The Scent of Death

by Brian K. Lowe

  Damien made sure his door was closed tightly behind him. He had surveyed his chambers as soon as he was moved in, walking the floor to be sure there was no room in the walls for secret passages between the rooms. Of them all, he was bothered the most by the question of exactly what had killed the undersecretary, and the steward in Kate's cabin. If the floral scent did not presage some toxic gas, what did it mean? His chemical apparatus was sitting in one corner. He had carefully salvaged samples from the stateroom and subjected them to every analytical process he could remember, as well as a few he had invented on the spot, to no avail.

  He was not sleepy. By habit, he strolled over to his lab set-up, hoping that by chance he might think of some untried test that he had overlooked.

  There was a piece of paper in the middle of his instruments that he had not placed there.

  Prepare another Hail Mary. Be ready to go long. Keep it at left guard.

  Trick play.

  Damien sucked in his breath and frowned. After a few moments, he said, "Ahh." He wadded the paper and threw it into the fire, then rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

  Just after dawn, two men spoke in low tones. "We have heard from one of our agents in the palace. One of the Americans is working on an antidote to the Floral Death."

  "An antidote? How do they know what it is?"

  "I don't know. But it is the same American who created the Floral Death on the road and threw it at our men."

  There was a pause. "Have your men keep a close eye, but do not disturb him. If he can do what he says, that would be very valuable." He chuckled. "Not that we would let it do him any good."

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Surveillance

  Captain Kuragawa, whatever his faults, was a man who enjoyed a good meal. They found him in the dining room again the next morning, keeping the two servants busy fetching him cups of tea, bowls of porridge, and thin strips of meat that he rolled up and popped into his mouth. Surprisingly, Deng Zhongshu was sharing the table with him, albeit sitting on the far side.

  Kate, Ted, and Damien bowed to the scholar, who bowed from his seat, laughing.

  "It is hard enough at my age to bow, children, but during breakfast? You are trying to break an old man in half!"

  Kuragawa gave them a perfunctory nod and polished off another cup of tea. Without a word, he got up and left the table.

  "Huh," Ted grunted. "Was it something we said?"

  While the servants busied themselves with the new arrivals, Deng Zhongshu explained.

  "I think it was more likely something he ate. As in, everything. I have seen starving men come in from the desert who ate less."

  "Sounds like the Professor," Damien observed.

  Deng Zhongshu shook his head sadly. "I do not think so. I have seen your friend at this table. He eats much, but he does so because he enjoys it. Our Captain Kuragawa, for him eating all of his host's food is an act of aggression, an expression of power."

  The three Americans exchanged glances. "Did Captain Kuragawa mention where he was going today?" Kate asked. "He seemed in rather a hurry."

  "I was fortunate to be here when he arrived, and while awaiting his breakfast, he deigned to speak to me. Apparently he has taken a great interest in the inner workings of the Quanyu temple, and goes there every day to commune with the monks, and to meditate. He believed I might be interested in what they had to say as well, but I told him my interest is in history, not theology."

  "We didn't see him there yesterday," Kate said, "but then again, we were a little preoccupied. Come to think of it, I would like to go to the temple. We never got a chance to thank the master for helping us."

  "Well, you certainly can't go alone," Ted said. "Not after yesterday. And I could use a walk. What about you, Damien?"

  "No, thanks," Damien said around a mouthful of porridge. "I've had enough to town for a while. I'm going to wander around here and see what this place is like. I haven't been in as many palaces as some people."

  Ted and Kate kept their faces neutral. Despite Ted's reasoning, Damien was still not convinced the king could be trusted, and he wanted to nose around places he was not supposed to. Although the others believed it unnecessary, they had not tried too hard to dissuade him. They had no hierarchy; each of them was free to pursue his investigations alone if he saw fit--Eric was the prime example.

  "You young people go on, then," Deng Zhongshu said. "I am in no hurry. The library has been here five hundred years; it will still be here in an hour."

  After verifying the directions to the temple, Kate and Ted left the palace without accepting the proffered guide. It was blustery, cloudy day, but Ted found the cold air invigorating.

  "Feel that!" He spun slowly around, arms outstretched like a giant flower straining for the sun. Taking a huge breath, he exulted: "Lord! You can't get air like this back home!"

  Kate waited until he had completed his rotation and come back into step with her. "See anybody?"

  "Nope. Nobody's paying any attention to us at all."

  "Yeah. You believe that?"

  "Nope."

  They strolled on toward the temple, showing no sign that they were aware of the targets on their backs.

  "Sums" Dean had been up and about early in the morning. He left the palace without any breakfast and moved across the city on foot carrying a small sack over his shoulder. Even at that hour, the crowds were starting to thicken, as early shoppers bickered over the best deals in the marketplace. Sums kept one hand on his sack as if he were afraid it would either be stolen or something inside would break, making his movements through the throng awkward and hesitant.

  T.J. Gillis, fifty yards behind, glided in his wake like a ghost, weaving between the natives in a side-to-side pattern that nonetheless kept him a constant distance from his quarry, but which would have fooled anyone not specially trained to shake a tail.

  On the far side of the market, the crowds thinned out, forcing T.J. to take cover more often in doorways and behind corners, but Sums never looked behind him. He found a road out of town and hit his stride. T.J. had to allow more room between them, but the lack of turn-offs made him confident that he could follow his man to wherever he was headed. There was more than enough snow on the ground to show tracks, and T.J. realized belatedly that he was leaving his own. If there was no more snow before Sums came back this way, he would see two sets of tracks, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

  After about a half-mile, T.J.'s interest perked up as he spied a walled compound on a small rise ahead and to his left. At the same time, he saw that Sums had left the road and was hiking a course that would take him wide of the compound, and up onto the rocky slope above. He was planning to spy on the compound, so much was obvious, but at the same time, he would soon be able to see T.J. following him, plain as day. T.J. was forced to leave the road immediately so he could take an even wider route and try to position himself behind Sums.

  "What're you looking for, son?" he asked himself. "What's in that compound that's so interesting? Or should I say, who?"

  For a while he was unable to watch the watcher, for the slope where he was forced to follow it was steep, and he could not afford to dislodge any large rocks, which might attract Sums's attention. When he found a spot where a long-ago avalanche had piled rocks into a sort of ledge, he dragged himself up and looked to see where he was in relation to his target.

  Luck was with him. Sums was a hundred feet to his left and ten yards down slope. He was scanning the compound with a pair of binoculars he had pulled out of his knapsack. The compound featured several buildings in the mountain style, short squat, heavily timbered, with smoke issuing from several vents in the roofs. The space itself was surprisingly large, taking advantage of a natural plateau to form a long rectangle. Pens on the far side apparently were meant to contain goats which were currently grazing free on the sparse grass, tended by a couple of dogs. People passed to and fro, intent on their tasks, never bothering to look up the mountain wher
e not one, but two, sets of eyes spied upon them.

  T.J. tried to dig a small depression for a seat, with limited success. The ground was a rocky scree, rough and sharp from millennia of cracking off bits and pieces in the freezing cold. One part of his mind catalogued them, estimating and deducing the stresses that had led to the creation of this uncomfortable perch--none of which made it any easier to find a position that did not involve stones poking him in soft places. And then, to add insult to injury, Sums reached one-handed into his knapsack and pulled out a small bundle. He fumbled it open and brought the contents to his mouth. T.J. groaned silently. He had forgotten breakfast!

  There was no telling what Sums was looking for, or when he might find it. He was plainly prepared to spend hours up there. Already T.J. was getting cold, and a hunger he had not even noticed until Sums began to eat was gnawing at him. He glanced at the lowering grey clouds. All it needed was to start raining, and it would feel like 1917 all over again.

  Closing his eyes for a moment, he pulled his coat tighter around him. Cold, hungry, bored…could it get any worse?

  A hand was clapped over his mouth. "Make a sound, and you'll stay here until the wolves clean your bones."

  An arm encircled his neck and started to squeeze…and he descended into blackness.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Horror in the Holy House

  With all the continuous buzzing about the princess's celebration, Damien initially despaired of being able to access the basements unobserved, or to move around once he reached them. But evidently all of the storerooms had been denuded of decorations, chairs, torches, and tables, so there was little reason for anyone to venture there. Having watched the preparations, he knew where the nearest door was, and within seconds he was through it without anyone being the wiser.

  He immediately felt like he had walked into a Gothic novel. Steep stone stairs led downward, torches clamped to the wall providing illumination. The typical citizen of Quanyu was considerably shorter than he was; any of them could easily have walked under the torches, but to him, each was a burning obstacle, forcing him to lean out over the edge of the steps, for which there was no handrail. Damien was not particularly afraid of heights, but the dark well whose bottom could not be seen unnerved him.

  He quickly reached the next level, however, and was grateful to see that the ceilings had not been cut to local standards, else he would have had to bend the whole time. The tunnel stretched in front of him to his right and to his left. He listened, but heard nothing to indicate that he was not alone. Still, knowing how these passages could echo, he stepped carefully, trying not to let his shoes scrape the floor. Randomly, he started down the branch on his right.

  Periodically, he passed through places where doors had been set in place that could separate the tunnel into sections. This seemed to corroborate his theory that there might be dungeons down here; apparently the entire basement could be used for that purpose, with the doors to provide security. The doors themselves still hung, but they had been pushed back against the walls, left permanently open in this more enlightened age.

  Doors also lined the walls at long regular intervals. Opening up a few rooms at random, Damien started to wonder just how extensive the tunnels down here were. He did not even know if this was the only basement level; there could be more beneath him. It had been 500 years, after all. Suddenly, his idea for independent investigation seemed much less practical than he had envisioned, not to mention dangerous. Still, if he was right, and he turned back too soon, the Reinholds could die. He squared his shoulders and kept trying doors. Failing his friends through inaction was not an option.

  And yet…he could spend all day down here to no avail, and if he were caught, he would have to give up the effort altogether. He stopped and tried to think. If I were keeping people prisoner down here, where would I keep them?

  Not on the main corridors, that was for sure. The princess's celebration had been long in the planning; anyone would have known that these rooms were going to be searched for materials. If there were secret cells down here, they had to be off the beaten track. And not behind an unlocked door, either. If it opened, it was not the one he wanted.

  Off the beaten track… Assuming there were no other levels, that meant as far from the areas used for storage as possible. He set off down the corridor, taking a torch in case he reached a section that no one kept lit--which would be another clue, he realized. In less time than he thought, he found himself facing a dead end.

  Okay, then, we'll start here and work our way back.

  He pushed on the first door and it give under his hand--with a scraping sound like stone on stone. Damien stopped, staring at his hand. The scraping noise came again--from behind him.

  Stepping quickly behind the door he had started to open, holding the torch where its light would not show, he shut the wooden slab until only a sliver remained, which he felt would not be noticed in the dim tunnel. Across the way, the wall itself was receding, and when it stopped, a figure stepped through, peering about. Damien almost dropped his torch.

  What the hell are you doing down here?

  "I am supremely sorry, miss, but in 500 years no woman has ever entered the temple." The shaven-headed priest they had met outside the gate bowed again, very low, as if to impart the depths of his sorrow at having to deny Kate entry. It did not erase the sting of exclusion.

  "I guess that explains why Quanyu couldn't be trained in the martial arts," she said to Ted, who shifted from foot to foot. He had not been denied entry; it had been made clear, in fact, that as a royal guest he was more than welcome to come in, and the English-speaking priest who met them at the door would be honored to accompany him wherever he wished.

  "Well, you should go in, anyway," Kate continued. "I just wish I'd known about this ahead of time. It would have saved me some walking." The issue had not come up the day before; Hano had run ahead and alerted the temple's gatekeeper of their need, and their escort had been awaiting them when they came up behind him. "If you speak to the master, please convey my gratitude for yesterday."

  "I guess I'm going in, then," Ted told the gatekeeper. "Is there somewhere my friend can wait for me? It's a little cold out here."

  "Yes. Please wait here." To Kate, he said, "Please follow me," and led her to a hut adjoining the temple's outer wall. She was surprised to find it was equipped with comfortable chairs and a small fireplace featuring a cheery, warm blaze. "Please remain here as long as you wish. I will bring our guest here when his visit is over."

  The temple gate closed behind Ted and his escort, nearly silent but giving the simultaneous impression of a ponderous weight. The temple must have been designed with defense in mind, he mused as he was led across the plain stone square to the main building. Hardly a surprise, given its age. Here and there he saw single priests and small groups engaged in conversation or silent contemplation--his eyes widened as he realized that one of the priests was sitting cross-legged, eyes closed and completely relaxed, on a board studded with spikes. Another stood perfectly still on one leg, the other crossed in front of him.

  His escort followed his glance. "To attain harmony in body is to approach harmony with the world. We seek to co-exist with the world, not master it."

  If that was true, then there would be little incentive to try to depose the king, but was it true? Or did their idea of "harmony" include "control"? How far were they willing to assert their amazing physical gifts to achieve their ends?

  "But what about when the world doesn't want to co-exist with you?"

  The priest tilted his head and gave Ted a puzzled look.

  "I mean, you must have heard what's going on in China right now. The Japanese have invaded, and they're on the move. Eventually, they're going to come here."

  The puzzled look was replaced by the usual serene smile. "In 1605, the brother of His Majesty Quanyu wanted the kingdom for himself. He raised an army from China to take it. The master at that time decided, in his wisdom, that t
he deaths that would result would be too great. So he gave word that the temple would support the king, and whoever should strive against him would be met with force of arms.

  "The king's brother brought his army, and the priests of the temple opposed him. The king won, but many of the brothers and acolytes were killed. The master saw that he had been in error. When the tiger stalks, the monkey does not throw rocks; he climbs a tree. If the Japanese come, we will not be here."

  Well, that answers my question--I think. Time to change the subject. He waved toward the priest standing on one leg. "How long does it take to learn to do something like that?"

  "Each of us learns at his own pace; to try to force progress would impede the journey to harmony. For many, the journey lasts a lifetime. For others, such as our master, a few decades."

  "Hm. But all who set out on this journey--they find harmony eventually? If they live long enough, I guess?"

  The priest's eyes were downcast. "Not all. Some…are unable to surrender themselves to harmony. When it becomes obvious that they have chosen the wrong path, we help them to find another."

  Oh, really? And how long has it been since there was one of those? And does he hold a grudge? Aloud he asked: "Speaking of seeking harmony, I hear my friend Kuragawa has been spending a lot of time with you. Is he seeking harmony?"

  They had reached the door to the main building. The priest smiled.

  "It would be improper for me to discuss another's journey. The master has asked to take tea with you if it would not inconvenience you. Perhaps he may answer your questions better than I." He bowed Ted inside, and explaining that no shoes were worn, he showed where Ted could leave his boots.