"Well, I take it we are here for the same purpose, You can go home now, I don't need any help."
"We are not here for the same purpose."
"I don't understand."
"I look upon this job as my own. Your presence, through no fault of your own, offends me. Therefore, I must bid you depart and leave this matter in my hands."
Archie chuckled.
"It's silly to argue over who kills him."
"I am glad you think so. I will bid you good night, then, and be about the thing."
"That is not what I meant."
"What, then?"
"I have my orders. I have even been conditioned to hate the man. No, the job is mine. You go your way. It will be done."
"Alas I cannot. With me, it is a matter of honor." "Do you think you are the only one who might feel
that way?"
"Not any longer."
Archie shifted slightly on the railing. Timyin Tin turned toward his right.
"You do not wish to give up on this?"
"No. And you will not?"
"True."
Archie flexed his fingers, twitching his claws.
"Then it is too late for you," he said, and sprang
forward.
Timyin Tin moved backward and turned, dropping into a bent-kneed position, hands open, fingers spread, palms faring forward at shoulder level. Archie spun, his right hand crossing his chest, fingers hooked outward, left hand extended, fingers forward, thumb cocked, his weight shifted to his left leg, right leg flexed. Timyin Tin turned sideways, his right hand retreating to the vicinity of his left shoulder, his left crossing his body to the front, fingers moving into a new position.
Archie feinted with his foot, slashed twice with his right hand, dropped immediately into a cross-armed defensive posture. Timyin Tin had moved back, arms parallel and extended forward, hands rotating. Archie's blows had fallen short as he assessed his opponent. Now he assumed a new position—head back, arms cocked, right leg extended. Timyin Tin made a basket of his arms before him and leaned slightly forward, turning. ''Almost had me there," Archie said. The small man smiled as his left fingers assumed a new configuration and his shoulder dropped two and a
quarter inches. Archie hastily changed the position of his left arm and moved his rear foot to produce a new stance.
Timyin Tin fanned his face slowly with his right hand while lowering his left, fingers curving upward. Archie did a backward somersault and moved forward, kicking. Timyin Tin parried the kick with a scooping movement of his left arm that threw Archie into a cartwheeling motion, which the larger man continued until he was out of range, coming up into a defensive crouch from which he rose with his hands moving rapidly. He circled to the left now, shuffling, jerking through dozens of positions with blinding speed. Timyin Tin's body flowed to follow him, his hands seeming to move more slowly but always falling into the proper attitudes.
Finally, Archie halted and stood facing him. Timyin Tin stopped also, facing Archie, who made a single movement with his right hand. Timyin Tin mirrored it as he did it. They remained absolutely still for half a minute. Then Archie moved his right hand again. Timyin Tin moved his left. They watched one another for half a minute more, then Archie turned his head. Timyin Tin touched his nose. A puzzled look crossed Archie's face. Then he bent slowly and placed the palm of his left hand upon the floor. Timyin Tin turned his left hand palm upward and moved it three inches forward. Archie flexed his ears, then asked, "What is the sound of one hand clapping?"
"A butterfly."
Archie straightened and took a step forward. Timyin Tin shaded his eyes. They remained in this position for a full minute.
Timyin Tin took two rapid steps to the left and kicked into the air. Twisting his body and throwing himself backward, Archie restrained himself within a fraction of a second from moving into a position which
would have placed his jaw in line with the kick. Both arms extended, claws at full flex, he spun twice as he recovered his footing and balance. By then, Timyin Tin had taken two additional steps to his left.
There was perspiration on Archie's brow as he bent forward and began moving in a wide circle about the smaller man, fingers hooked and clawing lightly at the
air Timyin Tin turned slowly to follow him, his right
hand seeming to hang limply at shoulder level. He bowed very low just as Archie was about to spring. Archie restrained himself and halted.
"It has indeed been a pleasure," he remarked.
"For this one also," Timyin Tin replied.
"It looks as if white flowers fall upon my shroud. Your hands are so pale."
"To leave the world in spring, with flower guards to honor: it must be peace."
Timyin Tin straightened slowly. Archie began moving his left hand in a slow figure-eight, extending it gradually. His right hand twitched.
Timyin Tin took two sudden steps to his left. Archie moved as if to circle in a clockwise direction, then followed quickly as the other began to turn. A cool breeze touched them both as Archie began a kick with his left foot, thought better of it, shifted his weight, feinted with his right. Timyin Tin extended both hands, palms down, then slowly began lowering the right. Archie moved his head in a slow circle. Then his shoulders began a counter-movement. His hands traced patterns about one another, advancing, retreating, feinting...
Timyin Tin leaned to his right, then to his left, his right hand still descending with extreme slowness. He leaned to the left again
"What," Archie asked him, "is the color of thunder?"....hen to the right, hand still dropping.
Archie feinted with another kick, then lunged forward, claws extended, hands describing wide semicircles about one another.
Timyin Tin's head turned back over his shoulder as his left leg moved behind him. His body turned sideways as his left hand became a V, catching Archie beneath the left armpit. His right hand moved upward toward the other's crotch. He felt but an instant's touch of weight as he twisted to the left. Then Archie was gone, into the night, out over the railing.
"Behold," Timyin Tin replied.
He stood for several heartbeats, regarding the night. Then he bowed again.
He withdrew a pencil-thin tube from a narrow pocket at the outer seam of his right pantleg. He weighed it in his hand for a moment, then pointed it toward the sky. He thumbed a stud on its side and a fine red beam emerged from its tip.
With a movement of his wrist, he directed the beam toward the railing. It sliced a thin line through eight inches of stone. He flicked it off and moved to the spot where it had cut. Running his thumb along the groove, he looked down over the railing for the first time. He nodded and turned away, replacing the tube in his pocket.
Soundlessly, he crossed to the stairs. He looked upward and for a moment his vision wavered as the dim interior of the stairwell reminded him of a cold stone corridor in an ancient building he had once known.
He mounted the stairs slowly, keeping close to the left-hand wall. He passed a door, moved toward the next.
When he reached the proper door, he paused. A pale light still shone beneath it. He took the tube into his hand but still he stood, listening. There was a soft stirring within, a creak of furniture, stillness.
He raised the weapon and pointed it at a place near the jamb, where the bar should lie. Then he paused
again and lowered it. He moved forward. Gently, very gently, slowly, he tried the door. It was unfastened. He stepped to the side, raised his weapon again
and pushed it open. He dropped to his knees. The tube fell from his
fingers.
"I did not know," he said. He lowered his forehead to the floor.
One
As he was paying his bill and settling up for the damage to his room. Red was approached by the wagers broker, a small, turbaned man of exotic aroma.