by Elsa Hart
Li Du drew in a breath. “Pan returned to the Ministry of Rites, where he appeared to go about his work as usual. When he left at the end of the day, he failed to notice that he was being followed—”
“By our anxious student, Hu Erchen,” finished Hamza.
“According to whom,” Li Du went on, “Pan met with a high official named Kirsa outside the palace walls, and delivered a document to him. Erchen followed Pan to the opera district, where they eventually spoke.”
“Which brings us,” said Hamza, his brow tensed in determined concentration, “to the fatal events at the Black Tile Factory.”
“Almost,” Li Du corrected him. “But I have a question. Erchen told us he could not return to his home that night because, by the time he parted from Pan, the gates were closed and the watch was set.”
“I remember. Do you suspect him of lying?”
“Not necessarily. My question is this. If the gates were closed and guarded, how did Pan get from the opera district, which adjoins the Inner City wall, all the way to the Black Tile Factory?”
Hamza blinked. “Are you asking whether he walked?”
“Whether he walked, rode, or hired a sedan chair, there is no way Pan could have journeyed from one place to the other without passing through multiple city gates after they had closed for the night. If he had been able to convince the soldiers guarding them to let him through, the chief inspector would have heard of it when he interviewed the soldiers stationed at the North Borough sentry points. It’s almost as if Pan disappeared from the opera district, and reappeared in the factory.”
“Or became invisible,” said Hamza, his eyes aglow with possibilities.
“Somehow, Pan did reach the factory,” said Li Du. “As did Madam Hong, though her residence was so near to it that she had no gates or soldiers to impede her. But why were they there? Who was blackmailing whom?”
“It was Pan who brought the silver,” said Hamza. “Which suggests that it was he who intended to make a payment.”
“Yes, but to Madam Hong? How could a woman whose interests and activities were confined to her home and her collections have attained the power to blackmail Pan?”
“Or,” Hamza offered, “was the blackmailer the one who joined them there in the middle of the night, cut the throat of a man who was already dead, and pierced a woman’s heart?”
They had reached the section of wall that contained the painted narcissus. Hamza began to trace the ghostly outlines of its petals as if he was moving his finger along the paths of a map. “What is our next destination?”
“The Ministry of Rites,” declared Li Du, after a moment’s thought. “I think it is time to see where Pan Yongfa was officially employed.”
Hamza dropped his arm. “I hope you will allow me to accompany you. I have never seen the inside of a ministry.”
Li Du nodded. “But we will make a stop on the way. I would like to speak to Kirsa, the palace official to whom Pan delivered a document only hours before his death.”
“Does that mean we are going to the palace?” asked Hamza, with a look of anticipation.
“I am sorry to disappoint you,” Li Du replied. “I doubt even Magistrate Yin could secure a meeting with a palace official on such short notice. For a secretary, it would be impossible.”
“Then how do you plan to speak to him?”
Li Du adjusted his hat and started through the dry leaves to the temple entrance. “This is a city that operates on schedules, and I know that every month, on this day, the palace holds a market outside its gates, allowing the public a chance to purchase items discarded from the Emperor’s own household.”
“I see,” said Hamza, looking puzzled.
“The market is operated by the Imperial Household Agency,” Li Du explained. “If that is indeed the institution that employs Kirsa, he will almost certainly be there.” As he spoke, Li Du felt for an instant a sense of foreboding, like the hum of a wasp passing close to his ear. He thought of Sun. If the assistant to a chief inspector intended to approach a palace official, surely the chief inspector would want to know about it in advance.
“Then our destination awaits,” said Hamza, unaware of Li Du’s sudden hesitation.
Shaking off his misgivings, Li Du nodded. After all, he thought, as they headed north, the surest way to be prevented from doing something is to ask permission before doing it.
Chapter 34
The palace market bustled with the city’s elite shoppers. Connoisseurs held porcelain bowls up to the light, evaluating the tints and textures of the glazes. Servants haggled on behalf of their mistresses for furs and jewels rejected by imperial consorts. Collectors hunted for pieces to add to their collections of bronze mirrors, miniature vessels, and jade carvings. The air hummed with the energy of choice and acquisition, but the voices were muted and movements careful. Guards and officials patrolled the narrow corridors between stalls. Behind the market, the palace wall loomed like a red cliff topped with a mantle of golden scales.
As Hamza and Li Du were navigating the crowded interior, they almost collided with a painting being unrolled for a potential buyer to assess. “Heavy Snow on Mountain Passes,” proclaimed the palace official who was in charge of its sale. “A fine example of the painter’s work, and an excellent aid to self-cultivation.”
Obliged to walk the length of the painting in order to go around it, Li Du allowed his eye to wander the winter landscape. Triangular mountain peaks, some encrusted with frozen trees, filled the scroll from one end to the other. Tiny travelers, overwhelmed by their surroundings, appeared lost in a world enshrouded in snow. As he reached the end of it, which was misted by faint red seals and cascading lines of poetry, he heard the official continuing his efforts to make the sale. “… depicting noble loneliness and isolation,” he was saying to the interested customer, who was leaning forward as if he were about to step onto the snowy path himself.
They passed incense burners, golden Buddhas, snuffboxes, and carpets until they came to the section of the market where rare and valuable books were sold. Waxed awnings, a precaution against sudden rain, flapped in the breeze over volumes spread across low tables. Old editions alternated with new ones designed and printed on expensive paper by the imperial workshops.
Behind one of the tables, a man fanned himself with an old copy of the City Gazette. Li Du recognized him, though nine years had whitened his hair. As an employee of the imperial printing workshops, Qiu had often come to the library to deliver volumes or consult the librarians on a replacement binding.
Qiu evidently recognized him, too. “Li Du!” he exclaimed. “But it’s been years since I’ve seen you! I cannot tell you how pleased I was when I learned your sentence had been repealed. Are you collecting? I have a palace edition of Illustrations for Cultivating the Correct here. You won’t find that in a city bookshop!”
“Thank you,” said Li Du. “But I fear I have no cabinets worthy of it. I would not like to be responsible for such a volume being damaged from living on a damp shelf. I’m sure I would derive much pleasure from perusing every book on this table, but I have come today on a particular errand. I am looking for a man called Kirsa.”
“You want to speak to Kirsa?” asked Qiu. His eyes flickered, with slight apprehension, over Li Du’s attire.
“I would not presume to approach a man of his standing for any personal reason,” said Li Du. “I have only come to deliver a message from my superior. If necessary, I will of course leave it in the keeping of a guard or secretary.” Qiu looked relieved. “I take it,” said Li Du lightly, “that he is not a man one wants to offend.”
“He is not,” said Qiu. He lowered his voice. “I hear it does not go well for those who do.” A light breeze made the book covers flutter. Qiu produced several paperweights from a box and began to arrange them on top of the display. “He usually occupies a chair near the furs.”
Li Du glanced in the direction Qiu indicated. “How will I recognize him?”
“He�
��ll be the thin one to whom everyone is bowing,” said Qiu.
Li Du thanked him, and he and Hamza wound their way to another section of the market. Qiu’s description, however sparing, proved entirely sufficient. A tall, compact man stood beside an array of ermine pelts. His shoulders were broad, but his frame was so thin that his robes of sumptuous blood-red silk draped in a straight line down to the tops of his black satin boots. Not one, but two men were bowing to him, offering thanks and apologies, and they retreated slowly from his stern regard.
When they had gone, Li Du approached and bowed low. “If you are Kirsa, I am hoping to speak to you, briefly, on an urgent matter.”
“I am he,” said the man, looking down from his superior height. He had sharp cheekbones and tense, compressed lips. His eyes looked as if they were accustomed to assessing value. “But I don’t know you.” One of his fingers twitched as he prepared to raise his arm and summon the nearest guard.
“My name is Li Du. I am a secretary at—”
“I do not speak to secretaries who are not my own.” Kirsa’s hand continued its upward trajectory. “Submit your request to my office.”
“I want to ask you about Pan Yongfa.”
A guard was approaching. Kirsa motioned for the guard to stop, then dropped his hand to his side and examined Li Du’s face. Nearby, Hamza pretended to browse a display of ink stones.
Kirsa’s pale lips pressed together tightly as he considered his next words. “On whose authority do you come to me with questions?”
“On the authority of the North Borough Office.”
The answer seemed genuinely to surprise Kirsa, but he recovered quickly. “The North Borough Office has no jurisdiction in the Inner City,” he said. “What do you mean by this insolence?”
“I intend no insolence. I am writing the report of the murders at the Black Tile Factory, and have only a very limited amount of time in which to obtain all the facts. In the interest of finding the truth, I have come to ask for your help.”
“Help? I know nothing of the murders.”
“But you did accept a document from Pan Yongfa hours before he died.”
“I accepted no document. That’s a lie.”
“I apologize,” said Li Du. “You were right. I have no authority here, and should not have approached you so informally. I will have my superior submit a request to the Imperial Household Agency, seeking permission to interview you. I will, of course, explain why speaking with you is essential to the investigation.” He paused. “Unless, upon consideration, you feel it might be easier and more convenient for you to answer my questions now.”
Kirsa glared at him, but Li Du saw the calculation behind the look. He began to speak in a tense, clipped voice. “If you are suggesting I have some information relevant to the incident at the Black Tile Factory, and that I have not shared it with the proper authorities, you are mistaken. I do recall that I saw Pan Yongfa recently, but I had not made the connection until now that it was the same day he died. He delivered a message to me from the ministry. I don’t recall what it was. I receive dozens of small notifications every day. If it had been connected in any way to that man’s unfortunate and shocking demise, I would have volunteered the information immediately.”
Li Du hesitated, and decided to risk a guess. “What about your conversation in the pavilion at Hong Wenbin’s party the day before?”
Kirsa’s nostrils flared. “What conversation?”
“Just as the rain began,” Li Du replied. “You were speaking of Narcissus—”
“I will no longer permit this intrusion,” Kirsa snapped. “This interrogation is at an end, and I intend to report this harassment to your superior.”
He lifted his hand again, this time with the clear purpose of calling the guards. Li Du bowed low and retreated, as quickly as he could, into the forest of hanging pelts. Hamza followed close behind. As they weaved their way through stalls and between blankets cluttered with jade and pearls, Li Du felt his heart race, not from exertion, but from the anticipation of hearing, at any moment, the soft but inexorable pounding of soldiers’ boots, and the metallic whisper of swords. It never came. They reached the edge of the market, continued into the nearest alley, and were soon subsumed by within the fast-moving current of Bannermen and officials flowing toward the ministries.
Chapter 35
Li Du presented his own credentials at the Ministry of Rites, and told the soldiers at the gate that Hamza was a visiting translator. Once inside, they enjoyed a considerable degree of anonymity. Li Du, who had spent two years stealing extra moments in various archives within the six ministries, had become adept at moving through them with the purposeful stride of a clerk performing an errand for someone important. The trick was to maintain a fast pace and an expression of faint anxiety, which communicated to milling clerks and officials that his business was too urgent to be interrupted, but not so urgent as to merit attention.
It was late afternoon. Within the halls and offices of the city’s government sector, this was a time of rising tension, when tasks that were meant to have been completed by the end of the day were beginning to weigh on those responsible. Doors were flung open and slammed closed. Clerks hurried by without acknowledging each other. Li Du and Hamza were stopped only once, and that was by a thin young man who wanted to know where the examination copyist orientation was being held.
“Examination copyist orientation?” asked Hamza, after the man had rushed away to ask someone else for directions. Li Du, who was reading the signs painted above the office doors, did not answer immediately. “What manner of being,” Hamza persevered, “is an examination copyist?”
“The examiners can’t grade the candidates’ essays in their original drafts,” Li Du explained, once he had oriented himself and led them into a series of side courtyards. “To prevent them from seeing the names of the candidates, the essays are recopied in red ink, the names replaced with assigned codes. Examiners only receive them after they’ve been inspected for irregularities, copied, and proofread against the originals.” He indicated a crowd of men similar in appearance to the one who had stopped them filing into a nearby hall. “The copyists,” he said.
“But there is an army of them!” exclaimed Hamza.
“May I suggest a quieter voice when employing martial vocabulary within these walls?” said Li Du. “As for your observation, have you not yet noticed that the examinations have taken hold of the entire city? Six thousand candidates will enter the examination yard, and write as much as they possibly can in the time allotted. If the ministry didn’t employ hundreds of copyists, these exams would remain unmarked through spring.”
“But didn’t you say the job of the Ministry of Rites is to maintain temples?”
“That is only one of its responsibilities,” said Li Du. They were in front of a small keyhole door leading to a spare, well-tended courtyard. A painted sign read Offices of Temple Construction in Chinese and Manchu. Upon entering, they were met by a minor official who led them to one of the rooms bordering the courtyard, where an official one rank higher sat frowning in concentration over a set of documents spread over the desk in front of him.
“Good,” he said, after Li Du had introduced himself. “I was hoping the North Borough Office would send someone.” He gathered up several pages and thrust them in the direction of the official who had escorted them. “Review these numbers,” he said. “I need more detail in the categories of incense expenditures, specifically vendors and suppliers. By the end of the day.”
When the newly burdened official had gone, the man turned his attention to his visitors. “My name is Shen. Pan Yongfa left several of his personal possessions here at the ministry. Do you wish to make an inventory of them?”
“That would be helpful,” said Li Du.
Shen gave a curt nod. “Most of the supplies he kept at his desk were ministry issued, and have been returned to our supply rooms. You will find the remaining items in the room two doors down from this one, on
the left. Anything your office does not require, you may leave behind. We will ensure that it is conveyed to the family.”
Li Du started to turn, then stopped. “There must be a great deal of discussion on the subject of Pan’s death here at the office that employed him.”
Shen, who had already returned to his work, looked up with a blank expression that implied he had not been expecting further conversation. “Not a great deal,” he said. “Gossip is strongly discouraged. What happened was shocking, of course.”
“He never mentioned trouble at the Black Tile Factory?” asked Li Du.
“Trouble? If I understand correctly what happened to him, his trouble was of a private nature.”
“But he did visit the factory often in connection with his work,” Li Du pressed, “especially on the recent audit?”
“The audit, yes.” Shen’s eyes dropped to the papers on his desk as if they were guests being kept waiting. “It has been our primary concern this month.”
“Pan was reviewing contracts for temple roof repairs,” said Li Du.
Shen’s reply was clipped. “That was one of his assignments.”
“We saw one of the repaired roofs recently,” Li Du continued, pretending not to notice the other man’s impatience. “At Narcissus Temple.”
“Narcissus?” Shen looked blank. “I don’t recall the name.” He returned his attention to his papers. Then he paused. Li Du read in his expression the perfectionism common among officials. Shen stood up and drew a thick volume from a shelf behind his desk. “Narcissus,” he muttered, scanning the text. After a little while, he touched his finger to a page. “Small temple in the West Borough,” he read. “Roof repair requested by neighborhood four months ago.” He closed the book. “Now, if you have no more questions…”
Li Du accepted the dismissal. The room to which Shen directed them was a small reception room decorated with stately red vases arranged on irregular shelves built to match their sizes and shapes. In one corner was a round table, on which rested a bag made from rough silk. Next to the bag was an inventory of what it contained. Li Du read the descriptions out loud as Hamza pulled the objects one by one from the bag and set them on the table. There was a square, unornamented ink stone, a brush with an ivory and bamboo handle painted black and gold, a brush container of pale blue porcelain, two earthenware bowls, a white porcelain tea caddy with a decoration of bamboo leaves in blue, and a set of chess pieces in a latched wooden box.