City of Ink

by Elsa Hart

  Lady Chen came forward to greet them. Her slow progress—she zealously affected the small steps of a fashionable urban lady, though her own feet had never been bound—gave Li Du time to reacquaint himself with her unique beauty. A tall woman, she held herself with the commanding grace of a lone tree on a mountain promontory. Her robes were the color of a moonlit sky at midnight, and her hair was ornamented with silver beads.

  “Forgive me,” she said when she reached him. “You are too busy to be summoned for social calls.” She turned a welcoming expression to Hamza. “Do you also work for the chief insp—” She stopped, her eyes moving in quick assessment of his features. “But I know you. Li Du, why did you not tell me the storyteller had come to Beijing?”

  “I am at fault,” Li Du said. “The only excuse I can offer is that recent duties in the North Borough have demanded more of my attention than the usual permits and property disputes.”

  “You refer to the murders at the Black Tile Factory.” Lady Chen’s lips were set in a faintly challenging smile. “Are you surprised that I know so much?”

  To please her, Li Du lifted his eyebrows and blinked. “I am astonished.”

  Her smile widened. “Do not pretend,” she said. “I can see that I have not impressed you.”

  “In truth, Lady Chen, I have stopped being surprised by how much you know.” Li Du rubbed the back of his neck. “But I am curious to hear how the information came to you.”

  Lady Chen considered. “News passes through the walls of this city more easily than people do. I heard it from one of my maids, who heard it from one of our servants, who heard it at the vegetable market from the Zhao family servant, but beyond that the thread is too long and tangled to follow. By now it is being widely discussed. Everyone wants to know the blood-soaked details of the lovers surprised by the wine-drunk husband. That is why I have asked you to come.”

  “Lady Chen, I—”

  She interrupted him. “Do not make unflattering assumptions. I did not bring you here to pry information from you in order to elevate my status among the gossips. Let us go where we can speak privately.”

  They followed her to another garden, in the center of which was a wide pond bisected by a flat bridge. They crossed, the water mirroring their passage in muddled greens and blues. On the other side, nestled in a grove of pear trees with ruby red leaves, was a small building. Lady Chen unlocked the door and invited them to enter.

  “The room was a recent gift to me,” she said, noting Li Du’s admiring glance at the shelves that lined the walls. They were filled with books of diverse age and size. Most had silk covers, but some were bound in leather. A few were studded with metal and gemstones. The only ornaments in the room, besides the books themselves, were a small collection of astronomical instruments, polished and stately, and a painting of a mountain.

  “A gift from my cousin?” he asked.

  “From his mother,” Lady Chen replied. “She has developed an affection for her son’s humble concubine.”

  An affection, thought Li Du, carefully cultivated by Lady Chen herself. Living in a house with Tulishen’s mother, wife, and two additional concubines, with no children of her own to secure her place in the family, Lady Chen had approached her rise to power within the household with all the focus and discipline of a scholar mastering the classics, or a general leading a campaign, two other activities of which Li Du believed her entirely capable.

  She was watching him now, as if she could read his thoughts. “Please sit,” she said, indicating a comfortable arrangement of chairs around a table with a green marble top. No sooner had they taken their places than three maids arrived with tea and trays filled with small dishes. Hamza immediately leaned forward over a plate of lotus-root cakes and inhaled the fragrance of osmanthus flower with obvious appreciation.

  Lady Chen turned to him with open curiosity. “If I recall correctly,” she said, “you were born in a valley above a river called Manas, down which deities travel on the backs of saddled fish.”

  “Your memory, madam, is faultless.”

  “The words of a skilled storyteller are not easily forgotten.”

  Her flattery found its mark, and Hamza beamed. “Nor is a mountain spirit. So, Lady Chen of Snowflake Village is now Lady Chen of Beijing. How do you like this walled city?”

  It was a question Li Du had not asked her. He waited, curious how she would answer. They had met three years ago, in a small town on the empire’s southwest border, where Li Du, an exile at the time, had come to register his presence with the local magistrate. The magistrate, he discovered, was his relation, Tulishen. Lady Chen was his concubine. A local woman facing the prospect of being discarded when Tulishen returned to Beijing, she had been determined to remain a part of the household.

  Lady Chen’s smile answered Hamza’s question before her words did. “This city suits me well. I was not happy to remain on the periphery of this world. But what brings you here?”

  “I have intended to visit for many years,” said Hamza. “But whenever I approached the walls of this great capital, I was like a spider whose silken rope is broken by a breeze. Always I was carried off course.” He inclined his beard in Li Du’s direction. “It was the invitation of a friend that finally brought me through the gates. Now I indulge in the idle amusements of a carefree traveler while—” He directed a questioning look at Li Du, but it was Lady Chen who finished the sentence.

  “While our friend the scholar plays the role of the humble secretary,” she said. “A performance I have never found convincing, though the reason for the charade still eludes me.” She turned to Li Du, and he felt, just faintly, her keen eyes linger on his cheek, a little thinner than usual, and his eyelids, drooping more heavily than they had done in the past. “But you are tired,” she said. “I will not tease you today.”

  Her voice was low and comforting. Li Du felt some of the anxiety ease from his shoulders, and he realized suddenly that he was hungry.

  “Eat,” said Lady Chen. “And let me tell you what I have heard.”

  As they served themselves, she began. “Madam Hong and a ministry official were found dead in the office of the Black Tile Factory. The kiln master Hong had been drinking nearby. It is the conclusion of the chief inspector that the husband surprised the lovers together, and killed them both. That is accurate?”

  Li Du ate a piece of eggplant and found himself reaching for another. “Yes.”

  “And you believe that it happened that way?”

  Li Du’s hesitation was enough for Lady Chen. “I knew I was right to summon you,” she said.

  Li Du set down his chopsticks. “Are you saying that you have evidence relevant to the case?”

  “Not the kind of evidence that I could present to the chief inspector,” she said. “But I hope you will understand. You see, I cannot claim to have known Madam Hong, but I’d met her on several occasions. Her clothes were always new and fine. She would not step on a path unless a rug protected her feet from the ground.” Lady Chen hesitated, concentrating on her next words. “She was the kind of woman who was always looking at herself from the outside. She wanted her life to look like a painting.”

  “I understand,” said Li Du.

  “I don’t think you do,” said Lady Chen. She refilled their teacups, and Li Du could see the red leaves outside the window reflected in the gold bracelets on her wrists. She set the teapot down. “What woman in this city, who values above all silk that has never been worn, and jewels that have no scratches, would choose to meet her lover in a shabby office hut covered in coal dust, for a stolen hour in the middle of the night?”

  “If it was the only way?” Li Du asked.

  She gave a soft laugh. “It is never the only way.”

  “Then what you are saying,” said Li Du, “is that you don’t believe it was adultery that brought her to that room.”

  Her smile subsided. “No,” she said. “I don’t. And isn’t it true that, if she was innocent of adultery, Hong’s act
ions are no longer justified by the law?”

  Beginning to understand, Li Du nodded. “It is true, but—”

  Lady Chen interrupted. “The law may forgive a man for murdering an adulterous wife, but if Madam Hong was not an adulteress, the law would not forgive Hong. If you can prove she was not unfaithful, you destroy the shield he holds up to protect himself.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “If you do nothing, Hong will escape punishment.”

  “Lady Chen, Hong is dead.”

  “Dead?” Lady Chen’s surprise temporarily deprived her of her customary command over her own expression. Without it, her unusual features—large eyes and an angular nose—became more pronounced. “How did he die?”

  “It appears he committed suicide, an act that is being taken as a confession.”

  Her exuberance faded. “In that case, I have wasted your time. Unless—” Her eyes snapped up and fixed on Li Du’s face. “You say it appears he committed suicide. What do you mean? Do you—can it be that you think he might have been murdered?”

  Li Du met her look, and she read the answer in his eyes.

  “Three murders, then,” she said softly. “Whom do you suspect?”

  With some difficulty, feeling that he knew simultaneously too much and too little about the case, Li Du gave a brief account of the investigation. She listened carefully, absorbing the story with evident fascination.

  “My intention to do more than write the report is not common knowledge,” he concluded. “I know I may trust your discretion.”

  “Always,” said Lady Chen. “Though I would advise you not to believe anyone, other than myself, who makes you such a promise. Most of the secrets I know were shared with me by people who say their discretion can be trusted. If what you believe is true, you must proceed with caution. You will tell me the answer when you have discovered it?”

  “I am not certain I will find the answer,” Li Du replied.

  Lady Chen brushed her fingers through the air as if she were guiding away an insect that buzzed too close. “You are a capable man,” she said. “You will uncover the truth. You have succeeded in the past under equally challenging circumstances.”

  “That is just what I told him,” Hamza exclaimed.

  Li Du took a deep breath and stood up. “Then we will take our leave, and resume work.”

  “I hope you will come back soon,” said Lady Chen, also rising. “And you?” she asked Hamza. “With what idle amusements will you occupy yourself today?”

  “I confess I do not know,” replied Hamza, looking slightly dispirited. “My usual approach to exploring a city that is new to me is to wander its streets in search of marvels. But in the hours I have spent lost in this city’s narrow alleys, I have seen little besides blank walls and locked doors. I even went so far as to consult a guidebook.” He directed a faintly accusatory look at Li Du. “In addition to the famous turtles of Rainbow Bridge, which, to my disappointment, proved to be statues, the book suggests I visit notable graves, sigh over ruins, and admire old trees. I mean no disrespect to this great capital, but I had expected to spend more time navigating the gilded corridors of the palace, examining the Emperor’s collection of magical objects, and sailing on the imperial lakes, counting the fish that gleam like jewels in crystal waters.”

  Lady Chen brushed a hand through the air dismissively. “You will receive no pity from me,” she said with mock censure. “If I can find enough to entertain and interest me within the walls of my own home, where propriety keeps me generally confined, I am certain you can find adventure in the capital without the help of guidebooks. Have you been to the elephant stables?”

  Hamza’s eyes kindled. “Elephant stables?”

  Satisfied by the effect her words had produced, Lady Chen smiled. “I will escort you out.”

  With a rueful look at the food that remained on the plates, Hamza followed Lady Chen and Li Du outside. They did not return to the garden in which she had welcomed them, but followed a different and more direct path to the mansion’s outer door. They were nearing it when Li Du became aware of the pinging, metallic clamor of hammers on nails, and a voice raised in anger.

  “I must have silence!”

  Lady Chen changed course, moving toward a small door that opened into a courtyard at the mansion’s edge. Paused in the doorway, the three of them observed a middle-aged man in the center of the courtyard bellowing at two pale servants. “Go tell the carpenters to stop their work!” Li Du recognized the man. He was Li Yujin, one of Tulishen’s sons.

  “He is taking the exams for the fifth time,” whispered Lady Chen. “If he had spent the past four months studying, instead of carousing at the theaters in Liulichang, he would not be so anxious now.”

  “The temple to the thunder god must be almost complete,” Li Du said, referring to the construction that was taking place just outside the mansion.

  Lady Chen sighed. “I hope so. There will be no quiet in this house until it is, and I am not referring to the sound of hammers and nails.”

  For the past six months, Tulishen had spoken of little else besides the temple he was financing. His fixation on the project was due in part to the fact that it had attracted the attention of the returning prince, who had offered to compose a poem for it upon its completion. The patronage of a prince was an almost unimaginable distinction that would elevate Tulishen to new social heights, and Tulishen had promised to have the temple ready for Prince Yinzao’s inspection on the day of the prince’s long-awaited return to the capital.

  The ire of Tulishen’s son was reaching a crescendo, and Lady Chen turned to her guests with an apologetic smile. “I must go. I will encourage him to climb to the pavilion for a calming view of the western hills.” She bid farewell to Hamza, and told him she hoped he would accompany Li Du again to her home before he resumed his travels. Then she addressed Li Du. “Be careful. You are shadowed by danger, and I can see that you know it.”

  Chapter 26

  Away from the cooling breezes off the lakes, the glaring sun heated the walls and turned the narrow alleys into ovens. By the time Li Du and Hamza reached the border of the Outer City, after navigating several detours around construction sites and alleys blocked off for imperial use, Li Du’s throat was parched and he was conscious of the weight and warmth of his felt hat.

  They paused at an intersection crowded with sweaty horses and mules. Shoppers evaluated antiques displayed on mats and carts. Hamza, his skin glistening in the heat, declared that he would accompany Li Du to his next destination, the home of the scholar Bai.

  Li Du negated the idea. “It’s not the same situation as the Glazed Tile Factory. There are different levels of scrutiny. Visiting a factory in a village outside the city walls is different from paying a call on a respected official who knows I am in no position to have an assistant, especially not one dressed as a trader.”

  “Then we can do it the way it is done in the tale of the judge. I am your cousin who is visiting, and you have invited me to accompany you on your errands.”

  Li Du shook his head. “Secretaries do not have the freedom to take visiting relatives to work with them, a fact of which Bai is well aware. Not only is he knowledgeable, but he pays particular attention to such formalities.”

  “Allow me to remind you,” said Hamza, planting his booted feet and crossing his arms across his chest, “that you tempted me here with a promise of intrigue and adventure. I did not come to spend all my time making sketches of marble bridges, or composing poetry in parks, or engaging in whatever other genteel pastimes are pursued by ordinary tourists.”

  As he listened to Hamza, Li Du’s gaze moved over the market stalls nearby. A peasant sat beside a basket of wilted greens. Beside him on one side, another fanned flies away from a table of meat scraps, beneath which a thin dog chewed on a bone. On the other side, a woman sat on a blanket, on which she had arranged a collection of mineral powders and roots.

  An idea occurred to him. “There are six large
markets held in the Inner City on this day of the month,” he said, once Hamza had lapsed into obstinate silence. “If you desire a task, I have one to give you.”

  Hamza’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Am I to purchase your vegetables for the week?”

  “I had something else in mind,” said Li Du. “Rare and precious stones.”

  The crossed arms unfolded. “That is more to my taste.”

  “I thought it might be. Do you remember the stones we saw in Ji’s workshop well enough to describe what they look like? They are called by many different names.”

  Hamza nodded. “Rough and gray on the outside, the size of my fist; when broken, filled with many colors. Not only one red, but all the reds of autumn leaves; not one yellow, but all the many yellows expressed by flame; not one white, but all the whites of clouds; not one blue, but all the blues of sky and sea.”

  “Then I would ask you to make a search of the six markets.”

  “Ah,” said Hamza. “You want to know where Ji purchased his agates.”

  “Yes, and how much he spent. If they are as rare and precious as I suspect, then Ji is in possession of more wealth than can be explained by his profession. Given that the case is one of murder and missing silver, that seems a detail worth pursuing. Is the task sufficiently intriguing?”

  “It will do,” said Hamza. “I am an expert navigator of markets. I can tell real from false, and I can discern where there are shelves behind curtains that exist only for those who know to ask for them. If these rocks exist, I will find them.”

  Li Du glanced at their surroundings. “You said you wanted to see the elephant stables,” he said. “They are not far from here, and they are open to the public. I will look for you there in the afternoon?”