Jade Dragon Mountain (10 page)

He had turned to the section devoted to Agra, the margins of which had been annotated in a small, neat hand. Li Du skimmed the notes. “These are suggested alterations to the original text,” he said. “Here he corrected the recipe for the antidote to the venom of the hooded snake that the Portuguese call the
cobra de capelos
.”

Jia Huan responded with a nod of polite disinterest. “And the title of the next book?” he asked.

Li Du lingered for another moment over the page. Then he closed the
China Illustrata
, set it down, and picked up the next volume. One by one, he read the titles to Jia Huan:
A Chinese Dictionary
,
Geography on a Universal Map
,
Flora Sinensis, Reply to the Mirror Polisher
—a Persian text devoted to legal disputes, Li Du explained—and
The Sphere of the Earth
.

Among the unbound documents were letters of invitation, appropriately sealed, and several maps showing the route from Agra to Yunnan. In addition, there was a stack of papers tied with twine. Li Du untied the string and glanced through the pages. They were filled with astronomical illustrations: concentric circles, rings in twelve partitions, quadrants and axes labeled with the words
orizon
and
arcticus
. On one page was a detailed diagram of an astrolabe labeled in Arabic script.

“What is that?” asked Jia Huan.

“It is a draft of the manuscript that Brother Pieter was writing on the subject of astrolabes,” said Li Du, quietly. “But I cannot tell you very much more than that—I have not studied astronomy. Do you know the discipline?”

Jia Huan glanced at the manuscript and shook his head. “I was assigned minor secretarial duties at the Bureau of Astronomy. But these drawings mean little to me.”

“What was your concentration in school?”

“Calligraphy. My father was a master of the art. My ancestors have been scholars and advisors to the emperor since the Tang. It is my wish to honor them.”

“And do you hope to become a magistrate yourself?”

Jia Huan averted his eyes, but not before Li Du saw the flash of ambition in them. “I want only to prove myself a good servant to the empire,” said Jia Huan.

“And are you content with your assignment here? I know that many young officials hope to be sent to the coastal cities instead of to the interior.”

Jia Huan smiled. “It is true. Officials do not compete for a place in this province. Most wear jade charms in the hope that they will not be sent to the southern borders. They are afraid of the fever and they dislike the villagers. But I am different. The project of educating the ignorant tribes in these wilder areas is fascinating to me. They are subjects, and yet they are not yet civilized, not truly Chinese.”

“This is your first assignment away from the capital?”

“It is my second. I went first to Macau. If there are no more books, I will blot these pages and grind more ink so that we may continue our inventory.”

While he waited for Jia Huan, Li Du's gaze fell on the tea set. Remembering his observation the night before, he again counted the teacups. There were four small cups, but only three large ones. None appeared to have been used, and there were no cast-off leaves in the slatted tray. He lifted the lid of a small jar. It was stocked with fine tea, just like the one in his own room. He picked up the teapot, still heavy with water. Its rounded sides were ice cold.

Troubled, he set the pot down and went to the corner of the room where Pieter's bags were arranged, neatly, against the wall. He knelt, and carefully opened one of the worn cloth satchels. Inside were the humble and well-used tools of the traveling scholar: a set of writing utensils in a leather envelope, a warm blanket of brown wool, a scratched and dented pot, a set of small knives, and several packages of dried fruit and savory preserved meat. Only one item stood out as bright and new, and Li Du picked it up.

It was a soft brown leather purse, roughly square in shape. A large, circular piece had been cut from one side and replaced with a richly embroidered circle of fabric. The inset cloth depicted three foxes leaping through juniper bushes against a background of shining sky blue. The dye was exquisite, bright color transformed into thick, gleaming threads.

Li Du recognized the style. Purses such as these were worn by Khampa and Tibetan merchants, and used to carry tea leaves. When the caravans stopped, the horsemen could brew their butter tea quickly and conveniently using the small churns that they carried slung to the saddles of their horses. Li Du inhaled, and raised the purse to his nose, surprised by its strong fragrance. It smelled of perfume, heavy and floral, and vaguely familiar. He removed a pinch of what was inside. It was black tea.

Then his fingers caught the sunlight, and he saw, clinging in the crevices of dark leaves, a fine, powdery residue, a color between white and pale green. It was too thin and pale to be dirt or sand. He touched his finger tentatively to his tongue, and recoiled as a tingling, freezing sensation seized his mouth and throat. He coughed and spat.

Jia Huan turned around and rose quickly to his feet with a look of confusion. “What—”

“I am all right,” said Li Du, moving to the desk. But he was unsteady on his feet, and by the time he reached it, he was forced to put out a hand to keep from falling. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes to see Jia Huan looking at him with concern. “I am feeling better now,” he said. “Truly.”

“But what is the cause of your distress?” asked Jia Huan.

With his free hand, Li Du tipped the pouch, spilling a small amount of the leaves onto the piece of paper on the desk. They scattered across Jia Huan's neat calligraphy like black ravens flying over a wintry forest.

“What are you doing?” asked Jia Huan.

“These leaves are coated with poison,” Li Du said. Jia Huan's brows drew together. He leaned down to look more closely. To Li Du, the leaves now seemed twisted and vile, the pale powder shining in the sunlight.

“This is not dust,” said Jia Huan quietly. “But you are sure that it is poison?”

“Yes.”

“It cannot be a coincidence,” said Jia Huan. “This poison must have been the cause of the priest's sudden death.”

Li Du did not respond immediately. When he spoke, his words came slowly. “It must have been,” he said, “but it is strange.”

“Very strange,” Jia Huan echoed. Then he straightened his shoulders and smoothed the emotion from his pale features. “I must inform the magistrate at once,” he said, and picked up the purse. “I will bring this to him.”

Li Du nodded.

“And I will send for the doctor. You do not look well.”

Li Du shook his head. “I am recovering. It was not enough to do me any real harm. I require a few moments, merely, to rest. I thank you for your concern, but as you said, you should inform the magistrate at once.”

When Jia Huan was gone, Li Du sank slowly into the chair at the desk. The memory rose before him of Pieter van Dalen leaving the performance the night before. Li Du's last glimpse had been of a tall, cloaked figure disappearing into the dark. Closing his eyes, Li Du tried to follow Pieter beyond the border of his own memory.

He would have made his way along the lantern-lit garden paths to the guesthouse. He would have lit the two candles. If he wanted tea, he could have summoned a maid to bring it. But, Li Du recalled, Pieter had not liked to be served tea. He had preferred to make it himself. So, instead of summoning a maid, he would have gone to the brazier in the courtyard and filled the pot in his room with boiling water from the kettle. Then he must have taken the purse full of tea from his bag. It would have been too dark to notice the pale powder mixed into the leaves. What then? A pinch of tea in a cup, hot water, the swirling leaves, and death.

Li Du held up his hand and examined the sheen that still clung to the tips of his fingers. Now recovered from the shock of the discovery and the physical effects of the toxin, he was able to think more clearly. He had seen this powder somewhere before. Moreover, he was certain that he knew what it was. But where had he seen it? It had been years ago, in a different life, in a locked drawer. The powder of—and then he remembered—of jewelvine root. This was ground jewelvine root, and he knew why it was familiar to him. In a moment, Li Du was up and out the door, on his way to the library.

*   *   *

The sun was fully up now, and the pale stone guardians watched him with impassive countenances, their features indistinct and flecked with the shifting shadows of cypress needles, as he passed between them into the library. He recalled the earnest vitality of Pieter van Dalen as he had met him for the first time—striding through the shelves of bound silk volumes, speaking to Li Du as if they were in the middle of a conversation they had begun long ago.
Unfortunate men
, Pieter had said of the Ming History authors,
commissioned by their conquerors to write the story of the defeated dynasty.
What had he called it? Li Du frowned.
A deadly exercise in tact.

He turned sharply at the sound of a tap on the floor, and saw an old man with a walking stick approaching him from a patch of sunshine in the far corner of the room.

“Who's that?” The man's voice was a croak. “Won't have them saying I don't look after the place. Who's that, then?” His Chinese was heavily accented, guttural and difficult to understand.

“I apologize for startling you. We have not met, but I am a guest in this house. My name is Li Du. You are Mu Gao, the librarian?”

The man stopped just in front of Li Du. His back was so bent that it was difficult for him to lift his head to inspect Li Du's face. His features proclaimed him a local. Wrinkled, papery skin hung from a long face with high cheekbones and a sharp nose. He chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip as he assessed Li Du with rheumy eyes.

“They don't call me librarian,” he said finally. “I'm the caretaker. I do the dusting and sweeping. No need for more—not many visitors to this place, not usually.”

“My impression of the library was—”

Mu Gao interrupted him with a little jab of his cane into the air. “So you're the one the magistrate said would give me advice? The royal librarian? Well? Look around you. See any dust? Smell mildew? No? That's right. Nothing wrong with my work.”

Li Du hastened to reassure the old man. “You take wonderful care of it,” he said. Mu Gao eyed him suspiciously, and Li Du continued. “I was going to say that this is the most beautifully kept library I have seen in a very long time. There is no dampness, and I see that the books are in fine condition. I wondered, though, how you keep the insects from eating the paste and ruining the bindings?”

“Jewelvine root,” said Mu Gao, instantly. “After that, only task left is to sweep away the insects with the dust.”

“Of course,” said Li Du. “That is what I used also. Tell me—do you keep it here in the library?”

“Where else would I keep it? Not needed for anything else, is it? Except some use it for killing fish, but not around these parts.”

“Is it kept in a locked place?”

Mu Gao grunted. “No. I keep it in a drawer, same place as the papers and inks. Why are you asking me about jewelvine? Is this something to do with the dead man? I don't know anything about it, but they told me he died in the normal way.”

Li Du was cautious. “I have no certain knowledge,” he said, “but it appears now that he did not die, as you say, in the normal way. I must speak with the magistrate.”

*   *   *

“But it is clear what happened,” said Tulishen, after he had shut the door to his study. “Surely you have seen objects like this one during your travels through the province?” He motioned toward the embroidered purse that rested on the desk in front of him.

“I know that this purse is in the Khampa style, but—”

Tulishen broke in. “And must have been given to him by the Khampa with whom he traveled. You recall what I said to you when you arrived. His fate was sealed when he decided to travel with thieves and murderers.”

“But why would Brother Pieter have carried it with him, yet only used the tea leaves for the first time last night, when there was tea already provided for him in his room? And what reason would the Khampa traders have to give a foreigner, with whom, to my knowledge, they had no quarrel, poisoned tea leaves in a purse readily identifiable as being of Khampa make?”

Tulishen's eyes narrowed. “The answers to your questions are unimportant. Of what significance was his decision to drink the tea last night, or on any other night? And as for the reasons they had for killing him, I would remind you that these people are barbarians, not yet graced by civilization. We speak of horsemen who cut their dead to pieces and throw them to the vultures. What other rituals must they practice, still more abhorrent than that? Perhaps this tainted gift was retribution for a perceived offense. Their ways are inaccessible to Chinese people. To try to understand them is as useless as trying to understand the thoughts of beasts.” Tulishen nodded, approving of his own reason.

Li Du shook his head. “Brother Pieter spoke warmly of them. He told me that they were hospitable, generous people. He liked them.”

“Then obviously he was misled. Cousin, I have been very patient. I can see that this sad event has upset you. But you must understand that it is essential for all of us to move beyond it, to attend to matters of greater significance. You are no longer accustomed to the way a city is run. Administrators, especially in a place such as Dayan, so far from the capital, are selected for our intuition, our experience, our ability to read a situation and do what is best.”

“But surely you plan to do something. Surely you will send soldiers to question the Khampa traders, to bring them here to be questioned, and punished if they are guilty.”