City of Ink

by Elsa Hart

  “The matter is an urgent one,” said Li Du.

  Lady Chen smiled dispassionately. “Men forget how high the stakes can be in the play of power within a house. I would make an exception if I could.”

  Li Du was prepared to accept her refusal without further argument, but as Lady Chen began to turn away, she suddenly stopped. “Perhaps,” she said, “if there were some distraction?” She looked inquiringly at Hamza. As understanding dawned, his face was illuminated by a wide smile. He bowed. “It would be my pleasure.”

  Together, the three of them reentered the courtyard. Lady Chen wore on her face an expression of girlish delight. “Look who our cousin Li Du has brought,” she said. “This man is an acclaimed storyteller and a traveler. He will not bore us with the same stories that are told and retold in our markets or at our banquets. He can tell us tales that have never been heard anywhere in the empire. Shall we allow ourselves a moment’s respite from work, and listen?”

  The other women exchanged nervous, excited glances. Hamza stepped forward. “I do perhaps have a tale that I humbly suggest will amuse you.”

  Lady Chen spoke again. “The breeze moves through this garden with too much strength. I am afraid it will carry away your words. I suggest we adjourn to a more sheltered place. I will arrange for refreshments to be brought to us there.”

  There followed a period of careful manipulation that resulted in the women who had been sitting at their embroidery finding themselves in a shady pavilion, captivated first by Hamza’s velvety eyes and warm smile, then by his words.

  “What is so secret and so urgent?” asked Lady Chen. Having issued orders for the preparation of snacks, she guided Li Du to a bamboo grove a short distance from the pavilion. They stood facing each other amid dense bars of shadow.

  “Something has come up in my investigation that concerns this house,” said Li Du. “Lady Chen, did you know that Li Yujin paid a substantial bribe to ensure that his name will appear on the list of passing examination candidates?”

  Her expression took on a crystalline quality as she absorbed what he had said. “Who told you this?”

  As briefly as he could, Li Du explained how Bai Chengde’s independent investigation had led him to share what he knew with Li Du. He left out the visit to Feng, and emphasized Bai’s promise not to pursue the matter further.

  Lady Chen looked relieved. “Then we have some time.” She retreated into her own thoughts for a short while. “Not only was I unaware of it,” she said finally, “but I don’t believe it. This is either a mistake, or deliberate, false incrimination.”

  “How can you be sure?” asked Li Du, taken aback by her certainty.

  “Because I would have known he was going to do it before he did it, and I would have put a stop to such nonsense. Yujin may possess a cheater’s combination of stupidity and intelligence, but he is not clever enough to conceal an actual attempt at it from me. I keep a close watch on what happens within these walls, and regularly detect far more subtle intrigues.”

  “I have every confidence in your perceptiveness,” said Li Du. “But the evidence against him is strong. His name is written on a list of candidates given to a bribed examiner with the instruction to award them passing grades. Is Yujin here?”

  “No,” said Lady Chen. “He has been spending his afternoons enjoying the pleasures and temptations surrounding the examination yard.” Despite her self-possession, Li Du observed the tension in her lips and read the growing concern in her eyes. He did not have to ask if she knew the consequences for the candidate, and for his family, of being caught cheating on the examinations.

  “I will speak to Yujin as soon as possible,” she said finally. “Though my initial opinion has not changed. He wouldn’t have done it.” They heard a sound behind them, and turned to see four servants advancing toward the pavilion, carrying trays of food. “I must go back,” said Lady Chen. “Or my absence will be noticed. What action do you intend to take?”

  “None, at present,” said Li Du.

  She nodded. “Good. Leave it to me to make discreet inquiries.”

  Li Du opened his mouth to protest, but she stopped him. “I can obtain the truth from Yujin, as much of it as he knows. I can use what he tells me to come up with a strategy to contain this secret. I have prevented scandals before.”

  “What scandals?” asked Li Du.

  She smiled. “This is a large family, and now that I am here, it is my family to protect. Do you think I do nothing with my time? Now, is there anything else you can tell me, or anything else I can use?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Li Du pulled a piece of paper from his satchel and handed it to Lady Chen. “This is the list of candidates,” he said. “If you think it could help you, I will entrust it to you.”

  “I did not know my trustworthiness was in question.”

  “That is not what I meant. Having it in your possession puts you in danger.”

  “It is often necessary to take risks,” said Lady Chen. “You may be sure I will act in everyone’s best interests, including my own.”

  Li Du glanced toward the pavilion, where Hamza sat, straight-backed, tracing his hands through the air, building palaces and oceans. “Tell Hamza that I will see him at Water Moon Temple.”

  She nodded, and hurried to join the servants. He watched her blend into the group so smoothly and quietly that she might never have been standing beside him. With a determined set to his shoulders, he turned away.

  Chapter 40

  Before returning to the North Borough Office, Li Du decided he would go once more to the home of Pan Yongfa. He knew Sun would note his prolonged absence, but fresh in his mind was the desperate, helpless look on Father Calmette’s face as he had comprehended the incriminatory power of Father Aveneau’s lost letter.

  Though it could not be publicly discussed, it was known that the succession weighed heavily on the Emperor’s mind. Preparations for his sixtieth birthday had already begun. Letters had reportedly been sent to some four thousand aged but healthy men throughout the provinces, inviting them to the celebration, where they would be presented with gifts and allowed to sit at the Emperor’s own table. Officially, this was to congratulate them for living so long. Unofficially, it was to surround the Emperor with guests who made him appear young. Darker, quieter rumors spoke of Kangxi’s disappointment in his sons. It was said that every time he had chosen a successor, he had subsequently been given a reason to change his mind.

  Of the twenty-two princes, Yinzao had been the favorite before he evidently had displeased his father. He had been gone for nine years, during which time he had campaigned successfully against the Mongols on the western frontiers. Now he was returning, and the lavish parades set to welcome him suggested that he had reentered the Emperor’s good graces. Li Du thought of the glow in his aunt’s eyes as she had discussed Prince Yinzao’s intention to patronize their temple. Even before his arrival in the capital, the prince had obviously been preparing his path into the hearts of the citizens who would welcome him.

  The safest place to deliberate on the subject of the succession was in the silence of one’s own mind. The least safe place to do it was in a letter. Should Father Aveneau’s missive be discovered, the Jesuits could be accused not only of anticipating the Emperor’s death, but of making plans to manipulate his heir. And, Li Du reminded himself, the foreign priests were not considered guests of the Emperor, but subjects, as vulnerable to accusations of treachery as any other resident of the capital. Their punishment would not entail safe passage back to Rome.

  Once he had passed through Xuanwu Gate into the Outer City, Li Du searched for a sedan chair to convey him as quickly as possible to his destination. For all he knew, the Jesuit letter could be sitting on Pan’s desk for anyone to find. He hailed a chair, paid the bearers extra coins, and told them to hurry. In good time, he arrived at the door of Pan Yongfa’s residence somewhat sore and jostled, but relieved to have avoided the blocked alleys and avenues reserved for exam
inations events or festivities related to the prince’s return.

  The door had been opened to admit a peddler, who now stood in the outer courtyard surrounded by five maids perusing the wares displayed in his wooden cart. Separated into different baskets were nests of hair pins, combs, and silk sashes like tangled snakes. One maid examined a pin and grimaced. “This is a cheap thing,” she said. “If you don’t offer a lower price, then you’re a swindler, and we’ll go to the market instead.”

  “Those are quality pins,” insisted the peddler, a stout man with ruddy checks. He had an assortment of hairpins arranged on his dirty collar. “I’m on the way to the market to sell them now, and I’ll charge more for them there. They are made in my own village, and don’t tell me they’re cheap, because I can tell you for a fact that they are favored by several imperial consorts.”

  One of the other maids held a pin up to the light. Li Du recognized the girl who had told him about Pan’s silver. “Oh, sir,” she said, noticing him. “I didn’t see you there.” She returned the pin to the cart. “We are looking for an ornament to cheer our mistress.”

  “A hairpin seems a small thing to counter grief,” said Li Du.

  She nodded. “We know, but we have tried something new every day, and nothing has helped. We’ve purchased ginger and cinnamon for infusions—they are prescribed for sadness—and rosehip, and all the foods she likes best. Nothing will bring the light back to her eyes.”

  The elder maid to whom he had spoken before was there also. Now she came around the cart to join them. “We have been told that Hong Wenbin took his own life, sir.”

  Li Du hesitated. “It appears so,” he said.

  “He punished himself when the law would not punish him,” said the maid, making no attempt to conceal her approval.

  “You held your master in great affection,” said Li Du.

  “Oh, we all did,” broke in the younger maid, her eyes sparkling with tears. “Whenever he smiled, it was as if a god had stepped right out of a painting. And he was so clever. I think he knew everything. He would say to me in the morning, Hurry to the door or you will miss the dumpling seller. He always knew which day each peddler would come, and at what hour, and he was never too proud to remind us.” Observing the open, worshipful face of the girl, and the nods of the other maids behind her, it was obvious to Li Du that they had known nothing of Pan’s criminal activities.

  “And your mistress?” he asked. “Did it comfort her to know that Hong Wenbin is dead?”

  The elder maid answered. “When we told her, she didn’t even seem to hear us. She remains in her room. I hope you have not come to disturb her, sir.” She spoke with polite deference, but Li Du perceived the sharp edge in her tone. He suspected it was unpleasant to be one of the younger maids facing her displeasure.

  “I did not come to interrupt Lady Ai’s solitude,” he said, and explained that he hoped to conduct a brief search of Pan’s study, if Pan had kept such a room. The elder maid said that he had. She told Li Du to follow her, and led him through the keyhole door to the inner courtyard. It was quieter than any place he had visited recently within the city walls. Dry, curling leaves were harbingers of cold autumn days to come, and there was a premonition of winter’s light on the stone faces of lions.

  Li Du was left alone in Pan’s study. A desk, heavy and ornately carved, centered the room. Against the walls were a low couch covered in a single flat cushion, two tall tables with drawers, a clean, unlit brazier, and a chess table on which the pieces were arranged in an unfinished game. Li Du’s first action was to pick up one of the pieces and run his fingers carefully around it, but he found no seam or suspicious flaw in its construction. He returned it to its place on the board, his gaze lingering for a moment on the game that would remain unfinished. The opponents were evenly matched, and Li Du could not tell who would have won.

  Moving to the desk, he opened its drawers one by one. In addition to brushes and ink, they contained neat stacks of documents. He glanced at each one, but found nothing relevant. Pan had kept bills, invitations, and letters arranged separately. Li Du removed each drawer and felt inside the desk for hidden compartments. There were none. He replaced them and moved to the shelves. The books he found there were standard, respectable volumes for a gentleman’s study, consisting mostly of tasteful but unremarkable editions of classics. Father Aveneau’s letter was not tucked into the pages of any of them. He looked inside vases and porcelain boxes, beneath the cushions, and in the drawers of the tall ornamental tables, which were empty.

  It was not long before he acknowledged that his decision to come had yielded no helpful information. He could at least be certain that if Father Aveneau’s letter was there, it was well hidden, and would, he hoped, stay that way forever.

  * * *

  Sun put up his hand as if he could physically prevent Li Du’s words from reaching him. “The investigation is over,” he said.

  When Li Du had entered the chief inspector’s office, Sun had taken a seat, placing the solid expanse of his desk between them. Li Du had remained standing, oblivious to the mud that spattered his robes from the hem to the knee, and the faded hat that rested askew on his head. “I mean no disrespect, but I am not certain you understand what I have been telling you. I spoke to Kirsa myself. His involvement in the crime is undeniable. If he didn’t commit the murder, I am convinced he knows who did.”

  “You think I am the one who doesn’t understand?” asked Sun, staring at Li Du, his face slack with incredulity. “Listen to what you are saying. You spoke to Kirsa.”

  “Yes,” Li Du said. “And if we could just arrange to speak to him again—”

  Sun slapped both his hands down onto the desk. He leaned forward. “Did you realize, when you spoke to Kirsa, that you were accosting a powerful Manchu whose contacts in the ministries, not to mention the palace, are sufficient to end both our careers?”

  Li Du was startled. “I didn’t accost him.”

  “He says you did.”

  “But the investigation led me directly to him,” said Li Du, too caught up in his own thoughts to catch the implication of Sun’s words.

  “I am not questioning the direction of the path,” snapped Sun. “I am questioning your decision to follow it.”

  Li Du was silent for a moment. “If we cannot interview Kirsa,” he said, “I will find another approach. Perhaps a closer examination of the guest list from Hong’s party would yield—”

  “You still don’t understand,” Sun broke in. “I told you Kirsa is a man with numerous contacts. One of them is our own Magistrate Yin. When Kirsa found out who you were, he issued a complaint against you to Yin’s office. Naturally, the magistrate was mortified to learn that one of his most powerful friends was accosted, in gross violation of etiquette and official procedure—”

  “But I didn’t—”

  “Was accosted by a secretary of the North Borough Office while he was engaged in performing his duties in service of the imperial family.”

  Li Du seized upon this. “But don’t you see? Kirsa’s behavior supports everything I have said. By trying to silence me, he is only providing more evidence of his guilt. If it’s true that Kirsa has been stealing from the imperial coffers, the thought of being questioned further must terrify him.”

  Sun raised both hands in a gesture of exasperation, exposing damp imprints on the surface of the desk. “Kirsa isn’t afraid of this office. If Kirsa is willing to call attention to you with his complaint, it is only because he knows we have no power over him.”

  “Or he is bluffing.”

  As if he could no longer sustain the heightened emotion, Sun gave up and sagged back in his chair. “Please sit down,” he said. “I can see that you are tired.”

  Li Du was about to refuse, but realized that his legs were shaking. He drew a chair to the desk, and sat down facing Sun.

  “I blame myself,” said the chief inspector. “I should not have given you so much encouragement. But if you had only come
to me and declared your intention to approach Kirsa, I would have prevented you.”

  Li Du read genuine apology in Sun’s broad features. “I should have come to you,” he said. “But securing an appointment to speak with him would have taken weeks, even if he had agreed to see us at all. Now we have confirmation that he is hiding something. We can look for discrepancies in the contracts at the Black Tile Factory, find evidence against him—”

  “No,” Sun interrupted. “We can’t. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. Our involvement in this matter has run its course.”

  “Perhaps you could speak to Magistrate Yin,” Li Du said.

  “Magistrate Yin has given me his orders, and I cannot disobey.” Sun heaved a sigh. “I have a family. I am my father’s only son. I have daughters who must be married, and a wife who must have the means to manage our household. My duty is to them. It is a form of duty you have perhaps allowed yourself to forget.”

  Li Du was barely listening. “What about the report?”

  Sun rested one hand on a document in front of him. “I had Ding draft the report this morning.”

  “What does it say?”

  To his credit, Sun did not avert his eyes as he gave his answer. “It says that Pan and Madam Hong were lovers. They planned to meet that night in the Black Tile Factory. Zou Anlin, as you did us the service of discovering, poisoned Pan in order to steal his silver—”

  “Silver Pan brought to pay a blackmailer,” said Li Du.

  “That was only speculation,” said Sun. “Wealthy, urban men sometimes carry large amounts of silver with them. It is not so unusual. The report says that Madam Hong arrived to meet her lover, and found him prone on the bed. She did not know that she was seen entering the factory by her husband, Hong, who was on his way home. He followed her inside, where he found her tenderly looking down at her sleeping love. In his rage and inebriation, he attacked them both, never realizing that Pan was already dead. Later, overcome with remorse at what he had done, he ended his own life.”