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Tsekuin and strike a blow against the Hongshu. Blade was doing the same, and
he was also working with a fellow professional in the deadly but exhilarating
game of espionage.
Eventually the job was done as well as it could be done. They sat in their
tiny back room one evening, drinking the first jug of saga they had allowed
themselves in weeks. A small charcoal stove burned in one corner, filling the
air with pungent gray smoke and driving some of the chill out of the air.
The year was wearing on. They would do well to strike soon.
"We can't wait much longer, Blade," said Lady Musura. "I know of a certainty
that the Hongshu keeps spies within the quarter. Sooner or later it will be
known in the palace that we have learned what we have learned. Then a trap
will be laid for us, or for anyone else coming through. Assassins may even
enter the quarter, striking us down when we think we are safe."
"I know," said Blade. It was one of the classic problems in espionage. Ideally
you should move as soon as possible after learning what you need, before the
enemy learns that you have penetrated his secrets. But there are always
practical problems.
"Two people aren't going to be enough, unless Lord Geron's guards are all too
drunk to keep any
sort of watch. Even if we could overcome the guards, we might not be able to
keep Lord Geron from escaping. It would be a gesture, nothing more. I don't
want to waste what we've learned on a gesture."
"No more I," said Lady Musura. "But where in the name of Kunkoi can we find ?"
She broke off, and her eyes widened. "You think we should send word to the
other dabuni?"
Blade nodded. "I think we would owe it to them even if we did not need their
help. Do you doubt that Yezjaro and Doifuzan have plans for avenging Lord
Tsekuin's death on Lord Geron?"
"None. But will they trust us or follow our lead or even listen to us?"
"I wish I could be sure. But I think Yezjaro will at least listen to me until
I have told him everything."
"Possibly. But where is Yezjaro?"
"We will have to find him."
"That may take time, Blade. We may not have any more time."
"I know. But have we any other choice?"
Chapter 19
«^»
At first, it looked like finding Yezjaro would be like finding a single fish
in the ocean. But Blade knew that the young instructor was too fond of wine,
warmth, and women to drift away to some mountain warlord's castle. If he was
still alive, he was likely to be close enough to Deyun so that they would hear
of him sooner rather than later. But how much time did they have?
The waiting became an ordeal. Blade knew that patience was essential in this
game. But he also knew that if he spent much more time sitting in the cramped
back room, he might take out his bad temper on Lady Musura.
So he took to drifting through the taverns by day as well as by night. Within
a week, he had drifted straight into what he was looking for.
Two dabuni wandered into a tavern where Blade was sitting over saga and
biscuits, ordered their own wine, and began to talk.
"Poor stupid Kuras," said one. "He wouldn't believe the 'Flying Bird Cut'
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could do all that Yezjaro said it could."
"No great blame there," said the other. "Why should anyone take it on faith?"
"He shouldn't, I agree. But to insult Yezjaro to his face was the act of a
fool."
"Well, he paid for it. And not as heavily as he deserved, either. Yezjaro used
a wooden sword, so
Kuras will live even if he won't walk again."
Blade rose and went over to the two dabuni. "Excuse me, Honorable Dabuni, but
are you speaking of Yezjaro, master of the 'Flying Bird Cut'?"
One of the dabuni glared at Blade and started to answer him contemptuously,
then noticed Blade's size and the two swords in his sash. His face
straightened itself out and he replied more coolly, "Yes, I
am. He stays now at our lord's house, near the city. What would you want with
him?"
"I would have you take a message to him," said Blade. "If he will come to this
tavern tomorrow night at the tenth hour, the man whom he would need ten
minutes to defeat would speak with him."
"Is there such a man?" said the first dabuno, with a harsh laugh. "I cannot
imagine it."
"Whether there is or not, I do not know," said Blade politely. "But a man whom
Yezjaro once described as such would like to speak to him."
"Must Yezjaro come alone?" said the second dabuno. His eyes were fixed on
Blade, hard and skeptical.
"That is as the Honorable Instructor wishes," said Blade. It would be far
better if Yezjaro did come alone. But mentioning that to these two men would
probably make them suspect treachery. In any case, Yezjaro would be certain to
recognize the message. There had been no one else within earshot the day he
praised Blade's swordsmanship with those words.
"Anything will be as the master wishes," said the first dabuno. "Including
your death, if this is a trap."
Blade bowed politely. He was still bowing politely as he backed out of the
tavern, and he did not straighten up with a sigh of relief until he was out in
the street. At least he had found his fish. That was a good beginning.
Yezjaro appeared at the tavern at the appointed time the next evening. He came
alone, as Blade had expected. The instructor might wonder who was asking for
him, in spite of the message. But he was too proud and too self-confident to
admit that there was any situation in which he might need help.
That was not good sense. But there was a gallantry in it that Blade could not
help admiring. Home
Dimension offered too few opportunities for it these days. The gallant were
too often the first to die, the last to be recognized, and the ones most
frequently laughed at.
Yezjaro stalked into the tavern like a tiger on the prowl, light-footed and
with one hand close to his sword hilt. He was thinner than he had been a few
months ago, and there were dark circles under the deep-set eyes that searched
the room from ceiling beams to floor mats. But his robe was as expensive and
elegant as ever, his sandals were new, his scabbard polished until its
blackness shimmered like metal.
His eyes swung across the tables, reached Blade and stopped. He blinked twice,
and Blade saw his free hand clench tightly into a fist. Those few signs were
enough for Blade. He knew he had been recognized.
Blade threw a glance at the door and rose. Yezjaro nodded, turned, and
preceded Blade out of the tavern. They stayed well apart as they moved down
the noisy Street of the Pink Ape, until they reached a small alley behind a
warehouse.
There they stood and faced each other, shielded from prying eyes and ears.
Yezjaro spoke first.
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"What words do you have for me, Blade? Have you found the Hongshu's service so
uncongenial so soon?"
"I have never been in the Hongshu's service, Yezjaro," said Blade. His voice
was cool but not hostile.
If Yezjaro wanted to play a few games in order to reassure himself, so be it.
"And this you should know well enough to have no need of asking me foolish
questions."
"Are they foolish questions, Blade? Certainly your former comrades in the
service of Lord Tsekuin have seen and heard little of you these past few
months. You could have sprouted wings and a green tail
for all we knew."
"Indeed?" said Blade. "I thought my departure from among you was your wish,
not mine. I saw written on every face the clear message: 'Go away, Blade. The
Hongshu has tempted you and we fear you must yield sooner or later.' Well, I
have not yielded. I think I am farther along in my plans to avenge our foully
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