The Chinese Alchemist (7 page)

Near the front door of the building, Mr. Knockoff stumbled slightly, and David, who had been steadily gaining on the thief, reached out to grab him. The man in black shouted something. The doorman rushed over and grabbed, not the thief, but David. The man in black shouted again, the doorman released David, but it was too late. Mr. Knock-off and the silver box had both disappeared.

Three

Wu Peng, the eunuch to whom I was sent, held a position of some importance in the Service for Palace Attendants. It was quickly apparent to me that this position was not due to his abilities
—
the man could neither read nor write, nor did he demonstrate any particular affinity for leadership. No, his position was due almost entirely to the fact that he was a distant cousin of the powerful Wu family in the palace, a clan that had produced numerous royal consorts, and most extraordinarily, an empress, Wu Zetian, ruler in her own right rather than just by virtue of marriage to an emperor. Wu Peng may not have been able to read and write, but he had amassed a fortune in a manner he would later explain to me. He had a rather lavish home outside the palace, a wife, in name only obviously, and two adopted sons. I too was adopted by Wu Peng and his wife, and took his surname, becoming known as Wu Yuan. I did not reside with Wu and his family, however. My place was in the Imperial Palace, serving the Son of Heaven.

Once the pain and trauma of the procedure that determined my life’s course as a eunuch had abated, I was brought to the Imperial Palace. That I, the son of a low-level mandarin, although certainly a mandarin with aspirations, should find himself in such a place never failed to amaze me. The beauty of the palace was simply astonishing. One could wander the passageways and courtyards, gardens and residences forever, it was so large, and every detail was exquisite. There were arches of jade and pearl, carpets of the finest silk, and furnishings of a noble craftsmanship of which I had seen no equal. There were parks of unparalleled beauty, gardens bursting with glorious scent both night and day, forests filled with animals, glorious pavilions, polo fields, archery ranges, many lakes stocked with fish, still other ponds where people of the court could drift in elegant boats, orchards of pears and plums and peaches. It was heady indeed for the boy that I was.

We eunuchs essentially have the run of the Imperial Palace. Not the inner chambers, to be sure, with a few exceptions, but in the course of our duties we see and hear much of what is going on. And we do like to gossip. As a newcomer I merely listened, but I learned much. At first, I was given many menial tasks, being sent to the markets to choose birdcages or musical instruments for the royal concubines, or to the silk market for special bolts of fabric for these same women. I was allowed to walk among the emperor’s women at will, given there was no opportunity for my seed to mingle with that of the emperor’s chosen ones.

It was on these errands in the city that I began to look for Number One Sister. I was particularly happy when sent to the Western Market, which, while not as sumptuous as the Eastern Market, located as it is in the wealthier part of Chang’an, had the distinct advantage from my perspective of being adjacent to the Northern Hamlet where famous courtesans, of whom I had become convinced my sister was one, having as a more mature person discarded the brigand theory, plied their trade. Men laughed when I, a young eunuch, walked the streets and lanes of that quarter. They knew from my voice and appearance that I would never know the love of a woman. I ignored them. I was a eunuch in the Imperial Palace, and not just any eunuch but a pure one, who unlike some had never, and would never, be intimate with a woman. I considered these men who frequented the North Hamlet to be my inferiors.

Soon it was discovered that I could read and write, a skill my father had insisted upon my acquiring, and I was assigned to teach some of the young women of the harem to do the same. I was told I was a comely young man, and soon became a favorite of many of the women, a favorite and perhaps a confidant. I had been afraid that my new responsibilities would not afford me the same opportunity to scour the lanes of the great city of Chang’an, looking for my sister, but I soon found I had even more latitude in my quest, as I both penned and delivered secret letters to the rapid relay stations for these lovely ladies. They had, by and large, a great deal of time on their hands, given the impressive size of the harem. Even those who ascended to the top ranks would spend a night with the Son of Heaven once every few months, and perhaps not even that often, unless they rose to the status of imperial favorites, or were found to be unusually proficient at producing sons.

Sometimes I would see the carriages of the courtesans, watch them climbing down to choose bolts of silk or whatever pleased them. I did not see Number One Sister. But I did not give up hope.

*    *    *

“Blue Toyota, no plates,” David said, as he came back into the building, casting a baleful eye on the doorman in the process. “I almost had him.”

Dr. Xie was engaged in what sounded like a heated discussion with the young man from the auction house, who looked to be in the throws of a full-blown panic attack. “Scandalous security,” he said to us, leaving the man wringing his hands. “How can they expect people to place items for sale under these kinds of circumstances? We will have to wait for the Beijing Public Security Bureau, I’m afraid.”

The man in black said something, which Dr. Xie translated. “He’s saying that the doorman is an idiot, grabbing the wrong person.” I was inclined to agree.

It took the police only a few minutes to get there, but already Burton was pacing up and down in a most annoying way. The instant the police arrived, the man in black pulled them aside. The conversation was in Chinese, so I couldn’t understand a word, but I noticed Burton had his head cocked in their direction, a rather bemused expression on his face. Whatever the discussion, it was brief and resulted in the man in black leaving immediately after it concluded. The rest of us were kept there considerably longer. We were all asked what we had seen, details of our passports and visas were taken, and then we were told we could leave as well. “How did that other guy get out of here so fast?” I said. “Army,” Dr. Xie said. “He’s high up in the Chinese army.”

“So what?”

“This is China,” Dr. Xie said in a warning tone. “It is not your home. Things are different here.”

“Well, that’s it, Lara,” Burton said, coming over to say good-bye. As usual, he didn’t offer to shake hands. “It’s been a blast. Might as well pack our bags and go home. See you there I hope.”

It didn’t work out like that.

My first order of business was to call George Matthews and deliver the bad news. I’d told Mira that she could deal with Eva Reti at the law firm, but that I should be the one to talk to George. He took it better than I thought he would, so much so that his reaction surprised me a little. “So that’s it, then,” he said. He sounded almost relieved. I didn’t figure it was the money, which would probably stay tied up for a period of time just in case the silver box showed up again. Maybe, as Rob had already pointed out to me, George knew this wish of his wife’s was a bit strange, even if he felt duty-bound to support it, and was glad to have it out of the way. “You were there when it was stolen?”

“Yes. It was an unbelievably bold heist. There were several of us there, but the thief was fast, and he had a car waiting right outside for him. No license plates on the car, either. Somebody really wanted that box very badly.”

“I expect someone really did,” George replied. “And now you should come home.”

I told George I was off to Taiwan as soon as I could get a flight, and this adventure, such as it was, was over. However, I tried to change my booking for Taiwan and couldn’t. I could have managed it for the following day, but that was devoted to a command performance at the auction house, this time to view the videotapes in the presence of three policemen. When I got there, Burton was on his mobile, also trying to book an earlier flight home. At least that was what I thought he was doing. He was speaking Chinese, and he said that was what he was attempting. I saw no reason to doubt him. That would come later.

Unfortunately, our arrival also coincided with a quiet but public dressing-down of the young auction house employee who had proven himself hopelessly inept as a custodian of the merchandise. The young man stood, head bowed, his back to us, and hands behind his back, one hand clasping a delicate wrist. Another man was speaking quietly, but there was no mistaking the tone. At the end of it, the boy let out a howl, took off his Cherished Treasures House jacket, threw it on the ground, and ran out of the place. It seemed pretty clear he’d been sacked.

“I believe everyone is here. We are ready to begin,” the person who looked to be in charge, someone by the name of Chen Maohong, said. His English was very good.

“No, I think we’re still missing one person,” I said.

“Everyone is here,” Chen said in a firm tone. I looked at Xie who very subtly shook his head. “We will now review the videotape.”

The videotape showed someone walk in, hesitate for only a moment, proceed directly to the silver box, grab it, and leave in haste. The cameras also showed the rest of us: David moving very fast, followed by the man in black, and Burton and I standing stock still in amazement for a few seconds before hurtling after them. Dr. Xie had followed at a much slower pace. What the videotape didn’t reveal was the thief’s face, which he kept averted from the cameras, thus proving that he knew exactly where they were.

There was no question that it was the T’ang silver box, and only the silver box, that the thief wanted. Now, it’s possible it was the easiest to grab, in terms of size and the fact that it was just sitting all by itself on a pedestal, but I didn’t think so. I had more than one reason for thinking that, not only the actions of the thief, but also because even though I couldn’t see his face, I had become almost certain it was the young man who had seemed to be ready to bid on the silver box when it was up for auction at Molesworth & Cox in New York, the man I’d come to think of as Mr. Knockoff. I mentioned this aloud.

“You remember him, Burton,” I said.

“I don’t believe I do,” he replied.

“He was at the preview the same time you and I were,” I said. “Fake Hugo Boss suit. This time it was fake Armani. And he was definitely planning to bid that night. He was standing off to one side looking bored until Cox announced that the silver box had been withdrawn from the sale. He slapped his paddle against the wall, as good an indication as any that he was as displeased by that development as we were.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I was so focused on the upcoming bidding that I didn’t notice,” Burton said. “I knew you were there, of course, and that there was a bidder on the telephone, but I don’t recall anyone else who looked particularly interested in the box.”

“To have a paddle, which is to say to be able to bid on something as expensive as that, the man must have established some kind of credit with Molesworth and Cox. If you get in touch with them,” I said to Chen, “they would almost certainly have a record, and you know, they might tell you who he was, given this is a criminal investigation.”

“They’re never going to find it,” Burton said as we were about to leave. “For one thing, by the time the people at Molesworth and Cox respond to the enquiry from the police here, it will be long gone. They’ll go on and on about protecting their clients’ identities, and will only give up the name if they are legally required to do so. I am going to have to find a new signature piece for the T’ang gallery. The box will disappear into the black market. What a crashing waste of time! The only happy note I can think of is that it serves the seller right for withdrawing it in New York at the last minute like that. I hope for their sake it was insured.”

I, too, was feeling similarly irked. “It’s all a little odd, isn’t it?” I said. “First it’s withdrawn, then it’s put up for sale halfway around the world, and then it’s stolen. I know it’s special, but still, this is a bit much.”

“A bit much is right. I’ve spent thousands following it around for nothing. Yes, my travel budget at the Cottingham is generous, but who can afford something as useless as this? I’m going home tomorrow, I hope. I’m wait-listed for tomorrow, and have a confirmed booking for Wednesday. I planned to be going home with the silver box, but I guess that’s not going to happen. It will not be my most triumphant return, I must say.”

“Nor mine. I don’t know what is worse, wasting someone else’s money or your own. Now that you mention it though, how were you planning to get the box out of the country?” I said. “China is clamping down on exports, as Mira Tetford has pointed out to me.”

“The auction house assured me that the requisite papers would be provided, because the piece was legally out of the country before it was put up for auction here. Anyway, it’s always possible, isn’t it.” It was a statement, not a question. “Palms can be greased, customs agents either too ignorant to know what they’re looking at, or persuaded to look the other way. But you should know that if you were planning to be the successful bidder. Does that mean you weren’t planning to take it out of the country? Interesting idea,” he said.

Oops,
I thought. “That’s a cynical attitude, Burton,” I said.

“Cynical? I call it realistic. I was shopping on the antique street, Liulichang Dajie, a couple of days ago and went into a government-owned shop. At least, it was supposed to be a government-owned shop. It had the plaque outside the door proclaiming it as such. I was offered T’ang ceramics. I should probably say I was offered fake T’ang ceramics. Quite lovely, though. Pretending I didn’t know they were fake, I pointed out that they were way too old for export. They promised me that would not be a problem. Now given that they were fake, obviously it shouldn’t be a problem, but it does call the whole system into some question, does it not?”

“Maybe there was a language problem,” I said. “Maybe they were trying to tell you they were reproductions.”