Jade Dragon Mountain (22 page)

“I understand better why Sir Gray was so adamant that it not be dropped,” said Li Du, remembering Sir Gray's furious commands to the servants as they had unloaded his cart.

“It really is marvelous,” Brother Martin said. “Look how the sun sparkles as it burns. The planets are moving around it, but the calibration is so fine that the eye cannot see the movement. It is too slow. A clock for the heavens.”

Li Du remembered the night of the banquet and said, “That is how Pieter described it, as a clock.”

Brother Martin reached out to touch, very gently, the glowing sphere. “In this model the sun is at the center, as Newton declares it to be. But our church holds the earth to be the center. It is a great debate between men of science and men of religion. The Pope allows for the use of equations that have sound practical purpose, but forbids their assumptions from being called truth
.
That is the word that causes the trouble. It is a delicate situation, dangerous, for some people.” Brother Martin paused, staring at the glowing sun. “Whoever made this knew that without the sun in the center, the object would be of no practical use. It could not have served its intended purpose—to make accurate forecasts of how the heavens will move.”

“But,” said Li Du, “as a holy man, you must follow the teachings of your church?”

“Yes, of course. But it is a complicated situation. Brother Pieter was an astronomer. For his calculations to be correct, he must have assumed the sun to be at the center. It is all about how one speaks of these things in public circumstances.”

“Now that is something our empires and churches have in common.” Li Du leaned closer, trying to see some resemblance to the sky in the orientation of the spheres, but could not. He said, wonderingly, “And can you read it now?”

Brother Martin blushed. “Oh—no—I did not mean to imply that I could. I do not speak the numerical language necessary to understand these symbols. I doubt anyone other than a very skilled astronomer could actually use this to make a prediction—the device is almost as difficult to read as the night sky itself.”

“Of course,” said Li Du, “but its beauty is accessible to any observer. Even a king with no interest in astronomy would be eager to possess such a marvel, I think.”

Mu Gao, who had been listening to the Latin without comprehension, said, “After he—the dead man—took off the lid, he looked at the thing inside from every angle. I saw him through the door. Like a poet studying a tree. He was talking to himself and smiling and writing in his book. Seemed very happy.”

Li Du remembered the torn pages he had found among Pieter's papers. “A book?” he said. “You mean a journal?”

“Yes. Like the travelers carry, but with the strange foreign binding. Leather.”

“And he took this book with him when he left?”

Mu Gao shrugged. “Didn't see. Must have.”

Li Du looked at the base of the tellurion. There were hundreds of numbers and symbols etched into its base, ticks and reference points and arrows, none of which meant anything to him. He tried to remember what Pieter had said specifically when he had spoken of it at the banquet, but he had only an impression of excitement and enthusiasm. Whatever had upset Pieter later in the evening, it did not seem to be related to the tellurion.

The ninth chime sounded, drifting through the thin windows. Together Li Du and Brother Martin lowered the box back over the tellurion, and Li Du clasped it shut. The three of them left the room, and Mu Gao made his way immediately to the pillows by the window.

Li Du and Brother Martin departed the library together, and at the gate of the mansion Brother Martin said, “I am late to meet the doctor. I—I am sure that I cannot be of help to you, but of course—if you have any need of me—well, I will do what I can.”

“I'll help you find the way to the doctor's house,” said Li Du.

“Oh—no, that is all right.” Brother Martin protested awkwardly.

But Li Du insisted, and they walked together at a quick pace toward the western outskirts of the city.

“I find myself a little unclear in my memories of the banquet,” said Li Du. “Perhaps I drank too much wine. Would you refresh my memory of where you and Brother Pieter met?”

“Where we met? But—but we met only briefly the day I arrived. I was very ill. I only really spoke to him for the first time on the night of the banquet.”

“Ah—I meant to ask where you met before you saw each other here in Dayan.”

Brother Martin shook his head. “There is some mistake,” he said. “I had never met him before that night.”

“Ah—then I am sorry. I was confused. So you did not know each other in India?”

Brother Martin was adamant that they had not. He said, a little breathlessly, “He—he did not—Did he tell you that he knew me?”

“No—as you said, I was mistaken.”

They were almost at the doctor's house. Brother Martin started to speak several times, but each time he stopped and reconsidered. Finally he said, “I know that I am a suspect. But I swear to you that I did not kill him. He—he was very kind to me. And I could never kill anyone…” He trailed off as they arrived at the door of the doctor's home.

*   *   *

They were welcomed into a modest courtyard home permeated by the sweet fragrance of angelica. Dried herbs and shucked corn hung in bunches from the eaves on all sides of the porch. Doctor Yang led them between woven bamboo trays spread with seeds and roots drying in the sunny courtyard, and into the family's main room.

Brother Martin, unable to remain still, asked timidly whether he might look at the plants and mixtures spread around the room. The doctor nodded and watched benevolently as Brother Martin examined a sealed glass jar full of distilled barley liquor, infused with goji berries that had settled into a deep layer at the bottom of the jar.

Li Du sat with the doctor by the raised platform fireplace in the center of the room. “You are taking him to the temple today?” he asked.

With an indulgent smile, the doctor turned the ears of corn that he had nestled at the fire's edge to roast. “Despite appearances,” he said, “the man is clever. He does not know the correct words, but he knows the plants. I am going in the direction of the temple anyway—one of the monks is going to give me dried wormwood. So I will show this man the old gingko.”

Li Du accepted the corncob that was handed to him. It was burning hot and he held it with the very tips of his fingers as it cooled. The kernels were cooked to a sweet dark crust, and smelled of sugar and smoke. He inhaled gratefully, almost unwilling to change the subject. But he had come to the doctor for a reason.

“I have a question about the man who died in the mansion.”

The doctor's expressive face flattened immediately, and when he spoke it was in a stiff, offended tone. “I made a mistake. The man was very old, and I have never seen a deceased foreigner. It is impossible to make the same conclusions. Their skin, their temperature—everything about them is different.”

“But in the moment you did believe that he had died of natural causes?”

“Of course I did. What was it that killed him then? What poison?”

“Jewelvine root. Was his death consistent with that toxin?”

The doctor clicked his tongue, then said defensively, “I've never seen a person dead of jewelvine. But it could have been, in a person that age. If it can't be purged, it would stop the breathing and cause death very quickly, especially in an elderly individual.”

“I was told that after you examined the body, the magistrate spoke certain words to you. According to the witness, those words appeared to cause you some distress. May I ask what the magistrate said?”

Doctor Yang slowly poured more water into Li Du's teacup and then into his own, concentrating harder than necessary on the task. Brother Martin's cup was still full, and the doctor returned the kettle to the blackened hook dangling over the flame. Finally he said, “I don't recall. Of course we were all very upset.”

“He was not instructing you to say that the death was natural, no matter what you found?”

Doctor Yang was silent, his mouth a straight line over his wispy beard.

“I do not want to bring you trouble,” said Li Du. “But I have very little time in which to discover the truth. Even the smallest actions are important to me. Did the magistrate tell you to say that the death was natural?”

After a pause, Doctor Yang gave a short nod. He looked up and saw that Li Du still held the cooling ear of corn in his fingers. “Eat,” he said, sternly. “You look too thin.”

Obediently Li Du took a bite of corn. It was fresh and sweet. Doctor Yang nodded in approval. “Good. And now I will answer your question, because you have already guessed. The magistrate did as you said. He told me that an old man had died, and that I must not cause a panic. He said that the man had been frail. He said that I was not to mention anything unusual about the death to anyone.”

“And did you?”

“I have studied illnesses and remedies my whole life. I told the magistrate the man could have been poisoned. He replied that he would take what action he thought necessary, and ordered me not to bring up the matter again, to him or to anyone.”

Li Du nodded. “Thank you for telling me the truth,” he said.

Again gesturing for Li Du to continue eating, the doctor said, “I hope it helps you. I am told that you must discover what happened before the Emperor arrives. That is a very great obligation. Will you do it?”

Li Du did not answer the question directly. Instead, he glanced at Brother Martin. “I have more to discuss with that young man,” he said finally. “You will bring him back this evening?”

The doctor was taken aback. “I suppose he may have known the use of the jewelvine, but he seems a very unlikely assassin,” he said.

Li Du nodded. “I agree. But we all have secrets, and I am afraid he is no exception. Also, he is a brother of the same church as that of the man who died. Even if he is not involved, he may be in danger.”

They looked at Brother Martin, who had busied himself with inspecting a pile of walnuts left for hulling, his fingers turning inky black from the juices. As if sensing that he was being discussed, he looked up at them and smiled nervously. Li Du rose, thanked the doctor and his wife for the tea, and took his leave.

It had occurred to him that there was one thing of which he could be certain for the next few hours. Brother Martin's room was empty, and had not been touched by its occupant since he had learned of the new investigation. It was possible that he had left something there that he would not want found.

 

Chapter 13

Hoh was delighted to accompany Li Du and Hamza through a well-tended glade of green bamboo to the door of Brother Martin's room, and left unwillingly when he was called away almost immediately to welcome new guests. Li Du, relieved, watched the innkeeper bustle away before he pulled open the carved doors.

His first impression of the room was that of a long-abandoned home into which nature has begun to reassert itself. The desk was piled with drifts of leaves, early spring greens curling into dry brown shells. On the floor were scattered haloes of brown twigs, wilting petals, dustings of powdery yellow pollen, and crushed seed husks.

It took him a moment before he recognized the methodical human presence within the mess. On the floor by the desk stood three tall stacks of stained and brittle paper. Plants were pressed between the sheets, making some layers thicker and more uneven than others. In an attempt to weigh them down, the piles had been crowned with improvised weights gathered from around the room: jade figurines, a wrought-iron serpent, several books, and, bridging two of the piles, the marble headrest from the bed.

“Is the man a magician?” asked Hamza, picking up a slim pine branch from a chair and examining it. “I see no runes carved here.”

Li Du examined a small leather folder fastened shut with a loop of string. He opened it and drew out a sheaf of papers. They were letters of introduction and permissions to travel, meticulously translated so that each document existed in both Latin and Chinese. He set the letters on the table and examined them one at a time.

He said, half to himself, “These all have Brother Martin's name on them. Martin Walpole—his full name.”

“Why wouldn't they?”

“This letter here,” said Li Du, holding it so that the light fell on the writing, “is from another Jesuit. This is their sign.” He indicated the sunburst surrounding the initials
I-H-S
.

“The letter charges the bearer to collect plants for the compendium of the world's botanical wonders…” Li Du skimmed the rest. “And here it is stamped by the inspection official at the Chinese border, confirming that the bearer of the letter has permission to travel and to collect specimens in this province.”

Hamza looked over Li Du's shoulder. “It looks like all the other letters. Every traveler carries documents like these.”

Li Du picked up a different sheet of paper and held it beside the first. “This is the letter of permission for Brother Martin merely to enter China. Both of these letters bear the same inspection official's seal. But see the difference in the paper. One of these letters is old, the other new.”

“But you do not need to analyze the quality of the paper. Just look at the dates written on them.”

“I did,” said Li Du. “The permission to collect plants is dated a month ago. But on the letter that grants entry, the one that appears older, the date is smudged. Someone has spilled a drop of oil onto it. See how the paper is transparent?”

“Ah. Then what is the explanation?”

Li Du thought for a moment. He took the letters to the open door and studied them, one at a time, in the sunlight. Then he nodded, confident in his analysis. “The newer letter is a forgery. The older letter is authentic.”