The Silence of Bones

by June Hur

  We stood alone in the narrow alley, the space that connected two courtyards. His lips stretched over his teeth into a grin, angry and sharp like fish bones. “So it has to come to this. My hyung is dead”—he took a step toward me, backing me up against the wall—“and you and I, I think we both know who killed him.”

  A pang of guilt hit my heart. Misu’s terrified eyes watched me, her confession yawning around me like the grave. She is dead, she is dead. But Kyŏn was the last person I could trust with her testimony.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, keeping my expression blank.

  “I think you do, and that is why you came after me.” He tilted my chin up with his finger, his eyes peeling away my mask. “All I see is a face clouded with suspicion.”

  I jerked my chin away and slid along the wall until I was a few steps away from him. “What did Commander Yi mean by solid evidence?” I asked.

  “Commander Yi wanted to know what I knew.”

  “Because you were close to Scholar Ahn.”

  “That, and because he took my suspicion seriously. When he read the letter, he could have dismissed me to cover up Inspector Han’s sin, but instead he only punished me for breaking into the inspector’s office. Cut my monthly stipend, he did, and that was it. The letter confirmed Inspector Han’s guilt.”

  “What letter?”

  “The letter you watched me steal nearly two weeks ago.” Kyŏn closed the space between us again, making me feel his full towering height. “Whatever you know, you will tell me. Then I’ll tell you everything you want to know. Or you can keep silent like a coward, and you will bear the weight of responsibility for the next person who dies. You’re only sixteen, Seol, far too young to make important decisions. Just do as you are told.” He tapped my chin, twice. “Think about it.”

  Once I was alone, I looked down at my fingernails, which had dug into Scholar Ahn’s waxy skin. And Lady O’s as well. Wind rolled through the narrow alley, laced with rain. Goose bumps rose as the breeze slithered up my skin. I didn’t want to side with Kyŏn. I wanted nothing more to do with this investigation. But I knew too much now. The ghosts of the murdered returned, whispering into my ears, There is no one but you.

  FOURTEEN

  TWO WEEKS PASSED. As the rainy season stretched into autumn, when it ought to have ended long ago, and rumors overflowed that nature had lost its rhythm because a woman was regent, something peculiar began. I’d wake up drenched in sweat, dreaming of the dead again. The mountainous heap of burnt servants, the siblings starved into twigs and left to rot in the storage hut, the corpse sleeping under the bush … All Catholics. And last night, the woman who had visited my dreams most had turned her head to stare right at me, locking her eyes on mine.

  Come find me, Lady O had called out in a singsong voice. Come quick.

  All day I roamed the bureau with my skin pebbling at the thought that the time had come: I had to face Commander Yi. He needed to know the truth. But even though I knew this was the right thing to do, fear wrapped its icy fingers around me, its grip so strong that tears welled in my eyes. The what-if question would not let me go. What if—though I was certain this was not true—but what if Inspector Han and I were tied by blood? I wondered if I would still throw him into a den of hungry tigers, to be devoured in the name of justice.

  My answer only a few months ago would have been no. But I had seen the puckering knife wound across a daughter’s throat, a man flipped upside down and drowned. I was a hundred times less naive now, a hundred times less forgiving.

  And of one thing I was certain: Older Brother had always told me, in a very stern voice, that it was better to die young than to live long and cause trouble. He would not have wished me to let him live the life of a killer.

  I shook my head, unable to believe myself. Here I was brooding over a possibility that was not even based on a speck of hard evidence but my own imagination. There was only one sure truth: Inspector Han’s alibi was a lie, and whatever had occurred on the night of the twenty-first had left him bloody and stammering in shock about a dead woman.

  It was wicked and cowardly of me to keep silent. And should another victim die, all the guilt would be on my shoulders.

  Gathering my thoughts on the dirt floor, I tried to spell out a question: Will Commander Yi believe me?

  I erased it and tried again, for I sometimes got confused with certain letters. But besides the occasional mistake, brushstrokes no longer mystified me. Every night, too worried to sleep, I had rolled off my mat to study the Hangul chart by candlelight, recalling Aejung’s teachings. The consonants were based on the drawing of one’s mouth when pronouncing a sound. Whenever I wrote a character, I imagined dipping a calligraphy brush into ink and then following my voice as it curved off my tongue and hit my palate, or bounced off the front of my inner teeth, or circled around my throat, or hummed against my touching lips.

  As for the vowels, they were easy to differentiate, created by three types of strokes: a horizontal line for the flat earth, a dot for the sun in the heavens, and a vertical line for the upright human.

  Earth, sun, human. This was what made life, a simple sum of three. Yet life was not simple at all. It was a complicated web, a tangling thread of lies and deceit. I wondered, though, what the truth would look like if I followed the thread all the way to the heart of Inspector Han. Would the truth lying at the center of his being be as simple, a motivation rooted in the three most common causes for murder: lust, greed, or vengeance?

  Tell Commander Yi, I wrote in the dirt.

  A shadow stretched over me, as though a storm cloud had swept in, followed by a familiar voice. “How curious, a servant who knows how to write.”

  It was Young Master Ch’oi Jinyeop. His presence intensified the isolation of the kitchen backyard. His steps were heavy as he walked around, and I kept my eyes fixed on his shadow, growing larger and larger until at last the silk of his robe appeared in my periphery. He reached down and picked up a stray stick. Thinking he would strike me, I flinched.

  “Yi, not yeuh,” he said. “Your last stroke is wrong.” With a flick of his wrist he corrected it, then threw the stick aside. I waited for him to walk off, but instead, he crouched so close to me that his quiet laugh moved the tendrils of my hair. “I see goose bumps along your neck. Are you frightened of me, young one?”

  My muscles tensed.

  “Perhaps you ought to be frightened, indeed. I might be the killer. Perhaps I did send the bandits after the inspector.” He leaned even closer, and as he whispered, I caught the scent of alcohol on his breath. “I did indeed want to know who Lady O’s lover was, and I did indeed want to punish him for humiliating me. What is your opinion? Am I the murderer?”

  I dared to look at him, and what I saw took the fear away from me. I did not see a superior of mine whom I was helpless before, but a young man who needed to trample over others to feel better about himself. My lips parted, a thought sparking into a flame, and I had to look away to hide the beams of light in my eyes. He was not the real son, but rather a mere nephew adopted by Lord Ch’oi for no other reason than to fill the spot of a missing heir. The young master would be a man who’d have nothing but his title to guard his pride.

  “Would Scholar Ahn’s death have restored your reputation, sir?” I asked.

  “Not at all.”

  Motives. I had no idea what Inspector Han’s motive was, but the young master’s was as clear as day. Perhaps he had indeed sent out the bandits, yet neither Lady O’s nor Scholar Ahn’s death seemed in his character to carry out. “You would have wanted Scholar Ahn alive, sir. Lady O, too. You would have wanted the entire kingdom to witness their public humiliation.”

  “It is true what they say … you are too clever for a servant. Too well-spoken.”

  I kept quiet. I didn’t want to tell him about Older Sister, about how her suspiciously well-educated mind had rubbed off on me. I didn’t want this young noble to know anything about my family.

/>   “The missing nose has inspired a thought in me,” he said. “Perhaps we are all being duped by someone very near to us. I’d very much like to know who the killer is.” The roguish amusement dropped from his face, and a solemn young man watched me, annoyance gleaming in his eyes. “I was fooled once and shan’t be fooled again. Tell your inspector this: follow the trail of shame.”

  My brows crinkled, not understanding.

  “Do you know what shame does to a man?” he asked. “He becomes desperate to justify his guilt. He will slice off the noses of victims to remind himself and the world that they deserved to die.” The young master stood up and straightened his black gauze hat. “There is one lesson all who enter the capital will learn: evil comes from the unfulfilled need for significance.”

  Before he could leave, I startled to my feet, unable to hold down my curiosity. “Why have you confided in one such as I?”

  “Why, don’t you know?” He looked at me and arched a single brow. “Everyone here in the bureau is too quick to judge, and it will end in the death of someone innocent. But you, you are an eavesdropper. The only person in this bureau who truly listens.”

  * * *

  My nails were craggy and bleeding by the afternoon. I could not stop tearing off little corners, my mind tormented. Once Commander Yi heard my story, would he investigate thoroughly? Or would he be quick to execute Inspector Han?

  I hid behind one of the pillars surrounding the main pavilion, a spot I often frequented these days. I watched Lord Seo of the Ministry of Punishment stalking away, clucking his tongue as he surveyed the police bureau. “Such incompetence,” he muttered. “Absolutely incompetent.” Nearby, Commander Yi stood still, yet his jaw was set, clenching back a violent emotion. He looked like an old man beaten by fierce gales.

  “Commander Yi, I must make a confession,” I recited under my breath. “I cannot hide it any longer. I must make a confession.”

  There was no more time for indecision. After a few moments, I pushed away from the pillar and hurried toward the sliding doors of the main pavilion, through which Commander Yi had retreated. How would he react to my words? I had not the faintest idea. My heart pounded loud in my ears and my uniform clung to my perspiring body. I clasped my hands together, preparing to prostrate myself before him.

  Then an inhuman force snatched me back, away from what felt like the cliff’s edge.

  Are you completely certain? came my sister’s voice, carried on the breeze. Such recklessness. What if this inspector is your orabeoni? Will you be your brother’s killer? For the commander will kill him, indeed.

  I shook my head, trying to clear out the whispers. I refused the possibility of having to carry the guilt of another murder victim, all because of my silence. Only the commander could stop the killer. He had the authority, the means, the intelligence. But with each step, I felt the weight of my sister’s words, the weight of my hesitation.

  “I found it!” Officer Goh cried as he came running into the bureau. “I found it!”

  The sound of his voice froze me. Other officers hurried into the courtyard, blocking my path. With a crowd now gathered, so close to the pavilion, I lost my courage to face Commander Yi. One only needed to press their ear against the hanji screens to know that Damo Seol was a traitor, a servant handing her master over.

  Another time, relief assured me. There is no need to tell him today.

  After the trembling in me settled, I made my way over to Officer Goh, wondering what he had discovered. Peering past the other officers, I saw in Goh’s hand a mud-covered wooden object.

  “I found the missing ornament from Lady O’s necklace,” Officer Goh said, panting. “Look here, there is a hole at the top of this wooden pendant. It must be where the necklace string slipped through.”

  “Where did you find it?” Hyeyeon moved closer, her shoulder knocking into mine in the process. It was as though she had not seen me, though she clearly had.

  “The area between Mount Nam and the South Gate.”

  She crossed her arms and arched her brow. “Who can say it was from the string we found in Lady O’s hand? What if some random necklace broke during the past few weeks?”

  Silence fell, watchful gazes turned in one direction. I looked to see Senior Officer Shim striding over. Everyone parted for him, heads bowed. He had lost more weight over the weeks, all bones tightly roped in muscle. He was the scrawny street dog that was always alert, flinching at sudden movements or sounds.

  “What is all this commotion?” he asked.

  Officer Goh stepped forward and reported his discovery. As Shim inspected the wooden pendant, I watched him carefully.

  “Hmm.” Shim used his thumb to break off the mud encrusting it, and then he fell still, so still that the crowd exchanged glances. “A horse-dragon pendant…”

  “And what is the significance behind it, sir?” My voice cracked as I spoke, dry from disuse. I’d tried to keep quiet when among those close to Inspector Han, like a cat hoping she wouldn’t be seen in the shadows, but this time my curiosity was slicing sharp. Would Shim try to dismiss the possible evidence? “For example, sir, the cross pendant signifies Catholicism.”

  “There is only one story behind the horse-dragon,” Shim replied, unable to look away from the object. “It is a myth called the Agijangsu, The ‘Mighty Infant.’”

  “What is this myth about—” But before I could finish, Hyeyeon cut me off.

  “Do you think this is evidence, sir? A month has passed since the murder, and thousands of people have trod the area around the South Gate.”

  Shim finally lifted his gaze, eyes red-rimmed and uncertain. At first, he seemed unable to speak. “It may be evidence,” he said at length, his voice barely a whisper. “Take it away.”

  * * *

  Commander Yi was occupied in the examination room, studying the horse-dragon ornament. It was not a good time to speak to him, I felt. Or perhaps this was another excuse to avoid the storm ahead. The wrath of the entire police bureau would be upon me, not just the commander’s. They would call me the meddler, the girl who had recklessly ruined the inspector’s life, and the other damos would spit into my drink before serving it to me.

  Was I making a horrible mistake? Would I regret exposing Inspector Han? If only someone could tell me.

  I took out Aejung’s incense sticks, lighting each one. Smoke slowly curled into the air as I prostrated myself. One kowtow, two kowtow, three kowtow. By the hundredth time my knees hit the floor, sweat dripped into my eyes, and the sounds of my breathing and the showering rain were all that filled the shadowy servants’ quarter.

  I did not know to whom I was praying, or if my pleas had any weight, for I had no altar and no temple. But I continued. Hundred one kowtow, hundred two, hundred three …

  My prayer rose silently from my lips. If you want to protect Inspector Han, this is your last chance to stop me.

  Afterward, I lay on the bare floor, my knees throbbing. I watched the cloud of incense and wondered whose ears my prayers had reached, if the heavens even cared. Then I lifted my head, just a bit, as an unexpected image moved in the corner of my mind. Lady Kang and her tobacco.

  I scrambled up to my feet. Suddenly, I could sense it—a deep knowledge—that she would help me out of the wilderness. The gods might ignore me, but she would not.

  * * *

  I donned my straw hat, wrapped myself in a straw cloak, and stepped out. Wet wind spit against me as I journeyed north. Mud splashed onto my skirt, brown speckles against gray cotton. I shouldered my way past the sparse crowd of mostly bareheaded peasants, then reached the outskirt of the Northern District. The weight of the rain pounding down on my hat eased up as I stepped into the shelter of the roofed gate.

  I knocked on the door, waited, then knocked two more times. At last the door creaked open, revealing a pale-faced gatekeeper.

  “I wish for private audience with Lady Kang,” I said.

  “What?”

  The rain had drowned out
my voice, so, loudly this time, I repeated, “I wish for private audience with Lady Kang! Tell her that my name is Seol!”

  Soon I was following a servant through interlinking courtyards until we arrived before the main pavilion. The maid announced me in. The chamber was shadowy and dry, making me realize how drenched I was—my face, my sleeves, half my skirt. The gusting rain creaked the hanji-screened windows.

  Lady Kang untied her gentleman’s hat and placed it down on the low-legged table before her. Damp strands of her hair clung to her temple like dark seaweed washed onto the beach. I must have arrived at the mansion shortly after her return from some journey, dressed as a man like the first time we’d met. Perhaps transporting illegal books again?

  “It has been so long since I last saw you, Seol.”

  “More than a month, mistress,” I replied.

  “I heard of Scholar Ahn’s death.”

  I licked my lips, unnerved by the memory of the drowned man. “He was murdered.”

  “Was it the same killer, do you think?”

  I bowed my head. The killer was still out there, his eyes fixed on the next target, and there was no one around me who could answer my questions—except perhaps for Lady Kang. There was no time for me to hesitate.

  “I know you are…” I swallowed, then forced out the word, “Catholic.”

  The corner of her lips flinched. “You say the word ‘Catholic’ as one might say the word ‘traitor.’”

  “Begging your pardon, mistress,” I whispered, my pulse hammering.

  “It is not a secret. No need to look so frightened. I was imprisoned during the roundup of Catholics in 1791 but was soon released. After divorcing my husband, I moved here to Hanyang and began leading the Heretical Virgin Troupe. Another scandal. So you see, it is hard to keep my faith a secret.”

  Heretical Virgin Troupe. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until Lady Kang said, “Your face is red. And your lips are twitching, like you have more to say. What is it?”