it. One he could see opposite which meant there should be one behind the desk.

“Bugger,” he whispered as he gave in to the itch and turned towards where the door should be. He crept past the desk, to the wall and rested his palm against it. With the utmost care he ran his hand over the wall, focusing upon the slight changes in the feel of the wall.

And there it was, a slight depression in the wall which he followed up and across, outlining a door with his sense of touch. Sure of its location he set about trying to open it. Placing his hand where the handle should be, he pushed. The door did not move. He tried all four corners and the door still refused to open. Sweeping his hands around the outside of the door and pushing on any section that felt, or he imagined felt, different to the rest, had no effect. The itch was growing. He needed to see what was in the room beyond.

Haung stepped back and bumped the desk chair. There was not much room between the wall and the desk, enough for a chair but too little to sit comfortably. In the grainy light, he examined the area. There was nothing on the under surface of the desk, but below it, set into the floor, just where a foot would rest if someone were sat in the chair, was a section of floor that was just a fraction lower than the rest. He pressed it down and with a subtle click the door opened inwards. Haung pushed it open further and peered in.

“Now that is interesting,” he whispered. The room beyond was lined with bookshelves and desks. On the desks, a collection of flasks, vials and tubes. At the far end, a long tube held up on a tripod and an armillary sphere. The only people who had a use for the stars were the philosophers who tried to understand how the land, life and the earth came to be, the astrologers who tried to predict the future by the motion of the stars and one other group, the
Fang-Shi
. The sphere itself was worth more than an average trader could make in a year.

The itch between his shoulder blades was a strong hint that the owner of this room, of this house, was not a philosopher or an astronomer. He scratched beneath his collar. Time to go he decided, and with another press of the hidden switch closed the door.