by June Hur
“You are running away, aren’t you.”
A coldness blew right through me. “No, I would not dare, mistress!”
“We passed by officers earlier on the mountain, though they are likely now long gone. They said one of their damos had gone missing. And by the mark on your face, and from your uniform, you must be she.”
I touched my scarred cheek, which burned with the memory of the glowing red iron, the sizzling of my skin.
“Go on. Run,” she said. “Do not stay if that is not what you wish.”
Her words left me stunned. “Why would you let me go, mistress?”
“Because I do not believe in indentured servitude. Your lower class was created by those who wish to oppress.”
I nearly tripped over my own feet. Someone else had said this too. Before I could remember, the ox let out a loud groan and suddenly the wagon tilted. Boxes crashed to the ground, and one splintered open. Rolls of silk spilled out, and from them, square parcels that tumbled in the dark. Books?
I moved to help collect them, but the woman called in a sharp voice, “Just stay where you are.”
I froze as the servants lifted the materials back onto the wagon. “Just a rut, my lady,” one man said. “Nothing is damaged.”
Yet I felt the eyes of the men on me. Their knuckles white, clubs tightly clutched as they shifted toward me. But the lady raised her hand, and they backed away, just as tigers might withdraw from fire.
“What did you see?” she said to me.
For a moment I fought confusion. Just books, meaningless to me. But I felt the test in her voice.
“I saw nothing at all,” I said.
She nodded, her approval gentle. “You may go on your way now.”
I wondered if this was a trap, for I couldn’t understand why a noblewoman would be so kind. I crafted my response carefully. “I cannot run. There is nowhere for me to go.”
“You have a home.”
“Home is the first place slave hunters are sent,” I said. And it was far from my brother’s grave. My promise had to be kept. “So I have no home now. I must be what I was bred to be.”
“And what is that?”
“A servant. I belong to the police bureau, so I should return. I will be obedient,” I assured her.
“A servant, you say. Look at your wrists; I see no master chained to them.”
“I am branded.”
“Old scars can be burned off.”
My heart beat, low and strong. Her talk was dangerous, rebellious, yet sweet as honey. “Burned off?”
“No one’s fate is written in stone, child.” She accompanied me farther down the road, which cut through a field of grass swaying in the breeze. Soon she would return to her servants and I’d have to walk this path alone. “Slave Jang Yeongsil, he knew this and ascended to officialdom as a renowned engineer in the time of King Sejong. Even in ancient times, many slaves rose up to become generals because of their courage. No one was born into their glorious position, just as no one is born to be a slave.”
Who was this woman? I watched as she moved to tuck something back into her robe. A beaded necklace bearing an odd ornament: two wooden pieces crossing one over the other. A crooked and misshapen cross.
THREE
I SAT ON the edge of the pavilion veranda, surrounded by the familiar high walls of the police bureau. The clouds above me hid the stars and the sliver of moon, the midnight sky pitch-black, while the trilling of a lone bird echoed somewhere in the east.
My entire body burned with pain, but my head ached the most, half my hair crusted with blood. But Hyeyeon said that I’d be fine, that she’d bring her medical supplies to clean and stitch it up. So I waited for her with a cloth pressed against the wound.
I couldn’t move even if I’d wanted to. The weight of those last hours—when I’d woken up alone in the forest and journeyed all the way back to the bureau, barefooted, with the mysterious lady—pinned me to my spot.
“So she came back,” an officer said as he passed by, slowing down to glance at me. “Thought she’d run away, like last time.”
“You should have seen her return, Officer,” the chief maid replied, walking alongside him with a rattling tray of cups. “Her hair was hanging by her face, and her dress—her dress!—it was soaked and torn like a beggar’s.”
“Aigoo.” The officer sounded hardly interested.
Trying to block out their voices, I pressed the cloth and my hand against my ears. But I could still hear them, distant though they were now.
“Look at her, she is likely furious. Left behind for dead, she was—”
“Hush!”
The cause of their sudden silence, I could sense, was a few steps away from me. My pulse leaped at the sight of Inspector Han taking a seat on the edge of the veranda, though not right next to me. He sat far enough for two people to sit between us. Then he spoke, his voice as deep and quiet as the night. “You weren’t left behind.”
I looked at his dusty leather boots, unable to form a response.
“I sent out men to look for you but called them back just now. I would never abandon one of my officers or damos.”
The weight in my chest lifted, just a bit. “Thank you, sir,” I said timidly to his boots.
Silence hung between us, and when I peeked up, I saw his head turned to me. But I couldn’t tell whether he was looking at me, for the shadow cast by his police hat made it impossible for me to see his eyes. “I had a little sister,” he murmured. “She would have been your age if she hadn’t died.”
I silently mouthed a word of gratitude to the dead girl, for reminding her brother of my life. Perhaps he would have left me behind otherwise. To most aristocrats, I was a mere servant, easily disposable.
“I’m indebted to you,” he said.
I blinked. “For what, sir?”
“I might not have lived if not for you.”
“It was my honor to serve you, sir. If only I had come earlier, then you would not have been wounded.”
“It was not my blood. It belonged to my horse.”
I recalled the horse struggling on the ground, its head nodding up and down. “Oh…”
“Come closer,” he said.
Surprise lit in me. Inspector Han had always kept his distance from all, officers and damos alike. I slid across the veranda, and once I was close enough, I wondered if he could feel the heat of my nervousness.
“Hold out your palm.”
I reached out and spread my fingers. He pressed a solid and cold object into my hand: a tasseled ornament, a norigae, like the one tied to Lady O’s dress—but much different in color and shape. This one was an amber carving of a terrapin, attached to a long tassel of blue silk strings.
“This was a gift I wanted to give my sister on her birthday, but never got to. Hold on to it until I fulfill my promise to you.”
“Promise, sir?”
“Tell me. What is it you most desire?” he asked. “And I promise it will be yours.”
Still staring at the ornament, unable to believe my eyes, the truth slipped out of me before I could weigh its full implication. “Home.” His gaze drifted to the brand on my cheek, and I opened my mouth to quickly erase that request. “I mean—”
“Then when the investigation is over, I will return it to you.”
“Sir?”
“Your home. I will send you back.”
I froze, and as his words sank in, my heart rocked back and forth in shock. He would send me home … The place that whispered to me through the familiar smiles, the familiar scenes, the familiar patterns of each day: you belong here.
Brother had once told me that when you long for something too badly, and for too long, it begins to feel like a faraway, unreachable dream. That was how home had begun to feel to me. But Inspector Han had just reached out and placed that hope, a solid promise, into my hands.
Real. So real.
“You are not a palace nurse sent here because of low grades,” he observed.
“So how did you end up in the bureau?”
It took me time to collect my thoughts, scattered in dozens of directions. At length, I spoke, my voice cracking. “I was a nobi servant, a property of my master, Lord Paek. I was different from other servants who were only bound to their masters by a contract; Lord Paek owned me. So when he decided to sell me to a nearby police bureau in Inchon, I had no choice but to go. Then … then my sister overheard an officer telling his superior something.”
“What was that?” he prompted.
“The officer said, ‘You might regain Commander Yi’s favor if you sent the servant girl. She is strong, and the police bureau needs strong damos.’ And so they transferred me to the capital.” I worried my lower lip, wondering if Inspector Han could truly keep his promise. “I am indentured for one generation.”
“There are ways to end the indenture sooner.”
“With money? It would take me too long to earn enough, sir.”
“Freedom can also be received through government favor. I will make sure that you return home by the new year. Until then, keep that norigae safe.”
“Of course, sir,” I whispered, believing him. “With my life!”
Quietly, we sat side by side, staring ahead at the sky above the police bureau walls. The clouds had moved, revealing a splinter of the moon that glowed skeletal white.
* * *
All night, I couldn’t sleep and just listened to the drip, drip, drip of water falling into the rain catchers. My heart full and able to think of little else, I repeated the scene of me shooting the tiger in my mind so many times that the memory itself began to fade, like a sketch folded and opened once too often. The memory of the Mount Inwang incident was irresistible. Of Inspector Han, his eyes widening at the sight of me, his eyes seeing something in me no one else had seen before: the empress in me, rising, holding her bow steady. Perhaps he had felt a sense of indebtedness mixed with admiration. Perhaps this had led to his realization that I deserved more kindness? That I deserved a reward—to be returned home?
When the morning arrived, my mind whirled, filled with crashing waves of nervous excitement and exhaustion. It took me a while to recognize that people were conversing inside the servants’ quarter.
“It has begun!”
“What has?”
“Commander Yi ordered Maid Soyi’s beating for running away, and now Inspector Han is interrogating her. Come quick!”
I wanted to know too, why Soyi had run, what had scared her. I changed out of my nightgown and bound my breasts; the hanbok uniform required the waistband of the skirt to go around my upper chest. Then I donned a long kwaeja vest over my garments, securing it with a sash belt. Once presentable, I followed the distant sound of Inspector Han’s voice to its source, the main courtyard.
I walked around the crowd of civilian spectators and dove into the flock of people, elbowing my way to the front. No one blocked me now, so I had a clear view of Inspector Han; he paced before Maid Soyi, who was tied to a chair.
I observed the dark shadows beneath her eyes and the blood staining her pale lips from biting down too hard. I frowned as the sight of her probed at something in me, something important that I had forgotten. Then a memory swept into my mind.
I do not believe in indentured servitude.
Was it a coincidence that Soyi’s mistress shared the same rebellious idea as the mysterious woman? More pressing, if Soyi had indeed murdered Lady O, why kill the woman who had offered her the gift of equality?
Inspector Han’s commanding voice broke into my thoughts. “Do you know why you are here?”
“Because I am Lady O’s personal servant, sir.”
“She had many personal servants—but only one who blatantly lied.” After a beat, he folded his arms and took a step closer. “You informed a damo that you’d woken up early to see if your mistress had had a good night’s sleep before raising the alarm. But you knew of her disappearance long before then, didn’t you? A witness saw you leaving the mansion soon after Lady O’s disappearance.”
“I … I was asked to keep an eye on her.”
“Asked by whom?”
“Lady O’s mother.”
“For what reason?”
“It is indecent to say—”
“This is a murder investigation, Maid Soyi. Do not withhold anything from me.”
Her gaze flicked to me, as though she had sensed my arrival from the start. “As I told the damo, my mistress had a lover. And when I saw her sneaking out at night, sir, I followed. She had mentioned Mount Nam often, so I wondered if she had gone there.”
“Tell us what you saw.”
“I was walking down the street. It was the curfew hours, so everyone was asleep. I took the long way around to search as many alleys as possible, and walked toward Mount Nam—” She stopped. Though tied to a chair, she managed to sit straighter. A sudden clarity lit her eyes as she looked up. “I remember now. I saw someone.”
Everyone fell still, no longer whispering and speculating among themselves, and the silence amplified the sound of a young nobleman fanning himself. He stood with his manservant near the front, garbed in a robe of violet that glowed in the sunlight. He had shining jet-black eyes, arched brows, and a seemingly perpetual smirk; condescension seemed carved into his face.
“What did this person look like?” Inspector Han asked. “Answer me and do not leave anything out.”
“It was a man on a horse. He was wearing a blue robe. There was something suspicious about him, seeing him roaming at curfew. But it was too dark to see his face clearly, and he rode off before I could approach him.”
There was an intake of breath among the spectators, and everyone but the young noble frowned. He was still fanning himself, and the corner of his lips rose higher.
“And what time was it when you saw this man?”
“A little before dawn,” Soyi answered.
“Why were you still on the streets so long after midnight?”
“I searched for my mistress, and when I couldn’t find her, I returned to the mansion. But then I thought of how furious Matron Kim would be at me. She had ordered me to watch over her daughter. I grew so fearful that I went out again, to look for my mistress one more time. I was determined to even search Mount Nam.”
Inspector Han arched a brow. “You could have easily shared this. Instead, you ran away. Only two types of people run: children and the guilty.”
“I heard someone had seen me leave the house, and I was afraid.” Her once neatly plaited hair now hung loose, and through the black strands, she peered up at the inspector. “My mother was executed for a crime she didn’t commit. I was afraid the same would happen to me.”
“So that is your reason. And you would say you were on good terms with your mistress?”
“I…” She paused for the briefest moment. “I was.”
“Then is there any reason as to why Lady O would have specifically referenced you? Why she expressed anger toward you in her diary?”
My hand leapt to my throat. Diary? The police had never discovered Lady O’s diary. The inspector was bluffing, but Soyi seemed to believe it. The whites of her widening eyes made her pupils look even blacker. “She … she wrote about me?”
“She did, but about what?”
“I … I don’t know.”
Time slowed as I clutched my collar, wanting to know the truth—and yet frightened of it. Could I have read a person so wrong that I’d looked a murderer in the eye without even sensing it?
“As bad as things are,” he whispered, “you could make them less so by telling the truth. But once I find the truth, no one will believe anything you say. Take control before it is too late. Think about what I have told you.”
Soyi looked sideways and locked her gaze on me, her eyes bright and feverish. “I swear, I would never hurt her.”
* * *
Soyi’s gaze haunted me as I watched the damos untie her wrists and legs, then drag her back to the prison block. Her bound
state flooded me with a sense of pity and almost guilt. I would be returning home soon, while she might never leave this place.
The interrogation now over, the spectators dispersed, looks of disapproval or pity etched into the lines of their faces. I was ordered to clean the blood off the interrogation chair. Soyi’s blood. As I did, I noticed the young noble still lingering.
Our gazes met across the police courtyard.
He did not look much older than me. Nineteen, perhaps. He was handsome in a too-perfect and hostile way, like the beauty of a winter’s night: moonlit snow, gleaming icicles as sharp as fangs, and a bone-chilling stillness.
With a gasp, I ducked my head and rigorously scrubbed at the splattered blood. Even when the redness rubbed off, I continued wiping at it, all my attention centered on the footsteps approaching me. On the shadow looming over me.
Swallowing hard, I peeked up. My heart slammed against my chest when I saw the young noble towering above me.
“Are you Damo Seol?”
Immediately I jumped to my feet, held my hands together, and bowed. “Neh.”
“You are the damo assisting with Lady O’s case, I hear.”
“I am, sir.”
“You must have seen her corpse.” He gazed down at me with an air of too-sweet friendliness, and his left cheek twitched. “What did she look like?”
I blinked, caught off guard by his question.
“Is it true?” he pressed. “The rumor that she was a great beauty?”
“I—I cannot say, sir.”
He arched his brow. “It is not a tricky question, girl.”
His prompting lifted the dead woman out from a pool of memory. Her bluish face surfaced, the staring eyes, the purple bruise over her gaping mouth, the dark hole where her nose ought to have been. Death had drained Lady O of every ounce of beauty. It was impossible to imagine who she had once been when all I could think of was what had happened to her—sliced, stabbed, murdered.
