by June Hur
Her lips were pressed into a thin line of displeasure.
Approaching the gisaeng, slowly and stealthily, was a man with his robe hanging off his bare shoulder, as though he had woken from a thrashing nightmare. His hair was tied into a topknot, and loose strands were kept from falling over his face by a silk headband embroidered with gold patterns. His sword gleamed in the lantern light. With each approaching step of his, the gisaeng scrambled farther back.
“Say it again, inyeona.” His suave voice, filled with malicious humor, rang familiar—then I recognized his face. It was Young Master Ch’oi. “Say to my face what you whispered to others. I am not Ch’oi’s real son but an imposter, you said. Repeat it!”
He raised the sword and I thought he was going to kill her, but another gentleman restrained him by holding on to his arms, and by the young master’s stumbling gait it was obvious he was deep in his cups.
The old servant clucked her tongue and parted her lips as though wanting to spit out a sharp rebuke at the young master. But, changing her mind, she clucked her tongue again and said instead, “We mustn’t stare, child. Come away now.”
I followed her into the sprawling mansion through a side entrance, deep red pine beams and pillars against white walls, while my thoughts still lingered on the scene I’d left behind. With such pent-up fury behind his frosty smiles, surely Young Master Ch’oi must have harmed many others before that gossiping gisaeng.
For a moment, I wondered if I had made a grave error. Perhaps my suspicion toward Inspector Han and Officer Shim was all wrong. A ball of stress tightened in my chest. Damn it, I thought. Am I suspecting the wrong person?
But I did not have long to wrestle with this question. My concern withdrew to the far corner of my mind as the old servant led me farther down the hall. I expected to be shown to a maid, for surely the mistress was occupied at this hour, but instead I was led to sliding double doors. A maid stood on either side, their hands clasped and their heads bowed, as though they were waiting on the queen regent herself. The old servant whispered something to one of the maids, who then drew her face close to the paper screen and called out in a low voice, “Madam, a letter has arrived for you.”
I startled a step back. This was not supposed to happen. “I do not wish to disturb the mistress herself,” I whispered. “I can deliver it to the personal maid instead—”
“Enter,” came a husky voice from within.
The doors slid open to reveal a lady whose beauty so stunned me that despite my turmoil, I could not help but admire her. She reminded me of a fairy maiden with her snow-white skin, perfectly red lips, and eyes as bright as black pearls. I felt like a wet rag in comparison, with the glaring mark on my burnt face.
“Come closer, girl.”
Panic returned as I approached Madam Yeonok. She sat on the floor, garbed in a voluminous silk skirt of crimson and a jacket of a sheer black material that revealed her pale shoulders and arms. She had one leg propped up, and her elbow rested on her knee.
A maid was also present, slipping a jade pin into the mistress’s mass of coiled braids. Once that was done, she scuttled over to me. I took the letter out from the inside of my sleeve, and as I gave it to her, our fingers touched. Her eyes bore curiously into mine. I wondered if I’d erred in coming here as the maid walked off and gave the letter to her mistress.
“Whom do you belong to?” Madam Yeonok asked.
I felt light-headed with terror as she slipped two fingers into the envelope.
“Go on, answer my mistress,” the maid said, an impatient edge to her voice.
I licked my dry lips and stammered, “Inspector H-Han.”
A humorless smile tugged at the corner of Madam Yeonok’s lips. Paper whispered against envelope, and the folded sheet slid out a quarter of the way. She paused, a frown flickering, before she drew it out entirely. “What is the meaning of this?” she said, her words as cold as ice piercing through my chest. “Have you come to play a jest on me? This letter is blank.”
“The truth is…” I floundered, straining to improvise, but I could find nothing but the truth. “I only came to fetch something.”
Madam Yeonok fixed me with a stare. “What?”
“I was wondering if you knew anything about Lady O and her murder.”
The maid gasped. The gisaeng kept silent, but she could not hide the blood draining from her face or the trembling of her fingers. A sheen of sweat glistened on her brow, betraying her through the mask of anger she put on.
“Impudent girl,” Madam Yeonok said, and a spiteful laugh tinkled in the air. “Who do you think I am? I am a gisaeng, a keeper of secrets, and so is everyone in this house. Go before I have you flogged and reported to Inspector Han—”
“I have come here by Commander Yi’s orders.” The lie slipped from my lips. I’d rarely lied before, but now it was all I had. “He has set up a secret investigation. He wants to know what happened here the night of the killing.”
The gisaeng arched her brow. “And he sent you, a mere damo?”
It was true, that was all I was. A mere damo. My name, my existence, was nothing but ashes and burnt bridges. I was already hated by Inspector Han, despised by all of Kyŏn’s gang of officers.
“If you do not tell me the truth,” I whispered as menacingly as I could, “Commander Yi will send his men to search every nook and cranny of this mansion. He will beat and he will tear until the truth comes out.”
Madam Yeonok raised her chin as she examined me. A thousand thoughts flitted across her eyes, like the swift reflection of clouds over water. She had to know that for me to utter such an immense lie would be to put my life at risk. Surely, it made more sense to her that I was telling the truth.
At length, she slid her stare to the maid. “Go bring a manservant to deal with this damo, Misu-yah.”
My bravado faltered, my courage crumbled. I couldn’t risk causing a scene. “Madam, if you wish me to leave, I will leave. I have done my best to warn you.”
She remained still, and I dared to take a step back, then another, and when I realized she had no intention of stopping me, I turned on my heel. The maids slid open the doors, and the moment I stepped out, the doors shut with a clack. Cold sweat clung to the back of my neck as I stared down the hall, trying to gather my thoughts. That was it? I had come all this way just to be scared off so soon?
“Misu-yah,” came Madam Yeonok’s lowered voice from beyond the paper screen. “Burn it.”
A gasp caught in my throat. The urgent fear in the madam’s voice was undeniable.
“Now, mistress?”
“You should have burned it long ago.”
Hearing Misu shuffling toward the entrance, I hurried down the hall and turned a corner, and right then I heard the doors slide open, followed by the sound of footsteps drawing near, closer to my hiding spot. I bit my lower lip, and as quick as I could without making a sound, I rushed forward and finally managed to escape into the main courtyard. I whirled behind a pillar and kept an eye on the front mansion entrance as Madam Yeonok’s order pounded in my ears.
Burn it.
Soon enough, Misu’s face, ghostly pale with terror, flashed down the veranda, disappearing through a connecting gate. And I followed. I wound my way through the crowd and didn’t realize that I was only in my socks until I was running, but I had no time to run back to the side mansion entrance to retrieve my sandals. As soon as I passed through the gate, I hid behind a wooden beam, watching Misu scurry into what looked to be the servants’ quarter with its dusty and run-down appearance. Whatever she’d been ordered to burn, I’d give her no time to do so. I raced forward, threw the door aside, and stormed in.
Misu was shoving fabric into a sack.
I grabbed it, a material so soft I knew it was silk, but she refused to let go.
“Hand it over,” I ordered, and when she continued to cling, I opened my mouth wide and bit her wrist, my teeth digging into her skin as her shriek exploded in my ears. She dropped the fabri
c and scrambled away into the corner, clutching her hand to her chest. The whites of her eyes gleamed.
“Please,” she begged, “don’t look at it. There are things better left unknown. Leave, just leave.”
The lantern light flooded in through the open door, illuminating the deep blue silk. I shook out the material until hanging before me was a man’s robe. Silver tiger embroidery glinted in the light, the emblem worn by military officials. This was an inspector’s uniform.
I stared at Misu, who rocked back and forth. “Whose robe is this?” I asked.
“Please go back. Please. I’m begging you.”
“I have come here by Commander Yi’s orders,” I reminded her. “Tell me whose robe this is, and he will let you live.”
Misu’s eyes widened more, if that was even possible. I could almost see her mind jumping back and forth between Tell her and Do not dare as her gaze darted from the robe to me to the door then back to the robe again.
“The truth!” My voice sounded nearly frantic. “Tell me the truth!”
Silence fell, a few seconds too long. Then Misu whispered, “I should have burned it when she first told me to.”
My heartbeat rammed against my chest. “Go on. You must tell me the truth, everything you know. It will save you. But if you hide something from me and the commander discovers it, you will be interrogated.”
“What do you wish to know?” Misu whispered.
“When did Inspector Han arrive at the House?”
“An hour after midnight.”
The inspector had no alibi … I could hardly breathe as I forced myself to ask the next question. “When did he leave the House?”
“I do not know, but I know he did not return to his residence that night. He returned here a little before dawn. One of the servants, she saw Inspector Han in poor condition and brought him to Madam Yeonok.”
“Why did the servant bring Inspector Han to your mistress?”
“They are on close terms. I heard him call my mistress imja, ‘dearest,’ and he’s known her since he came to the capital as an orphan. A little over a decade ago. And it is my mistress’s dream, you see, to be bought and kept as his concubine.”
The remark about Inspector Han’s past tugged at me, yet my mind was already rolling in a different direction, too fast for me to stop. “You said a servant found Inspector Han in poor condition. What happened next?”
“The servant notified the mistress and had him smuggled into a private chamber for the sake of his dignity. It would look poorly for the public to see him so.”
“How drunk was he?”
“Not drunk…” Her eyes remained fixed on her hands, which she was wringing together. “He was covered in blood.”
I turned the blue robe around in the lantern light and finally saw dark stains. Dried blood crusted the sleeves and the hem, and it was smeared all over the torso area. “Blood,” I whispered, and before accusation could settle in, I reminded myself of Ryun’s statement about the horse accident. The blood belonged to the horse.
“I saw blood all over Inspector Han, and I thought it was because he was wounded. He looked like he was dying,” Misu blurted, as though relieved to be finally telling someone. “He seemed unable to stand, and what is more, he was shivering violently as though he had a fever. Telling my mistress he couldn’t feel his hands, and saying over and over again, ‘She is dead.’”
She.
Ryun had referred to the inspector’s wounded horse as a “he.” Was I remembering wrong? I ran a hand over my face, cold with sweat, then rose to my feet again and paced around, trying to walk out the jitters. “And why did you try to hide this robe from me?”
“Madam Yeonok asked me to hide this robe and fetch a clean one. I ran around the House until I found spare attire.”
“It was white?”
“Yes! Then my mistress told me to burn this uniform, but I told her, ‘Who knows when you might need power?’ She knew too that the inspector was losing interest in her. And what better way to bind herself to him than with his secret? So we kept the robe in here ever since.”
“And Senior Officer Shim was there too? You didn’t mention him.”
“He arrived around dawn.”
So Officer Shim had lied for the inspector—to hide what for him?
There were footsteps outside, and someone called, “Misu? Misuuuu.”
Misu clamped her hands over her lips. “You need to go,” she said in a harsh whisper. “And that robe, give it here!”
I clutched the robe tighter and strode out of the room, not daring to lift my face as I passed by whoever had been calling out Misu’s name. I did not know where I was heading, everything shaking within me, but I continued to walk. One moment I was wandering through a deserted courtyard, and the next moment I was outside on the street, approaching the South Gate. Torchlight glowed high above, like a fallen star, as a watchman walked along the parapet. Then all at once my feet stopped in their tracks, and I found myself staring down at the spot where Lady O had lain.
I saw it now, the pieces fitting together too perfectly.
Shortly before dawn, Soyi had seen Inspector Han heading somewhere, not back home but—as I had learned—back to the House of Bright Flowers. The darkness so deep, the innkeeper and others had not seen the blood on him, and suspecting nothing, they had thought him drunk with wine rather than drunk with shock and terror.
She is dead, she is dead.
I covered my face with my hands. Only moments ago I had wished the inspector’s downfall, if it meant that he would never lay a hand on my family. And now I had in my hands a weapon made of blue silk and blood. I could destroy this man. Me, a mere damo.
THIRTEEN
SECRETS. HOW HEAVY they are, Older Sister had once told me as she’d run her hand across her scalp, pulling free a fistful of hair. They have ruined me.
I had once tried to pry these secrets out from my sister’s husband. Was my sister a criminal? A runaway adulteress? But he had replied, She’s trying to protect you from whatever is hiding in her past. Something made her scared.
I ran my hand down my thick hair, wondering if this would happen to me too. Perhaps the secret would feel so much like death that strands would fall out, leaving bald patches of despair. I wasn’t meant to keep the evidence to myself, yet I didn’t know who to trust, who to confide in. Perhaps many secrets began like this, with fear.
I walked down Jongo Street with a yoke resting on my shoulders, water buckets dangling from either side. I ought to have hidden the robe elsewhere, I thought. Last night, I had shoved the bloodstained robe into the chest packed with my personal belongings, thinking it safest. Everything that was of any value to me went into that chest. But what if, today, someone decided to rummage through it?
I stopped, unable to take another step.
A curious hand needed only to flip the chest lid open and reach in to end my life. They would find a bloody robe, an inspector’s robe, and it would be my turn in the interrogation chair. I quickened my steps, realizing my error. What a foolish place to hide such a secret! I could not run quickly enough. With each step, the image became more vivid, of Damo Hyeyeon holding up the robe in the police courtyard, surrounded by officers.
Water spilled out of the buckets, which were empty by the time I stumbled into the bureau.
There was a crowd. Too late. Inspector Han stood a few paces away, garbed in his flowing uniform of midnight blue, like the one hidden deep inside the wooden chest. He was at the head of the crowd, watching me. My heart pounded, each beat so knife-sharp. It was my first time seeing the inspector since I’d heard Misu’s pale-faced confession.
Misu had referred to Inspector Han’s past as an orphan, a comment I’d overlooked. But now I looked again and what I saw was not a harmless remark but a detail as hideous as an insect with a thousand tiny legs darting about in the shadows. He had come alone to the capital over a decade ago, just like my brother. The coincidences were piling up. What if, I thoug
ht. What should I do if he is— Not even my mind could finish the thought, as though it sensed danger lurking at the end of it.
Someone’s cold fingers pinched my shoulder. I gasped back into the present. It was Hyeyeon, dragging me forward as she hissed, “What is wrong with you?”
“I’m s-sorry,” I stammered. “I didn’t know who to trust. I found it—”
“Hush!” she said, turning her attention to the crowd.
Inspector Han returned to speaking to a young peasant who had an A-frame jigae loaded on his back, piled high with firewood. He was the focus of the inspector’s sharp gaze, I realized. Not me.
“Why did you go into the shed?” Inspector Han asked.
“I went up to collect brushwood and caught an odd smell,” the peasant replied. “I looked in and saw it.”
“Do you often venture onto Mount Nam to collect brushwood?”
“I do, Inspector.”
“But you did not encounter the smell before?”
“I never went so far as the shed before.”
“And why today?”
“The days have grown cold, and I wanted to collect as much wood as possible. Before the frost settles in.”
While the questioning continued, I crept by and made my way to the empty kitchen. No one had discovered the robe. I was still safe. For now.
I rested my forehead against the wall and let my heart thunder as the image of Inspector Han filled my mind, his large shoulders and brute strength hidden under his silk robe, his calloused and veiny hands never too far from his sword, his almost lifeless eyes that had sunk into his face over the past few weeks, like a man so obsessed over a case that he always forgot to eat and rest.
I finally dared myself to wonder: What if Inspector Han is my brother?
I stepped back from the whirring emotions and observed the coincidences laid out before me. The similar amber eyes, the burn mark in a similar spot to my brother’s, and the similarity in timeline—both orphans, both had come to Hanyang over a decade ago. But one crucial link to tie all the coincidences together was missing: I could not have simply ended up in the same region, the same police bureau, at the very same time as my brother, who had been missing for twelve years.
