by Elsa Hart
“How much silver was it?”
“I don’t know the exact amount, as I couldn’t see what he had already put in the bag. But I’m sure it was more than fifty taels.”
“Fifty?” Li Du raised his brows at the hefty sum. “Can you describe the bag to me?”
She thought for a moment. “It was made of leather, and it was a light color. It cinched at the top with a blue string.”
Li Du made a mental note of the description. “And did he tell you why he was taking the silver with him?”
“No. He only laughed at me because I was so surprised. Sir, when I heard that he was dead, I forgot all about it. But then, later—” She broke off and began to cry again.
The older maid turned to Li Du. “The circumstances of our master’s death did not remain a secret from us for long. We know that he was killed by Hong Wenbin because he was drunk, and he found our master with his wife. And we know that he isn’t going to be punished for it, because the law says a man can kill his wife and a man if he finds them together. I know it’s true, because it happened just that way once in my own village.” Her voice trembled with repressed emotion.
“If Hong is guilty,” said Li Du, “the law might protect him, yes.”
The maids exchanged glances. Then the younger one sniffed and spoke again. “I remembered the silver later,” she said. “And I thought it was strange that it wasn’t brought back to us. We received the bag he was carrying with him that day, but there was no smaller bag with the silver inside it. It was gone.”
“We thought you should know,” said the elder maid, “because if Hong Wenbin stole the silver, then the law wouldn’t protect him, would it? He’d be punished for killing our master, wouldn’t he?”
“This could prove a most important detail,” said Li Du. “You were right to share it. I must assume your master was a good man, to have inspired such fealty in his household.” Both maids looked at him, their devotion clear in their eyes. “I will do all I can to bring his killer to justice,” he said. “Now, if you will be so kind as to direct me, I will speak to your mistress.”
* * *
Li Du found Sun sitting opposite a woman. Sun, clearly uncomfortable and overlarge in the delicate chair that supported him, welcomed Li Du with exasperated relief. He indicated first the chair beside him, then, with an expression that reminded Li Du of a traveler warning his companion of a sheer cliff ahead, nodded in the direction of the woman. “This is Lady Ai.”
The woman did not turn to look at Li Du, so it was not until he had taken a seat beside Sun that he was able to see her features. His first impression was of a face that had been unused to grief, to which grief now clung with the tenacity of a predator. Blue-black hair, gleaming like silk, was pinned up away from her smooth brow and round cheeks. Her ears were slightly large, and would have added unique charm to a merry expression. But whatever predisposition to merriment she might have possessed was now extinguished. When she looked at him, it was as if the bright, welcoming room was suddenly draped in gray veils through which they regarded each other.
“You should not be here,” she said quietly. Her lips barely moved. “No one should be here.”
Looking as if he agreed with her, Sun shifted in his chair, which creaked, as uneasy with its occupant as he was with it. “We will not intrude on you long,” he said. “My questions are simple, but I am afraid they are necessary.” He turned to Li Du. “You are prepared to write?”
While Li Du hastily drew out his notebook and pencil, Sun cleared his throat. “You were saying, before my clerk arrived, that you were unaware of any clandestine affair between your husband and Madam Hong.”
“That is true.” Her words were cold and lifeless, like pebbles dropped in water.
“He never mentioned her.”
“Never.”
“And you didn’t know that he had gone to meet her on the night he died?”
“No.”
“When was the last time you saw your husband?”
Lady Ai closed her eyes. “I see him still.”
Sun, looking as if he wanted to sink through the floor, muttered an ineloquent apology. “I must ask you to be specific,” he said. “When was the last time you saw him alive?”
She was silent. Sun repeated the question.
“I saw him that morning,” she said.
“Before he went to the ministry.”
“Yes.”
“Did you expect him to return that night?”
“I did not know if he would be home. My husband often stayed late at the ministry. Sometimes he spent the night in the Inner City.”
“It is an indelicate question, but I must ask. To your knowledge, did he enjoy visiting women?”
After a long moment, Lady Ai lifted her head a fraction, and regarded first Li Du, then Sun, with dry eyes. Her hands, corpselike, remained immobile in her lap. “He admired women. He went regularly to the theaters.”
“But you did not know what he planned to do that night?”
“No.”
Sun lapsed into silence. Li Du guessed that the chief inspector was searching not for a question, but for how to pose the question he wanted to ask. “It would be helpful,” said Sun, after a while, “to speak to someone in whom your husband might have confided. A close friend, perhaps.”
Lady Ai’s eyes remained dull. “You will want to speak to Ji, then.”
“Ji,” said Sun. “A coworker?”
“Ji Daolong. He is the owner of the Glazed Tile Factory at Mentougou. He and my husband were children together in Anhui.”
“Mentougou is some distance from the city. Is there anyone nearer to us? A fellow official at the ministry, perhaps?”
“No. I don’t know of anyone.”
“Did your husband often speak to you about his work at the ministry, or, specifically, with the Black Tile Factory?”
“Not often. Sometimes.”
“Had he mentioned anything unusual recently?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I mean the question to be very broad. Every detail is important to ascertaining what happened that night. I wonder, perhaps, did he quarrel with someone? Did he have enemies?”
For the first time, Lady Ai’s face showed engagement in the question that had been asked. It was barely perceptible, only a faint kindling behind her eyes. “What purpose could that question serve? Do you mean to diminish my husband? To protect Hong, you will say that my husband was a troublemaker? You will say that he was immoral?” She stopped, her lips trembling.
“Not at all,” said Sun, gruff and awkward in his attempt to soothe. “Without a confession, we must investigate every possibility. If you know something, it is essential that you tell us.”
Her shoulders, which had tensed, now eased, and she seemed once more to withdraw into another place. After a silence, she sighed. “He worked very hard. He was so clever and so diligent that I felt sometimes the ministry asked too much of him.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He did mention one name. Is Bai known to you?”
“Bai Chengde, the scholar?”
She answered with a minute, apathetic nod.
“In what context did your husband mention him?”
“It was a few days ago. He was very tired, more tired than I usually see him. When I asked him why, he said that he was very busy with an unscheduled audit. That’s when he mentioned that man’s name. He said it was his fault, and he—he cursed scholars who care too much about their walls being white.”
A shadow slid across the ornaments on the wall across from the door. There was a human quality to the movement, and Li Du wondered whether a maid or servant had been on the veranda, trying to eavesdrop on what was said. He turned his attention back to Sun, who had just drawn in a deep breath. “Four days ago, your husband attended a literary gathering at Hong’s house.”
“Yes.”
“Did he say anything about that evening?”
Lady Ai opened h
er mouth to speak, then closed it. She held herself very still. As Li Du watched, a tear slid down her cheek. She let it fall, not seeming to notice. “He enjoyed himself,” she said finally. “He was entertained.”
“Entertained?”
Lady Ai struggled to maintain her composure. Her next words were choked. “He was amused. He found it funny that Hong tried so hard to make intellectuals like him. My husband said that Hong chose a book he thought was an ancient classic, but mistook the title, and chose a cheap novel by accident. Pan laughed when he told me.” Her voice broke.
“I have no more questions,” said Sun. “You have been gracious to permit our intrusion.” His voice was uncharacteristically gentle. It recalled to Li Du a distant memory of a shadowed courtyard, and Sun speaking to his sister, not long after she and Li Du were married. She had been homesick. He shook himself from the memory to see Sun standing up.
“I—I have one question,” he said, tapping his pencil lightly on the page of his notebook.
Sun shot him a look, but did not protest.
“When your husband left for the ministry that morning, he had a large quantity of silver with him. It would be a great help to us if you could share what he intended to do with it.”
Lady Ai gave him a look of incomprehension. “He didn’t speak of it,” she said finally. “So I cannot tell you how he meant to use it. But I don’t want it returned, not now. Give it to a temple. I—I—”
It was as if a string that had been holding her upright was suddenly cut. As she bowed forward, she clutched her arms around her stomach and began to sob. Sun stood, a look of embarrassment on his face, just as the two maids to whom Li Du had spoken rushed in. They fell to their knees on either side of their mistress and began to whisper soothing words. Murmuring excuses, Sun made his way to the door. Li Du, following just after him, had a final sight of the three women, the hems of their robes overlapping, apparently oblivious to their guests’ departure.
* * *
“I thought I’d never get out,” said Sun, when they were on the street. He drew in a deep, appreciative breath and exhaled slowly. “Such a storm of grief could topple trees and crumble bricks to dust. I hope the poor woman does not do herself harm.”
“Will she leave the city soon?”
“She will have to wait for a letter from his family. Either they will send avenging brothers here from Anhui to demand recompense for Pan’s death, which will mean certain headaches for the magistrate’s office, and for us, or they will tell her to return home with the body of their son. She is, you should note for the records, his second concubine.”
“I see. His wife and first concubine remained in Anhui?”
“Yes. The wife is mistress of the house there. An extensive family, I am told, including two sons born to Lady Ai. She is fortunate to have sons; she will certainly retain a place in the household.” After a pause, Sun added, “I spoke to the servants about her activities on the night of the murder. She was at home when the night watch began and the gates closed, and she was at home when the bells rang and the gates opened. Any route from this neighborhood to that of the Black Tile Factory would involve passing through—how many gates would you say?”
Li Du considered. “The wall between the boroughs, and at least nine alley gates.”
“If not more,” said Sun, nodding. “Impossible to do without being stopped. What was the meaning of your question about the silver?”
Li Du gave a full account of his conversation with the maids. As Sun listened, his expression became more grave. His pace slowed, as it tended to do when he was thinking and walking simultaneously.
“It has an unsavory feel,” said Sun. “I still think your blackmail theory takes it too far, but I’m not one to ignore facts. I’d like to know what became of that bag.”
They had almost reached a popular intersection, where it would usually have been possible to hire sedan chairs. Today it was blocked by a barricade of stacked boards and Banner soldiers.
“This is why I was late,” Li Du explained. “The street is being cleaned in preparation for the return of the prince. There is to be a procession.”
“Of course there is,” muttered Sun. “There’s always a procession somewhere in the city.”
Despite the closed street, Sun was able to procure transportation, and they were soon bumping and jostling through the narrow, packed streets that connected the West and North Boroughs. Over the hubbub outside, the bells struck the hour of the monkey. As soon as they reentered the office courtyard, Li Du heard chair legs scraping, footsteps, and fluttering papers. A moment later, the clerks were all vying for Sun’s attention, proffering contracts, reports, and letters in need of review or signature. Sun fended them off with promises to attend to each issue one at a time, then, ordering Li Du to join him, shut the door of his office firmly in their faces.
“This Ji Daolong,” he said, when the door was closed. “Do you know anything about him?”
Li Du shook his head. “I think that the glazed tile kilns used to be within the city walls, but they were moved out to the western hills more than fifty years ago.”
Sun dropped heavily into his chair. He plucked a sheet from the top of the pile on his desk and perused it. “The Fa family wants permission to build another temple,” he said. He sighed and slid the paper to the bottom of the pile. “I don’t have time for a full day’s journey to Mentougou. I’m delegating the task to you.”
“To interview Ji?”
“Yes. If he and Pan were close friends, Pan might have told him about the affair. If we can confirm it, our job will be simpler.”
“And if not?”
“As I said, I find your blackmail theory far-fetched. If you uncover evidence to support it at Mentougou, bring it to me, and I will take it to Magistrate Yin. But remember, please, that this is not scholar’s work. Don’t tie knots in a case that is almost straightened out. By the time you return, I expect we’ll have obtained Hong’s confession.”
Chapter 14
Morning brought a thin mist that blurred the corners of rooftops and settled over the surfaces of lakes. As the first bells began to toll, Li Du and Hamza left the temple, and made their way on foot to the West Borough. Around them, alley gates rattled open as tired soldiers fumbled with latches. Smoke and steam billowed from carts pulled by vendors on their way to markets and busy streets. By the time Li Du had procured two horses, the great doors at Guangning were open, the day’s crowds were streaming in, and warm light was beginning to dispel the haze.
“I have spent only a day in your city,” said Hamza as he ate the last of the steamed rolls from the bag they had intended to save for the afternoon, “but I was beginning to worry that the world outside its walls had disappeared. I am relieved to find it still here.”
They had crossed the moat and were riding at an easy pace along a wide dirt road. Li Du twisted in his saddle to look back over his shoulder. The city, from their current vantage point, was a faceless gray wall, its only visible feature a hulking watchtower at the southwest corner. “We are not far from the northern frontier,” he said, returning his attention to the path ahead. “It is not by chance that the city resembles a fortress.”
“I don’t blame the capital for wanting its walls to appear insurmountable from the outside,” Hamza replied, examining the empty bag that had contained the rolls. With a rueful expression, he pocketed it. “But the unfortunate consequence is that they also seem insurmountable from the inside. A person does not enjoy being trapped. And I do not like those towers always looking down at me.”
Li Du understood. He had spent the past two years trying to ignore the message communicated by the ever-present towers. Someone is watching. Someone is listening. “Is it so different from other capitals you have visited?” he asked.
“No,” Hamza conceded. “Most of them have been the same. In cities built to house emperors, danger is admixed into the very bricks.”
And tiles, Li Du thought, his mind going to the
murders.
“But you understand,” went on Hamza, “it is not the danger that disconcerts me. I am drawn to danger. It is only that I have grown accustomed to facing it in more open spaces. When Sera and I journeyed to the kingdom of Nyimagon, we rode for two weeks without encountering a single barrier to our progress. No mountain, forest, or ocean mandated a change of course. Not even a hill, a tree, or a pond to impede us. And certainly no walls. It was not until we came across a strange sight—a snake whose movements carved letters into the desert sand—that we halted. It was a decision we later regretted.”
“What happened?”
“You have asked the one question it most pleases me to hear,” said Hamza with a bright smile. “I will tell you.”
As Hamza told his story, the last of the mist burned away, and the day turned clear and blue. There was not a wisp of cloud in the sky. On either side of the path, fields of wheat and millet sunned themselves, rippling faintly in the breeze like the fur of a sleeping cat. Ahead, the western hills rolled across the horizon in watercolor shapes of purple and gray.
“And that is how Sera-tsering and I came finally to the city of Guge, only to find it swallowed by sand. Its spires, which had once stood the height of ten elephants, reached only to our knees. Wandering among them was an old woman, who greeted us and said that she had once been the city’s queen. For a year and a day, she said, she had been searching for a magical jewel buried in the dust, a jewel that could melt the sand, and restore Guge to its former glory.” Hamza paused, awaiting the question.
“Did you find it?” asked Li Du dutifully.
“Sera did—in the eye of a stone lizard. But by then we knew that the woman was a cruel sorceress, and that to give it to her would have led to the ruin of more cities. The destruction might even have reached east all the way to the wall of your own empire. We escaped the sorceress, and took the jewel to a monastery beside a blue lake, in which, they say, a dragon lives.” Hamza paused. “Surely it is time for lunch?”
They had begun to pass scattered houses, protected by walls. From their vantage points atop their horses, they could just see fluttering cotton hung from clotheslines in the courtyards. Li Du pointed ahead. “In the center of this village is a restaurant that makes fine noodles.”
