Jade Dragon Mountain (33 page)

“You are still very sick,” said Li Du. “You do not need to speak.”

“But I do,” said Hamza, quietly, and cleared his throat to continue. “The servant came back from the market. And he was very upset. He said to the merchant, ‘
Master, I saw Death in the market today and he cried out and pointed when he saw me. I fear for my life. Please may I go this evening to Samarqand so that I may escape him?
' The merchant gave his permission, and the servant rode off in haste.”

There was a pause while Hamza took another sip of medicine, which elicited another grimace. “The merchant—he went to the market and found Death there. He asked Death, ‘
Why did you frighten my servant by calling to him in that way?
' And Death replied—he replied, ‘
Sir, I was merely surprised to see your servant here in Bukhara, for I have an appointment with him tonight in Samarqand
.'”

Hamza gave a weak laugh.

“The tale means,” said Li Du slowly, “that a man walks to his own fate.”

Hamza nodded. “Do you know why I have told you this story?”

Li Du shook his head. Hamza returned his gaze to the ceiling. “You have been many years in the mountains,” he said, “because you do not want to think of home. Now you have come here, where the Emperor is also to come, and where Death has come also. You must consider why you have come. Now show me what you have there in your hand.”

Li Du handed him the letter, and Hamza read it without comment. Then he frowned and cast it down on the bed as if it were hot to the touch. “That is an evil message,” he said, “if ever I saw one. It is unnatural to create such a false copy of a person.”

Li Du's eyebrows went up slightly. “That is exactly the way I saw it,” he said. “But it was done with skill by a person with a talent for storytelling.”

“For—but then you think now that it was me after all?” Hamza's tone was light, but he kept his gaze down and plucked at the blanket at he waited for Li Du's response.

“No.” Li Du shook his head and leaned back in the chair. “No,” he said again, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. “You did not write this. Your artistry is of a different nature. You create your worlds to transport your audience into realms of wonder. They are not meant to be mistaken for the truth. The murderer's worlds are much closer to ours, illusions constructed around us as we walk through life, replacing our truths with lies. There is a perfection to the way they are built.”

“Perfection? You offend me.” Hamza's voice was slightly slurred, and he sniffed the cup of the doctor's medicine. “This is making me tired,” he said. “How am I to help you when I am sick and slow minded? I have learned not to drink so much wine before sunset.” He set the medicine down and looked at the letter again. “Where did you find it?”

“Under the bed, where it might easily have fallen.”

“Under the bed,” said Hamza. “Like Hassan's letter.”

For a moment Li Du thought Hamza was delirious. Then he remembered. “You mean the letter written by Nuraldin in your story,” he said.

“Yes,” Hamza mumbled. “Six days ago. My first performance in the mansion. Letters under beds. My deepest apologies if I inspired a villain.”

Something was bothering Li Du, and his brow furrowed as he struggled to identify what it was. Hamza was continuing, speaking now more to himself than to Li Du. “The letter in the story was the key to a good life. This letter is a mark of death.”

Li Du realized what had occurred to him. “But it was seven days ago,” he said, “not six.”

Hamza blinked. “Seven, then. How would I remember such a detail when I was just poisoned? And anyway I have never found days so important.”

And in that moment Li Du understood.

“But they are important,” he said. “They have never been so important as they are now. I have not seen it until now. I have not seen any of it. The motive. The motive for the crime. The days.”

Hamza gave a low moan. “You are either being clever or making no sense, but they are both the same to me because my head aches too painfully to understand any of it.”

“What was it about Brother Pieter that made him a threat?”

Hamza struggled to answer. “To the people here? A foreigner. A holy man. An old scholar—”

“A scholar, yes. But most important to him was the study of the stars. An astronomer. He was an astronomer.”

Hamza shook his head slightly as if to clear it. This caused him discomfort, and he stopped and closed his eyes. “But,” he said tensely, “but what is the danger of an astronomer?”

“Knowledge.”

“Of the heavens. But what have the heavens to do with people?”

“Here in Dayan, at this moment, everything.” Li Du removed Pieter's journal from his pocket and opened it to the final pages. He pointed.

Hamza leaned over to see. “The jeweled model of the heavens,” he said.

“And the days.”

“I cannot understand you. What days?”

“You will be angry, but I must go to the mansion immediately.” As Li Du expected, Hamza opened his mouth to protest.

“No,” Li Du said. “You are not yet recovered. I will not be long, and when I return I will explain everything.”

“But—”

“I know who killed Brother Pieter, and I know why. There is not a second to waste.”

 

Chapter 19

The sun was setting. Li Du followed the paths through the gardens, none of which bore any trace of human presence. There were no scuffs on the flat cobblestones, and no footprints in the dirt. There were no smudges on the marble railings of the bridges. The ponds were clear, and even the carp looked as if they had been burnished to a new shine. The curtains that screened the covered gardens were all draped and cinched in spills of silk and velvet, falling coquettishly into soft pools on the polished stone. Citrus and incense mingled in the air.

When he came to the entrance of the library he paused. The four stone guardians—the bird, the dragon, the tortoise, and the tiger—gazed ahead with unmoving solemnity. He felt somehow reassured, and, after directing a brief, respectful nod at the still figures, he squared his shoulders, straightened his hat, and climbed the stairs.

Inside he could hear the sound of voices from across the wheel of shelves. He made his way through a dim chasm, around the filigreed table, to the open door of the hall of treasures. The sun no longer reached its high, thin window, and the room was already lit with candles.

The magistrate and Nicholas Gray stood on either side of the table. Between them was the tellurion, uncovered, on its golden base. Behind Tulishen, Jia Huan was making a notation in a small book. In the dim corner that shared a wall with the main room of the library, Mu Gao sat in a chair, idly poking his cane at unseen bugs on the floor. Lady Chen stood quietly observing, her robes a column of gray velvet embroidered with red birds. Her shoulders were blurred by a cape of squirrel fur. She turned, her face white and attentive, when Li Du stepped into the room. But she did not interrupt the conversation that was taking place.

“The tellurion,” Gray was saying, “is the most important piece of the tribute. Its presentation must be worthy of its quality. You are certain that the meeting will not exceed the time allotted? The Emperor must have the tellurion before he proceeds to the festival field for the eclipse. And we need sufficient time to place it on the podium so that he will see it when it chimes.”

“Yes, yes,” said Tulishen. He was tired and impatient. “It is all arranged as we have discussed before. The Emperor is always precise. I assure you—there will be no unexpected changes to the schedule.”

Li Du spoke from the doorway. “And of course,” he said, “the moon will not wait on anyone's convenience.”

Tulishen and Gray looked up sharply. Tulishen frowned. “As you can see, Cousin,” he said, “we are occupied with decisions of great importance to the empire's diplomatic relations. If you have come to speak to me about your situation, you must wait until the ambassador is satisfied that our preparations are complete. I do not require a report from you. The sun is setting on the day before the Emperor's arrival, and your investigation is over.”

“As you say, my investigation is over, but—”

“I am glad you understand,” Tulishen interrupted. He was turning away when Li Du's next words stopped him short.

“But I am here because I know why Brother Pieter was killed. And I know who killed him.”

For a moment there was complete silence. Lady Chen's eyes flicked up to meet Li Du's, and even from across the room he felt the tense energy in her stillness. Then Tulishen said, with an uncomfortable smile, “Li Du, I was afraid of this. As I suspected, your exile had put too great a strain on your mind. Please do not make the situation worse by flinging accusations that you cannot possibly prove. Jia Huan will escort you back to the inn. You are overtired. Jia Huan—”

With a deferential bow, Jia Huan set his work down on the table and moved forward toward Li Du. But he had not taken two steps when Li Du shook his head and said firmly, “I will speak.” He turned to Sir Gray. “What I have to say concerns you—can you follow my meaning if I speak in Chinese?”

“I understand you,” said Gray. Several beads of perspiration had appeared on his brow, despite the chill in the room. “But I am not sure you understand the gravity of this interruption. Whatever happened to the Jesuit, it is in the past. What happens tomorrow matters not only to your empire, but to the kingdoms of the whole Western world. The eclipse—”

“There is not going to be an eclipse tomorrow, and Brother Pieter was killed because he knew it.”

Mu Gao's cane fell with a loud clatter. Lady Chen opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again as she withdrew into silent calculation. Tulishen stared, stunned, at Li Du.

“But that is impossible,” Gray burst out, his face a mask of confusion and horror.

Tulishen found his voice. “How dare you make such a claim,” he said, turning furiously on his cousin. “You would challenge the divine knowledge of the Emperor? The eclipse
will
happen tomorrow, and to claim otherwise is to say the Emperor made a mistake. That is beyond madness. It is treason.”

“There was no mistake. This was a deliberate act of sabotage.”

“The Emperor's conversations with the gods cannot be sabotaged,” cried Tulishen. He was about to continue, but Li Du interrupted him in a harsh tone that surprised Tulishen into silence.

“Stop, Cousin. Let us speak for once of reality,” Li Du said. “The Emperor makes his prediction based not on a dream, but on a document. A document can be altered. It can be forged. The calendar of astronomical events that the Emperor carries with him now, that he has carried with him through all the months of the southern tour, is a fake.”

“But the tribute.” Gray's voice was hoarse and there was panic in his eyes. “What—what does this mean? The clockwork is set to the eclipse.” He swallowed and pointed at the tellurion where it sat on the table, the light of its red sun gleaming on the gold planets and scattering flashes of crystal and diamond across the surface of the tiny city. “When will it chime?”

“When the eclipse begins,” said Li Du. “Not tomorrow, but on the following day. Pieter knew—”

Tulishen broke in. “Why should we believe any of this? You make extraordinary claims but you offer no evidence. You spin a tale that threatens all of us. Are you trying to make us join you in this madness?”

“I will explain everything to you. But in order to make you all understand, we must acknowledge certain truths about the festival.”

“What truths? Speak.” Tulishen crossed his arms across his chest.

Gray's attention was still fixed on the tellurion, but with an effort he turned and looked expectantly at Li Du. After a moment's pause, Li Du began.

“For many years the Emperor has harbored anxieties regarding this province. It is a border territory, distant not only from the capital, but from his ancestral lands in the north. More than one rebellion has had its beginning here. The jungles carry deadly fevers. And even the most ambitious officials fear the bandits and the power of the local families who remember past wrongs. The Kangxi has always known that this province is part of the empire only in name.”

Mu Gao gave an approving little grunt, quelled immediately by a look from Lady Chen.

“This year,” Li Du went on, “the astronomers in the capital saw that an eclipse would be visible in its totality here in Dayan. The Emperor saw a chance to demonstrate his divine legitimacy over these people with whom he shares neither blood nor history. He announced his southern tour. And beginning then, almost a year ago, preparations have been underway. You, Magistrate, have planned a festival of unmatched splendor and decadence. And you, Sir Gray, have traveled a great distance carrying tribute of immense value in the hope of impressing the Emperor. All of this effort has had at its center a fixed point: the eclipse of the sun. But who really named the day of eclipse?”

“The Jesuits,” said Gray immediately. “The Jesuits have been responsible for Chinese astronomy since the days of the last Ming emperor.”

“Yes. The creation of the annual calendar of astronomical events is entrusted to the Jesuits at the Bureau of Astronomy. Since the competition in the capital many years ago, their superiority in this area has not been challenged. Every year they produce a new calendar. It is delivered, discretely, to the Emperor, who uses it to make his divine predictions. This year, someone exchanged the real calendar for a false one. The copy is identical in all but one detail: the date of the eclipse.”

“How could you know this?” asked Tulishen.

“Because Pieter knew it.” Li Du removed the journal from his pocket and held it up. “Brother Pieter was a skilled astronomer. Imagine his delight when he arrived in Dayan and learned of the device brought here by Sir Gray. A clockwork model of the heavens. To everyone else, the tellurion is a mysterious, beautiful toy. But to Pieter it was an exquisite tool with a very specific purpose.