by Ian Morson
I could see that a steady stream of people were entering and leaving through the main doorway of the temple. Ducking through the archway myself, I peered into the gloom of the interior. Incense hung in dense sweet-smelling clouds, and I felt queasy from the cloying odour. Many visitors were going to the main altar, but there was also a long line of people at the altar to the god of lost and stolen items. A stoop-shouldered old woman was very busy, and I watched as she dealt with those at the head of the queue. She first listened to a wealthy looking merchant, who whispered in her ear and pressed an offering into her claw-like hand. She hobbled to the twin statues in the shrine and mumbled her prayers. The merchant was astounded to hear a voice come from the altar, no doubt telling him where to find his lost item. He was so impressed that he took another coin out of his sleeve and pressed it into the priestess’s palm. As one happy client left in a hurry to find what was lost, an elderly couple approached the priestess. A similar scenario followed, with the old pair passing money over. The priestess prayed, but there was no voice from the god this time. Returning to her clients, she shook her head. Apparently no response had been forthcoming from the gods, but no doubt she would be advising them to return the next day. Perhaps by then she would have better news – if Li was playing his part. The next supplicant, a woman with a white-painted face, stepped forward. She and the old priestess whispered to each other.
I was aware of a movement behind me, and out of the corner of my eye saw the prefect’s large form looming into sight. He saw who the priestess was talking to, and grinned.
‘She has good news for the courtesan. Her missing bolts of silk have revealed themselves to the gods. She is telling her where they are.’
As he told me this, I could see the courtesan handing over a big bundle of paper money. Then she hurried away. Li licked his lips.
‘There she goes to dig the bolts up from the embankment by the river, where Ho buried them. Let the old woman deal with the others in her queue first, and then I will take our share of the money.’ He grinned broadly. ‘What a service we provide.’
We watched from the shadows as the line of supplicants dwindled. Several of them handed over paper money or gold coins as an offering to the gods. Clearly business was brisk, and I asked Li what he thought of the scheme.
‘Is it going that well already?’
He laughed at my expression of surprise, his vast belly wobbling under his finely embroidered robe.
‘It was a little quiet to begin with. So I decided I couldn’t wait for Ho to rob someone, and then come tell me. I gave him a list of wealthy men and women and their property, and told him to get busy. There seems to be quite a crime wave developing in Pianfu now.’ He grinned, his dark raisins of eyes disappearing in his fat cheeks. ‘But no one is complaining, for they get their goods back, and reward the gods accordingly.’
I told Li that I was full of admiration for his astonishing enterprise.
‘Why did I not think of that?’
He sneered and shrugged his shoulders, acknowledging his superiority over the barbarian. The queue had dispersed so we went over and Li extracted his commission from the priestess. She hissed her disapproval and gave me a piercing look. But in return for the money, Li gave her a paper with some more information on it. No doubt the couple who had been told to come back tomorrow would find the gods had answered their prayers. Li turned to me, for the first time aware of the two well-built young men hovering in the background. He gave me a fearful look, perhaps thinking I was going to take all his profits. I smiled reassuringly.
‘Just a little insurance policy, Master Li. Say hello to Dao and Yun.’
Li grinned nervously and peeled off some notes, pressing them in my hand. I secreted them in my purse, and walked jauntily out of the temple. Looking back I saw that my bodyguards were no longer following. Well, I did not have need of them now. Turning to my right, I started towards the theatre, and my hoped-for meeting with P’ing-Yang Nu.
The theatre seemed very quiet – even the entrance arch was unoccupied. Normally the stentorian-voiced barker sat there urging people to enter when there was a show to promote, and then taking the money. Today he was nowhere in sight. I walked through into the arena, seeking someone who could tell me where P’ing-Yang Nu was to be found. On the stage, which in full daylight looked dowdy and worn, a couple of actors were practising acrobatic moves. One man swung a punch at the other, and he lurched backwards even though the fist had not touched him and performed a somersault. He did it badly, falling on one knee. He clutched his leg, crying out in pain. The first man called out in derision and the other stumbled back to his place. They squared up to practise the move again, ignoring me as I climbed the steps to the platform on which they were working out their routine. Striding over to them, I could smell the stale sweat on their bodies. The blow was flung again, and the recipient performed another somersault. He landed hard on his backside this time, and the other one laughed. The one on the floor looked up at me, acknowledging my presence for the first time. I tried my best to look stern, though I’m sure he could put on a much more convincing scowl than I could. Unless his acting was as bad as his acrobatics, that is.
‘P’ing-Yang Nu?’
The actor cocked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the backcloth. The man I sought was obviously backstage somewhere. I thanked him, and stuck a hand out to help him get up from his embarrassing position on the tiled floor of the stage. He refused it, bounding to his feet as though unhurt. I did notice he walked away with a limp, however. I pulled the edge of the painted cloth aside and stepped into the gloom behind it. The smell of men’s sweat was even stronger here, laced with another familiar but elusive smell. I took a step forward in the dark, and my foot slid on the tiles. They were wet and sticky. The odour in my nostrils identified itself. It was like the smell of an abattoir. Or a battlefield.
I dragged the backcloth to one side to let more light into this gloomy place. The first thing I saw was a naked leg. It had red and green dragons tattooed all along it. Cautiously taking a step closer, I saw another leg similarly covered in dragon designs. Then the whole body became apparent. It was clad only in a loincloth, and not only were the legs tattooed, the back and arms were covered with dragons too. It was impossible to see if the chest had its adornment also. P’ing-Yang Nu was lying face down in a dark, glistening pool of his own blood.
Together with the prefect, Lin and I examined the body. It now lay on a trestle in a makeshift morgue close to the main square. It would seem that scant attention was paid to the details of a death in Pianfu. It was enough for Li Wen-Tao to know that the man was dead. And that was an obvious deduction from the state of the body. When Nu had been turned over by the funerary attendants, his guts had spilled out. Li, who was in attendance by then, having been fetched by me from the temple complex next door, turned away and vomited his last meal out on the theatre tiles. Now he stood at a good distance from the body, avoiding looking on the mess. Lin and I, on the other hand, were eager to look more closely. I wished Masudi al-Din were here, because I had learned a lot about Geng’s death from his meticulous autopsy. Even though I never saw that body, the Arab’s written report was quite illuminating. Li had no intention of being so meticulous, especially with a dead travelling actor of no importance. It had been all we could do to get permission to examine the body before the prefect disposed of it.
Lin, his face just a little paler than usual, pointed a long-nailed finger at the dead man’s belly.
‘See how the cut is from left to right.’
I nodded, following the line of the incision made in Nu’s flesh. It cut through the necks of two dragons tattooed on his torso, removing the beasts’ heads from their bodies. The man’s guts, pushed rudely back into his belly by an attendant, still poked out. It was as though the dragons themselves had been gutted. But I could see what Lin meant.
‘Assuming the killer was right-handed, a cut from left to right suggests he did it from behind. H
e surprised the actor, and killed him without getting too much blood on himself.’
‘The alternative is a bold, left-handed murderer . . . now covered in blood and guts.’
Lin’s morgue humour was grimly amusing. But I was in no mood to laugh. If I had taken Lin seriously, and gone to the theatre sooner instead of being drawn by the lure of money, P’ing-Yang Nu might not now be dead. And we might have been closer to unmasking a killer. On the other hand, if I had been earlier, I might now be lying on a slab alongside P’ing-Yang Nu. Gutted like a fish. Lin divined my thoughts.
‘We could still discover something about what was in Nu’s mind.’
‘How?’
‘We must search for his version of the play script. If he wrote down the amendments he made, we could learn from them. I can only remember a few of the lines we heard on the night.’
Lin was correct, and knew I should have searched for the script as soon as I had arranged for the body to be moved.
‘I will go back immediately and see if I can find it.’
Tien-jan was finally at the theatre when I got back, wiping make-up from his face. I asked him if he had been busy, and he said he had had lots to do.
‘What do you want now, investigator? To accuse me of the murder of Nu?’
I grinned at the slim youth, who had once fooled me into thinking he was a girl.
‘You know I wouldn’t do that. No, I am on another mission. Do you know where Nu would have kept any written copies of the plays you perform? I am particularly interested in the one you put on recently.’
‘Not Guan’s new play?’
I shook my head.
‘No. Though I would love to know what slant Guan has taken on the case of Jianxu. It may affect the outcome of the investigation.’
Natural Elegance put on his best enigmatic look.
‘I cannot tell you that. The script is a closely guarded secret. Even those of us in the play only know our own lines, and none of us knows the ending yet. I think it is still unwritten, actually.’
‘And the other play? Is the script for that a secret too?’
‘Three Princes at Tiger Palace?’ Tien-jan laughed a sweet, tinkling laugh. ‘It is so old everyone knows the words by heart. Though, now you come to mention it, poor Nu did make some amendments this time.’ He paused. ‘I sound like an old script myself – “Now you come to mention it . . .” There is so much formulaic dialogue in the old plays. Nu liked to change it a bit, so it was no surprise to us when he issued sheets out to each of us at the rehearsal. Though, as we blocked in the moves, I did think some of the dialogue a little irregular and inconsistent. It didn’t fit somehow.’
He was rambling about theatre matters that had me quite confused. Rehearsals? And what was blocking in the moves? I tried to bring him back to the point of my inquiries.
‘But Nu would have had a fair copy of the whole piece?’
The boy sighed and nodded.
‘Yes, the full script. Follow me, and I will show you where he keeps . . . kept . . . all the scripts.’
He took me to a room backstage that had pigeonholes along one wall. Every slot was stuffed tight with paper documents. Tien-jan began to rummage through them, at first casually, then gradually moving from slot to slot more urgently. It came as no surprise to me when he said that he couldn’t find the amended script to ‘Three Princes at Tiger Palace’ anywhere.
FIFTEEN
A closed mind is like a closed book, just a block of wood.
It was not long before the prefect reacted to the murder in the theatre in the most severe of ways. On the following day, large notices appeared in all public places. They were written in Chinee, of course, but Lin translated for me. We were standing outside the theatre, and the notice had been pasted on one of the columns that formed the entrance archway. The troupe’s barker and moneyman was staring disconsolately at the notice. It read:
All citizens not engaged in the pursuits proper to them, and who in this city shall practice and sing musical entertainments, or teach and perform tsa-chu dramas, or bring together crowds for the purpose of lewd entertainments
SHALL BE PROHIBITED, and
All animal trainers, snake-charmers, puppeteers, performers of sleight-of-hand, players of cymbals and drums, and those who deceive men and gather crowds for the purpose of practising quack-salving, will be prohibited and those who disobey
WILL BE SEVERELY PUNISHED.
The barker turned to us with a glum expression on his face.
‘Well, that is a pretty comprehensive coverage. We will not be able to do anything here now. Nu will be turning in his grave. If he was in one, which he isn’t yet. But you know what I mean. We have hardly been able to make ends meet for months now. He was always begging and borrowing to keep us going. And this new play of Guan’s was our big chance.’ He pulled a face worthy of the best actor on the stage behind him. ‘We’ve had it now. Might as well move on.’
He trudged through the archway towards the stage to tell his comrades the bad news. Lin looked at me with a small smile playing on his lips.
‘It’s an ill wind . . .’
‘What do you mean?’
‘At least Guan’s play won’t be performed next week. It gives us some more time to find the truth.’
‘That’s true. But what about Tien-jan? Won’t you miss him?’
Lin’s face was stony.
‘I don’t know what you mean, Nick.’
I let the matter drop. I had my own reasons for keeping young Mister Natural Elegance around for a while longer, but I couldn’t tell Lin why. I had hoped he would want to prevent him from leaving so soon himself, but apparently not. We walked away from the square, and towards the Geng household. We had questions to ask.
I took more notice of Geng’s house this time, hoping it would give me some clues to what had happened there. It had obviously once stood on the edge of town. The red tile roof with its curved gables gave the impression of a substantial residence belonging to a rich merchant. The aspect of the windows along the frontage spoke of a property that once looked out over open land towards the river. Now all the occupants could see from them were other, smaller buildings. The city had encroached on the house and swallowed it. It was barely possible now to appreciate the symmetry of its frontage. Stepping through the doorway from the road, Lin and I found ourselves in a central courtyard, surrounded by buildings. Once again, I could tell that the house was somewhat down at heel. Wall timbers were splitting and some roof tiles were loose. Two broken red tiles lay on the packed earth of the courtyard, and probably had lain there since they had fallen from above weeks earlier. The whole house was unusually quiet, with not even any smoke coming from the rear of the building where the kitchen stood. I could tell it was the kitchen, because it was built slightly apart from the other ranges. Fire was a constant hazard to timber-framed houses. There was no evidence even of the servant who had been present last time. A couple of chickens pecked desultorily at the barren earth of the courtyard.
We hovered in the centre of the yard for a moment, before Lin whispered in my ear.
‘Do you think they’ve all fled?’
I grinned.
‘No, I don’t think so. I just caught a glimpse of a youth peering round the edge of an upstairs window behind you. I will rouse them.’
I pulled my short Tartar sword from its sheath, and took a swing at one of the chickens. There was a squawk from the chicken, which flew up in a blur of feathers. And a responding squawk from a human.
‘That is my best layer, I am glad your prowess with a sword is so poor.’
The old lady emerged from the kitchen door, tottering on her tiny feet. I sheathed my sword.
‘I aimed to miss, or the bird would have been running around headless by now. Which is not a criticism I can make of you, Madam Gao.’
She narrowed her dark, little eyes, making the wrinkles on the lined face even deeper and more numerous.
‘How do you mean?’
<
br /> Whether she really didn’t understand my Western analogy, or was just maintaining her appearance of being a rather stupid, old lady, I wasn’t sure. But one thing she had done was give the game away about her ability to understand my Mongol. When we had first interviewed her, I had stumbled through a three-way conversation using Lin as my interpreter. The crafty old bird had used a feigned ignorance of Mongol as a way of avoiding my more searching questions. Now I knew that, I explained my meaning directly.
‘You told us you were poor, and needed to marry Geng in order to survive. But the truth is it was you who loaned Old Geng money. Money he desperately needed to keep his business afloat.’
As I spoke, I took a couple of steps towards where she stood. Suddenly, two very large, very hairy men emerged from the kitchen and placed themselves either side of the old lady. They only had sticks in their fists, but they were such large and hairy fists and such heavy sticks, that I did not think for one moment of drawing my sword again. From behind me Lin piped up in his thin but authoritative voice.
‘There is no need for violence here, Madam Gao. We are the defenders of the law, and to threaten us would be a crime carrying a severe penalty.’
The old lady bowed low, her head tilting to one side, until we could see the bald patch atop her head. When she straightened up, she showed a mouth with more gaps than teeth in it.
