It would have been easy for Jimmu to leap on the man and slide the edge of the dagger across his throat, but a dead guard was bound to provoke a fuss, and an investigation. Besides, Jimmu balked at the idea of killing in cold blood for no reason.

He waited beside the pillar until he was sure that the guard was safely out of sight, then continued his reconnaissance.

A few minutes later, Jimmu came in sight of Lord Ankan’s sleeping chamber, and he advanced cautiously, in case a creaking floorboard betrayed him. When Lord Ankan was in residence, a detail of his personal bodyguard would be on duty at night. Jimmu wondered how many, and where they would position themselves, and—

“Who are you?”

A burst of shock twisted Jimmu around. His hand flew inside his shirt, and his fingers gripped the hilt of his dagger. Then he faltered. He could hardly believe what he saw.

A girl was seated on a window ledge, in a shaft of moonlight that shone through a partly opened shutter. Her eyes looked black; her face, with its delicate nose and mouth, was as pale as paper. She wore a white robe that was luminous in the moonlight. Her hair was straight and glossily dark.

“Are you a ghost?” Jimmu gasped.

The girl sniggered, and tossed her head. Her hair whispered against her shoulders.

“Answer my question first!” she said haughtily. “Who are you?”

“Guardsman Jimmu.”

“What are you doing in the private quarters?”

“Er, training!” blurted Jimmu. “A good guard must be alert at all times, and I was testing how alert I am at night.”

“Why is that sash wrapped around your face?”

Panic made Jimmu’s mind nimble.

“I have a sore throat,” he said, pretending to be hoarse. “I was protecting it from the cool night air.”

“Take it off!” the girl commanded. “I can hardly make out a word you say.”

Jimmu obeyed without question. The girl had a kind of natural authority that was difficult to resist.

When the scarf was undone, the girl peered critically at Jimmu.

“I haven’t seen you before,” she remarked.

“I’m a new recruit,” said Jimmu, “but I’m keen for promotion. That’s why I’m training so late.”

“Am I pretty?” the girl inquired.

Jimmu was bewildered by the sudden change of subject.

“Pretty?” he said. “I don’t know anything about things like that.”

The girl heaved a petulant sigh.

“Obviously not!” she said. “In a story, a suitor would tell me that my skin is as smooth as a peach, and my eyes are as beautiful as poems. Guess who I am.”

“Why?”

“Because I told you to!” snapped the girl. “And hurry up, before I get bored and shout for the guards. If I tell them that you touched me, they’ll take you away and torture you.”

“Why would I touch you?” Jimmu said with a frown.

The girl rolled her eyes. “Oh, never mind! Go on, guess who I am.”