and tried to lock on to her wrist as the blade slid by, but the sword dancer evaded his grasp, her movements as fluid now as they were during the performance.
A cry came from the customers as they stood and skirted to the edges of the room. The sword was aimed at him again. The dancer wielded a jian, its long, thin blade suited for the precision cuts and jabs of the more artful duellists. The weapon itself was fake, the edges dulled, but the skill behind it was very real. Han unsheathed his dao and blocked in a single motion. His blade was heavier by comparison, suited for the swift, decisive attack of a battlefield.
The sword dancer avoided the swing of his blade, attacking into the opening it created. Strategy, controlled breathing, eyes sharply focused without a hint of fear. Han struck at the sword rather than the fighter, using force and momentum to twist the blade out of her hands. There was no time to celebrate as the dancer grabbed a plate and flung it at his head. Followed by a wine jug which shattered overhead as he ducked. Followed by a wooden bench.
Heaven and Earth, she fought like a demon.
The dancer ran over the tables rather than weaving around them. By the time he shoved the bench away, she had dived out the window. Han raced out on to the exterior balcony to find it empty. He peered down below into a similarly deserted street. She’d somehow landed and disappeared into an alleyway.
A furtive shuffle overhead told him differently. He stilled, head tilted to listen. There it was, the faint pad of footsteps. She’d gone up, not down.
Han shoved the dao back into its scabbard and climbed on top of the rail. From there, he grabbed on to the looped carvings that ran along the eaves and used them to hoist himself up on to the roof. The dancer was already at the far end of the rooftop. With a running leap, she sailed across the alley on to the adjacent rooftop, the ribbons of her costume floating behind her like the long feathers of an exotic bird.
The heat of the chase was upon him. He followed her trail, running hard and jumping just before the edge. Grey tile cracked beneath his feet as he landed. He had some experience chasing criminals through winding streets, but this was entirely different. The city below disappeared and the rooftops became a new, uncharted landscape.
The dancer leapt again and again he followed. The rooftop sloped upwards and she disappeared over the rise. The sun was high overhead and as Han began the upward climb, he was momentarily blinded by the glare of it. Suddenly a pink blur whirled towards him, followed by the snap of a well-placed kick at his mid-section. The impact knocked him back. He landed with a thud and started to slide. His hands clawed futilely over the slate tiles.
He hit the edge and his stomach plummeted just as something closed over his wrist, stopping his fall. Han looked up, stunned.
It was the sword dancer. Her feet were braced against the raised edge and the muscles of her arms strained against his weight as he dangled partially over the street below. Their gazes locked. It was only a moment, a blink, a breath. Her eyes were black and luminous beneath the dark lining of make-up. They narrowed on him in challenge.
She let go of him and was again in flight. Han hoisted himself back on to the rooftop and struggled to his feet. The dancer slipped over the edge, but rather than dropping to the street, she hung by the grip of her fingers and swung into an open window that wasn’t much larger than she was.
Her training had made her as surefooted and daring as a cat. Han suspected it was more than just acrobatics or dance. He leapt on to a lower rooftop, then searched around, found a wagon below and landed in back among sacks of grain.
This was now familiar territory. In his head, he’d mapped out the area and tracked the dancer’s speed and direction. Sure enough, he caught up to her as she darted behind a shop. Earthen walls rose high on either side of them. Longxu appeared at the far end of the alley with his hook and rope in hand.
The dancer paused mid-step. Han seized the opportunity and grabbed her, clamping both arms around her torso. She was strong for her size, long-limbed and wiry, and she fought like a wild animal in his grasp.
‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said through his teeth.
Her knuckles caught the bridge of his nose in a bright flash of pain, but he held on and managed to wrestle her arms down.
She was breathing hard, her body tense. She twisted around to look at him. ‘I haven’t done anything.’
‘You ran,’ he pointed out.
‘You were chasing me!’ she snapped.
She had fled the moment the thief-catchers had made themselves known. It made her immediately suspicious.
Han had her trapped against his chest and, now that she was turned, their position disturbingly resembled a lovers’ embrace except that every muscle in her was coiled and ready to break free at the first opportunity.
‘Huh, you should split the reward money with me.’ Longxu shoved the hook back into his belt and approached. ‘I helped you capture her.’
Han tore his gaze away from the dancer. ‘Hardly.’
‘What? The great Zheng Hao Han is too exalted to share?’
The dancer stilled. Her gaze moving over his face as if seeing him for the first time. ‘Thief-catcher Han?’ she asked incredulously.
‘That is how I’m known,’ he replied.
Apparently he’d made a name for himself, though not any name his family would be proud of. Han shifted his grip, taking a hold of the dancer’s wrist and locking it behind her back. This time she didn’t resist.
‘He can’t be Zheng Hao Han,’ she said in a biting tone as he marched her back towards the municipal hall. ‘Thief-catcher Han goes after notorious murderers and villains.’
Han did feel quite the bully. She was slight of build and deceptively delicate in his grasp, but she was no ordinary dancer. She’d been formally trained in the fighting arts, which meant she deserved some respect … and caution.
The village municipal hall was a single building not much larger than the tavern. A clerk sat at a desk. He unrolled a scroll as Han approached. ‘The suspect’s name?’
‘Wen Li Feng,’ the dancer said.
The clerk looked her over with morbid interest. She glared back at him and he shrank back, writing down her name quickly.
‘There were several others brought in as well. But we only have two holding cells here.’
The prison was built much like a stable with a separate pen for prisoners and vents cut into the walls for light and air. Infractions were punished swiftly and there was no need to hold prisoners for any length of time. The constable relied on shackles and other heavy restraints to keep prisoners in line.
Han clamoed irons over the dancer’s wrists, forgoing the cangue, a heavy board which was locked around the neck to trap a prisoner’s head. She was a woman after all. Tomorrow she would be transported to Taining where the crime had occurred.
‘You’ve been trained,’ he said, meeting her eyes. ‘Who is your shifu?’
‘I have no master.’
Her reply was spoken without emotion, but something
