by June Hur
I rarely saw an unmarried lady leave her residence—alas, this was the answer. “One is kept within the mansion walls, and the other is permitted to freely roam?”
“Kept within the women’s quarter, an unmarried lady would hardly be acquainted with many men.”
I understood. “Scholar Ahn was a frequent visitor.”
“Several years ago, Lord O invited Scholar Ahn for tea, impressed by his grade in the state examination. This was before Ahn was offered a tutoring position. He was invited again on the week of the Harvest Festival.”
I remembered Soyi’s account of how Lady O had been tempted by a gentleman’s innocent proposal. “That was the same week Lady O ran away for the first time.”
“The following week, he married another woman.”
My heart plummeted, though I couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t my love story. “He didn’t care for Lady O?”
“Whether he did or not, Ahn wasn’t in the position to marry her. He was an impoverished gentleman in those days, waiting for a post, and forbidden by etiquette from taking on any occupation other than a government or tutorial position. In such a circumstance, to break his engagement to the daughter of a powerful family would have besmirched the only thing to his name: his honor.”
Honor … Never had the word sounded more shallow and cowardly to my ears.
“A few months after the wedding,” Inspector Han continued, though he had no obligation to explain anything to me, “Ahn followed his father-in-law as an envoy to China and fell ill there. It took him a year to fully recover, and on his return to Joseon, Lord O hired him as a tutor for his youngest son. That is when Ahn was likely reunited with Lady O.”
“And then he killed her?”
“As for that, I do not know yet—”
“Master! Master!” Ryun came running back, his face blanched. “They are gone.”
“What are?”
“The horses.”
We arrived at the tree where we had tethered them, now bare. Not only had we lost a fortune, for a single horse was as expensive as two to three servants, but we had lost our only means of transport. I was prepared to run around the forest in search of them, but instead, Inspector Han crouched with a controlled calmness and touched the ground.
“They were led northeast,” he said.
We accompanied the inspector deeper into the forest, following a trail of evidence that only he noticed. Each time he stooped down to touch or pick something up, I stopped to examine it myself, wanting to see what he saw. What he noticed were things in nature disturbed: broken twigs, trampled grass, crushed leaves, an overturned stone. Hoofprints.
“At least we’re not too far from the fortress,” Ryun said to me. “I saw a police bureau there. They will help us, I’m sure. My master has this bronze medallion that only important military people have, and he can use it at any police bureau in the kingdom to mobilize horses.”
Inspector Han stretched out his hand, quieting us. We froze in our steps. Silence pooled around us, not a ripple of noise, and then I heard what sounded like the distant clopping of hooves. Inspector Han walked ahead.
“Ryun, come with me,” he whispered. When I took a step forward to join them, he snapped, “Seol, do not leave this place.”
“But—”
“Promise me.”
Reluctance gnawed at me, but his waiting stare forced the words out. “I promise, sir.”
And with that, he and Ryun disappeared through the thicket.
I stood still and strained my ears to hear whatever was going on beyond the cluster of trees and leaves.
A bird chirped.
A rabbit scrambled through the leaves.
Then I heard the echo of Inspector Han’s voice. “Stop where you are!”
My promise to him wrapped tightly around my ankle, as though roots had shot out from the earth to keep me from running. But when I heard his threatening voice again, I shook myself free and ran from tree to tree, wanting a better view. Trouble was near. I could feel it brushing against the raised hair on my skin. Pushing past the branches, I saw Inspector Han standing behind a fourteen- or fifteen-year-old boy, our horses nearby. When I looked closer, I noted the boy was missing an ear.
“You were spying on us. In the temple,” Inspector Han said.
“N-no, not I,” the boy replied. His eyes darted around, as though searching for help.
“Who sent you?”
The boy glanced at the horse to his right, weighing his chances of escape, but Inspector Han was easily close enough to grab him. The boy remained still.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Inspector Han warned, his voice so sharp the boy flinched. “Tell me who sent you.”
“I—I truly do not know wh-what you are talking about, sir.”
A quick and forceful flick of thumb, and sword rushed out from scabbard, its ring so high-pitched that I felt it like a pulse. The boy’s legs buckled and he was on his knees, trembling.
“Ryun, tether the horses.” Inspector Han walked around the boy, then pressed the blade against his quivering chest. “Who sent you here?”
“P-please, do not hurt me.” The boy breathed hard, sucking air in and out, in and out. In a barely audible whisper, he said, “Young Master Ch’oi…”
There, for once, I saw Inspector Han’s visage break, if only for a moment. A flash of anger … and something barely recognizable on his face. Confusion.
“Speak quickly,” he said.
“The young master. He … there were men he sent after you.”
“And he ordered you to take our horses?”
“No … Our l-leader wanted to sell th-them.”
“Fool. The stolen horses led me right to you. And what did the young master want you to find out? Did he say anything that—”
A twig snapped under my feet. Inspector Han heard it too, shooting a glance my way. I was so startled I staggered two steps back to hide, only to trip over a raised root.
“Seol!” The inspector’s voice rumbled with fury, rage vicious enough to gash my heart and leave me trembling. “I told you to stay where you were—!”
The one-eared boy grabbed a fistful of earth and sprayed Inspector Han, blinding him. Then he scrambled for a fallen tree branch splintered by lightning. Grabbing it, he charged as the inspector struggled to clear his eyes. Rather than swing in any direction, the inspector pulled his sword behind him, pointing the tip to the ground, leaving himself defenseless.
Oh gods, what had I done? I pulled the club free from my sash belt and raced forward.
In that moment, a high-pitched whistle pierced the sky and sent a rustling throughout the forest. Men stepped from behind trees, faces obscured by scarves, swinging planks and knives. They were so bony and burnt they looked more like starved farmers than fierce bandits. One man gestured and yelled, “Tie them up!”
The circle of eight rogues swept in upon us like a fierce wave about to suck a vessel under.
Hands grabbed for me, but I dove and slid across the ground, then leapt over squirming bodies. The one-eared boy moved fast. He raised his wooden weapon, ready to split it over the inspector’s head—
Steel flashed white in the sunlight, impossibly fast. Blood splashed out as though the boy’s stomach had burst. Bit by bit he fell; his hand dropped, the plank thudded to the dirt, his knees buckled, head craning until he stared up at Inspector Han. A choke, a gurgle, a single stream of blood slid down the side of his lips.
All fell still. Every man among the bandits flinched as the blade was pulled out. Life sprayed crimson onto the inspector’s robe as Missing Ear folded to the ground.
Vomit lurched to my throat. I tore my gaze away from the dead boy and looked at the inspector again, and he was changed. He seemed unable to drag his gaze away from his bloody hands, and as though the forest floor were tilting beneath his feet, he stumbled. Sweat glistened on his temple.
Seeing Ryun sprinting to his master, I grabbed ahold of myself and ran. I kicked one band
it between his legs, and as he buckled forward, I raised my leg high and struck down with my heel. His head slammed to the ground as Ryun punched and rolled and grabbed hair. Inspector Han swung his sword at the bandits as a drunkard might swing a torch to frighten off a tiger, no direction or balance to his movements.
A large hand suddenly gripped my arm, and a coldness touched my neck. I had not heard the approaching man, and now my life centered around a sharp, cutting sting digging into my skin.
“Drop your sword, Inspector,” my captor yelled, “or I’ll kill her!”
My heart pounded. Inspector Han blinked, as if haziness clouded his vision. He struggled to look at us. I held my breath.
“I’m not fooling around!” The bandit pressed the blade deeper, but not yet through my skin. “I’ll kill her!”
Silence. A grimace darkened Inspector Han’s face. “Go ahead.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?” The captor gaped. “Do you not value your servant?”
Pain clamped my heart as Inspector Han swayed, then stabbed the blade into the earth to support himself. “I have no need for a damo who gets in the way of my investigation.”
Disbelief weakened my knees. I’d made one mistake, a small mistake—wanting to see what the inspector was seeing. I had never meant for any of this to happen. Yet Inspector Han was finished with me. Just like that.
The ache of betrayal jabbed at the underside of my ribs, more painful than the blade pressed against my throat.
Little Sister, my brother’s voice whispered into the burning cavern of my chest. His voice steadied me, as it always steadied me. No one in this entire kingdom can care for you as deeply as family.
The words coursed through my body. The bones of my brother wept in the cold earth. No burial mound, no eulogy, no flowers. All alone. As alone as I felt now, though I was surrounded by grimy faces.
I could not die like this.
Ten thousand rivers run unceasingly into the sea, yet it never overflows. That is the measurement of our love for you. Mother, Sister, and I. Our love is the sea—a deep sea.
I still had family. I had to live for her.
With all my might, I crushed my heel into the bandit’s foot, and the knife jolted away from my neck. Grabbing the blade with my bare hand, I bit his wrist hard, my teeth clinging to his very bones as he grabbed my hair and tried to wrench me off.
“Master!” Ryun’s frantic voice cried.
Ahead of me, Inspector Han fell to one knee. No one had struck him, or even touched him. Yet he swayed, then lost his grip on the sword and collapsed to the side.
“This is heaven’s sign!” a bandit called out. “Collect our wounded men! We need to retreat, now!”
My captor tried shaking me off, but when I continued to cling to the blade, a growl rumbled deep within his chest. The hilt struck my face and stars exploded before my eyes. Blood rolled in my mouth as I found myself lying flat on the ground, staring up at the blur of dizzying green. I closed my eyes, sharp pain shooting up from my fingers and piercing my head, making my ears ache, and when I looked down at my hand I saw why. I’d cut my fingers open, my palm a puddle of fire-hot blood.
I curled into a ball and remembered what to do when the sight of blood terrified me. Breathe slowly and deeply through your nose, then let it out, Older Brother had taught me. Listen to the whooshing sound.
Whoosh, the waves upon the shore.
Whoosh, Mother falling off a cliff.
TEN
WHEN I WAS young, I could sleep long into the afternoon if no one woke me, drunk on dreams filled with sweetness and warmth. But on the night after the Mount Hwa incident, I closed my eyes and saw a dead boy with a sword in his stomach, just him and me in the silent forest. No matter how hard I tried to wake up, I could not escape the forest, and no matter how far I ran, the corpse always followed. Then at last I woke up, thrashing and entangled in a drenched blanket.
“You have a fever,” Aejung told me, urging me to lie still. She placed a cloth on my forehead. “It is your wound. Infected.”
It got worse, and I was thrown in and out of strange nightmares, unable to recall the time passing or whether the tall shadows around me were humans. Then the bitter taste of something herbal poured into my mouth. I choked and a cloth wiped my mouth.
Female voices consulted one another as they inserted thread-thin needles into my skin.
“Not there!” came a whisper. “When the head nurse trained me in acupuncture, she said the needle should go a little higher. Right here.”
Was I dying?
Then the raging storm stilled, the freezing spray of sea-mist withdrew, and I was lying flat on my back, blinking up at the white ceiling. The world no longer twirled. A strange emotion crept into my chest as I continued to stare. It was as though the storm had blown out the light that had danced around in the swaying grass of immortal green, leaving a dark cavern in me.
I flinched at a sudden noise, the screen door sliding open. Aejung stepped in and knelt before my sleeping mat. She touched my forehead and inspected my wounds before rewrapping it.
“How long was I sick for?” I asked.
“Five days.”
Five days. It had felt more like a single night.
“During the first three days we worried you wouldn’t make it, but then you started recovering on the fourth.” She helped me up onto my feet, peeled me out of my nightgown, stale with dried sweat. My frail and ghostly pale body gave us both pause.
“For five days,” I murmured as she assisted me into a clean dress. “So much must have happened.”
“So much has happened indeed. Inspector Han is preparing an arrest warrant for Young Master Ch’oi Jinyeop.”
Just as Aejung finished securing the sash around my dress, Hyeyeon entered with a table bearing a bowl of gruel and side dishes of pickled cabbage and radish.
“You’re awake.” She set it down before me. “Eat and strengthen yourself again.”
I sat down and picked up a wooden spoon, stirred my meal, and blew the steam away. Tucking an oily strand of hair behind my ear, I took a bite. Surprise lit my stomach at how tasty it was. The finely ground rice swam with pine nuts. The pickled vegetables offered a tasty zing and crunchiness to the soft, bittersweet meal.
“I heard—overheard—that Inspector Han killed a man,” Hyeyeon said.
The spoon stilled in my hand. Unable to look up, I spoke to the bowl. “Is he to be punished?”
“The inspector is a military official,” she replied, and did not elaborate.
“I suppose the higher authorities will overlook it,” I whispered, no longer hungry. “A guilty person was killed—”
“No one would have died had you followed a simple order to stay still. Inspector Han hates blood, but you made him kill a boy.”
I shifted on my knees, wishing the floor would open and swallow me whole.
“A little favor from the inspector, and look what happened to you. Your head grew too big with pride and you forgot your place as a servant.” Hyeyeon clucked her tongue at me. Then she rose to her feet and slid a stare over her shoulder. Our eyes met. “This is what happens when a foolish girl thinks she can be someone of consequence. She creates chaos, utter chaos.”
* * *
A few hours spent outside the servants’ quarter was enough to leave me dripping in cold, panicky sweat.
It was as though a storm had swept through the police bureau, flipping over tables and trays, knocking down shelves and chairs. Hyeyeon was right, I had caused chaos. Inspector Han had threatened to transfer Kyŏn out of the bureau for his insubordinate behavior, and everyone knew it was because I had “tattled” on Kyŏn. And with the inspector’s threats, speculation spread fast—about Inspector Han’s whereabouts on the night of the killing, about his horse covered in blood.
“Inspector Han killed a boy and is now trying to silence an officer,” some whispered. “A man threatens when he feels endangered.”
Utter chaos, an
d everyone blamed me for it.
This weight grew heavier when Inspector Han summoned me. I dragged myself toward the western courtyard, and there he stood, alone, his uniform of dark blue flowing in the windy afternoon. The blood seemed to drain from me, leaving every part of my body cold. I clasped my hands before me, carefully, so as not to disturb the wounds. And then I bowed to him.
“Did you call for me, sir?” My voice sounded detached.
“Do you have anything to say to me?”
“I do not, sir.”
Silence beat between us. Then, ever so quietly, he said, “You are still young, and so do not understand your position in life. Though I value you and admire your cleverness, never forget this, Seol. My investigation comes first, and I will not let anything get in the way. When I order you to do something, you will listen.”
“I understand, sir.” I stared at the ground, hurt flaring up in my chest. And the pain of it, along with my torn skin, made it impossible to keep silent. “You said you had a little sister, sir. Would you have dropped your sword for her, if it had been her and”—voice wavering, I paused to regain composure—“and not me?”
“My sister is dead because of me,” Inspector Han said, his face stoic and his voice steady. Yet his reddened eyes betrayed him. “And if she were alive, she would have told you the same. Never get in my way.”
Saying no more, he walked forward and bade me follow behind him. For once I was grateful for this. I didn’t want anyone to look at me right now, as searing thoughts and emotions blew into me from the east and west, colliding and conflicting.
I could not un-remember the truth about him, which not even sympathy could melt away: Inspector Han was not so very kind, not so very honest, and not so very just.
Once he took off his boots and stepped onto the veranda encircling the Office of the Inspector, I struggled with my wounded hand and neatly arranged his shoes, even as wetness stung the corners of my eyes.
“A guest will be joining me,” Inspector Han said. “Sit in silence until I give you further instructions.”
Following him into the office, I knelt by the wall, far away from where he sat. The silence continued, cramped with all the things unsaid, and I sat there, grinding my teeth, which sounded like trees creaking in the night.
