Jade Dragon Mountain (29 page)

“You are beginning to feel the sand empty from the top of the glass, my friend,” said Hamza, with frank sympathy. “And you are sure that you may exclude that strange warlock from our list of suspects?”

“No,” Li Du replied, “I am not sure. But he could not have prepared the hot water and placed it in Pieter's room. That was done minutes before Pieter arrived, and the young
Jesuit
”
—
he emphasized the word with a meaningful look at Hamza—“never left the courtyard.”

“Then,” said Hamza, “we will trust in the old saying that the morning is wiser than the evening. I am too tired to speak of these intricacies tonight.”

They parted, and Li Du made his way through the darkened inn, listening to the nighttime chatter through windows and doors like water over pebbles. His room was cold and dark, and he lit a candle. The square cot with its marble headrest did not appeal. He sat down at the desk, and his eye caught the wine bottle that he and Hamza had purchased in the market. As he pulled the wax-and-paper seal from the top, he read again the words painted in blue glaze on the side, and cast his mind back to the full poem from which they had come:

A candle shadow on a screen of polished marble

The path of stars slants low toward you

Do you regret stealing the potion that has set you adrift

Over sea and sky and snow to ponder alone through the long nights.

The wine was strong and burned his throat, but it provided some comfort, if only in the warmth it sent to his fingers and feet. He replaced the seal, prepared for bed, and blew out the flickering candle. Lying in the dark, he thought again of the face that watched him from the shadows of his thoughts. But as hard as he tried to peer through the deep twilight curtains in his mind, he could not identify it. He fell, finally, into an uneasy sleep.

A sound woke him in the middle of the night. Still half asleep, he blinked uncomprehendingly at the dim room. The foot of his bed was silvery white.
Frost
, he thought.
Autumn is turning to winter, and soon I will hear the morning drums.
Then he remembered that he was far from home, and looked again at the glowing square at his feet. It was moonlight, not frost, and the air was soft with the approach of spring.

It was hushed voices that had woken him. Two people were speaking outside, but from the bed he could not make out any of the words. When he was sure that he was awake and not dreaming, he crept very quietly out of bed and peered out of the latticed window. Across the courtyard from his room were two figures, merely shadows in the night, but he recognized the round form and excitable voice of the innkeeper Hoh. The man he was talking to was thin, and spoke too quietly for Li Du to hear what he said. There was something familiar about him, but without voice or features Li Du could not identify who it was.

“He is old and he may give it away,” he heard Hoh say. The other man made some reply.

“You put us all in danger. What if you were to be found out? It would be terrible, terrible for the whole city. We have protected…” Hoh lowered his voice and the end of the sentence was inaudible.

The other man spoke for some time, until Hoh cut him off. “We should not talk here. Someone may be listening, and that is
his
room there.”

Li Du saw the gesture at his own door and remained very still, trusting the inky shadows to conceal him. He watched the two men leave the courtyard. Then he returned to bed, and reviewed what he had heard. He was wide awake, and had no hope of returning to sleep. But he must have drifted off, because when he opened his eyes it was dawn.

 

1 Day

 

Chapter 16

That morning, Li Du received a summons from Lady Chen. He drank his tea quickly, accepted a hot piece of fried bread from Hoh's kitchen, and ate it outside, away from the crowd. The weather was getting warmer. This morning there was no frost, and the sun rising over the eastern hill heated the dust and stone and clay as soon as it touched them. Contented cats slept in the troughs between rows of roof tiles, and the animal statues on the ridge poles crouched in defense of each home, stone fangs bared.

Inside the mansion, the gold leaf of the pagoda roofs was being reapplied, and in the sunlight the effect was like curls and clouds of fire dripping from the lintels. Li Du's opinion was that fiery decoration had no place on buildings made of wood, and as he passed the library he was glad to see that the columns at its entrance were still a clean, cool blue.

Informed that Lady Chen was in the banquet hall, Li Du went to that central building. Its heavy doors were open just wide enough for him to pass through. Once inside, he shivered in the chill of the dim, cavernous space and waited for his eyes to adjust. The windows, set with round geometric lattices, allowed in very little light.

Hanging from the ceiling were thousands of silk slips with poems written on them. Ironed and gleaming, they fluttered faintly as air currents rippled through them in whispers. At the far end of the hall, two women were speaking to each other. Realizing that he was concealed by the columns and shadows around the door, he stood still, unsure what to do.

Lady Chen was instantly recognizable by her height, and he identified the other woman by her voice. It was Bao, the innkeeper's niece. They stood just beyond the banquet tables and seats, arranged artfully to echo the labyrinth design of the windows. The two of them were appointing the musicians' corner, a space defined by a thick chrysanthemum carpet in front of lacquered screens and framed by a swag of peacock blue silk that puddled at either end. Pillows and musical instruments required careful placement to await the courtesans who would entertain the guests as they ate.

“… as if I were one of the junior maids,” Bao was saying, her syllables lengthened into whines. “I am your eyes and ears outside the mansion, and you never show me any favor.” She kicked a pillow like a petulant child.

“Stop complaining, Bao.” Lady Chen cradled a pear-shaped lute and lowered it into place beside a zither on a red lacquer stand.

Bao ignored the warning in her mistress's tone. “And why should you have so much authority over me? We are the same. You are just lucky, and if you do not have sons then you will not keep your luck very much longer.”

The words were cut short by a slap that echoed through the hall. The hanging poetry fluttered, as if in distress. Bao put her hand to her cheek.

“We are not the same,” said Lady Chen. “Not when you behave so stupidly. Have I taught you nothing? These details they tell us are so important—our birth, our fertility, our beauty. Everything is negotiable, and everyone can be manipulated. Men more easily than women.”

“But aren't you scared?” asked Bao. “If the magistrate is promoted, maybe he will leave you here—”

“Hush. Those worries are a waste of time. You must be clever, and you must never make mistakes just because you are tired. You complain that I do not give you special treatment, but I am trying to help you.”

Bao hung her head. “I am sorry,” she said.

“Good,” replied Lady Chen. “Then go find yourself a cup of tea, and when you come back I expect you to behave better. Keep your shoulders back as I showed you—you never know what dignitaries may have just arrived, and first impressions are the most important. And of course—tell me if you hear anything of interest.”

Bao smoothed her skirts, then turned and walked toward Li Du. Her cheeks were bright with shame, and when she saw him she started, then looked quickly behind her at Lady Chen, who was watching.

“It is all right,” said Lady Chen. “I asked him to come and speak with me. You may go.”

With a look of almost aching curiosity, Bao curtsied to Li Du and left the room. He walked across the hall to where Lady Chen stood amid the heaps of silk and glass and pillows. She smiled at him, her lips stained the winter red of holly berries.

“You should have announced your presence,” she chided him. “I would never have wasted your time with our quarreling when you must have a great deal on your mind. How does your investigation progress?”

Li Du considered what to tell her. He hoped that she had asked for him in order to impart information, rather than request it. “I am afraid,” he said, “that I do not know who killed Brother Pieter.”

Lady Chen picked up the pillow that Bao had kicked and set it down with deft precision at an angle to the screen. “But Mu Gao tells me that it was jewelvine that killed him.”

“Yes.”

“Strange that the weapon of death would come from a library.”

“Libraries can hold great danger.”

“Ah,” said Lady Chen, smiling. “You mean words. Yes, I suppose they can. It is a beautiful library, is it not?”

Li Du was perplexed. “Very beautiful.”

“There is none like it in this province. The magistrate is very proud of his collection.” Lady Chen kept her attention on her work, but Li Du had the impression that she was trying to guide him to answer as she wished. Uncertain of what she wanted, he said, “I had not known my cousin to take such an interest in books.”

“The magistrate is a very sophisticated man,” replied Lady Chen with another smile. “But his most impressive accomplishments have all been in the political arena. He has never considered himself a scholar. It is the rarity of books that attracts him, and the prestige of owning them.”

“Perhaps he intended the library for the education of his children.”

Li Du regretted his words as soon as he spoke them. “I did not mean to—”

“To remind me that my position is tenuous?” Lady Chen reached for one of the vases to set it on the display table, then checked herself, as if the temptation to crush it might prove too much. She looked at the dainty object. “As I told Bao,” she said, “only simple people accept their lots. I prefer to compensate for what I can't control with what I can.”

“Why did you ask to see me?”

It was quiet, the only sound coming from the whisper of silk overhead and the stifled clamor of activity outside the thick walls of the banquet hall. Lady Chen looked away from Li Du and glanced at the dark corners of the room. Then she picked up the vase again, and after she had set it down on the table she touched her finger to her lips to indicate silence. It was so subtly done that, if he had not been watching her so curiously, he would have missed the gesture.

When she spoke again her tone was light and self-deprecating. “I have a frivolous request,” she said. “I am embarrassed to distract you with it at such a time as this. You were a librarian in the capital.”

“I was.”

“I have been studying poetry in anticipation of a change to my situation. If I am to spend more time in the highest societies, I wish to be conversant in the classics. I understand that improvised compositions are expected in conversation, and I fear I am not educated enough to impress the ladies and gentlemen at court.”

Bewildered, Li Du began to say that he was sure she would be much admired, but Lady Chen brushed away his compliment before he uttered it. “In particular,” she continued, “I am drawn to the poems of Du Fu. I find them”—she bit her lower lip as if the action of recalling the words of a poem was like the taste of wine on the tongue—“haunting. His work evokes a pathos I have never encountered in words.”

“The verses of Du Fu are among the most beautiful I know. But what service do you require from me?”

“There is a book,” she said, “in our library. It contains my favorite of his poems. But the introduction is written by a Master Min, and I confess I cannot make sense of his analysis. I do not understand his interpretation of Du Fu's work. I wondered if, when the business of your investigation is over, we might discuss it?”

“You—you wish me to find the book?”

She waved her hand airily. “Yes,” she said. “Just look up the title in the catalogue.
The Laments
.” She said the name very quietly, and her gaze moved once more around the room.

“I will do my best.”

“Thank you. You are very patient. But I have been very selfish and careless with your time. My request is so trifling, when your task is so grave. Please excuse me. I remember that I must interview the chefs who have arrived from the Emperor's retinue. They are to be integrated into our own kitchens, and you can imagine the feelings that could be hurt in that encounter. Please, excuse me.”

After she had gone, the hall fell into uneasy silence, as if the glistening ornaments were holding their breath. Li Du remained alone for a few moments, thinking. Then, with renewed purpose, he left the empty banquet hall and set out for the library.

He found Mu Gao standing at the top of the stairs between the blue columns, holding his broom. The old man beckoned him inside and said, “So you were asking my friend Old Mu questions? Checking my story? Was I really drinking with him? What do you think—I'm some liar?”

Li Du shook his head and said gently to the old man, “He told me that you two drink together and remember old times. He said that you fought bravely against the enemies of this province.”

Mu Gao grunted. “That we did. And for our troubles, what were we given? Well, I can't speak of that. Old times—and now our family dwindles and dwindles. These Chinese people think I am an illiterate, a bumpkin, because I speak bad Chinese. Never asked to be held up to your standards, though. Never did.” Mu Gao's voice was angry, but Li Du saw in his eyes a frustrated, bewildered sadness. He remembered what the old clerk had told him about Mu Gao having no immediate family.

Li Du said, “Chinese scholars and bureaucrats can be fearful of what they do not themselves know. But in my opinion, an empire is like a carpet, most beautiful when woven into a pattern. Languages are the colored threads, and without them the empire would be very dull.”