“Who are they?” she whispered to her companions.
“Those are members of the Kang Shen sect,” Kirima said. “They’re nonbenders who believe that performing secret purification ceremonies will make them immune to the elements. Mok must have recruited a bunch to serve as his front line.”
“That’s madness!” Kyoshi said. “If they charge straight into a formation of Earthbenders, they’re going to be slaughtered!” The men she saw had no armor, no shields. Many of them seemed to be empty-handed fighters, lacking a weapon entirely.
“It’s amazing what the mind can be led to believe,” Lao Ge said.
“Especially if you’re desperate,” Lek muttered. “They say that people turn to the Kang Shen sect after seeing a friend or loved one killed by a bender. Be made to feel powerless that way, and you’ll do anything that gives you courage.”
They approached the center of camp. Mok was easy to spot. He’d set up a fancy wooden desk in the middle of the outdoors that served no purpose other than to show he could. He sat behind it with his fingers tented, as if he were the governor of these parts and not Te. Wai stood next to him, a nightmarish imitation of a secretary.
“My beloved associates,” Mok said after they bowed. “Come closer.”
They glanced at each other nervously and shuffled toward the desk.
“Closer still,” Mok said. They crowded around him. Kyoshi noticed Lek was on the flank, in the most danger. His head was low and still. She regretted not standing between him and the daofei leader.
“I didn’t get the chance to bid you farewell in Hujiang,” Mok said. “You missed the excitement.” He stared pointedly at Rangi and Kyoshi. There was no evidence to link them to the shirshu attack, but a man like him wouldn’t need it. They were the pieces that didn’t fit, and that was enough.
“A great beast came on the morning you left,” he continued. “It killed several of my best men. What do the two of you have to say about that?”
Wai drew his knife before Kyoshi could answer. It was Lek, brave, stupid Lek, who either never learned or was too selfless for his own good, who spoke up for her again. “We don’t know anything about that, Uncle. Kyoshi and Rangi aren’t to blame.”
Wai lunged.
Certainty lent Kyoshi a speed she never knew she had. In one swift motion she caught Wai’s knife hand before it reached Lek, pinned it to the desk by his wrist, and drew her fan with her other hand. She kept the heavy weapon closed as she smashed it like a hammer on Wai’s fingers, breaking them in a single blow.
The knife clattered to the ground. The eyes of the Flying Opera Company were as big and wide as the moon overhead. Everyone was shocked into silence, including Wai, who seemed numbed by sheer disbelief from the pain coursing up his arm.
“Forgive me, Uncles,” Kyoshi said, finding it supremely easy to speak now. “I saw a poisonous insect and thought to save your lives.”
Wai clutched his broken hand and bared his teeth at Kyoshi, a vine cobra about to spit.
She was still calm. “But if Uncle Wai believes my actions inappropriate, he can always teach me the meaning of discipline on the lei tai, after our mission is over.”
Mok leaned back in his chair and crowed with laughter. “So much progress in only a few weeks! This is the influence I have on people. Come, Kyoshi. Since your brothers and sisters have had their tongues stolen by a spirit, tell me what plans you’ve come up with since we last saw each other.”
She carried on as if nothing had happened, ignoring the surprise of her friends and the fury of Wai. She’d heard the strategizing between Rangi and Kirima enough times to be convincing. “We believe the prison where your—our—sworn brother is being held is below the northeast courtyard. Assuming it was constructed at the same time as the oldest part of the palace, we should be able to defeat the security.”
He noticed her pause. “But?”
“Provided we have enough time. If Te’s guards choose to defend the prison, our group alone may never be able to spring our man. There’s also a chance that if we show our hand too early, they realize what we’re doing and preemptively kill the hostage.”
“Then it’s as I anticipated,” Mok said, stroking his chin like a wise man. “We’ll need a direct attack in concert with your clandestine efforts.” Kyoshi had to give him some measure of credit. He did foresee this outcome back in Hujiang.
Mok reached inside the desk and pulled out two sticks of timing incense. Kyoshi watched him pluck Wai’s knife off the ground and carefully cut them to the same length before handing them to Rangi. “If you would, my lovely.”
She lit both tips with one finger and handed one back to Mok.
“Get to your positions,” he said. “We attack in one hour.”
The Flying Opera Company bowed and got out of there as fast as they could. Step one had been passed. Rangi cradled the timing incense as they left the camp, trying to shield it from breezes that might accelerate the burn and throw them off schedule.
One hour, Kyoshi thought. In the distance a few bright lights from the palace could be seen, the fires lit by servants like her for cooking and warmth, lanterns carried by guards like the watchmen who always greeted her kindly at the gates of Jianzhu’s mansion. She looked at the Kang Shen acolytes working themselves into a frenzy, vulnerable and naked but for their faith. One hour until blood was spilled.
“Steady on,” Lao Ge whispered to her.
His words, meant to be comfort, only reminded her. One hour until she became the killer she was trying to be.