City of Ink

by Elsa Hart

  “My command of your language remains uneven,” explained Father Aveneau. “It is a modest glossary. The other pages are devoted to my equally modest exercises in illustration.”

  Turning the pages, Li Du saw that the remainder of them were covered in sketches. He examined the faint outlines of bridges and pagodas with interest. “This is compelling work,” he said, closing the folder and handing it back to Father Aveneau.

  “Merely a record,” said Aveneau, taking it. “As I was told by the young painter Zou Yigui, the skill of reproducing what we see belongs to a craftsman, not an artist. All the same, I am glad to have them back.” He paused, seemed about to speak again, then changed his mind and was silent.

  “Father Aveneau,” said Li Du. “If you know something about this case that you haven’t shared, I urge you to speak to me now.”

  Aveneau’s eyes were bright and wary, their leaf green color intensified by the purple crescents below them. “What could I know? I had never seen this factory before that day. My visit was prompted by a lightning strike, an occurrence both easily verified and entirely outside the control of man. What I mean is that I have no connection to this place, and no information to give you regarding the terrible event that occurred here.”

  Li Du wasn’t convinced. “Your presence that morning may have been a coincidence, but I am not sure that you can say the same of your presence here today, the first day since the discovery of the bodies that there have been no soldiers posted at the entrance to the factory.”

  Father Aveneau began to speak. Li Du cut him off, soft-spoken but firm. “I know that it would be a risk to trust me,” he said. “I understand the position of the Jesuits at court is precarious. But it is better to volunteer honesty to a sympathetic listener than to be compelled to it by an unsympathetic one. I value the presence of the Jesuits in the capital, and would not put you in the way of harm. If you know something, if you are involved in what occurred here, I ask again that you confide in me.”

  Aveneau attempted a smile, but it was little more than a compression of his lips. “I appreciate your sympathy to our order. Father Calmette has assured me of it. We consider it a privilege to be allowed to remain, a privilege we strive to deserve. Neither myself, nor any of my brethren, would consider withholding information from the authorities.”

  They were at an impasse. Father Aveneau, after deferentially asking permission, took his leave, claiming that he was obliged to host a demonstration of the self-chiming clock at the South Church. Li Du gave an inward sigh as he watched the Jesuit go. He was almost certain that the folder had not been in the room when he had been there last. Something else had prompted Aveneau’s return. He hoped, for the sake of all the Jesuit fathers, that whatever it was Aveneau was hiding, it wasn’t murder.

  Alone in the room, Li Du took in the changes it had undergone since he had last seen it. The floor had been scrubbed, but only in the places where it had been stained with blood, so that those areas stood out from the surrounding surface. The cloth and cushions had been removed from the bed, leaving a bare slab of cheap wood beneath the carved and lacquered canopy.

  He sat down at the desk and began to go through the jumble of papers piled on top of it and stuffed into its drawers. They were, almost without exception, contracts for the supply of roof tiles. The majority of the projects were for the Ministry of Rites, which was responsible for the building and maintenance of public temples, or the Ministry of Works, which was in charge of most other government-funded construction projects. The remaining contracts were either with private families, or the Imperial Household Agency, a separate entity that handled the personal expenditures of the Emperor and his relatives. They were the kind of papers that filled the city, stamped with the usual array of seals from different offices, representing level upon level of approval and adjustment. A diligent assessment yielded nothing that seemed unusual.

  Li Du had been sitting at the desk for some time. He removed his spectacles and rubbed the sore bridge of his nose. When Pan Yongfa had sat in this same chair and looked at the same papers, had he felt the same weariness? Or had he seen something important within them that Li Du had not? Li Du stood up and went outside.

  A group of laborers was clustered around the open mouth of a kiln, removing finished tiles from within. Among them, Li Du recognized Wei Yonghen, the man who had discovered the bodies. Li Du approached, and politely asked Wei to speak with him for a moment. Together, they moved away from the group, Wei nodding and bowing and trying surreptitiously to wipe the ash from his hands onto his grimy robe.

  “The man who was just here,” said Li Du. “Did he speak to anyone when he came in?”

  Wei looked over Li Du’s shoulder with trepidation, as if he was worried Li Du would make him return to the administrative office. “No, sir. I did notice him, but he walked across the courtyard and straight to the door of the office without speaking to anyone. We—” He gestured to the other laborers, who were observing the exchange warily. “—we were trying to decide whether one of us should offer him some tea, or ask him if he needed anything, when you yourself arrived. I am very sorry if we should have done something different.”

  “I am not chastising you,” said Li Du. “Indeed, I am impressed to see the kilns lit and the new tiles being arranged so neatly into carts. It must be difficult to continue work, after all that has happened.”

  Wei’s thin shoulders sagged in relief. “Oh it is, sir. To think that when I came here that day, I thought there were so many others that I wouldn’t be given work.” Again, his eyes flickered in the direction of the office. “But the day after it happened, a fourth of the hired men didn’t return. And now we learn the owner has killed himself. And Zou Anlin was arrested as a thief! Even fewer came back this morning. They’re afraid of spirits, as well as soldiers. Well, sir, we’re doing all we can, and Hu Gongshan is a good manager.”

  “I was hoping to speak to Hu, if he is here.”

  “He’s at the examination yard, sir, overseeing the installation of tiles.”

  “Then I will speak to him there, but perhaps you can help me. I am writing the official report of the case, and I need more details about Pan’s business here at the factory. The office is filled with contracts and commissions. Unfortunately, they do not appear to have been kept in the clearest order.”

  Wei looked apologetic. “I don’t know anything about papers,” he said.

  One of the other laborers had been listening, and now moved closer. “Excuse me, sir,” he said, “but I could not help overhearing. If you have questions about Pan Yongfa, Hu Gongshan won’t be able to answer them.”

  Li Du turned to him enquiringly. “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” said the laborer, “they never spoke. Or rather, hardly ever. Not recently, at least.”

  This struck Li Du as curious. “How can that be, if Hu was the kiln manager, and Pan was often here to review contracts? Was there some disagreement between them?”

  Wei, looking slightly stricken by the thought that he might have facilitated some betrayal of a man he respected, tried to quiet his companion. “I’m sure there wasn’t, sir! He is a good kiln manager, the best I’ve ever worked for, and a good man, too. We all think so.”

  Li Du kept his attention on the other laborer. “A clear picture of the situation is essential to an accurate report,” he said gently. “It would be best for you to describe the relationship between Hu and Pan in the most honest way that you can.”

  The laborer nodded. Beneath the smudges of clay, his face was open and earnest. “Hu would never have disrespected an official. He is always ready to show inspectors the precautions we take against fire, and he is patient whenever there are complaints about the smoke and ash. It’s just that, when Pan came to the factory, Hu always assigned someone else to see to what he needed. And it always seemed—”

  Li Du waited patiently as the man searched for the words. The laborer gathered his thoughts. Then, as if he had found within himself a wel
l of poetic inspiration, he spoke. “When a man walks on a path and sees a snake ahead of him, he goes a wide distance around it, just to be safe. When Pan came here, Hu was like the man who sees a snake on the path. He never went close to Pan. He just kept clear of him. He kept well clear.”

  Chapter 23

  The southeast corner of the Inner City, in which the examination yard was situated, had taken on a carnival atmosphere. Temporary shops, no more than skeletal wooden frames, listed under the weight of their wares. Garlands of brushes, their handles rattling and clicking as the breeze caught them, hung above quilts, candles, ink stones, pots, and charms of every color and shape, all promising good luck. Fluttering signs competed for attention: Examination Supplies for the Optimus! Famous Writing Brushes for the Three Examinations! Protect Your Pages with Xu’s Impermeable Oilcloth!

  The examination yard was forbidden to candidates. Until the morning the examination began, they could only look at the walls surrounding it. When they did finally enter, they would be locked inside for three days, confined to one of six thousand wooden cells. The cells were roofless, exposed to the scrutiny of guards from watchtowers and examiners from the sheltered comfort of elevated pavilions. Looking at the entrance, open now only to inspectors and to an army of laborers cleaning and renovating the cells, Li Du was aware of a hollow feeling in his stomach unrelated to the anxieties of recent days. He had not forgotten how frightening it had been to face those great doors for the first time.

  Looking at the crowds around him, he found it easy to distinguish the candidates from the numerous servants and family members who had accompanied them to the capital. What surprised him was how familiar they all seemed. He might have stepped back in time to his own examination year. Names long since forgotten returned to him as he made his way through the crowds. There was Jia, pale and unkempt, holding fifteen brushes in his hands in an agony of indecision while the shopkeeper urged him to buy them all and choose later. There was Ren, all smiles as a courtesan led him away to a discreet location. And there, surely, was Dui from the countryside, hungry and desperate, having spent in two days all the money he had brought with him for his stay in the capital. Li Du expected at any moment to see Xin, obsessively planning what food he would bring with him, Shi, fixated on a nightmare that his essays had caught fire, or Liu, making everyone around him nervous with his drawling complaints about corruption and favoritism.

  Ignoring offers to predict his future, give him a night of pleasure, or double his money with a simple game of chance, Li Du circumambulated the wall, trying to stay upright as he was jostled from all sides. Just when he was beginning to despair of locating the kiln master, it occurred to him to lift his gaze above the crowds. There, he saw the smooth line of the sloping roof that adorned the wall broken by two figures standing on simple scaffolding. They were catching tiles that appeared to be flying up into their waiting hands.

  Li Du made his way to them through the bustle. He found Hu Gongshan at the base of the wall, lifting tiles one by one from a cart and tossing them up to the laborers on the roof. The curved gray tiles rose through the air, following the same path each time, slowing and seeming to hover just at the level of the rooftop until they were caught. Hu’s movements appeared effortless, but Li Du knew the tiles were heavy. The ability to achieve that precise trajectory every time required skill few people had.

  As soon as Hu recognized Li Du, he stopped his work, wiped the sweat from his brow with a dirty sleeve, and dropped into a low bow. “Whatever you require, I will cooperate in every way,” he said.

  He appeared so certain that Li Du had come with news of some new disaster that Li Du felt compelled to reassure him. “You see the chief inspector has only sent his assistant,” he said with a small smile. “I have come simply to clarify certain details of the case, and will not keep you long from your work, which I understand must be completed with all expediency.” He nodded at the tiles, which had resumed their flight in the hands of another worker.

  Hu relaxed slightly. “All has been confusion since that morning,” he said. “I must keep the men working, but it is no surprise that many are afraid to return.”

  “Are you in charge of the factory?”

  “Only until one of Hong’s sons arrives,” said Hu. “But both of them are grown and have positions in distant provinces. I am not an educated man. I understand clay and fire and rooftops, but I know little of contracts and commissions. And Hong did not keep his papers in good order. I am only barely succeeding in making sure that every commitment is addressed.”

  Li Du nodded. “I have just been at the factory trying to make sense of them.”

  This information did not seem to have an effect on Hu, who was lost in his own thoughts. “Seven days ago, who could have expected this?”

  “Seven days?” Li Du made a quick count in his head.

  Hu shook himself out of his reverie. “Seven days ago, there was a party at Hong’s manor. I was thinking of that day.”

  Li Du tried not to let his surprise be too evident. “You were also at the literary party?”

  Hu glanced down at his rough clothing with a look of embarrassment. “It was too fine for me,” he said. “Hong would never have issued me an invitation, but I asked him if I could come. You see, I wanted to bring my son, so that he could be introduced to a higher class of citizen. I have heard it is important for examination candidates to make a good impression on examiners.”

  If Hu knew that the chances of any individual passing the examinations were slim, he showed no sign of applying that statistic to his own son. Li Du read in his eyes the absolute conviction that his boy would succeed. “You said just now you were thinking of that party. What made it come to mind?”

  “Well, it was so elegant,” said Hu. He stopped. His brow creased as he struggled to express what he meant. “I’d never been in company so refined, everyone speaking so quietly, reciting poems, all the colors as pleasing as colors in a screen. It’s one thing to be out in the city, where you see—you understand—you see hard things. But in a place like that, well, you can’t picture blood and death, can you?”

  “Then the party did not presage murder,” said Li Du. “Except, perhaps, for the content of the book. The Bitter Plum does not lack violence.”

  Hu looked down. “I am ashamed to admit that the language and style of that book were too advanced for me. My son read it easily. I saw him discussing it, as smooth as any scholar. He can finish a book faster than I can tile a roof, and when he’s done, he knows every word. He’ll be a brilliant magistrate one day. Take my word for it. There will be stories about him.”

  “I understand that Pan was an accomplished scholar,” said Li Du. “He received the highest degree, with honors, at an unusually young age. Given how often you must have seen him at the factory, I imagine it occurred to you to introduce him to your son?”

  A cord of tension was suddenly visible on the side of Hu’s neck. Hu’s expression darkened. “They were introduced once,” he said.

  “Did you speak to Pan at the party?”

  “No, I didn’t, and neither did my son. I didn’t even notice Pan was there. There were many courtyards, and many guests.”

  Li Du persevered. “What about the day of Pan’s death?”

  “There was nothing unusual about it. Hong wasn’t at the factory that day, so when Pan arrived, he came to me. He said he was going to review contracts in the office—ministry business. I told him he was welcome to whatever he needed, and asked him if he required anything from me. He requested some refreshment. But that was all the interaction we had. I instructed Zou to bring him wine and roasted soybeans.”

  “Zou Anlin? The man who was arrested for stealing silver from the scene of the crime?”

  Hu nodded. “I shouldn’t have hired him. I had a sense he was dishonest, but what with the unusual demands of the season, I failed to employ the usual degree of caution. I trust the silver will be returned to its rightful owner?”

  “I
’m sure it will be,” said Li Du. “Returning to Pan’s movements on the day he died, did you notice whether there were any messages delivered to him while he was at the office? Is it possible that Madam Hong visited him there?”

  Hu shook his head firmly. “She couldn’t have visited without my seeing her come in.”

  “When Pan departed, did he give any indication of his intention to return?”

  “He didn’t say anything about it to me.”

  Li Du was blunt. “It is possible that another motive existed for Pan’s murder. What I need to know is whether there is something about him that has not yet been revealed to us, something that may help uncover what has been hidden. I have been told that you avoided his company. I ask you to tell me why.”

  Hu was silent for a long moment. “I’m not the kind of man who lies to the authorities,” he said finally. “I did avoid Pan. I didn’t like him, and I didn’t trust him. He—”

  Hu was interrupted by a commotion at the gate closest to them. There were shouts coming from inside the examination yard. Over the noise of those moving toward the scene or away from it, Li Du thought he heard the hiss of a blade being drawn from a sheath.

  A man burst from the gate and ran headlong into the crowd. A soldier followed in close pursuit, sword drawn, but he stopped at the boundary created by the ring of spectators. The chase was no longer necessary. The man, in his desperate attempt to separate himself from the soldier following him, had run into three armed soldiers standing in the crowd. With his arms trapped in their grips, he was dragged back to the gate, his face a mask of horror. Li Du could not hear what he said, but he shook his head wildly, sobbing and trying to free his arms, as if he wanted to use them to plead his case.

  Two more soldiers emerged from the yard, another man between them. The man’s head drooped in despairing capitulation. As Li Du watched, the crowd knotted around the scene. By the time it shifted again, the soldiers and their captives were gone.