think owns those bandits? What did you think you were accomplishing?
He points an accusatory finger at the young man as his guards form a circle around him. They are marching in, closer and closer, their spears at the ready, gold rings encircling the shafts, and the magistrate is still shouting, his finger rooting the would-be warrior to the spot, the world going dark with figures, and from what seems like miles away, he can hear Master Lau's voice, as pliant as a whisper, and he is saying: Wait! Wait! Stop!
***
The rain tumbles down in a sheer curtain, sweep-
ing through the courtyard. She desperately
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clears her wet hair from her eyes and flattens it against the back of her head. Flowers are falling from above, from the railings and windows, streaming down, caught by the force of the gale, landing on what once was cobblestone and walkways, but is now the brownish haze of floodwater, carried away. A few feet away from her, the water has gone dirty red where the body of her attacker lies. She can see the clean, almost babyish face of the man she has just killed, as it is buffeted by tiny lappings of water; the flowers are gathering around him, wreathing him.
Get inside! Old Hawk shouts. The second attacker is advancing, his sword slashing ribbon-like through the rain. She tastes the grit of earth in her mouth as she dodges the blow, her knife arcing high and low, fending him off, her
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