Jade Dragon Mountain (14 page)

Hamza smiled again, and began:

“There was once in the land of Egypt a Sultan. He was the cruelest sultan who had ever come to power in that land.

“Around his palace there were always heads mounted on stakes, and they never had time to rot, for they were constantly being replaced with new heads: heads of men, heads of women, even the heads of dogs that had barked too near the palace.

“There was in the service of this Sultan a vizier, a man as wise and gentle as the sultan was tyrannical. His name was Jaffar, and only he was capable of tempering the sultan's fury, for they had been friends since childhood, before the sultan grew into a cruel man and the vizier into a kind one. Whenever he could, Jaffar convinced the sultan to show mercy, and the poor souls in the dungeons placed all their hopes on his influence.

“Besides Jaffar, there were many lesser advisers within the walls of the palace. These men spent their days hoping that the Sultan would not ask them anything, for they knew that if their answers were not to the Sultan's liking, their wives would be widows by sunset, and their heads would be displayed for all to see.

“Now, it happened at the time of this story that one of the advisers had a visitor. This guest, a relative of his wife's, was a judge from the faraway land of China. This man had a reputation for cleverness that had reached as far as Egypt, and beyond. His name was Judge Dee.

“Judge Dee was enjoying his time of leisure with his cousin and her family, and was much taken with the sun and sandstone of the city. But on the third morning of his stay, the sultan summoned all of his advisers to his audience chamber. Judge Dee's host bid a tearful farewell to his wife and daughters, and was about to go to the palace when a messenger arrived from the sultan. The adviser read the message and turned to Judge Dee with fresh tears in his eyes: ‘My honored guest, I am ashamed that my hospitality has led only to danger for you. The sultan sends word that he has heard of your reputation, and requests your presence also in his audience chamber.'

“Judge Dee, though impressed by his relative's sorrow on his account, was intrigued, and agreed with good cheer to accompany the man.

“They assembled with the other advisers in the royal audience chamber, where the sultan in his gold and ruby robes and his great silver and silk crown paced in distress. The assembled sages knelt with their heads bowed before the great king, and fixed their eyes on the floor, as it was law to do in the Sultan's presence.

“The Sultan spoke in a voice hoarse with grief: ‘You who call yourself wise all know the only true wise man in this kingdom, my vizier Jaffar. He has been murdered, and in a manner that appears impossible. I cannot rest until I know what befell him. There is among you a man from distant lands renowned for his wisdom. Step forward.'

“And Judge Dee, who was well aware of his talents and had no false modesty, stepped forward and said, ‘O, Sultan, I am a visitor to your land, but in my own city, I am known for solving just this kind of impossible problem. Allow me to turn my mind to your question.'

“The Sultan dismissed the other advisers. Eyes still fixed on the floor, they left the chamber in great relief, pitying the foreigner whose head they felt sure they would see, severed and staring, on the palace walls by the end of the day.

“When they were alone, the sultan said to the judge: ‘There is in the palace grounds a tower, an isolated place designated for solitude and contemplation. Jaffar was the only person with a key to that tower. Yesterday he went into it, locked the door, and did not come out. After some time I insisted that a servant accompany me into the tower, to reassure myself that he had simply left without being noticed, for I feared that something had happened.'

“As he spoke, the Sultan led Judge Dee to the base of the tower, in which was set a single small door. The Sultan opened the door and walked with the judge up the long stone staircase rising in a spiral to a single room at the top of the tower. And there, in the center of the humble apartment, was the dead man, dressed in a robe of simple white cotton. He had been strangled, and his face was so swollen and terrible to behold that the servants who accompanied them looked away in horror.

“‘As I said, the only door was locked,' repeated the Sultan.

“‘And the walls are too smooth to scale,' said the judge, thoughtfully. ‘Is it possible that he let his assailant in?'

“‘No,' replied the Sultan, ‘for the assailant would have needed the key to lock the door behind him when he left, and look—the key is still here around the vizier's neck, where he always kept it.' The sultan pointed to the key strung on a golden chain around the dead man's neck.

“‘I see,' said the judge, much perplexed. And he retired to the quarters provided him to think.

“He began by dismissing every possible method of breaching the tower. There was no way anyone could have climbed, flown, or burrowed into it. It must have been unlocked, and locked again, with a key. The Sultan had told him that only Jaffar had a key. Well, that was not strictly true, for Judge Dee had seen the Sultan himself unlock the door with a matching key of his own, as surely he had when he discovered the body.

“But why would the Sultan, known throughout the kingdom for the delight he took in execution and public torture, kill a man in quiet, alone in the tower? Murders like this one, Judge Dee knew from experience in his own kingdom and in others, were committed in order to gain wealth or power, by murderers afraid of being caught. The Sultan had no need of such subterfuge, for he could murder at will without punishment.

“A master, thought Judge Dee, has nothing to gain from the secret murder of a servant. And the more he pondered the question, the more puzzled he became.

“Sunset came to the jeweled palace, and the time came when Judge Dee had promised to provide an answer. He approached the Sultan's audience chamber slowly, afraid for the first time in his life that he had been given a problem he could not solve.

“As he was about to enter the chamber, the servant beside him whispered: ‘You showed great disrespect today when you looked at the sultan. You must keep your eyes on the ground in his presence, in accordance with the law of the land. I give you this advice in the hope that it will save your life, for you are a stranger here and do not know our ways.'

“The judge gave a deep sigh and, at peace, entered the audience chamber.

“The Sultan sat on his throne. Judge Dee kneeled and said, ‘O, Sultan, I have the true answer to this murder. Are you sure that you want to hear it?'

“‘I do, for that is why you are here.'

“‘Sultan, you told me yourself that no one could have entered that tower but through the door.'

“‘Yes,' said the Sultan.

“‘But Sultan, there is no door in your palace that is locked to you. Therefore, it is you who must have killed the man.'

“‘Your insolence is punishable by death,' replied the Sultan. ‘What reason would I have to kill my dearest friend?'

“‘Forgive me, oh Sultan, but your reputation in this land is a fearsome one. You have killed men for no reason at all. But what I could not understand is why you would have killed in stealth. You, who even now have three hundred heads adorning the walls of your palace.'

“‘You are contradicting yourself, judge. The problem seems as impossible as it ever did.'”

Hamza stopped speaking. His audience was rapt. He smiled and broke the spell to ask: “And what did the judge say to this?”

A voice came from the small group: “Was it a great bird who flew through the window and killed the vizier?”

Hamza shook his head gravely.

“Was it an arrow shot from the ground?”

“No!” cried a voice next to the speaker. “He was strangled, remember?”

“Judge Dee took a breath. ‘It was, as you say, a contradiction. I found myself believing that it could only be you that had killed the man in the tower, and also that you could have no reason to kill your vizier in this way. It was not until I was about to enter your audience chamber this evening that I learned the truth. A servant reminded me to lower my eyes in your presence, for that is the law of the land.'

“‘Ah,' said the Sultan.

“‘And then I remembered your voice when you spoke to your advisers this morning, hoarse as if you had been grieving.' Judge Dee paused. ‘Or as if you were disguising its sound. And I remembered the servants unable to look closely at the face of the dead man, as horribly contorted as it was.

“‘You are swathed in the finery befitting a sultan, and the body in the tower wore the same simple robes that Jaffar wore every day.

“‘You, O Sultan, are not the Sultan, but Jaffar, the friend of the tyrant, and it is the Sultan who lies dead in the tower, clad in a simple white robe.'

“And Judge Dee looked up at the face of the man on the throne, and saw in those sad eyes the truth of his answer.

“‘And now you know the truth, judge, so judge me,' said Jaffar.

“‘I will pronounce my judgement. The grief in your voice is real, for you have killed your friend, a man you loved as a brother, despite his terrible actions. The Sultan was a cruel tyrant, a despoiler of his own land. You killed him because you could not bear to watch him destroy so many lives. My cousin tells me that you have always been a voice of counsel and reason in the face of the tyrant's madness. Rule well, oh Sultan, and do not let the beginning of your rule define its course.'

“And with that Judge Dee left the silent Sultan, and returned to the house of his cousin, where there was much rejoicing at his safe return. But the answer to the problem he refused to reveal, and on the next morning he left the kingdom with many thanks to his cousin for his hospitality, and set out on the seas to his next adventure.”

Kalden was frowning slightly. He asked Hamza a question, and received a short reply.

“What did he ask?” Li Du was curious.

“Why the vizier invited the judge to investigate, when he himself had committed the crime. I replied that a good storyteller does not explain everything. And now it is time to rest. Tomorrow I return to the city, and before the week is out I will have told a tale to the Emperor of China himself. I will confess—that is not something I have done before.”

*   *   *

During the night the clouds moved away, and the moon shone so silvery bright that it cast shadows on the ground. Li Du awoke and marveled at the illuminated landscape. The moonlight shadows were sharper than daylight ones—every pebble on the dust had its perfect double inked beside it.

A line of poetry came to him, from an old scroll that he knew so well he could still picture its exact placement on the library shelf:
Forever bound to passionless roaming
 …

“Well, Li Bai,” Li Du said, addressing the moon as if its white face were that of the poet himself. “After a thousand years among the stars, do you ever witness an event in this world that makes you wish you could return?” The white face of the moon looked back at him sadly.

Li Du had left a city in which a murderer now rested, complacent. The man, or woman, who had desired the death of Brother Pieter had succeeded. There was not going to be an investigation. The crime would slip away like a leaf down a stream, forgotten amid the manufactured splendor of the festival. Li Du listened to the clacks of bamboo in the wind and the snaps of the watchman's fire. And he made his decision. In the morning he would go back to Dayan, and he would discover the truth of what had happened there.

 

3 Days

 

Chapter 9

“A local story tells of a rich man who saw his reflection one day in a stream, and realized that, though he had many gold and silver coins, he had left very little time.”

Hamza had been practicing his art since they left the caravan at dawn. Content to address the rustling leaves and placid mules, he made no demands on Li Du's attention. They were a strange pair: the small scholar in patched blue and gray, lost in his own thoughts, riding beside the straight-backed storyteller, clad once again in embroidered silk, his obsidian beard sculpted to a point, one hand on the reins and the other raised in elegant gesticulations as he spoke. The two mules were almost identical, white-flecked gray with large, twitching ears and tranquil dark eyes.

Thanks to the mules, they arrived at the outskirts of Dayan not long after midday. As they approached the center of the city, they dismounted so that they could guide the worried animals more easily through the crowds. Hamza raised his voice over the thickening clamor.

“The rich man went to his village market to buy himself some years. But he was told that there were none for sale. So he traveled to Dayan. But there were no years for sale here, either. He traveled from one city to the next, but was told again and again that there were no years for sale. Finally, he came to Beijing, and hunted through each stall in their great bazaar. But he found no years. So he stopped, and looked behind him, and he saw that all the lakes were dried and all the rocks were crushed to dust. And this, the story says, is the origin of sorrow.”

Hamza's words were almost lost in the bustle of the Dayan market. In the single day Li Du had been away, the city had transformed. Performers had begun to arrive, and a carnival atmosphere pervaded the streets. Lilting operatic recitations blended with the repetitive cries of vendors. Jugglers and acrobats commandeered empty spaces, and the spectators standing in concentric rings around the shows rendered many of the smaller alleys impassible.